ing luxurious dinners,

every day violated the

and drinking various wines. He has laws on which health depends. Did Providence cut him off? The evil rarely ends here. The diseases of the father are often transmitted; and a feeble mother rarely leaves behind her vigorous children.

It has been customary, in some of our cities, for young ladies to walk in thin shoes and delicate stockings in mid winter. A healthy blooming young girl, thus dressed in violation of Heaven's laws, pays the penalty; a checked circulation, cold, fever, and death. 'What a sad Providence!' exclaim her friends.. Was it Providence, or her own folly?

A beautiful young bride goes, night after night, to parties made in honor of her marriage. She has a slightly sore throat, perhaps, and the weather is inclement; but she must wear her neck and arms bare; for whoever saw a bride in a close evening dress? She is consequently seized with an inflammation of the lungs, and the grave receives her before her bridal days are over. 'What a Providence!' exclaims the world. Cut off in the midst of happiness and hope!' Alas! did she not cut the thread of life herself?

A girl in the country, exposed to our changeful climate, gets a new bonnet, instead of getting a flannel garment. A rheumatism is the consequence. Should the girl sit down tranquilly with the idea that Providence has sent the rheumatism upon her, or should she charge it on her vanity, and avoid the folly in future? Look, my young friends, at the mass of diseases that are incurred by intemperance in eating or in drinking, or in study, or in business; by neglect of exercise, cleanliness, pure air; by indiscreet dressing, tight lacing, &c., and all is quietly imputed to Providence! Is there not impiety as well as ignorance in this? Were the physical laws strictly observed from generation to generation, there would be an end to the frightful diseases that cut life short, and of the long list of maladies that make life a torment or a trial. It is the opinion of those who best understand the physical system, that this wonderful machine, the body, this 'goodly temple,' would gradually decay, and men would die, as if falling asleep.

A SCENE FROM REAL LIFE. THE BOOK CLUB.

'O, mother,' said Laura Henderson, a bright, intelligent girl of fifteen, as she sat at work with her mother, 'why don't you persuade father to join the Book Club; then we should have all the new and interesting works of the day?'

'For the best of reasons,' replied her mother. 'We have already more books than we can read. In our own library there are many standard works which you have never read, and with which every lady should be familiar.'

'But,' interrupted Laura, 'we have not a dozen novels, and not one of those funny books Mr. Lover has written; and even the works of Boz, so admired by every body, father will not buy, though Jane Redman says her father reads them all, and allows her to read them too. She knows the stories in the Pick-Wick papers almost by heart, and she says they have in the Club now the most interesting book she ever did read, The Mysteries of Paris. She thinks it is perfectly bewitching; I do wish father was only one of the Book Club.'

'If he was, my dear,' said Mrs. H., 'I am very sure he would not permit you to look into the books you have mentioned; certainly while your mind is unstored with useful and important knowledge; with those things which will make you good as well as wise.'

'Why mother,' observed Laura, 'you say Jane is a fine girl; I heard you tell aunt Mary that you knew no one of her age, her superior. She has read my little history, and she says she hates it; and "those serious books," as she calls them, in our library, she cannot bear to look into. Biography she thinks is perfectly horrid, and she is sure I should not like such books any better than she does, if I could only read those which belong to the Book Club. If such reading makes her so "superior," I cannot imagine why I may not enjoy it too.'

'It is true,' replied Mrs. Henderson, 'that I have often spoken of Jane as a superior girl, but I alluded to her intellect; for she has naturally a superior mind, and what is quite as important, a sweet, lovely disposition, and a feeling heart; but I doubt very much whether her mind is not injured, as I am sure her heart is, by the kind of reading in which she is indulged. You know, Laura, that it is not pleasant to me to speak of the mistakes or defects of my friends. I love and respect Mr. and Mrs. Redman, and value them as excellent friends; but when you appeal to them as examples for my imitation, or to their children as models for mine, I am constrained, in justifying my own views, to condemn them. You have hit upon the only weak spot in their character, namely, a want of firmness in refusing to their children an indulgence full of dangerous consequences. It astonishes me, I am constrained to say, that persons of such good sense, such good principles, such good taste, and such discernment in other matters, should suffer Jane to devote so much time-time peculiarly precious at this period of her life, to works of mere amusement, and more especially to works of fiction, of that exciting character which make the incidents of real life tame and insipid, and through which sentiments are scattered, and scenes pictured, which should never sully the eye or endanger the principles of a female. When you were very young, I felt that it would be safe to put into your hands any

story of a good moral tendency. Miss Edgeworth's minor works, being sketches of every day life, I felt would be harmless; and Mrs. Sherwood's, being what might be termed "religious tales," I hoped would not be injurious, but I early detected, in her

Lady of the Manor, an influence which was giving you a distaste for less exciting books; and therefore I at once took them from you; and but for the advice and influence of Jane, I believe you would have remained quite satisfied and contented with the course of reading which your father and myself have believed would make you a sensible, refined, and useful wo

man.'

'I am sure,' exclaimed Laura, 'that I never objected to the books you have given me to read, but I do want just to look into those which Jane thinks are so beautiful.'

'That was what Jane, probably, wished to do at first, and her parents, by gratifying this wish, cultivated, unthinkingly, a taste for that frivolous, pernicious reading which she now loves. Mr. R. endeavors to be a perfect pattern for his children, and what I have termed his weakness, originates in his reluctance to do any thing which he cannot allow them to do. I think this a great mistake; for a parent may indulge in many things which would be ruinous to a child. Mr. Redman, for instance, is a gentleman of leisure, and a decided Christian; his principles are fixed his mind is enriched with the choicest of ancient and modern literature; and if he is amused, or his studies diversified, by the ephemeral productions of the day, perhaps he may read them without harm; but it is positively wrong to expose the pure, unformed mind and susceptible heart of his daughter to their baneful influence. I will not, at this time, explain to you fully, why I deny you the enjoyment Jane thinks so sweet The tendency of that enjoyment I wish you to learn from observation. The fashionable world, even some of our own acquaintance, are so hurried and absorbed by the rush of demoralizing . books from our presses, that they have no time for the sweet charities of life; and you have only to watch these lovers of perpetual excitement, to learn whether such reading improves the heart, or endears the relations of domestic life. I do not forget that you are to spend this evening at Mr. Redman's, and it is time you were away.'

When Laura reached Mr. Redman's, she found Jane engrossed by a thickly printed volume; and when her mother, to catch her

attention, said, 'here is Laura,' she replied, 'yes, I know it; but I must just finish this page.' Laura said to herself, that certainly is not a book which teaches one to be courteous. Still she was not surprised, after her hat and shawl were laid away, to hear Jane exclaim, 'O, Laura, this is that delightful book I told you about, - The Mysteries of Paris. I have just come to a most thrilling scene, and if you will look over me we can read it together.' Laura might have done so, but for the conversation before she left home; she therefore simply said, 'no Jane, my mother would not be pleased; she does not like novels.'

'But, Laura,' retorted Jane, 'this is not a real novel; it is only a sort of history of the Paris people, that we never can get any where else. It takes you into all the splendor you can imagine; such decorations and magnificent dresses you never dreamed of. It describes such elevation of spirit, in the midst of intense suffering, as is beyond belief. It tells you of the most depraved and wicked of the lowest classes, as well as the crimes and trials and love affairs of the nobility. Oh! such deep laid plots; such sweet, devoted attachment, and yet such villany you never read of. I do wish your father belonged to the Book Club; then you could be as happy as I am.'

If my father read such books,' said Laura, 'he would not think it best for me to neglect my studies, or my reading, for them.'

'Why, you need not neglect your studies,' replied Jane, 'and this is the best of reading; beside, if he read them himself, he would not refuse your reading them too. My father never reads a book which I may not see, at least a part of it.'

The book was put aside, and they amused themselves with work till tea was brought in. Before they left the table, a letter from an absent brother arrived. While Mr. and Mrs. Redman and the elder children were eagerly devouring its contents, Jane was stealing a peep into her bewitching book, but every now and then closing it hastily; if Laura's eye turned that way, she slyly slipped it into her chair; when her brother, tossing the welcome letter to her, said, 'there, Jenny, it is your turn to read