WOMEN OF WORTH.

As when the night its highest noon attains,
And not a cloud o'ercasts the blue serene,
The stars diffused through all the ethereal plains,
And all arrayed in living light are seen;

So in this night of time what patterns rise,
Rich in celestial lustres to adorn

And bless our world, till from these lower skies
Shine the full glories of that promised morn,

When Jesus rising, like the orient sun

Shall drown these stars in his superior rays, And all these saints, their race nocturnal run, Alone on his unrivalled beauties gaze.

But till this day shall break, how much we owe
To those divine examples that illume
Our journey through this vale of sin and woe,
Direct our steps and half dispel our gloom.

Ye fair, heaven's kindest, noblest gift to man,
Adorned with every charm and every grace,
The flame your forms inspire let virtue fan,

And let the mind be lovelier than the face.

Daughters of Eve, or in your silver hairs,

Or flourishing in youth's auspicious bloom,
The soul, the immortal soul, demands your cares;
Oh live as heirs of endless life to come!

Well weigh your various characters, fulfil

All your relations both to God and man, Press to be perfect, high, mount higher still;

Crown, crowd with blessings your contracted span.

JOHN FLAXMAN RUINED FOR AN ARTIST.

"So, Flaxman," said the President one day, as he chanced to meet him, 'I am told you are married; if so, sir, I tell you you are ruined for an artist.' Flaxman went home, sat down beside his wife, took her hand, and said, with a smile, I am ruined for an artist.' 'John,' said she, 'how has this happened, and who has done it? It happened,' said he, 'in the church, and Ann Denman has done it: I met Sir Joshua Reynolds just now, and he said marriage had ruined me in my profession.""-Page 253.