The words should be so placed as to be agreeable to ther. the ear in reading.

Summarily, It should be smooth,

Query. Whether it is worth a rational man's while to forego the pleasure arising from the present luxury of the age in eating and drinking and artful cookery, An ill man may write an ill thing well; that is, having studying to gratify the appetite, for the sake of enjoyan ill design he may use the properest style and arguing a healthy old age, a sound mind and a sound body, ments (considering who are to be readers) to attain his

which are the advantages reasonably to be expected from a more simple and temperate diet?

Whether those meats and drinks are not the best that contain everything in their natural tastes, nor have any thing added by art so pleasing as to induce us to eat or drink when we are not athirst or hungry, or after thirst and hunger are satisfied; water, for instance, for per-drink, and bread, or the like, for meat?

Does it not require as much pains, study and apQuestion. Wherein consists the happiness of a ra- plication, to become truly wise and strictly good and tional creature?

The great secret of succeeding in conversation, is to admire little, to hear much, always to distrust our own reason, and sometimes that of our friends; never to pretend to wit, but to make that of others appear as much as possibly we can; to hearken to what is said

A. The knowledge of what will be best for us on all and to answer to the purpose. occasions and the best ways of attaining it.

LOSING AND WINNING.

By the author of the "Cottage in the Glen," "Sensibility," &c.
Think not, the husband gained, that all is done;
The prize of happiness must still be won;
And, oft, the careless find it to their cost,
The lover in the husband may be lost;
The graces might, alone, his heart allure-
They and the virtues, meeting, must secure.

Can I not win his love?

Lord Lyttleton.

Is not his heart of "penetrable stuff?"
Will not submission, meekness, patience, truth,
Win his esteem?--a sole desire to please,
Conquer indifference?-they must-they will!
Aid me, kind heaven--I'll try!

Anon.

It was a bright and beautiful autumnal evening. The earth was clad in a garb of the richest and brightest hues; and the clear cerulean of the heavens, gave place, near the setting sun, to a glowing 'saffron color,' over which was hung a most magnificent drapery of crimson clouds. Farther towards both the north and south, was suspended here and there a sable curtain, fringed with gold, folded as but one hand could fold them. They seemed fitting drapery to shroud the feet of Him, who "maketh the clouds his chariot, who rideth upon the wings of the wind."

that business will detain me in New York some time
longer.
Yours, &c.

FREDERIC WESTBURY.

For a long time the gentle, the feeling Julia, indulged her tears and her grief without restraint. Again, and again, she read the laconic epistle before her, to ascertain what more might be made of it than at first met the eye. But nothing could be clothed in plainer language, or be more easily understood. It was as brief, and as much to the point as those interesting letters which debtors sometimes receive from their creditors, through the agency of an attorney. "Did ever youthful bride," thought she, "receive from her husband such a letter as this?" He strives to show me the complete indifference and coldness of his heart toward me. O, why did I accept his hand, which was rather his father's offering than his own? Why did I not listen to my reason, rather than to my fond and foolish heart, and resist the kind old man's reasonings and pleadings? Why did I believe him when he told me I should win his son's affections? Did I not know that his heart was given to another? Dear old man, he fondly believed his Frederic's affections could not long be withheld from one whom he himself loved so tenderly-and how eagerly I drank in his assurances! Amid all the sorrow Such was the evening on which Edward Cunningham that I felt, while kneeling by his dying bed, how did conducted his fair bride into the mansion prepared for my heart swell with undefinable pleasure, as he laid her reception. But had both earth and heaven been his hand, already chilled by death, upon my head, gave decked with ten-fold splendor, their beauty and mag-me his parting blessing, and said that his son would nificence would have been lost on him; for his thoughts, his affections, his whole being were centered in the graceful creature that leaned on his arm, and whom he again and again welcomed to her new abode-her future home. He forgot that he still moved in a world that was groaning under the pressure of unnumbered evils; forgot that earthly joy is oft-times but a dream, a fantasy, that vanishes like the shadow of a summer cloud, that flits across the landscape, or, as the morning vapor before the rising sun; forgot that all on this side heaven, is fleeting, and changeable, and false. In his bride, the object of his fondest love, he felt that he possessed a treasure whose smile would be unclouded sunshine to his soul; whose society would make another Eden bloom for him. It was but six short months since he first saw her who was now his wife; and for nearly that entire period he had been in 'the delirium of love,' intent only on securing her as his own. He had attained his object, and life seemed spread before him, a paradise of delight, blooming with roses, unaccompanied by thorns.

Joy and sorrow, in this world, dwell side by side. In a stately mansion, two doors only from the one that had just received the joyful bridegroom and happy bride, dwelt one who had been four weeks a wife. On that same bright evening she was sitting in the solitude of her richly furnished chamber, her elbows resting on a table, her hands supporting her head, while a letter lay spread before her, on which her eyes, blinded by tears, were rivetted. The letter was from her husband. He had been from home nearly three weeks, in which time she had heard from him but once, and then only by a brief verbal message. The letter that lay before her had just arrived; it was the first she had ever received from her husband, and ran thus :

love me! Mistaken assurance! ah, why did I fondly trust it? Were I now free!-free!-would I then have the knot untied that makes me his for life? Not for a world like this! No, he is mine and I am his; by the laws of God and man, we are one. He must sometimes be at home; and an occasional hour in his society, will be a dearer bliss than aught this world can bestow beside. His father's blessing is still warm at my heart! I still feel his hand on my head! Let me act as he trusted I should act, and all may yet be well! Duties are mine-and thine, heavenly Father, are results. Overlook my infirmities, forgive all that needs forgiveness, sustain my weakness, and guide me by thine unerring wisdom." She fell on her knees to continue her supplications, and pour out her full soul before her Father in heaven; and when she arose, her heart, if not happy, was calm; her brow, if not cheerful, was serene.

Frederic Westbury was an only child. He never enjoyed the advantages of maternal instruction, impressed on the heart by maternal tenderness-for his mother died before he was three years old, and all recollection of her had faded from his memory. Judge Westbury was one of the most amiable, one of the best of men; but with regard to the management of his son, he was too much like the venerable Israelitish priest. His son, like other sons, often did that which was wrong, and he restrained him not.' He was neither negligent in teaching, nor in warning; but instruction and discipline did not, as they ever should do, go hand-in-hand; and for want of this discipline, Frederic grew up with passions uncontrolled-with a will unsubdued. He received a finished education, and his mind, which was of a high order, was richly stored with knowledge. His pride of character was great, and he looked down with Mrs. Westbury—Thinking you might possibly ex-contempt on all that was dishonorable or vicious. He peet to see me at home this weck, I write to inform you had a chivalrous generosity, and a frarkness of dispo VOL. II--53

sition that led him to detest concealment or deceit. He loved or hated with his whole soul. In person he was elegant; his countenance was marked with high intellect and strong feeling; and he had the bearing of a prince. Such was Frederic Westbury at the age of four-and-twenty.

ter. To be the plighted bride of the man she loved, made her heart throb with joy, and her faith in his father's assurance that she would win his affections, sus tained her hope, that his prediction would be verified. Yet when she marked the countenance of her future husband, her heart sank within her. She could not

arose solely from grief at the approaching death of his father. She felt that he was making a sacrifice of his fondest wishes at the shrine of filial duty.

Judge Westbury died; and with almost his parting breath, he pronounced a blessing upon Julia as his daughter-the wife of his son-most solemnly repeating his conviction that she would soon secure the heart of her husband!

About a year before his marriage, Frederic became | flatter herself into the belief, that its unmingled gloom acquainted with Maria Eldon, a young lady of great beauty of person, and fascination of manner, who at once enslaved his affections. But against Miss Eldon, Judge Westbury had conceived a prejudice, and for once in his life was obstinate in refusing to indulge his son in the wish of his heart. He foresaw, or thought he did so, the utter ruin of that son's happiness, should he so ally himself. He had selected a wife for his son, a daughter-in-law for himself, more to his own taste. Julia Horton was possessed of all that he thought valuable or fascinating in woman. Possibly Frederic might have thought so too, had he known her, ere his heart was in possession of another; but being pointed out to him as the one to whom he must transfer his affections, he looked on her with aversion as the chief obstacle to the realization of his wishes. Julia was born, and had been educated, in a place remote from Judge Westbury's residence; but from her infancy he had seen her from time to time, as business led him into that part of the country in which her parents resided. In her childhood she entwined herself around the heart of the Judge; and from that period he had looked on her as the future wife of his son. His views and wishes, however, were strictly "I am come," said he to Julia, "to fulfil my engage. confined to his own breast, until, to his dismay, he found ment. Will you name a day for the ceremony?" that his son's affections were entangled. This discovery His countenance was so gloomy, his manners so was no sooner made than he wrote a pressing letter to cold-so utterly destitute of tenderness or kindly feelJulia, who was now an orphan, to come and make himing, that something like terror seized Julia's heart; and

Immediately on the decease of her friend and father, Julia returned home, and in three months Frederic followed her to fulfil his promise. He was wretched, and would have given a world, had he possessed it, to be free from his engagement. But that could never be. His word had been given to his father, and must be religiously redeemed. "I will make her my wife,” thought he; "I promised my father that I would. Thank heaven, I never promised him that I would love her!" Repugnant as such an union was to his feelings, he was really impatient to have it completed; for as his idea of his duty and obligation went not beyond the bare act of making her his wife, he felt that, that once done, be should be comparatively a free man.

without making any reply, she burst into tears.
"Why these tears, Miss Horton ?" said he. "Our
mutual promise was given to my father; it is fit we re-
deem it."

"No particular time was specified,” said Julia timidly, and with a faltering voice. "Is so much haste neces sary?"

"My father wished that no unnecessary delay should be made," said Frederic, "and I can see no reason why we should not as well be married now, as at any future period. If you consult my wishes, you will name an early day."

a visit of a few weeks. The reason he gave for inviting her was, that his health was rapidly declining, (which was indeed too true,) and he felt that her society would be a solace to his heart. Julia came; she saw Frederic; heard his enlightened conversation; observed his polished manners; remarked the lofty tone of his feelings; and giving the reins to her fancy, without consulting reason or prudence, she loved him. Too late for her security, but too soon for her peace, she learned that he loved another. Dreading lest she should betray her folly to the object of her unsought affection, she wished immediately to return to her native place. But to this Judge Westbury would not listen. He soon discovered The day was fixed, and at length arrived, presentthe state of her feelings, and it gave him unmingled sa-ing the singular anomaly of a man eagerly hastening tisfaction. It augured well for the success of his dearest to the altar, to utter vows from which his heart reearthly hope; and as his strength was rapidly declining, coiled, and a woman going to it with trembling and consumption having fastened her deadly fangs upon him, reluctance, though about to be united to him who pos to hasten him to the grave, he gave his whole mind to sessed her undivided affections. the accomplishment of his design. At first his son listened to the subject with undisguised impatience; but his feelings softened as he saw his father sinking to the tomb; and, in an unguarded hour, he promised him that he would make Julia his wife. Judge Westbury next exerted himself to obtain a promise from Julia that she would accept the hand of his son; and he rested not until they had mutually plighted their faith at his bed-side. To Frederic this was a moment of unmingled misery. He saw that his father was dying, and felt himself constrained to promise his hand to one woman, while his heart was in possession of another.

The wedding ceremony over, Mr. Westbury immediately took his bride to his elegantly furnished house; threw it open for a week, to receive bridal visits; and then gladly obeyed a summons to New York, to attend to some affairs of importance. On leaving home, he felt as if released from bondage. A sense of propriety had constrained him to pay some little attention to his bride, and to receive the congratulations of his friends with an air of satisfaction, at least; while those very congratulations congealed his heart, by bringing to mind the ties he had formed with one he could not love, to the impossibility of his forming them with the one whom * Julia's emotions were of the most conflicting charac- he idolized. When he had been absent about ten days,

he availed himself of an opportunity to send a verbal | inquiries relative to her occupations during his absence, message to his wife, informing her that he was well, whether she had called on the new bride, Mrs. Cunand should probably be at home in the course of two ningham, and other questions of similar consequence. weeks; but when that period was drawing toward a For the time he forgot Maria Eldon; was half unconclose, his business was not completed, and as home was scious that Julia was his wife-and viewing her only as the last place he wished to visit, he resolved to protract a companion, he passed an hour or two very comforthis absence, so long as he had a reasonable excuse. "Iably. must write, and inform her of the change in my plan," thought he, “decency demands it, yet how can I write? My dear Julia!-my dear wife! No such thing-she is not dear to me!

'Ce cœur au moins, difficile à domter, Ne peut aimer ni par ordre d'un père, Ni par raison.'

One day when Mr. Westbury came in to dinner, Julia handed him a card of compliments from Mr. and Mrs. Brooks, who were about giving a splendid party.

"I have returned no answer," said Julia, "not knowing whether you would wish to accept the invitation or not."

"For yourself, you can do as you please, Mrs. Westbury-but I shall certainly attend it."

best." Her voice trembled a little, as she spoke; for she had not yet become sufficiently accustomed to Mr. Westbury's brusque manner toward herself, to hear it with perfect firmness. "I should think it very suitable that you pay Mr. and Mrs. Brooks this attention," Mr. Westbury replied.

Nothing more was said on the subject, and Julia returned an answer agreeable to the wishes of her husband.

She is my wife-she is Mrs. Westbury—she is mistress of my house, and must share my fortune-let that suffice her! It must have been for these that she mar- "I am quite indifferent about the party," said Julia, ried me. A name! a fortune! an elegant establishment!"as such scenes afford me little pleasure; but should Mean! ambitious! heartless! Thou, Maria-bright, be pleased to do as you think proper-as you think beautiful, and tender-thou wouldest have married me for myself! Alas, I am undone! O, my father!" Under the influence of feelings like these, he wrote the laconic epistle which cost his bride so many bitter tears. It was at the close of about two weeks from this, that Julia was sitting one evening in her parlor, dividing the time betwixt her work and a book, when the door-bell rang, and a minute after the parlor door opened, and Mr. Westbury entered. With sparkling eyes and glowing cheeks, she sprang forward, her hand half extended to The evening to visit Mrs. Brooks at length arrived, meet his-but his ceremonious bow, and cold "good and Julia repaired to her chamber to dress for the occaevening Mrs. Westbury," recalled her recollection; and sion. To render herself pleasing in the eyes of her scarcely able to reply to his civility, she sank back on husband was the sole wish of her heart, but how to do her chair. She thought she was prepared to see him this was the question. She would have given the world cold and distant-thought she expected it but she had to know his taste, his favorite colors, and other trifles deceived herself. Notwithstanding all her bitter rumina- of the like nature—but of these she was completely igtions on her husband's indifference toward her, there had norant, and must therefore be guided by her own fancy. been a little under current of hope, playing at the bot-"Simplicity," thought she-"simplicity is the surest tom of her heart, and telling her he might return more cordial than he went. His cold salutation, and colder eye, sent her to her seat, disappointed, sick at heart, and nearly fainting. In a minute, however, she recovered her self-possession, and made those inquiries concerning his health and journey, that propriety dictated. In spite of himself, she succeeded in some degree in drawing him out. She was gentle, modest, and unobtrusive-and good sense and propriety were conspicuous in all she said. Beside, she looked very pretty. Her figure, though rather below the medium size, was very fine, her hand and foot of unrivalled beauty. She was dressed with great simplicity, but good taste was betrayed in every thing about her person. She wore her dress, too, with a peculiar grace, equally remote from precision and negligence. Her features were regular, and her complexion delicate; but the greatest attraction of her face, was the facility and truth with which it expressed every feeling of the heart. When Mr. Westbury first entered the parlor, an observer might have pronounced her beautiful; but the bright glow of transient joy that then kindled her cheek, had faded away, and left her pale—so pale, that Mr. Westbury inquired, even with some little appearance of interest, "whether her health was as good as usual?" Her voice, which was always soft and melodious, was even softer and sweeter than usual, as she answered "that it was." Mr. Westbury at length went so far as to make some

way; for it never disgusts-never offends, if it does not captivate." Accordingly, she arrayed herself in a plain white satin-and over her shoulders was thrown a white blond mantle, with an azure border, while a girdle of the same hue encircled her waist. Her toilet completed, Julia descended to the parlor, her shawl and calash in her hand. Mr. Westbury was waiting for her, and just casting his eyes over her person, he said—“If you are ready, Mrs. Westbury, we will go immediately, as it is now late." Most of the guests were already assembled when they arrived at the mansion opened for their reception, and it was not quite easy to get access to the lady of the house, to make their compliments. This important duty, however, was at length happily accomplished, and Mr. Westbury's next effort was to obtain a seat for his wife. She would have preferred retaining his arm, at least for a while, as few persons present were known to her, and she felt somewhat embarrassed and confused; but she durst not say so, as, from her husband's manner, she saw that he wished to be free from such attendance. In such matters the heart of a delicate and sensitive woman seldom deceives her. Is it that her instincts are superior to those of men?

Julia had been seated but a short time before Mr. and Mrs. Cunningham approached her, and entered into a lively conversation. This was a great relief to Julia, who could have wept at her solitary and neglected situation, alone, in the midst of a crowd. Mrs. Cunningham

was in fine spirits, and her husband appeared the hap-
piest of the happy. Not that he appeared particularly
to enjoy society-but his blooming wife was by his side,
and his eyes rested on her with looks of the tenderest
love-while the sound of her voice seemed constantly
to awaken a thrill of pleasure in his heart. After con-
versing with Julia awhile, Mrs. Cunningham said
"Do you prefer sitting to walking, Mrs. Westbury?
Pray take my arm, and move about with us a little-it
looks so dull for a person to sit through a party."

the world," said the other gentleman. "I wonder at your taste."

"It does finely in its place," said Mr. Westbury"that is—in the heavens above our heads-but never about the person of a lady."

Julia wished her mantle and her girdle in Africa— "Yet why ?" thought she. "I dare say he is ignorant that I have any of the color he so much dislikes, about me! His heart belongs to another, and he cares not— minds not, how she is clad whom he calls wife."

Mr. Westbury and his friend now moved to another part of the room, and it was as much as Julia could do, to answer with propriety the few remarks that a passing acquaintance now and then made to her. At length the company began to disperse, and presently Julia saw Mr. Westbury leading Miss Eldon from the room. His head was inclined toward her; a bright hectic spot was on his cheek, and he was speaking to her in the softest tone, as they passed near where Julia was sitting. Miss Eldon's eyes were raised to his face, while her counte

Julia had just time enough to remark all this, ere they left the room. "O, that I were away!" thought she"that I were at home!—that I were—in my grave!" She sat perfectly still-perfectly unconscious of all that was going forward, until Mr. Westbury came to her, inquiring "whether she meant to be the last to take leave?" Julia mechanically arose, mechanically made her parting compliments to Mrs. Brooks-and scarcely knew any thing till she arrived at her own door. Just touch

Julia gladly accepted the offer, and was soon drawn away from herself, in listening to the lively rattle of her companion, who, although only a resident of a few wecks in the city, seemed already acquainted with all the gentlemen, and half the ladies present. An hour had been passed in this manner, and in partaking of the various refreshments that were provided-to which Julia did little honor, though this was of no consequence, as Mrs. Cunningham amply made up all her deficiencies of this kind-when the sound of music in another room attracted their attention. Julia was ex-nance wore a mingled expression of pain and pleasure. tremely fond of music, and as their present situation, amid the confusion of tongues, was very unfavorable for its enjoyment, Mr. Cunningham proposed that they should endeavor to make their way to the music room. After considerable detention, they succeeded in accomplishing their object, so far at least as to get fairly within the door. Considering the number of persons present, and how few there are that do not prefer the music of their own tongues to any other melody, the room was remarkably still-a compliment deserved by the younging her husband's hand, she sprung from the carriage, lady who sat to the piano, who played and sang with and flew to her chamber. For a while she walked the great skill and feeling. Julia's attention was soon at- floor in an agony of feeling. The constraint under tracted to her husband, who was standing on the oppo- which she had labored, served but to increase the viosite side of the room, leaning against the wall, his arms lence of her emotion, now that she was free to indulge folded across his breast, his eyes resting on the performer it. "O, why did I attend this party ?" at length thought with an expression of warm admiration, while a deep she-"O, what have I not suffered!" After a while, shade of melancholy was cast over his features. Julia's however, her reason began to operate. "What have I heart beat tumultuously. "Is it the music," thought seen, that I ought not to have expected?" she asked she, For the musician that thus rivets his attention ? herself. "What have I learned that I knew not beforel Would I knew who it is that plays and sings so sweet-except," she added, "a trifling fact concerning my hus ly!" She did not remain long in doubt. The song finished, all voices were warm in its praise.

"How delightfully Miss Eldon plays! and with what feeling she sings!" exclaimed Mrs. Cunningham. "I never listened to a sweeter voice!"

The blood rushed to Julia's head, and back again to her heart, like a torrent; a vertigo seized her; and all the objects before her, were, for a moment, an indistinct, whirling mass. But she did not faint; she did not even betray her feelings, though she took the first opportunity to leave the room, and obtain a seat. For a long time she was unconscious of all that was passing around her; she could not even think-she only felt. Her husband's voice was the first thing that aroused her attention. He was standing near her with another gentleman; but it was evident that neither of them were aware of her proximity.

"Mrs. Brooks looks uncommonly well to-night," said Mr. Westbury's companion; "her dress is peculiarly becoming."

"It would be," said Mr. Westbury, "were it not for those blue ribbands; but I can think no lady looks well who has any of that odious color about her."

"It is one of the most beautiful and delicate colors in

band's taste." Julia thought long and deeply; her spirits became calm; she renewed former resolutions; looked to heaven for wisdom to guide, and strength to sustain her—and casting aside the mantle, which would henceforth be useless to her, she instinctively threw a shawl over her shoulders to conceal the unlucky girdle, and, though the hour was late, descended to the parlor. Mr. Westbury was sitting by a table, leaning his head on his hand. It was not easy for Julia to address him on any subject not too exciting to her feelings and still more difficult perfectly to command her voice, that its tones might be those of ease and cheerfulness; yet she succeeded in doing both. The question she asked, led Mr. Westbury to look up, and he was struck by the death-like paleness on her cheek. Julia could by an effort control her voice; she could in a degree subdue her feelings; but she could not command the expression of her countenance-could not bid the blood visit or recede from her cheeks at her will. She knew not, indeed, that at this time she was pale; her own face was the last thing in her mind. Mr. Westbury had no sooner answered her question, than he added—“ You had better retire, Mrs. Westbury. You look as if the fatigues of the evening had been too much for you."