the next-and on what basis human authorities stand, and wherefore, and how far, they are to be attended to.

"Depend upon it, my dear," he added, "that teaching of this kind, plain substantial Bible teaching, is the first medicine, and, let me say, the only medicine which we can apply to the spiritual and intellectual maladies of these poor girls, in order to do what in us lies to get the new follies and the old follies out of their heads."

"I agree with you entirely, my dear," I answered, "and I thank you for the proposition which you have made; but solve one difficulty to my mind-Rebecca has certainly been made to read the Scriptures from childhood; how then can she have read them with so little profit ?"

"I have not been behind the curtain of the family management of my brother-in-law," he replied, "but I much doubt the fact of pure simple Scripture teaching in the family; and if it has not been pure, it cannot be expected to produce the desired effect, that is, to give that sort of head-knowledge which is correct; for instance, if the father of a family reads a chapter to his household, and forces the text, in his commentaries, to his own preconceived ideas, he has fouled the waters which should flow unmingled to his children's lips."

"And who is not liable to commit this error?" I replied.

"Every earthly parent," he answered, "and therefore the greater need of the first principle which I have laid down, viz., that man's authority in the interpretation of Scripture amounts to nothing; and there is another error," he added, "which ought to be most carefully avoided, and that is, the placing of any external form, ordinance, or observance, on a line of equal importance with the words of the Bible."

My worthy husband then added several opinions on the nature of modern female education, asserting that it was, generally speaking, a superstructure without a basis; and therefore the more it was elevated, the more likely to be blown down, or rendered useless in other ways. I conclude my narrative by saying that my husband's plans were diligently followed up during the ensuing winter, much to my pleasure and advantage, though with little apparent fruit to the young people; for Rebecca retained her sullenness, and Catharine her levity, through every lecture; and, as my husband said,

this was to be expected, or at least we were not to be surprised to find it so, because knowledge is not grace; neither does the blessing result as a consequence of man's efforts. However, my husband was blessed in the imparting of a substantial head-knowledge to the young people, which knowledge, though unwillingly admitted, they were compelled to carry back with them to the north, not being able to disembarrass themselves thereof, though I verily believe that they would gladly have so done.

I parted from them at the termination of their year with me, and felt that they had made as little apparent improvement as any two girls of their ages could possibly have been expected to have done; neither did they manifest that sorrow at parting which I had expected. But in less than five years afterward, Catharine having married and lost her first babe, wrote to me one of the sweetest and most pious letters I ever read, thanking me and my husband for what we had taught her, and acknowledging that, without our instruction and the divine blessing thereon, she could never have felt what she then did, viz., that her present affliction was for her good. She has since been blessed with other children, and is a truly pious wife, and mother, and mistress of a family.

It is only one week since that a letter from Rebecca, who is still unmarried, brought the welcome tidings that she had also been brought to see that the Lord is the Alpha and the Omega of all truth, and that she had entirely adopted her uncle's opinion, namely, that what man teaches is nothing, that it should be required as a matter of faith or as a duty pleasing to God. But I must not omit the postscript of Rebecca's letter, which was to this effect: "Dear Catharine, in whose house I am now writing, bids me tell my uncle that he has acted very inconsistently by us; for whereas, when he was quarrelling with us both, with me for clinging to old things and with Catharine for seeking new things, he ought not to have opened a treasure to us wherein we have found things new and old, sufficient to gratify our desires until time shall be swallowed up in eternity."

THE SWISS COTTAGE.

Iris written, that man is born unto trouble, as the sparks fly upwards. No doubt this is perfectly true; but may we not ask, Do not many of our afflictions proceed from our own ill conduct? And may not this question be answered by another. Are we always most unhappy when outward circumstances are the least propitious? Were we to mark our most uneasy days, would they be found to be always those in which we were lying under the pressure of external calamities? What believer is there who has not experienced a peace passing all understanding during the hours of sore affliction? and what human being is there, who, in the moment of high prosperity, has not felt a weariness and dissatisfaction which he has been ashamed to own, even to his own heart? But, in order to elucidate what I would wish to say, I am about to introduce my reader to certain short passages of my very eventful life.

About fourteen years since I was travelling in a melancholy mood through one of the loveliest valleys of Switzerland: business had compelled me to leave my own country, and my melancholy arose from thinking of a wife and children far away. With the recollection of my own little dwelling, my orchard and garden, in the heart of my beloved native land—in such a state of mind, it was natural for me to fancy every peasant I saw, as I passed along, more happy than myself,-inasmuch as I supposed him nearer to his home, and to that beloved domestic circle in which our most tender natural feelings find their dearest objects. It was the afternoon. I had breakfasted at a small inn, enclosed in a deep valley between two hills, and had descended towards noon into one of those exquisitely beautiful spots, of which few can form an idea who have not visited similar regions of Alpine beauty. It was by a very narrow passage that we entered the valley, and descended into a hollow where the greensward was scattered over with forest-trees, and watered by several pure streams, which, meeting together in the bottom of the valley,

formed a small lake, on the polished surface of which was represented all the various beauties on its banks. Beyond the lake the ground arose precipitously, being richly diversified with rock and wood, and above the remote horizon, as it were, floating in ether, appeared a long range of snowy heights, presenting cones and pyramids of celestial brilliancy.

The bleating of sheep, and the hum of multitudes of bees, together with the rush of waters, and the murmur of the breeze among the lofty branches, added new charms to this enchanting spot; and as my wheels moved slowly round, I fell into a train of thoughts such as are commonly suggested by a beautiful landscape, in a country where the inhabitants are unknown to us, and where we are wholly unacquainted with the little cabals and heart-burnings which exist in every place where human beings have fixed their habitations.

Here, thought I, applying the words of J. J. Rousseau, upon the brow of some agreeable hill (such as is now before me), in the depths of some retired province, I would have my habitation, namely, a white house, with green lattices; I would have my garden filled with culinary vegetables, and my park should be a green meadow; the fruits, at the discretion of those that walk in my garden, should neither be counted nor gathered by my gardener; all our repasts should be a feast where abundance will please more than delicacies.

In such a retirement as this, how I thought I should delight to dwell,-far from the world, far from all its pompous pageants and gilded vanities-excluded from all society but that of friends, most dear and precious in my sight, how great, how pure, how perfect would my enjoyment be. How happy are the inhabitants of this valley. Give them but a taste for literature-give them but a little polish of manners, and the Arcadia of the poets would no longer be an imaginary state.

While indulging in these meditations we had descended farther into the valley, and had passed beneath the shade of the trees; and as I proceeded I seemed to be sometimes lost in the obscurity of a wood, and at other times to be travelling beneath arches of rock which hung terrifically over my head. In one part of the valley sunny meadows opened to my view, gayly enamelled with every variety of flowers, the perfumed cups of which seemed to promise a rich regale to the

multitude of bees which roved from sweet to sweet; and in another I seemed to be departing from the channels of the brooks, being wholly unprepared for the instant when they should burst again upon the senses, and come dashing forward from some rocky height, to cross the very footsteps of the horses. At length a lovely cottage, such as poets have delighted to imagine, with all the most delightful circumstances of a roof of thatch, a rustic porch, and casement windows, presented itself, a little before me, on a green slope, half retired behind a group of apple-trees, then bending down beneath the weight of their golden fruit. It was situated beneath an impending rock, from whence hung in beautiful festoons the branches of a vine, whose rich clusters were just beginning to assume their autumnal teint. A cow was feeding quietly on the green lawn before the door of the house, and a young woman sitting near to her on the bank, playing with a little infant. In the porch was an old woman with a spindle and wheel, and on the summit of a ladder fixed against one of the trees, by the side of the house, was a peasant, who seemed quite in the prime of life, occupied in throwing down fruit to a group of little children who stood beneath the tree. To finish the picture, a creature of the feline order, with dainty step and murderous intent, was stealing along the thatch above the porch, and a row of beehives was arranged beneath the wall.

Here, I thought, as this beautiful picture broke upon my view, with all its interesting features,―here surely is an exemplification of that unbroken peace and sweet domestic happiness of which I have so often formed the image in my own mind. How enviable is the state of yonder peasant, who stands on the ladder, surrounded by his family, his aged mother, his wife, his little ones, the mother in whose arms he was reared, the partner of his life, whom no doubt he chose from the purest feelings of affection, for the love of money, which is the motive of so many marriages, can hardly have been felt in this simple scene. All these are gathered round him—all these contribute to his happiness-all these administer to his wants, and receive him with their sweetest smiles, when he returns wearied with his healthy labours. Oh, happy peasant! kings might envy thee, and wish in vain to change conditions with thee. Thou hast every thing which mortal could desire. Thus I thought, and