LESSON LXXII.

elative Value of Good Sense and Beauty in the Female Sex.-LITERARY Gazette.

HSTANDING the lessons of moralists, and the dec of philosophers, it cannot be denied that all man› a natural love, and even respect, for external In vain do they represent it as a thing of no value s a frail and perishable flower; in vain do they exhe depths of argument, all the stories of fancy, to worthlessness of this amiable gift of nature. Howasive their reasonings may appear, and however or a time, fancy ourselves convinced by them, we ur breasts a certain instinct, which never fails to at all is not satisfactory; and though we may not be ove that they are wrong, we feel a conviction that ssible they should be right.

are certainly right in blaming those, who are renn by the possession of beauty, since vanity is, at all ault: but there is a great difference between being thing, and being happy that we have it; and that owever little merit a woman can claim to herself for y a quality which she may reasonably rejoice to poshands, I think, no very labored proof. Every one natshes to please. To this end we know how important the first impression we produce should be favorable. his first impression is commonly produced through the of the eye; and this is frequently so powerful as to r a long time, the opposing evidence of subsequent ion. Let a man of even the soundest judgment be d to two women, equally strangers to him, but the one y handsome, the other without any remarkable ads of person, and he will, without deliberation, attach first to the former. All men seem in this to be 1 by the same principle as Socrates, who used to say, en he saw a beautiful person, he always expected to nimated by a beautiful soul.

ladies, however, often fall into the fatal error of im

ing that a fine person is, in our eyes, superior to every r accomplishment; and those, who are so happy as to be owed with it, rely, with vain confidence, on its irresistible er to retain hearts as well as to subdue them. Hence

avish care bestowed on the improvement of exterior and shable charms, and the neglect of solid and durable llence; hence the long list of arts that administer to ty and folly, the countless train of glittering accomplishts, and the scanty catalogue of truly valuable acquirets, which compose, for the most part, the modern system ashionable female education. Yet so far is beauty from g, in our eyes, an excuse for the want of a cultivated d, that the women who are blessed with it, have, in reala much harder task to perform, than those of their sex are not so distinguished. Even our self-love here takes against them; we feel ashamed of having suffered oures to be caught like children, by mere outside, and aps even fall into the contrary extreme.

the Venus

ould "the statue that enchants the world," Medicis,—at the prayer of some new Pygmalion, become lenly animated, how disappointed would he be, if she e not endowed with a soul answerable to the inimitable ection of her heavenly form? Thus it is with a fine an, whose only accomplishment is external excellence. may dazzle for a time; but when a man has once ght, "What a pity that such a masterpiece should be but alking statue!" her empire is at an end.

'n the other hand, when a woman, the plainness of whose ures prevented our noticing her at first, is found, upon er acquaintance, to be possessed of the more solid and able perfections of the mind, the pleasure we feel in being greeably undeceived, makes her appear to still greater antage: and as the mind of man, when left to itself, is rally an enemy to all injustice, we, even unknown to elves, strive to repair the wrong we have involuntarily e her, by a double portion of attention and regard. these observations be founded in truth, it will appear that, gh a woman with a cultivated mind may justly hope to se, without even any superior advantages of person, the liest creature that ever came from the hand of her Crea

be only for a transitory empire, unless she unite auty the more durable charm of intellectual ex

-ed child of nature, who combines in herself these ections, may be justly considered as the mastercreation; as the most perfect image of the Divinlow. Man, the proud lord of the creation, bows s haughty neck beneath her gentle rule. Exr, beneficent, is the love that she inspires. Even If shall respect the all-powerful magic of her er charms may fade, but they shall never wither; y still, in the evening of life, hanging with fond er the blanched rose, shall view, through the vale ears, the tender bud, the dawning promise, whose ce blushed before the beams of the morning

love!-there are soft smiles and gentle words, e are faces, skilful to put on

: we trust in,—and 'tis mockery all!ss mist, a desert-vapor, wearing

htness of clear waters, thus to cheat

st that semblance kindled! There is none,
is cold and hollow world, no fount

, strong, deathless love, save that within
r's heart. It is but pride, wherewith
air son the father's eye doth turn,
g his growth. Ay, on the boy he looks,
ght, glad creature springing in his path,
he heir of his great name, the young
tely tree, whose rising strength, ere long,
ar his trōphies well. And this is love!
man's love!-What marvel? You ne'er made
east the pillow of his infancy,

While to the fulness of your heart's glad heavings
His fair cheek rose and fell, and his bright hair
Waved softly to your breath! You ne'er kept watch
Beside him, till the last pale star had set,

And morn, all dazzling, as in triumph, broke
On your dim, weary eye; not yours the face
Which, early faded through fond care for him,
Hung o'er his sleep, and, duly as heaven's light,
Was there to greet his wakening!

You ne'er smoothed

His couch, ne'er sung him to his rosy rest,
Caught his least whisper, when his voice from yours
Had learned soft utterance; pressed your lip to his,
When fever parched it; hushed his wayward cries,
With patient, vigilant, never-wearied love!
No! these are woman's tasks!-In these her youth,
And bloom of cheek, and buoyancy of heart,
Steal from her all unmarked.

LESSON LXXIV.

Napoleon at Rest.-PIERPONT.

His falchion flashed along the Nile;
His hosts he led through Alpine snows;
O'er Moscow's towers, that blazed the while,
His eagle flag unrolled,—and froze.

Here sleeps he now, alone! Not one,
Of all the kings, whose crowns he gave,
Bends o'er his dust;-nor wife nor son
Has ever seen or sought his grave.

Behind this sea-girt rock, the star,

That led him on from crown to crown,

Has sunk; and nations from afar

Gazed as it faded and went down.

at night hangs round him, and the breath orning scatters, is the shroud

at wraps the conqueror's clay in death.

e here! The far off world, at last,
eathes free; the hand that shook its thrones,
to the earth its mitres cast,

es powerless now beneath these stones.

! comes there, from the pyramids, d from Siberian wastes of snow, Europe's hills, a voice that bids

he world he awed to mourn him?—No:

only, the perpetual dirge

at's heard here, is the sea-bird's cry,mournful murmur of the surge,—

he cloud's deep voice, the wind's low sigh.