ON FEMALE ACQUIREMENTS.

TIME is not unfrequently misspent in mere reading. The getting through a certain number of volumes is thought to be a meritorious exertion, and is looked back upon with complacency; though, perhaps, all this painstaking labour has been without benefit, and has done nothing towards enriching or strengthening the mind. Some read without recollecting; many more without thinking; and many again without applying what they read to any moral or practical purpose. For, after all, literature is a mere step to knowledge; and the error often lies in our identifying one with the other. Literature may, perhaps, make us vain ;-true knowledge must render us humble.

We are all apt to imagine that what costs us trouble must be of value: yet there is much need of discretion, both in the choice and manner of our acquirements. In both, utility should always be a question,-utility as it affects the mind. History, for instance, with all its accompanying branches, is in this view a suitable and most improving study.

Not unfrequently, too, are we wrong in our estimate of acquirements. We value them by their rarity; and are apt to neglect what is essential, because it is easy, for the sake of what is difficult because it is uncommon.

It is very important, not only that the mind should be well informed, but that there should be a taste for knowledge; which should be appreciated for its own sake, not merely as a distinction.

Slovenly attire, an ill-conducted household, and an illarranged table, are in the minds of many, identified with female acquirement. If the woman of mind bears with equanimity petty vexations,-if she lends a reluctant ear to family tales,-if she is not always expatiating on her economy, nor entertaining by a discussion of domestic annoyances; she is not the less capable of controlling her household, or of maintaining order in its several departments. Rather will she occupy her station with more dignity, and fulfil its duties with greater ease.

At the same time she should ever bear in mind, that knowledge is not to elevate her above her station, or to excuse her from the discharge of its most trifling duties.

It is to correct vanity, and repress pretension. It is to teach her to know her place and her functions; to make her content with the one, and willing to fulfil the other. It is to render her more useful, more humble, and more happy.

Such a woman will be, of all others, the best satisfied with her lot. She will not seek distinction, and, therefore, will not meet with disappointment. She will not be dependent on the world, and thus she will avoid its vexations. She will be liable to neither restlessness nor ennui-but she will be happy in her own home, and by her own hearth, in the fulfilment of religious and domestic duty, and in the profitable employment of her time. Mrs. Sandford.

HOME.

ARE there who, always fond of changing,
Still in quest of pleasures roam ?
From scene to scene for ever ranging,
Unconscious of the sweets of HOME?

Oh! what a thousand tender pleasures,
To the wanderer quite unknown,
Lurk in the winning sphere she measures,
And number the delights of HOME!

There the heart congenial meets you,
There affection's sunbeams play,
Dear domestic duties greet you

In this spot, where'er you stray.

Tun'd to love's delightful measure,
There you hear the soothing tone,
And the rosy smile of pleasure
Lights a welcome to your HOME.

Free from vain or pert intrusion,
The swiftly circling minutes fly,
And within this dear seclusion

Ambush'd joys and pleasures lie.

Droops the heart with pain or anguish,
Do the spirits feel a gloom?
Oh, how healing love's soft language.
How endearing then is HOME!

There the heart with freedom swelling,

Meets enjoyments yet to come, Social joys adorn this dwelling,

And shade that lovely nook called HOME.

Magic circle of attraction,

Haunt of innocent delights!
Friendship's gentlest sphere of action,
Where every soothing charm invites.

How I love to trace the beauties
That rise within thy hallow'd dome,
How I joy to meet the duties,

The pleasurable cares of HOME.-Penwarne.

THE HUMMING BIRD.

No sooner has the returning sun again introduced the vernal season, and caused millions of plants to expand their leaves and blossoms to his genial beams, than the little humming-bird is seen advancing on fairy wings, carefully visiting every opening flower-cup, and, like a curious florist, removing from each the injurious insects that otherwise would, ere long, cause their beauteous petals to droop and decay. Poised in the air, it is observed peeping cautiously, and with sparkling eye into their innermost recesses; whilst the etherial motions of its pinions, so rapid and so light, appear to fan and cool the flower, without injuring its fragile texture, and produce a delightful murmuring sound, well adapted for lulling the insects to repose. Then is the moment for the humming-bird to secure them.

The prairies, the fields, the orchards, and gardensnay, the deepest shades of the forest, are all visited in their turn, and every where the little bird meets with pleasure and with food. Its throat, in beauty and brilliancy baffles all competition. Now it glows with a fiery

hue, and again it is changed into a velvety black. The upper part of its delicate body are of resplendent changing green; and it throws itself through the air with a swiftness and vivacity hardly conceivable. It moves from one flower to another like a gleam of light. They follow the course of the sun, advancing or retiring with him; and flying on the wings of the zephyrs, wanton in eternal spring.

Could you cast a momentary glance on the nest of the humming-bird, and see, as I have seen, the newlyhatched pair of young, little larger than humble-bees, naked, blind, and so feeble as scarcely to be able to raise their little bill to receive food from their parents; and could you see those parents, full of anxiety and fear, passing and repassing within a few inches of your face, alighting on a twig, not more than a yard from your body, waiting the result of your unwelcome visit in a state of the utmost despair-you could not fail to be impressed with the deepest pangs which parental affection feels on the unexpected death of a cherished child. Then how pleasing it is, on your leaving the spot to see the returning hope of the parents, when, after examining the nest, they find their nurslings untouched! You might then judge how pleasing it is to a parent to hear the physician who has attended her sick child assure her that the crisis is over, and that her child is saved. These are the scenes best fitted to enable us to partake of sorrow and joy, and to determine every one who views them, to make it their study to contribute to the happiness of others, and to refrain from wantonly or maliciously giving them pain. Audubon.

HOPE.

UNFADING Hope! when life's last embers burn,
When soul to soul, and dust to dust return!
Heaven to thy charge resigns the awful hour,
Oh! then, thy kingdom comes! immortal power!
What, though each spark of earth-born rapture fly,
The quivering lip, pale cheek, and closing eye!
Bright to the soul thy seraph hands convey
The morning dream of life's eternal day;

Then, then the triumph and the trance begin,
And all the phoenix spirit burns within!

Oh! deep-enchanting prelude to repose,
The dawn of bliss, the twilight of our woes!
Yet half I hear the panting spirit sigh,
It is a dread, and awful thing to die!
Mysterious worlds, untravell'd by the sun!
Where time's far-wandering tide has never run,
From your unfathom'd shades and viewless spheres,
A warning comes, unheard by other ears.
'Tis Heaven's commanding trumpet long and loud,
Like Sinai's thunder, pealing from the cloud!
While Nature hears, with terror-mingled trust,
The shock that hurls her fabric to the dust;
And, like the trembling Hebrew,* when he trod
The roaring waves, and call'd upon his God,
With mortal terrors, clouds immortal bliss,
And shrieks, and hovers o'er the dark abyss!

Daughter of Faith! awake, arise, illume
The dread unknown, the chaos of the tomb;
Melt and dispel, ye spectre doubts, that roll
Cimmerian darkness on the parting soul!
Fly, like the moon-eyed herald of dismay,
Chased on his night-steed by the star of day!
The strife is o'er-the pangs of Nature close,
And life's last rapture triumphs o'er her woes.
Hark! as the spirit eyes, with eagle-gaze,
The noon of heaven undazzled by the blaze,
On heavenly winds that waft her to the sky,
Float the sweet tones of star-born melody;
Wild as that hallow'd anthem sent to hail
Bethlehem's shepherds in the lonely vale,

When Jordan hush'd his waves, and midnight still Watch'd on the holy towers of Zion's hill.-Campbell.

THE PETREL.

It is an interesting sight to observe these little birds in a gale, coursing over the waves, down the declivities, and

* Hebrew, St. Peter.