and enlivened from every scene of amusement, though they could have stayed away from it with perfect ease and con tentment.

LESSON XXXVII.

Obstinacy.-MRS. CHAPONE.

SULLENNESS, or obstinacy, is, perhaps, a worse fault of temper than either passion or peevishness; and, if indulged, may end in the most fatal extremes of stubborn melancholy, malice and revenge. The resentment which, instead of being expressed, is nursed in secret, and continually aggravated by the imagination, will, in time, become the ruling passion; and then how horrible must be his case, whose kind and pleasurable affections are all swallowed up by the tormenting as well as detestable sentiments of hatred and revenge!

Brood not over a resentment, which, perhaps, was at first ill-grounded, and which is undoubtedly heightened by a heated imagination. But, when you have first subdued your own temper, so as to be able to speak calmly, reasonably and kindly, then expostulate with the person you suppose to be in fault; hear what she has to say; and either reconcile yourself to her, or quiet your mind under the injury by the principle of Christian charity.

But if it should appear, that you yourself have been most to blame, or if you have been in an error, acknowledge it fairly and handsomely; if you feel any reluctance to do so, be certain that it arises from pride, to conquer which is an absolute duty. "A soft answer turneth away wrath," and a generous confession oftentimes more than atones for the fault which requires it. Truth and justice demand, that we should acknowledge conviction as soon as we feel it, and not maintain an erroneous opinion, or justify a wrong conduct, merely from the false shame of confessing our past ignorance. A false shame it undoubtedly is, and as impolitic as unjust, since your error is already seen by those who endeavor to set you right; but your conviction, and the candor and generosi

ty of owning it freely, may still be an honor to you, and would greatly recommend you to the person with whom you disputed.

Nothing is more endearing than such a confession; and you will find such a satisfaction in your own consciousness, and in the renewed tenderness and esteem you will gain from the person concerned, that your task, for the future, will be made more easy, and your reluctance to be convinced will, on every occasion, grow less and less.

The love of truth, and a real desire of improvement, ought to be the only motives of argumentation; and, where these are sincere, no difficulty can be made of embracing the truth, as soon as it is perceived. But, in fact, people oftener dispute from vanity and pride, which make it a grievous mortification to allow that we are the wiser for what we have heard from another. To receive advice, reproof and instruction, properly, is the surest sign of a sincere and humble heart, and shows a greatness of mind, which commands our respect and reverence, while it appears so willingly to yield to us the superiority. *

I know not whether that strange caprice, that inequality of taste and behavior, so commonly attributed to our sex, may be properly called a fault of temper; as it seems not to be connected with, or arising from, our animal frame, but to be rather the fruit of our own self-indulgence, degenerating, by degrees, into such a wantonness of will as knows not how to please itself.

When, instead of regulating our actions by reason and principle, we suffer ourselves to be guided by every slight and momentary impulse of inclination, we shall, doubtless, appear so variable and inconstant, that nobody can guess, by our behavior to-day, what may be expected from us to-morrow; nor can we ourselves tell whether what we delighted in a week ago, will now afford us the least degree of pleasure. It is in vain for others to attempt to please us; we cannot please ourselves, though all we could wish for waits our choice. Thus does a capricious woman become "sick of herself, through very selfishness" and, when this is the case, it is easy to judge how sick others must be of her, and how contemptible and disgusting she must appear. This wretched state is the usual consequence of power and flattery

LESSON XXXVIII.

Evening Prayer at a Girl's School.-MRS. HEMANS.

HUSH! 'tis a holy hour; the quiet room

Seems like a temple, while yon soft lamp sheds A faint and starry radiance, through the gloom

And the sweet stillness, down on bright young heads, With all their clustering locks, untouched by care, And bowed, as flowers are bowed with night, in prayer.

Gaze on,-'tis lovely! childhood's lip and cheek
Mantling beneath its earnest brow of thought;
Gaze-yet what seest thou in those fair, and meek,
And fragile things, as but for sunshine wrought?
Thou seest what grief must nurture for the sky,
What death must fashion for eternity.

Oh! joyous creatures, that will sink to rest,
Lightly, when those pure orisons are done,
As birds, with slumber's honey-dew oppressed,
Midst the dim folded leaves, at set of sun,—
Lift up your hearts! though yet no sorrow lies
Dark in the summer-heaven of those clear eyes;—

Though fresh within your breasts the untroubled springs
Of hope make melody where'er ye tread;
And o'er your sleep bright shadows, from the wings
Of spirits visiting but youth, be spread;
Yet in those flute-like voices, mingling low,
Is woman's tenderness-how soon her wo!

Her lot is on you-silent tears to weep,

And patient smiles to wear through suffering's hour, And sumless riches, from Affection's deep, To pour on broken reeds--a wasted shower! And to make idols, and to find them clay, And to bewail that worship-therefore pray.

Her lot is on you—to be found, untired,
Watching the stars out by the bed of pain,
With a pale cheek, and yet a brow inspired,
And a true heart of hope, though hope be vain ;—-
Meekly to bear with wrong, to cheer decay,
And, oh! to love through all things-therefore pray.

And take the thought of this calm vesper time,
With its low murmuring sounds and silvery light,
On through the dark days fading from their prime,
As a sweet dew to keep your souls from blight.
Earth will forsake-oh! happy to have given
The unbroken heart's first fragrance unto Heaven!

LESSON XXXIX.

Seasons of Prayer.-H. WARE, JR.

To prayer! to prayer!—for the morning breaks,
And earth in her Maker's smile awakes.
His light is on all, below and above-
The light of gladness, and life, and love.
Oh! then, on the breath of this early air,
Send upward the incense of grateful prayer.

To prayer!-for the glorious sun is gone,
And the gathering darkness of night comes on.
Like a curtain from God's kind hand it flows,
To shade the couch where his children repose.
Then kneel, while the watching stars are bright,
And give your last thoughts to the Guardian of night.

To prayer!-for the day that God has blest
Comes tranquilly on with its welcome rest.
It speaks of creation's early bloom,
It speaks of the Prince who burst the tomb.
Then summon the spirit's exalted powers,
And devote to Heaven the hallowed hours.

There are smiles and tears in the mother's eyes,
For her new-born infant beside her lies.
Oh! hour of bliss! when the heart o'erflows
With rapture a mother only knows :—

Let it gush forth in words of fervent prayer;
Let it swell up to Heaven for her precious care.

There are smiles and tears in that gathering band,
Where the heart is pledged with the trembling hand.
What trying thoughts in her bosom swell,
As the bride bids parents and home farewell!
Kneel down by the side of the tearful fair,
And strengthen the perilous hour with prayer.

Kncel down by the dying sinner's side,
And pray for his soul, through him who died.
Large drops of anguish are thick on his brow-
Oh! what are earth and its pleasures now?
And what shall assuage his dark despair,
But the penitent cry of humble prayer?

Kneel down at the couch of departing faith,
And hear the last words the believer saith.
He has bidden adieu to his earthly friends;
There is peace in his eye, that upward bends;
There is peace in his calm, confiding air;
For his last thoughts are God's,-his last words, prayer.

The voice of prayer at the sable bier!—

A voice to sustain, to soothe, and to cheer.
It commends the spirit to God who gave;
It lifts the thoughts from the cold, dark grave;
It points to the glory where he shall reign,
Who whispered, "Thy brother shall rise again."

The voice of prayer in the world of bliss!-
But gladder, purer than rose from this.
The ransomed shout to their glorious King,
Where no sorrow shades the soul as they sing;