that nothing makes any lasting impression upon her.*

As to my third sister, I have already mentioned the ill offices she does me, with my last-mentioned one, who is entirely under her influence. She is, besides, of a very uncertain, variable temper; sometimes hot, and sometimes cold, nobody knows where to find her. Her lightness is even proverbial; and she has nothing to give those who live with her, more substantial than the smiles of courtiers. I must add, that she keeps in her service, three or four rough, blustering bullies, with puffed cheeks, who, when they are let loose, think they have nothing to do, but to drive the world before them. She sometimes joins with my first sister, and their violence occasionally throws me into such a trembling, that, though naturally of a firm constitution, I shake, as if I was in an ague fit.‡

As to myself, I am of a steady, solid temper; not shining, indeed, but kind and liberal, quite a Lady Bountiful. Every one tastes of my beneficence; and I am of so grateful a disposition, that I have been known to return a hundred-fold, for any present that has been made me. I feed and clothe all my children, and afford a welcome home to the wretch who has no other shelter. I

* The instability of water, and its inability to retain any impression, is proverbial. — J. W. I.

†The Winds.-J. W. I.

Referring to earthquakes; which are caused by the uniting of air and fire, or heat, within the earth.-J. W. I.

bear, with unrepining patience, all manner of ill usage; I am trampled upon, I am torn, and wounded with the most cutting strokes; I am pillaged of the treasures hidden in my most secret chambers; notwithstanding which, I am always ready to return good for evil, and am continually subservient to the pleasure or advantage of others; yet, so ungrateful is the world, that, because I do not possess all the airiness and activity of my sisters, I am stigmatized as dull and heavy. Every sordid, miserly fellow is called, by way of derision, one of my children; and, if a person, on entering a room, does but turn his eyes upon me, he is thought stupid and mean, and not fit for good company. I have the satisfaction, however, of finding, that people always incline towards me, as they grow older; and that those, who seemed proudly to disdain any affinity with me, are content to sink, at last, into my bosom. You will, probably, wish to have some account of my person. I am not a regular beauty; some of my features are rather harsh and prominent, when viewed separately; but my countenance has so much variety of expression, and so many different attitudes of elegance, that those, who study my face with attention, find out, continually, new charms.

Though I have been so long a mother, I have still a surprising air of youth and freshness, which is assisted by all the advantages of well-chosen ornament, for I dress well, and according to the

season.

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This is what I have chiefly to say of myself and my sisters. To a person of your sagacity, it will be unnecessary for me to sign my name. Indeed, one who becomes acquainted with any one of the family, cannot be at a loss to discover the rest, notwithstanding the difference in our features and characters.

HYMN.

COME, let us go forth into the fields; let us see how the flowers spring; let us listen to the singing of the birds, and sport ourselves upon the new grass.

The Winter is over and gone, the buds come out upon the trees, the crimson blossoms of the peach and the nectarine are seen; and the green leaves sprout.

The hedges are bordered with tufts of primroses, and yellow cowslips that hang down their heads; and the blue violet lies hid beneath the shade.

The young goslings are running upon the green, they are just hatched, their bodies are covered with yellow down; the old ones hiss with anger, if any comes near.

The hen sits upon her nest of straw; she watches, patiently, the full time, till the young chickens get strength to break the shell with their bills, and come out.

The lambs sport in the field; they totter by the side of their dams; their young limbs, at first, can hardly support their weight.

If you fall, little lambs, you will not be hurt ; there is spread under you a carpet of soft grass; it is spread for you and for us.

The butterflies flutter from bush to bush, and open their wings to the warm sun.

The young animals, of every kind, are sporting about; they feel themselves happy, they are glad to be alive they thank Him that has made them alive.

They may thank Him in their hearts, but we can thank Him with our tongues our gifts are greater than theirs; therefore, we ought to praise Him more.

The birds can warble, and the young lambs can bleat; but we can open our lips in His praise, we can speak of all His goodness.

Therefore, we will thank Him, for ourselves, and we will thank Him, for those that cannot speak.

Trees that blossom, and little lambs that skip about; if you could, you would say, how good He is; but you are dumb, and we will say it for you.

We will not offer you in sacrifice, but we will offer sacrifice for you; on every hill, and in every green field, we will offer the sacrifice of thanksgiving, and the incense of praise.

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VI.

ON MANUFACTURES.

FATHER,-HENRY.

Henry. My dear father, you once observed, that we had a great many manufactures in this country. Pray, what is manufacture?

Father. A manufacture is something made by tbe hand of man. It is derived from two Latin words, manus, the hand, and facere, to make. Manufactures are, therefore, to be distinguished from productions, which are what the bounty of Nature spontaneously affords us; as fruits, corn, marble.

H. But there is a great deal of trouble with corn. You have often made me take notice, how much pains it costs the farmer, to plough his ground, and put the seed in the earth, and keep it clear from weeds.

F. Very true. But the farmer does not make the corn; he only prepares for it a proper soil and situation, and removes every hinderance, arising from the hardness of the ground, or the neighborhood of other plants, which might obstruct the secret and wonderful process of vegetation; but with the vegetation, itself, he has nothing to do. It is not his hand that draws out the slender fibres of the root, pushes up, by degrees, the green stalk, and the spiky ear; swells the grain,