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CHILDREN.

BY THE COUNTESS OF BLESSINGTON.

It is pleasing to behold the gradual expansion of the youthful mind. We may look upon children as little men and women, and trace in the former most of the propensities of the latter; but, with all due respect to maturity, children are often much more entertaining; first, because there is in them a freshness of mind that gives elasticity to their thoughts, and freedom to their actions; and, secondly, because, though they have all the propensities of men and women, they have not, like them, the sense or cunning to conceal them.

More depends on first impressions than people are aware of; and parents should, if possible, be more careful in the selection of their nurse-maids than of their governesses. The former often lay the foundation of evils that the latter never can erase. It is from the first they imbibe that most detestable of all mean vices, cunning, which engenders lying and deception; and how often do we see a child emerge from the nursery, devoid of that freshness and simple purity which constitute the greatest charm of infancy!

"A child without innocence is like a flower without perfume," is, I believe, an observation of Chateaubriand's, and its truth has often struck me, when I have beheld the petty artifices so disgusting in children. If we believe, with Locke, that there are no innate ideas in the human mind, we may consider that of a child as a sheet of blank paper. But as it cannot long remain so, how careful ought we to be what characters first deface its unsullied purity!-characters so often indelible ;-and can we, or ought we to permit them to be traced by a menial hand? a hand perhaps stained by theft, and the ready minister to the crimes and vices of its

owner.

But allowing that the menials, to whom we trust our children, are not dishonest or vicious, how few of them are to be found that are not ignorant and full of prejudices; and what security have we that our children will not imbibe the latter, however we may, by education, guard against the former? Who is it that cannot trace to the first impressions conveyed to their minds by servants the many false opinions L. 36. 2.

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and injurious prejudices of youth, which in after age they have found it so difficult to conquer entirely? Beware, then, ye who are blessed with children, how ye abuse the treasures committed to your charge, and reflect, that on early impressions depends much of the good conduct and happiness of your offspring.

METRICAL SKETCHES.

THE KNIGHT's request,

BY M. L. B.

I had hop'd to meet my death
Upon the red war-field;

Where glory's wreath is won,-my breath
In honour's cause to yield:

But O! it might not-could not be,
That guerdon were unmeet for me!

I had hop'd to claim the

grave

Which only soldiers own;

Beneath the war-field, where the brave,

Uncoffin'd, lie alone;

Girt but in martial panoply―

And this was all too much for me!

Alas!-ingloriously I lie

Whilst clouded sinks the sun

On this, my last of days, I DIE,
And be my wishes done :-
Yea, sweetest friends, perform my will
As ye'd have others your's fulfil!

As a warrior-as a knight—
And as a chief should be

Entomb'd-with bishop, book, and rite,
And music, bury me!

Let incense burn, and tapers glow;
I am not of the base and low!

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Be the armour he hath worn
Your chieftain's only shroud;
And, soldiers! if for me ye mourn,
Let not your grief be loud;

My lance and sword cross on my breast,
And leave me to my dreamless rest!

Leave me in some ancient aisle
Of sad cathedral,-where
Young Beauty oft may stray to smile,
Or sigh, o'er slumb'rer there;
Where sometimes sun or moonlight falls
Upon the dew'd sepulchral walls.

Where rise mighty columns-where
Deep tinted crystals shed

Rich rainbow chequers o'er each rare
Carv'd sanctum of the dead!
Where spirits pass, and low winds sigh,
And echoing bells chime heavily!

Shrine me in such saintly place;
Let knightly effigies,

And gorgeous scutcheon'd banners grace
The spot where VALOUR lies;-

And when sad music melts in air,
My ladye love,-Oh! guide her there!

COQUETRY.

BY THE COUNTESS OF BLESSINGTON.

In No. 198 of the Spectator, there is a remarkably good paper by Addison, on the dangers of coquetry and levity. He commences by saying,-"There is a species of women whom I shall distinguish by the name of Salamanders. Now, a Salamander is a kind of heroine in chastity, that treads upon fire, and lives in the midst of flames without being hurt. A Salamander knows no distinction of sex in those. she converses with, grows familiar with a stranger at first sight, and is not so narrow-spirited as to observe whether the

person she talks to be in male or female attire. She plays a whole evening at picquet with a gentleman, walks with him two or three hours by moonlight, and is extremely scandalized at the unreasonableness of a husband, or the severity of a parent, that would debar the sex from such innocent liberties."

There is no character more prevalent in the present day than that of the Salamander, though it is perhaps better known as the coquette, and none more injurious to society. It may be questioned whether the woman who, in private sacrifices her honour, but in public wears the semblance of virtue, is not less dangerous to society, and whether there be not greater hope of her amendment. Her sin, enormous as it is, being concealed from the world, and accompanied by all the outward appearances of propriety, has not the same pernicious effect of bad example. Conscious of her own crimes, she pays the deference to Virtue of assuming its mask; and it is to be hoped that she may see the error of her ways and amend: but the Salamander goes on priding herself on the consciousness of preserving her chastity; while her couduct is so full of levity, that the generality of mankind believe that so much public impropriety must be accompanied by actual guilt; and the example cannot fail of being injurious to the young and thoughtless. There is but little prospect of her amendment; for though suffering under a loss of character, she is unconscious of her faults, and fancies herself the victim of unjust slander. She is insensible of the necessity of appearing virtuous, as well as of being so; and this blindness to her own errors engenders an angry feeling at what she considers the injustice of the world, which leaves the mind ill prepared for reflection and repentance. Another danger attached to the Salamander is, that by her levity she encou rages freedoms which often so far exceed the bounds of propriety, that even she feels indignant; and, instead of reflecting on her own want of conduct, which led to such liberties, and resolving never again to betray the same levity, she resents the insult with all the warmth and astonishment of outraged modesty and decorum; like a person who has thrown down the fence which guards his property, and is then surprised that people trespass on it.

MENTAL IMPROVEMENT.

BY THE COUNTESS OF BLESSINGTON.

It is pleasant when one is prevented a whole evening from reading, to make amends for it by amusing and instructive conversation; for when we reflect how short is our span of life, and how much of that short span is consumed in sleeping, dressing, eating, and visits, with a long et cetera of frivolous amusements, we have indeed but a short time for mental improvement. And how frequently is even that short time interrupted by dull, trifling, or petulant companions, who without any mercy break in on our time!

We should, therefore, never omit an opportunity of improvement; for certainly the Almighty never intended that the powers of mind with which he has endowed us were to be unemployed. The best way to ensure our own happiness, as well as to show our gratitude to our Creator, is to culti vate to the highest state of perfection the talents bestowed on us, and to employ those talents usefully and honourably.

THE VOICE OF MEMORY.

Fond memory, like a mocking bird,
Within the widowed heart is heard,
Repeating every touching tone

Of voices that from earth have gone.

REBECCA'S FAREWELL.

BY MRS. MARY LEMAN GRIMSTONE.

Fair, merry England, farewell!

Far and faintly thou fad'st on my view;
Yet this heart has a pulse that will swell,
As it bids thee for ever adieu !
Though rescued from fire and chain,
From the hand of the bigot set free;

Though I fly to a kindlier plain,
I rejoice not in flying from thee.

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