256 
MOOSE’S RURAL NEW-YORKER: AN AGRICULTURAL, LITERARY AND FAMILY NEWSPAPER. 
Spies’ lutT-JfuIk 
CONDUCTED BY AZILE. 
WATCH, WATCH, MOTHER 
Mother ! watch the little feet, 
Climbing o’er the garden wall, 
Bounding through the busy street, 
Ranging cellar, shed and hall, 
Never count the moments lost, 
Never mind the time it costs. 
Little feet will go astray, 
Guide them, mother, while you may. 
Mother ! watch the little hand, 
Picking berries by the way, 
Making houses in the sand, 
Tossing up the fragrant hay, 
Never dare the question ask, 
“ Why to me this weary task ?” 
These same little hands may prove 
Messengers of light and love. 
Mother ! watch the little tongue 
Prattling eloquent and wild, 
What is said and what is sung 
By thy happy, joyous child. 
Catch the word while jet unspoken, 
Catch the vow before ’tis broken ; 
This same tongue may yet proclaim 
Blessings in a Savior’s name. 
Mother 1 watch the little heart 
Beating soft and warm for you ; 
Wholesome lessons now impart ; 
Keep, O keep that young heart true. 
Extricating every weed, 
Sowing good and precious seed ; 
Harvest rich you then may see. 
Ripening for eternity. 
CURIOSITIES OF LITERATURE. 
A late number of the London “ Notes and Queries ” 
contains a few carious bits of antiquity. One writer 
sends the following collection of wedding-ring mottoes : 
Death neuer parts 
Avoid all strife 
Such louing hearts. 
Twixt man and wife. 
Loue and respect 
Joyfull loue 
I doe expeot. 
This ring do proue. 
No gift can show 
In thee, deare wife, 
The loue I ow. 
1 find new life. 
Let him never take a wife 
Of rapturous joye 
That will not love her as his I am the toye. 
life. 
In loving thee 
In thee I prove 
I love myself. 
The joy of love. 
A heart content 
In loving wife 
Can ne’er repent. 
Spend all thy life. 1697. 
In God and thee 
In love abide 
Shal my joye bee. 
Till death divide. 
Loue thy chaste wife 
In unitie 
Beyond thy life. 1631. 
Let’s live and dy. 
Loue and praye 
Happy in thee 
Night and daye. 
Hath God made me. 
Great joy in thee 
Silence ends the strife 
Continually. 
With man and wife. 
My fond delight 
None can prevent 
By day and night. 
The Lord’s intent. 
Pray to love, 
More weere—more weere. 
Love to pray. 1647. 
1652. 
Body and mind 
God did decree 
In thee I finde. 
Our unitie. 
Deare wife, my rod 
I kiss the rod 
Dothe lead to God. 
From thee and God. 
Eternally 
In love and joy 
My love shall be. 
Be our employ. 
All I refuse, 
Live and loue, 
And thee I chuse. 
Loue and live. 
God aboue 
This ring doth bind 
Conttnew our love, 
Body and minde. 
I wish to thee 
Loue and joye 
All joye may bee. 
Can neuer cloye. 
With my body 
The pledge I prove 
I worship thee. 
Of mutual love. 
In thee, my loue, 
I love the rod 
All joye I proue. 
And thee and God. 1646. 
Beyond this life 
I doe rejoice 
Loue me, deare wife. 
In thee, my choice. 
Joye day and night 
All I refuse, 
Bee our delight. 
But thee I chuse. 
Endless my lone 
I change the life 
As this shall proue. 
Of mayd to wife. 
True love will ne’er 
Endless my love 
remove. 
For thee shall prove. 
In thee, my choice, 
Endless as this 
I doe rejoice. 
Shall be our bliss. 
J. J. D. 1677. 
Thos. Bliss. 1719 
Endless, my love as this. 
I loue myself in loving thee. 
God alone made us two one Loue and leue happy. 1698. 
Divinely knitt by Grace are wee— 
Late two, now one—the pledg here see. 
B. and A. 1657. 
A DESOLATE HOME. 
Thb following beautifully t ouching reflec¬ 
tions upon the sudden death of a beloved 
child, are from the pen of Air. Chester, of 
the Buffalo Express : 
The charm of home depends upon the per¬ 
fection of its circle—break the circle and the 
charm is broken. 
Death is a fearful visitor, no matter when 
or how he may come. His advent, even when 
his face is most thickly veiled, and his foot¬ 
step most cautious, is terrible—but when he 
uses his power as if he loved to use it, and 
surrounds his mission with superfluous and 
peculiar horrors, then the heart-strings must 
snap and th3 blood curdle in the veins. 
Many and many a time have we written for 
others what we are now writing for ourselves. 
Now we can see how tame were our descrip¬ 
tions, how indifferent were our expressions of 
sympathy, how cold and passionless were our 
words. Forgive us, ye who have mourned 
and have suffered, nor fear lest our future 
words and deeds shall not be fervent and 
tender. 
Our darling has indeed departed. For the 
few hours that her little form remained with 
us, we felt that we had her still—but now we 
know that she is gone. It was a bright 
morning when we followed her to her rest, but 
we brought back with us only darkness. The 
home which she sunned and made musical, 
was as gloomy as a cavern, and so it remains. 
A lew days ago, it seemed like Heaven—but 
now the stars have faded out, and the lark 
that sung at the gate has fallen with an arrow 
in his breast. 
And when the night came on, how it 
brought a new measure—fully heaped—of 
lonely agony ! How we sought to sleep, and 
were awakened by her blessed voice—her pat¬ 
tering footfalls—her thrilling touch! It did 
indeed seem as if she was there ! But when 
we looked around and saw her not, then, then 
the truth returned, like a sudden blow, and 
we sank again into the bitter waters. 
She lies in her little coffin. There are rose¬ 
buds in her hand and a wreath of myrtle en¬ 
circles her brow of alabaster. The leaves fall 
solemnly, the wind moaned like a chained 
beast about her dismal bed. It is hard to 
leave her there—it seems so cold and dreary 
for the child ! and yet we know it must be— 
and because it must be, it is. 
Yet why not talk what we know as well as 
what we feel. Our bird now sings amid the 
eternal branches—our bud now blooms in the 
garden of God—our darlirg reposes on the 
bosom of fie Crucified. It is well. God 
loved the child—and loved her most when He 
took her up where Rachel’s children are. We 
will eat this sweet morsel of consolation, and 
it shall strengthen us. 
DR. NOTT ON THE SPHERE OF WOMAN. 
The sceptre of empire is not the sceptre 
that best befits the hand of woman; nor is 
the field of carnage her field of glory. Home, 
sweet home, is her theatre of action, her pe¬ 
destal of beauty, and throne of power. Or if 
seen abroad, she is seen to the best advantage 
when on errands of love, and wearing her 
robe of mercy. 
I would not, if I could, persuade those of 
the sex who hear me to become the public, 
clamorous advocates of even temperance. It 
is the influence of their declared approbation; 
of their open, willing, visible example, en¬ 
forced by that soft, persuasive, colloquial elo¬ 
quence, which, in some hallowed retirement, 
exerts such controlling influence over the hard 
heart of man : especially over a husband’s, a 
son’s, or a brother’s heart; it is this influence 
which we need : an influence, chiefly known 
by the gradual, kindly transformation of char¬ 
acter it produces, and which, iu its benign 
effects, may be compared to the noiseless balmy 
advances, renovation over every hill, and dale, 
and glen, and islet, and changing throughout 
the whole region of animated nature, winter’s 
rugged and unsightly forms, into the forms of 
vernal loveliness and beauty. 
No, I repeat it, I would not, if I could, 
persuade those of the sex who hear me, to be¬ 
come the public, clamorous advocates of tem¬ 
perance. It is not yours to wield the club of 
Hercules, or bend the bow of Achilles. But, 
though it is not, still you have a heaven ap¬ 
proved theatre of action. The look of ten¬ 
derness, the eye of compassion, the lip of en¬ 
treaty, are yours; and yours, the omnipo¬ 
tence of fashion. You can, therefore,—I 
speak of those who are the favorites of for¬ 
tune, and who occupy the high places of socie¬ 
ty,—you can change the terms of social inter¬ 
course, and alter the current opinions of com¬ 
munity. You can remove, at once and for¬ 
ever, temptation from the saloon, the drawing 
room, and the dining table. This is your 
empire, the empire over which God and' the 
Hsages of mankind have given you domain. 
Here, within these limits, and without trans¬ 
gressing that modesty which is heaven’s own 
gift, and woman's brightest ornament, yon 
may exert a benign and kindly, but mighty 
influence. 
€\akt Ifliscdliinii. 
For the Rnr&l New-Yorker. 
“HOPE ON, HOPE EVER.” 
Wkrn sorrow’s storms above you lower 
And joy seems fled forever, 
Your watchword in that darksome hour 
Should be, “ Hope on, hope ever.” 
“ Hope on, hope ever earth is not 
A scene alone of tears ; 
For many a bright and t! sunny spot,” 
Along our path appears. 
The darkest cloud will pass away, 
The wildest tempest cease ; 
The heart where sorrow long held sway. 
Shall he the abode of peace. 
“ Hope on, hope ever dry those tears, 
That flow for earthly sorrow, 
And, though the present dark appears, 
Look for a bright to-morrow. 
Maine, N. Y., 1866. A. 
Written for Moore’s Rural New Yorker-. 
SUMMER IN THE COUNTRY. 
DON’T SPEAK SO CROSS!” 
“ Don’t speak so cross,” said one little boy 
yesterday in the street to another. <[ Don’t 
speak so cross, there’s no use in it.” We 
happened to be passing at the time, and hear¬ 
ing the injunction, or rather exhortation, for 
it was made in a hortatory manner, we set 
the juvenile speaker down as an embryo phi¬ 
losopher. In sooth, touching the point in¬ 
volved iu the boyish difficulty which made 
occasion for the remark, he might properly be 
considered at maturity. What more could 
Solomon have said on the occasion ? True, 
he has put it on record that “ a soft answer 
turneth away wrath,” — and this being taken 
as true, and everybody knows it to be so—it 
is evidence in favor of the superiority of the 
law of kindness over that of wrath. But our 
young street philosopher said pretty much the 
same thing substantially, when he said — 
“ Don’t speak so cross—there’s no use iu it.” 
On the contrary, it invariably does much 
harm. Is a man angry ? it inflames his ire 
still more, and confirms in his enmity him who 
by a kind word and a gentle and pleasing de¬ 
meanor might be converted into a friend. It 
is in fact an addition of fuel to the flame al¬ 
ready kindled. And what do you gain by it? 
Nothing desirable, certainly, unless discord, 
strife, contention, hatred, malice, and all un¬ 
charitableness, be desirable. The boy spake 
the “ words of truth and soberness,” when he 
said, “ Don’t speak so cross — there’s no use 
in it.” 
The Bloom of Age. — A good woman 
never grows old. Years may pass over her 
head, but if benevolence and virtue dwell in 
her heart, she is as cheerful as when the spring 
of life first opened to her view. When we 
look upon a good woman, we never think of 
her age ; she looks as charming as when the 
rose of youth first bloomed upon her cheek. 
That rose has not faded yet; it will never 
fade. In her neighborhood she is the friend 
and benefactor. Who does not respect and 
love the woman who has passed her days in 
acts of kindness and mercy ? We repeat, 
such a woman cannot grow old. She will 
always be fresh and buoyant iu spirits, and 
active in humble deeds of mercy and benevo¬ 
lence. If the youDg lady desires to retain the 
bloom and beauty of youth, let her not yield 
to the sway of fashion and folly ; let her love 
truth and virtue, and to the close of life she 
will retain those feelings which now make life 
appear a garden of sweets—ever fresh and 
ever new. 
With our present means of rapid locomo 
tion, there is but a step between the city, with 
its high walls of brick and mortar, its crowd 
ed streets, its insufferable heat and choking 
dust, and the country with its free, pure air 
its wide-spread landscapes of mingled hill and 
dale, green meadow and grassy lowland, river 
rivulet, and mountain glen, and great waving 
forests. 
To enjoy the richness and beauty that lie 
spread out so lavishly in the country, one 
needs, as the very best preparation, to be shut 
up in the city during all the time Nature 
takes on her gayest, greenest robes, and 
marches statelily onward toward the golden 
autumn. Every tree and thicket, every stream 
and glassy lake, every hill and valley, every 
bird and flower calls up, as if by magic, some 
precious recollection of childhood, and sends 
the mind far down the vista of the past, 
only to return perhaps sad and sighing for the 
days that are no more.” Memory throws 
wide open her doors, and one enters as into 
gallery of paintings, to look upon the scenes 
and faces whose present has become an eter¬ 
nal past. 
Looking out over the wide-spread landscape 
around, how easy it is to believe that— 
“ A thing of beauty is a joy forever.” 
The leaves are ail dancing with glee—the 
streamlet laughs on through the gay meadow 
—the hills clap their hands for joy, and look 
smilingly up to God. With very many, 
treasured in the country lies all their past, 
with its store of hallowed memories, more pre¬ 
cious than gold—far more beautiful than yon 
gilded summer sunset. 
There is to me no more favorable time to 
visit the country than the present, when the 
scent of the drying hay fills the air with fra¬ 
grance, and the fields of yellow grain stand 
ready for the reaper, and when the hues begin 
to deepen and darken on forest and field, dim¬ 
ly foreshadowing the glorious autumn of a 
golden year. 
Hundreds of miles away from the city I 
am sojourning with friends iu the great forest 
of Allegany. All around, as far as the eye 
can reach, is one vast ocean of forest! How 
the shadows come and go, and the mimic 
waves rise and fall as the wind sweeps over it! 
Hark ! the great wind-harpist is abroad and 
every leaf becomes a string quivering forth 
its low, sweet melody, whose cadences, rising 
and falling, mingle and commingle in the 
great strain that floats along through the 
solemn woods. 
It hardly seems possible that in a few short 
years these old woods will have all disappear¬ 
ed—their trunks crossing and re-crossing the 
ocean, skimming our inland waters, or carved 
and moulded into some beauty of art and 
decorating the palace or costly dwelling; and 
the fields they now cover and shade from the 
smiling sun, teeming with the ripened grain 
and smiling harvest, and dotted all over with 
the white cottages of the farmer. Such, how¬ 
ever, is their destiny! Yankee enterprise is 
“ slashing ” down the tall pines—manufactur¬ 
ing them into lumber and pushing it off to 
market. At the present rate of destruction, 
how long before the forest will entirely disap¬ 
pear ? Alas ! for these old trees ! The active 
enterprise of this utilitarian age will not long 
suffer them to lilt up their heads to heaven— 
their leaves to glance in the sunlight, and 
make melody to the passing breeze! s. a. e. 
Last Words. —There is something touch¬ 
ing about the last words. They are generally 
the most impressive and best remembered. 
They linger in the heart and sink down in the 
memory when others have passed away and 
been lost in the lapse of time. We cherish 
with fondness and set a store by the last and 
the latest of oar gifts in a manner different 
from that in which we receive and accept 
them when we are already rich in their pos¬ 
session, and no prospect appears of their be¬ 
ing taken from us. 
A man will be what his most cherished feel¬ 
ings are. If he encourage a noble generosity, 
every feeling will be enriched by it; if he 
nurse bitter and envenomed thoughts, his own 
spirit will absorb the poison; and he will 
crawl among meu as a burnished adder, whose 
life is mischief, and whose errand is death. 
CHOICE OF PURSUITS IN LIFE. 
There is a genuine good sense and right 
feeling expressed in the following paragraphs, 
from a late work by Mrs. Sedgwick. The 
sentiments expressed are in harmony with just 
views of our Republican institutions : 
I shall be governed by circumstances ; I do 
uot intend or wish Anthon to crowd my boys 
into the learned professions. If any among 
them have particular talent or taste for them, 
they may follow them. They must decide for 
themselves in a matter more important to them 
than any one else. But my boys know that 
I should be mortified if they selected these pro¬ 
fessions from the vulgar notion that they were 
more genteel—a vulgar word that ought to be 
banished from the American vocabulary— 
more genteel than agriculture or the mechanic 
arts. I have labored hard to convince my 
boys that there is nothing vulgar in the me¬ 
chanic’s profession—no particular reason for 
envying the lawyer or the doctor. They as 
much as the farmer and mechanic, are work¬ 
ing men. And I should like to know what 
there i3 particularly elevating in sitting over 
a table and writing prescribed forms, or in in¬ 
quiring into the particulars of disease and dol¬ 
ing out physic for them. 
It is certainly a false notion in a Democratic 
Republic, that a lawyer has any higher claim 
to respectability,—gentility, if you please,— 
than a tanner, a blacksmith, a painter, or a 
builder. It is the fault of the mechanic, if he 
takes the place not assigned to him by the 
government and institutions of his country.— 
He is of the lower orders only when he is self- 
degraded by the ignorance and coarse manners 
which are associated with manual labor in 
countries where society is divided into castes, 
and have, therefore, come, to be considered in¬ 
separable from it. Rely upon it, it is not so. 
The old barriers are down. The time has 
come when being mechanics, -we may appear 
on laboring days, as well as holidays, without 
the sign of our profession. Talent and worth 
are the only eternal grounds of distinction.— 
To these the Almighty has affixed his everlast¬ 
ing patent of nobility, and these it is which 
make bright the immortal name to which our 
children may aspire as well as others. It will 
be our own fault, Anthon, if, in our land, so¬ 
ciety as well as government, is not organized 
upon a new foundation. But we must secure, 
by our own efforts, the elevations that are now 
accessible to all. 
WELSH TRIADS. 
There are three things that never become 
rusty—the money of the benevolent, the shoes 
of the butcher’s horse, and a woman’s tongue. 
Three things not easily done—to allay 
thirst with fire, and to dry wet with water, to 
please all in everything that is done. 
Three things that are as good as the best 
—brown bread in famine, well water in thirst, 
and a great coat in cold. 
Three things as good as their better—dirty 
water to extinguish a fire, a homely wife to a 
blind man, a wooden sword to a coward. 
Three warnings from the grave — “ thou 
knowest what I was ; thou seest what I am ; 
remember what thou art to be.” 
Three things of short continuation—a lady’s 
love, a chip fire, and a brook’s flood. 
Three things that ought never to be from 
home—the cat, the chimney and a housewife. 
Three things in the peacock—the garb of 
an angel, the walk of a thief, and the voice of 
the devil. 
Three things it is unwise to boast of—the 
flavor of thy ale, the beauty of ihy wife, and 
the contents of thy purse. 
Three miseries of a man’s housj—a smoky 
chimney, a dripping roof and a scolding wife. 
Sentimentalism.— Mrs. Swisshelm, notic¬ 
ing the publication of a new love story, says: 
All that stuff about woman’s love has been 
said over and over again a hundred thou¬ 
sand times, to the great detriment of the best 
interests of humanity. There is no kind of 
necessity for using the press to persuade silly 
iris that it is very romantic and womanly to 
love a scoundrel; to leave her affections un¬ 
guarded by reason or experience, and drift 
helplessly into sin, shame and despair, as an 
evidence of her unsuspecting womanhood. 
It is not true that woman’s affections are 
any stronger or more durable than man’s— 
We think the opposite is the case, and that 
two-thirds of all the women who pine away 
or die of love do so for the want of something 
better to do. Everything calculated to make 
love-sickness a feminine accomplishment is a 
great injury; but to strew the path of the sui¬ 
cide with the flowers of poesy and romanoe is 
in a high degree reprehensible. 
The best motto to guard young girls thro’ 
the mazes of love is, Do right and trust in 
God. A girl who has done no wrong has lit¬ 
tle cause to mouru over the fickleness of a pre¬ 
tended lover. Better he should change his 
mind before than after marriage. 
What Makes Character ?—From habit 
results character and its consolidation. By 
character is not to be understood original tem¬ 
perament, or constitutional tendency. Such 
idiosyncracy may be closely related to it, but 
does not constitute it. On the contrary, char¬ 
acter may overbear it, and be even formed in 
defiance of it. Character is the slow and con¬ 
scious product of a man’s voluntary nature.— 
“ As a man thinketh in his heart, so is he.”— 
It is that which identifies him with his moral 
self, at different stages of his being; and 
hence, it is only on the supposition that his 
character is changed, that he is said to lose 
his moral identity, and to become a “ new 
creature.” 
THREE THINGS, NEW AND FUNNY. 
1. Hats to improve the memory. —Dr. Mar¬ 
cus (says a recent antiquarian writer) was 
told by a Jew physician of Ulm, that by 
wearing a cap of beaver’s fur, anointing the 
head once a month with oil of castor, and 
taking two or three ounces of it in a year, a 
man’s memory may be so strengthened that 
he will remember everything that he reads. 
2 . Balloons to fatten Babies.. —It is now 
proposed, by Science, to increase the size of 
the human race, by removing, from its infant 
growth, the pressure of atmosphere which con¬ 
strains and represses it. The idea arose from 
a successful experiment at enlarging violets by 
placing them in balloons to be lifted where 
they might blossom in thinner air. A horti¬ 
culturist of the suburbs of Versailles, in study¬ 
ing the physiology of the vegetable kingdom, 
conceived the idea that the smallness of cer¬ 
tain plants — the violet, for example—was 
owing to an atmospheric pressure too great 
for their delicate organs. Having fixed this 
idea in his mind, the florist conceived the no¬ 
tion of putting his idea into practice. Pro¬ 
viding himself with a balloon, rendered suffi¬ 
ciently tight to prevent the escape of any gas, 
he launched it into the air, having attached to 
it a silken cord twelve hundred metres long. 
Instead of a car the balloon sustained a flower¬ 
pot of Parma violets. This experiment has 
been going on about two months, with the 
most wonderful result, in the shape of violets 
as large as Bengal roses. Balloons for am¬ 
plifying the infant violets of our own com¬ 
pressed race, were the natural and immediate 
suggestion. We have not yet heard the par¬ 
ticulars of the first experiment, however. 
3. Juleps growing on trees. —A late En¬ 
glish worK tells us that in tropical climates, 
where palm-trees flourish, au accidental wound 
to the topmost shoot causes a copious flow of 
sweet sap, which, of its own accord, speedily 
ferments and produces an agreeable intoxica¬ 
ting drink. How early in eastern climes must 
this grateful liquor have become familiar to 
the primeval races 1 How natural it was in 
them to make use of it 1— Home Journal. 
RULES FOR YOUNG MEN, 
Whoever is courteous, honest, frank, sin¬ 
cere, truly honorable, generous and candid, is 
a true gentleman, whether rich, learned, or a 
laborer. 
An Eastern paper gives the following ex¬ 
cellent rules for youDg men commencing busi¬ 
ness : 
The world estimates men by their success 
in life, and by general consent, success is evi¬ 
dence of superiority. 
Never, under any circumstances, assume a 
responsibility you can avoid consistently with 
your duty to yourself and others. 
Base all your actions upon a principle of 
right; preserve your integrity of character, 
and in doing this never reckon the cost. 
Remember that self-interest is more likely 
to warp your judgment than all other circum¬ 
stances combined ; therefore look well to your 
duty, when your interest is concerned. 
Never make money at the expense of your 
reputation. 
Be neither lavish nor niggardly ; of the two 
avoid the latter. A mean man is universally 
despised, but public favor is a stepping stone 
to preferment, — therefore generous feelings 
should be cultivated. 
Let your expenses be such as to leave a 
balance in your pocket. Ready money is a 
friend in need. 
Keep clear of the law ; for, even if you gain 
your case, you are generally a loser. 
Never relate your misfortunes, and never 
grieve over what you cannot prevent. 
Tomboys. —The public mind is awakening 
to the importance of physical education. At 
the recent exhibition of gymnastic, calisthenic 
and dancing exercises, given at Prof. Stew¬ 
art’s rooms in Boston, Dr. J. Y. 0. Smith, 
Mayor, in his speech to the parents, and 
teachers, while distributing the prizes, ad¬ 
dressed them at much length on the impor¬ 
tance of thus developing the muscular appa¬ 
ratus of children, and made the pertinent re¬ 
mark : 
“ That the ltttle girls he knew when a boy, 
who used to climb trees and fences with the 
boys, and who were called ‘ tomboys ’ by their 
mothers, were now, wherever found, leading 
women in society, with strong, healthy bodies 
and minds.” 
National Greatness. —Iu the phrase of 
the day “ this is a great country.” So it is, 
if we regard extent of territory only. But 
the greatness of a nation can come only from 
its inhabitants; it lies not in its extent, but 
its manhood. Mere miles of laud do not con¬ 
stitute greatness, else Russia were the great¬ 
est country in Christendom. Ancient Greece 
was only about the size of the State of Maine, 
yet it was truly a “ great country ”—its peo¬ 
ple made it so. The strength of a nation is 
the sum of its mental and moral energies, and 
these are great in proportion to the develop¬ 
ment of its manhood. The great men of a na¬ 
tion are its richest treasures. As true patri¬ 
ots, therefore, let us all strive for greatness— 
which is goodness. 
John Bull. —The English are a calm, re¬ 
flecting people ; they will give time and money 
when they are convinced ; but they love dates, 
names, and certificates. In the midst of the 
most heart-rending narratives, Bull requires 
the day of the month, the year of our Lord, 
the name of the parish, the countersign of 
three or four respectable householders. After 
these affecting circumstances, he can no longer 
hold out; but gives way to the kindness of 
his nature—puffs, blubbers and subscribes.— 
Sydney Smith. 
A more glorious victory cannot be gained 
over another man than this, that when the in¬ 
jury begins on his part, the kindness should 
begin on ours.— Tillotson. 
The ardent reformer moves the multitude, 
but the calm philosopher moves the ardent re¬ 
former. 
