lap of voluptuous effeminacy, he receives as his righteous guerdon, the genuine contempt of his fellows. So may it ever be! so must it ever be! But let these differences be once fairly recognized and admitted, and the reciprocal influences exerted are of a grander order than the forces which cause the orbs of space to roll with never-ceasing chime along their paths of light. As the Sun, when he pours down his beams on the bosom of the moist earth, in the wake of a vernal shower, lures out buds, and leaves and blossoms, and fills the air with melody and fragrance, so does the presence of a man of true heroic stamp, call forth from the heart and soul of woman, who can appreciate his noble qualities, all their hidden riches. She feels no envy, no desire to rival him, but gazes on him with pride, and strives to become more like herself in all gentleness and loveliness, and this increased gentleness and loveliness, by their invisible magnetic out-flowings reach back and stimulate him to loftier exertion, so that he is ready to defy all enemies, scale towering Alps, traverse broad continents, and brave the dangers of unknown seas, to obtain that which would gratify or honor the object of his warm affection. And these flowings and reflowings are the life-pulses of society, that mark the throbbings of the universal heart; and to them we are indebted for all that is valuable in our civilization, from the vine-covered trellis, with which the humble artisan surrounds his cottage up to the palace of the king with its spacious chambers, covered with gorgeous decorations and filled with costly furniture and priceless paintings-from the rudest effort at a song up to the mystic poem of Dante, led by the love of Beatrice, to explore, with fearless tread, the unfathomable gloom of Hell, the milder shades of Purgatory, and the dazzling glories of the celestial Paradise. These differences are the sources not of discord, but eternal harmony. No system of Female Education, therefore, can overlook them, and not fail, at the same time, of its proper end. Only a few of the chief points of contrast can now be given. All other peculiarities of the man and the woman are based on peculiarities of their physical organization, and the sum and flower of these may be expressed by two words, Strength and Beauty. In man, the finest type of whom is said to be that master-piece of ancient sculpture, the Hercules Farnese, we find a superior stature, a robust frame, well-knit sinewy limbs, a firm, elastic tread, a fiery eye, and a voice, whose deep bass can be heard from afar in tones of eloquence or of command. He is thus eminently fitted to endure the toils of war, to pursue his game up the steep crags of the mountain, to put a bridle on the wild horse of the desert, to hew down the primeval forset, subdue the stubborn soil and convert it into fruitful fields and blooming gardens, to compel the invisible forces of the elements, as if by the magic of the fabled Genii, to work at his bidding, 'to build towns and cities, to spread abroad his canvass to the breeze and sail to distant shores, in quest of knowledge, or of gain. In full accordance with these powers of body are the powers of his soul. A will, possessed of invincible energy, gives rise to "the great administrative faculties." He rules in the family; he governs the complicated movements of political affairs; he breaks down all opposers, who attempt to confront him in his career of ambition; "he plans sublime campaigns, leads armies to battle, and fleets to victory;" he makes laws and he executes them. So also, strength guides him through the boundless realms of science. With daring flight he ascends the starry cope of heaven, to bring down to earth again tidings of worlds which the eye of Chaldean shepherd never saw. From the solid adamant, beneath our feet, he digs out unmistakable proofs of tremendous revolutions, which convulsed the surface of our planet long before the era of its present history. The regions of the air, of the ocean, of the land, in all climates and kingdoms, are searched with a zeal that never flags, and every particle of matter, every plant that grows, and every animal that swims, or creeps, or climbs, or flies, is subject to interrogation, till it yield up to him the secret of its existence. Back along the channel of tradition he travels boldly, and, by the aid of printed books, parchmentscrolls, decayed temples and buildings, and the half-defaced hieroglyphics of the antique monument spells out the mighty thoughts and deeds of generations that lie mouldering in the dust of ages. He turns upon himself, and analyzes, with matchless skill, the subtle workings of his own mind, grapples with the awful problems of his life now and hereafter, and in the spheres of philosophy and religion, rises to heights whither few can follow. From all sources, within his reach, he gathers stores of knowledge, and piles up systems of colossal magnitude, some splendid and evanescent as castles of cloud, which, though tinged with radiant hues, are yet torn asunder by the wild winds, but others stable as the pillars of eternity, because founded on the rock of absolute truth. Woman, on the other hand, has a frame of more delicate organization, of finer mould. The ground of her character is not strength, but beauty. The Greek Poet, Anacreon, in one of his sprightly lyric effusions, represents Nature as parcelling out gifts of strength to the several orders of the animal creation, and last of all she bestows on man, vigor of intellect. He adds, "she has nothing left for woman. What then does she give? Beauty, instead of all shields, instead of all spears. She, who is beautiful conquers both fire and sword." In this idea of beauty may be comprehended not merely a countenance of classical feature, a figure of faultless symmetry, a gait and gesture full of grace, a voice low, sweet, and musical, but also the higher loveliness of the mind and heart, and the diviner attractions of virtue. She who possesses any of these, has power, not indeed like that of man, the power of strength, but of beauty, a power, which has often held sway over the proudest and sternest rulers of the earth, and must ever affect the destinies of nations for weal or for woe. Leaving out of sight the charms of Helen, and the fascinations of the haughty Cleopatra, who bound the great Roman Triumvir in silken chains, and caused him, amid slothful indulgence, to turn a deaf ear to the loud calls of duty, to the loss of life and empire, we need only observe its general influence within the narrow range of our own experience, to be convinced that it produces great mischief or great good. Nothing is so potent, certainly, to disarm the soul of fierce and savage passions -and that wonderfully graphic allegory, in the Faerie Queen Spenser, where "the heavenly Una, with her milk-white lamb, enters the den of the Lion, and leads him away captive, "at her own sweet will," is a picture full of the deepest meaning. To man belongs the attribute of courage, because of strength; to woman, that of fortitude. She can bear the severest pains and afflictions with meekness and resignation. Who does not acknowledge the force of the oft-quoted lines "She never told her love But let concealment like a worm i' the bud, And sate, like Patience on a monument, She can die for her country and her religion. And if the heroism of the bold strong man, who lays down his head on the block, as a sacrifice to holy truth, merits a deathless crown, how much more brightly does our admiration glow, when we read of many a tender maiden, in the times of primitive martyrdom, going bravely to the stake, rather than renounce the faith of Jesus Christ, even while she shrank under the polluting grasp of her brutal executioners. Woman is endowed also with exquisite sensibility. Her feelings are easily and deeply moved. Hence, her sympathies are ever active, not only to ward those who stand nearest to her, but toward all who are pierced by the stings of misfortune, and need relief. She is ever more ready to lend an ear to the tale of sorrow, to weep with those who weep, and to open her hand to help distress, than man, whose heart is prone to grow hard and selfish in the rough battle of life. To this fact all history furnishes ample testimony. In the days of the Apostles we read of Dorcas, whose lovely name, in our English tongue, Gazelle, answers to lovely deeds; and in every age there have been numbers like her. But, though it be only in Christian lands and civilized countries, that her charity reaches the highest mark and exerts a wide-spread influence, yet even in the thick darkness of heathenism, solitary cases are found shining forth like bright stars -and not the least remarkable the one described by Mungo Park, when, in the center of Africa, "he had sunk down to die, under the negro village tree, a horrible white object in the eyes of all, a poor black woman and her daughter, who stood aghast at him, whose earthly wealth consisted of one small calabash of rice, with royal munificence, boiled that rice for him, and sat down, and sang all night to him, as he lay to sleep. 'Let us pity the poor white man; no mother has he to fetch him milk, no sister to grind him corn.'"-The very word Lady, which comes down from our Saxon forefathers, now so often used and so seldom understood, is a standing proof of her kind disposition. They called her hlaf-dig, or giver of the loaf, because she was accustomed to distribute bread to the poor, and hence it has become her most honorable title. In woman, modesty, that virtue, which enhances all her charms, is the constant companion of her beauty and sensibility. She shrinks from contact with the rude world, and retires into the quiet sanctuary of her home, or moves among the peaceful circles of society. The resorts of men, the work-shop, the countinghouse, the bar, the legislative hall, are far too boisterous; the paths of science far too steep and rugged. From this imperfect sketch of some of the charcteristics of woman we may learn enough to show us that her moral and intellectual culture should be something different from that of man. Whatever the vehement advocates of her so-called "rights" may say, the true aim of her education is not to make lawyers, preachers, physicians, statists, and philosophers, not to fashion presidents and governors, not to train up scholars, who may produce works, like the Novum Organum of Bacon, the Mechanique Celeste of La Place, or the Commentaries of Blackstone. Such rivalry were vain; for though a queen may sit upon a throne, yet must she rule by her ministers; though brilliant names like those of Miss Hershell and Mrs. Somerville may adorn the lists of science, yet are they rare instances, not to be cited as examples for imitation. Shakspear, with his usual nice insight into the propriety of things, when he brought Portia before the judgment-seat of the Duke, to plead the cause of Antonia against the rapacity of the Jew, Shylock, disguised her in the garments of a man, for though she possessed all the requisite ingenuity and talent, her situation was romantic and extraordinary, and needed such disguise. Without setting any limit to the amount or kinds of learning to be acquired, giving her free access to "all treasures that in books are found," and liberty to push her researches to the utmost verge of human knowledge, it would still seem, that beyond the common solid and necessary studies, she is best fitted to excel in all those branches which tend to improve the imagination, to refine the taste, and to polish the manners. To collect choice flowers, to weave garlands of Poesy, to write letters sparkling with sentiment, wit and fancy, to execute delicate works of embroidery, to enchant all listeners by the pathos of her song, to call forth from the strings of the instrument tones of earthly harmony, to shine in conversation, in one word, to reflect the image of her beauty and loveliness upon all things around her, this is her glory, this her delight. And however much that man, whose thoughts are buried in abstruse and knotty investigations, or busied in political schemes and intrigues, or absorbed in the pursuits of trade, may be disposed to speak of her attainments as superficial, and look upon her accomplishments as little things, not worth the attention of an idle moment, yet when we consider how largely they contribute to the pleasures of life, that they are the media, by which social influences are propagated on the widest scale silently and invisibly, they must appear of first importance. The drops of dew that every morning trickle down the blade of grass, unnoticed save by the eye of Him who forms them, are of no less account in the economy of nature, than the heavy discharges of rain from the bosom of the dark thunder-cloud. It falls to the lot of few to achieve great deeds, or to act in scenes of worldhistoric import. The web of our life is made up of little things. Whether, then, is it better to know much or to use well what we do know; to sit in the icy solitude of intellectual greatness, or to communicate happiness, by means of common knowledge; to fill out what Wordsworth calls "That best portion of a good man's life, |