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anity does not make her responsible, as a moral and immortal being, to man, but represents both as having a common Master in heaven. No virtue inculcated on the one sex, is omitted in describing the duties of the other. The Christian character is a moral statue, to be wrought by every living hand; and taste, composition, symmetry, effect, are required and expected, in the spiritual workmanship, no less of woman than of man.

The personal treatment which this sex received at the hand of Jesus, was always respectful, as well as tender and kind. “His earliest friend was a woman: his only steadfast friends through his ministry were women.” It was “the daughters of Jerusalem,” who wept for him in his final agony. “The last at his cross, and the first at his sepulchre, was a woman. And when, after his ascension, the little company of believers was assembled, waiting for the fulfilment of his promise, there also were found the women who had accompanied him in life and stood by him in death." How could he, with such proofs of their piety, zeal, and perseverance, fail to regard the sex with a consideration, at least equal to that he bestowed upon man?

And in the religion itself, we find qualities with which the capacities and powers of woman singularly harmonize. It is founded upon the affections. Love to God, and love to man, are its two great commandments. The sacrifice it requires, on the altar of life, is that of the heart. And what is this, but the unquestioned empire of woman? Sentiment, with her, is natural, — the growth of her moral being : in man, it is usually acquired, — the result of thought. Deny, as man may, her mental equality with himself, — doubt, as we may, the comparative strength or capabilities of any other portion of her nature, as related to man, — in the possessions of the heart, no man can contest the ascendency with woman. She is naturally less selfish than man. She can, (if she will but obey her best impulses,) rise to the loftiest heights of Christian excellence. And, if serious impediments oppose her progress, - on herself, — her own culpableness, not on her nature, - must each consequent failure be charged.

Another characteristic of our religion, is its call for what have sometimes been termed the passive virtues, — fortitude, submission, patience, resignation. The acquisition of these qualities, is, to man, a most arduous task. He can toil, and struggle, and resist. In scenes of active effort, and strong conflict, he is at home. But his power of endurance is by no means commensurate with these traits. In woman, they find a congenial spirit, a heart open, and waiting for their reception. — “Those disasters,” says an elegant writer, “which break down and subdue the spirit of man, and prostrate him in the dust, seem to call forth all the energies of the softer sex, and give such intrepidity and elevation to their character, that at times, it approaches to sublimity.”

Who does not perceive that this sex enjoys preëminent advantages for the culture of that spiritual union with God, required of the Christian? And, in sustaining the ordinary trials of our lot, as social beings, — in cherishing forbearance toward the unjust, kindness to the thankless, and love toward those who inflict personal injuries, - woman is endowed by her Maker with a divine power.

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This phenomenon is seen in its most brilliant state, in high northern and southern latitudes. Dr. Barry thus describes the appearance of it on the coast of Orkney:—“Here, the northern lights appear, both more frequently, and with greater splendour, than in most other regions; for, during the harvest, winter, and spring months, they arise almost every unclouded night, and often shine with the most magnificent brilliancy. The light of the moon at her quadratures, sometimes scarcely equals them, in illuminating the friths and the islands.

“Between the setting of the sun and the close of the twi. light, they commonly make their first appearance in the north; issuing, for the most part, from behind the clouds, like a fountain of pale light, the form of which is undefined; and they continue, in this state, a little above the horizon, -sometimes, only for a short period, and, at other times, for the space of several hours, without any motion that can be discovered.

“They form themselves, one while, into an arch, the height of which is about thirty degrees, and its breadth about sixty, and the pillars on which it is supported, several times broader than the rainbow; and so long as they retain this shape, they are without any sensible motion. At another time, they extend farther over the heavens, rise much higher, assume a greater variety of shapes, and discover a dusky hue, — with a motion that is slow, but perceptible.

" Very often they exhibit an appearance quite different, and spread themselves over the whole heavens, diffusing everywhere a surprising degree of light, and exhibiting the most beautiful phenomena. Their motion, in this case, is in various directions, extremely swift, and, as it were, in separate columns, resembling, somewhat, the evolutions of a great army. Their lowest extremities are distinctly defined, and deeply tinged with the colours of the rainbow; their upper ones tapering, but fainter. In several places at once, they kindle into a blaze, dart along in almost all directions, for some seconds of time; and then, — as if by the strength of their exertions they had spent their force, — they are extinguished in a moment, – leaving a brown track in the sky behind them.

“Near the place where they disappeared, in a short time, they flash out anew, and with equal rapidity trace the same path in similar motions, and again expire in the same manner. This they often continue for several hours together, to the great satisfaction and amusement of the spectators on Tand, and the advantage of the mariner; when they gradually die away, and leave through the whole heavens, a colour resembling that of brass. If the night be uncommonly still, and their motion very rapid, a whizzing noise has been thought to have been distinctly heard from them at various intervals.

“ This beautiful coruscation, which has never yet been satisfactorily explained, is said to have been much less frequent, eighty or ninety years ago, than it is at present. It appears now, however, very often, and seems to occupy that space in the heavens which is between the region of the clouds and the summit of the atmosphere; as the clouds in motion never fail to eclipse it; — and, as it cannot be seen from two places greatly distant from one another, at once, nor yet in conjunction with the same fixed stars, it evidently has no great degree of elevation.”


THE TWO VOICES. Mrs. Hemans.

Two solemn voices, in a funeral strain,
Met, as rich sunbeams and dark bursts of rain

Meet in the sky : “ Thou art gone hence!” one sang; “Our light is flown, Our beautiful, that seemed too much our own,

Ever to die!

“ Thou art gone hence ! - our joyous hills among
Never again to pour thy soul in song,

When spring-flowers rise !
Never the friend's familiar step to meet
With loving laughter, and the welcome sweet

Of thy glad eyes!”

Thou art gone home, – gone home!" then, high ani clear Warbled that other voice: “ Thou hast no tear

Again to shed,
Never to fold the robe o’er secret pain,
Never, weighed down by Memory's clouds, again

To bow thy head.

“ Thou art gone home ! oh! early crowned and blest! Where could the love of that deep heart find rest

With aught below? Thou must have seen rich dream by dream decay, All the bright rose-leaves drop from life away:

Thrice blest to go!"

Yet sighed again that breeze-like voice of grief, —
“Thou art gone hence! alas ! that aught so brief,

So loved should be!
Thou tak’st our summer hence! — the flower, the tone,
The music of our being, all in one,

Depart with thee!

“Fair form, young spirit, morning vision fled ! Canst thou be of the dead, the awful dead ?

The dark unknown ?

Yes! to the dwelling where no footsteps fall, -
Never again to light up hearth or hall, -

Thy smile is gone!”

“Home, home!once more th' exulting voice arose :
“Thou art gone home! from that divine repose

Never to roam !
Never to say farewell, to weep in vain,
To read of change, in eyes beloved, again,-

Thou art gone home.

“ By the bright waters now thy lot is cast, — Joy for thee, happy friend! thy bark hath past

The rough sea's foam ! Now the long yearnings of thy soul are stilled; — Home! home!- thy peace is won, thy heart is filled. —

Thou art gone home!”



The River Ettrick has its source in a wild moorland coun. try, and is hemmed in on all sides by dark and lonely moun. tains, among which it forces its way, for several miles. The valley then begins to open, and the country to assume a more cheerful aspect: the mountains are less rugged in their appearance, and of a brighter green than those which frown over the source of the infant stream. On passing the church of Ettrick, which is sweetly situated on a gentle eminence, with its guardian hill in the background, the river is joined by the Temma, Rankle-burn, and other minor streams; it then passes the mansion-house of the Lords of Napier, descendants of the celebrated discoverer of the logarithms, and the ruins of Tushilaw Castle; and, about twelve miles farther down, it joins its sister stream, the Yarrow. About six miles below this, having passed the town of Selkirk, it is lost in the broader waters of the Tweed, in the vicinity of Abbotsford.

The Yarrow owes its name to a Celtic word, signifying "the brawling stream,” – a term most appropriate, when

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