It is notorious, that there will soon be no intermediate class between those who toil and spin, and those whose claim to be ladies is founded on their being incapable of any value of utility. At present, we know of none, except the little army of martyrs, yclept school-mistresses, and the still smaller corps of editorial and active blue-stockings. If it should be my lot to transmigrate back to earth, in the form of a young man, my first homages in search of a wife would be paid to the thoughtful and pale-faced fair one, surrounded by her little, noisy, refractory subjects, drilling her soul to patience, and learning to drink of the cup of earthly discipline, and more impressively than by a thousand sermons, tasting the bitterness of our probationary course, in teaching the young idea how to shoot. Except, as aforesaid, school-mistresses and blues, we believe, that all other damsels, clearly within the purview of the term lady, estimate the clearness of their title precisely in the ratio of their uselessness.

Allow a young lady to have any hand in the adjustment of all the components of her dress, each of which has a contour which only the fleeting fashion of the moment can settle; allow her time to receive morning visitors, and prepare for afternoon appointments and evening parties, and what time has the dear one to spare, to be useful and do good? To labor! Heaven forefend the use of the horrid term! The simple state of the case is this. There is somewhere, in all this, an enormous miscalculation, an infinite mischief; an evil, not of transitory or minor importance, but fraught with misery and ruin, not only to the fair ones themselves, but to society and the age.

I cannot conceive, that mere idlers, male or female, can have respect enough for themselves to be comfortable. I cannot imagine, that they should not carry about with them such a consciousness of being a blank in existence, as would be written on their forehead, in the shrinking humiliation of perceiving, that the public eye had weighed them in the balance, and found them wanting. Novels and romances may say this or that about their ethereal beauties, their fine ladies tricked out to slaughter my lord A., and play Cupid's archery upon dandy B., and dispatch Amarylis C. to his sonnets. I have no conception of a beautiful woman, or a fine man, in whose eye, in whose port,

in whose whole expression, this sentiment does not stand embodied: "I am called by my Creator to duties; I have employment on the earth; my sterner, but more enduring pleasures are in discharging my duties."

Compare the sedate expression of this sentiment in the countenance of man or woman, when it is known to stand, as the index of character and the fact, with the superficial gaudiness of a simple, good for nothing belle, who disdains usefulness and employment, whose empire is a ball-room, and whose subjects, dandies, as silly and as useless as herself. Which, of the two, has most attractions for a man of sense? The one a help-mate, a fortune in herself, who can aid to procure one, if the husband has it not; who can soothe him under the loss of it, and, what is more, aid him to regain it; and the other a painted butterfly, for ornament only during the vernal and sunny months of prosperity, and then not becoming a chrysalis, an inert moth in adversity, but a croaking, repining, ill-tempered termagant, who can only recur to the days of her short-lived triumph, to imbitter the misery, and poverty, and hopelessness of a husband, who, like herself, knows not to dig, and is ashamed to beg.

We are obliged to use severe language in application to a deep-rooted malady. We want words of power. We need energetic and stern applications. No country ever verged more rapidly towards extravagance and expense. In a young republic, like ours, it is ominous of any thing but good. Men of thought, and virtue, and example, are called upon to look to this evil. Ye patrician families, that croak, and complain, and forbode the downfall of the republic, here is the origin of your evils. Instead of training your son to waste his time, as an idle young gentleman at large; instead of inculcating on your daughter, that the incessant tinkling of a harpsichord, or a scornful and lady-like toss of the head, or dexterity in waltzing, are the chief requisites to make her way in life; if you can find no better employment for them, teach him the use of the grubbing hoe, and her to make up garments for your servants.

Train your son and daughter to an employment, to frugality, to hold the high front, and to walk the fearless step of independence, and sufficiency to themselves in any fortunes, any country, or any state of things. By arts like these, the early

morning you rose e'er the dawn,
intment, perhaps with Apollo;
y footprint on the lawn

not mistake, I determined to follow.

acked it, and, tripping above me,
flying and jeweled with dew,
Now, the truth, if you love me;
I question? I'm sure it was you.

deny you were met, in ascending,
ile, pursuing my truant by stealth-
young seraph, who turned, and, attending
said her name was the Spirit of Health.

ough the mist of transparent vermilion
y flooded the brow of the hill,
gold rose Aurora's pavilion,
meadow, and mountain, and rill.

ating up through the luminous air,

ingers of snow in those clouds growing bright; nd dashed down o'er her votary fair

rose-beams that bathed her in light.

re at play, here and there, in your form, ur fingers they steal to your white taper tips, That cheek its soft dimples to warm,

the crimson that lives in your lips.

me again, with that scorn lighted eye,
o not use paint, while such tinting is there?
w still affirms what the glance would deny ?
re disclaim the sweet theft, if you dare!

MRS. F. S. OSGOOD

LESSON XXVII.

THE TWO MAIDENS.

ONE came-with light and laughing air,
And cheek like opening blossom,
Bright gems were twined amid her hair,
And glittered on her bosom;

And pearls and costly bracelets deck
Her round, white arms, and lovely neck.

Romans thrived. When your children have these possessions, you may go down to the grave in peace, as regards their temporal fortunes.

T. FLINT.

LESSON XXV.

REFLECTIONS OF A BELLE.

I'm weary of the crowded ball; I'm weary of the mirth,
Which never lifts itself above the grosser things of earth;
I'm weary of the flatterer's tone; its music is no more,
And eye and lip may answer not its meaning as before;
I'm weary of the heartless throng; of being deemed as one,
Whose spirit kindles only in the blaze of fashion's sun.

I speak in very bitterness, for I have deeply felt

The mockery of the hollow shrine at which my spirit knelt;
Mine is the requiem of years, in reckless folly passed,
The wail above departed hopes, on a frail venture cast,

The vain regret, that steals above the wreck of squandered hours,
Like the sighing of the autumn wind above the faded flowers.

Oh! it is worse than mockery to list the flatterer's tone,
To lend a ready ear to thoughts the cheek must blush to own,
To hear the red lip whispered of, and the flowing curl and eye,
Made constant themes of eulogy, extravagant and high;
And the charm of person worshiped, in a homage offered not
To the perfect charm of virtue, and the majesty of thought.

Away! I will not fetter thus the spirit God hath given,
Nor stoop the pinion back to earth that beareth up to heaven;
I will not bow a tameless heart to fashion's iron rule,
Nor welcome, with a smile, alike, the gifted and the fool;
No: let the throng pass coldly on; a treasured few may find
The charm of person doubly dear beneath the light of mind.

ANONYMOUS.

LESSON XXVI.

THE STOLEN BLUSH.

NEVER tell me that cheek is not painted, false maid!
'Tis a fib, though your pretty lips part while I say it;
And if the cheat were not already betrayed,

Those exquisite blushes themselves would betray it.