Even when age is seen united with infirmity of purpose, or decay of those organs, through which the mind has been accustomed to act, it is entitled to tenderness from those who must themselves tread the same path of withered and wearied energies, unless they go down to an earlier grave. The aged are soothed by the marked respect of the young, and the tribute is graceful to those who render it.

The whole letter on the subject of religion, is in the author's best manner. Indeed we know of no pen more happy in portraying the loveliness of piety. To show how indelibly the name of the Redeemer clings to the memory of the Christian, even when extreme age has obliterated every thing else, she introduces the following affecting narrative.

Among those who serve at God's altar, was one, who had faithfully discharged through a long life, the holy duties of his vocation. He lingered after his contemporaries had gone to rest. By the fireside of his only son, he sat in peaceful dignity, and the children of another generation loved his silver locks. In that quiet recess, memory was lulled to sleep. The names of even familiar things, and the images held most indelible, faded as a dream. Still he lived on

cheered by that reverence which is due to the "hoary head, when found in the way of righteousness." At length, his vigor failed. The staff could no longer support his tottering steps, and nature tended to her last repose.

It was attempted by the repetition of his own name, to awaken the torpor of memory. But he replied, "I know not the man." Mention was made of his only son, the idol of his early years, whose filial gratitude had taken every form and office of affection: "I have no son." The tender epithet by which he had designated his favorite grandchild was repeated: "I have no little darling." Among the group of friends who surrounded his bed, there was one who spoke of the Redeemer of man. The aged suddenly raised himself upon his pillow. His eye kindled, as when from the pulpit, in the vigor of his days, he had addressed an audience whom he loved. "I remember that Saviour. Yes I do remember the Lord Jesus Christ."

The following appeal to the youth of her sex in favor of early piety, urged home by the author with maternal affection, cannot fail of doing good. The oftener it is in print and the more widely it is diffused, the better.

And now, cherished and lovely beings, just commencing to ascend the hill of life, looking around you, like timid and beautiful strangers, for the greenest paths, or the most approved guides on your devious pilgrimage, if there was a science capable of imparting VOL. IX. No. 26.

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unbounded happiness, and of continuing that happiness, when age disqualifies the mind for other researches a science which surmounts that grave, where all earthly glory lays down its laurel, and fixes a firm grasp on heaven, when earth recedes, how must she be pitied who neglects its acquisition. And there is such a science. And there is peril in disregarding it. Truly impressive were the words of Queen Elizabeth's secretary of state, to the bishops who surrounded his death-bed: "Ah! how great a pity, that we men should not feel for what end we are born into this world, till we are just on the point of quitting it."

If there were a book, that astonished both by its wisdom and its antiquity that delighted alike by history, oratory and poetry-in theory and illustration, equally simple and sublime, yielding to the comprehension of the unlearned, yet revealing to the critic, the finger of Deity—a book which the wise have pronounced superior to all besides, and the learned retained for daily study when all others were dismissed - how anxious should we be to obtain it, how impatient to be made acquainted with its contents. And there is such a book. And for want of the knowledge of it, how many regions of the earth, are but the "habitations of cruelty."- "More wisdom, comfort, and pleasure, are to be found in retiring and turning your heart from the world, and reading with the good Spirit of God, his sacred Word, than in all the courts and all the favors of princes," said one, who had enjoyed the pomp and distinction of a court.

If there were a day, when it was lawful to turn from all labor, vanity and care-to take home to the heart, only those images which make it better-and to associate in spirit not only with the good of all ages, but with cherubim and seraphim around the throne

should we not hail its approach amid the weariness of life? And there is such a day. The pious greet it, as a foretaste of heaven's rest. The wise have pronounced its influence propitious, even upon their temporal concerns. "I have found," says Sir Matthew Hale, "by strict and diligent observation, that a due observance of the duties of the Sabbath, hath ever brought with it a blessing on the rest of my time, and the week so begun hath been prosperous unto me."

If there was a friend, whose sympathies never slumbered, whose judgment never erred, whose power had no limit -a friend acquainted with all our wants, and able to supply them—with our secret sorrows, and ready to relieve them should we not be urgent to seek his presence, and grateful to express our desires? And there is such a friend- such a mode of access? "Eighty-and-six years, have I served him," said the venerable Polycarp, "and he hath never done me aught but good."-"All things forsake me, except my God, my duty, and my prayers," said the noble statesman, whose long life comprehended the reign of five sovereigns of England, and whose career had been dignified by the honors which are coveted among men.

The excellency of that wisdom which cometh down from above, compared with the treasures of human learning, is well enforced in the ensuing extract.

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We cannot but feel that we are beings of a two-fold nature that our journey to the tomb is short, and the existence beyond it immortal. Is there any attainment that we may reserve, when we lay down the body? We know, that of the gold which perishes, we may take none with us, when dust returneth to dust. Of the treasures which the mind accumulates, may we carry aught with us, to that bourne, whence no traveller returns?

We may have been delighted with the studies of nature, and penetrated into those caverns, where she perfects her chemistry in secret. Composing and decomposing-changing matter into name. less forms-pursuing the subtilest essences through the air, and resolving even that air into its original elements-what will be the gain, when we pass from material to immaterial, and this great museum and laboratory, the time-worn earth, shall dissolve in its own central fires?

We may have become adepts in the physiology of man-scanning the mechanism of the eye, till light itself unfolded its invisible laws —of the ear, till its most hidden reticulations confessed their mysterious agency with sound of the heart, till that citadel of life revealed its hermit-policy: but will these researches be available, in a state of being which "eye hath not seen, nor ear heard — nor the heart of man conceived?"

Will he who fathoms the waters, and computes their pressure and power, have need of this skill," where there is no more sea?" Will the mathematician exercise the lore, by which he measured the heavens—or the astronomer, the science which discovered the stars, when called to go beyond their light?

Those who have penetrated most deeply into the intellectual structure of man, lifted the curtain from the birthplace of thought, traced the springs of action to their fountain, and thrown the veiled and shrinking motive into the crucible, will perceive the object of their study, taking a new form, entering disembodied an unknown state of existence, and receiving powers adapted to its laws, and modes of intercourse.

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We have no proof that the sciences, to which years of labor have been devoted, will survive the tomb. But the impressions they have made the dispositions they have nurtured - the good or evil, they have helped to stamp upon the soul will with it into eternity. The adoring awe, the deep humility, inspired by the study of the planets and their laws- the love of truth, which he cherished, who pursued the science that demonstrates it-will find a response among angels and archangels. The praise that was learned amid the melodies of nature or from the lyre of consecrated genius-may

pour its perfected tones from a seraph's harp. The goodness taught in the whole frame of creation by the flower lifting its honey-cup to the insect, and the leaf drawing its green curtain round the nursing-chamber of the smallest bird; by the pure stream, refreshing both the grass and the flocks that feed on it, the tree, and the master of its fruits; the tender charity caught from the happiness of the humblest creature will be at home in His presence, who hath pronounced himself the "God of love."

The author urges on her readers the virtue of industry and to enforce the argument, invokes the analogies of nature, and shows that God has stamped the principle of activity on all things which he has made. Hence she infers that accountable beings have no right to be idle.

The little rill hastens onward to the broader stream, cheering the flowers on its margin, and singing to the pebbles in their bed. The river rushes to the sea, dispensing on a broader scale, fertility and beauty. Ocean, receiving his thousand tribute-streams, and swelling his ceaseless thunder-hymn, bears to their desired haven, those whitewinged messengers which promote the comfort and wealth of man, and act as envoys between remotest climes. In the secret bosom of the earth, the little heart of the committed seed quickens, circulation commences, the slender radicles expand, the newborn plant lifts a timid eye to the sunbeam-the blossoms diffuse odor-the grain whitens for the reaper- the tree perfects its fruit. Nature is never idle.

Lessons of industry, come also from insect-teachers, from the winged chemist in the bell of the hyacinth, and the political economist bearing the kernel of corn, to its subterranean magazine. The blind pinnæ spins in the ocean, and the silk-worm in its leaf-carpeted chamber, and the spider," taking hold with its hands, is in kings' palaces." The bird gathers food for itself, and for its helpless claimants with songs of love, or spreading a migratory wing, hangs its slight architecture on the palm-branch of Africa, the wind-swept and scanty foliage of the Orcades, or the slender, sky-piercing minaret of the Moslem. The domestic animals fill their different spheres, according to the grades of intelligence allotted them. Man, whose endowments are so noble, ought not surely to be surpassed in faithfulness, by the inferior creation.

Early rising seems to be an almost necessary branch of industry; and this habit the author recommends by precept and example.

Early rising seems generally to have been associated with the industry of those who have attained eminence. "I am sorry," said Demosthenes, "when I hear any workman at his hammer be

fore me." The elder Pliny assigned as one of the reasons why he accomplished so much, that he was an early-riser. He was accustomed to go before daybreak, to receive the orders of the emperor Vespasian, who himself did not waste the precious morning hours in slumber. Buffon, the celebrated naturalist, rose throughout the year, with the sun. In order to do this, he had to conquer an almost inveterate disposition for morning sleep. He acknowledged himself indebted for this victory to his servant, who resolutely awakened him, until a better habit was formed-and said that to his perseverance, the world was also indebted for at least ten or twelve volumes of his Natural History. The Rev. John Wesley, was a most conspicuous instance of unvarying industry, and economy of time. On his eighty-fifth birthday, he records in his journal, as among the causes of his continued health, and unimpaired vigor, that he had "constantly for sixty years, risen at four in the morning; and preached a regular lecture at five in the morning, for above half a century."

The picture of the New England farmer and his family, presents a fine Arcadian scene.

The farmer, rising with the dawn, attends to those employments which are necessary for the comfort of the family, and proceeds early with his sons or assistants, to their department of daily labor. The birds enliven them with their song, and the lambs gambol, while the patient ox marks the deep furrow, or the grain is committed to the earth, or the tall grass humbled beneath the scythe, or the stately corn freed from the intrusion of weeds. Fitting tasks are propor tioned to the youngest ones, that no hand may be idle.

In the interior of the house, an equal diligence prevails. The elder daughters take willing part with the mother, in every domestic toil. No servant is there, to create suspicious feelings, or a divided interest. No key grates in the lock, for all are as brethren. The children, who are too small to be useful, proceed to school, kindly leading the little one, who can scarcely walk. Perhaps the aged grandmother, a welcome and honored inmate, amuses the ruddy infant, that she may release a stronger hand for toil.

The sound of the wheel, and the vigorous strokes of the loom, are heard. The fleece of the sheep is wrought up, amid the cheerful song of sisters. Remembering that the fabrics which they produce, will guard those whom they love, from the blast of winter, the bloom deepens on their cheek with the pleasing consciousness of useful industry.

In the simple and abundant supply of a table, from their own resources, which shall refresh those who return weary from the field, all are interested. The boy, who brings his mother the fresh vegetables, selects a salad which his own hand had cultivated, with some