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letters, upon vellum paper, with pink margins, sealed with sweet + mottoes, and dainty devices, the whole deliciously perfumed with musk and attar of roses; young ladies who collect "copies of verses,” and charades, keep * albums, copy patterns, make bread seals, work little dogs upon footstools, and paint flowers without shadow — Oh! no! the epistolary steam engine will never come into. *vogue with those dear creatures. They must enjoy the “ feast of reason, and the flow of soul,” and they must writeyes! and how they do write !

7. But for another genus of female scribes, unhappy innocents! who groan in spirit at the dire necessity of having to hammer out one of those aforesaid terrible epistles; who, having in due form dated the gilt edged-sheet that lies outspread before them in appalling whiteness, having also felicitously achieved the graceful exordium, “My dear Mrs. P,” or “My dear Lady V,” or “ My dear -any thing else,” feel that they are in for it, and must say something! Oh, that something that must come of nothing ! those bricks that must be made without straw! those pages that must be filled with words! Yea, with words that must be sewed into sentences! Yea, with sentences that must seem to mean something: the whole to be tacked together, all neatly fitted and dovetailed so as to form one smooth, polished surface !

8. What were the labors of Hercules to such a task! The very thought of it puts me into a mental perspiration; and, from my inmost soul, I compassionate the unfortunates now at this very

I moment, perhaps,) screwed up perpendicularly in the seat of torture, having in the right hand a fresh-nibbed patent pen, dipped ever and anon into the ink bottle, as if to hook up ideas, and under the outspread palm of the left hand a fair sheet of best Bath post, (ready to receive thoughts yet unhatched), on which their eyes are riveted with a stare of + disconsolate * perplexity infinitely touching to a feeling mind.

9. To such unhappy persons, in whose miseries I deeply sympathize - - - Have I not groaned under similar horrors, from the hour when I was first shut up (under lock and key, I believe), to indite a dutiful epistle to an honored aunt? I remember, as if it were yesterday, the moment when she who had enjoined the task entered to inspect the performance, which, by her calculation, should have been fully completed. I remember how sheepishly I hung down my head, when she snatched from before me the paper, (on which I had made no farther progress than “My dear ant,”') angrily exclaiming, “What, child ! have you been shut up here three hours to call your aunt a pismire?" From that hour of humiliation I have too often groaned under the + endurance of similar penance, and I have learned from my own sufferings to compassionate

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those of my dear sisters in affliction. To such unhappy persons, then, I would fain offer a few hints, (the fruit of long experience), which, if they have not already been suggested by their own observation, may prove serviceable in the hour of +

emergency. 10. Let them --- or suppose I address myself to one particular sufferer—there is something more * confidential in that manner of communicating one's ideas. As Moore says, “Heart speaks to heart." I say, then, take always special care to write by candlelight, for not only is the apparently unimportant operation of snuffing the candle in itself a momentary relief to the depressing con sciousness of mental + vacuum, but not unfrequently that trifling act, or the brightening flame of the taper, elicits, as it were, from the dull embers of fancy, a sympathetic spark of fortunate conception. When such a one occurs, seize it quickly and + dextrously, but, at the same time, with such cautious prudence, as not to huddle up and contract in one short, paltry sentence, that which, if ingeniously handled, may be wiredrawn, so as to undulate gracefully and smoothly over a whole page.

11. For the more ready practice of this invaluable art of + dilating, it will be expedient to stock your memory with a large assortment of those precious words of many syllables, that fill whole lines at once; "incomprehensibly, amazingly, decidedly, solicitously, inconceivably, incontrovertibly.” An opportunity of using these, is, to a distressed spinster, as delightful as a copy all m’s and n's to a child. “Command you may, your mind from play.” They run on with such delicious smoothness !

BLACKWOOD's MAGAZINE.

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QUESTIONS.- How must epistolary intercourse or letter writing be conducted, in order to be agreeable and useful? What manner of conducting it is ridiculed in this lesson? What is meant by talking nonsense?

To what inflections, in this lessori, is Rule II, 33, applicable ?

Parse “them” in the 10th paragraph. What word may be understood after it? Parse“ dilating” in the 11th paragraph. Parse “incomprehensibly,” “amazingly,” &c., in the same paragraph. Parse “m’s” and “n's.” Parse “all.” Parse “run on” in the last sentence. What is the subject and what the attribute ? See Pinneo's Analytical Grammar,

page 114.

LESSON XC.

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REMARK. – Be careful to give all the consonants their full sound in each word. PRONOUNCE cor

orrectly.--I-rons, pro. i-urns: un-clean-ly, pro. un-clen-ly: Christ-en-dom, pro. kris'n-dum: pris-on, pro. priz’n (see McGuffey's Spelling Book, page 49): min-utes, pro. min-its : pret-ty, pro. pril-ty.

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ness.

Ar'-ras, 11. a kind of curtains hung | Foul, a, wicked, abominable. around the walls of a room.

A-non', adv. soon; still and anon means, Un-clean'-ly, a. (pro. un-klen'-ly) inde- now and then, frequently. cent.

Wince, v. to shrink back as from pain. Wan'-ton-ness, n. playfulness, sportive- Chid, v. blamed, reproached. [or troubles.

An-noy'-ance, n. any thing which injures Christ'-en-dom, n. territory of Chris- Troth, n. truth, veracity.

tians : used for christening or baptism, Ex-tremes', n. the greatest degree of disas if he said, By my baptism.

tress : undeserred extremes means, acts Prate, n. familiar talk.

of cruelty which he had not deserved. Sooth, n. truth.

[tears. Tarre, v. (pro. tar) to tease, to set on. Rheum, n. (pro. rume) here used for Dog'-ged, a. surly, stubborn. Dis-pit'e-ous, a. cruel, without pity. Close'-ly, adv. secretly, privately.

PRINCE ARTHUR.

:

Hubert. HEAT me these irons hot; and, look thou stand

Within the arras; when I strike my foot
Upon the bosom of the ground, rush forth,
And bind the boy, which

you

shall find with me,
Fast to the chair : be heedful: hence, and watch.
First Attendant. I hope your + warrant will bear out the deed.
Hub. Uncleanly + scruples! Fear not you: look to it.

(Ecount Attendants.) Young lad, come forth; I have to say with you. - (Enter Arthur. Good-morrow, Hubert.

[Arthur.) Hub. Good-morrow, little prince. Arth. As little prince (having so great a title

To be more prince) as may be. You are sad.
Hub. Indeed, I have been merrier.
Arth. Mercy on me!

Methinks no person should be sad but I:
Yet I remember, when I was in France,

do me.

Young gentlemen would be as sad as night,
Only for wantonness. By my christendom,

.
So I were out of prison, and kept sheep,
I should be merry as the day is long;
And so would I be here, but that I doubt
My uncle + practices more harm to me:
He is afraid of me, and I of him:
Is it my fault that I were Geoffrey's son ?
No, indeed, is 't not; and I would to heaven

I were your son, so you would love me, Hubert.
Hub. If I talk to him, with his innocent prate

He will awake my mercy, which lies dead :

Therefore I will be sudden, and dispatch. (Aside.) Arth. Are you sick, Hubert? You look pale today.

In sooth, I would you were a little sick,
That I might sit all night, and watch with you.
I warrant I love
you more than

you Hub. His words do take possession of my

bosom.
Read here, young Arthur. (Showing a paper.) How now,

foolish rheum? (Aside.)
Turning dispiteous torture out the door!
I must be brief; lest resolution drop
Out at mine eyes, in tender womanish tears.
Can
you

not read it? Is it not fair writ? Arth. Too fairly, Hubert, for so foul effect :

Must you with hot irons burn out both mine eyes ?
Hub. Young boy, I must.
Arth. And will you?
Hub. And I will.
Arth. Have you the heart? When your head did but ache,
I knit

my handkerchief about your brows,
(The best I had, a princess wrought it me),
And I did never ask it you again :
And with my hand at midnight held your head,
And like the watchful minutes to the hour,
Still and anon cheered up the heavy time;
Saying, What lack you ? and, Where lies your grief?
Or, What good love may I perform for you?
Many a poor man's son would have lain still,
And ne'er have spoke a loving word to you;
But you at your sick service had a prince.
Nay, you may think my love was "crafty love,
And call it cunning: do, and if you will :
If heaven be pleased that you should use me ill,

Why, then

you must.

Will you put out mine eyes ?
These eyes, that never did, nor never shall,

So much as frown on you?
Hub. I have sworn to do it;

And with hot irons must I burn them out.
Arth. Ah, none but in this iron age would do it :

The iron of itself, though heat red-hot,
Approaching near these eyes, would drink my tears,
And + quench its + fiery indignation,
Even in the matter of mine innocence:
Nay, after that, consume away in rust,
But for containing fire to harm mine eye.
Are you more stubborn-hard than hammered iron ?
And if an angel should have come to me,
And told me Hubert should put out mine eyes,

I would not have believed no tongue but Hubert's.
Hub. Come forth. (Stamps.) (Reënter Attendants, with cord,
Do as I bid you.

[irons, &c.) Arth. Oh, save me, Hubert, save me! My eyes are out

Even with the fierce looks of these bloody men.
Hub. Give me the iron, I say, and bind him here.
Arth. Alas! what need you be so boisterous-rough?

I will not struggle, I will stand stone-still.
For heaven's sake, Hubert ! let me not be bound !
Nay, hear me, Hubert ! drive these men away,
And I will sit as quiet as a lamb:
I will not stir, nor wince, nor speak a word,
Nor look upon the irons angrily;
Thrust but these men away, and I'll forgive you,

Whatever torment you do put me to.
Hub. Go stand within ; let me alone with him.
1st At. I am best pleased to be from such a deed. (Er. Atten.)
Arth Alas! I then have chid away my

friend :
He hath a stern look, but a gentle heart :
Let him come back, that his compassion may

Give life to yours.
Hub. Come, boy, prepare yourself.
Arth. Is there no remedy?
Hub. None, but to lose your eyes.
Arth. Oh heaven! that there were but a mote in yours,

A grain, a dust, a gnat, a wandering hair,
Any annoyance in that precious sense!

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