fountains, gushing with rich and exhaustless delights, and leading it to the turbid streams, which, swollen by the sudden freshet, bear all the impurities of hill and dale in their currents. The highest merit ever claimed for popular fictions is that they supply relaxation and amusement for the exhausted intellectual energies. They were never intended to hold any higher station in the empire of literature, than the rose, the lily, or the daffodil, in the natural world. And the mind that relies on them for enduring entertainment, will be as poorly sustained as the body whose only nutriment consists of the productions of the flower-bed. They elicit no patient thought-summon none of the sterner faculties of the mind into exercise-supply no discipline for the high pursuits of literature and science-furnish no armor with which the intellect may gird itself for bold and effective action, and, above all, propose no lofty and enduring rewards for time and toil. What orator ever goes to the novel or romance for fire to kindle thought, elevate feeling, and quicken the mind for high exploit? Where, on its pages, can he find fact, argument,

philosophy, which "shall speak from his lips, and in his looks give law?" What writer ever repairs to these sources for stimulus to rouse slumbering energies to wake the warm emotion of the heart-to nerve the mind for lofty daring, or for imagery and illustration, which shall give to word and thought "the radiant hue of fire?" What private reader gathers from these productions knowledge which enters into the very structure of the soul-enlarges its comprehensiveness-elevates the sense of duty-purifies and strengthens affection, and urges him or her onward in the high career of thought and action? And yet, unpractical and unintellectual as this literature is, it constitutes three-fourths of the reading of the young females of our land. Go to your public libraries, and you will see the works of Bulwer, Scott, Fielding, and Smollett, thumbed and marked, bedewed with many a tear, and adorned with many a flower; whilst the standard works on history, philosophy, biography, and even the English classics, are untouched, except by the curious eye, which suspects something to be there, or by the spider and the fly, as they noiselessly pursue the "even tenor of their way." Yes, so wide-spreading and pernicious is this passion for fiction, that it vitiates the taste for pure and lofty conceptions, and blinds the eye to all that is splendid in substantial literature. You find the fond admirer of the novel preferring the crude sentimentalism of some love adventure, over which she may languish and pine, to the inspiring sentiments of a Cowper, which might woo her to the highest luxuries of intellectual life, or the lofty strains of a Milton, which might roll her soul to heaven. You find her familiar with the rise, progress, circumstances and catastrophe

of some imaginary achievement of chivalry or treason, or of love, and yet unacquainted with those events in the history of our race which have overturned empires-peopled continents-shaken down the strongholds of superstition and cruelty-established the triumphs of Christianity-consummated all that is grand in art and science-in a word, which have produced all that is splendid and sublime in matter or in mind. Yea, more, you find the fond reader trimming the midnight lamp, passionately threading the incidents and details in the fanciful life of some mock hero or heroine, and yet she never glances her eye over the biographies of Socrates, Cicero, Chatham, Burke, Luther, Calvin, Knox, Wesley, and Whitefield-of all those gigantic spirits who have, under God, wielded this world's destinies, and whose deeds are identified with all that is noble, spirit-stirring and enduring in the choice possessions of our age. Who would not be surprised to see an individual more interested in culling flowers on the banks of the Niagara, than in listening to the roar of its cataract, or in gathering pebbles on ocean's beach, whilst navies were rushing to the conflict? and yet who is surprised to see individuals standing in the midst of the wonders of the universe of God, more enraptured with the dreams of fancy, than with those facts which comprehend all that is thrilling in the deeds and destinies of man, and sublime in the operations of God? What parent or friend of education will not concur with me in the expression of the hope that there may be conducted in this seminary, under the auspices of God, and the direction of its worthy Principal, a system of education which shall render the mind patient, persevering, strong and lofty-which will create such a refined taste for what is intellectual and practical, as to render insipid the imaginings of distempered minds, and the caricatures of human frailty and folly-which will infuse a passionate love for whatever is rich and pure in thought, chaste in imagery, classical in style, original in conception, sound in principle, and holy in purpose and in hope, and which will elevate the aspirations of every pupil to a standard of attainment whose limits shall strike the lines which bound finite intelligence.

Young ladies, I have attempted to describe the importance and advantages of female education: it is for you to illustrate my remarks in your lives and deeds. The philosopher may explain the laws of motion upon paper, and the agencies of caloric, by the apparatus of the laboratory; mankind, however, will better understand the beauty and utility of the former, by observ ing the heavenly bodies as they roll in their orbits, and more • impressively know the power of the latter, as they see the stately steamboat under its influences, ploughing the waves. So I may describe to you the theory and uses of education; but my most

illiterate, as well as my most learned reader, will better understand its importance, as it flashes from your eyes, drops from your tongue, glows in your countenance, and breathes in your actions. You will soon appear upon the busy theatre of human action, as "living epistles" of its efficacy and excellence, seen and read of all men. Do you lack motives to diligence and duty? Recollect that elevated female character, illuminated by the "Sun of righteousness," is the brightest star of promise for this world's purity, and that each of you is to be a beam of glory or a dim ray of that star. As the high priest of old bore upon his breastplate the names of the children of Israel, so do you bear in your example and character the name, dignity, and destiny, of the American female, for the present and coming ages. This ought to be a stimulus more spirit-stirring to the educated lady, than that magic watch-word of Trafalgar, "England expects every man to do his duty," was to Britain's sons. The expectations which cluster around you are lofty as the claims of that Christianity which has rescued you from the degradation of centuries, and impassioned as the pure gushing affections of that mother whose eye is now fastened upon you, and whose heart palpitates with feelings too deep for utterance, as her anticipations thread the line of your temporal and eternal destiny. That you may fulfil these high expectations, aim to be useful. The day has gone by, when arithmetic, in science, and reading the Testament, in literature, constitute the Mount Parnassus to which your sex might aspire, but higher than which it would be dangerous to climb. The day has gone by, when, if the question had been asked, "What is the chief end of woman?" the practical answer would have been, "Woman's chief end consisteth in cooking, washing, sewing, and spinning well." Now, your chief end, as man's, is to glorify God by the improvement and exercise of those immortal faculties with which you are endowed. The spirit of Christianity, like that Spirit which moved upon old chaos, and said, "let there be light, and there was light," has breathed anew upon this world's moral chaos; and, in its new and nobler creation, has planted you in her highest firmament among the "greater lights," to rule the moral day. Realize the responsibility which this honor confers upon you, and feel that you are to be not merely this world's beauties, but its brightest benefactors. The charms of beauty are transient as the hectic flush which tinges the cheek of disease; and the distinctions won in the court of fashion are fitful as the gleam of the meteor. If these be your only possessions, you will soon become as

"A harp whose master chord is gone-
A wounded bird which has but one
Unbroken wing to soar upon."

The charms of a cultivated intellect, however, will secure you a name and home in every heart which pure and lofty thought can kindle, and fix upon you the admiration and affection of the brightest intelligences of earth and heaven. Apply your minds early and vigorously to those studies which will endow you with the power and privilege to walk abroad, interested spectators of all that is magnificent and beautiful above and around you-to commune with all that is illustrious in the records of the past, and noble and divine in the developments of the future-studies which will elevate you to a standard and dignity, upon which your friends may gaze with rapture and delight, and which shall teach man, in the present and all coming ages, that there glows within the breast of woman an intellect which shall emulate, in its hopes, capacities, and enjoyments, that of the tallest archangel which "adores and burns" around the throne of God. Above all, cherish that purity of heart which a look will define to the dull, and a blush defend like lightning from the designing. This, combined with intelligence, is as a weapon out of heaven's own armory, sky-tempered, which "no buckler nor tower of brass can resist." With this you will become the choicest guardians of the institutions of your country, and you will stand as the cherubim and flaming sword of Eden, guarding the way to all that is peaceful and happy in our earthly paradise. Females possessing such characteristics, and they only, are the truly admired and blessed of heaven. Where is the admirer of that Egyptian queen whose art once conquered Roman arms, and the music of whose voice drowned the trump of ambition! Egyptian spices, perhaps, yet embalm her lifeless body; but where, in the world's great heart, has she a choice recollection? Where is she who once held supremacy on Britain's throne? The record of her deeds is on the page of history; but in the pure intellect of a virtuous posterity, Elizabeth holds no dearer place than the disasters of her country's wars.

Ah! how do the queens of other times sink, in comparison with the humbler pretensions, and yet more majestic achievements, of such spirits as Mrs. Hemans, Miss Carter, and Hannah More! I cannot better exemplify what I mean by female character and useful education, than by holding up before you Hannah More, as a model for imitation. The hand that moved the pen is cold as the clay of her tomb; but her uttered and written sentiments are now producing a tide of joy over the affections of earth's multitudes, warm as the life's blood which moves the heart. In life's loveliest solitudes, her thoughts come over the soul as angels' music, and even now, throughout the habitable globe, she has the testimony of her worthy deeds in the elevated hopes and pure enjoyments of thousands. And who of you, that

has communed with the writings of your own countrywoman-Mrs. Sigourney-has not felt the power of education combined with the loveliness of piety! Can such a lady ever be forgotten? No, never, whilst the chords of the heart vibrate-never whilst there remains a trace of that image which Divinity impresses upon the human soul, or a spark of that fire which was kindled by the breath of the Lord. May it be yours to imitate the example and imbibe the spirit of such American matrons! and may each of you, by the purity of deeds baptized in the love of the gospel, command among your kindred, and in your country, an influence which the "toll of your funeral bell will not drown, nor the earth's green sod muffle," but which will speak in thrilling and delightful accents when you and I shall have been gathered to the graves of our fathers.

[Ladies' Repos., Cin.]

YET NOT FOR ME THY CHAPLET WEAVE.

FOR me, O world! no chaplet weave,

Thy frown I fear not, nor believe
Thy wanton smiles, and summer glow,
Deceptive as retiring snow;

For me, thy grandeur's all too high,
And danger lurks its steps too nigh.
Then not for me thy chaplet weave,
For all thy pleasures but deceive.

Let beauty with its eye of fire,
With maddening love the gay inspire;
Let War, in panoply arrayed,
Unsheathe the chieftain's ready blade;
Let Glory rear its plumed crest,
And dazzle with its glittering vest.
Yet not for me thy chaplet weave,

Thy smiles are false, thy hopes deceive.

Let the full cup of pleasure teem,

With draughts from fair Calypso's stream,
Which shrouds the soul's immortal flame,
Beneath the brute's degraded frame;

Though fair the flowers that here entice,
All, all, too costly is the price.

Such chaplet, therefore, do not weave,
The flowers decay, the draughts deceive.

Nor weave for me Ambition's wreath,
It is the bloody meed of death;
Asp-like, foul murder nestles there,
Entwined with folds of grim despair!
And oh! weave not the wreath that binds
The brows of sordid, selfish minds;
Like those entwine no wreaths for me,
They show too much, oh world, of thee!