AMOR, VIVAX, FRAGILIS.

BY H. H., M. D.

Oh, love! What is love? 'Tis a tender vine,Amid shadow and sunshine growing;In the soft summer hours will its tendrils twine,To cling when the wild winds are blowing.Though through calm sunny days it will put forth its bloom,It is greenest when tears are flowing;And it climbeth—how mournfully!—oft o'er the tomb,Gray shadows around it throwing.The germs its fresh blossoms fling forth to the airAre wafted, on white wings, to heaven;Here though it may wither, yet, evergreen there,A crown unto angels 'tis given!Then tend it most gently. Though care bids it grow,And it ever roots deepest in sorrow,Yet the love that to-day smiles o'er dreariest woe,Neglected, may wither to-morrow.

Oh, love! What is love? 'Tis a tender vine,

Amid shadow and sunshine growing;

In the soft summer hours will its tendrils twine,

To cling when the wild winds are blowing.

Though through calm sunny days it will put forth its bloom,

It is greenest when tears are flowing;

And it climbeth—how mournfully!—oft o'er the tomb,

Gray shadows around it throwing.

The germs its fresh blossoms fling forth to the airAre wafted, on white wings, to heaven;Here though it may wither, yet, evergreen there,A crown unto angels 'tis given!Then tend it most gently. Though care bids it grow,And it ever roots deepest in sorrow,Yet the love that to-day smiles o'er dreariest woe,Neglected, may wither to-morrow.

The germs its fresh blossoms fling forth to the air

Are wafted, on white wings, to heaven;

Here though it may wither, yet, evergreen there,

A crown unto angels 'tis given!

Then tend it most gently. Though care bids it grow,

And it ever roots deepest in sorrow,

Yet the love that to-day smiles o'er dreariest woe,

Neglected, may wither to-morrow.

BY MRS. ALARIC WATTS.

The truly lively and excellent Miss Mitford has, in her story of "The Black Velvet Bag," dilated very agreeably on the pleasures of the feminine occupation of Shopping! She has made its charms obvious to the meanest capacity; nay, more candid still, she has afforded us, now and then, a glimpse of its many pleasant delusions. She is, throughout, the busy, intelligent actor in this everyday drama of domestic life. She has admitted us fully and fairly to her confidence, from the preliminary "Inventory of Wants," with its accompaniment of a full purse, to thefinaleof a full budget and an empty exchequer!

Let not the above admission (honestly made), however, induce any one to suppose that the subject must necessarily be exhausted. On the contrary, she has not even alluded, in the remotest degree, to that which I hold to be its chief delight—its crowning glory; namely, the harvest of enjoyment which its many phases present to the inactive, though not uninterested, spectator of its whereabout.

"Idowish that you would lay aside your work, and accompany me in a round of shopping," was the opening address of an early morning visitor. "I really have so many commissions to execute that it would be an act of charity to afford me the benefit of your good taste and excellent judgment!"

Who could resist a request so flatteringly preferred? The work was laid aside, and the request complied with on the instant; and within a quarter of an hour we were set down at the first stage of our pleasant expedition.

Themagazinthat was honored by our selection on the present occasion held a middle rank between the aristocratic pretensions of Howell and James's, and the honestbourgeoisreputation of Tottenham House! My friend was of that class of elegant economists who go to the fountain-head for the sample, and to the principal stream for the supply. The initiated will be at no loss to decide that Swan and Edgar's was our mart.

As I was not a principal on the present occasion, thepaswas, of course, assumed by my companion. On the moment of our entrance, offers of services were obsequiously proffered, and, to my great surprise, were as courteously evaded. My friend was a tactician, and, fully alive to her own infirmity, was not so rash as to venture on an unproved agent. Former experience had revealed to her on whose head the organ of patience was most largely developed, and as its possessor happened to be engaged, my friend, like a wise general, was content to forego a present convenience, in order to secure a future advantage. She, therefore, intimated that she preferred being waited on by Miss A., and added, she was quite content to await her leisure on the present occasion.

The martyr-like expression of Miss A.'s countenance gave place to one of great complacency, the result, perhaps, of the 'compliment implied by her selection, since it must have been gratifying to feel that merit issometimesappreciated; and no one can deny that, among the virtues, Patience has always ranked as a cardinal!

A few minutes sufficed to surround us with silks and satins, ribbons and velvets; a few more were consumed in the discussion of "the unusual prevalence" of "flat colors" and "neutral tints," together with conjectures as to the duration of this sombre mode, which soon gave place to the important business before us. My friend became serious and oracular; murmured of "harmony and contrast;" and, in the words of our divine Milton—

"With dispatchful looks in hasteShe turns on (most becoming) thoughts intent,What choice to choose, for delicacy best,What order to contrive, as not to mixHues not well joined, inelegant; but bringShade after shade upheld by kindliest change."

"With dispatchful looks in haste

She turns on (most becoming) thoughts intent,

What choice to choose, for delicacy best,

What order to contrive, as not to mix

Hues not well joined, inelegant; but bring

Shade after shade upheld by kindliest change."

She was fairly in her vocation, and I, well assured that an hour or two would elapse before my "good taste" would be in requisition, proceeded to solace my leisure by watching the sayings and doings of my neighbors of the opposite counter.

"Do you happen to have anything new for dresses?" was the first inquiry of a pair of languid-looking young ladies, evidently afflicted with a certain quantity of money and of time to be disposed of. "We want something very odd and very new." The shopman inquired of "price and texture." At this leading question the ladies looked aghast. "Oh! they did notknow; only they wanted something very odd and very pretty—something that had never been seen by anybody else." And with this luminous description, the young man departed; and, after an interval of short duration, returned, followed by two subordinates bending beneath the weight of silk, wool, and cotton, and of patterns the most diverse and strange. Nondescripts of a genus botanical, flowers without stalks, and stalks without flowers. Others of the style geometrical—angles, acute and obtuse; circles, and segments of every size. A few presented strata of every sombre hue, forcibly reminding the spectator of geology and Dr. Lyell! The young ladies were more than satisfied: where all was so exquisitely "odd," the difficulty of choice was proportionably increased. They selected and rejected, and finally, embarrassed by the riches before them, ordered a dozen to be sent home for further consideration, and the final decision of mamma!

Our fair young friends were scarcely seated in their carriage, when their places were taken by a middle-aged lady of a very different stamp, who, emerging from one of the suburban omnibuses, bustled into the shop "and begged to be attended to immediately, as her time was precious." No one could look upon her and doubt it. That imposing character—a thoroughly good manager—was revealed in every word and gesture. There was decision in her voice, her step, her eye; no need had she of written memoranda to help a slippery memory. Her orders were issued with distinctness, clearness, and precision. "She desired to see some lady's four-thread fine white cotton stockings, without figure and without clocks; some lady's dark French kid habit gloves, sewed with silk of the same color, with studs at the wrist; some Irish linen (described with equal minuteness); graduated tapes, and assorted pins." Here was discrimination; no causeless second journey did thoughtlessness on her part impose on any one. The pieces of linen were opened, wetted, rubbed, and finally a thread was loosened, to test the strength of the fabric. The gloves were singly stretched across the hand, and finally the stockings were separated and turned inside out, that their quality might be ascertained beyond a doubt. I fancied the shopman winced a little at the latter experiment; but who could gainsay that quiet decision of manner which so plainly announced "I pay for what I have, and choose to have the best for my money"? A pencil was quietly drawn forth—a name written by the lady on each separate article. The bill was carefully examined—found correct—paid, and with a final chink of the purse, and strict orders as to time in the delivery of the parcel, the lady departed; and I could not help thinking we all breathed with more freedom when relieved of the presence of this very superior woman.

An interesting family group were the next to present themselves in the persons of a beautiful widow lady, perhaps of some five-and-thirty years of age; a sister, some ten years younger; a blooming miss in her teens, and a delicate-looking little boy of some five years old.

Of this party the younger ladies assumed the executive, and requested to see some dresses for second mourning. The counter forthwith groaned under the weight of silks and stuffs,

"Black, blue, and gray, with all their trumpery;"

and really the variety was so great that the office of selection seemed far from an easy one. The younger ladies were in high spirits, and proceeded to canvass the peculiar merit of each article with great energy. There certainly is something very attractive in unsunned fabrics, even though they appertain not to ourselves. I felt quite interested in the debate, and when the discussion became warm, on the comparative merits of French gray or French lavender, I could hardly forbear from offering a casting vote on the subject.

Meantime the person most interested in the decision sat by silent and abstracted, her eyes fixed on the face of the boy—her thoughts probably in the tomb of her husband. At length it became necessary to make a selection. The lady was appealed to. She seemed as though awaking from a dream, and, glancing at the shining heaps before her, said, "Too gay, much too gay." Her sister, in a low voice, appeared to expostulate with her, for the words "two whole years" were distinctly audible. The animated look of the little girl became subdued as she gazed on her mother's face. She pushed aside the brighter colors and drew some black silk over them, and was silent. Not so, however, her aunt! She had evidently resolved that the children at least should mourn no longer; with a tone of authority she desired the lavender silk to be cut off, and with a look of mingled pity and contempt heard her sister order another "Paramatta." Too indignant to interfere further, she contented herself with adding "and crape, I suppose." The lady did not reply—the shopman, probably inferring her wishes from her silence, produced the anathematized material, a liberal quantity was cut off, and the party slowly retired.

A merry-eyed, dandyfied-looking young sailor, with a complexion much bronzed beneath a fervidsun, was the next member of thedramatis personæ. He desired to see some silk pocket-handkerchiefs; India silk—no other would do. A variety was placed before him, together with some of British manufacture, greatly superior to the veritable Bandanas! It might be so—they were more beautiful, certainly; but India handkerchiefs he must have—ay, and with the true peculiar spicy smell; that odor only to be acquired by a four months' voyage in company with cinnamon and sandal-wood. After a little delay, even this desideratum was achieved. A dozen were cut off, each folded in a separate paper, and each and every one directed by his own hand! During this ceremony, a very contagious smile irradiated his features, which, gathering strength with every name he wrote, finally exploded into an uncontrollable fit of laughter. Grave people turned round to stare and frown; and the youth, rather abashed by the sound of his own laugh, murmured something in an apologetic tone, and, hastily paying for his purchase, quitted the shop. There was something odd in all this. At length the truth flashed on my mind. The youth had just returned from India, and was gifted with a goodly train of unreasonable cousins, all of whom "had expected some trifle from the Land of the East." Poor fellow!—as though a hundred a year were a greater fortune in Hindoostan than in England, or self-denial a whit easier of practice on the banks of the Ganges than the banks of the Thames. At length, his means admitting of a partial satisfaction of his expectants, he had taken the only means in his power to amend his short-comings. Poor fellow!—may his pious fraud meet with a rich harvest of gratitude; and, above all, may he have wit enough to keep his own counsel!

For a few minutes the little stage that had afforded me so much interest was vacant. It was, however, shortly filled by a group well calculated to afford

"A bright atonement for the brief delay."

It consisted of a lady of some five-and-forty years, with face and figure well preserved; and which, though lacking the delicacy of youth, was redeemed by an expression scarcely less attractive. She took her seat with a quiet dignity of manner—the result, I fancied, rather of a well-balanced mind than of conventional attainment. She was accompanied by a pretty sentimental girl of about eighteen, a brisk little maiden of twelve, buoyant with delight at having escaped the school-room at an unwonted hour, and a staid-looking Young Person, probably a dependent cousin.

The party seated themselves with some regard to personal comfort, as though their business was likely to be of some duration. Their commands were, the indispensables of a lady's outfit. During this period, the young lady looked on with a kind of lofty indifference, and, when appealed to, gravely declined interference, leaving the matter to be arranged by the lady mother and the useful cousin. These affairs satisfactorily adjusted, the externals were next in demand. The smile of the child betrayed the secret—they were purchasing thetrousseauof a bride. In vain was the sentimentalist appealed to in the articles of handkerchiefs and gloves—she was cold, polite, but indifferent. This I thought strange, till I remembered she was afiancée, almost as good as a married lady already, and had therefore some dignity to sustain. At length the brilliant externals were spread before her. What young lady of eighteen could maintain the appearance of indifference? It was not in nature—not in female nature. The statue descended from its pedestal; entered quietly and gracefully into the details before it; made selections with the taste of an artist and knowledge of a woman of fashion (two qualities rarely combined); bought various trifles adapted for presents, and would have chosen as many more had not mamma held up a banker's check! The warning was understood—one and ninepence was received in change of a bill of one hundred pounds—and still they lingered. The bride elect had a purchase of her own to make. A shawl—a good, but not a fine one—was selected and paid for by herself, and presented, with a kind pressure of the hand (which would elsewhere have been a kiss), to the useful cousin. The carriage drew up, and the party retired in search of the millinery elsewhere!

Scarcely was the seat of honor vacated by the bridal party, when it was filled by another matron and her fair daughter; but no comfortable carriage set her down—no obsequious footman ushered her into Messrs. Swan and Edgar's emporium. The lady before me—for she was a lady, despite her russet gown and plain straw bonnet—had originally been as richly gifted by nature as her predecessor; but care, not time, had evidently wrought its ravages on her countenance. She looked faded and worn, took her seat with an air of embarrassment, and with a slight nervousness of manner asked to speak with "one of the principals of the establishment." During the brief interval previous to his arrival, her countenance underwent many changes, as though she were nerving herself for some painful effort. The arrival of the official, however, at once restoredher self-possession. With a calm, sweet voice, she stated her business. She said she was the wife of a naval officer of limited means about to emigrate, and wished to make rather an extensive purchase, but that, as under such circumstances quantity rather than fashion was the object of her attainment, she desired to know if she could be thus supplied on terms of advantage? The reply was in the affirmative, and, with a delicacy of feeling that did honor to the speaker, he himself superintended her commission. He felt instinctively that he was addressing a gentlewoman in the best sense of the term; as much material was paid for by a fifty pound note as would have clad a dozen people. The fearful plunge once over, the manner of the lady became more assured, her daughter looked fairer than ever, and I felt, despite the frowns of fortune, she was an enviable woman.

How much, how very much, said I to myself, are the unavoidable evils of life felt, when (as in the present instance) they fall to the lot of one gifted with the step-dame dower of acute sensibility. To such the privations of poverty are far less galling than the ever-present dread of the "proud man's contumely." To minds thus constituted, misfortune feels like crime, and nothing short of the wisdom that is from above can enable its possessor to bear the burthen unrepiningly. I looked upon the lady before me, and felt, despite the lowly attire and faded form, that of the many whose riddle I had read, she was to me the heroine of the day.

The present was forgotten; my mind had travelled to scenes beyond the Atlantic. Already had I

"Built them a bower,Where stern pride hath no power,And the fear of to-morrow their bliss could not mar."

"Built them a bower,

Where stern pride hath no power,

And the fear of to-morrow their bliss could not mar."

Should the brave lieutenant, the beau cousin of that sweet girl, accompany them? Or should the handsome curate follow after? I had not decided the matter, when I was cruelly aroused from my delightful reverie, to decide, where no difference was, between two rival satins of the purest white, and after exercising much ingenuity in discovering the favorite of my friend, I boldly declared for the opposite candidate, maintained my opinion with very becoming pertinacity, and at length gradually and graciously suffered myself to be convinced; and again in the words of Milton I admitted her choice to be

"Wisest, virtuousest, discreetest, best."

The principal business of the day being thus happily accomplished, we resolved to leave the rest till to-morrow, and returned home mutually charmed with each other. My friend had labored diligently in her vocation, to engraft her own good taste on half a dozen dowdy cousins, whilst I retired to fill another page in the note-book of a day-dreamer.

Drawing has been generally looked upon as an accomplishment, not considered as an essential—as ornamental rather than indispensable in the education of the rising generation. The pleasures and advantages of its pursuit have been almost solely enjoyed by the rich; while they have been, to a certain extent, as a sealed book to the great majority of those now designated emphatically the people. So far from looking upon a knowledge of the art of drawing as necessary merely to the artist or designer, we hold that it should form an essential part of general education; that its proper place is in the daily school; that its principles and practice should be inculcated in the daily lessons; in short, that equally with reading or writing, drawing should be deemed one of the branches of everyday tuition. We are now fully alive to the importance of cultivating what are designated "habits of taste," and the appreciation of the beautiful in art; and this chiefly—if for nothing else—from the practical value derivable therefrom in the improvement of our arts and manufactures. By a thorough understanding of the details of drawing, an accuracy of perception and a facility for marking and retaining forms and arrangements are readily available. It is, then, of importance to place within the reach of all a means by which the art in its varied branches may be easily communicated. The design of the present article is to contribute to this desideratum. We shall make our remarks as plain as possible, and as concise as the nature of the subject will admit of; and shall give unsparingly well-digested illustrations, believing that in this subject, at least, much is to be imparted to the pupil through the medium of the eye. It is to be hoped that this union of the pen with the pencil will be ofgreat utility in quickly imparting a knowledge of the subjects under discussion. Before proceeding to our more immediate purpose, we shall offer a few remarks elucidatory of the plan or bearing of the system, by which we mean to be guided in presenting the requisite knowledge to the student.

On the supposition that the pupil at the outset is utterly ignorant of the art, we commence our instructions by elucidatingFIRST PRINCIPLES. As all drawings are reducible to certain lines and figures, we hold it necessary to enable the student to draw these elementary parts with the utmost facility; leading him, by a series of examples, from the drawing of a simple line up to the most complicated sketch or object which may be offered to him; and then, by an advance to the more intricate rules, making plain the laws of vision (the foundation of perspective), so as to delineate correctly the various views in which they may be presented to his notice; the aim of the introductory lessons being to enable the student thoroughly to understand the reason why every operation is performed as directed, not merely to give him a facility for copying any determined object without reference to principles.

The student may, by dint of practice, acquire a facility for this merely mechanical style of imitation or copying; but, unless he is well grounded in fundamental principles, his operations will be vague and uncertain. It may be considered true that the better we are acquainted with the first principles of an art, its basis or foundation, so much more intimately conversant shall we be with all the intricacies of its diversified practice, and the less easily damped by its real or apparent difficulties. Students too frequently expend much time almost entirely in vain, from want of attention to this truth, trite and commonplace as it may be deemed. In acquiring the practice of this art, they are too eager to pass from the simple rules, the importance of which they think lightly of. A sure and well-laid foundation will not only give increased security to the building, but will enable the workmen to proceed with confidence to the proper carrying out of the design in its entirety; on the contrary, an ill-laid foundation only engenders distrust, and may cause total failure. We are the more inclined to offer these remarks, being aware that students at the commencement of a course of tuition are apt, in their eagerness to be able to "copy" a drawing with facility, to overlook the importance of the practice which alone enables them satisfactorily to do so. It is the wisest course of procedure to master the details of an art before proceeding to an acquaintance with its complicated examples.

We would, then, advise students to pay particular attention to the instructions in theirENTIRETYwhich we place before them; if they be truly anxious to acquire a speedy yet accurate knowledge of the art, they will assuredly find their account in doing so. Instead of vaguely wandering from example to example, as would be the case by following the converse of our plan, yet copying they know not how or why, they will be taught to draw all their combinations from simple rules and examples, we hope as simply stated; and thus will proceed, slowly it may be, but all the more surely, from easy to complicated figures, drawing the one as readily as the other, and this because they will see all their details, difficult to the uninitiated, but to them a combination of simple lines as "familiar as household words."

OUTLINE SKETCHING.

Before the apparent forms of objects can be delineated, it is absolutely necessary that thehandshall be able to follow the dictation of theeye; that is, the pupil must, by certain practice, be capable of forming the lines which constitute the outlines and other parts of the objects to be drawn; just as, before being able to write or copy written language, the hand must be taught to follow with ease and accuracy the forms which constitute the letters; so in drawing, the hand must be tutored to draw at once and unswervingly the form presented to the eye. Thus the handling of the pencil, the practice to enable the hand to draw without hesitation or uncertainty, and the accurate rapidity essential in an expert draughtsman, may be considered as part of the alphabet of the art of free pencil sketching. Nothing looks worse in a sketch than the evidences of an uncertainty in putting in the lines; just as if the hand was not to be trusted, or at least depended upon, in the formation of the parts dictated by the eye. The eye may take an accurate perception of the object to be drawn, yet its formation may be characterized by an indecision and shakiness (to use a common but apt enough expression), which, to the initiated, is painfully apparent. In beginning, then, to acquire a ready facility in free sketching, in which the hand and eye are the sole guides, the pupil should consider it well-spent time to acquire by long practice an ease and freedom in handling the pencil, chalk, or crayon with which he makes his essay.

Fig. 1.

The first lessons may be performed with a piece of pointed chalk on a large blackboard; some of our celebrated artists have not in their early days disdained the use of more primitive implements, as a piece of burnt stick and a whitewashed wall or barn door. The larger the surface on which the lessons are drawn, the better, consistent, of course, with convenience. If a blackboard cannot be obtained, a large slate should be used. Until the pupil has acquired a facility for copying simple forms, he should not use paper and pencil; as, in the event of drawing in a line wrong, it is much better at once to begin a new attempt, than try to improve the first by rubbing out the faulty parts and piecing the lines up. As the pupil must necessarily expect to make many blunders at first starting, it will save paper if he will use a board or slate, from which the erroneous lines can be at once taken out, a damp sponge being used for this purpose. By this plan any number of lines may be drawn.

Fig. 2.

Having provided themselves with the necessary materials, pupils may begin by drawing simple lines. These must be drawn without the assistance of a scale or ruler, by the hand alone. The linea, Fig. 1, will be parallel to the side of the board or slate, and perpendicular to the ends. Pupils should endeavor to make the line as regular as possible, and to run in one direction—-that is, inclined neither to the right nor left. They should next draw horizontal lines, asb, beginning at the left and going towards the right hand. In drawing lines asa, pupils should begin at the top and go towards the bottom; in a more advanced stage they should try to draw them from either end. The oblique lines,d,e, andf, should next be drawn. In all these exercises the lines should be drawn boldly, in a length at a time, not piece by piece; the hand should not rest on the board or slate while drawing, but should be free, so that the line may be drawn in at one sweep, as it were, of the arm or wrist. Irregular or "waved" lines should next be drawn, as atc; this style of line is useful in drawing broken lines, as in old ruins, trees, gates, stones, &c. &c. Pupils must not content themselves with drawing afewexamples of the lines we have given. They must practise for a long time, until they can at once with ease draw lines in any direction correctly; they ought to progress from simple to difficult, not hastily overlook the importance of mastering simple elementary lessons. With a view to assist them in arranging these, and to afford not only examples for practice, but also to prove by a gradation of attempts the connection—too apt to be overlooked by many—between simple lines and complex figures, simple parallel lines, asa,b,c, Fig. 2, should be drawn; but not only must pupils endeavor to keep each line straight from beginning to end, free from waviness and indecision, and also parallel to one another, but another object must be kept in view; that is, the distance between the lines; hitherto they have drawn lines with no reference to this, but merely to their position and direction. No mechanical aids must be allowed to measure the distances, this must be ascertained by the eye alone; and a readiness in this will be attained only by practice. The eye is like the memory; it must be kept in constant training before it will do its work. By inspecting the diagram, it will be perceived that the lines markedccare farther apart than those above. All gradations of distances should be carefully delineated; and if, after the lines are drawn, the eye should detect, or fancy it detects, any error in this respect, let the lines be at once rubbed out, and a new trial made; and let this be done again and again until the lines appear to be correctly drawn, both as regards boldness and correctness and distance apart. After drawing the horizontal lines, the student may then proceed to perpendicular lines. It may here be noted, to save future explanation, that when we use the term perpendicular,we mean it to be that applied to a line or lines which run parallel to the side of the board or slate; and horizontal, those parallel to the ends. Strictly speaking, both lines thus drawn are perpendicular to others which may be drawn parallel to their opposite sides. We, however, suppose the surface on which the pupil is drawing to be in the same position as this book while held open for reading; the sides to represent the sides, and the ends, the ends of the drawing-board or slate. Lines are horizontal when parallel with the lines of type, and perpendicular when parallel with the sides of the page; it is in this sense, then, that we shall use the terms horizontal and perpendicular. Perpendicular lines, as in Fig. 3, may next be drawn, close to one another at the sides, ataandc, and farther separate atb; they may also be drawn horizontally in the same way; this practice will be useful in more advanced stages. As the pupil will observe, the lines thus drawn give the appearance of roundness; it is, in fact, the way by which engravers obtain this effect: the pupil will find it useful in fine pencil drawing.

Fig. 3.

Fig. 4.

The drawing of diagonal or oblique lines may next be practised, as in Fig. 4. In all these examples, the board or slate should never be moved or reversed; the end forming the topmost one should always remain so. We are aware that some parties have greater facilities for drawing lines in one direction than in another; thus, the majority of beginners would draw lines sloping from right to left with much more ease than in the reverse position. We have seen cases where, in lessons like the foregoing, the lines sloping from right to left were drawn first, the board reversed, and lines to represent those sloping the reverse way drawn in the same direction exactly; the board was then turned to its original position, when the sets of lines appeared sloping different ways, while, in reality, they were done both in the same manner. This practice is not honest either to the teacher or pupil, and should at once be discarded.

Fig. 5.

The examples now given have had reference only to one peculiar position of the lines to be drawn; that is, they have all been horizontal, or all perpendicular or oblique; placed in the same relative position to one another. We now give an example where the lines go in different directions with respect to one another. Thus in drawing the linesb a,a f,d c, andc e, Fig. 5, care must be taken to have the lines perpendicular to one another; that is, supposing the linesa b,c d, to be drawn first, the horizontal linesa f,c e, must be drawn so that the points or endsf eshall be neither above nor below the ends or pointsa,c—that is,fandemust be exactly oppositeaandc. In the present case, no mechanical aid is allowable; the eye is to be the only guide. Attention should also be paid to keeping the exact distance between the linesa b,a f, andc d, andc e. The pupil must not imagine that all these modifications of lines are worthless; a little patience and reflection will suffice to show him that they are, in truth, part of the groundwork, without which he can never hope to rear the superstructure of perfect drawing. We now proceed to a little more interesting labor, where simple figures are to be drawn; these, however, being neither more nor less than the lines already given variously disposed. Draw the linesa c,b c, Fig. 6, meeting in the pointc; these form a certain angle; care should be taken to draw the lines as in the copy. Next drawthe horizontal linea b, Fig. 7, and a figure is formed which the pupil will at once recognize. Draw the horizontal linea b, Fig. 8; perpendicular to it, from the endsa b, draw the linesa c,b d, taking care that they are of the same length asa b; draw the linec d, a square is at once formed. As it is an essential feature in this form that all the sides are equal, if the pupil, after drawing it, perceives any inequality therein, he should rub it out and proceed to another attempt. Some little practice should be given to the delineation of squares, angles, &c. If a parallelogram or oblong—vulgarly called an oblong square—is wished to be drawn, it may be done by making two opposite lines shorter than the others; the lineedenotes the fourth outline of an oblong, of which the side isa b. If two oblongs be drawn, care being taken to have the inner lines the same distance within the outer ones all round, by adding a narrow line outside these, as in Fig. 9, the representation of a picture-frame is obtained; the diagonal lines at the corners, as ataandb, being put in to represent the joinings at the corners of the frame, the "mitre" joints, as they are termed. By first drawing the simple outlines, as in Fig. 10, the foundation of a door is obtained by filling in the extra lines, as in the figure.

Fig. 6.

Fig. 7.

Fig. 8.

Fig. 9.

Fig. 10.

BY FLORUS B. PLIMPTON.

Oh, lay her to rest where the myrtle can grow,Among the green grass that shall over her wave,That not only in summer, but in winter's cold snow,'Twill be green as the love that encircles her graveHer heart was a treasure of trust to a friend,A mirror reflecting warm sympathy's glow;It was patient to anger, and feared to offend,And suffered in silence what no one can know.Oh, lay her to rest! let no monument tellThat she dwells with the perfect, the good, and the just,Nor let flattery's homage emblazon her cell,But bear her in silence and tears to the dust.Oh, lay her to rest! of earth hath she knownSufficient of sorrow, sufficient of pain;She pined for the world where her spirit hath flown,Though she wept for the love that recalls her in vain.

Oh, lay her to rest where the myrtle can grow,

Among the green grass that shall over her wave,

That not only in summer, but in winter's cold snow,

'Twill be green as the love that encircles her grave

Her heart was a treasure of trust to a friend,

A mirror reflecting warm sympathy's glow;

It was patient to anger, and feared to offend,

And suffered in silence what no one can know.

Oh, lay her to rest! let no monument tellThat she dwells with the perfect, the good, and the just,Nor let flattery's homage emblazon her cell,But bear her in silence and tears to the dust.Oh, lay her to rest! of earth hath she knownSufficient of sorrow, sufficient of pain;She pined for the world where her spirit hath flown,Though she wept for the love that recalls her in vain.

Oh, lay her to rest! let no monument tell

That she dwells with the perfect, the good, and the just,

Nor let flattery's homage emblazon her cell,

But bear her in silence and tears to the dust.

Oh, lay her to rest! of earth hath she known

Sufficient of sorrow, sufficient of pain;

She pined for the world where her spirit hath flown,

Though she wept for the love that recalls her in vain.

BY MRS. S. J. HALE.

CHAPTER I.

"To me, what 's greatness when content is wanting?Or wealth, raked up together with much care,To be kept with more, when the heart pines,In being dispossessed of what it longs forBeyond the Indian mines?"Massinger.

"To me, what 's greatness when content is wanting?

Or wealth, raked up together with much care,

To be kept with more, when the heart pines,

In being dispossessed of what it longs for

Beyond the Indian mines?"

Massinger.

Arthur Lloyd was about twenty-two when, by his father's death, he came into possession of property worth, at least, a million. His father died somewhat suddenly, and the young man, who was then in Paris, partly on business for his father, partly to see the world, was summoned home by the cares which such an inheritance naturally involved. There are few scenes that more deeply try the spirit of a man than a return to a desolate home. The mind can support the separations which the common current of human affairs renders inevitable without much suffering. One may even dwell in the midst of strangers, and not feel lonely, if the heart has a resting-place elsewhere. But when we open the solitary apartments, where everything we see calls up associations of dear friends we can hope to meet no more forever, a blight falls on our path of life, and we know that whatever of happiness may await us, our enjoyments can never be as in days past.

It was late on Saturday night when Arthur Lloyd reached the elegant mansion in —— street, New York, of which he was now the sole proprietor. The domestics had been expecting his arrival, and every arrangement had been made, as far as they knew his wishes and tastes, to gratify him. Wealth will command attention, but in this case there was more devotion to the man than his money; for Arthur was beloved, and affection needs no prompter.

"How sorry I am that this prettymignonetteis not in blossom!" said Mrs. Ruth, the housekeeper; "you remember, Lydia, how young Mr. Lloyd liked themignonette."

"Yes, I remember it well; but I always thought it was because Miss Ellen called it her flower, and he wanted to please the pretty little girl."

"That might make some difference, Lydia, for he has such a kind heart. And now I think of it, I wonder if Miss Ellen knows he is expected home so soon."

"She does," said Lydia, "for I told her yesterday, but she didn't seem to care. And I do not think she likes him."

"She is melancholy, poor child! and who can blame her when she has lost her best friend?"

"Why, Mrs. Ruth, cannot young Mr. Lloyd be as good a friend as his father? I am sure he will be as kind."

"Yes, no doubt of that. But, Lydia, it will not do for a young man to be so kind to a pretty girl; Miss Ellen is now quite a young lady; the world would talk about it."

"I wonder who would dare to speak a word against Mr. Arthur?" said Lydia, reddening with indignation.

When a man's household are his friends, he hardly need care for the frowns of the world; and even the gloom of sorrow was relieved as Arthur shook hands with the old and favored domestics, whose familiar faces glowed with that honest, hearty welcome which no parasite can counterfeit. But when he retired to his chamber, the silence and solitude brought the memory of his lost friends sadly and deeply on his mind. He felt alone in the world. What did it avail that he had wealth to purchase all which earth calls pleasures, when the disposition to enjoy them could not be purchased? The brevity of life seemed written on every object around. All these things had belonged to his parents. And now they had no part in all that was done beneath the sun.

"And yet," thought Arthur, "who knows that their interest in earthly things is annihilated by death? Why may not a good man receive much of his heavenly felicity from witnessing the growth of the good seed he has planted in living hearts? Why may he not be gladdened, even when singing the song of his own redemption, by seeing that the plans he had devised for the improvement of his fellow-beings are in progress, carried forward by agents whom God has raised up to do their share of the labor in fitting this world for the reign of the just? If—if my good parents are ever permitted to look down upon the son they have trained so carefully, God grant they may find he has not departed from the way their precepts and example have alike made plain before him."

There is no opiate, excepting a good conscience,like a good resolution. And Arthur slept soundly that night, and passed the Sabbath in the tranquillity which a spirit resigned to the will of heaven, and yet resolved to do all that earth demands of a rational being, cannot but enjoy. But one thought would intrude to harass him. His father's death had occurred while Arthur was far away. He had not heard the parting counsel, the dying benediction. Perhaps his father had, in his last moments, thought of some important suggestion or warning for his son, but there was no ear tuned by affection to vibrate at the trembling sound, and catch and interpret the whispered and broken sentence, and so the pale lips were mute.

With such impressions on his mind, Arthur was prepared to read eagerly a letter, directed to himself, which he found deposited in his father's desk, purposely, as it appeared, to meet the notice of his son, before beginning the inspection of those papers business would render necessary. I shall give the entire letter, because the character of the father must be understood in order to comprehend the influences which had modelled that of the son.

It is on the very rich and the very poor that domestic example and instruction operate with the most sure and abiding effect. We find the children of parents in the middling class, removed from the temptation of arrogance on the one hand, and despair on the other, are those who admire and endeavor to imitate the models of goodness and greatness history furnishes, or the world presents. Such may become what is termed self-educated; but this process the very rich think unnecessary, and the very poor impossible. Therefore, when the early training of these two classes has inclined them to evil, they rarely recover themselves from the contamination. But the letter; it ran thus:—

My dear and only Son: I informed you in my last letter that my health was declining. I felt even then, though I did not express it, that I should never see you again in this world; still I did not anticipate the rapid progress which my disease has since made. However, I have much cause for thankfulness. I endure little pain, and my mind was never more calm and collected. I have resolved, therefore, to arrange some of my thoughts and reflections for your perusal, knowing that you will prize them as the last expression of your father's love.I have often endeavored, in my hours of health, to bring the final scene of departure from this world vividly before my mind. I have thought I had succeeded. But the near approach to the borders of eternity wonderfully alters the appearance of all earthly things. I often find myself saying, "What shadows we are, and shadows we pursue!"Shadows indeed! But it would not be well that the veil should be removed from the eyes of those whose journey of life is, apparently, long before them. The duties which prepare us for heaven must be done on earth. It is this moral responsibility which makes the importance of every action we perform. Considered in this light, the example of every rational being is invested with a mighty power for good or evil; and that good is productive of happiness, and evil of misery, we need not the award of the last judgment to convince us. The history of the world, our observation, our conscience, and our reason, all prove that to deal justly, to love mercy, and to walk humbly before God is the perfection of man's felicity. The great error lies in mistaking our true interest. We separate earth from heaven by an impassable gulf, and in our labors for the body think the spirit's work has no connection. This false philosophy makes us selfish while we are young, and superstitious when we are old, and of consequence unhappy through life. But these things may be remedied. If the wise man spoke truth, there is away in which we should go, and we may be sotrainedas to walk in it when we areyoung, and prefer it whenweareold.It has, my son, since you were given me, been the great aim of my life to educate you in such habits and principles as I believe will insure your present and final felicity. When I speak of what I have done, it is with a humble acknowledgment of the mercy and goodness of God who has supported and blessed me; and I would impress it on your heart that Heaven's blessing will descend on every one who seeks it with patience and with prayer. But I did not always have these views. I was not educated as you have been, and it is for the purpose of explaining to you the motives which have governed my conduct towards you that I shall enter into a recital of some incidents, which you may know as facts, but of their consequences you are not aware.My father, as you have often heard, left a handsome fortune to each of his ten children; but as he acquired his property late in life by lucky speculations, we were none of us subjected to the temptations of luxury in our childhood. We were all educated to be industrious and prudent, and an uncommon share of these virtues had, as the eldest, been inculcated on me. So that when, in addition to my well-won thrift,the share I received from my father's estate made me a rich man, I felt no disposition to enjoy it in any other mode than to increase it. I did not mean to drudge always in the service of mammon; but I thought I must wait till I was somewhat advanced, before I could retire and live honorably without exertion; but, in the mean time, I would heap pleasures on my family.Your mother was a lovely, amiable woman, whom I had married from affection, and raised to affluence; and she thought, out of gratitude to me, she must be happy as I chose. The only path of felicity before us seemed that of fashion; and so we plunged into all the gayeties of our gay city. And for eight or ten years we lived a life of constant bustle, excitement, show, and apparent mirth. Yet, Arthur, I declare to you I was never satisfied with myself, never contented during the whole time. I do not say I was wretched—that would be too strong an expression—but I was restless. The excitements of pleasure stimulate; they never satisfy. And then there was a constant succession of disagreements, rivalries, and slanders, arising from trifling things; but those whose great business it was to regulate fashionable society contrived to make great matters out of these molehills. Your mother was a sweet-tempered woman, forbearing and forgiving, as a true woman should be; but, nevertheless, she used sometimes to be involved in these bickerings, and then what scenes of accusation and explanation must be endured before the matter could be finally settled, and harmony restored! and what precious time was wasted on questions of etiquette which, after all, made no individual better, wiser, or happier.We lived thus nearly ten years, and might have dreamed away our lives in this round of trifling, had not Heaven awakened us by a stroke, severe indeed, but I trust salutary. We had, as you know, Arthur, three children, a son and two daughters. Fashion had never absorbed our souls so as to overpower natural affection. We did love our children most dearly, and every advantage money could purchase had been lavished upon them. They were fair flowers, but, owing to the delicacy of their rearing, very frail. One after the other sickened; the croup was fatal to our little Mary; the measles and the scarlet fever destroyed the others. In six months they were all at peace.Never, never can the feeling of desolation I then experienced be effaced from my heart. A house of mourning had no attraction for our fashionable friends. They pitied, but deserted us; the thought of our wealth only made us more miserable; the splendor which surrounded, seemed to mock us."For what purpose," I frequently asked myself, "for what purpose had been all my labor? I might heap up, but a stranger would inherit." My wife was more tranquil, but then her disposition was to be resigned. Still she yielded, I saw, to the gloom of grief, and I feared the consequences. But her mind was differently employed from what I had expected.She asked me one day if there was no method in which I could employ my wealth to benefit others.I inquired what she meant."I am weary," said she, "of this pomp of wealth. It is nothingness; or worse, it is a snare. I feel that our children have been taken from the temptations of the world, which we were drawing around them. There is surely, my husband, some object more worthy the time and hearts of Christians than this pursuit of pleasure."These observations may seem only the commonplace remarks of a saddened spirit; but to me they were words fitly spoken. They opened a communion of sentiment between us, such as we had never before enjoyed. I had often felt the vanity of our fashionable life, but thought my wife was happier for the display, and that it would be cruel for me to deprive her of amusements I could so well afford, and which she so gracefully adorned. And I did not see what better use to make of my riches. But the spell of the world was broken when we began to reason together of its folly, and strengthen each other to resist its enticements.Man issovereignof the world; but a virtuous woman is the crown of her husband; and this proverb was doubtless intended to teach us that the highest excellences of the human character, in either sex, are attainable only by the aid of each other.I could fill a volume with our conversations on these subjects; but the result is the most important; we resolved to make the aim of doing good the governing principle of our lives and conduct.And these resolutions, by the blessing of God, we were enabled, in a measure, to fulfil. Our fashionable friends ascribed the alteration in our habits and manners to melancholy for the loss of our children; but it was a course entered on with the firm conviction of its superior advantages both of improvement and happiness. We realized more than we anticipated. There is a delight in the exertion of our benevolent faculties which seems nearly allied to the joy of theangles in heaven—for these are ministering spirits. And this felicity the rich may command.In a few years after we had entered on our new mode of life, you, my son, were bestowed to crown our blessings. We felt that the precious trust was a trial of our faith. To have an heir to our fortune was a temptation to selfishness; to have an heir to our name was a cord to draw us again into the vortex of the world. But we did not look back. We resolved to train you to enjoy active habits and benevolent pleasures. It was for this purpose I used to take you, when a little child, with me to visit the poor, permitting you to give the money you had earned of me by feats of strength or dexterity to those you thought needed it. And when you grew larger you recollect, probably, how steadily you would work in the shop, with your little tools, finishing tiny boxes, &c., that your mother or I paid you for at stated prices, which money you appropriated to the support of the poor families in —— Street. By these means we gave you a motive for exertions which improved your health and made you happy, and we gave you, also, an opportunity of taking thought for others, and enjoying the pleasure of relieving the destitute. The love for our fellow-beings, like all other feelings, must be formed by the wish, and improved by the habit of doing them good. We never paid you for mental efforts or moral virtues, because we thought these should find their reward in the pleasure improvement communicated to your own heart and mind, aided by our caresses and commendations which testified the pleasure your conduct gave us.Thus you see, my son, that in all the restrictions we imposed, and indulgences we permitted, it was our grand object to make you a good, intelligent, useful, and happy man. We endeavored to make wisdom's ways those of pleasantness to you; and I feel confident that the course your parents have marked will be followed by you so far as your conscience and reason shall approve.You will find yourself what the world calls rich. To human calculation, had I rigidly sought my own interest in all my business, I should have left you a much larger fortune. But who knows that the blessing which has crowned all my enterprises would not have been withdrawn had such selfish policy governed me? I thank my Saviour that I was inspired with a wish to serve my fellow-men. And my greatest regret now arises from the reflection that with such means I have done so little good. Endeavor, my son, to exceed your father in righteousness. The earth is the Lord's; consider yourself only as the steward over the portion he has assigned you. Enter into business, not to add to your stores of wealth, but as the best means of making that wealth useful to the cause of human improvement. And let the honorable acquisition and the generous distribution go on together. The man, whose heart of marble must be smitten by the rod of death before a stream of charity can gush forth, deserves little respect from the living.To give what we can no longer enjoyis not charity; that heavenly virtue is only practised by those whoenjoy what they give.I do not undervalue charitable bequests. These may be of great public utility; and, when they harmonize with the example of the testators, they deserve grateful acknowledgment and everlasting remembrance. But I cannot commend as a model the character of a man who has been exclusively devoted all his life to amassing property, because he acquires the means of leaving a large charitable donation at his decease. This seems to be making virtue a penance rather than a pleasure.I wish you, my son, to frame for yourself a system of conduct, founded on the rational as well as religious principle of doing to others as you would they should do to you; and then your life as well as death will be a public blessing. Another great advantage will be, you can hold on your consistent, Christian course to the end. You need never retire from business in order to enjoy yourself. But I must shorten what I would wish to say were my own strength greater, or my confidence in your character less firm. There is one other subject to which I must refer.Your dear mother, as you well know, adopted Ellen Gray, and intended to educate the girl in every respect like a child. After your mother's death, I placed the child under the care of Mrs. C., where she has ever since remained. You know but little of Ellen, for you entered college soon after she came to our house, and have been mostly absent since; but when you return it will be necessary you should, as her guardian and the only friend she has a claim upon, become acquainted with her. She is now at the winning age of seventeen, and very lovely in person and disposition; one that I should be proud to callmy daughter.Her mother was the dear friend of your mother, and that circumstance, which first induced us to take the orphan, joined with her own sweetness and affectionate gratitude, has deeply endeared her to me. And now, when I am gone, she will feel her loneliness, for she has no blood relation in the world. You, Arthur, will have a delicate part to act as the son of herbenefactor, and the person whom in the singleness and simplicity of her pure heart she will think she has a right to confide in, to preserve that just measure of kindness and dignity which will satisfy her you are her friend, and make the world understand you intend never to be more. I have secured her an independence, and provided that she shall remain, for the present, with Mrs. C. May the Father of the orphan guard her and bless her! She loved your mother, Arthur, and for that you must be to her a brother.And now, my son, farewell! I feel my hour has nearly come; and I am ready and willing to depart. My last days have been, by the blessing of the Almighty, made my best. I havelivedto the last, and been able to accomplish most of the plans which lay nearest my heart. Do not grieve that I am at rest; but arouse all your energies for the work that is before you. In a country and age distinguished by such mighty privileges, it requires warm hearts, and strong minds, and liberal hands, to devise, and dare, and do. May God preserve, strengthen, and bless you!Your affectionate father,J. LLOYD.

I have often endeavored, in my hours of health, to bring the final scene of departure from this world vividly before my mind. I have thought I had succeeded. But the near approach to the borders of eternity wonderfully alters the appearance of all earthly things. I often find myself saying, "What shadows we are, and shadows we pursue!"

Shadows indeed! But it would not be well that the veil should be removed from the eyes of those whose journey of life is, apparently, long before them. The duties which prepare us for heaven must be done on earth. It is this moral responsibility which makes the importance of every action we perform. Considered in this light, the example of every rational being is invested with a mighty power for good or evil; and that good is productive of happiness, and evil of misery, we need not the award of the last judgment to convince us. The history of the world, our observation, our conscience, and our reason, all prove that to deal justly, to love mercy, and to walk humbly before God is the perfection of man's felicity. The great error lies in mistaking our true interest. We separate earth from heaven by an impassable gulf, and in our labors for the body think the spirit's work has no connection. This false philosophy makes us selfish while we are young, and superstitious when we are old, and of consequence unhappy through life. But these things may be remedied. If the wise man spoke truth, there is away in which we should go, and we may be sotrainedas to walk in it when we areyoung, and prefer it whenweareold.

It has, my son, since you were given me, been the great aim of my life to educate you in such habits and principles as I believe will insure your present and final felicity. When I speak of what I have done, it is with a humble acknowledgment of the mercy and goodness of God who has supported and blessed me; and I would impress it on your heart that Heaven's blessing will descend on every one who seeks it with patience and with prayer. But I did not always have these views. I was not educated as you have been, and it is for the purpose of explaining to you the motives which have governed my conduct towards you that I shall enter into a recital of some incidents, which you may know as facts, but of their consequences you are not aware.

My father, as you have often heard, left a handsome fortune to each of his ten children; but as he acquired his property late in life by lucky speculations, we were none of us subjected to the temptations of luxury in our childhood. We were all educated to be industrious and prudent, and an uncommon share of these virtues had, as the eldest, been inculcated on me. So that when, in addition to my well-won thrift,the share I received from my father's estate made me a rich man, I felt no disposition to enjoy it in any other mode than to increase it. I did not mean to drudge always in the service of mammon; but I thought I must wait till I was somewhat advanced, before I could retire and live honorably without exertion; but, in the mean time, I would heap pleasures on my family.

Your mother was a lovely, amiable woman, whom I had married from affection, and raised to affluence; and she thought, out of gratitude to me, she must be happy as I chose. The only path of felicity before us seemed that of fashion; and so we plunged into all the gayeties of our gay city. And for eight or ten years we lived a life of constant bustle, excitement, show, and apparent mirth. Yet, Arthur, I declare to you I was never satisfied with myself, never contented during the whole time. I do not say I was wretched—that would be too strong an expression—but I was restless. The excitements of pleasure stimulate; they never satisfy. And then there was a constant succession of disagreements, rivalries, and slanders, arising from trifling things; but those whose great business it was to regulate fashionable society contrived to make great matters out of these molehills. Your mother was a sweet-tempered woman, forbearing and forgiving, as a true woman should be; but, nevertheless, she used sometimes to be involved in these bickerings, and then what scenes of accusation and explanation must be endured before the matter could be finally settled, and harmony restored! and what precious time was wasted on questions of etiquette which, after all, made no individual better, wiser, or happier.

We lived thus nearly ten years, and might have dreamed away our lives in this round of trifling, had not Heaven awakened us by a stroke, severe indeed, but I trust salutary. We had, as you know, Arthur, three children, a son and two daughters. Fashion had never absorbed our souls so as to overpower natural affection. We did love our children most dearly, and every advantage money could purchase had been lavished upon them. They were fair flowers, but, owing to the delicacy of their rearing, very frail. One after the other sickened; the croup was fatal to our little Mary; the measles and the scarlet fever destroyed the others. In six months they were all at peace.

Never, never can the feeling of desolation I then experienced be effaced from my heart. A house of mourning had no attraction for our fashionable friends. They pitied, but deserted us; the thought of our wealth only made us more miserable; the splendor which surrounded, seemed to mock us.

"For what purpose," I frequently asked myself, "for what purpose had been all my labor? I might heap up, but a stranger would inherit." My wife was more tranquil, but then her disposition was to be resigned. Still she yielded, I saw, to the gloom of grief, and I feared the consequences. But her mind was differently employed from what I had expected.

She asked me one day if there was no method in which I could employ my wealth to benefit others.

I inquired what she meant.

"I am weary," said she, "of this pomp of wealth. It is nothingness; or worse, it is a snare. I feel that our children have been taken from the temptations of the world, which we were drawing around them. There is surely, my husband, some object more worthy the time and hearts of Christians than this pursuit of pleasure."

These observations may seem only the commonplace remarks of a saddened spirit; but to me they were words fitly spoken. They opened a communion of sentiment between us, such as we had never before enjoyed. I had often felt the vanity of our fashionable life, but thought my wife was happier for the display, and that it would be cruel for me to deprive her of amusements I could so well afford, and which she so gracefully adorned. And I did not see what better use to make of my riches. But the spell of the world was broken when we began to reason together of its folly, and strengthen each other to resist its enticements.

Man issovereignof the world; but a virtuous woman is the crown of her husband; and this proverb was doubtless intended to teach us that the highest excellences of the human character, in either sex, are attainable only by the aid of each other.

I could fill a volume with our conversations on these subjects; but the result is the most important; we resolved to make the aim of doing good the governing principle of our lives and conduct.

And these resolutions, by the blessing of God, we were enabled, in a measure, to fulfil. Our fashionable friends ascribed the alteration in our habits and manners to melancholy for the loss of our children; but it was a course entered on with the firm conviction of its superior advantages both of improvement and happiness. We realized more than we anticipated. There is a delight in the exertion of our benevolent faculties which seems nearly allied to the joy of theangles in heaven—for these are ministering spirits. And this felicity the rich may command.

In a few years after we had entered on our new mode of life, you, my son, were bestowed to crown our blessings. We felt that the precious trust was a trial of our faith. To have an heir to our fortune was a temptation to selfishness; to have an heir to our name was a cord to draw us again into the vortex of the world. But we did not look back. We resolved to train you to enjoy active habits and benevolent pleasures. It was for this purpose I used to take you, when a little child, with me to visit the poor, permitting you to give the money you had earned of me by feats of strength or dexterity to those you thought needed it. And when you grew larger you recollect, probably, how steadily you would work in the shop, with your little tools, finishing tiny boxes, &c., that your mother or I paid you for at stated prices, which money you appropriated to the support of the poor families in —— Street. By these means we gave you a motive for exertions which improved your health and made you happy, and we gave you, also, an opportunity of taking thought for others, and enjoying the pleasure of relieving the destitute. The love for our fellow-beings, like all other feelings, must be formed by the wish, and improved by the habit of doing them good. We never paid you for mental efforts or moral virtues, because we thought these should find their reward in the pleasure improvement communicated to your own heart and mind, aided by our caresses and commendations which testified the pleasure your conduct gave us.

Thus you see, my son, that in all the restrictions we imposed, and indulgences we permitted, it was our grand object to make you a good, intelligent, useful, and happy man. We endeavored to make wisdom's ways those of pleasantness to you; and I feel confident that the course your parents have marked will be followed by you so far as your conscience and reason shall approve.

You will find yourself what the world calls rich. To human calculation, had I rigidly sought my own interest in all my business, I should have left you a much larger fortune. But who knows that the blessing which has crowned all my enterprises would not have been withdrawn had such selfish policy governed me? I thank my Saviour that I was inspired with a wish to serve my fellow-men. And my greatest regret now arises from the reflection that with such means I have done so little good. Endeavor, my son, to exceed your father in righteousness. The earth is the Lord's; consider yourself only as the steward over the portion he has assigned you. Enter into business, not to add to your stores of wealth, but as the best means of making that wealth useful to the cause of human improvement. And let the honorable acquisition and the generous distribution go on together. The man, whose heart of marble must be smitten by the rod of death before a stream of charity can gush forth, deserves little respect from the living.To give what we can no longer enjoyis not charity; that heavenly virtue is only practised by those whoenjoy what they give.

I do not undervalue charitable bequests. These may be of great public utility; and, when they harmonize with the example of the testators, they deserve grateful acknowledgment and everlasting remembrance. But I cannot commend as a model the character of a man who has been exclusively devoted all his life to amassing property, because he acquires the means of leaving a large charitable donation at his decease. This seems to be making virtue a penance rather than a pleasure.

I wish you, my son, to frame for yourself a system of conduct, founded on the rational as well as religious principle of doing to others as you would they should do to you; and then your life as well as death will be a public blessing. Another great advantage will be, you can hold on your consistent, Christian course to the end. You need never retire from business in order to enjoy yourself. But I must shorten what I would wish to say were my own strength greater, or my confidence in your character less firm. There is one other subject to which I must refer.

Your dear mother, as you well know, adopted Ellen Gray, and intended to educate the girl in every respect like a child. After your mother's death, I placed the child under the care of Mrs. C., where she has ever since remained. You know but little of Ellen, for you entered college soon after she came to our house, and have been mostly absent since; but when you return it will be necessary you should, as her guardian and the only friend she has a claim upon, become acquainted with her. She is now at the winning age of seventeen, and very lovely in person and disposition; one that I should be proud to callmy daughter.

Her mother was the dear friend of your mother, and that circumstance, which first induced us to take the orphan, joined with her own sweetness and affectionate gratitude, has deeply endeared her to me. And now, when I am gone, she will feel her loneliness, for she has no blood relation in the world. You, Arthur, will have a delicate part to act as the son of herbenefactor, and the person whom in the singleness and simplicity of her pure heart she will think she has a right to confide in, to preserve that just measure of kindness and dignity which will satisfy her you are her friend, and make the world understand you intend never to be more. I have secured her an independence, and provided that she shall remain, for the present, with Mrs. C. May the Father of the orphan guard her and bless her! She loved your mother, Arthur, and for that you must be to her a brother.

And now, my son, farewell! I feel my hour has nearly come; and I am ready and willing to depart. My last days have been, by the blessing of the Almighty, made my best. I havelivedto the last, and been able to accomplish most of the plans which lay nearest my heart. Do not grieve that I am at rest; but arouse all your energies for the work that is before you. In a country and age distinguished by such mighty privileges, it requires warm hearts, and strong minds, and liberal hands, to devise, and dare, and do. May God preserve, strengthen, and bless you!

Your affectionate father,J. LLOYD.

I am glad, thought Arthur, as he wiped away his tears, after reading the letter for the third time in the course of the day—I am glad my father has left me perfectly free respecting Ellen. Had he expressed a wish that I should marry her, it would have been to me sacred as the laws of the Medes and Persians. Yet I might have felt it a fetter on my free will; and so capricious is fancy, I should not, probably, have loved the girl as I now hope to love her, that is, if she will love me—as a brother.

CHAPTER II.

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