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possessing a similar capacity, and thou, in health and happiness, wilt be the medium through which mercies pass and amalgamate. As thou must have study of some description, let it commence in the first stage of day. Form thy friendship first with the Dispenser of Time, and he will provide thee with a better portion. He that keepeth Israel neither slumbereth nor sleepeth.' It is the abuse of time which shortens life, and cuts the cords of human interests asunder, ere they will have given that aid for which they were intended. The sun-dial is accelerated by the sun, whose hands are never behind that time which the Creator has designed for the creature. The moon and stars do not relax in their revolutions: but it is not necessary to bring the seasons and elements to enforce the obligation so obvious to reflection. From the dawn of thy mind, thine experience will ripen. Thou art sensible of time, when behind engagements and omissions are not committed to trust. The farmer's harvest would not yield, nor the housewife's flax be ready, were time not appreciated; and were he or she, like half mankind, to say with the sluggard,

• Thou hast waked me too soon, I must slumber again.'

If thou art disposed to resolve, put thy resolution into practice. A practical young lady is an instrument of most rare and excellent power :-be thou such. If thou hast watched the progress of the sand through the hour-glass, thou hast beheld the grains press downwards to a cone, and after the last grain hath fallen, an emblem of departed moments was presented to thee. O! lovely maiden! who art perusing this kindly-meant effort, take Virtue and Truth, like tokens from a friend, into the palace of thy heart, as pillars for thy support; then, when time will not be, thou shalt remain an accepted resident in the immortal habitation of spirits.

THE ROBIN. A PARABLE.

FROM THE GERMAN OF KRUMACHER.

Once, on a cold winter's day, a robin was picking at the window of a cottager, as if begging for admittance. The pious cottager opened his window, and hospitably sheltered the confiding little creature in his dwelling. The little bird picked

up the crumbs which fell from the table, and all the children became much attached to it; but when spring had again clothed the trees and bushes with a fresh verdure, the cottager opened his window, and his little guest flew into the adjoining wood, built his nest, and filled the air with his warbling songs. On the approach of winter, the robin again returned to the dwelling of the cottager, and also brought his little mate along with him. On seeing them, the cottager and his children were much delighted, and one of the children said, "father, how expressive are the eyes of the little birds! they look as if they wish to say something." But the father replied, " my children, if the little birds could speak, they would probably say, a friendly confidence begets confidence, and love begets love.'

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FROM HER FATHER'S HALLS. A SERENADE.

BY JOHN AUGUSTUS SHEA, ESQ. AUTHOR OF

"RUDEKKI," &c.

Deep on the golden west
The summer day is dying
Down to the mountain nest
The monarch-bird is flying;
Far is the time-worn tower

Its lengthening shadow throwing,
Coolly through brake and bower

The landward breeze is blowing.
O! 'tis the welcome hour that calls
My young love from her father's halls.

Cloth'd in her vestal light,

The summer moon shines palely;
Fleet o'er the waters bright,

A winged bark rides gaily:

Seeking the joyous land,

Her snowy signal flutters,

And each wave, as it meets the strand,
Her rapid coming utters.

O! 'tis the witching hour that charms

From fathers' halls, to lovers' arms.

THE EMPRESS EUDOXIA THEODORA.

The Czar Peter the Great having assembled together, a number of beautiful young females belonging to the first nobility in the Duchy of Novogorad, his choice fell upon Eudoxia, who had no qualifications but her beauty to fix the affections of her husband. Haughty and jealous in her disposition, she wished to reign over both the heart and empire of Peter; she soon lost his favor, and was left without the smallest hope of retrieving it.

After her husband had repudiated her, she sought by every means in her power to thwart his undertakings: here her revenge, which she sought to throw on Peter fell heavily on herself. The Czar would have allowed her to remain unmolested after their separation, but she in a manner compelled him to severity by her refractory behaviour; he, therefore, obliged her to enter a convent remarkable for the rigidity of its discipline. Peter, however, had not long been wedded to Catherine, before Eudoxia quitted her religious habit, and took the dignity of Empress upon her. She left the convent with a man of the name of Glebow, with whom she held an illicit correspondence, through the means of the archbishop of Rostaw.

The Czar immediately put every one under arrest, and sa crificed them to his vengeance, whom he suspected of being accessary to the crimes of the late Empress, amongst whom was Abraham Lapoukin, the brother of Eudoxia, who was beheaded; and Glebow was racked to death upon the wheel. Eudoxia, whose own handwriting proved her adultery, furnished sufficient evidence to proceed against her; yet Glebow, under his most cruel torments, persisted in attesting her innocence, and defended the virtue of this unfortunate princess with his last breath. Before he expired, the Czar himself approached him, and conjured him by every thing most sacred, to confess his guilt and that of Eudoxia. Glebow, collecting all that remained of his exhausted strength, regarded the Czar with a mixture of indignation and contempt: "You must," said he, "be as weak-minded as you are cruel, to believe that if, in the midst of the most horrid torments, I would not consent to slander the virtue of the Em

press, that I should now accuse the innocence and honor of a virtuous woman, who had no other fault than that of loving thee too well, now I have no hopes of living. Begone, monster, and let me die in peace." So saying Glebow spit in the face of the monarch.

Although, after this, Peter wished to doom Eudoxia to death, yet he was loath to pronounce the sentence, and convened an assembly of bishops and priests; who, after condemning her to receive a discipline from the hands of two nuns, she was conducted to a convent on the borders of the lake of Ladoga.

Eudoxia dwelt six years, which was the remainder of the Czar's life, in one single room, fed only on bread and water and some liqueurs. After the death of Peter, Catherine had her transferred to a dungeon in the fortress of Schlusselbourg, with an old woman, who was a dwarf, to wait on her; and where Eudoxia was frequently reduced to be her own servant, according to the convalescence of each, from those infirmities which they mutually suffered.

THE LADIES OF GERMANY.

A late tourist of Germany gives the following description of the ladies of Saxony: The ladies are models of industry; whether at home or abroad, knitting and needle-work know no interruption. A lady going to a route would think little of forgetting her fan, but would not spend half an hour without implements of female industry. A man would be quite pardonable for doubting, on entering such a drawing-room, whether he had not strayed into a school of industry; and whether he was not expected to cheapen stockings, instead of dealing in small talk. At Dresden it is carried so far, that even the theatres are not protected against stocking wires. I have seen a lady gravely lay down her work, wipe away the tears which the sorrows of Theckla, in Wallenstein's death, had brought into her eyes, and immediately resume her knitting!"

THE FAIR JEWESS.

Caroline was the daughter of a wealthy and respectable Jew. He had been fortunate in all his worldly transactions, and had now retired from the city of Frankfort to a small estate in the country, devoting himself to the education and happiness of his only child, whose fine genius and taste were already displayed in the delightful tone of her voice, the delicacy of her musical touch, and her amusing way of reading and relating little stories, with which she beguiled the evening hours. She approached her seventeenth summer, without losing any thing of the sweetness and simplicity of the child; while her beautiful form and fine accomplishments announced the richer and brighter charms of the woman; combining in her character many of those unassuming domestie virtues and endearments, with the rarer graces of a cultivated and delicate mind. She would read the history of nations, and their old legends of romance, in both ancient and modern tongues; and the language of poetry, and all the finer arts, seemed to be caught intelligibly and instinc tively, as it were, by a gentle and congenial spirit. Over these, her smiles and her tears, all the lights and shades of her feelings, were indulged, lonely, deliciously, and unrepressed, beaming in her animated and beautiful features, which vied with the graces of her form.

There was something also, in her face, more enchanting than mere beauty,-for it had all of that soul's intelligence and sweetness mixed, whose spell over us we can so well feel, but would vainly attempt to describe. Her hair was raven dark, and dark were her bright and piercing eyes, whose glance would have been almost insupportable, but for the angelic touches of sweetness, peace, and pity that shone through and relieved the lustre of her looks; that of her complexion was equally bright and delicate, and fixed the gaze of every eye, until it brought the mantling red in a deeper tide of crimson to her cheeks.

She was adored no less for her goodness, and all the sweet charities that give zest to life; not only by her own friends, and her father's friends, but by the lowliest and humblest of the society of which she was at once the ornament and the

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