strewn around, and an unhoused cellar yawns where ence in the sounding halls of learning the academic tread was lofty and loud. The grave yard and the site of an ancient church are near that of the college. The monuments are numerous, arranged in solemn order, and bear many appropriate epitaphs to the honor of the truly dignified fathers and mothers of Connecticut. On one stone the following strikingly impressive line seems to struggle with the sluggish moss which has gathered upon its face in storm and sunshine::- "Here pride is calmed and death is life!"

But an object of more melancholy interest perhaps than even the populous field of graves, is the wreck of a monument nearer the sea. It is that of Lady Say; built of red free-stone, it has but illy withstood the tooth of time. The worm which gnaws the marble urns of the Acropolis, the storied slabs of Westminster Abbey, and the thrones of kings, has eaten away the form and stateliness of this monument, sacred to female worth and beauty. It is a popular legend of the neighbourhood that the large Griswold estate on the opposite side of the river was bequeathed to the family who now possess it on the sole condition, that they were to watch over and keep the monument to Lady Say in an erect position. This trust has been observed-but, alas, the firm earth itself has passed away, and made it necessary more than once during the lapse of two centuries to move the monument farther up from the encroaching jaws of the ravenous sea. There it now stands a wreck of what it was-the shade of a monument, itself in need of monumental sympathy.

YOUNG LADIES' GARLAND.

FEMALE EDUCATION.

BY A LADY.

To the perfect formation of the female character I think it highly necessary, while engaged in a course of studies calculated to inform the understanding and mature the judgment, occasionally to relax the mind and amuse ourselves by reading works of a lighter cast, and

acquiring those accomplishments which though not considered valuable attainments, tend to soften the heart, elevate the affections, and polish the manners. Such are poetry, music, &c.

Poetry is truly the language of the soul. The usual style of poetical composition is best calculated to express the feelings and affections of the heart, which are the sources of all our dearest pleasures; and when those "words that breathe and burn" are tuned to notes of sweetest melody, it thrills through the heart with feelings of exquisite delight, and every chord vibrates to the magic strain.

It brings to mind the loved pleasures of our infancy, when the tear that trembled in the eye sparkled for a moment and was as quickly dispelled by the sunshine of innocent joy. It reminds us of friends we then loved and lost for ever-the sweet remembrance of pleasures that are past steal over the mind like the airy visions of a blissful dream, and every worldly care is soothed to rest by their mild and pensive power. While under the influence of those feelings the mind is drawn off from the hopes and fears connected with this life, the heart holds communion with itself and perceives more clearly the emptiness and vanity of all earthly objects, and ardently longs after those things which alone can satis fy the immortal soul of man.

There are sympathies and feelings inherent in our natures which cannot be awakened but by some congeniality of sound or sentiment, consequently the person devoid of all taste for poetry and music is unconscious of many of those pleasurable sensations which flow from. the most refined feelings of our nature.

Who, that has felt the soul-subduing power of harmo ny, but feels it enlarge and elevate the affections-who, that hath lingered to catch its last dying fall, has not felt the luxury of that sensibility which responds with tears of rapture to the strains.

Who, that is conversant with the smoothly flowing numbers of Campbell, or the still more natural and touching strains of Burns, but finds there expressed the thoughts and feelings of their hearts, and while reading the severe but just criticisms of the poetic Cowper,

who would not despise the vices and follies of the world and endeavor to attain to the excellence he so beautifully portrays? Viewing those accomplishments as producing such effects, they cannot be considered unimportant, particularly in the formation of the female character; for what is more lovely in woman than delicacy of sentiment and the expression of a heart overflowing with all the kindly affections towards God and man, and that polish of manners which lends a double charm to the intelligence that beams in her face, and twines round the heart by its irresistible sweetness.

THALIA

YOUNG GENTLEMEN'S DEPARTMENT.

A MOTHER'S COUNSELS.

Of all counsellors, a mother is certainly the most affectionate and disinterested; and she has that complete knowledge of the dispositions and circumstances of her children, which eminently qualifies her for giving advice. To none can you speak with such confidence as to her, nor will any one listen with such patient attention to your statements. Others may disclose your difficulties and your scruples to your prejudice; but in the breast of a mother they are lodged as safely as in your own.

Others may be influenced by sinister motives in the counsels which they give, but those of a mother flow from the purest and strongest wishes for your welfare. And her counsels are given with the utmost mildness. The advices of others are sometimes given in that haughty manner which seeks to establish a claim to superior intelligence and sanctity, or with such harsh reflections on our weakness and folly, as are more likely to exasperate than to humble or reclaim; but a mother's counsels are characterized by gentleness and benignity, and though they have been despised in time past, she is still willing to renew them. The loss of such a monitor must be a grievous calamity.

Some of you are probably now calling to remembrance those mild expostulations by which a mother checked the excesses of your passions, and showed you

the folly of those desperate measures to which you were prompted by revenge; the advices which kept you from forming friendships which would have been a snare to you, and the warnings which taught you to detect the treachery that was concealed by smiles, and the plans of ruin which were recommended by the most plausible assurances of gain or enjoyment. And how sad is the thought, that the spirit endowed with so much wisdom and prudence has left you to walk in your own counsels, and that painful anxieties and mistakes are before you.

PICTURES OF LIFE.

In youth we seem to be climbing a hill on whose top eternal sunshine appears to rest. How eagerly we pant to attain its summit, but when we have gained it, how different is the prospect on the other side. We sigh as we contemplate the dreary waste before us, and look back with a wishful eye upon the flowery path we have passed but may never more retrace. It is like a portentous cloud, fraught with thunder, storm, and rain; but religion, like those streaming rays of sunshine, will clothe it with light as with a garment, and fringe its shadowy skirts with gold.

DEPARTMENT OF NATURAL HISTORY.

THE DRAGON-FLY

A most destructive enemy of living insects is the tribe of libellula or dragon-fly, a name which they well merit from their voracious habits. The French have chosen to call them "demoiselles," from the slim elegance and graceful ease of their figure and movements. But, although their brilliant coloring, the beauty of their transparent and wide-spread. wings, may give them some claim to this denomination, yet they scarcely would have received it had their murderous instincts been observed. So far from seeking an innocent nurture in the juice of fruits or flowers, they are (says Reaumur) warriors more ferocious than the Amazons. They hover in the air only to pounce upon other insects, which they crush with their formidable fangs; and if they quit the

banks of the rivulet, where they may be seen in numbers during an evening walk, it is only to pursue and seize the butterfly or moth, which seeks the shelter of the hedge.

The waters are their birth-place; their eggs are protruded into this element at once, in a mass which resembles a cluster of grapes. The larva which comes out of these eggs is six-footed. The only difference between the larva and nymph is, that the latter has the rudiments of wings packed up in small cases on each side of the insect.

In this latter state it is supposed that the creature lives at the bottom of the water for a year. It is equally voracious then as in its perfect state. Its body is covered by bits of leaf, wood, and other foreign matters, so as to afford it a complete disguise, while its visage is concealed by a prominent mask, which hides the tremendous apparatus of serrated teeth, and serves as a pincer to hold the prey while it is devoured.

Its mode of locomotion is equally curious; for though it can move in any direction, it is not by means of feet or any direct apparatus that it moves, but by a curious mechanism, which has been well illustrated by Reaumur and Cuvier. If one of these nymphs be narrowly observed in water, little pieces of wood and other floating matters will be seen to be drawn towards the posterior extremity of the insect, and then repelled; at the same time that portion of its body will be observed alternately to open and shut. If one of them be placed