you old plague. I wish you would let me alone!" As she looked up, she saw the face of a gentleman whose good opinion she was extremely anxious to secure. Blushing deeply, she exclaimed, "Pray excuse my rudeness, sir. I thought it was pa!"

You may command attention, young ladies, and secure admiration, by the taste with which you adorn your person. The flashes of your mind, intellect, and eloquence, may impress and awe the beholder; yet you will win your way to the heart of no one, except you are amiable and respectful. Home is the nursery of all the courtesies of life; of all the virtues that adorn the state. A daughter, cultivated and affectionate, makes home happy, and gives high promise for the future. A daughter undisciplined and unamiable, will dishonor her family and disgrace her sex.

While the pulsations of life beat, you cannot repay the watchful care and anguish that have been borne for you. Those who have borne them for you, have claims upon your most devoted and earnest gratitude and love. There is an eye that watched over your earliest slumbers; a hand that rocked you to your earliest repose; a voice that soothed you to your sweetest rest; a heart that loved you in helplessness, that wept over your sorrow, and would have borne all your grief. To that eye, that hand, that heart, your earliest, constant, most especial acknowledgments are due. God says, "The eye that mocketh at his father, and despiseth to obey his mother, the ravens of the valley shall pluck it out, and the young eagles shall eat it."

No grief can equal that which parents feel when they do not receive that respect from their children, which is their due.

- " Sharper than a serpent's tooth it Is,

To haye a thankless child."

If to strangers you manifest a readiness to display those accomplishments which have been provided for you, at much expense — perhaps at great sacrifice — while you refuse the gratification to your parents, or yield a reluctant or ill-humored compliance, you are ungrateful. But who can fathom that deeper-seated sorrow which parents feel, when their daughters tread the paths of folly; chase, day by day, the phantom of pleasure; overstep the laws of propriety; put far from them the restraints of virtue; or put beneath their feet the sanctions of a religious life? Vividly should the truth be impressed upon you, that such conduct lodges poisoned arrows in the hearts of your parents, and plants thorns upon the pillows of those who love you well.

Next to the fear of God, filial piety is an ornament the most precious that a female can wear. It guides youthful hands to provide for, and to bless the father and mother. It prompts to self-denial, to make others happy. It takes the young from the halls of pleasure, to stand beside the couch of sickness, to speak words of comfort, and smooth the pillow and the path of life. Such conduct all admire, and God will bless. Bid it become me to describe a happy home, it would be that in which love has an empire, and affection a throne; in which God is remembered in the morning and evening sacrifice; in which children are respectful and kind; a home where sisters dwell, and brothers meet in love. In such a family, with such children, as much of Paradise as remains to fallen man, will be found. Happy that home so blessed! happy such parents! blessed such children! And such a home, young ladies, you can create. You can call down upon the hearth-stone where you dwell a blessing from him whose favor is better than life.

A CONTBAST.

It was a handsome and splendidly furnished room. Crimson curtains swept in graceful folds to the floor, which was covered by a carpet of the finest and richest workmanship. There were broad mirrors, and luxuriant couches, and tasteful ottomans. There were books with georgeous bindings; and the walls were ornamented by fine and costly paintings.;

A man, in the prime of .life, was alone in the apartment. He seemed listless and nneasy. After taking up, one after another, of several volumes, seemingly with an effort to escape from ennui, he rose and touched a bell-cord. On a servant's appearing in answer to the summons,, lie inquired for his daughters. They were out . As the door closed on the servant, he said, half aloud, "Out; yes,, they are always out when there is no company at home. I scarcely see as much of them as if I were one of their visiting acquaintances." So saying, with a discontented air, he threw himself upon a couch. , . .

We will now look upon another scene. It is a small and neatly furnished room. It can boast no carpet, save only a home

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