nay days, when I felt discontented with my employment and situation. I looked on the woods and rocks, and above all on the frogpond with disgust; and anticipated the time when I should be at liberty to be happy. It seemed so unsentimental for me to be wasting my spirits and wearying myself to death, just to please a set of people whom, but for a pecuniary reward, I should never have known had existed. But these feelings seldom lasted long. My own heart told me I was acting rightly. The still small voice, whose whisper of approbation brings more 'true joy' to the bosom than the greetings of the million, confirmed me, encouraged me to persevere. And I was rewarded by the confidence and affection of both parents and children. What a pleasure is derived from knowing one's self beloved! When I saw those little girls and boys regarding me as their oracle, almost their tutelary angel, you can scarcely imagine how they interested me. Their chubby, sunburnt, freckled faces, looked positively beautiful; and I dearly loved the roguish, romping, but good natured and happy creatures. I enjoyed exquisite gratification in communicating knowledge to their artless minds, and watching their progress. The process greatly improved my own understanding. While repeating and explaining to them, I learned myself to reflect and reason; and while advising and urging on them the necessity of improvement, I became more susceptible of the value of time, and more anxious to improve. We parted with

mutual regret-even tears-and though my lot has ever since been to dwell in pleasanter places, and among more polished people, yet I never think of those children, I never meet them without gladness, they never see me without testifying joy. Would these mutual feelings always arise had we not enjoyed happiness, such as the consciousness of acting rightly and deserving it only imparts, while together?'

What do you think of the life of a schoolmistress?' said Mr. Bennett.

'I am anxious to commence it,' said Sophia. 'I think it exquisite in description,' said Miss Ashton, especially for those ladies who have talents that they wish to employ and improve. But this you know sir, must not be expected from every young lady. Some there are of my acquaintance, who possess genius and imagination, play and sing divinely, dance charmingly and dress elegantly, but the reasoning of Socrates would never convince them they could live contentedly, indeed live at all, in the vicinity of a frog-pond!'

'Ay, there's the rub,' said Mr. Bennett. 'Accidental circumstances connected with an employment, give us an aversion to it, before we have by experience ascertained how easy it is to surmount such difficulties, and how trifling they appear when once the mind is intent on what it considers important. It is this which makes it so necessary to obtain the sanction of fashion for whatever we wish to make popular, because then the attainment only is regarded—

not the labor or privations by which it is won. Do you not think, Miss Ashton, those young ladies you mention, while acquiring their knowledge of music, submitted to restraints as irksome as school keeping would impose?'

'Undoubtedly-but that was to acquire an indispensable accomplishment.'

'Yes, according to the standard of fashion--but I anticipate the time, when our ladies will not be prized solely for possessing accomplishments, but for improving them-when, the waste and wild places of our country, will all be cultivated and beautified, by the industry and taste of the men, and the minds of our people refined, and intelligent, and liberal, by the united exertions of the pure, and pious, and enlightened of both sexes. In short, when it will become fashionable for young ladies to be usefully, rather than romantically active; and then the sight of a frog-pond would no more deter them from engaging in a school, than would the joltings, privations, and fatigue they must endure, prevent them now from taking a trip to the White Hills, or a tour to Niagara.'

Ten years after Mr. Bennett had thus philosophized to these gay girls, they again met at his house. They were both happily married, both had children; and Elizabeth Brooks, still following the vocation she had chosen, was the instructress they both preferred. She was almost adored by her pupils, and respected and beloved like a relative by their parents; and the placidity of her countenance, and cheerfulness, even vivacity of her manners, was a proof

that her mind was contented, and her life pleasant as well as useful. She also was on a visit to the clergyman.

'I have lately received a letter from my nephew, William Forbes,' remarked Mr. Bennett. "He is, I find, a widower.'

The married ladies glanced at Elizabeth, but her countenance was unchanged.

He says he shall be here in the course of a few months, if he can learn whether a certain lady who first engaged his affections is at liberty, and would receive him favorably,' continued the clergyman.

The married ladies both smiled, and a slight color was perceptible on the mild, chastened features of Elizabeth.

'He says,' continued the clergyman, 'he has fortune, fame, friends, all that is necessary to make him happy, except the consciousness of rectitude, which, since violating his engagement with Elizabeth, he has never enjoyed,and a partner to share his confidence and prosperity. He acknowledges his fault, but thinks he has already been sufficiently punished. The lady he married was beautiful, and he was dazzled by her charms, till he forgot, or rather relinquished his first love; but his wife never made him happy. He does not accuse her of imperfections, only remarks that they were unequally matched; that there never was, that there could not be, between them that communion of mind, to which he had always been accustomed in his intercourse with Miss Brooks. He was not himself aware, how

much of his happiness depended on this communion, till he had forfeited it. He entreats me to intercede for him.'

'What answer did Elizabeth give?'

The subject was under discussion all the afternoon. The married ladies advised her to accept the offer of her penitent lover-they probably expected an invitation to the wedding. The good clergyman told her to consult her own heart, and those excellent principles that had so nobly and effectually supported her under every vicissitude. But he hinted how much pleasure it would give him to see her married to a worthy man; indeed, he said he should like to pronounce the nuptial benediction himself.

'What answer did Elizabeth give?'

I intend, hereafter, to sketch the character of William Forbes, and then the propriety of the answer which Elizabeth did give, will be apparent. Till then, every lady and gentleman, who does me the honor to read these 'Sketches,' is at liberty to form and express their own opinion on the subject.