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LOVING UNWORTHILY.

The greatest misery which can befall a woman is to love a bad man. The true essence of her love is the total abnegation of her own will; the immersion of all self-dependence in the self of the beloved object. Woe to the heart if it then falls out with the better qualities of mankind! Losing her faith in the moral worth of the man she loves a woman loses all the happiness of love. As long as the better element is not entirely lost in him, if it is, perhaps, the rough power of a passion, whatever be its name, that ruined him, if the brute has perhaps gained in him the momentary ascendency over the man, and drags him to the depth of destruction, or even into the slime of low vulgarity; in this case, it seems almost as if, beside the lost esteem, there might still exist in the tenderest heart an affection for the ruined object. It is only that the flame does not shine any more! no more with magic brightness illumines the world around it. That it can only, like a deceptive heap of secretly glowing embers, consume the heart which harbours it against its will. But fatal to every loving weakness in a woman's breast is creeping treachery; calculating, deluding craftiness, when she has once recognised them under their mask. In the cold hands of low egotism the heart turns to ice. Love is dead. We are cured, but are we happy?

GRIEF AND GUILT.

If it is true that constant change and the charm of novelty, the ceaseless rolling on of events around us, the attraction of the beautiful which we discover in a new, strange world, can at last strengthen and heal the most deeply wounded heart, as long as it is grief which has enfeebled it; this is not so when guilt has weighed it down: the sting of conscience cannot be withdrawn with all the exertion of our will: we cannot escape that pursuing monitress even in the most impetuous whirl of changing events and experiences!

THE SOUL'S POWER.

For not the actions themselves are what gives worth to man or takes it from him; what should gain him our approbation or draw upon him our contempt. Only when we have learned to know well the way which the soul has taken before it arrived at its aim, the deed; only when we are aware what outward powers have influenced the formation of the inward resolution; what seed education and early powerful circumstances have strown in each human heart, and in what degree Providence has made it susceptible for such seed; then only may we judge, admire, and approve, or condemn.

S.

SCACERNI-PROSPERI, ANGELA, Or Ferrara, is descended from a family in which learning and learned men abounded. Carefully educated at home by her father, she was, in her

early you th, well versed in general history, geography, geometry, and the French and Latin languages, and also displayed a turn for the fine arts. Her parents removed from Ferrara and resided for some time in Tuscany, where Angela had still greater opportunities for mental improvement, of which she took advantage. She was received into the Academy Clementina of Fine Arts in Bologna, and having returned with her father to her native country, was enrolled among the members of the Academy Ariostea. Then, having become the wife of the Count Michel Fausto Prosperi, and the mother of several children, she devoted herself entirely to her domestic duties. She is universally beloved by all who know her, and her country willingly grants to her that veneration and respect which belong to her merits. She is an easy, harmonious, and graceful writer. Her works consist of many lyric poems, songs, epigrams, and sonnets, written with great sweetness and learning, and a touching Elegy on Guido Villa, formerly President of the hospital of St. James and Anna in Fer

rara.

SCACRATI-ROMAGNLI, ORINTIA,

WAS born at Cesena, and, from her girlhood, has been distinguished for intelligence. In youth her beauty was remarkable; this, added to her highly cultivated mind, made her society sought for in the most brilliant circles. She was endowed with great penetration into character, tact and discretion. Circumstances led her to a country life for some years; she there devoted herself to literature, and wrote several dramatic pieces. She a 'terwards established herself at Rome, where she enjoyed the admiration of all, and the esteem of a large circle of friends. To foreigners she exercised a generous hospitality, and her name is known to many illustrious travellers of other nation). Her works, in four volumes, were published in 1810.

umes.

SCHOPPE, AMALIA VON,

WHOSE maiden name was Weise, is a German novel-writer who has distinguished herself for the number of her works, comprising about 150 volWe know little of her private history except from her own pen. In 1838 she published "Erinnerungen aus meinem Leben," which is said to contain many incidents of her own line, and pourtraying her own character under that of her heroine, Clementine. "If so," says a British critic, "she presents herself to the public as a woman of no ordinary character; intelligent, but unimpassioned; of a frank and energetic disposition, and devoid of prudery and false sentiment." Her first work was published in 1829, and as she has written at the rate of six or seven volumes per year, it is not strange that the same critic should observe that "Madame von Schoppe is a woman of talent, though her works are hastily planned and imperfectly finished." Her historical tales show extensive reading; among these, the collection entitled "Myosotis," published in 1841, attracted considerable attention. A son of Madame von Schoppe is also an author.

SEDGWICK, CATHARINE MARIA,

periodicals; and in 1836 she published her popular story of "The Poor Rich Man and the Rich Was born in Stockbridge, Massachusetts. Her Poor Man;" in 1837 " Live and Let Live;" in father, the Honorable Theodore Sedgwick, a citi- 1838 "Means and Ends, or Self-Training;" and zen of high reputation, was at one time Speaker afterwards, "A Love Token for Children," and of the House of Representatives, afterwards sena- "Stories for Young Persons." In 1840 she pubtor in Congress, and, at the time of his death, lished her "Letters from Abroad to Kindred at ⚫ filled the office of judge of the supreme court of Home," in two volumes; and not long after a his state. Miss Sedgwick's first book, the "New"Life of Lucretia M. Davidson." She has also England Tale," appeared in 1822. It was originally been a frequent contributor to annuals and periwritten for a religious tract; but as it gradually odicals. For the Lady's Book she wrote her expanded into a work too large for such a purpose, thrilling novel, "Wilton Harvey." In the same she was prevailed on, with much difficulty, by her Magazine was published "A Huguenot Family," friends to give it to the world in its present form. "Scenes from Life in Town," "Fanny McDermot," &c. These will appear in the new edition of Miss Sedgwick's works now in course of publication. A writer in the National Portrait Gallery thus truly estimates the characteristics of her genius.

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It was received with such favour, that in 1827 the authoress was induced to publish her second work; a novel in two volumes, entitled "Redwood." This work met with great success, and was republished in England and translated into French and Italian. One of the characters in the book, Miss Debby Lennox, bears the stamp both of originality and truthfulness; and if it stood alone, would prove not only the extensive observation, but the great powers of invention possessed by its delineator. Miss Sedgwick's next work was Hope Leslie, or Early Times in America;" a novel in two volumes, published in 1827. This has continued to be her most popular tale; and, indeed, no novel written by an American, except, perhaps, the early works of Cooper, ever met with such success. The character of the heroine is a lovely embodiment of womanhood with all its ideal perfections, and yet with a few natural weaknesses which only render her the more lifelike and interesting. The Indian girl, Magawisca, seems to be more a being of the imagination; too high-souled and lofty, as well as too refined to be a true type of the race from which she sprung. In 1830, "Clarence, a Tale of our own Times," appeared; in 1832 "Le Bossu," one of the Tales of Glauber Spa, and in 1835, "The Linwoods, or Sixty Years Since, in America." During the same year she collected in one volume the shorter tales which had appeared in different

"It is evident that Miss Sedgwick's mind inclines towards cheerful views of life. There seems to be implanted in her heart a love of goodness and of the beautiful, which turns as naturally towards serenity and joy, as flowers lean towards the sun. It is manifest that though possessing great refinement herself, her sympathies are not confined to a coterie or class, but that they are called forth by every manifestation of virtue, even in the most humble circumstances, and that she looks with kind regard upon those gleams of a better nature which occasionally break forth amid prevailing clouds and darkness.

"She affects no indifference to the accidental advantages of condition. It would be impossible to diminish her interest in the powers and fascinations of genius and imagination, and she thinks it no duty to attempt it. But her highest favour and affection are reserved for that enduring virtue which is perfected through much trial and tribulation, and which needs no earthly witness or outward reward. She delights to see the "signet of hope upon the brow of infancy;" but she remembers with more satisfaction the last smile of unfaltering faith and love, which even death itself spares for a season.

"It is impossible to speak of her works without a particular regard to their moral and religious character. We know no writer of the class to which she belongs who has done more to inculcate just religious sentiments. They are never obtruded, nor are they ever suppressed. It is not the religion of observances, nor of professions, nor of articles of faith, but of the heart and life. It always comes forth; not as something said or done from a sense of necessity or duty, but as part of the character, and inseparable from its strength, as well as from its grace and beauty. It is a. union of that faith which works by love with that charity which never faileth.

"There is another characteristic of Miss Sedgwick's writings which should not be overlooked. We allude to their great good sense and practical discretion; the notableness which they evince and recommend. This is so true, that we recollect having heard a zealous utilitarian declare, after

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reading one of her works, that political economy might be taught to the greatest advantage through the medium of romances."

Her style is peculiarly good; equally free from stiffness and negligence, it is more distinguished by delicacy and grace than strength, and the purity of her English may afford a model to some of our learned scholars.

Miss Sedgwick is evidently an ardent admirer of nature, and excels in describing natural scenery. She has also great powers both of invention and imagination, and delineates character with wonderful skill.

Her children are, to a certain point, beautifully and naturally described; but there are in the mind of this writer two antagonistic principles-the usefully practical, and the sentimentally romantic. This is by no means uncommon with delicate and refined minds; they like to deviate into regions beyond the every-day world, yet sense and circumstances recall them to common truths; hence arise little discrepancies which mar in some degree the naturalness of the delineations. Miss Edgeworth is almost the only writer of children's books who has entirely avoided this fault; but it is difficult to arrive at this excellence, and it is no disparagement to Miss Sedgwick to say she has not attained it. With every abatement that can be made, Miss Sedgwick remains among the front rank of those earnest and sincere writers whose talents have been employed for the purpose of doing good, and whose works have obtained a great and deserved popularity. Her books have, almost without exception, been reprinted and favourably received in England.

From "Redweod."

THE OPINIONS OF A YANKEE SPINSTER.

“Well,” said Debby, "contentment is a good thing and a rare; but I guess it dwells most where people would least expect to find it. There's Ellen Bruce, she has had troubles that would fret some people to death, and yet I have seldom seen her with a cloudy face."

"How do you account for that, Miss Debby? I am curious to get at this secret of happiness, for I have been in great straits sometimes for the want of it."

“Why, I'll tell you. Now, Ellen, I don't mean to praise you"--and she looked at Ellen while an expression of affection spread over her roughfeatured face. "The truth is, Ellen has been so busy about making other people happy, that she has no time to think of herself; instead of grieving about her own troubles, she has tried to lessen other people's; instead of talking about her own feelings and thinking about them, you would not know she had any, if you did not see she always knew just how other people felt."

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was to forget yourself and care for the happiness of others."

"You are right-I believe you are right," said Miss Campbell, with animation; "though I have practised very little after your golden rule."

"The more's the pity, young woman; for depend on it, it's the safe rule and the sure; I have scriptur' warrant for it, beside my own observation; which, as you may judge, has not been small. It's a strange thing, this happiness; it puts me in mind of an old Indian I have heard of, who said to a boy who was begging him for a bow and arrow, the more you say bow and arrow, the more I won't make it.' There's poor Mr. Redwood; as far as I can find out, he has had nothing all his life to do but to go up and down and to and fro upon the earth, in search of happiness; look at his face it is as sorrowful as a tombstone, and just makes you ponder upon what has been, and what might have been; and his kickshaw of a daughter-why I, Debby Lennox, a lone old woman that I am, would not change places with her -would not give up my peaceable feelings for hers, for all the gold in the king's coffers: and for the most part, since I have taken a peep into what's called the world, I have seen little to envy among the great and the gay, the rich and handsome."

"And yet, Miss Debby," said Grace, "the world looks upon these as the privileged classes." "Ah! the world is foolish and stupid besides." "Well, Miss Deborah, I have unbounded confidence in your wisdom, but since my lot is cast in this same evil world, I should be sorry to think there was no good in it."

"No good, Miss! that was what I did not and would not say. There is good in everything and everywhere, if we have but eyes to see it and hearts to confess it. There is some pure gold mixed with all this glitter; some here that seem to have as pure hearts and just minds as if they had never stood in the dazzling sunshine of fortune."

"You mean to say, Deborah," said Ellen, "that contentment is a modest, prudent spirit; and that for the most part she avoids the high places of the earth, where the sun burns and the tempests beat, and leads her favourites along quiet vales and to sequestered fountains.”

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THE TRAINING OF A BELLE.

Mrs. Manning's notions of education were not peculiar. In her view, the few accomplishments quite indispensable to a young lady, were dancing, music, and French. To attain them she used all the arts of persuasion and bribery; she procured a French governess, who was a monument of patience; she employed a succession of teachers, that much-enduring order, who bore with all longsuffering, the young lady's indolence, caprices, and tyranny. At the age of seven, the grand

mother's vanity no longer brooking delay, the child was produced at balls and routes, where her singular beauty attracted every eye, and her dexterous, graceful management of her little person, already disciplined to the rules of Vestris, called forth loud applauses. The child and grandmother were alike bewildered with the incense that was offered to the infant belle and future heiress; and alike unconscious of the sidelong looks of contempt and whispered sneers which their pride and folly provoked. At the age of fourteen Miss Redwood, according to the universal phrase to express the debût of a young lady, was "brought out;" that is, entered the lists as a candidate for the admiration of fashion and the pretensions of lovers. At eighteen, the period which has been selected to introduce her to our readers,- she was the idol of the fashionable world, and as completely mistress of all its arts and mysteries as a veteran belle of five-and-twenty.

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From "The Poor Rich Man and the Rich Poor Man." MR. AIKIN'S PHILOSOPHY.

"I must say, I think there is a useless and senseless outcry against rich men. It comes from the ignorant, unobserving, and unreflecting. We must remember that in our country there are no fixed classes: the poor family of this generation is the rich family of the next; and more than that, the poor of to-day are the rich of to-morrow, and the rich of to-day the poor of to-morrow. The prizes are open to all, and they fall without favour. Our rich people, too, are, many of them, among the very best persons in society. I know some such: there is Mr. Beckwith; he has ten talents, and a faithful steward is he; he and his whole family are an honour and blessing to their country; doing in every way all the good they can. Such a rich man as Morris Finley I despise, or rather pity, as much as you or any man can; but pray do not let us envy him his riches; they are something quite independent of himself; and can a man be really poorer than he is a poor mind, a poor heart that is the poverty to shun. As to rich men being at their ease, Miner, every acquisition brings a new want a new responsibility."

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"But, Aikin Aikin; now, candidly, would you not be willing to take their wants and responsibil ities with their purses?"

"I cannot say, Miner; money is the represent ative of power-the means of extended usefulness. and we all have dreams of the wonderful good we should do if we had these means in our hands. But this I do know; that, till we are conscious o employing, and employing well, the means we have, we ought not to crave more. But let us look a the matter in the right point of view. We are a children of one family; all are to live here a few years; some in one station, and some in another. We are all of us, from the highest to the lowest, labourers in our Father's field; and as we sow, so shall we reap. If we labour rightly, those words of truth and immense import will sound in our ears like a promise, and not like a threat. We shal work at our posts like faithful children, not like tasked slaves; and shall be sure of the riches that perish not in the using. As to all other riches, is not worth our while to covet or envy them, except in some rare cases, we have all, in this country, gifts and means enough."

THE POOR RICH MAN'S BLESSINGS.

I had a good education. I do not mean as to learning; that is only one part of it; I was taught to use my faculties. But, first and best of all, early learned to seek the favour of God and the approval of conscience. I have always had a cheerful home, a clean room to come to, clear children, and a nice wife. Your mother has performed her duties, great and small: as to the small, she never has failed a day since we were married to put on her t'other gown at evening, and a clean cap with a riband bow, most always of blue, the colour she knows I like best. Her trade has helped us through many a hard-rubbing day; and it has given me peace of mind; for I know if I were taken from you, she could and would support you without running to any widows' societies or assistant societies.

HIS ADVICE TO HIS CHILDREN.

Observe for yourselves, my children; and don't trust to what others tell you. If you make good use of your bodily eyes and the eyes of your mind, you will see that Providence has bound the rich and the poor by one chain. Their interests are the same; the prosperity of one is the prosperity of all. The fountains are with the rich, but they are no better than a stagnant pool till they flow in streams to the labouring people. The enterprise and success of the merchant give us employment and rich rewards for our labour. We are dependent on them, but they are quite as dependent on us. If there were none of these hateful rich people, who, think you, would build hospitals and provide asylums for orphans, and for the deaf and dumb, and the blind?

HIS REMARKS ON MANNERS.

Manners, for the most part, are only the signs of qualities. If a child has a kind and gentle dis position, he will have the outward sign; if he have

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an affair as regarded myself. I could not figure to myself that romantic woes or wonderful events would ever be my lot; but I was not confined to my own identity, and I could people the hours with creations far more interesting to me at that age than my own sensations."

Here is the key of the true womanly character, disinterestedness. This young girl did not weave the garland or create the Utopia for herself, but for others. The mind of a boy works differently; he places himself in the centre of his creations, and wins the laurel for his own brow.

In 1815 Miss Wolstonecraft was married to Percy Bysshe Shelley, whose name at once moves the admiration, the pity, and the censure of the world. That Mrs. Shelley loved her husband with a truth and devotion seldom exceeded, has been proven by her whole career. Their married life

was eminently happy, and the fidelity with which she devoted her fine genius to the elucidation of his writings and the defence of his character, is the best eulogium that has been offered to his memory. Mrs. Shelley thus sketches the first year of her married life and her husband's influ

ence:

"My husband was from the first very anxious that I should prove myself worthy of my parentage, and enrol myself on the page of fame. He was for ever inciting me to obtain literary reputa

In the introduction to one of her novels, she tion, which even on my own part I cared for then, herself says of her youth:

though since I have become infinitely indifferent to it. At this time he desired that I should write, not so much with the idea that I could produce any thing worthy of notice, but that he might himself judge how far I possessed the promise of better things hereafter. Still I did nothing. Travelling and the cares of a family occupied my time; and study, in the way of reading or improving my ideas in communication with his far more cultivated mind, was all of literary employment that engaged my attention."

In the summer of 1816, Lord Byron and Mr. and Mrs. Shelley were residing on the banks of the Lake of Geneva. They were in habits of daily intercourse, and when the weather did not allow of their boating excursions on the lake, the Shelleys often passed their evenings with Byron at his house at Diodati. "During a week of rain at this time," says Mr. Moore, "having amused themselves with reading German ghost-stories, they agreed at last to write something in imitation of them. You and I,' said Lord Byron to Mrs. Shelley, will publish ours together.' He then began his tale of the Vampire; and having the whole arranged in his head, repeated to them a sketch of the story one evening, but from the nar

"It is not singular that, as the daughter of two persons of distinguised literary celebrity, I should very early in life have thought of writing. As a child I scribbled; and my favourite pastime during the hours given me for recreation, was to write stories.' Still, I had a dearer pleasure than this, which was the formation of castles in the air; the indulging in waking dreams; the following up trains of thought, which had for their subject the formation of a succession of imaginary incidents. My dreams were at once more fantastic and agreeable than my writings. In the latter I was a close imitator; rather doing as others had done, than putting down the suggestions of my own mind. What I wrote was intended at least for one other eye-my childhood's companion and friend; but my dreams were all my own; I accounted for them to nobody; they were my refuge when annoyed, my dearest pleasure when free. I lived principally in the country as a girl, and passed a considerable time in Scotland. I made occasional visits to the more picturesque parts, but my habitual residence was on the blank and dreary northern shores of the Tay, near Dundee. Blank and dreary on retrospection I call them; they were not so to me then. They were the eyry of free-rative being in prose, made but little progress in dom, and the pleasant region where unheeded I could commune with the creatures of my fancy. I wrote then, but in a most commonplace style. It was beneath the trees of the grounds belonging to our house, or on the bleak sides of the woodless mountains near, that my true compositions, the airy flights of my imagination, were born and "Frankenstein was published in 1817, and was fostered. I did not make myself the heroine of instantly recognised as worthy of Godwin's daughmy tales. Life appeared to me too commonplace | ter and Shelley's wife, and as, in fact, possessing

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filling up his outline. The most memorable result, indeed, of their story-telling compact, was Mrs. Shelley's wild and powerful romance of Frankenstein, or the Modern Prometheus;' one of those original conceptions that take hold of the public mind at once and for ever."

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