O'er burning sands, deep waves, or wilds of snow,
Mild Howard journeying seeks the house of woe.
Down many a winding step to dungeons dank,
Where anguish wails aloud and fetters clank,
To caves bestrewed with many a mouldering bone,
And cells whose echoes only learn to groan;
Where no kind bars a whispering friend disclose,
No sunbeam enters, and no zephyr blows;--
He treads, inemulous of fame or wealth,
Profuse of toil and prodigal of health;
Leads stern-eyed Justice to the dark domains,
If not to sever, to relax his chains;
Gives to her babes the self-devoted wife,
To her fond husband liberty and life,--
Onward he mores! disease and death retire;
And murmuring demons hate him and admire."

To young women industry is equally essential and commendable. An
idle woman is a poor and worthless thing. For what does she imagine
she was created? Of what service is she to the world? In what
respect would not the world be as well without her? A _do-nothing_
young lady is most assuredly pitied and despised by those whose good
opinion she is most anxious to secure.

It is not enough that a young woman can play skilfully, sing
delightfully, dance gracefully, dress fashionably, and has an
abundant flow of "small talk." The world looks beyond these outward
ornaments, and asks--Has she a good heart and gentle disposition?
Is she affectionate and forbearing? Can she rule her temper and
control her tongue? Does she respect and obey her parents? Has she