13. 'Twas vain-they reached the other shore,
(Such dooms the fates assign us.)

The gold he'd piled went with his child,
And he was left there, minus.

LESSON XXV.

ADDRESS TO YOUNG LADIES.

DOW, JR.

1. LADIES, you caged birds of beautiful plumage, but sickly looks; you pale pets of the parlor, vegetating in an unhealthy shade with a greenish white complexion, like that of a potato sprout in a dark cellar, why don't you go out in the open air and warm sunshine, and add lustre to your eyes, bloom to your cheeks, elasticity to your steps, and vigor to your frames?

2. Take early morning exercise-let loose your corset strings, and run up a hill on a wager, and down again for fun. Roam in the fields, climb the fences, leap the ditches, wade the brooks, and go home with an excellent appetite. Liberty thus exercised and enjoyed, will render you healthy, blooming, and beauiful-as lovely as the graces, and as prolific as Deverra.

3. The buxom, bright-eyed, rosy-cheeked, full-breasted, bouncing lass, who can darn a stocking, mend her frocks, command a regiment of pots and kettles, feed the hogs, milk the cows, and be a lady withal in company, is just the sort of a girl for me, or any other young man to marry; but you, ye pining, lolling, screwed up, wasp-waisted, doll-dressed, putty-faced, consumption-mortgaged, music-murdering, novel-devouring daughters of fashion and idleness; you are no more fit for matrimony than a pullet is to look after fourteen chickens.

4. The truth is, my dear girls, you want, generally speaking,

more liberty, and less fashionable restraint; more kitchen, and less parlor; more leg exercise, and less sofa; more frankness, and less mock modesty; more corned beef, and less bishop. Loosen yourselves a little; enjoy more liberty, and less restraint by fashion. Breathe the pire atmosphere of freedom, and become something nearly as lovely and beautiful as the God of nature designed.

LESSON XXVI.

SOLILOQUY OF A SINGLE GENTLEMAN.

1. BLESS me! I'm thirty-nine to-day; six feet in my stock ings, black eyes, curly hair, tall and straight as a cedar of Lebnon, and still a bachelor! Well, it's an independent life at least ;—no it isn't either! Here's these new gloves of mine full of little rips; string off one of my most faultless dickeys; nice silk handkerchief in my drawer wants hemming; top button off the waistband of my pants; what's to be done?

2. How provoking it is to see those married people looking so self-satisfied and consequential, at the heads of their fainilies, as if they had done the state a great service. Why, as to the children, they are as plenty as flies in August, and about as troublesome; every alley, and court, and garret, are swarming with 'em; they're no rarity, and any poor, miserable wretch can get a wife, enough of them, too, such as they are. It's enough to scare a man to death to think how much it costs to keep one.

3. Young folks have to begin now where their fathers and mothers left off. Silks and satins, ribbons and velvets, feathers and flowers, cuff-pins and bracelets, gim-cracks and fol-derols; and there's no help for it in any case; for if I married a woman I loved, and the dear little thing should ask me for

my scalp, I should give it to her, I know I should. Then there's the tapestry carpets, and mirrors, and sofas, and ottomans, and damask curtains, and pictures, and croke-ry, and (you must look at the subject in all its bearings,) little jackets, and frocks, and wooden horses, and dolls, and pop-guns, and ginger-bread, don't believe I can do it, by Jupiter!

4. But then, here I sit, with the toe of my best boot kicking the grate, for the want of something to do; it's coming awful cold, dreary weather, long evenings, can't go to concerts forever, and when I do, my room looks so much the gloomier when I come back, and it would be cozy to have a nice little wife to chat and laugh with. I've tried to think of something else, but I can't; if I look in the fire, I am sure to see a pair of bright eyes; even the shadows on the wall take fairy shapes; I'm on the brink of ruin-I feel it; I shall read my doom in the marriage list before long-I know I shall.

LESSON XXVII.

RAPS ON THE LAPSTONE.

BUNGAY.

1. OLD Crispin wore a paper cap,
And an apron made of leather;

He sat upon his bench to rap
Soles (not spirits) hours together.

2. He said his last days were his best,

Though he felt the thread unwinding;
His heart waxed warm within his vest,
And what he closed was binding.

3. When others spoke of this world's wea!,
Crispin pointed to an upper;

He had the wondrous skill to heel,

But gave his earthly awl for supper.

4. He heeled more than the doctors did,

And helped the soles more than the preacher;

For a quid pro quo he gave a quid,

And used the strap more than the teacher.

5. Aye, Crispin was a good old man,
Yet sometimes he would bristle,

But do the very best we can,

"A pig's tail will not make a whistle."

LESSON XXVIII.

LECTURE ON CALIFORNIA.

DOW, JE.

1. MY HEARERS-I know very well what will procure you bliss by the hogshead; it is that wretched, filthy stuff, called money. That it is that keeps your souls in a flutter, and sets you jumping like a lot of chained monkeys at the sight of a string of fish. You think if you only possessed a certain heap of lucre, you would be off in lavender, make mouths at care, say "how are you?" to sorrow, laugh at time, and feel happy as an oyster in June.

2. O, yes! if you only had enough of the trash, I would admit you might feel satisfied, and, of course, contented; but in such cases more requires more, (according to Daboll and rum,) the last more requires most, most wants more yet; and so on to the end of everlasting. There is no such thing as the

end of worldly wishes for worldly riches. As well might the sow be supposed to get enough of wallowing in the mire, as for a mortal to be satisfied with the rolling in the carrion of wealth. So false are your ideas of the means to obtain happiness, that you would, if you could, coax angels from the skies to rob them of the jewels in their diadems. I havn't the least doubt of it.

3. My dear friends, I will tell you how to enjoy as much bliss as heaven can afford to human. Be contented with what you have no matter how poor it is, until you have an opportunity to get something better. Be thankful for every crumb that falls from the table of Providence, and live in constant expectation of having the luck to pitch upon a whole loaf. Have patience to put up with present troubles, and console yourselves with the idea that your situations are paradises compared with others.

4. When you have enough to eat to satisfy hunger, enough to drink to quench thirst, enough to wear to keep you decent and comfortable, just enough of what is vulgarly called "tin to procure you a few luxuries, when you owe no one, and no one owes you, not even a grudge, then if you are not happy, all the gold in the universe cannot make you so.

5. A man much wiser than I, once said, give me neither poverty nor riches; and I look upon him as one of the greatest philosophers the world ever produced. All he wanted was a contented mind, sufficient bread and cheese, and a clean shirt. Take pattern after him, O ye disconcerted mortals, who vainly imagine that bliss is to be found in the palaces of wealth and opulence.

6. My hearers, if you consider all creation too poor to af ford you a single penny-worth of true blessedness, you must pray to be reconciled to its poverty. Grease your prayers with faith, and send them up in earnestness, hot from the soul's This manufacturing cold petitious with the lips, while

oven.