snare;

To very many young women, the love of dress is a great it leads them into a series of mistakes from beginning to end. In the first place, they mistake, by thinking that fine clothes set off their persons to advantage; whereas, all persons of taste acknowledge that real beauty does not need the aid of finery, and that homeliness is only displayed and rendered conspicuous by it.

Next, they imagine that fine clothes give them the appearance of belonging to a higher class of society, and promote their introduction to it. No such thing. The real lady is discovered in her education, speech and manners, which are not easily imitated, and she is more frequently distinguished by plainness of dress than by finery, which generally bears the stamp of vulgarity.

Another mistake is, that fine clothes will recommend them to the notice of young men, and lead to an advantageous marriage. A very unlikely thing! There are many young men who will admire such a girl as they would a peacock, and play with her as a child does with a doll; but no sensible, discreet young man would ever think of making her his wife. No, no,' says he; 'give me a wife who does not carry her chief beauty outside, and all her wealth on her back. I must see the ornament of a meek and quiet spirit, which is of great price; and the treasures of understanding and discretion, and the fear of God, which are more precious than rubies, and more rare than diamonds.'

Another mistake of dressy girls is, they believe those young men who flatter them about their beauty and fine appearance are really sincere, and mean what they say; while the truth is, in their heart they despise and ridicule her; or if they feel any of the fondness they profess, it is but a low and selfish passion, to which they will not hesitate to sacrifice their pretty garnished

victim. And when such a girl is induced by the love of finery to receive presents with which to indulge it, or perhaps to make free with the property of others—but these are mistakes too dreadful to be entered upon here. Alas! by these mistakes, thousands are every year brought to ruin and disgrace; and she who thoughtlessly begins with the first and simplest of these mistakes, is in danger of proceeding to the last and grossest.

A dressy girl generally makes an untidy, slatternly wife and a negligent mother. I can look round me and see it confirmed in the dirty, blowsy finery of mothers and children, the untidiness of the dwellings they inhabit, and in the remarks of occasional visitors. Is it possible that that dirty, untidy slattern is the once so smart, dressy Miss B.? I could not have believed that a few years would have made such an alteration.'

'And who is that neat, respectable matron at the next house, surrounded by her little cleanly, orderly group of children? I certainly recognise the cheerful, modest countenance and respectable appearance which I used so to admire in Miss M. Well, the only change in her is as pleasing as from the chaste blossoms of spring to the ripening fruits of autumn; but in the other, it is as contrary and as disgusting as if the flaunting poppy should ripen to the loathsome toadstool.'

Many a husband who has been won by finery has been weaned by slatternly negligence.

THE BOOK.

THIS book, this holy book, on every line
Marked with the seal of high divinity,
On every leaf bedewed with drops of love,
Divine, and with the eternal heraldry
And signature of God Almighty stamped
From first to last-this ray of sacred light,
This lamp, from off the everlasting throne.
Mercy brought down, and in the night of Time,
Stands, casting on the dark her gracious bow,
And ever more beseeching men, with tears
And earnest sighs, to read, believe, and live.

POLLOK.

[Written for the Young Lady's Friend.]

INTERESTING

INCIDENT.

BY REV. THOMAS BAINBRIDGE.

THE following amusing incident I believe has never been published. It was related to me by an English preacher who knew all the circumstances, and knew also the young lady referred to; but, as she is still living, I have withheld her name.

Some years ago, as the Rev. Dr. Adam Clarke was travelling in an open carriage with his wife and daughters, from London to Oxford, for the purpose of preaching at the dedication of a new church, they overtook a young lady travelling on foot. The Doctor called to the driver to stop, and politely invited her to take a seat with them in the carriage. She readily accepted the kind offer, was handed in, and soon found herself in the most agreeable company she had ever met. She engaged at once in conversation with her new friends, and told them she was going to Oxford to hear the celebrated Doctor Clarke. Having never heard the Doctor she was full of anticipation.

This young lady was remarkable for her pious zeal. Religion had made her happy, and she suffered no opportunity of recommending it to others, to pass unimproved. Seeing that the Doctor was far advanced in life (without knowing to whom she spoke) she began to talk with him about his eternal interests, showing at the same time in a very clear and impressive manner, the difference between a mere formal profession of religion and the religion of the heart; observing that the former might do in health and prosperity, but that the latter only would serve us in the time of affliction and at the awful hour of death, an event which he must contemplate as near, being an old man.

The family paid the most serious attention to her conversation, and the Doctor thanked her for her very just remarks, and the good advice she had given him, and hoped he should not lightly esteem it, for certainly it was time for him now, to consider his latter end. Having received such marked attention from the Doctor and his family, she ventured to invite the whole party to go with her and hear the learned preacher; assuring them it would be an intellectual feast to hear such a man.

They all readily consented to go. Fearing, however, that she might have raised their expectations too high, she began to describe the preacher. Having been born in Ireland, she understood he still retained a good deal of the Irish brogue, but his learning, (for he was considered the most learned man of the age,) and talents would make up for that defect. She thought it, however, necessary to mention it, lest they might feel disappointed. The party promised to make every allowance for the brogue and go and hear him. She then offered to wait upon them and conduct them to the place of meeting, and, as she was acquainted in the town, she had no doubt but she could procure them a good seat in the church. They accepted the kind offer, and, at the time appointed, she waited upon the party and found Mrs. C. and her daughters ready to attend her to the meeting, the old gentleman preferring to go alone. A favorable situation was provided for them in the church, where they could have a full view of the preacher. The congregation waited a short time, when the Doctor made his appearance and every eye was turned toward the pulpit. Judge of the confusion of this young lady, when she saw the old gentleman, to whom she had been so earnestly recommending religion, enter the pulpit, as the learned Doctor Clarke. She looked at Mrs. C. and her daughters unutterable things, which seemed to say, 'Why did you permit me to be thus deceived?'

Her confusion, however, did not end here. After the sermon, as the Doctor was walking in the College Green, with a gentleman of his acquaintance, he related the conversation of the young lady and commended her pious zeal. In the evening this gentleman was invited to a tea party, where the young lady was one of the guests; and to amuse the company, he told the whole story as related to him by the Doctor, without knowing she was present.

The Doctor was far from considering the conduct of the young lady censurable; on the contrary, he always mentioned it with admiration, believing that she spoke from the fulness and sincerity of her heart, and wished that all who feel the worth of the immortal soul would imitate her. He ever after honored her with his friendship, calling her his young apostle; and her name is found among the most favored of his correspondents.

Hinsdale, N. Y., May, 1844.