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manner in which I have written it. But I have endeavored to relate it in words as nearly his own as I could recollect them. And where—as his weakened frame often obliged him to pause and gather strength, and still oftener would the current of feeling cause his voice to falter as he traced his own devious wanderings through the bitter past— it seemed broken and unconnected, I have endeavored to render it regular.

He did not die, as he expected, on the following day; but eight days after he told me his history, I closed his eyes after he had calmly yielded up his spirit to the Father of] all spirits.

A simple mound covers his remains. A head stone tells his name, and commemorates, in a line or two, the zealous and devoted labors of the humble pastor of St. Luke's church. Two or three rose bushes cluster about that head stone, hanging over the grave, as if to shade the head of the holy sleeper, and about that simple mound creeps the ever-verdant running-box or myrtle.

They were all planted by the hand of Kate. and for a long time were watered by her tears

For the Ladies' Garland. The following is the first production of a little girl, and it is quite a creditable one. We cheerfully give it a place in the " Garland."

"THE DYING BABE."

DY MISS A. J. A.

Oh! gaze upon that velvet cheek,

And in that soft blue eye: And tell me, then, if thou should'st think

It was her fate to die.

Oh, yes! it is her destiny!

And she must leave us soon; Her happy spirit soar away

To Heaven, her brighter home.

Turn not to us those liquid eyes,

As if beseeching aid;
Thy parents cannot save thee, no!

Thy waxen cheek must fade.

Nor to thy mother turn that gaze—

Her heart is almost broke—
And should she meet those lovely eyes,

And that imploring look,—

'T would strike a chord that ill could brook
The touch that grief would give;

She would not, could not see that look,
See it at once, and live.

Farewell! sweet sister; thou art gone

To thy Redeemer's breast;
Farewell, farewell! may we at last

Meet in that world of rest .

Auburn, JV. Y., April, 1842.

Written for the Ladies' Garland.

THE TWO SISTERS.

OR, THE FINISHING THE EDUCATION.
A TALE.
BY PBOFESSOR J. II. INGRAHAM.

It was on a snowy, windy night in February, in 183-, that Mr. Henry Marshall, one of the wealthiest merchants in Philadelphia, was seated in his library writing business letters to go by a packet to sail the next day. The room wore that air of warmth and comfort which wealth can ensure,and wasrichly furnished with costly cases, while voluminous folds of crimson drapery dropped across the tall windows. An astral lamp burned on the table at which he sat, and shed its clear but subdued light upon his face, as he bent over his paper, exposing a manly and intellectual forehead and a fme cast of features, in the expression of which, good sense and a kind disposition predominated.

He had risen from comparative indigence to his present affluence without being injured by his prosperity. His parents had been plain country people, who, giving him such education as their means afforded, let him go forth to seek his own fortune. After keeping school in the city a year or two, he obtained a clerkship in a counting room, and gradually, by his honesty, integrity, intelligence and devotion to the interests of his employer, became at length a partner, and finally a business man on his own name and responsibility.

He married a beautiful woman, the daughter of a retired merchant, but as his business occupied so much of his time he had unfortunately no opportunity of forming a just estimate of his wife's character, until it was exposed from time to time after marriage. This experience showed him, that, although she was attached to him and strove to make him happy, she was fond of dress, of going into society, and of living to other people's eyes more than for his own or her personal comfort. "What will people say?" was the argument with her, either for good or evil. She was ambitious that he should increase in riches not that her sphere of usefulness and means of benevolence might be extended, but in order that she might surround herself with all the luxuries with which some other ladies, whom she aspired to imitate, were in the possession of.

Mr. Marshall saw this weakness in a woman in other respects sensible and uncensurable, with pain, and a desire to do all in his power to show her the fallacy of looking beyond ourselves for the true happiness of this life. His arguments had little weight, and the effect instead of a reform was too often a flood of tears; and Mr. Marshall had been married long enough to know that when a woman resorts to tears, she will have the best of the argument.

This little cause of difference—her painfully striving to live up to what other people would think of her—was all that disturbed their matrimonial felicity; and so long as he had the wealth to indulge her in the gratification of her wishes he let it pass without often adverting to it, except in such a way as this:

"Now, wife," he said to her one wet morning, the thirteenth year of their union, as he put on an old coat to go to his counting-room, on her representing that it might clear up before noon, and then people would think he had no other. "Now, wife, I would wear this coat from choice every day. It sits easy about the arms and I feel more comfortable in it than any garment I have. I do not feel inclined to put myself to inconvenience to please other men's eyes. I wish you would, like a sensible woman, get over this weakness."

"You have it as strong as T have, dear," she said, smilingly.

"I never was guilty of the folly in my life, dear; 1 never paid a dollar for other people's eyes."

"What did you have the white marble steps and pilasters put to the door for at such expense ?" she asked, naively.

"To—to—to make the house look better."

"To other people's looks! What did you have gilt mouldings placed yesterday upon your mahogany library cases, and send two or three hundred volumes to the binders to be bound with uniform guilt backs?"

"Well, well, Mrs. Marshall, I believe we are both a little in the fault, only I don't make myself unhappy about such things as you do. Now you have made yourself miserable and me too for the last fortnight, because I would not consent our daughters

should go to Madam 's school, where all

other fashionable girls went; when they are at a school equally good if not substantially better."

"Yes, but there is a sort of ton in girls' going to Aladam 's, which is not attached to other schools. And I wish the girls to have all the advantages in society that can be afforded them. Now do consent that they shall go there, husband, and I promise not to mention the marble steps and gilt mouldings and three hundred volumes to be gilt, again, besides a good many other things which will show you that you, often as youtalk to me for the foible, live to other peopled eyes as much as I do."

"Well, well, have your own way. I don't wish to deny either you or my daughters any privileges that may be of advantage to them.

Still I can't help thinking, dear wife, that this fashionable education of young girls is not going to make better wives or mothers of them. They are educated only for opulence, as if opulence was to continue through life, and riches never took to themselves wings and flew away. In truth I sometimes feel I am acting a wicked part towards both dear children in consenting to putthcm forth by and by upon the world, without the knowledge of any thing useful, by which in case of any sudden reverses of fortune they might maintain themselves."

"How you talk, Mr. Marshall!" exclaimed the mother, at the father's grave words; "our daughters, Ann and Caroline maintain themselves! what a horrible vulgar idea!" and Mrs. Marshall almost wept.

"Yet they may by and by come to this, my dear! Every day witnesses reverses as great as would be their own, should fortune hereafter frown upon them. I feel half rejsolved," added he warmly and strongly, "to put them both to a milliner's or a dressmaker's for a year, instead of to Madam 's

school."

At these words Mrs. Marshall threw up both hands and uttering a loud scream threw herself upon a sofa which chanced luckily to be in her way, and tried very hard to go into hystericks. But her constitution being stronger than her will, she could only succeed in giving utternnce to several loud sobs —intermingled witli such epithets, as "brute, sob—vulgar—sob, sob—cruel—sob, sob, sob —expect no more from a farmer's son—sob —the monster—sob, sob, sob, sob.'"

Mr. Marshall, used to similar scenes, quietly waited to see that there was no present signs of sudden dissolution, and then left theapartment and went to his counting-room in his old coat. Fortunately for Mr. Marshall's pride it rained hard all day, and so the old coat was in keeping with the weather.

*****

The incidents narrated in the preceding division of our tale, occurred when Mr. Marshall's two daughters were of the respective ages of ten and twelve. Six years have elapsed since then, and the young ladies have derived all the benefit afforded by a fashionable school and their educations were declared "finished." What this means many a parent too late has painfully experienced.

"So, my daughters," said Mr. Marshall, who in the meanwhile has moved into a more magnificent mansion and assumed (to other people's eyes!) a greater degree of style, "so, my dears, your education is complete, Madam informs, as well as her bills bear

testimony." They were seated at the tea table when he addressed them, in full dress for a party they were to attend that evening.

"Yes, sir," said Caroline, the youngest, a bright, laughing-eyed brunette, in her seventeenth year, "and I assure you, dear pa, I am heartily tired of school. I feel now as if I had a pair of wings, I so feel my liberty."

Mr. Marshall smiled fondly upon his happy child, and then sighed. "And are you so happy too, Ann?" he asked of his eldest daughter, a sweet, pensive, blue-eyed girl, with a noble and generous cast of features like her father's, and an expression that indicated gentleness and docility of temper.

"No, father. I have a dread of taking my part in society, and the pain of severing so many dear school friendships has made my freedom any thing but joyous. I should rather be a school girl three years longer if I had my choice."

"But what could you learn V asked Caroline. "We have French, and Italian, and Music, and all the every day scholarship that is needful. I am sure 1 don't know what else useful we could learn if we were to go to school even for another term."

"Nor I," said the delighted mother, gaz ing with maternal pride and pleasure upon her two lovely daughters, in whose future happiness all the feelings and joys of her own heart were wrapped up.

Mr. Marshall, however, looked thoughtful and seemed to be contemplating gravely some subject suggested by the conversation. He however said nothing which could give them a key to his reflections; and soon afterwards the carriage being announced, he affectionately received their parting kiss and wished them a happy evening. He then returned -to his library where the opening of our tale found him.

Mr. Marshall was deeply interested in the happiness of his daughters whom he fondly loved. He not only regarded their present happiness as.young ladies, but looked forward with anxious solicitude to their happiness when they should become wives; nay, his affectionate care would even have followed them into the future to the close of their.. lives upon the morning of which the sun of hope shone so brightly and joyously. For some time after entering his library he remained sad and thoughtful, his heart full ofj hopes and fears for them.

"Poor dear children," he said to himself; "they are young, beautiful, innocent, and full of the anticipations of this life. My wealth gives them reason to anticipate a course free not only from privation, but one absolutely happy. But how many obstacles may intervene! How many clouds may darken their sunny horizon! How many

evilsspring up now unforeseen! They think only of the present—I must think of the future for them. What that future will be is known only to the Dispenser of all events. Let me suppose my riches dissolved—myself become poor! and then let me contemplate the condition of them two girls who have been nurtured like delicate flowers, only in the sunshine—and which may wither in the shadow of a passing cloud. Or suppose, after marriage, reverses happen to their husbands, or widowhood befal them! They are ignorant of any useful occupation—neither is capable of supporting herself! The humblest tailoress or milliner's girl they employ is herein their superior! And should this be so! Can a lady's education be said to be complete whose own assistants and domestics can be her teacher—who in misfortune would be independent and rise superior to it, when she would be helpless and perish! This is a painful picture! Yet it may be realized in my poor girls. Daily life shows that such things come to pass, and they may again. No, my children shall not be cast upon the world so ignorant and helpless, that in case of misfortune to me or their's, they cannot maintain themselves. In me, their father, it would be cruel to suffer it, and in the alternative I have contemplated, I should justly merit the censures which their destitution might wring from them. I will not be thus guilty. I feel I owe a sacred duty to them not yet fulfilled, and till .that duty is performed, their education in the eye of God and at the tribunal of my own conscience is not finished. In the morning I will carry my plan into effect."

Thus deciding, and feeling greatly relieved in his mind, this sensible man and kind, conscientious father, set himself down to the task of writing letters for the packet of the next day, in which occupation we found him engaged. He had hardly completed his despatches, when the door opened and Mrs. Marshall entered.

"Come in, dear, I am at leisure," he said, wishing to embrace this occasion to speak with her upon the weighty subject of his late meditations.

"Didn't the girls look sweetly, husband!" she said, taking a rocking chair by his side and looking up into his face with the happy look of a mother proud of her children. "Ann has such a graceful figure and walks so well. She is something too timid—but that'll wear off as she goes into society—but she has a decided aristocratic air. Then Caro— the dear mischief! what a sensation she will make when she is a year or two older! She has wit and humor, and is then so beautiful and stylish. She reminds me of her Aunt Ellen who was called the most beautiful woman at court when Mrs. Madison presided."

Mr. Marshall listened with some impatience, and then said with some severity, "Mary, I don't like much of what you have said. If Ann's sweet engaging modesty which you call timidity is to be worn off by going into society, I should wish she might never go to another public assembly again. This aristocrary of her appearance is the delicate and sensitive refinement of her mind, and 1 wish she may retain that at least. Then I don't like your denominating our President's levees a Court! It is a silly aping of European customs, which it becomes us to get rid of as fast as we can, as we have got rid of their rule and power. But never mind. I wish to speak with you of our children. I feel deeply interested in their fate. They have left school and are now in the world exposed to all its evils; therefore, their happiness takes and should take a deeper hold upon our hearts than ever before. I am sure I never since they were born, have so keenly felt my responsibility in relation to them as since the moment their education was declared completed—a consummation most parents would think, which would greatly diminish their responsibility for their children."

"But what have you to fear, husband?"

"The evils and reverses and constant changes of life upon them."

"But these cannotaffect them. They will both have a fortune, and"

"Who is to give it to them?"

"You," answered the lady, with surprise and a painful doubt.

"But suppose I should become bankrupt," answered Mr. Marshall, gravely.

"Bankrupt," repeated Mrs. Marshall with a shudder and a slight scream.

"Be not alarmed. Let us talk calmly of this matter. I am only supposing it. What then would become of the girls?"

"We would have to marry them off as well as we could."

"And is this the only view of the subject, you, a mother, can take? Would your responsibility end here? Suppose I were bankrupt to-morrow arfd ill and—"

"Oh dreadful!"

"Be calm, dear! Hear me! Such things are daily happening, though, thank a kind Providence, I have at present no fears of such an issue. But were it to occur, how could Ann and Caroline support us or themselves? How would all their fashionable education avail them?"

Mrs. Marshall was for sometime silent and wept with great agitation; at length she was

persuaded to view the subject with calmness and to converse reasonably upon a possible contingency.

"Ann could teach music."

"I very much doubt it. I find she cannot play without notes, knows nothing of composing, and plays at the best unskilfully— though she sings most sweetly. I certainly would never engage such a teacher. No, no—she has no resource there—where she would have hundreds of competitors, masters of their profession."

"She speaks French and Italian."

"I question if she has certain knowledge of either."

"I have heard her speak French with Madame Gaubert, and sing Italian songs."

"Perhaps so. You are not the best judge, wife, who yourself have never learned these languages,"said Mr. Marshall, smiling. "We will, however, try her. What can poor Caro do?"

"Drawand paint,and enamel,and also—" "Also what?" repeated he, with a slight smile.

"Speak French and Italian."

"I have little faith in Caro's artistical talents. She has produced nothing which would show her competent to teach either drawing or painting. Her French and Italian and music, I fear, are on a par with her dister's."

"Oh, I feel you do them injustice," said Mrs. Marshall, with maternal pride. "1 know they are proficients in all, and if driven to them for support, could support themselves genteelly."

"Well, wife, I hope so, but have my doubts. Suppose we put them to the trial?"

"And 1 know you will be then gratified and pleased. I feel a pride in their success, as 1 desired them to be sent to Madame ——'b school.

"It is not that they have not been to a good school, but that enough for the possible circumstances of life are not taught in them. But we will have the trial to-morrow, and if the issue be as I apprehend, I will then detail to you my plan."

"What plan?"

"To-morrow I will tell you. There is the door-bell—they have returned from the party. Let ns go into the parlor and hear their account of their' first night' in society."

Thus speaking, the parents hastened to meet their children, for whom was prepared on the morrow a Trial which was to show whether they had yet finished their education. This Trial shall form the material of another Boquet, to be wreathed into the next number of our Garland.

BLAKSLEE,”—A Missionary Piece. MUSIC BY CYRENIUS wooDWORTH, FRANKLIN, DELAWARE COUNTY, NEW YORK-whistEN NOVEMBER, 1841.

TREBLE.


They have gone to the land where the - tri - archs

the bones of the prophets are laid; Where the chosen of
a-

- rael the promise pos - sess'd, And Je - ho - vah his wonders dis - played;

* So named by the author, in honor of his teacher, Mr. Edward S. Blakslee, of Gilbertsville, Otsego Co., N.Y.

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