THE FAULTY MISTRESS.

275

been led to think it was a want of reflection—ignor-|| mies, and say, "Of all places on earth deliver me from ance of the effect of your manner on those around you. the kitchen of a pious woman. I tried Mrs. G., a Do you not perceive that ill-humor is contagious-that|| Universalist, Mrs. F., a Deist, and Mrs. S., a real Owif you angrily demand labor it will be impatiently per- enite-Fanny Wright woman, but Mrs. Fretful can outformed? A woman's philosophy is deep enough to scold them all." It would be particularly mortifying to comprehend this. You go to the kitchen with a cloud you, should such a representation be made abroad. If on your brow, and on entering it let out lightning and your girl keeps on in the good way, she may not say thunder. Under this guise of intemperate rage, can it for the sake of the Church. If she backslides, she the domestics meet you with smiles? It would be will be apt to take this method to excuse her apostasy. folly to expect it. You must be a good natured wife If she should keep silent under the provocation which if you would have a good natured husband. It is not I know you have given her, it proves that the maid is less true that you must be a smiling mistress if you more discreet than her mistress. would have your maidens smile. If you were a servant, could you make up your temper to meet a petulant shrew with soft cadences and honeyed words? Not you. Now you must reflect, that the maid, as well as the mistress, is a woman. She has in her all your susceptibilities and humors, and they are liable to the same provocations in her as in you.

I would have you pay particular attention to your countenance. The phiz is talismanic. You say I don't believe in Mesmerism. That's right. But you believe that one's tears or smiles may set sympathy to work in those around. One sneeze in a company of twenty will provoke ten sneezes. I must tell you, cousin, that your face is particularly ugly under a cloud. It may be because it is so especially otherwise in sunshine. They told me when I was young that gravity didn't become me. I looked in the glass and found it was a fact. I then tried to smile; but I couldn't keep it up. My nature was to look sour, and I had just to give up to it. Yet it has destroyed all my popularity, and for ever will. But you are made on another scale. You can smile, and if you will just turn to the glass a few times, in the same fix as when you are saying to Sally, "There it is, as usual-the victuals all spoiled," I believe you will not assume another frown or scold another lesson till dooms-day. It will frighten you to see yourself.

Now let me say a word on another subject. You are a professor. For sixteen years you have been a member of the Church. Sally joined the Church six months ago, and is now warm in her first love. She went to live with you in preference to others, because she expected you to help her in religion. To her there was a charm in family prayer, and the devotional associations of a pious household. I ask you, now, whether your manners are such as will tend to confirm her faith, and lead her close to the Savior. You said the other day that you would rather have any sort of a girl than a Church member. I have heard others speak in the same rash manner. When things come to this point, there is great wrong somewhere. Either the mistress should accuse the maid, or the maid the mistress, and one or the other should be churched forthwith. I advise you never to say this again. It is an imputation on Christ and his religion. Indeed, I would suggest whether your conscience does not convict you of this fact, namely, that Sally might with show of reason, go to Mrs. D., or Mrs. M., your greatest ene

Now, cousin, I write thus plainly, not to provoke in you greater errors, but to cure existing faults. Let me be heard, and don't get angry. You know I am an old friend, as well as a tolerably old man. Should you take this kindly, I may write again; and believe me, that although I am a little rough in this epistle, I have for you the kindest feelings in the world. And if I have arrayed your vices before you in a bold and withering light, I have not forgotten your virtues. Those I inscribe, as you here behold, on paper; these I have written on my heart.

Your affectionate friend and cousin,

●

PAUL CENSOR.

PRAYING unto God without communion, is like talking to a man who neither gives an answer, nor a smile, nor yet a look. No persons find a heart to pray who feel no fellowship with God. Fain would we grow notable by doing; it suits our legal spirit; but we can only grow valiant and successful by believing. Believing is the Christian's trade and maintenance. By it he obtains pardon and holiness. Naked faith, or a whole and simple trust in Jesus, is the Gospel instrument which brings salvation. But though faith alone, apart from its fruit, is the saving instrument, yet it cannot be alone, or without its fruit, where it is saving faith, as St. James declares. Saving faith brings heavenly peace, purifies the heart, overcomes the world. If you are not a real subject of Jesus Christ, you must be a stranger to the blessings of his kingdom. The riches are not bestowed upon the outward court worshipers. You must come within the vail, which is now rent open for access, before you a reconciled Father, and feast upon his grace. If Jesus Christ kept his court in your bosom, he would make peace there, for he is the prince of peace. Where he reigns, he commands peace. How can Jesus be your King, if he does not rule in your breast? How can you call Christ a Savior, if he does not save you from your sins? I must watch against sin, and pray against it too; yet not rely upon my own strength to conquer it, but wholly trust in Jesus, as my king, to subdue my will, my tempers, my affections, by his Spirit. I must wholly trust in Jesus, as my priest, to wash my guilty conscience in his purple fountain, and clothe my naked soul in his righteousness.-Berridge's Christian World Unmasked.

276

DIVINE PHILANTHROPY.

From the London Imperial Magazine. DIVINE PHILANTHROPY. THE philanthropy of God is displayed in the extensive range through the fair fields of science in which the human mind may rove.

Here intelligence wanders from flower to flower, from tree to tree, from plant to plant, from grove to grove, from sea to sea, from shore to shore. Every vegetable, and mineral, and fossil, and atom, is fraught with wonders. Every particle of atmospheric air, every drop of water, in the ocean's bed, every hill and mountain, every spire of grass, and leaf of the trees, is full of the wonder-working hand of God. Every animal, insect, and quadruped, all animated existence, is full of God. Or, shall we leave the vernal scenery, pass the silver cloud, and soar beyond, where "Aurora sprinkles with rosy fingers the eastern sky;" and quitting this earthly ball, "shoot across the spheres beyond the comet's pathless track;" or visit our neighboring planets, whether near the source of central fire, or on the utmost verge of sol's wide domain; or leaving our system, and dart, on lightning's wing, from star to star, from system to system, from nebula to nebula, until poor Terra has sunk to an obscure spot, and at last our sun entirely disappears? Here the human mind may wander among lost star-beams, or plunge into unfathomable space; and, wrapped in silent astonishment, adore that supremely glorious Being, who is God over all, blessed for ever! But let us confine our observations to those things that come more immediately under our observations. How is the philanthropy of God manifested in the formation of the human body; in its preservation, and in all the wonders of sensation! How well designed is every object around us to give pleasure to a rational mind! The senses of man connect him with the whole visible creation. The eye, finished internally and externally by the finger of God, in pleasing serenity surveys the distant landscape. Millions of rays of light fall every moment upon its minute retina, and paint earth's various scenes. But these are transcended in wonder by the phenomena of the human mind, which, being sensible of the existence of material objects, holds an incomprehensible connection with the whole visible creation.

Our perception and conception of objects are alike mysterious and wonderful. The most plausible theories of the greatest geniuses that have adorned our world, leave us in the dark. But although we cannot account philosophically for the manner of our percep tions, the mere savage must feel penetrated with pleasurable sensations, when the grand spectacle of nature falls on the organ of vision.

delight! The simple elegance and innate beauty of the
pink, the carnation, the tulip, the rose, the lily, the hya-
cinth, the ranunculus, and a thousand other of nature's
beauties, give a secret charm that is irresistibly pleas-
ing! The delicacy of their forms and tints vibrates
on the fine, the attenuated, though unknown springs of
our intellectual powers. In fact, whatever branch of
nature's productions strikes the eye, whether the state-
ly oak of the forest, or the spire of grass on earth's
flowery carpet, all, all declare the goodness of God.
If we turn our attention to those classes of animated
beings which soar in the air, their fine forms, and beau-
tiful plumage, diversified with the richest colors, from
the small humming-bird of the grove, to the golden
eagle which soars towards the resplendent orb of day;
from the charmingly formed pheasant of the wood, to
the spangled peacock, that struts with conscious pride
through the farm-yard, cannot fail to arrest our atten-
tion, and command our admiration. The violet, red,
yellow, and golden dresses, with which nature has dec-
orated their elegant bodies, both to temper the sum-
mer's blaze and winter's storms, must inspire the most
savage breast with pleasurable sensations! Nature
here, as everywhere, abounds with an endless variety.
Asia, Africa, Europe, and America, have their peculiar
birds, endued with a melody of voice, and clothed with
an elegance of plumage, and an exuberance of glow-
ing color, that bespeak the existence of a Being su-
premely wise, great, and good; but the pleasing sensa-
tions they excite in man, can only be fully known by
a sight of their beauties, or by the hearing of their
notes. The innate characteristics of beauty and per-
fection are so strongly interwoven in the works of na-
ture, that man is fond of tracing her inimitable forms,
and penciling her rarest flowers. The highest perfec-
tion of art is that which gives the strongest imitation
of her fair productions, delicate tints, and pure expres-
sion. Man has only to copy her, to arrive at perfec-
She has been his surest guide in all works of

tion.

taste.

Her ❝rows of reverend elms," cedars, and poplars, suggested the first idea of the pure taste of Grecian architecture; and hence arose the fine orders of the Doric, Ionic, and Corinthian columns. Hence the triumphal arches, vast colonnades, exuberant foliage, profuse beauties and sublimities, of the ancients, that have justly astonished succeeding generations, and that will remain monuments of perfection while sun and moon endure.

The embryo shell of the feathered choir, the globose drops of water, and the bells of flowers, are the standards of our most elegant porcelain forms, and other works of art; and we have only to modify and diversi

Every prospect is beautiful, sublime, and infinitely diversified. The towering mountain, the majestic pre-fy ad infinitum, to perpetuate the beautiful. cipice, the meandering river, the placid sky, the ruffled or unruffled elements; whether frowning in tremendous grandeur, or smiling in silent sunshine; all are blended with beauty and sublimity, and furnish occasions for so many sensations either of joy or pain. The chaste and softer forms of nature impart unmixed

Had the benevolent God given to man only the sense of seeing, the objects of perception would have furnished inexhaustible sources of delight. But he has increased his sensations by an addition of diversified organs. The ear, although internally situated, communicates with external objects. The air serves the triple

BE HOLY.

278

Original.
LOQUACITY.

BY BISHOP MORRIS.

LOQUACITY.

It leads families to discuss their private business in the
presence of strangers, which is improper. It betrays
many individuals into the very impertinent and annoy-
ing practice of catechising civil travelers as to their
residence, destination, name, and business. This is an
extremely rude practice. Loquacity interrupts the har-
mony of conversation; for a talkative individual will
often break in upon another while speaking, which is
embarrassing and uncourteous.
It makes people ap-
pear self-important and unteachable. For example,
when a minister of the Gospel calls on a talkative fam-

LOQUACITY, which, according to Walker, means "too much talk," is a fault as disagreeable as it is common. It is not restricted to either sex. The reader must not infer, because this brief article appears in the Ladies' Repository, that I judge women to be more faulty in this respect than men. In either it is unlovely, and when indulged to excess, becomes reprehensi-ily, instead of being heard as their religious teacher, ble in the estimation of all judicious people.

Loquacity is objectionable, because it savors of vanity. It indicates that the speaker wishes to bring himself into notice by a display of words; and, consequently, that he presumes much upon his own intelligence, and upon the ignorance of others, as if they knew nothing until he enlightened them. The talka-|| tive individual seems, also, to take it for granted, that his neighbors have leisure and patience to be lectured by the hour, on any subject which fancy, inclination, or accident may lead him to introduce. This is a great mistake in most cases. Such a character would do well to study the import of Solomon's maxim, "A fool's voice is known by multitude of words."

he is compelled to keep silence, and listen to their desultory harangues, perhaps all speaking at once, till his time and patience are exhausted, or retire abruptly. To visit such a family, except for the purpose of teaching them better manners, is a waste of time.

In some instances, loquacity is an infirmity of old age, and in others, of partial insanity, and in all such cases should be endured with patience. But in young and sane persons it is usually a defect of education, or of natural judgment, or both together. It leads some very young persons, like saucy children, to monopolize the time in conversation, to the exclusion of the aged and experienced. This is very indiscreet. Few things are more disgusting than the frivolous conversaAgain-loquacity is troublesome. It breaks in on tion of young people to each other in the presence of the regular calling of all who have the misfortune to seniors. Well educated and sensible young people, of be assailed by it. Few things are more annoying to both sexes, always pay respect to strangers and seniors, a man of business or a man of study, than to be fre- however inferior their accomplishments may be; but quently interrupted by the idle and loquacious. It the ignorant and talkative respect no one, and of course embarrasses him in his necessary avocation, and of no person respects them. They are radically defective course chafes his feelings; and, unless he possesses un-in sound understanding, and in civility, and therefore common forbearance, lays him under temptation to rude-introduce their uncalled for questions and topics, withness of manner. There are individuals in every exten-out regard to circumstances. sive community who seem to have no employment but to talk. They are generally very willing souls to give direction concerning the business of others, while they neglect their own; for, as Solomon said, "every fool will be meddling." But they are as poor counselors as they are unpleasant companions. Let it not be supposed that talkative characters are peculiar to this age or country. Paul said, "There are many unruly and vain talkers, and deceivers, especially they of the circumcision, * * whose mouths must be stopped;" and he instructed Titus to "rebuke them sharply."

It is frequently observed, that they who talk most do it to least purpose. Public speakers, of a loquacious disposition, are generally diffusive; they often lack point, and obscure their arguments by a superabundance of words. If they be members of deliberative bodies, they are apt to become troublesome, lose their influence, and sometimes secure to themselves an unenviable notoriety. Such orators might profit by the advice of St. James, "Let every man be swift to hear, slow to speak, slow to wrath."

A few individuals, of loquacious habits, are sufficient to cause general confusion in a large social company; because no one of them is willing to be a hearer-they all speak at once, which produces sound without sense, very much resembling the gabble of a large flock of geese. Hence it is that social parties seldom afford any instructive or profitable conversation, on subjects of general interest.

I have not the vanity to suppose that this short essay on loquacity will reform any confirmed talker; but it may possibly be the means of preventing some individuals from becoming such; and with that result I should not only be content, but feel amply rewarded for the labor of writing.

It is admitted that there is an opposite extreme to loquacity; that is, taciturnity, or habitual silence. This is also a fault to be guarded against. Very diffident and reserved persons, are most liable to fall into this error. Often, when a few words might be spoken to the edification of some individual, or company, they keep silence, from timidity, or disinclination to talk, and thereby lose an opportunity of doing good. Man is a social being. It is wisdom in all to cultivate social habits and feelings; and one of the best means of do

A loquacious disposition leads to many indiscretions, of which some examples may here be furnished. It influences confidentials to divulge secrets, betray confidence, and produce open ruptures between neighbors.ing so, is a familiar, friendly conversation. When we

the toil of our chosen vocation, it cannot be so irksome as resistance to pressing temptation, nor so painful as the consequences of yielding to its power. We should never forget that industry is a great help to virtue, and that its opposite is the patron of all vice.

engage in social converse, it should be to instruct, im- || preservative from temptation; for however severe may be press, amuse, or gain information; and as some one of these objects may be effected with any civil companion, there is no necessity of confining our conversation to a few select friends. Extreme taciturnity is not profitable, or commendable. Still, I am of the opinion, that to say too little is a less fault than to say too much, and, indeed, that it is better to say nothing than to speak unadvisedly.

There is, between the two extremes of loquacity and taciturnity, a happy medium-that of speaking on a suitable subject, at the right time, and in a proper manner, so as to accomplish some good purpose. If all would endeavor to speak thus, much idle and unprofitable talk would be dispensed with. Fine colloquial powers are among the choicest accomplishments of human life. If properly employed, they may be rendered exceedingly entertaining and instructive. They afford their possessor ready and easy access to society, and great facilities in accomplishing any object for which he is dependent on the co-operation of others; provided, always, that they be not used too freely. To be able to say enough on all occasions, without saying too much, is a rare attainment. It is the perfection of human converse, which every individual should aim to approximate as far as practicable.

Original.

ON DILIGENCE.

Indolence drives us into evil company. The industrious will not assort with the idle. They cannot, without a change of habits; for they have not leisure. || An idle person chooses not to be alone. He lothes his own company. And not being able to command the attentions of the diligent and the virtuous, he forms alliances with such, as like himself, have no business to employ them, and find time a heavy and intolerable burden.

Idleness brings want; not that every one must labor with the hands to procure the comforts of life, but he must employ himself some way. Even if born to a fortune, some degree of diligence will be requisite to preserve it. And he whom indolence renders poor is generally ripe for any wickedness. "I cannot dig," is his first resolve-"to beg I am ashamed," will be his second; next comes petty larceny, after that larger transgressions, and finally robbery, murder, and their sequences.

Laziness in woman is generally, if no worse, a guileful disposition. Not one time in a thousand will an indolent female be found a sincere, an honest woman. Amidst the dash and slop of a filthy kitchen, and a disordered drawing-room, you will find deceit and false

Ir is natural to abhor a lazy being. Even the indo-hood constant guests. Excuses as false as they are lent detest in others what they indulge in themselves. We cannot tolerate a lazy brute. There are reasons for this spontaneous and almost universal hatred of idleness. What are they?

Idleness is the parent of ignorance. We know that knowledge is not acquired without labor. We are directed, therefore, to seek for wisdom as for hid treasure. The indolent, averse as they are from study, grow up with unfurnished minds, and when they come to years, are children in understanding. The imagination is always more or less active; for the soul, in some of its faculties, must exert its immortal energies. It must busy itself, whether we will or no. It cannot cease from efforts of some sort, either useful or injurious, good or evil. Not being directed to that which is profitable, it becomes a deformed spirit, destitute of the graces and accomplishments of science.

foolish will be attempted as soon as you enter her premises. And in efforts to blind you to her domestic faults, the idle woman often contracts the habit of deceiving, till it enters into all her conversation and behavior.

Industry rescues from many causes of uneasiness, saves from many hours of irksome reflection, hushes many turbulent passions, and guards against many destructive temptations. It tends to render us happy in ourselves, and useful to others, by relieving the necessitous, teaching the ignorant, and assuaging the sorrows of the afflicted. The industry here spoken of regards our worldly avocations. Christian diligence is another thing. It is more noble in its aims, and is pressed upon us by higher and more solemn considerations. Its reward is supremely excellent and desirable, and to neglect it will bring upon us the greatest possible evil. If it be not unreasonable to labor for temporal good, how much more should we employ our energies to secure the approbation and smiles of God, the society of saints and angels, and an inheritance incor||ruptible, undefiled, and that fadeth not away! In this high and holy calling we are especially warned to be diligent. "Work out your own salvation with fear and trembling; for it is God that worketh in you to will and to do of his good pleasure."

Idleness is the parent of wickedness. Virtue requires that we pursue some innocent end, as our own support, or that of a family, if circumstances require it; if not, then the good and happiness of our fellow men. The diligent are tempted by one, the indolent by a legion of devils. Temptations will generally multiply in proportion to the leisure which we indulge in. This is inevitable; for as the mind cannot be unoccupied, unless we employ it in the pursuits of | Happy are they who trust in God, not with a pasvirtue, it will set itself on plotting evil. Let us be al-sive but with an active faith-a faith which rouses ways busy, then, in devising or executing some scheme to humble effort, and induces the soul to use all diliof benevolence. Let us accustom ourselves to toil as agence to make its calling and election sure. H.