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FEMALE EDUCATION.

BY DR. BENJAMIN RUSH.

It is agreeable to observe how differently modern writers, and the inspired author of the proverbs, describe a fine woman. The former confine their praises chiefly to personal charms, and ornamental accomplishments, while the latter celebrates only the virtues of a valuable mistress of a family, and a useful member of society. The one is perfectly acquainted with all the fashionable languages of Europe; the other, “opens her mouth with wisdom” and is perfectly acquainted with all the uses of the needle, the distaff, and the loom. The business of the one, is pleasure; the pleasure of the other, is business. The one is admired abroad ; the other is honoured and beloved at home. Her children rise up and call her blessed, her husband also and he praiseth her." There is no fame in the world equal to this; nor is there a note in music half so delightful, as the respectful language with which a grateful son or daughter perpetuates the memory of a sensible and affectionate mother.

It should not surprise us that British customs, with spect to female education, have been transplanted into our American schools and families. We see marks of the same incongruity, of time and place, in many other things. We behold our houses accommodated to the climate of Great Britain, by eastern and western directions.

We behold our ladies panting in a heat of ninety degrees, under a hat and cushion, which were calculated for the temperature of a British summer.

We behold qur citizens condemned and punished by a criminal law, which was copied from a country where maturity in corruption renders public executions a part of the amusements of the nation. It is high time to awake from this servility—to study our own character to examine the age of our country-and to adopt manners in every thing, that shall be accommodated to our state of society, and to the forms of our government. In particular it is incumbent upon us to make ornamental accomplishments, yield to principles and knowledge, in the education of our women.

A philosopher once said “let me make all the ballads of a country and I care not who makes its laws.” He might with more propriety have said, let the ladies of a country be educated properly, and they will not only make and administer its laws, but form its manners and character. It would require a lively imagination to describe, or even to comprehend, the happiness of a country, where knowledge and virtue, were generally diffu

the female sex. Our young men would then be restrained from vice by the terror of being banished from their company. The loud laugh and the malignant smile, at the expense of innocence, or of personal infirmities—the feats of successful mimicry—and the low priced wit, which is borrowed from a misapplication of scripture phrases, would no more be considered as recommendations to the society of the ladies. A double entendre, in their presence, would then exclude a gentleman for ever from the company of both sexes,

and

probably oblige him to seek an asylum from contempt, in a foreign country. The influence of female education

sed among

would be still more extensive and useful in domestic life. The obligations of gentlemen to qualify themselves by knowledge and industry to discharge the duties of benevolence, would be increased by marriage ; and the patriot-the hero—and the legislator, would find the sweetest reward of their toils, in the approbation and applause of their wives. Children would discover the marks of maternal prudence and wisdom in every station of life ; for it has been remarked that there have been few great or good men who have not been blessed with wise and prudent mothers. Cyrus was taught to revere the gods, by his mother Mandane—Samuel was devoted to his prophetic office before he was born, by his mother HannahConstantine was rescued from paganism by his mother Constantia-and Edward the Sixth inherited those great and excellent qualities, which made him the delight of the age in which he lived, from his mother, lady Jane Seymour. Many other instances might be mentioned, if necessary, from ancient and modern history, to establish the truth of this proposition.

LINES

ON SEEING AN OLD COPY OF THOMAS MORE'S MISCELLA

NEOUS LATIN POEMS DRILLED THROUGH BY WORMS.

BY J. C. SNOWDEN.

ONCE on a time (the story's short)
Sir Thomas graced King Harry's court;
A very Stagyrite at Greek,
And famed for repariee and freak.
His janty thoughts in crabbed Saxon
We long have ceased to pay a tax on;
His bed of* plank, and shirt of hair,
No more create a stupid stare;
And all his verse and prose in Latin
Serve only moths and worms to fatten;
Himself and they, though highly rated,
Have both been since decapitated.

It chanced, a quidnunc, t'other day,
At Dobson's stopp’d, 'twas in his way;
And as he view'd the learned shelves,
Espied a tome in dusty twelves:
The title-page upon it bore
The name and style—Sir Thomas More;
And modern brains to puzzle quite,
'Twas wrote in Latin out of spite.

Poems of every name and nature,
Odes without fire, and harmless satire,

* Penances to which Sir Thomas thought proper to subject himself.

And epitaphs that moved no pity,
And epigrams that were not witty,
With panegyrics wrote in fear
To o'ershoot the mark—but came not near,
Were crowded here in imitation
Of Knickerbocker celebration.
Now as he turn'd the pages o’er,
In hope, amidst the musty lore,
Some wit to glean, or manly, sense
To bear away in triumph thence,
He spied a hole, through which had crept
A worm, as on the shelf they slept,
Which, many a misanthropic year,
Had here indulged his ghostly cheer,
Till every leaf was more or less
The
prey

of his insatiateness.
The reptile seem'd a brute of sense,
And waged his war with some pretence.
Where Love displayed his rosy bowers
He trod with caution o'er the flowers;
As loth to mar a scene so fair,
Or else he deem'd the banquet spare:
Perhaps 'twas prudence bade him shun
An ambush worse than pike or gun;
Perhaps he now had lost the zest,
And spurn'd what once he fancied best;
So on he journey'd, till he came
To
open

fields and fairer game. Where PANEGYRICS round him lay, The hero urged his desperate way; And, heedless or of lie or truth, He plied his sharp remorseless tooth, To prove the adage, since forgotten“ In fancy ripe, in reason rotten."

These past, a strange amorphous group Beneath him lay-an armed troop,

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