Brooks, still following the vocation she had chosen, was the instructress they both preferred. She was almost adored by her pupils, and respected and beloved like a relative by their parents; and the placidity of her countenance, and cheerfulness, even vivacity of her manners, was a proof that her mind was contented, and her life pleasant as well as useful. She also was on a visit to the clergyman.

"I have lately received a letter from my nephew, William Forbes," remarked Mr. Bennett. "He is, I find, a widower." The married ladies glanced at Elizabeth, but her countenance was unchanged.

"He says he shall be here in the course of a few months, if he can learn whether a certain lady who first engaged his affections is at liberty, and would receive him favorably," continued the clergyman.

The married ladies both smiled, and a slight color was perceptible on the mild, chastened features of Elizabeth.

"He says," continued the clergyman, "he has fortune, fame, friends, all that is necessary to make him happy, except the consciousness of rectitude, which, since violating his engagement with Elizabeth, he has never enjoyed,—and a partner to share his confidence and prosperity. He acknowledges his fault, but thinks he has already been sufficiently punished. The lady he married was beautiful, and he was dazzled by her charms, till he forgot, or rather relinquished his first love; but his wife never made him happy. He does not accuse her of imperfections, only remarks that they were unequally matched; that there never was, that there could not be between them, that communion of mind, to which he had always been accustomed in his intercourse with Miss Brooks. He was not himself aware, how much of his happiness depended on this communion, till he had forfeited it. He entreats me to intercede for him."

"What answer did Elizabeth give?"

The subject was under discussion all the afternoon. The married ladies advised her to accept the offer of her penitent lover-they probably expected an invitation to the wedding. The good clergyman told her to consult her own heart, and those excellent principles that had so nobly and effectually supported her under every vicissitude. But he hinted how much pleasure it would give him to see her married to a

worthy man; indeed, he said he should like to pronounce the nuptial benediction himself.

"What answer did Elizabeth give?"

I intend, hereafter, to sketch the character of William Forbes, and then the propriety of the answer which Elizabeth did give, will be apparent. Till then, every lady and gentleman, who does me the honor to read these "Sketches," is at liberty to form and express their own opinion on the subject.

THE WIFE.

SHE spoke and her low accents bore

A tone of thrilling sadness,
That half denied the smile she wore,
Too full of love, for gladness.

She spoke, and in her quiet eye

There beamed the light of feeling,

With preface of a gentle sigh,

The full heart thus revealing.

"Sorrow and I have mingled much ;-
My pallid looks declare it;

But I could brave her withering touch,
Wert thou not doomed to share it.

When Heaven its precious gift recalled
The boy we prized so dearly,
My bosom rent, yet unappalled,
But treasured thee more nearly.

And wert thou other than thou art-
Less generous, kind, confiding,
The love that lives in my true heart
Were not the less abiding.

E'en thy neglect I might sustain;
"Twould chill my heart, not break it:

Its tenderness would still remain ;

Thy falsehood could not shake it.

But on thy heart should sorrow prey,
And doubt and fear assail thee,
And disappointment mark thy way,

And friends, and fortune fail thee.

These tears, these foolish tears that start,
Might bring relief to me, love,
But the long sigh that rends the heart
Would only rise for thee, love.

My bitter doom may be to twine
The shroud of death about thee,
To press thy senseless form to mine,
To live-to feel-without thee :

And even from this I would not shrink,
Should fate for this reserve me;

But on thy griefs I dare not think:
God from all ill preserve thee!

A. M. W.

CANZONETTA.

AWAKE! oh awake! the village bells ringing,
Proclaim that all nature is gay:

Sweet odours around us the breezes are flinging;
Awake to the merry May-day!

The sun, as he rises o'er yonder hill beaming,

Is running his ever bright way

The green-wood is merry, and nature is seeming

To rejoice in the coming of May!

And see on the meadow sweet flowers, up-springing,
Are budding in fragrant array-

While far o'er the lawn, her airy flight winging,

The lark greets the coming of May !

Yon violet-bank, its beauty revealing,

Is blooming in azure so gây ;

Then wake ye! awake! while the merry bells pealing
Shall welcome the lovely May-day!

T. C. O.

LETTERS FROM A MOTHER.

MY DEAR MRS. B.-The first thing to be attended to in the education of infants (for infants are now, I believe, considered capable of receiving instruction-witness infant schools) is not so much the communication of ideas, as the preventing wrong impressions from those which are spontaneously, or rather unavoidably acquired. You cannot prevent a child, who has proper faculties, from gaining ideas— whether those notions shall be true or false, that is, whether the manner in which they are first presented to the mind will be most likely to incline it to good or to evil, depends, in my opinion, materially on the management of the mother, supposing, as I do, that following the order of nature, the mother is the nurse of her child. Many of our virtues arise from, or are made necessary by the relations of society; these the infant cannot be taught, nor if it could, would feel or understand the propriety of being enjoined to perform them. But there is one virtue, and the most important one, which we can impress, early, on the human mind. It is truth. -Truth, which is the foundation of all morality, may be so instilled into the heart, so blended with the feelings of the child, that the practice of what is honorable and estimable will, through life, be congenial, and thus the most effectual shield from vice, that human wisdom or exertion can impart, may be furnished; and this may be done by the mother. I would not be understood to insinuate that the misconduct of children is always caused by errors in domestic education. The mind in its progress, catches habits that perhaps ultimately decide its character, as it does ideas and principles from persons and events entirely unconnected with early impressions; yet still there is reason to hope that good seed, if sown when the heart is tender and the understanding ductile, will take root-if it do not bear all the fruit we could wish, it may prevent the weeds of vice from occupying the whole soul. And as a sacred regard for truth is one of the first virtuous impressions which can be imparted to the infant mind, it is of the utmost importance that every recollection and association that binds the child to its mother, should have impressed upon it the seal of truth. Her countenance as well as her words should always direct her

child rightly. She should never sport with his ignorance, unconsciousness or credulity. What she promises she should always perform. What she has once refused she should never grant. But a multiplicity of prohibitions is one of the worst faults of domestic government. Legislators acknowledge that a multiplicity of laws and severe statutes have a bad effect on public morals. It is just the same in families. The fewer commands issued, the more readily and reverently they will be obeyed. To avoid the necessity of prohibitions, especially before the child can understand the reasonableness of submitting to what is required, should be the study of the judicious mother. She should offer nothing to her infant's notice that she cannot permit him to take if he chooses. She should, if possible, leave nothing within his reach to which he may not, if he wishes, have free access. But still there will be cases in which he must be denied what he covets. The reason of this denial he should, as soon as practicable, be made to understand. A child comprehends much earlier, and more easily, than many imagine; he soon learns to interpret the expression of the face he loves and with which he is familiar; from his mother's eye and gestures he takes his first lesson. To illustrate my meaning more fully.

Nothing so soon attracts the notice of an infant as a lighted candle or lamp. How eagerly and delightedly the little eyes follow the shining object, and soon the little hands are extended to grasp it. It may be kept from his reach, but it may also be submitted to his touch without danger, and if rightly managed he will gain more than one useful idea by the experiment. Let every motion to reach the light be marked by the disapprobation of his mother. He will watch her, and note the look, but he will probably disobey the warning, for he does not know that pain will be the penalty of his disobedience. He touches the blaze and feels the smart; he will afterwards connect that look of his mother's with the idea of pain, and will not dare to disregard it. But no smile of the mother should follow his disappointment, and she should never urge him to try the experiment again. He should always feel that to her he can turn for true directions, and from her find sympathy in every sorrow. Children do not, for a long time, understand the meaning of humor or irony. They expect literal truth; they understand