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Sigourney! How often has the happy spirit flitted, in thought, from twig to twig, to the bird-like song of Miss Gould! Thanks to the spirit of the age, to the influence of Christian principle, and to woman's own emancipated intellect, the list of such names is rapidly swelling. The future happiness and prosperity of our race will depend, in no small degree, upon the impulse given to it by cultivated female intellect and heart.

The interests of education will hereafter be committed chiefly to the hands of woman. In her maternal character, this has always been more or less true. But the field of her influence has not yet been fully disclosed. The eye has not reached its boundaries. It will still be widening, until the mother's teachings, and woman's affectionate, persevering, welldirected efforts, shall become, in the hands of God, a mighty agent in the complete conversion of the world. For this task her mental and social qualities peculiarly qualify her. Her discernment and acuteness fit her to guide the mental traveler; her patience and endurance prepare her to bear with his waywardness; and her activity of mind and her affectionate disposition have formed her for that companionship with youth, without which all teaching is but a heavy task to the forming mind.

But still more important will be her influence upon the heart. This is her peculiar home. It is also the only fountain of happiness. It is made so by the wise and immutable laws of our being. God has formed us to be happy only in loving and being loved, in the exercise of kindness and sympathy, in the interchange of good feeling and affectionate remembrance, and in the cultivation of all those sister virtues, which form the bright chain of love. It is woman's favored lot to twine the shining braid, and make strong the tie that binds man to his fellow man, and reaches even to his Goil above.

Her active sympathy must insinuate itself into the selfishiness of man's nature, root out the worldliness of his heart, pacify the angry spirit, shame the turbulence of passion, and point the troubled soul to the true source of happiness on earth, and to an eternal home with the God of peace and love. Evil habit and impure feeling will flee abashed from her presence. Not that her influence will take the place of religious motive

and power, but will greatly assist their operation. As she was the first to disobey, so will she be the first to lead man back to obedience and communion with his God.

What must be the character of thật class, who are to exert so great a power over our race? It is needless to say, that there must be high purpose, firm resolve, educated mind, and holy hearts. To accomplish this, her high destiny, woman must be educated. She must have a complete and perfect training, a thorough and well adapted physical, intellectual, and religious education.



My mother's voice! how often creep

Its accents o'er my lonely hours !
Like healing, sent on wings of sleep,

Or dew to the unconscious flowers.
I can forget her melting prayer,

While leaping pulses madly fly;
But in the still, unbroken air,

Her gentle tones come stealing by,
And years, and sin, and manhood, flee,
And leave me at my mother's knee.
The book of nature, and the print

Of beauty on the whispering sea,
Give ay to me some lineament

Of what I have been taught to be.
My heart is harder, and perhaps

My manliness hath drank up tears,
And there's a mildew in the lapse

Of a few miserable years;
But nature's book is even yet
With all my mother's lessons writ.
I have been out, at eventide,

Beneath a moonlit sky of spring,
When earth was garnished like a bride,

And night had on her silver wing,
When bursting leaves, and diamond grass,

And waters, leaping to the light,
And all that make the pulses pass

With wilder fleetness, thronged the night,

When all was beauty, then have I,

With friends on whom my love is flung, Like myrrh on winds of Araby,

Gazed up where evening's lamp is hung; And, when the beauteous spirit there 7

Flung over me its golden chain, My mother's voice came on the air,

Like the light dropping of the rain, Showered on me from some silver star:

Then, as on childhood's bended knee,
I've pour'd her low and fervent prayer,

That our eternity might be,
To rise in heaven, like stars at night,
And tread a living path of light.
I have been on the dewy hills,

When night was stealing from the dawn
And mist was on the waking rills,

And tints were delicately drawn
In the gray east; when birds were waking,

With a slow murmur in the trees;
And melody by fits was breaking

Upon the whisper of the breeze; And this, when I was forth, perchance, As a worn reveler from the dance;

And when the sun sprang gloriously
And freely up, and hill and river

Were catching, upon wave and tree,
The subtile arrows from his quiver;
I say, a voice has thrilled me then,

Heard on the still and rushing light,
Or creeping from the silent glen,

Like words from the departing night, Hath stricken me, and I have pressed

On the wet grass my fevered brow, And, pouring forth the earliest,

First prayer, with which I learned to bow, Have felt my mother's spirit rush

Upon me, as in by-past years, And, yielding to the blessed gush

Of my ungovernable tears, Have risen up-the gay, the wild As humble as a very child.



FEMALE HEROISM. | WHEN the wyranny and bigotry of the last James drove his subjects to take up arms against him, one of the most formidable enemies to his dangerous usurpations was Sir John Cochrane, (ancestor of the present Earl of Dundonald,) who was one of the most prominent actors in Argyle's rebellion. For ages, a destructive doom seemed to have hung over the house of Campbell, enveloping in a common ruin all who united their fortunes to the cause of its chieftains. The same doom · encompassed Şir John Cochrane. He was surrounded by the king's troops. Long, deadly, and desperate was his resistance ; but, at length, overpowered by numbers, he was taken prisoner, tried, and condemned to die upon a scaffold. He had but a few days to live, and his jailer only waited the arrival of his death-warrant, to lead him forth to execution. His family and his friends had visited him in prison, and exchanged with him the last, the long, the heart-yearning farewell. But there was one who came not with the rest to receive his blessing; one

who was the pride of his eyes and of his house; even Ellen, , the daughter of his love.

Twilight was casting a deeper gloom over the gratings of his prison-house, he was mourning for a last look of his favorite child, and his head was pressed against the cold, damp walls of his cell, to cool the feverish pulsations that shot through it like stings of fire, when the door of his apartment turned slowly on its unwilling hinges, and his keeper entered, followed by a young and beautiful lady. Her person was tall and commanding; her eyes dark, bright, and tearless; but their very brightness spoke of sorrow, of sorrow too deep to be wept away ; and her raven tresses were parted over an open brow, clear and pure as the polished marble. The unhappy captive raised his head as they entered.

“My child! my own Ellen !” he exclaimed, and she fell upon his bosom. “My father! my dear father !” sobbed the miserable maiden, and she dashed away the tear that accompanied the words. “ Your interview must be short, very short," said the jailer, as he turned and left them for a few minutes together. “God help and comfort thee, my daughter!”

added Sir John, while he held her to his breast, and printed a kiss upon her brow; “ I had feared that I should die without bestowing my blessing on the head of my own child, and that stung me more than death; but thou art come, my love, thou art come! and the last blessing of thy wretched father— " “ Nay, forbear! forbear!” she exclaimed, not thy last blessing ! not thy last! My father shall not die !”

"Be calm, be calm, my child,” returned he. “Would to Heaven that I could comfort thee, my own! my own! But there is no hope; within three days, and thou and all my little ones will be- ” Fatherless, he would have said, but the word died on his tongue. « Three days?" repeated she, raising her head from his breast, but eagerly pressing his hand, “ three days ? then there is hope ! my father shall live! Is not my grandfather the friend of Father Petre, the confessor and the master of the king ? From him he shall beg the life of his son, and my father shall not die.” “Nay, nay, my Ellen,” returned he, “ be not deceived; there is no hope; already my doom is sealed; already the king has sealed the order for my execution, and the messenger of death is now on the way.”

" Yet my father shall not--shall not die!she repeated emphatically, and clasping her hands together. “Heaven speed a daughter's purpose !" she exclaimed, and turning to her father, said calmly, “we part now, but we shall meet again.” “What would my child ?" inquired he, eagerly, and gazing anxiously, on her face. “Ask not now," she replied, “ my father, ask not now, but pray for me, and bless membut not with thy last blessing." He again pressed her to his heart, and wept upon her neck. In a few minutes the jailer entered, and they were torn from the arms of each other.

On the evening of the second day after the interview we have mentioned, a wayfaring man crossed the drawbridge at Berwick from the north, and proceeding along Marygate, sat down to rest upon a bench by the door of an hostelry, on the south side of the street, nearly fronting where what was called the “Main-guard" then stood. He did not enter the inn, for it was above his apparent condition, being that which Oliver Cromwell had made his head-quarters a few years before, and where, at a somewhat earlier period, James the Sixth of Scot

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