Bozzaris, with the storied brave, We tell thy doom without a sigh; LESSON CIV. Reflections of a Belle.-N. E. WEEKLY REVIEW. I'm weary of the crowded ball; I'm weary of the mirth, I speak in very bitterness, for I have deeply felt 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, Away! I will not fetter thus the spirit God hath given, I will not bow a tameless heart to fashion's iron rule, LESSON CV. Childhood.-N. M. MAGAZINE. He must be incorrigibly unamiable, who is not a little improved by becoming a father. Some there are, however, who know not how to appreciate the blessings with which Providence has filled their quiver; who receive with coldness a son's greeting or a daughter's kiss; who have principle enough properly to feed, and clothe, and educate their children, to labor for their support and provision, but possess not the affection which turns duty into delight; who are surrounded with blossoms, but know not the art of extracting their exquisite sweets. How different is the effect of true parental love, where nature, duty, habit and feeling combine to constitute an affection the purest, the deepest and the strongest, the most enduring, the least exacting of any of which the human heart is capable! The selfish bachelor may shudder, when he thinks of the consequences of a family; he may picture to himself littered rooms and injured furniture, imagine the noise and confusion, the expense and the cares, from which he is luckily free; 'hug himself in his solitude, and pity his unfortunate neighbor, who has half a dozen squalling children to torment and impoverish him. The unfortunate neighbor, however, returns the compliment with interest, sighs over the loneliness of the wealthy bachelor, and can never see, without feelings of regret, rooms where no stray plaything tells of the occasional presence of a child, gardens where no tiny foot-mark reminds him of his treasures at home. He has listened to his heart, and learned from it a precious secret; he knows how to convert noise into harmony, expense into self-gratification, and trouble into amusement; and he reaps, in one day's intercourse with his family, a harvest of love and enjoyment rich enough to repay years of toil and care. He listens eagerly on his threshold for the boisterous greeting he is sure to receive, feels refreshed by the mere pattering sound of the darlings' feet, as they hurry to receive his kiss, and cures, by a noisy game at romps, the weariness and head-ache which he gained in his intercourse with men. But it is not only to their parents and near connexions, that children are interesting and delightful; they are general favorites, and their caresses are slighted by none but the strange, the affected, or the morose. I have, indeed, heard a fine lady declare that she preferred a puppy or a kitten to a child; and I wondered she had not sense enough to conceal her want of womanly feeling; and I know another fair simpleton, who considers it beneath her to notice those from whom no intellectual improvement can be derived, forgetting that we have hearts to cultivate as well as heads. But these are extraordinary exceptions to general rules, as uncommon and disgusting as a beard on a lady's chin, or a pipe in her mouth. Even men may condescend to sport with children without fear of contempt; and for those who like to shelter themselves under authority, and cannot venture to be wise and happy their own way, we have plenty of splendid examples, ancient and modern, living and dead, to adduce, which may sanction a love for these pigmy play things. Statesmen have romped with them, orators told them stories, conquerors submitted to their blows, judges, divines and philosophers listened to their prattle, and joined in their sports. Spoiled children are, however, excepted from this partiality; every one joins in visiting the faults of others upon their heads, and hating these unfortunate victims of their parents' folly. They must be bribed to good behavior, like many of their elders; they insist upon fingering your watch, and spoiling what they do not understand, like numbers of the patrons of literature and the arts; they will sometimes cry for the moon, as absurdly as Alexander for more worlds; and when they are angry, they have no mercy for cups and saucers. They are as unreasonable, impatient, selfish, ex acting and whimsical, as grown-up men and women, and only want the varnish of politeness and mask of hypocrisy to complete the likeness. Another description of children, deservedly unpopular, is the over-educated and super-excellent, who despise dolls and drums, and, ready only for instruction, have no wish for a holiday, no fancy for a fairy tale. They appear to have a natural taste for pedantry and precision; their wisdom never indulges in a nap, at least before company; they have learned the Pestalozzi system, and weary you with questions; they require you to prove every thing you assert, and are always on the watch to detect you in a verbal inaccuracy, or a slight mistake in a date. Per But, notwithstanding the infinite pains taken to spoil nature's lovely works, there is a principle of resistance, which allows of only partial success; and numbers of sweet children exist, to delight, and soothe, and divert us, when we are wearied or fretted by grown-up people, and to justify all that has been said or written of the charms of childhood. haps only women, their natural nurses and faithful protectresses, can thoroughly appreciate the attractions of the first few months of human existence. The recumbent position, the fragile limbs, the lethargic tastes, and ungrateful indifference to notice, of a very young infant, render it uninteresting to most gentlemen, except its father; and he is generally afraid to touch it, for fear of breaking its neck. But even in this state, mothers, grandmothers, aunts and nurses assure you, that strong indications of sense and genius may be discerned in the little animal; and I have known a clatter of surprise and joy excited through a whole family, and matter afforded for twenty long letters and innumerable animated conversations, by some marvellous demonstration of intellect in a creature in long clothes, who could not hold its head straight. But as soon as the baby has acquired firmness and liveliness; as soon as it smiles at a familiar face, and stares at a strange one; as soon as it employs its hands and eyes in constant expeditions of discovery, and crows, and leaps, from the excess of animal contentment,-it becomes an object of indefinable and powerful interest, to which all the sympathies of our na ture attach us, an object at once of curiosity and tenderness, interesting as it is in its helplessness and innocence, doubly interesting from its prospects and destiny; interesting to a philosopher, doubly interesting to a Christian. Who has not occasionally, when fondling an infant, felt oppressed by the weight of mystery which hangs over its fate? Perhaps we hold in our arms an angel, kept but for a few months from the heaven in which it is to spend the rest of an immortal existence; perhaps we see the germ of all that is hideous and hateful in our nature. Thus looked and thus sported, thus calmly slumbered and sweetly smiled, the monsters of our race in their days of infancy. Where are the marks to distinguish a Nero from a Trajan, an Abel from a Cain? But it is not in this spirit that it is either wise or happy to contemplate any thing. Better is it when we behold the energy and animation of young children, their warm affections, their ready, unsuspicious confidence, their wild, unwearied glee, their mirth so easily excited, their love so easily won-to enjoy, unrestrained, the pleasantness of life's morning; that morning so bright and joyous, which seems to "justify the ways of God to men," and to teach us that Nature intended us to be happy, and usually gains her end till we are old enough to discover how we may defeat it. LESSON CVI. The same, concluded. LITTLE girls are my favorites. Boys, though sufficiently interesting and amusing, are apt to be infected, as soon as they assume the manly garb, with a little of that masculine violence and obstinacy, which, when they grow up, they will call spirit and firmness; and they lose, earlier in life, that docility, tenderness, and ignorance of evil, which are their sisters' peculiar charms. In all the range of visible creation, there is no object to me so attractive and delightful, as a lovely, intelligent, gentle little girl of eight or nine years old. This is the point at which may be witnessed the greatest improve |