cation of her children, and how to judge of their progress and the methods used to improve them.

From books, from conversation, from learned instructors, she will gather the flower of every science; and her mind, in assimilating every thing to itself, will adorn it with new graces. She will give the tone to the conversation, even when she chooses to bear but an inconsiderable part in it. She will seem to know every thing, by leading every one to speak of what he knows; and when she is with those to whom she can give no real information, she will yet delight them by the original turns and sprightly elegance which will attend her manner of speaking on any subject. Such is the character to whom professed scholars will delight to give information, and from whom others will equally delight to receive it.

EXERCISE CXXI.

"SHOCKING IGNORANCE," OR RESULTS OF EDUCATION. Anon.

A SHORT time ago, Punch had occasion to horrify his readers by publishing the report of his Select Committee on Education, which revealed the amount of ignorance of domestic matters, prevailing among young men generally. His Commissioners have just sent up to him their second report, which relates to the knowledge of business and the affairs of life, possessed by young ladies; and he has determined, at the risk of creating a fearful panic in the marriage market, to print it.

"Miss Mary Anne Watkins examined. Is the daughter of a private gentleman. Has several brothers and sisters. Is engaged to be married to a young surgeon, as soon as he can get into practice. Has an idea that she ought to know something of housekeeping; supposes it comes naturally. Can sing and play; draw and embroider. Cannot say that she ever darned a stocking. The price of brown Windsor soap is from one shilling to one and threepence the packet; cannot tell what yellow comes to; never got any. Circassian cream is half-a-crown a pot; does not know the price of pearlash. Knows how to furnish a house, would go to the upholsterer's and buy furniture. Cannot say how much she

it suggests gleams and visions, and not earthly satisfactions; when it seems

when it makes the beholder feel his unworthiness; when he cannot feel his right to it, though he were Cæsar; - he cannot feel more right to it, than to the firmament, and the splendours of a sunset.

Hence arose the saying, "If I love you, what is that to you?" We say so, because we feel that what we love, is not in your will, but above it. It is the radiance of you, and not you. It is that which you know not in yourself, and can never know.

This agrees well with that high philosophy of Beauty, which the ancient writers delighted in; for they said, that the soul of man, imbodied here on earth, went roaming up and down in quest of that other world of its own, out of which it came into this, but was soon stupified by the light of the natural sun, and unable to see any other objects than those of this world, which are but shadows of real things. Therefore, the Deity sends the glory of youth before the soul, that it may avail itself of beautiful bodies, as aids to its recollection of the celestial good and fair; and the man beholding such a person in the female sex, runs to her, and finds the highest joy in contemplating the form, movement, and intelligence of this person, because it suggests to him the presence of that which, indeed, is within the beauty, and the cause of the beauty.

If, however, from too much conversing with material objects, the soul was gross, and misplaced its satisfaction in the body, it reaped nothing but sorrow; body being unable to fulfil the promise which beauty holds out; but if, accepting the hint of these visions and suggestions which beauty makes to his mind, the soul passes through the body, and falls to admire strokes of character, and the lovers contemplate one another in their discourses and their actions, then, they pass to the true palace of Beauty, more and more inflame their love of it, and by this love extinguishing the base affection, as the sun puts out the fire by shining on the hearth, they become pure and hallowed. By conversation with that which is in itself excellent, magnanimous, lovely and just, the lover comes to a warmer love of these nobilities, and a quicker apprehension of the n. Then, he passes from loving them in

one, to loving them in all; and so is the one beautiful soul only the door through which he enters to the society of all true and pure souls. In the particular society of his mate, he attains a clearer sight of any spot, any taint, which her beauty has contracted from this world, and is able to point it out, and this with mutual joy that they are now able, without offence, to indicate blemishes and hinderances in each other, and give to each all help and comfort in curing the same. And, beholding in many souls the traits of the divine beauty, and separating in each soul that which is divine from the taint which they have contracted in the world, the lover ascends ever to the highest beauty, to the love and knowledge of the Divinity, by steps on this ladder of created souls.

Somewhat like this have the truly wise told us of love in all ages. The doctrine is not old, nor is it new. If Plato, Plutarch, and Apuleius taught it, so have Petrarch, Angelo, and Milton. It awaits a truer unfolding in opposition and rebuke to that subterranean prudence which presides at marriages with words that take hold of the upper world, whilst one eye is eternally boring down into the cellar, so that its gravest discourse has ever a slight savour of hams and powdering-tubs. Worst, when the snout of this sensualism intrudes into the education of young women, and withers the hope and affection of human nature, by teaching, that marriage signifies nothing but a housewife's thrift, and that woman's life has no other aim.

EXERCISE CXXXV.

THE FLOWER-STEALERS.

Laman Blanchard.

FOLLOWING the gardener through some of the loveliest portions of the ducal demesne, we all entered the conservatory. The heat was oppressive. As we passed out of the fresh air, although the light breeze that crept about had just before appeared to serve no other purpose than that of blowing the sunshine into our eyes, the atmospheric change was strikingly perceptible. The uneasy sensation, however, was but momentary; for as soon as the rapid glance, startled and delighted, had taken in the full display of flower and leaf,

as to increase its breadth. The addition is supported by square pillars; and the beautiful lawn, seen through the window, embellished and varied by clumps of trees, judiciously planted, imparts much cheerfulness to the exterior.

An oblong table, in the centre, is a sort of rallying point for the family, who group around it, reading, writing, or working; while Miss Edgeworth, only anxious on one point, that all in the house should do exactly as they like, without reference to her, sits quietly and abstractedly in her own peculiar corner, on a sofa; her desk, upon which lies. Sir Walter Scott's pen, given to her by him when in Ireland, placed before her upon a little quaint table, as unassuming as possible. Miss Edgeworth's abstractedness would puzzle the philosophers in that same corner, and upon that table, she has written nearly all that enlightened and delighted the world; there she writes as eloquently as ever, wrapped up, to all appearance, in her subject, and knowing, by a sort of instinct, when she is really wanted in dialogue; and, without laying down her pen, hardly looking up from her page, she will, by a judicious sentence, wisely and kindly spoken, explain and elucidate, in a few words, so as to clear up any difficulty, or turn the conversation into a new and more pleasing current. She has the most harmonious way of throwing in explanations, informing, without embarrassing.

A very large family party assemble daily in this charming room; young and old, bound alike to the spot by the strong cords of memory and love. Mr. Francis Edgeworth, the youngest son of the present Mrs. Edgeworth, and, of course, Miss Edgeworth's youngest brother, has a family of little ones, who seem to enjoy the freedom of a library as much as their elders. To set these little people right, if they are wrong; to rise from her table to fetch them a toy, or even to save a servant a journey; to mount the steps, and find a volume that escapes all eyes but her own, and done so as to find exactly the passage wanted, are hourly employments of this most unspoiled and admirable woman. She will then

resume her pen, and, what is more extraordinary, hardly seem to have even frayed the thread of her ideas. Her mind is so rightly balanced, every thing is so honestly weighed, that she suffers no inconvenience from what would disturb and distract an ordinary writer.

The library also contains a piano; and, occupied as it is, by some members of the family, from morning until night, it is the most unstudied, and yet, withal, from its shape and

arrangement, the most inviting to cheerful study, the study that makes us more useful, both at home and abroad, of any room we have entered. We have seen it under many circumstances; in the morning, early, — very early for London folks, yet not so early but that Miss Edgeworth had preceded us. She is down stairs before seven; and a table heaped with roses, upon which the dew is still moist, and a pair of gloves too small for any hand but hers, told who was the early florist. Then, after the flower-glasses were replenished, and a choice rose placed on each cup on the breakfast-table in the next room, such of the servants as were Protestants joined in family worship, and heard a portion of Scripture read, hallowing the commencement of the day.

When breakfast was ended, the circle met again in that pleasant room; and daily plans were formed for rides and drives; the progress of education, or the loan fund, was discussed; the various interests of their tenants, or the poor, were talked over, so that relief was granted as soon as want was known.

It is selfish to regret that so much of Miss Edgeworth's mind has been, and is given to local matters; but the pleasure it gives her to counsel and advise, and the happiness she derives from the improvement of every living thing, are delightful to witness. Of all hours, those of the evening in the library at Edgeworthstown were the most delightful: each member of the family contributes, without an effort, to the instruction and amusement of the whole. If we were certain that those of whom we write would never look upon this page, if we felt it no outrage on domestic life, no breach of kindly confidence, to picture each individual of a family so highly gifted, we would fill our sheet with little else than praise; but we might give pain to this estimable household; and although Miss Edgeworth is public property, belonging to the world at large, we are forced, every now and then, to think that the friend we so respect, esteem, and love, would look displeased, if we said what, let us say as little as we will, she would deem, in her ingenuous and unaffected modesty, too much; yet we owe it to the honour and glory of Ireland not to say too little.

It was indeed a rare treat to sit, evening after evening, by her side, turning over the correspondence kept up with her, year after year, by those "mighty ones," who are now passed away, but whose names will survive hers, who, (God be