Can she love, respect, and honor this benefactor? Can she avoid it rather, who does not ask? I know how much has been written, in romances, of the devotedness of daughters; and yet the warmest coloring of this sentiment seems never beyond parental desert. There are scenes in which this truth is strikingly illustrated. It was a severe task for the daughters of Milton to read to their blind parent, languages sealed to their own understanding; but was it not the discharge of a simple duty? We are struck with the Roman instance of filial piety, in which the life-blood was shed by tender woman to save a father. Yet when should one meet a voluntary death, if not for the redemption of a parent? Let the daughter confide then in her father, and seek so to demean herself that his eye might dwell fondly on the very secrets of her heart. Let her refer to his opinions, consult his wishes, and conform to his tastes and habits. His reception as he returns at evening to his fireside, should not consist in ceaseless importunities, nor of aught which terminates in unreasonable regards for self. How much better were a studious concern for his wants, and the bestowal of some act of delicate attention. His pecuniary circumstances should be thoughtfully considered. Perhaps he is destitute. Then do not press him with calls he is pained, but yet compelled, to deny you. It may be that his fortune has recently been marred. Consider this, and be willing to relinquish personal gratifications and adapt your feelings and desires to his present situation. Or he is thrown, perhaps, on the bed of sickness. Manifest now the reality of that affection you professed for him in his health. Delight to bathe his fevered brow, and to perform those unnumbered services, for which Providence has qualified your sex. In his old age be still more devoted. Point out to his failing vision the path he would tread. Let him feel that you are striving to solace his declining years, and to requite that love which was shed upon you, the earliest moment of your consciousness. Can you do less for him, now that desire fails and the grasshopper has become a burden and he must soon go to his long home? Of you may it be said, "Amid the giddy round of prosperous years, The birth of new affections, and the joys That cluster round earth's favorites, there walked Still at her side, the image of her Sire."