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thoughts bring sad thoughts to the mind," and the eye slides away insensibly from the sunshine to the cloud. shadows, feeling that they are bound together in beauty by one spirit. Why so sad a word farewell? We should not weep in wishing welfare, nor sully felicity with tears. But we do weep, because evil lies lurking in wait over all the earth for the innocent and the good, the happy and the beautiful, and when guarded no more by our eyes, it seems as if the demon would leap out upon his prey. Or is it because we are so selfish that we cannot bear the thought of losing the sight of the happiness of one we dearly love, and are troubled with a strange jealousy and envy of beings unknown to us, and for ever to be unknown, about to be taken into the very heart, perhaps, of the friend from whom we part, and to whom we breathe a sad, almost a sullen, yet still a sweet fare. well? Or does the shadow of death pass over us while we stand for the last time together on the sea-shore, and see the ship with all her sails about to voyage away to the uttermost parts of the earth ? Or do we shudder at the thought of mutability in all created things, insensate or with soul-and know that ere a few hours shall have brightened the path of the swist vessel on the far-off sea, we shall be dimly remembered--alas! at last forgotten, and all those days, months, and years, that once seemed as if they would never die, swallowed up in everlasting oblivion ?
(Blackwood's Edinburgh Magazine, 1830.)
It must be a heavenly life-wedlock-with one wife and one daughter. Not that people may not be happy with a * series of spouses, and five-and-twenty children all in a row.
But we prefer still to stirring life--and therefore, oh! for one wife and one daughter! What a dear delightful girl would she not have been by this time, if born in the famous vintage of 1811-the year, too, of the no less famous comet! But then-in spite of all her filial affection, speaking in silvery sound, and smiling in golden light, she would, in all human probability, have been forsaking her old father this very month; without compunction or remorse, forgetting her mother; and even like a fair cloud on the mountain's breast, cleaving unto her husband! Such sepa. ration would to us have been insupportable. Talk not of grandchildren, for they come but to toddle over your grave; -as for son-in-law, they are sulky about settlements, and wish you dead ;-every man of feeling and every man of the world, too, knows that his last day of perfect happi. ness is that on which he sees his only daughter a bride.
But let us not run into the melancholics. We wishnotwithstanding all this--that we had now-one wife-one single wife and one only daughter. Ourselves about fifty-my dear some six summers farther off heaven-and my darling, “ beautiful exceedingly," on the brink of her expiring teens!' Ay, we would have shown the world “how divine a thing a woman might be made.” Our child would have seemed alternately–Una-Juliet-Desdemona-Imogen; for those bright creatures were all kith and kin, and the angelical family expression would, aster
a sleep of centuries, have broken out in beauty over the countenance of their fair cousin, Theodora North!
“And pray, sir, may I ask how you would have edu. cated your sweet scion of the rising sun ?"-Whispers a dowager now at her third husband, and therefore at pre. sent somewhat sarcastically inclined towards bachelors of a certain age. We answer susurringly. « Think not, madam, though we have hitherto been the most barren, and you the most prolific of the children of men, that, therefore, were a daughter yet to be born to us, we should show ourselves ignorant of the principles of female educa. tion. There was Miss Hamilton-and there is Miss Edgeworth, who never had a child in their lives—though you have had a score and upwards-yet each of them writes about children as well or better than if she had had bant. ling after bantling annually, ever since the short peace of 1802. So are we-to our shame be it spoken-childless; that is, in the flesh, but not in the spirit. In the spirit we have had for nearly twenty years an only daughter-and her Christian and Scriptural name is Theodora- the gift of God !"
Some day or other we intend publishing a poem with that title, which has been lying by us for several years but meanwhile, let us, gentle reader, as if in a “twa. haun'd crack," chit-chat away together about those ideal daughters, of whom almost every man has one-twoor three--as it happens and whose education he conducts, after a dreamy mode it is true, yet not untrue to the genial process of nature, in the school-room of imagination.
The great thing is, to keep them out of harm's way. Now, surely that is not hard to do, even in a wicked world. There is a good deal of thieving and robbing going on, all round about villages, towns, and cities, especially of flowers and vegetables. Yet, look at those pretty smiling suburban gardens, where rose-tree and pear-tree are all in full blossom or bearing, not a stalk or branch broken ;-nor has the enormous Newfoundlander in yonder kennel been heard barking, except in sport, for a twelvemonth. Just so with the living flower beneath your eye in your own Eden
No need for you to growl,
Not a hair of her head shall be touched by evil; it is guarded by the halo of its own innocence; and you feel that every evening when you press it to your heart, and dismiss the pretty creature to her bed with a parental prayer. It is, then, the easiest of all things to keep your rose or your lily out of harm's way; for thither the dewy gales of gladness will not carry her; in sunlight, and moonlight, and in utter darkness, her beauty is safe--if you but knew what holy duties descended upon you from heaven the moment she was born, and that the God-given must be God-restored out of your own hand at the last day!
But we are getting too serious--so let us be merry as well as wise-yet still keep chatting about Theodora. She has, indeed, a fine temper. Then we defy Fate and Fortune to make her miserable, for as long a time as is neces. sary to boil an egg-neither hard nor soft-three minutes and a half; for Fate and Fortune are formidable only to a female in the sulks ; and the smile in a serene eye scares them away to their own dominions. Temper is the atmosphere of the soul. When it is mild, pure, fresh, clear, and bright, the soul breathes happiness; when it is hot and troubled, as if there were thunder in the air, the soul inhales misery, and is aweary of very life. Yet there are times and places, seasons and scenes, when and where the atmosphere, the temper of every human soul, is like the foul air or damp in a coal-pit. The soul at work sets fire to it, by a single spark of passion; and there is explosion and death. But religion puts into the hand of the soul her safety-lamp; and, so guarded, she comes uninjured out of the darkest and deepest pit of Erebus.
You have kept your Theodora, we hope, out of harm's way; and cherished in her a heavenly temper. The creature is most religious; of all books she loves best her Bible ; of all days most blessed to her is the Sabbath. She goeth but to one church. That one pew is a pleasant place, hung round by holy thoughts, as with garlands of flowers, whose bloom is perennial, and whose balm breathes of a purer region. The morning and the evening of each
week-day has still to her something of a Sabbath feelinga solemnity that sweetly yields to the gladness and gaiety of life's human hours, whether the sunlight be astir in every room of the busy house, or the “ parlour-twilight” illumined by the fitful hearth, that seems ever and anon to be blinking lovingly on the domestic circle. Humble in her happiness-fearful of offence to the Being from whom it is all felt to flow-affectionate to her earthly parents, as if she were yet a little child-pensive often as evening, yet oftener cheerful as dawn-what fears need you have for your Theodora, or why should her smiles sometimes affect you more than any tears ?
Can a creature so young and fair have any duties to perform? Or will not all good deeds rather flow from her as unconsciously as the rays from her dewy eyes? Noshe is not the mere child of impulse. In her bosomsecret and shady as is that sacred recess-feeling has grown up in the light of thought. Simple, indeed, is her heart, but wise in its simplicity; innocence sees far and clear with her dove-like eyes; unfaltering where'er they go, be it even among the haunts of sin and sorrow, may well be the feet of her who duly bends her knees in prayer to the Almighty Guide through this life's most mortal darkness; and “ greater far than she knows herself to be," is the young Christian lady, who sees a sister in the poor sinner that in her hovel has ceased even to hope ; but who all at once on some gracious hour, beholds, as if it were an angel from heaven, the face of one coming in her charity to comfort and to reclaim the guilty, and to save both soul and body from death.
Yes, Theodora has her duties ; on them she meditates both day and night; seldom for more than an hour or two, are they entirely out of her thoughts; and sometimes does a faint shadow fall on the brightness of her countenance, even during the mirth which heaven allows to innocence, the blameless mirth that emanates in the voice of song from her breast,-even as a bird in spring, that warbles thick and fast from the top-spray of a tree in the sunshine, all at once drops down in silence to its nest. A life of duty is the only cheerful life; for all joy springs from the affections ; and 'tis the great law of nature, that without