The weekly Minnesotian. [volume] (Saint Paul, Minn. Territory) 1852-1858, 1853-01-08

obliged to assassinate her in order to prevent
her from corrupting their lords. Lucretia ard
POrtia, on the contrary were merely females
who did their duty-cOmfOrted and cOunseiied
their husbands in difficulty, chung to them as
the ivy to the oak, and never took the slightest
pains to facinate other men. Clearly Lais and
Aspasia were "type-women." Let us have
some lectures on them, by all means. Hope
Chapel is, we presume, at the service of any
woman s-rights woman who wishes to take up
the cudgel for them. OF course, they possess
the same infinite attractions" now as they
did in the days of ancient Greece. After Lais
and Aspasia shall have received the eulOgy
they merit, the subject may be followed up
| tbrouc oh the Christian era-the series of dis
course closing with complimentary notices Of
Nell Gwynne, the MarchiOness de Pompadour,
Mrs. Clarke, and Louis NapoleOn's cast-off
chere annie, Mrs. Howard 1t is highly impor-
tant to give true direction to public sentiment,
and to improve, by sound precedents and valu-
able illustration the tone of public morals.
FANNY FERS"-Our neighbor of the Pr
onecr processes to know who Fanny Fern is.
We don't think the honor however, will load
him beyond further endurance as such meat
axe productions as fall from her pen generally,
bespcak an indicate rOughness no ways COW
etable by the truly refined and cultivated fe-
male intellect. She does at times however.
give out some good things. The following
true portrait of one of your regular blues" is
one ofthem:
"Well says Mrs. ST. think I'll finish that
story for the editor of the Dutchman. Let me
see; where did leave off? The settingI sun
was gliding with his last ray-'Ma, want some
bred and molasses'-(yes, dear) gliding, with
his last ray the church spire-"Wife where's
my Sunday pants?-( Under the bed, dear.) the
church spire of Inverness, when a-"There's
nothing under the bed dear, but your lace cap''
-(Perhaps they are in the coal hod, in the
closet )when hOrseman was seen approaching
-.Ma'am. the pertaters is out, not one to bile
for dinner'-(Take some turnips.) approaching,
covered with dust and-'Wife! the baby has
swallowed button'-Reverse him dear--take
him by the heels)and waving in his hand o
banner on which was written-.Ma, Fve torn
my pantaloOns?-liberty or death! The inhab-
itants rushed en- masse-'Wife! will you leave
off scribbling? don't be disagreeable, Smith,
I'm just getting inspired. ITO the public square,
where de Begins, who badhim secretly-Butch-
er wants to see you, mam-secretly informed
of the traitOrs'-'FOrgot which you said, maj am
sausages or mutton chOp'-mOvements gave
order to fire; not less than twenty-my gra-
cious Smith! you haven't been reversing that
child all this time; he's black your coat;
and that boy of yours has torn up he first sheet
of my manuscript There! it's no use for a
married woman to cultivate her intellect. I'll
wait till I'm widow. Smith, hand me those
twins
Goethe has written few passages more beau
tful than the following:
"The year is going away like the sound Of
bells The wind passes over the stubble, and
finds nothing to move, only the red berries of
that slender tree, which seems as if they would
fain remind us of something cheerful; and the
measured beat of the threshers fail calls up the
thought, that in the dry and failing ear lies so
much nourishmcnt and life