AUGUST 2. 
MOORE’S RURAL NEW-YORKER: AN AGRICULTURAL AND FAMILY NEWSPAPER. 
®>ji£ Ihiratflp, Srabln. 
Written for Moore’s Rural New-Yorker. 
MAN THE MASTER BUILDER OP HIS OWN 
FORTUNE.-No. IL 
Somewhat more than twelve hundred years 
since, in an Arabian city, suddenly appeared, 
like some flashing meteor in mid-heaven, one 
of the most extraordinary personages the world 
has ever produced. Eirly in life he conceived 
a plan of immense magnitude to the execution 
of which, all the energies of his capacious mind 
were given. His first attempts meeting with 
deserved scorn, both he and the doctrines he 
was desirous of propagating became the object 
of universal contempt. Though manifestly 
chagrined at his defeat he yielded not to dis¬ 
appointment. From the first, he acted as tho' 
he felt a presentiment that he should rise tri¬ 
umphant above defeat. He prepared himself 
for another and more vigorous effort. The mid¬ 
night hour oft beheld him, with a student’s 
ardor, planning and replanning until fully as¬ 
sured of success. At last his plan was con¬ 
summated : a creed formed which would throw 
a charm around his countrymen and impel 
them to bow down and worship at the shrine 
of his unholy ambitiou. It was presented, re¬ 
ceived and he, that proud aspirant after glory, 
sat upon the throne of his father, not a king 
simply, but a God. Hordes of Arabia flocked 
to do him homage: and with his triumphant 
army, he swept along tho coast of the Mediter¬ 
ranean, rearing tho Crescent upon every hill¬ 
top and in every quiet valley. Now Allah I 
II Alla, is breathed forth from a myriad hearts 
in other climes, than upon the arid desert of 
Arabia. 
Did the secret of Mahomet's success lie iu 
his inborn genius—in his inherent nature?— 
We believe far otherwise. It was owing chief¬ 
ly to his uuceasing labors. Labor, arduous, in¬ 
tense labor, was the secret key by which he 
opened the store-house of his destiny, and the 
hand with which he grasped her treasures — 
One such instance proves that the destinies of 
man, are not governed by an influence beyond 
the reach of his control : that the helm of that 
little barque which bears his all, will yield to 
the strength of his invincible arm and guide 
him over the tern pest-tossed waves and through 
the howling storm to his destined harbor. 
Thus too might we speak of Alexander the 
Great, of Cicero, of C/es ar, of Columbus, and 
Napoleon, and “ that immortal trio" which will 
continue to shine with increasing splendor and 
glory in the bright galaxy that encircles our 
our beloved country, as long as one single sand 
shall remain in time's hour glass ; so long cer¬ 
tainly as America has one son left upon her 
shores. Look at their lives! Is it to be sup¬ 
posed that God bestowed no much natural ability 
upon these men, that they could not help be¬ 
coming great ? that all they had to do iu the 
matter, was to fold their arms—sit down pas¬ 
sively in the boat and let the current bear them 
on to success ? 
Their lives tell a far different story. Labor 
and toil mark every step of their ascent, and 
reveal to us the grand secret of the victory 
which they won for themselves and their be¬ 
loved country. Few, very few indeed, are the 
men who have “greatness thrust upon them.” 
Nearly all of those who attaiu to any eminence 
at all—whose names will become a part of our 
future history, knew what it was to work.— 
Webster knew well tho meaning of that word la- 
bar; Kossuth knows it as few men have known 
it, and few are the men whose names will find 
a sweeter and larger home iu the hearts of fu¬ 
ture generations; Prescott, our O'tm Historian, 
can tell us what it is, while with sightless eyes 
he wanders through the great past and brings 
forth from her treasury wealth to enrich our 
future and his. 
If we are wise, we shall believe that if we 
would live to any purpose ; if wo would make 
our mark in the so'id rock, and not in the sand, 
our own hands must set themselves at work 
and lay hold of the various elements of success 
which are throwa within our reach. Let us 
choose noble and virtuous ends; then let no dif¬ 
ficulties, however formidable, turn us from our 
purpose. Let us sail against wind and tide, or 
rather by our own skill—bend every adverse, 
as welLas propitious circumstance to our ser¬ 
vice and make them all contribute to bear us 
onward and upward to the lofty eminence 
whence “Fame’s proud temple shines afar." 
Rochester, N. Y., July, 1856. 8, A _ 
[Special Correspondence of Moore's Rural New-Yorker.] 
(Swope,—milt finite. 
LETTER IV. —ENGLAND. 
BY GLEZEN F. WILCOX. 
Suooers in Teaching.— Success iu teaching 
any study of a School depends on the teacher, 
and the interest manifested before his class._ 
At Teachers’ Institutes and Normal Schools, 
special instructions are now given in regard to 
the most effectual methods of teaching Gram¬ 
mar, Arithmetic, Geography, <fcc., and with re¬ 
sults decidedly beneficial. Should not some 
provision also he made for special instruction in 
regard to the experimental sciences ? No doubt 
this subject will soon be brought more promi¬ 
nently before the educational association of this 
country, and the fitness of teachers for teaching 
the physical sciences be duly regarded, as well 
as their qualifications for instructing in other 
branches of an education.— Ind. School Jour. 
Education and Occupation. —Tt is stated that 
of the 606 convicts who now occupy the Ohio 
Penitentiary, 544 cannot read or write, and 400. 
or nearly 60 per cent, of the entire number have 
no tiades. This brief return is full of meaning. 
It at once admonishes and instructs. There art- 
two great, essentials for success in life—educa¬ 
tion and regular occupation. 
A WEEK’S WALK IN THE NORTH OP ENGLAND. 
Sunshine and warm weather came with June. 
The previous month, especially the last few 
days of it, had been cold, rainy, and unpleas¬ 
ant for the season in England. This was not 
exceedingly encouraging for a pedestrian ; but 
fortunately, when the time arrived that I had 
fixed for starting, it cleared away, and summer 
fairly commenced. 
Early in the morning I shouldered my knap¬ 
sack, which weighed just eleven and a half 
pounds, and set out for Hertford. The streets 
of London were almost empty and compara¬ 
tively silent, and the air was free from smoke. 
I realized something of the extent of the great 
city before I left its stone pavements. In a 
couple of hours I came to Highgate Hill, and 
from its fop had a view of many miles of land¬ 
scape. The country looked green, and from 
what I had heard and read, I did not expect to 
see so much timber. From the top of this hill, 
and other eminences which I ascended during 
the day, there is an appearance of as much 
wood—the ground being as much concealed— 
! as in most parts of Western New York. The 
hedges, however, contribute a great deal to this 
appearance, for they often grow into tall lines 
ot bushes, and are frequently thickly set with 
trees. Shade trees abound in the fields, around 
the buildings, and extensive parks commonly 
surround the mansions of the wealthy. There 
is not, however, that wild appearance which is 
characteristic of American woods. The masses 
of foliage are rounded and distinct, and there 
is grass beneath the trees. The influence of 
man is visible, sofiening the rugged features, 
and developing a high state cultiva'ion and an 
unrivalled beauty of landscape. For several 
miles along the road grass is the principal crop. 
Some of the farmers had already commenced 
haying, but such iutend to harvest a second 
crop. The hay is principally taken to the Lon¬ 
don market, and manure from the stables 
brought back to keep the land from becoming 
impoverished. 
I walked on, and presently came to the vil¬ 
lage of Barnet, which is situated on a hill.— 
Here the road forked, and on the little green 
just where it divided I saw a plain stone shaft 
standing on a square pedestal. It was about 
fifteen feet high. I approached it and read on 
three of its sides the direc ions and distances 
to several places, but on the fourth was the in¬ 
scription—“ Here was fought the famous battle 
between Edward the IV. and the Earl of War¬ 
wick, April the 1 4th, Aodo 1471, in which the 
Earl was defeated and slain." The monument 
was erected in 174D. 
Shortly after, while passing a toll gate, an 
old man came out of a house and hailed me to 
know if I was a militia man. I suppose my 
knapsack attracted his attention,and bethought 
I was a soldier returned from the Crimea. 
From Barnet to Hertford the scenery is very 
picturesque, and I doubt whether in so short a 
distance from London, in any other direction, 
the tourist will find views which will so 
constantly remind him of what he has read and 
heard of English farm houses, villages, and 
landscapes. There are many fine parks and 
country residences, but the mansions are com¬ 
monly surrounded so thickly by trees and 
shrubbery as to be invisible from the road._ 
Some of the farm houses are q laint and very 
old fashioned, painted a dark color, and have 
steep thatched roofs, which are sometimes moss 
covered. They are fenced with hedges, and are 
often placed so far back that a field imervenes 
between them and the highway, and are gene¬ 
rally shaded by elms. About noon I stopped 
at.a cottage by the wavside, and purchased 
some bread and milk, which was brought me 
in a huge earthern bowl. It was very refresh¬ 
ing, and is excellent diet to travel on. In the 
middle of the afternoon I arrived at Hertford, 
but I thought it too early to stop and went on 
to Ware. There I applied for lodgings at every 
inn, but without success. They were all full, 
and I was compelled to journey on two miles 
further to Wade’s Mills, a small village, where 
I obtained accommodations. I was very tired 
and lame, having walked thirty miles, and this 
being my first day’s experience with the knap¬ 
sack and staff. 
The village was one of the prettiest I had 
seen, and an English village is so different from 
an American, that I will endeavor to describe 
it. It is situated iu a green valley, through 
which flows a stream. Just below the sub¬ 
stantial stone bridge is a large stone mill, which 
is surrounded by grass and shaded by magnifi¬ 
cent elms, that from their huge size must be ex¬ 
tremely old. On each side of the street is a 
row of houses, mostly built of brick and fre¬ 
quently plastered on the outside. Usually 
there is no fence in front, but the little gardens 
hack of the houses are enclosed by hedges._ 
Shade trees are plentiful, not in rows, but here 
and there, just as it happens, yet where they 
are most needed. It seems as if the village is 
accommodated to the trees, and not the trees to 
the village. Iu a conspicuous position on the 
hillside is a stone church, its ancient towers 
draped with ivy and rising in the air a promi¬ 
nent and characteristic feature of English 
scenery. 
Soon after entering the inn, I felt, chilly, and 
went into the tap room, or kitchen, and sat 
down by the coal fire. Over the fire-place 
hung various utensils for cooking, all looking 
bright and clean. An iron fender, the top of 
which was carefully polished, surrounded the 
hearth, and inside of it the poker, shovel and 
tongs leaned against the jambs of the fire-place. 
The floor of the room was stone, and along the 
sides were two rows of plain board benches.— 
Several villagers were lounging on the seats, 
smoking their pipes and drinking ale and beer 
from pint or quart earthen mugs. There was 
another room fitted up more comfortable, with 
chairs and center table. The windows were 
curtained and the mantle-piece adorned with 
various trinkets. In the evening the miller and 
two or three farmers occupied this room, aud 
smoked, talked and drank. Besides this there 
is another inn in the village, and one or two 
shops that are “licensed to retail ale,-beer, and 
liquor, to be drank on the premises.” I order¬ 
ed a supper and bed, and my day’s walk put 
me iu a condition to enjoy both exceedingly 
well. 
In the morning I arose before my landlord, 
whom I called, and paying my bill, resumed 
my knapsack and staff and took the road to 
Cambridge. It was a splendid morning and 
reminded me of those days when the middle of 
summer is past, and there is that appearance in 
the sky and the air, and the fields, which makes 
us sensible of the departure of Summer and the 
approach of Autumn. High up in the sunlit 
air the lark poured forth his rejoicing melody, 
while the fields below were yet wrapped in 
shade, and the gentle breeze gathered fragrance 
from meadows and pastures, yellow with but¬ 
tercups, and hedges whitened with May blos¬ 
soms. Along the road the farmers were most¬ 
ly engaged in fitting the ground, and sowing 
turnips, sometimes hoeing beans, which are ex¬ 
tensively grown in this region, and in several 
fields laborers were hoeing wheat that was 
sown in drills. I asked them if they supposed 
the crop would be sufficiently increased by the 
operation to pay for the extra labor. They 
thought it was doubtful, but it cleaned the land 
of foul weeds. I stopped to rest for a few mo¬ 
ments by the side of a field where some com¬ 
mon laborers were spreading manure. While 
conversing with them I remarked that I was 
from America, and immediately they all left 
their work and gathered around me to ask 
questions. 
“ Aud how much wages do you get in Amer¬ 
ica ?" asked one. 
“ A smart, steady and experienced farm hand 
gets from three to four pounds per month.” 
“ What, and rations ?” 
« Yes." 
“What do you think it would cost to take 
me, my wife and two children there — forty 
pounds ?” 
“ Yes, you ought to have about that to start 
with." 
“ Oli, well, I am sure I shall never save as 
much as that hero. What-da-.you think we get 
a day ?" 
“ Three shillings, perhaps.” 
“ Not so much—two shillings, and have to 
find our own rations, and sometimes we can’t 
get work at that.. This spring the farmers 
wanted to cut us down to eleven shillings per 
per week, but we wouldn’t stand it, and made 
such a rumpus that they gave it up.” 
When I started on, the man who thought he 
could never raise sufficient money to bring him 
to America, asked me to stand a quart of beer. 
“How much beer do you drink in a day ?” 
“ Only three pints.” 
“ Ah 1 that is where your money goes; if you 
will quit drinking ale and beer, you can save 
the forty pounds to take you to America !” 
“ But you see that a man that works as hard 
as we do requires something to keep him up.” 
“ Incorrigible.” 
In Cambridge they were preparing to cele¬ 
brate, on the following day, the conclusion of 
the peace. The bells were to be rung, a supper 
given to the children of the town, and in the 
evening fireworks exhibited. I did not remain 
to witness the rejoicings, but in the morning I 
walked about the University grounds, and 
viewed the Colleges. I passed that day through 
the most fertile and highly improved portion of 
the country I had yet seen. At night I stopped 
at a lonely inn by the roadside. The landlord 
was a small farmer, and talked much about the 
present institutions and laws of the Kingdom. 
He desired to see the laws changed so that one 
man could rent no more than three hundred 
acres. This would give all the poor farmers a 
better chance. At present the rich ones rented 
all the land, having farms in that vicinity from 
five hundred to two thousand acres in extent, 
while a man who had a small capital, however 
good a farmer he might be, could get none at 
all. He had forty acres, but expected every 
day to have it taken from him. When conver¬ 
sing about draining, he said that all the laud 
round about was thoroughly drained, burnt tile 
being used iu the fields, which conducted the 
water into large open ditches. These diiches 
are carried under the roads by substantial 
arches, and empty into the rivers and sea.— 
When the undertaking was first commenced 
the farmers laughed at it, and thought it a fool¬ 
ish expenditure of money. But since the work 
is completed, they have chinged their minds, 
and now consider it the greatest improvement 
ever made in farming, and the permanent in¬ 
crease of the average yield of crops is so great 
that the proprietors of the estates have raised 
the rent, and the farmers can better afford to 
pay the present rate than they could the old 
one. Formerly the soil was wet, and in a dry 
time it became hard and cracked open. All 
'his is in a great measure remedied, and the 
land is not only able to bear the rain aud drouth 
much better, but the crops are earlier than they 
were formerly, and arrive at maturity sooner. 
Besides this the general health of the country 
has improved. So much for a thorough system 
of draining. 
While walking the following day I came to 
a spot where the road divided into several 
branches. I was looking at the different guide 
boards for information concerning the routes 
and distances, when I perceived a man beckon¬ 
ing to me from the window of a public house 
that stood on one corner. I went to the door, 
and upon opening it he met me with a quart 
mug of ale in his hand,*llhich he offered to me, 
and said, “I din no but ye moit be droy 
walkin’ this hot day.” I excused myself from 
drinking by telling him that 1 had drank a 
short distance back, and, asking for directions 
concerning the road, went on. 
Saturday night I arrived at Sleaford, a pretty 
little market town eighteen miles south of Lin¬ 
coln. I obtained good accommodations at an 
inn, and ate my meals with the family, accord¬ 
ing to the true English custom of four meals a 
day—breakfast, dinner, tea, and supper. The 
landlady asked many amusing questions, in¬ 
quiring if we had a King and Queen, and 
whether the wild men and wild beasts were 
very thick in New York ; but I was quite taken 
down when tho worthy lady gravely inquired 
if my parents were black. At the next oppor¬ 
tunity 1 looked in the glass with the particular 
object of ascertaining what effect the Atlantic 
winds and the sunshine mighthave produced on 
my countenance,and will confess lam somewhat 
blacker than when I left home, but I could per¬ 
ceive nothing decidedly negroisli iu my appear¬ 
ance. After that I was ready for any questions. 
However, I was comfortably entertained,and not 
exorb.tantly changed, my bill for five meals and 
two nights lodging being one dollar and sixteen 
cents. Monday morning I rose early and 
walked ten miles before breakfast, which I 
procured at the only inn between Sleaford and 
Lincoln. I passed through Lincoln, looking at 
ils ancient and magnificent Cathedral, and pro¬ 
ceeded thirteen miles further to a village*jvhere 
I endeavored to procure lodgings. I could not 
succeed, however, and was compelled to walk 
five miles further to to Gainesborougb. It was 
dark when I reached that place, and I was ex¬ 
ceedingly fatigued, for I had walked thirty-six 
miles. I turned in at the first hotel I came to, 
and the feelings of comfort I experienced, when, 
after bathing my feet and putting on slippers, 
I sat down before the pleasant coal fire to a 
substantial supper, fully repaid me for my hard 
day’s labor. 
iJimitrps. 
THE PRINTING PRESS. 
In the ages antecedent to the invention of 
printing, Literature was of slow growth, and of 
exceedingly circumscribed limits, even in the 
most favorable circumstances. The tree of 
knowledge found but a scanty soil for its roots, 
and feeble sunshine for its foliage. It flourish¬ 
ed only in favored spots, exhaling the odor of 
its flowers, and yielding its delicious fruits for 
the privilege^ few. The popular ignorance of 
that period almost surpasses belief. It was a 
time of shadow with the human mind. When, 
however, in the order of Providence, that won¬ 
derful combination of matter, the Printing 
Press, was given to the dominion of Mind, a 
fresh and almost magical impulse was imparted 
to the growth of Literature, and the progress ol 
popular illumination ; and from that time until 
the present, “ Knowledge has increased in the 
earth” with wonderful rapidity. Where, for¬ 
merly, a few precious scrolls of vellum consti¬ 
tuted the only fountain of knowledge accessible 
in a vast territory, books are now numbered by 
millions, aud libraries are household necessities. 
Where once a scanty rill of learning trickled 
along its pathway — secluded and carefully 
barred from the common foot—mighty rivers of 
intelligence now roll their ceaseless tides bv 
the humblest cottage, as well as by the loftiest, 
palace ; and along their banks the tree of 
Knowledge rises to a stately growth, affording 
refreshment by its shade, and nourishment by 
its fruit to all who desire them. 
And this wonderful change has been effected 
through the agency of the Printing Press, 
which may, therefore, be justly regaided as the 
greatest human instrument of civilization. It 
is the mighty lever with which the old founda¬ 
tions of Society have been stirred, and the dark 
temples of Ignorance, Superstition and Cruelty 
overthrown. It is the powerful Engine which 
drags the car of Improvement along the widely- 
extended track of Enterprise, yet to circum¬ 
scribe the habitable world. It is the key which 
unlocks the treasure-house of Knowledge, and 
open its golden stores to all who desire to en¬ 
rich themselves therewith. In all these varied 
aspects, it is, however, only an iDStiument —a 
machine,.lifeless and powerless, unless inform¬ 
ed, controlled, and moved by the force of the 
human intellect. Mind gives it vitality, and 
makes every pulsation of its frame instinct 
with creative energy. The lever might rot 
upon its fulcrum, if the power of Mind were 
not applied at its extremity, to move and over¬ 
throw the frowning battlements of barbarism. 
The engine would lie inert upon the track, it 
Mind did not supply the motive power to urge 
its wheels along. The Key would rust upon 
the outer walls of the great temple of Knowl¬ 
edge, if Mind did not skillfully adjust its wards 
to the lock, and fling open the ponderous gates. 
N. Y. Examiner. 
Dr. Rkbmax, a missionary, has verified the 
existence in Africa of an immense sea, without 
outlet., twice as large as the Black Sea, between 
the equator and ten degrees south latitude, and 
between the twenty-third and thirtieth meri¬ 
dian. 
nv H. W. LONGFELLOW, 
Slowly, slowly, up the wall 
Steals the sunshine, steals the shade, 
Evening dump begins to fall. 
Evening shadows are displayed. 
Round me, o’er me everywhere, 
All the sky is graDd with olouds, 
And athwart the evening air 
Wheel the swallows home in crowds. 
Shafts of sunshine from the West 
Paint the dusky windows red ; 
Darker shadows deeper rest 
Underneath and overhead. 
Darker, darker, and more wan 
In my breast the shadows fall, 
Upwaid steals the life of man. 
As the sunshine from the wall. 
From the wall into the sky, 
From the roof along ti e spire, 
Ah, the souls of saints that die 
Are but sunbeams lifted higher. 
Written for the Rural New-Yorker. 
THE SOULS DEPARTED. 
How peaceful the dwelling places of those 
who inhabit the green hamlets and populous 
cities of the dead. They are safe from all that 
can molest, corrupt or destroy. Fate, with its 
train ot alternate joys and sorrows, is powerless 
when brought to bear upon those who have 
passed the “ swelling flood,” and quietly rest 
within the tomb. 
How enviable their condition, so sweetly do 
they sleep in their “ narrow home,” quietly 
awaiting the morning of the resurrection when 
they shall come forth and “shine as the stars 
of the firmament forever.” 
Often do we go to the grave of “ buried love," 
and there,unseen by mortal eye, heard only by 
Him who counteth the sighs of His children, 
bestow all those tributes of affection, which, 
however useless to those for whom they are de¬ 
signed, seem to kindle anew upon the altar of 
our hearts the holy flame. Beautiful indeed is 
the season of life, but far more beautiful is the 
condition of those for whom we mourn. Death 
takes many from us, but we shall see them 
again in a happier land. They are waiting for 
us, and we shall not loDg delay. They have 
gone before, and are like unto the augels 
in heaven. He spoke truly who said that 
graves are the footsteps of angels. And we in 
hours of blessed communion with the souls of 
the departed, are seemingly drawn away from 
earth to partake of the joys which eternity 
alone shall imfold to our visions. , j. t. b. 
Birdsall, N. Y., 18.6. 
A Fable. —A yoimg man once picked up a 
sovereign lying on the road. Ever afterwards, 
as he walked along, he kept bis eyes fixed 
steadily upon the ground, in hopes to find" 
another. And in the course of a long life he 
did pick up, at different times, a goodly num¬ 
ber of coins, gold aud silver. But all these 
years, while he was looking for them, he saw 
not that the heavens were bright above him, and 
nature beautiful around. He never once allow¬ 
ed his eyes to look up from the mud and filth 
in which he sought the treasure ; and when he 
died—a rich old man—he only knew this fair 
earth of ours as a dirty road in which to pick 
up money as you walk along 1 
SrEAK Kindly to the Erring. — No bad man 
is ever brought to repentance by angry words, 
bitter and scornful reproaches. He fortifies 
himself against reproofs, and hurls back foul 
charges in the face of his accusers. YVt guilty 
and hardened as he seems, he has a heart in his 
bosom and may be melted to tears by a gentle 
voice. Whoso, therefore, can restrain his dis¬ 
position to chide, and can bring himself down 
to a fallen brother, will soon find a way to bet¬ 
ter feelings within. Pity and patience are the 
two keys which unlock the human heart. 
POETICAL DEFINITIONS. 
Relioton—A key which opeas wide the gates of Heaven ; 
Death—A knife by which the ties of earth are riven ; 
Earth—A desert through which pilgrims wend their way ; 
Grave —A himieof rest which ends life’s weary way ; 
Resurrection —A Bndden waking from a quiet dream ; 
Heaven - A land of joy, of light and love supreme ; 
Faith — An anchor dropped beyond the vale of death ; 
Hope—A lone star beaming o’er the barren heath ; 
Charity—A stream meandering from thefountof love: 
Bible—A guide to realms of endless joys above. 
Man Without Religion. — Religion is the tie 
that connecis man with his Creator, and holds 
him to his throne. If that tie is sundered or 
broken, he floats away, a worthless atom in the 
universe, its proper attractions all gone, its des¬ 
tiny thwarted, aud its whole future nothing but 
darkness, desolation and death.— Daniel Web¬ 
ster. 
As the ship lets go her moorings and sets sail, 
so the Christian—the soul, that is the man— 
strikes the tent and leaves the dilapidated 
tabernacle, and wings its flight to a more beau¬ 
tiful climate, the “rest that remainelh for the 
people of God.” 
Two Wonders. —Two things are matter of 
daily astonishment to me — the readiness of 
Christ to come from heaven to earth for me, and 
my backwardness to rise from earth to heaven 
for him.— S. Pearce. 
A beautiful soul in a deformed body, is like 
the lark soaring in heaven, that appears as a 
'ailing star in the glow of sunset, though when 
we approach nearer we find the dusky plumage 
and the dull eye of a poor song-bird. 
