MOORE’S RURAL NEW-YORKER: AN AGRICULTURAL AND FAMILY NEWSPAPER. 
201 
“LITTLE WILLIE.” 
BY REV. 
W . J O -V E 8 , 
Little Willie” slumbers sweetly 
In his louely, narrow be«I; 
Pelting storms and howling tempests 
Can not reach his little head. 
Sweet affection drops a tear 
O'er the spot where “ Willie” lies; 
Angels whisper, “look up yonder,” 
Pointing upward to the skies. 
On our mem’ries deeply graven 
Stands his little image lair; 
Sparkling eyes and shining temples, 
Kosy cheeks and golden hair; 
Ruby lips so full of smiling, 
Neck and arms of spotless white; 
Little feet so full of running—• 
“Little Willie” was to blight. 
Put away his little playthings— 
Yonder lies his little whip; 
On the table lies his whistle— 
Oft he press’d it to his lip, 
In the hall his little “pony” 
Wonders why he stays away; 
By its side you see his wagon— 
There his little shaggy “ Tray.” 
On the window lies his primer; 
Lo the chair on which he sat! 
On the nail in yonder corner 
Hangs alone his little hat. 
O remove these sad memorials ! 
I-ay them carefully away ; 
Christ, be thou our consolation, 
lu the dark and gloomy day I 
“Liltlo Willie” slumbers sweetly 
In his lonely, narrow bed, 
Pelting storms and howling tempests 
Can not reach his little head. 
On that bright and glorious morning, 
Christ will whisper from above, 
“ Rise, my child, and let me dress thee 
In robes of white and spotless love.” 
[For the Rural New-Yorker.] 
RURAL RAMBLES AND REVERIES. 
June —laughing, joyful June—is here, with 
her roses and her clover-fields—her brightest 
bloom and sweetest fragrance. Barth never 
wears a gayer robe than that decked by the 
fairy Angel’s of June—“Summer’s first and 
fairest child ”—she never boasts of more beau¬ 
teous gems or richer embroidery for her adorn¬ 
ment. And for an hour “I throw myself on 
the bosom of Nature, as on the heart of my 
dearest friend. I see her lovely face, and listen 
to her friendly voice ; and none but Him who 
speaks through Nature, can ever know what 
heavenly things she whispers in my ears, this 
happy Summer’s day.” I can only try to tell 
of the scenes among which I move, and of the 
thoughts which move me, in the fields and 
about the woods, this quiet afternoon. 
It is a quiet afternoon. The sun is sending 
down his ardent glances upon the verdant 
fields, the air seems all aglow with his beams, 
and as you look you seem to see the simmering 
heat between you and some hill or tree, not 
far away. But not alone do you see the heat, 
you also see the coolness. Here and there, 
floating across the sky, are light fleecy clouds, 
“ Mute wanderers through the ambient air,” 
which intercept the radiant glow, and give a 
few moments of refreshing to both laborer and 
loiterer. How beautiful you lustrous cloudlet, 
“with folds so soft and fair!”—it seems like 
many an other bright creation, indeed, “too 
beautiful to last.” And, it is now dissolving— 
changing its form—and, assuming one still more 
magnificent, anon it fades from the sky. Thus, 
often thus, but more often in darkness and 
gloom, pass away our fairest hopes, our dearest 
joys, and our brightest visions of happiness. 
Beautitul in all the freshness and fragrance 
of June, is the forest to-day. Sweet the song 
of bird, the chirp of cricket, and the hum of 
the ever busy bee. The soft, deep undertone 
of the gentle breeze which strays among the 
rtdoe expressively remarks :—“ The wonderful 
works of Gon in the sensible world, are a per¬ 
petual discourse, reminding me of His exist¬ 
ence, and shadowing out to me His perfections.” 
What can more worthily occupy our reveries? 
Now away to the crystal spring, which 
gushes cool and sparkling from the earth, 
bubbling ever up in its pebble-paved basin 
brimmed with verdant moss, and shaded by a 
clump of wild rose bashes. What can we im¬ 
agine more delicious? The clouds look down 
to see their shadowy forms reflected there still 
more shadowy ; and the gleaming stars see 
sister stars rest in its bosom in the silent hours 
of the. hushed and holy night. 
This were no Rural ramble, or at best an in¬ 
complete one, unless the birds, 
“Creatures that links do seem ’twixt earth and sky," 
were flitting through them. May we not tell 
of the Oriole, or hang-bird, with his flame- 
colored wings, which glance like a torch-light 
among the scattered trees? Of the blue-bird, 
which occupies a hollow stump in the latest 
clearing, for a dwelling place, and “ pays his 
rent’" in music? And of the ground-bird,whose 
little nest, with all its young, we can only save 
from the plow now in motion, by removing it? 
We do it gently, little sparrow—“gently as 
though we loved you,”—so blame U 3 not. And 
the mock-bird;—he loves to hide in the thicket 
and pour out his garrulous and changeful song. 
0, many are the birds which sing for us—many 
are the scenes which gladden us — but “our 
time is up.” And then, do our Rural readers 
need our poor reminders of the joys of the 
God-made country? j. h. b. 
THE PHASES OF LIFE. 
Mournful indeed, are those breakings up 
which sever us so widely from each other, and 
send us forth by separate paths into the great 
highway of lile, to struggle for a living and a 
grave. How much would the labors of life be 
lightened, and how would its darkest cloud be 
bordered by a golden fringe, if the dear and 
loved ones who start with us in the beginning 
of the race might battle by our side, till we 
have reached its goal! Butin time, they come 
not back again to refresh us with their pres¬ 
ence and to cheer us on in the battle and the 
strife. Apart we breast the foaming billows 
—together we sink into the grave. And tho’ 
with the German poet we cry in our soul’s sore 
anguish, “ Come back again, bright youth,” yei 
for us it will not return. 0! for "one morel 
glimpse of the blue sky as we beheld it then, 
when we thought it heaven, and while we look¬ 
ed upon it as the jeweled canopy of this world, 
believed it to be the starry pavement of anoth¬ 
er. The old wood still lies black and grim 
round the old house as it lay then; but we do 
not fear its deep glens and its dark hollows 
now. There are no ghosts and no fairies there 
any more. We have grown prosaic now, and 
the beautiful idealism of our youth has spread 
its sheeny wings and flown away to gladden 
other hearts, on which still rests the dew of the 
morning, and in which the hot siroccos of the 
world have not yet withered the one green 
oasis! We have each of us desired in some 
moments of our life, to be once more a child. 
It is the season of dreams, and day visions, and 
fictions. AVe have not as yet come into con¬ 
tact with the iron realities of life. There is, 
too, such an implicit faith and wonderment in 
childhood. How reverently we believe the 
remarkable stories and wonderful adventures 
of Jack and the Beanstalk; Sinbad the Sailor; 
and Little Cinderella, with her Little Glass 
Slipper. What tears we shed over the “Babes 
iu the Wood,” and how we loved the “Robins” 
for covering their little bodies up so decently 
with the brown, withered leaves of Autumn — 
How eagerly we gathered round the winter’s 
hearth to listen to the wonderful tales of the 
Arabian Nights, and reveled in the gnomes, 
the genii, the gem-lit caverns, the blazing- 
cities, and the subterraneous kingdoms of ori¬ 
ental fiction. Alas! these are all memories 
now. Precious, golden memories, indeed, are 
they; and their subdued and mellow lustre 
comes streaming ever and anon down the toil¬ 
some ways of life, and seems, for a time, like 
NEBRASKA. 
The boundary of this proposed Territory is 
spacious enough and contains much very excel¬ 
lent land—the Missouri bounds it on the East, 
and the Rocky Mountains on the West. There 
is quite a number of good useful streams that 
traverse its borders. 
It is now confidently expected that the Indi¬ 
ans will be removed this fall to their new 
homes, giving room to the ever-pursuing pale 
faces. 
The climate, like our own, is mild and pleas¬ 
ant, and like all other prairie countries, there is 
a rather over proportion of wind, and even in 
the most sultry summer days a cooling breeze 
fans the prairies. There is a little snow in 
winter, it being much of the time pleasant, sun¬ 
ny weather through the winter. The vast 
herds of buffalo, elk and deer, that range this 
extensive territory would feed the starving 
millions of Europe on meat for years. 
The valleys on all the streams are rich and 
fertile, but much of the high lauds away from 
the water courses are sandy and not arable.— 
There are minerals of various kinds already 
discovered, among which are coal, iron, chalk, 
magnesia, &c. There is timber on nearly all 
the streams intermingled with the bluffs and 
hills and valleys, although as a general thing 
there is a scarcity through the Territory. ° 
Pish, geese, swan, ducks and other feathered 
game, is abundant through this whole Missouri 
river region. Amongst the fruits that abound 
in Nebraska and in this region also, are grapes, 
plums, cherries, strawberries, black currants, 
gooseberries, haws, crab and thorn apples, and 
in the mountains of Nebraska the same berries 
abound. 
The Missouri bottoms in Nebraska are in 
many places broad and always fertile, with 
timber its whole length. Omaha city is the 
name in embryo of a city to be built on the 
river opposite this city. The location and 
natural advantages are not to be excelled.— 
The site of Winter Quarters, 12 miles above, 
is also beautifully and romantically situated 
for a large place. Belleview, 12 miles below, 
is equally an eligible site in many respects, and 
has an excellent ledge of rock on the margin of 
the river. Nebraska Centre, or Wood River 
settlement, has already been commenced, and 
a post office established. This is distant, west 
150 miles, and near the Platte river. There 
are already five post offices established in Ne¬ 
braska on the north side of the Platte, as is 
the case with Western Iowa; this new Territo¬ 
ry will be filled soon after being opened, with 
hardy, industrious people from the East, who 
will make her hills and dales resound with the 
song of the laborer or click of the mechanic’s 
tools. 
young leaves, leaving the gnarled limbs uu- j ni °on-ligiit on a rugged landscape, to soften 
ct ;,.i,„ Q j, oa ti>„ Cl*,i,i ;.,f„ .I Jown that is uneven and inharmonious. 
stirred, hashes the soul into unison with the 
feeling of quiet around. You have read—but 
you will read with a new sense of their mean¬ 
ing here — those noble lines of Bryant : 
“The groves were God’s first temples,—Ere man learned 
To hew tlie shaft anil lay the architrave, 
And spread the roof above them,—ere he framed 
The lofty vault together, and rolled back 
The sound of anthems— a the darkling wood, 
Auiiil the cool aud silence he knelt down 
And offered to the Mightiest solemn thanks 
Aud supplication. For his simple heart 
Might not resist the sacred influences. 
That—from the stilly twilight of the place, 
And from the gray old trunks that high in heaven 
Mingled their mossy boughs, and from the souud 
Of the invisible breath that swayed at once 
All their green tops—stole over him and bowed 
Hisspirit with the thought of boundless power 
Aud inaccessible majesty.” 
Think these thoughts, and we may wisely drop 
the theme, meditate, bowed in spirit by the 
sacred influences of this hallowed “ first temple,” 
and you will be happier for days thereafter. 
AVe spoke of the hum of the bee. You 
need not look tar to find him — there he is, 
paying his respects to a beautiful wild aster, 
with most delicate white leaves and a pale 
yellow centre. Notice well the flower and its 
simple but exquisite loveliness. It is seldom 
found save in the edge of the forest—lifting its 
slender stem and waving its thread-like petals 
in the lightest zephyr. A.nd there is no flower 
or leaf unworthy of examination by the lover 
of beauty, or .the seeker after wisdom. Cole- 
GROWTII OF AMERICA IN WEALTH. 
The number of houses in the United States, 
by census, is 3,363,427, and free families, 3,- 
598,240, or nearly one for each family. If the 
dwellings increase in the proportion of the 
population, then the number of houses built 
in the last six years is 663,000; at an avera<re 
of $1,000 each, this would give $663,000,000, 
or $700,000,000 with furniture. The tonnage 
of shipping built has been 1,921,439, worth, 
at an average of $60 per ton, $115,286,340.— 
The value of railroads, $287,400,000; new 
bank capital, $65,000,000. These items alone 
make the following aggregate: 
Houses built, 1848 to 1854,.700,000.000 
Shipping.115,286,340 
Railroads,.287,100,000 
Banks,. 65,000,000 
$1,167,186,340 
In addition to this are the vast sums for fac¬ 
tories, improvements, insurance companies, 
mines, etc., etc., and these outstanding invest¬ 
ments have been made without any perceptible 
increase iu the amount of stocks held abroad. 
— U. S. Economist. 
A man must first govern himself, ere he be 
fit to govern a family, ere he be fit to bear the 
government of the commonwealth.— Sir If al¬ 
ter Raleigh. 
Open your month and purse cautiously, and 
your stock of wealth aud reputation shall, at 
least in repute, be great— Zimmerman. 
AMERICAN CHARACTER. 
Fredrika ^ Bremer, in her “Homes of the 
New AVorld,” says : 
The ideal of the man of America seems to 
me to be, purity of intention, decision in will, 
energy in action, simplicity and gentleness in 
manner and demeanor. Hence it is that there 
is something tender and chivalric in his be¬ 
havior to woman which is infinitely becoming 
to him. In every woman he respects his own 
mother. 
The American ideal of happiness seems to 
me to be, marriage and home, combined with 
public activity. To have a wife, his own house 
and home, his own piece of land; to take care 
of these, and to beautify them, at the same 
thne doing some good to the State or to the 
city—this seems to me to be the object of hu¬ 
man life with most men; a journey to Europe 
to see perfected cities, and ruins, belonging to 
it as a desirable episode. 
Of the American home I have seen enough 
and heard enough for me to be able to say that 
the women have, in general, all the ru le there 
which they wish to have. AVoman is the cen¬ 
tre and the lawgiver in the homes of the New 
World, and the American man loves that it 
should be so. He wishes that his wife should 
have her own will at home, and he loves to 
obey it. In proof of this, I have heard the 
words of a young man quoted :—“ I hope that 
my wife wili have her own will in the house, 
and if she has not, I’ll make her have it!” 1 
must however say, that in the happy homes in 
which I lived, I saw the wife equally careful to 
guide herself by the wishes of her husband as 
he was to indulge her. Affection aud sound 
reason make all things equal. 
A Treasure, Costing no Money. —Which 
will you do—smile, and make your household 
happy, or be crabbed, and make all those 
young ones gloomy, and the elder ones misera¬ 
ble? The amount of happiness you can pro¬ 
duce is incalculable, if you but show a smiling 
face, a kind heart, and speak pleasant words.— 
Wear a pleasant countenance; let joy beam in 
your eyes, and love glow on your forehead.— 
There is no joy like that which springs from a 
kind act or a pleasant deed; and you will feel 
it at night when you rest, at morning when 
you rise, and through the day when" about 
your business. 
A smile—who will refuse a smile, 
The sorrowing heart to cheer. 
Ami turn to love the heart of guile, 
And check the failing tear ? 
A pleasant smile for every face, 
O, ’tis a blessed tiling; 
It will the lines of care erase. 
And spots of beauty bring. 
Judge Not. —Who can unfold, even to his 
own heart, all the motives that influence and 
direct his conduct? AA r ho can unravel the 
mysteries of his own will, —as well acquainted 
as he must be with its secret workings,—and 
say by what he was decided to this course or 
the other?—what called up that train of tho’t, 
or broke it so suddenly for a different one?— 
Yet how much easier it is than to give correct 
judgemnt of what dwells in our neighbor’s 
heart! blind as we must be to its hidden im¬ 
pulses, dark as ever are to mortal eyes the 
consequences which are to follow. 
Great works are executed, not by force, but 
by perseverance.— Gregory. 
CONDUCTED BY A-E. 
[Written for Moore’s Rural New-Yorkor.] 
STANZAS. 
BY HORACE 8. RDMSEY. 
I ask not for wealth’s gilded baubles, 
I sigh not for fame’s g'ddy height, 
Which soars not above the world’s troubles, 
Where shines not affection’s pure light. 
I crave not the warrior’s vain glory,— 
Hands dyed iu humanity’s blood ; 
Oh 1 twine not my brow with his laurels, 
He only is great who is good. 
But I ask for the blessings of friendship, 
A home in a fond, loving heart, 
One to share with me all of life’s pleasures, 
And to bear of its sorrows a part. 
Oh! give me a home in the country, 
Where breezes blow fresh o’er the lea, 
Come laden with health and with fragrance, 
Where the spirits are buoyant and free. 
Where the rose and the lily are blending, 
And mantle with beauty the cheek; 
Where dwelleth the Goddess—Hygeia, 
Whose smiles of true happiness speak. 
Where May spreads her emerald carpet, 
In beauty, o’er hill and o’er lawn, 
And gems it with sweotest wild-flowers. 
That sparkle with dew at the dawn. 
Where bountiful harvests are waving 
Golden plumes in the Summer’s glad prime, 
And Autumn, with luscious fruit laden, 
Displayeth rich colors, sublime. 
Where crystal streams, through the green meadows, 
Are murmuring forth a gay song; 
For this landscape, a back ground of mountains, 
Clouds floating their summits along. 
Far away from the world’s ceaseless turmoil, 
Where quiet, contentment, are found, 
Let dwell among kindred and neighbors. 
Where the heart is with happiness crowned, 
Where abideth the beautiful ever. 
Unfolding new charms day by day, 
With a gillery Lee to the million. 
Whose paintings all richness display. 
Oh ! give me a home in the country, 
A cotin the midst of a bower; 
Where songsters on eacli sunny morning, 
Of music pour forth a sweet shower; 
Choice books to peruse at my leisure. 
With loved ones to listen the while; 
Oh! what could add more to life’s pleasures, 
How better its sorrows beguile ? 
With these would my life like a river. 
Which serenely flows down through the vale, 
Glide on to eternity’s ocean, 
If roughed by advei-sity’s gale ; 
The smiles of true love and affection, 
Like oil to the foam-crested deep, 
Would quiet the trouble-tossed waters, 
And lapse them again into sleep. 
Elmira Water-Cure, June, 1854. 
[Written for the Rural New-Yorker.] 
. A GOOD HUSBAND. 
Having seen in many books and papers ar¬ 
ticles headed “ A Good Wife,” I conclude there 
is no one left who can write, to give us the 
description of a model husband; indeed I be¬ 
lieve it a hard subject, but for once will see 
what I can do, if I can find a criterion. 
We are taught that domestic rule must be 
founded upon truth and love. If it have not 
both of these, it is nothing better than a des¬ 
potism. Now, admitting what all the “lords 
of creation” claim, that man is superior to 
woman, he should learu the disposition of his 
wife, as a teacher does that of his pupil, and 
teach her to understand his; in so doing both 
husband and wife will be prepared to adminis¬ 
ter to each other’s tastes aud wants. In order 
to do this, he must sympathize with her; for 
upon his sympathy will depend her truthfulness. 
Ah! how often do we hear in the half-sup- 
pressed sigh, the complaint that they are not 
confided in. It does not need want or guilt to 
break a wife’s heart;—the absence of content, 
—the mutterings of spleen,—the carelessness 
of dress, the forbidding scowl, aud the deserted 
hearth; these and other nameless neglects with¬ 
out a crime among them, have harrowed the 
soul of many a wife, and planted there, beyond 
the reach of remedy, the germ of dark despair. 
Man cannot expect to meet a smile or welcome 
from such an injured one; no, it is not in na¬ 
ture,—though she may be taught that woman 
was designed by the All-Wise to smother all 
her own wants, to live alone for the husband, 
and administer to all his wishes,—to feel cheer¬ 
ful when he does, aud when he is sad, endea¬ 
vor to raise his drooping spirits, by the most 
careful attentions, — always speaking “soft 
words to turn away his wrath,” keeping her 
griefs and pains locked up within her own 
bosom, through fear of giving him pain,—re¬ 
membering the adage “ that love bears no 
load,” goes on in cheerfulness,—enough for her 
to know that she pleases her husband some¬ 
times, (for such exacting selfishness cannot al¬ 
ways be satisfied.) 
Oh! may man, before his home is blighted, 
his own temper soured, his wife made wretched, 
remember that woman is not only human like 
himself, with all the feelings and sensibilities 
incident thereto, but that hers are even more 
tender aud sensitive than his! She, too, feels 
the natural ills of life, and admits herself infe¬ 
rior to him iu nerve and physical strength; 
therefore she looks up to him confidingly, and 
ought, if she does not, to find in him not only 
a sympathizing companion, but a protector;— 
she then, as well as he, would keep alive and 
dwell upon the recollections of youth, that 
tuneful time when all those happy promises were 
made,—a happy and playful allusion to that 
hour of joy and love—a kiss of peace to par¬ 
don all the past,—will bid her live, as she had 
hoped, in matchless bliss—loved, loving and 
content—the soother then in earnest of the 
sorrowing hour. Yiana. 
A PERFECT WIFE. 
Edmund Burke, the distinguished orator, 
presented to his wife on the anniversary of their 
marriage, his idea of a “ perfect wife,” which is 
supposed to be a true portrait of Mrs. Burke. 
It is certainly a lovely picture, worthy of the 
pen of the author of “The Essays of the Sub¬ 
lime and Beautiful.” The following are the 
extracts: 
“ Character of-. 
She is handsome, but it is beauty notarising 
from the features, from complexion, or from 
shape. She has all three in a high degree, 
but it is not by these that she touches a heart; 
it is all that sweetness of temper, benevolence, 
innocence, and sensibility, which a face can 
express, that forms her beauty. She ha 3 a face 
that just raises your attention at first sight; it 
grows on you every moment, and you wonder 
it did not more than raise your attention at 
first. 
Her eyes have a mild light, but they awe 
when she pleases; they command, like a good 
man out ot office, not by authority but by vir¬ 
tue. 
Her stature is not tall, she is not made to 
be the admiration of every one, but the hap¬ 
piness of one. 
She has all the firmness that does not ex¬ 
clude delicacy—she has all the softness that 
does not imply weakness. 
Her voice is soft, low music, not formed to 
rule in public assemblies, but charm those who 
can distinguish a company from a crowd; it 
has its advantage—you must come close to her 
to hear it 
'1 o describe her body, describe her mind:— 
one is the transcript ot the other; her under¬ 
standing is not in the variety of matter it ex¬ 
erts itself on, but the goodness of the choice 
she makes. 
She does not display it so much in saying or 
doing striking things, as in avoiding such as 
she ought not to say or do. 
No person of so few yeare can know the 
world better; no person was ever less corrupt¬ 
ed by the knowledge. 
_ Her politeness flows rather from a natural 
disposition to oblige, than from any rules on 
that subject, and therefore, never fails to strike 
those who understand good breeding, aud those 
who do not. 
She is of a steady and firm mind, which takes 
no more from the solidity of the female char¬ 
acter than the solidity of marble does from its 
polish and lustre. She has such virtues as 
make us value the truly great of our own sex. 
She has all the winning graces that make us 
love even the faults we see in the weak and 
beautiful in her.” 
FLOWERS AND MUSIC. 
A es, two gifts God has bestowed upon us, 
that have in themselves no guilty trait, and 
show an essential divineness. Music is one of 
these, which seems as if it were never born of 
earth, but lingers with us from the gates of 
heaven; music, which breathes over the gross, 
or sad, or doubting heart, inspires it with a 
consciousness of its affinities, and touches the 
chords of its unsuspected, undeveloped life.— 
The other gift is that of Flowers,—which, 
though born of earth, we may well believe, if 
any thing of earthly soil grows in the higher 
realm,—if any of its methods are continued, if 
any of its forms are identical,—they will live 
on the banks of the River of Life." Flowers! 
that in our gladness and in our sorrow are nev¬ 
er incongruous—always appropriate. Appro¬ 
priate in the church, as expressive of its purest 
and most social themes, and blending their 
sweetness with the incense of prayer. Appro¬ 
priate in the joy of the marriage hour, in the 
loneliness ol the sick room, and crowning with 
prophecy the foreheads of the dead. They 
give completeness to the associations of child¬ 
hood, and are appropriate even by the side of 
old age. strangely as their freshness contrasts 
with wrinkles and gray hairs; for still they are 
suggestive, they are symbolical of the soul’s 
perpetual youth, the inward blossom of im¬ 
mortality, the amaranth crown. In their pres¬ 
ence we feel that the body shall go forth as a 
winged seed. 
A MOTHER'S INFLUENCE. 
In England, some years ago, a man present¬ 
ed himselt before a body of clergymen to be 
examined, that he might be licensed to preach 
the gospel. His advantages for study had not 
been veiy great, and he had many fears that 
he could not sustaiu himself, and answer the 
numerous questions which would be proposed. 
M ith a trembling heart he stood up before his 
fathers and brethren, and one of them asked 
him with whom he had studied divinity. 
The young man was somewhat confused at 
this question, for he knew very well that he 
had not enjoyed the instruction of any distin¬ 
guished divine; and he replied with hesitation, 
“ My mother taught me the Scriptures.” 
“Ah!” said the minister who had asked the 
question, “ mothers can do great things!” 
The examination then proceeded", and the 
result was delightful proof that mothers may 
be good teachers of theology; that the truths 
implanted by their early instructions, watered 
by their pious tears, and sanctified iu answer to 
their prayers, will bear precious fruit after 
many days. 
This candidate for the ministry was found to 
be mighty in the Scriptures, aud most gladly 
was he commissioned to go forth and preach 
the word to his fellow-men. 
The criterion of true beauty is, that it in¬ 
creases on examination; if false, that it lessens. 
There is something, therefore, in true beauty 
that corresponds with right reason, and is not 
merely the creation of fancy.— Lord Grenville. 
\ 
