THE LADIES' GARLAND.

A WREATH OF MANY FLOWERS.

memory.

We, who are mothers, ought to feel peculiar solicitude with regard to the manner in which our daughters are reared. Being more constantly with us, and more entirely under our control, than sons, they will be naturally considered as our representatives, the truest tests of our system, the strongest witnesses to a future generation, of our fidelity or neglect.

"Unless women," said the venerable Fellenberg, are brought up with industrious and religious habits, it is in vain that we educate the men; for they are the ones who keep the character of man in its proper elevation." Our duty to the community, which must be discharged by the education of a whole race, comprises many unobtrusive, almost invisible points, which in detail may seem trivial, or at least desultory, but which are still as important as the rain drop to the cistern, or the rill to the broad stream.

that they are all teachers, all forming other beings upon the model of their own example, however unconscious of the fact. To abridge the education of the educator, is to stint the culture of a plant, whose "leaves are for the healing of the nations."

I was delighted to hear a young lady say, at the age of nineteen, "I cannot bear to think yet of leaving school; I have scarcely begun to learn." With propriety might she express this sentiment,-though she was eminent both in studies and accomplishments,if the great Michael Angelo could adopt for his motto, in his ninetieth year, "yet I am learning."

It has unfortunately been too much the the period allotted to the education of our sex, custom in our country, not only to shorten but to fritter away even that brief period in contradictory pursuits and pleasures. Parents have blindly lent their influence to this usage. To reform it, they must oppose the tide of their daughters to resist the principle of confashion and of opinion. Let them instruct forming in any respect to the example of those around them, unless it is rational in itself, and correctly applicable to them as individuals. A proper expenditure for one, would be ruindiscreet mothers permit their young daughters ous extravagance in another. So, if some into waste in elaborate dress and fashionable parties, the attention which should be devoted to study, need their example be quoted as a precedent? To do as others do, which is the rule of the unthinking, is often to many bad discrimination in points of trifling import. taste and erring judgment. We use more We pause and compare patterns, ere we purchase a garment, which, perhaps, lasts but for a single season. Why should we adopt with little inquiry, or on the strength of doubtful precedent,- -a habit, which may stamp the character of our children forever?

When circumstances require, the youngest girl should be taught not to fear to differ from her companions, either in costume, manners, or opinion. Singularity for its own sake, and every approach to eccentricity, should be deprecated and discouraged. Even necessary variations from those around, must be managed with delicacy, so as not to wound feeling, or exasperate prejudice. But she who dares not to be independent, when reason or duty dictate, will be in danger of forfeiting decision of character; perhaps, integrity of principle.

A long period allotted to study, a thorough implantation of domestic tastes, and a vigilant guardianship over simplicity of character, are essential to the daughters of a republic. That it is wise to give the greatest possible extent to the season of tutelage, for those who have much to learn, is a self-evident proposi- Simple attire, and simple manners, are the tion. If they are to teach others, it is doubly natural ornaments of those who are obtaining important. And there is no country on earth, their school education. They have the beauty where so many females are employed in of fitness, and the policy of leaving the mind teaching, as in our own. Indeed, from the free, for its precious pursuits. Love of disposition that educated women here maintain, play, every step towards affectation, are desit might not be difficult to establish the point!!tructive of the charms of that season of life.

From the Saturday Courier.
THE LAST BLANKET;

OR, TRUST IN PROVIDENCE.

BY PROFESSOR J. H. INGRAHAME.

"There are no accidents, as men do term

artist; and many has been the amateur sketch which has been taken of this vineI clad cot in the dell of Weehawken.

There was, however, within the cottage, a feminine subject which no artist had yet happened to see, but who, if they had done so,

Some phases of God's government. If accidents there they doubtless would have thought quite as

were,

A sparrow's fall His great designs might foil,
And shake the Universe."

attractive as the outside of the rural dwelling that contained her. This was Fanny Grey, the only daughter of Simon and Sarah Grey, the tenants of the cottage. Fanny was just There is a little romantic glen in the more sixteen, and completely realized the idea conretired woodlands of Weehawken, receding veyed by the phrase, a "perfect little gipsy." from the water, deep into the hills which pro- Her figure was small and neat, and round tect it from the wintry blasts, and whose and ripe as a nectarine or a peach, or any overhanging trees shield it in summer from thing that is plump and sweet. Her hair the noontide sun. A little rivulet, clear as was jet black, and curled all about her neck, crystal, flows sparkling over its bed of peb- and the free winds played unchecked amid bles in the midst, forming here and there a their wilderness of grace and beauty. Her deep, black pool, where a large mossy rock, eyes were black as midnight, yet dancing or old water-oak, checks for a brief moment with love and laughter; her brows were its passage. In the bosom of this glen, near arched and black, her nose bewitching; her by where the spring-head that feeds the dark, rich, red lips, fascinating; her chin and brook gushes from the ground, at the base of throat captivating. She was a brunette of a low-browed cliff, topped with the larch and course; the bright red blood mingled delibeech, and with its face half hidden in creep- cately with the berry-brown of her cheek, ing vines, stands a rude cot or hut, of the most and the effect was that soft tone and colourrustic character. It had originally been con- ing that the old Italian masters loved to paint. structed of the trunks of trees, hewn and laid She looked like an Italian, or rather, like a together, with a roof of poles, interwoven brown Castilian maiden, or, more truly still, with willow withes, and covered with sods. as we have called her, like a little gipsy; for Nothing could have been made more simply. a gipsy she was in mischiefs, mirth and merBut the hand of female taste had been busy riment. She was a natural coquette, and to complete and improve what the rough would have been a rustic flirt if she had had builder had left so comfortless and unsightly. any beaux to practice on; but here retireSlips of the woodbine and roots of the fra- ment, and the poverty of her condition, kept grant yellow jessamnine, had been planted all beaux away, though scarcely any one knew around, and trained, from spring to spring, to that there was such a flower blooming in the creep up its sides and ends, and weave, by wild glen of Weehawken. the interlacing of their pliant tendrils, a thick voice too like a robin, and sang from morning and verdant covering for the whole; while till night songs of her own improvistaoring, from the rock, which overhung it in the set to the notes sung by the birds, for she had rear, the vines had been taught to seek the never been taught music by any other masroof, which they had completely over-run ters. She was a sweet child of nature, igwith a compact and beautiful canopy, imper-norant of the wicked world, and of the great vious to the rain. Thus nature, directed by taste, had charmingly finished what poverty had but roughly shaped out! Places for windows and a door had been kept free from the embraces of the generous vines; in the former of which were set little diamondshaped panes of glass; economical fragments from broken panes, fashioned by the humble cottager, Simon Grey. The cottage, therefore, presented to the eye a quiet and most delightful rural scene, so wholly embowered as it was in green verdure. With its overhanging rock, and two ancient sycamore trees before the door, within a few feet of which gushed the spring, which had been placed there as if to protect it, and, with its deep, shadowy seclusion, it offered a resistless temptation to the pencil of every passing

Fanny had a

city and all its iniquities, that lay but a league distant on the other side of the water; the spires of which she had often seen by climbing to the top of the cliff that overhung the cottage.

Simon Grey had been a carpenter in his earlier life, and in constructing a dwelling at Hoboken, fell with a staging which had been carelessly put up with cast nails instead of wrought, and broke a leg and an arm. He was at the time a husband and father, having married, three years before, a very pretty and yet very sensible young woman, who had belonged to one of the best families in New York, but whom pecuniary losses, and the death of her father by grief, had reduced, with her mother, to a degree of poverty that was a sufficient excuse for their wealthier

the little wicket leading to the house, and with a shriek, Sarah rushes forth to meet the barrow! She lifts the handkerchief from the

relations quite deserting them. Simon had found them living in a single room of an humble dwelling he had been called by the landlord to repair, and struck by the patient re-face and recognises the pale, anguish-stricken signation of the widow, and the sweet, mo- features of her husband. He smiled upon dest beauty of Sarah, the daughter, he mo- her, and faintly grasped her hand! She bedestly and unobtrusively sought their ac- came calm. The first shriek was the only cry quaintance, and by and by proposed to the of grief she uttered. She felt that God had maiden. Simon was a good-looking young afflicted her, and her spirit meekly bowed to man-industrious and correct in all his ha- His dispensation. She suppressed her emobits. The neglect of her and her daughter tion, and kissing his lips in silence, placed by the relations of the widow, and the de- her hand gently beneath his head, and so supvoted attention to their comfort by the young ported it upon her bosom while he was borne carpenter, showed the widow that true re- into the house and laid gently upon a bed. spectability lies not in family or fortune, The surgeon came-t -the limbs were set as house or lands, profession or occupation, but well as skill could do it-for the fracture was in moral worth, sustained by honesty and in- a bad one both in the arm and leg. The padustry. She therefore gave her consent to tient bore it like a hero!-Sarah like an anthe union, and Sarah Stanford, the daughter gel! Oh, woman! kind, affectionate, tender, of one of the former wealthy merchants of devoted, enduring woman, thou art, indeed, South street, became the happy and content-"Heaven's last best gift to man!" ed wife of Simon Grey the carpenter. It is true, Sarah might have done better, as the world goes, for an iron merchant, who had seen her at church, humbly seated in the stranger's pew," beside her mother, struck with her beauty, inquired her out, and sought to cultivate her acquaintance; but Simon had already the possession of her heart, and|| the rich bachelor, although worthy enough, and deeply attached to her, was compelled to retire with his love unrequited, resolutely repeating,

"If she will not marry me,

Never wedded will I be."

Sarah made Simon Grey an admirable wife, and Simon proved a good husband. The widow, he also insisted, should make her home with her daughter, which she did for two years, when she was removed to a better home in a world where poverty is no crime, but, indeed, the Lord of which himself, when on earth, was so poor as not to have where to lay his head! Woe, woe to the wicked rich, if virtuous poverty assimilate the good to the Saviour of men! Blessed world where the worth of men is not to be longer weighed against gold!

The year after the pious widow's death, the sad accident happened to Simon that we have just mentioned. Borne on the shoulders of four of his fellow workmen, the wounded man was taken home to his dwelling. Sarah was in the door at the moment, looking for her husband to come to dinner. She saw a sad procession approaching the house-her face grew pale! She looked earnestly at the bearers-Simon was not one of them! Heavily and silently they came on-perhapsperhaps, her thought was, they are going by! She ceases to breathe as they come opposite the gate. They pause; one of them opens

Weeks, months passed away, and Simon continued an invalid; and Sarah's devotion to him was as unwearied as it was delightful to witness. She never murmured, never uttered a sigh expressive of her deep sorrow before him. Day after day diminished their resources; their landlord, their physician, and apothecary, had not been long in swallowing up all the little means which Simon had laid by from the fruits of his industry. Oh, that the rich and benevolent would reflect upon the poverty and want an accident to a labourer or mechanic, who depends on his daily earnings, brings to his family, and remember such in their Providential affliction! Sarah saw that they were rapidly being reduced to want. First, when money had all gone, she disposed with a heavy heart of a few articles of jewelry of her deceased mother; then she parted with articles of ornamental furniture, one by one, till their little parlour became nearly unfurnished; but she did not have occasion ever to occupy it now, for her sitting-room, her home, was the sick chamber of the invalid, where she had been unweariedly watching and nursing day and night for a year. Simon knew nothing of all these sacrifices she was making for his comfort; he was ill and suffering-yet he knew his sickness had made him poor, and the anxiety to get well, to enable him once more to earn something, kept him in a state of nervous irritability that retarded his recovery. At length, one year after Simon's accident, Sarah parted with her parlour carpet to pay the rent, and the room was desolate! She sighed as she locked the door of the stripped apartment, but murmured not. She knew well that He who moves the Universe, hath regard to the humblest of the creatures he has made. They knew that there were no accidents in the government of Provi

dence. She felt in her heart that God ruled and directed all events, and that the fall of a sparrow may contribute in the Divine councils to great events in the economy of terrestrial things. She had schooled her heart in the school of affliction, and she had thus learned to put her trust in God! Happy the mind that sees "good in all things."

At length Simon was able to walk about the room on a crutch, leaning on Sarah's tenderly supporting arm. But by this time their daily narrowing poverty had reduced them to a single apartment. Another quarter's rent was due, and the landlord (why should the name of landlord continue in this benevolent age to be but a harsher term for oppressor?) after waiting two whole days after it was due-two days, dear reader-fortyeight hours of time! distrained for the rent. And poor Simon had no bed that night on which to lay his head! Sarah strove to comfort him as he lay broken in body and spirit, upon a blanket she had sacrificed to the officer her wedding ring to retain ! (reader, this is no fiction!) for the comfort of him who in love had placed it on her bridal finger.

clasped his hands together, her's folded in them, and said firmly,

"God's will be done!"

Where were Simon's neighbours at this time? Let the Wise Man answer. "Proverbs xix., 7. All the brethren of the poor do hate him; how much more do his friends go far from him? he pursueth them with words, yet they are wanting to him.”

It chanced, as the world would phrase it, but "Providence ordered," as the good man would speak, that the ensuing morning a gentleman was passing Simon's door in a wagon, when the axletree broke, and let him down with such force as to bruise him considerably. He recovered his feet, and tying his horse to the fence till he could send to have his vehicle repaired, he entered Simon's yard and painfully approached the house. Simon was reclining upon the blanket on the floor, and Sarah was seated at his feet, while little Fanny, who was three years of age, was amusing herself with catching flies on the window. They had just made a slight breakfast of tea and stale bread, the last they had in the house; yet they were both cheerful.

"You are so much better now, dear, I will go out to-day, and try and get something that I can bring home to do."

"But where is the home?" he said, murmuringly; "you have no home to come to, Sarah!"

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The wife's countenance fell, yet she suppressed her emotion. True, true, Simon; but fear not; God will provide us with a home!"

"Do not grieve thus, dearest husband," she said, in a tone of sweet consolation, that "Indeed, indeed, Sarah, I don't know what touched his heart and made him shed tears; we shall do," said Simon, thoughtfully. “I "it is true we are now very destitute, but tam unable to work, and you say you must not is a gratifying thing to reflect that it has not leave me a moment alone." been brought upon us by any conduct of our own. It is God's hand, Simon, and it becomes us to bow with submissive spirits, and feeling His will should be done, whatever be the consequences to us! You are a Christian, Simon, and you will not murmur, I know, to be like Him from whom you are called. You have no bed to-night, no pillow for your head; be comforted, then, that you are only in a situation such as He was; not one night, but many nights, he Had not where to lay his sacred head! Like Him, too, you are a carpenter! I have always felt that Jesus had sanctified this trade; and when I first saw you at work, I felt an interest in you from that cause, deepened, as I must confess, after I became acquainted with you, into one of a different nature. Nay, my dear husband, we have every reason to be happy, even sad as our situation actually is, for God is our Father, and we shall not want. If we die, our happiness will be complete; if we live yet longer on earth, it will be under His parental care, who feeds the young ravens when they cry; and are we and our dear child Fanny, who is sleeping here so sweetly on my lap, not of more value than many ravens?"

Thus did this sweet Christian wife discourse with the impatient invalid, and her words dropped upon his soul like heavenly balm, healing its wounds, and mingling sweetness with its bitter thoughts; and Simon

"You have extraordinary faith in God, Sarah! I wish I could believe as you do! He has certainly permitted many who trust in him as much as we try to do, to perish of hunger!"

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Yes, to feed them with that bread of which, if any man eat, he shall never die!" she answered, with sweet faith.

"Read me some promise, dear, that I may catch from it something of that elevated and trusting spirit, which makes you so superior to our wretched condition."

"I have no Bible," said Sarah, with a look of sadness and pain; "it was taken by the officer with the other books, though I begged for it; but he was insensible: he could not appreciate my feelings! He thought I wanted to retain it for the reason he took it, because it had gilt leaves; and he said, seeing Sarah,' which you had stamped on it in gold letters, that he had a daughter of the same name, and he'd buy it in for her!"