MOORE’S RURAL NEW-YORKER: AN AGRICULTURAL AND FAMILY NEWSPAPER. 
Jfoullntttotw. 
[For the Rural New-Yorker.] 
SORROW. 
Mary, there's sorrow in my heart, 
A shade upon my brow— 
A thousand melancholy thoughts; 
Are lingering round me now 1 
For now 'tis hut a winter's day, 
Dark clouds are In inv sky, 
Col 1, damp, and chilling are the winds. 
That rudely pass me try 1 
No thoughts in joyous harmony. 
Like songs of gladsome birds, 
Are swelling forth in tuneful notes 
The music of their words. 
But sad discordant thoughts are there, 
To mar those gentle notes, 
That once with joyous melody 
Youth’s gladsome feelings spoke. 
While now 1 look into the past— 
O'er memories fond and dear,— 
The joys I knew—the friends I lov’d, 
Like shadows re-appear; 
Now life and light arc naught to me, 
Save hut to do 11 is will. 
Who spake unto the troubled sea, 
And to my heart, “ lie still.” 
Trutnanshurg, March, 18.V2. Pattie. 
ITINERANT LECTURERS. 
In the remarks I am about to make on 
itinerant lecturers, I shall have no reference 
to thoso literary gentlemen who are invited 
to lecture before societies of various names 
in our cities and large villages, but such as 
stroll through the country and operate ‘ion 
their own hook.” Such persons I meet at 
all seasons of the year, and in all parts of 
the land where I travel; and the question 
has often arisen in my mind, Of what ser¬ 
vice are their performances, generally, to 
tho community ? If amusement is the chief 
aim of life—amusement merely, and that of 
a very low order—tho question is easily an¬ 
swered. For three-fourths of these wander¬ 
ing, soi-disant “ Professors” havo no higher 
nor more laudable ambition than to make 
money by making fun. Their entertain¬ 
ments rarely combine instruction and amuse¬ 
ment. Most of those who ostensibly at¬ 
tempt to edify, are pigmy unfolders of mam¬ 
moth subjects, or quack elucidatory of quack 
“sciences”—intellectual dwarfs, who obtain 
a smattering of something new, and then be¬ 
gin to prate. Suddenly smitten with an as¬ 
tonishing degree of philanthropy, and anx¬ 
ious that the world should fully understand 
the profundities of the fresh wonder—they 
pierce to the farthest extremities of tho land 
and publish every where its mysteries—of- 
tener than anything else, the gospel of an 
opaque humbug. 
Such persons seldom tarry long enough 
in a place to ho sounded. The placards of 
their wonderful skill, couched in such self- 
adulating terms as no really profound and. 
consequently, modest, man could tolerate in 
himself, are postod in bar-rooms and on the 
front door of each blacksmith’s shop, a few 
hours or possibly a whole day before tho 
great performance comes otf: at “early can¬ 
dle lighting” the inflated pedant appeal’s; 
takes his shillings ; goes through with the 
“ show”—the show of fustian declamation, 
perhaps, on an exploded “ science,”—and is 
off. And thus, without solid attainments, 
and without self-respect, he wanders from 
place to place, making tho vulgar laugh; 
astonishing tho illiterate and stolid,and dis¬ 
gusting tho cultivated and discriminating. 
Such, with rare exceptions, is the charac¬ 
ter of the itinerant lecturers whom I have 
met in my travels during the last eight or 
ten years; and I believe the observation of 
most people will exonerate mo from the 
charge of exaggeration in the picture drawn. 
The question naturally arises, IIow shall 
the nuisance be abated ? I know of but one 
way, and that is by a cessation of patronage 
on the part of respectable people. True, 
there are rowdies enough in almost any city 
to support one of these characters for a night 
or two; hut it is not so in the generality of 
villages; and there, at least, the evil may be 
measurably remedied. But, do you ask, 
how tho quack shall bo detected in case the 
subject announced is worthy of attention.— 
I answer: By the tone of his advertisement 
and the depth of his conversation. If a per¬ 
fect stranger, let him be thoroughly sound¬ 
ed by some individual or a committee capa¬ 
ble of doing it; and do not patronize him 
until he gives you the opportunity of doing 
this. If his subject is one which profound 
scholars are ashamed to propound, he as¬ 
sured the pretended expositor is a literary 
juggler; and if you do not encourage him, 
his peregrinations through the rural districts 
will bo wonderfully, and, for the funds of the 
community, luckily, curtailed. j. c. 
Said the distinguished Lord Chatham to 
his son, “ I would havo inscribed on the cur¬ 
tains of your chamber, ‘ If you do not riso 
early, you can make progress in nothing.— 
If you do not set apart your hours of read¬ 
ing. if you suffer yourself or any one else 
to break in upon them, your days will slip 
through your hands unprofitable and frivol¬ 
ous, and unonjoyod by yourself.” 
There is always moro error in hatred 
than in love. 
FIRST GLIMPSES OF RURAL ENGLAND. 
Mr. Olmstead, in his “ Walks and Talks 
of an American Farmer in England,” gives 
a life-like sketch of his first glimpse of the 
“country.” They were set down by rail¬ 
road a few miles from Liverpool in the midst 
of a rain-storm ; and he thus describes his 
first experiences: 
The rain slackens—ceases, and wo mount 
by stone steps up a bank of roses and close¬ 
ly-shaven turf, to the top of the bridge over 
the cutting. 
There we were, right in the midst of it! 
The country—and such a country !—green, 
dripping, glistening, gorgeous ! Wo stood 
dumb-stricken by its loveliness, as. from the 
bleak Aprd and bare boughs we had left at 
home, broke upon us that English May— 
sunny, leafy, blooming May—in an English 
lane; with hedges, English hedges, hawthorn 
hedges, all in blossom; homely old farm¬ 
houses, quaint stables, and haystacks; the 
old church spire over tho distant trees; the 
mild sun beaming through the watery at¬ 
mosphere. and all so quiet—the only sounds 
the hum of bees and the crisp grass-tearing 
of a silkeu-skinned. real (unimported) Here¬ 
ford cow over the hedge. No longer ex¬ 
cited by daring to think we should see it, as 
we discussed the scheme round the old 
home-lire; no longer cheering ourselves 
with it in the stupid, tedious ship; no more 
forgetful of it in the bewilderment of the 
busy town—but there we were, right in tho 
midst of it; long time silent, and then speak¬ 
ing softly, as if it were enchantment indeed, 
wo gazed upon it and breathed it—never to 
be forgotten. 
At length we walked on—rapidly—but 
frequently stopping, one side and the other, 
like children in a garden; hedges still, with 
delicious fragrance, on each side of us, and 
on, as far as we can see. true farm-fencing 
hedges; nothing trim, stiff, nice, and ama¬ 
teur-like, but the verdure broken, tufty, 
low, and natural. They are set on a ridge 
of earth thrown out from a ditch beside 
them, which raises and strengthens them as 
a fence. They_ are nearly all hawthorn, 
which is now covered in patches, as if after 
a slight fall of snow, with clusters of white 
or pink blossoms over its light green foliage. 
Here and there a holly bush, with bunches 
of scarlet berries, and a' few other shrubs 
mingle with it. A cart meets us—a real, 
heavy, big-wheeled English cart; and Eng¬ 
lish horses—real big. shaggy-hoofed, sleek, 
heavy English cart-horses: and a carter—a 
real apple-faced, smock-frocked, red-headed 
wool-hatted carter — breeches, stockings, 
hob-nailed shoes, and “ Gee-up Dubbin ” 
English carter. Little birds hop along in 
the road before us, and we guess at their 
names, first of all electing one to he Robin 
Redbreast. We study tho flowers under 
the hedge, and determine them nothing 
else than primroses and buttercups. Thro’ 
the gates we admire tho great, fat, clean- 
licked, contented-faced cows, and large, 
white, long-wooled sheep. What else was 
there ! I cannot remember; but there was 
that altogether, that made us forget our fa¬ 
tigue, disregard the rain, thoughtless of tho 
way wo were going—serious, happy and 
grateful. And this excitement continued 
for many days. 
At length it has become drenching again; 
we approach a stone spire. A stone house 
interrupts our view in front; the road winds 
round it, between it and another; turns 
again, and there on our left is the church— 
the old ivy-covered, brown-stone, village 
church, with the yew-tree—wo knew it at 
once, and the heaped-up. green, old English 
church-yard. We turn to the right; thero 
he sits, the same bluff and hearty old fel¬ 
low, with the long-stemmed pipe and tho 
I foaming pewter mug on the little table be¬ 
fore him. At the same moment with us 
comes in another man. Ho drops in a seat 
—raps with his whip. Enter a young wo¬ 
man, neat and trim, with exactly the same 
white cap. smooth hair, shiny face, bright 
eyes, and red cheeks, we are looking for— 
“ Muggoyail , lass! ’ 
.Mug of ale !—ay. that’s it! 
Mug of ale!—Fill up ! Fill up ! and the 
toast shall be 
“ Merrie England ! Hurrah !” 
We left them as soon as the shower slack¬ 
ened. but stopped again immediately to look 
at the yew through the churchyard gate.— 
It was a very old and decrepit tree, with 
dark and funereal foliage—the stiff trunk 
and branches of our red-cedar, with the 
leaf of the hemlock, but much more dark 
and glossy than either. The walls of the 
church are low, but higher in one part than 
another. The roof, which is slated, is high 
and steep. The tower is square, with but¬ 
tresses on the corners, on the tops of which 
are quaint lions rampant. It is surmounted 
by a tall, symmetrical spire—solid stone to 
the ball, over which, as I am the son of a 
Puritan, is a weather-cock ! There are lit¬ 
tle narrow windows in the steeple, and swal¬ 
lows are flying in and out of them. Old 
weather-beaten stone and mortar, glass, 
lead, iron, and matted ivy, but not a splinter 
of wood or a daub of paint. Old England 
forever! Amen. 
A mile or two of such walking as before 
the shower, and wo came to a park gate.— 
It was, with tho lodges by its side, neat sim¬ 
ple and substantial. The park was a hand¬ 
some piece of old woods, but as seen from 
the road, not remarkable. We were told, 
however, that there was a grand old hall 
and fine grounds a longways within. Near 
the park there were signs of an improving 
farmer; broad fields of mangel-wurtzcl in 
drills; large fields partly divided by wire 
fences, within which were large flocks of 
sheep; marks of recent under-draining; 
hedges trimmed square, and every tiling 
neat, straight, and business-like. 
As it grows dark we approach another 
villago. Tho first house on the left is an 
inn—a low, two story house of light drab- 
colored stone. A bunch of grapes (cast in 
iron.) and a lantern are hung out from it 
over the foot path, and over the front door 
is a square sign— “The Red Lion — licensed 
to sell foreign spirits and beer, to be drunk 
on the premises. ' We turn into a dark hall, 
and opening the door to the left, enter—the 
kitchen. Such a kitchen ! You would not 
believe me if 1 could describe how bright 
every thing is. You would think the fire¬ 
place a show-model, for the very bars of tho 
grate are glistening. It is all glowing with 
red-hot coals; a bright brass tea-kettle 
swings and sings from a polished steel crane 
—hook, jack, and all like silver ; the brass 
coal-scuttle, tongs, shovel, and warm¬ 
ing-pan are in a blazing glow, and the walls 
and mantel-piece are covered with bright 
plate-covers, and I know not what other 
metallic furniture, all burnished to the high¬ 
est degree. 
The landlady rises and begs to take our 
wet hats—a model landlady, too. What a 
fine eyo!—a kind and welcoming black oyc. 
Fair and stout; elderly—a little silver in 
her hair, just showing its otherwise thick 
blackness to be no lie; a broad-frilled, clean 
white cap and collar, and a black dress.— 
Ah ha ! one of tho widows that we have 
read of. We hesitated to cross tho clean- 
scoured, buff, tile floor with our muddy 
shoes ; but she draws arm-chairs about the 
grate, and lays slippers before them, stirs 
up the fire, though it is far from needing it. 
and turns to take our knapsacks. “ We 
must be fatigued—it’s not easy walking in 
the rain ; she hopes wo can make ourselves 
comfortable.” 
There is every prospect that we shall. 
HONESTY IN LITTLE THINGS. 
Tiie following curious account of a prac¬ 
tical sermon is copied from tho Vermont 
Chronicle: 
A brother in the ministry took occasion 
to preach on tho passage in Luke xvi, 10: 
“ He that is unjust in tho least is unjust also 
in much.” Tho theme was, “ that men who 
take advantage in small things of others, 
have the very element of character to wrong 
tho community and individuals in great 
things, where the prospect’of escaping de¬ 
tection or censure is as little to be dreaded.” 
The preacher exposed tho various ways by 
which people wrong others; such as borrow- 
ing; by mistakes in making change ; by er¬ 
rors in accounts; by escaping taxes and cus¬ 
tom-house duties; by managing to escapo 
postage; by finding articles and never seek¬ 
ing owners; and by injuring articles borrow¬ 
ed, and never making'the fact known to the 
owner when returned. 
One lady, the next day, met her pastor. 
and said, “I havo been up to Mr. -. to 
rectify an error in giving mo change a few 
weeks ago; for I bitterly felt your reproof 
yesterday.” Another went to Boston to pay 
tor an article not in her bill, which sho no¬ 
ticed was not charged when she paid it. A 
man, going homo from meeting, said to his 
companion, “Ido not believe there was a 
man in the meeting-house to-day, who did 
not teel condemned. ’ After applying the 
sermon to a score or moro of his acquaint¬ 
ance. he continued: 
“Did not the pastor utter something 
about finding a pair of wheels ?” 
“I believe not, neighbor A. He spoke of 
keeping little things, which had been found.” 
“Well, I thought two or throo times ho 
said something about finding a pair of 
wheels, and really supposed ho meant me. 
I found a pair down in my lot a while ago.” 
“ Do you,” said his companion, “ know 
who they belong to ? Mr. B. lost them a 
short time ago.” 
Tho owner was soon in possession of his 
wheels. 
A FARMER POET. 
A New York house, says the New Eng¬ 
land Farmer, announces as in press a new 
volume of poems, entitled “The Harp and 
the Plough ” from tho pen of the “ Peasant 
Bard,” Mr. Josiah D. Canning, of Gill, Mass. 
Mr. Canning has given to our literature some 
of the most popular and beautiful “fugitive 
poems” of the day. He is a true poet, and 
we are glad to learn that ho has decided to 
give the world a specimen of what a Yankee 
farmer can do in this line. Let no one sup¬ 
pose that he belongs to the mongrel race of 
“fancy farmers,” so happily caricatured by 
Emerson in one of his recent lectures. Tho 
author of “ The Harp and Plough,” is 
equally at homo in the smock-fock or the 
mantle of Apollo. lie handles the pitch- 
fork as skilfully as the lute, and, we will ven¬ 
ture to say, has as intimate and thoroughly 
practical an acquaintance with the plow, the 
shovel and the compost-heap, as the most 
intensely prosaic of our roaders could desire. 
The latest effusion from his pen we have 
seen, is the following sweet little gem, from 
the Knickerbocker Magazine, to which he is 
a frequent contributor: 
Where the alders girt a grassy, 
I e if etiibowered nook, 
There I spied a collage-lassie, 
V\ ashing by the brook. 
Bright the wavelets glanced beside her, 
Bri hter was tlie look 
That she gave to him who spied her 
Washing by the brook. 
Sweet the songs of birds around her, 
Songs from Nature’s book; 
Sweeter hers to him who found her 
W ashing by the brook. 
Heaven bless her ! Heaven vvutch her I 
Piide may overlook. 
But for graces may not match her. 
Washing by the brook 1 
The social feelings havo not been inaptly 
compared to a dark heap of embers, which, 
when separated, soon languish, darken and 
expire; but placed together, they glow with 
a ruddy and intense heat. 
The virtue of prosperity is temperance; 
the virtue of adversity is fortitude. 
Tnbits’ Dqmrtnmrt. 
THE CONTENTED WIFE. 
I woum not change this happy scene 
For all 'lie earth calls proudly great; 
I would not change my humble home 
For kingly rank or queenly slate. 
I would not change tny husband’s love 
For all that earth can give to fame; 
Nor barter his approving smile 
To wreath a halo round my name. 
! would not change my child’s s veet glance 
For all the love earth’s wealth could gain ; 
Norchangethe certain biLs I feel, 
For all ambition might obtain. 
What blessings, great and numberless, 
My God with sweetest hopes hath blent— 
A happy home, endearing friends. 
With health, and love, and true content. 
THE TIMES HAVE CHANGED. 
Yes, dear reader, the timos have changed. 
Even within my day and recollection, a 
great change has been wrought in the varied 
departments of social and domestic life.— 
It may he true that every generation grows 
wiser in some respects, and it is also true 
that every generation grows more unwise 
in other respects; for while people have 
made many improvements for the better in 
soino things, the reverse has been the con¬ 
sequence in others. It is a fact that changes 
have taken place in the human family, which 
are more expensive, and moro injurious to 
the health of all who have been led to adopt 
them. I refer to the manner of living and 
dress at the present day, as contrasted with 
the custom in days gone by. In the days of 
our grandfathers and grandmothers, it did 
not cost more than half as much to clothe 
and feed the body as it now does. And 
while pcoplo in those days expended no 
more than half as much for clothing, they 
not only dressed more comfortably, but 
lived more in the general enjoyment of 
health. And while they were economical 
in dress, they paid proper regard to their 
diet. Not half the delicacies and sweet 
meats (which are the fore-runners of ill- 
health.) were then used, that now grace our 
tables and side-boards. Their faro corres¬ 
ponded in all particulars with their dress— 
coarse, simple and plain. The good old 
homespun gray, and home-made garments 
our grandfathers and grandmothers wore, 
arc not now to be seen in tho “ fashion 
plates” of tho day, and even if an individ¬ 
ual at this age, for the sake of economy and 
comfort, appears in society with the good 
old-fashioned garments, he is at once made 
a laughing stock and tho butt of ridicule ; 
and such is tho pride of the human heart, 
rather than to be behind tho times and out 
of fashion, people will adopt the modes and 
customs of “fashionable society,” even 
though it he against interest, health and 
comfort. 
I go heart and hand with all reforms and 
changes which are for the actual good of 
mankind. But when changes take place in 
society that are injurious and expensive to 
the wholo human family, I am not disposed 
to countenance them. Contrast, for in¬ 
stance, the garments worn when our grand¬ 
fathers and grandmothers were in their 
prime, with those worn now-a-days, and al¬ 
so contrast the expense of clothing the body 
then with what it is at the present day.— 
Then" a good, warm, home-mado flannel 
gown was thought (in truth it was) to be 
the most suitable and most comfortable 
dress for the mother and her daughters to 
wear in the winter season ; such was the 
dress generally worn within my recollection. 
It did not take eleven or twelve yards for 
the garment, for flounces, &c., were dis¬ 
pensed with. Four breadths wore as good 
as seven. It was not thought profitable or 
necessary, even, to have a dozen or fifteen 
“fix up” dresses, of calicoes, delaines, silks, 
satins, &c. A good calico dress was thought 
suitable for all places and occasions. In 
thoso days young ladies of rank did not 
wear shoes as thin as paper; good calf-skin 
shoes were nice enough for meeting shoes. 
What young lady now-a-days (who is de¬ 
pendent on her daily labor for support) 
would be willing to wear calf-skin shoes to 
a neighbor’s, even ? Very few young ladies 
are willing to be seen with them on at homo. 
The very nicest kid shoe must be worn in 
tho kitchen, (if it ever happens that young 
ladies are caught there,) and the fit must be 
so nice that the blood can scarcely circulate. 
If it is true that every generation grows 
wiser, it is certainly true that every genera¬ 
tion grows shorter lived. This fact is easily 
accounted for. Pcoplo havo bocome so 
proud of their own bodies, that they make 
it one of their chief studies to decorate tho 
outer person in such a manner as to attract 
the greatest attention of others. To do 
this they not only sacrifice health and com¬ 
fort, but at tho same time make the jour¬ 
ney of life short and painful. 
Mothers, a word to you on this subject. 
Are you bringing up your children as you 
were brought up ? Are you educating your 
daughters as your mothers educated you ? 
Did your mothers suffer you to grow up 
without giving you a knowledge of house¬ 
hold affairs ? Were you allowed to lie in 
bed till eight or nine o’clock in tho morn¬ 
ing, and then spend an hour or two at the 
toilet table, in decorating your persons in 
the “ latest fashions,” and then make “ calls ” 
all day, while your mothers were drudging 
in the kitchen at home ? I think you an¬ 
swer. No. Well, is this not the way you aro 
bringing up your daughters ? Do you not 
see that you are making slaves of yourselves 
and at the same time bringing up your 
daughters in indolence, and to their own 
disadvantage ? Thero are but few young 
ladies now-a-days who are qualified to take 
the charge of a family—but few who are fit 
for mothers. Enough are in “ market ” for 
wives, but many of them would prove but 
poor apologies. I long for the dawn of a 
brighter day. I long for the time when 
there will be a general reformation and 
change in society. And may this reforma¬ 
tion and change commence at the domestic 
fire-side, under the guidance and supervis¬ 
ion of tho mother herself. A change cer¬ 
tainly is needed in tho manner of educating 
young ladies for the duties of domestic life. 
No mother should suffer her daughters to 
leave her presence, until they have been 
made acquainted with the various duties ap¬ 
pertaining to tho management of a family. 
For there certainly is as much need of 
daughters being well informed in this mat¬ 
ter now, as there was hundreds of years ago. 
When mothers will perform their duties— 
train their daughters as they were trained, a 
happy change will be the consequence.— 
May that time soon come. A. Todd. 
Smithtield, R. I., March, lHa'i. 
THE WIFE OF WASHINGTON IN CAMP. 
We quoted, says the New York Organ, 
some time ago from a correspondent of the 
Newark Daily Advertiser, an • interesting 
account of General Washington, while he 
was with tho army in Morristown, N. J. 
The same writer furnishes the following 
respecting Mrs. Washington, which lie ob¬ 
tained from an old family in Whippany, N. 
J., named Vail. Mrs. Vail’s first husband’s 
mother, Mrs. Tuttle, was a sensible and 
agreeable woman, whose company was much 
sought even by thoso who, owing to their 
wealth, moved in more fashionable circles. 
Among other frequent visitors was Mrs. 
Troupe, the lady of a half-pay captain in the 
British navy. She is described as a lady of 
affable manners and of intelligence, and 
much esteemed. 
One day she visited Mrs. Tuttle, and the 
usual compliments were hardly passed before 
she said: “Well, what do you think, Mrs. T.? 
I have been to see Lady Washington !” 
“Have you, indeed? Then tell me all 
about how you found her ladyship, how sho 
appeared, and what she said.” 
“Well, I will honestly tell you,”answered 
Mrs. Troupe. “ I never was so ashamed in 
all my life. You see Madam-, and Ma¬ 
dam -, and Madam Budd, and myself 
thought wo would visit Lady Washington: 
and as she was said to be so grand a lady, we 
thought we must put on our best bibs and 
bands. So we dressed ourselves in our 
most elegant ruffles and silks, and were in¬ 
troduced to her ladyship. And don't you 
think, found her knitting, and with a 
speckled (check) apron on! She received us 
very graciously and easily, but after the com¬ 
pliments were over, she resumed her knit¬ 
ting. There we were, without a stitch of 
work, and sitting in state, but General Wash¬ 
ington's lady, with her own hands, was knit¬ 
ting stockings for herself and husband ! 
“ And that was not all. In the afternoon 
her ladyship took occasion to say, in a way 
that we could not be offended at, that at 
this time it was very important that Amer¬ 
ican ladies should be patterns of industry to 
their countrywomen, because the separation 
from the mother country will dry up the 
sources whence many of our comforts are 
derived. Wo must become independent by 
our determination to do without what we can 
not make ourselves. Whilst our husbands 
and brothers are examples of patriotism, we 
must be patterns of industry !” 
According to Mrs. Troupe’s story, Mrs. 
Washington gave her visitors some excellent 
advice, the meanwhile adding force to her 
words by her actions, and withal, in such a 
way that they could not take offence. In 
this she proved herself more worthy to oc¬ 
cupy her distinguished position than she 
could have done by all the graceful and el¬ 
egant accomplishments which are often 
found*in princesses and queens. In the re¬ 
lations she occupied, her knitting work and 
check apron were queenly ornaments, and 
we may be proud to know that such a wo¬ 
man as was Martha Washington set such an 
admirable example to her countrywomen. 
Beautiful Sentiment. —Kossuth, in his 
address to the ladies of Pittsburgh, said, with 
his rare beauty : 
“Love is tho vivifying spirit of the uni¬ 
verse. Love is the element of tho heart.— 
Love is never tired of showing tenderness, 
and can spread this vivifying element over 
the cause of freedom on earth. One smile 
from your sparkling eyes can do more won¬ 
ders than all I can say in a year. I have 
tried to impart conviction upon the mind 
of man. But conviction is nothing without 
the inspiration of the heart- The hearts of 
men are in your realm. You can play upon 
those chords which break within tne brazen 
hands of men.” 
The sileneo of a person who loves to 
praise is a consuro sufficiently sovere. 
