ladiem' JtoMiwpmt. 
Written for Moore’s Rural New-Yorker 
WHAT MY HEART RHYMED ONE DAY. 
TO MRS. W. H. W. 
BY CLIO STANLEY. 
Pleasant and fair are th’ opening hours 
That childhood spends in the sunny bowers 
Where cluster the rose and the eglantine. 
And spread the leaves of the budding vine; 
Oh 1 rarely sweet is the fresh young face 
Lifted to ours with its quiet grace. 
The robin taught her his song of glee; 
The light wind sang to her blithe and free; 
The sunehine, caught in the summer air, 
Sank in waves of gold on her light, brown hair; 
While the sky leaned down with a brighter hue, 
And shadowed itself in her eye's soft blue. 
The only blossom that came to bless 
Our garden spot with its loveliness! 
Yet the earth seems glad in the golden light, 
And the far, far stars, in the silent night, 
Gleam with a tender and holy spell, 
That seemeth new sympathy to tell. 
i v. 
God grant that our blossom some day may bloom 
In the land that lieth beyond the tomb. 
That her lips may move to a sweeter tune 
Than rivulets sing in the merriest June; 
That pleasant and fair may be those bowers 
Where speed her feet from this home of ours! 
Philadelphia, Pa. 
Written for Moore's Rural New-Yorker. 
WHAT A PICTURE CAN DO. 
“That’s pretty, now!” said aunt Patience 
Smith, as, opening the Rural to look at the 
column of receipes, she saw the beautiful group 
of German pansies which adorned the page. 
“ We used to have such kinds of flowers in 
father’s garden at home-; English violets, we 
called ’em. They were not as large and nice as 
these, hut they used to be my favorites. I 
always thought they had a human expression. 
How I should enjoy having such beautiful things 
around me!” aud good Mrs. Smith forgot all 
about looking for the new recipes, and fell into 
a painful revery, as she looked back over her 
married life. 
She had once had her visions, not ambitious 
ones, it is true, hut not less hard to give up on 
that account. A neat house—that she had; but 
about it was to he a yard filled with roses and 
all the flowers which she had loved all her life. 
But alas! her domestic duties, which she con¬ 
scientiously performed, required all her strength, 
and her practical husband thought labor thrown 
away unless it brought some pecuniary benefit 
to himself. He used to promise to break up 
the ®od and i ur&uge things for her, but always 
found sonic «. v.-mc. Fn.. out linn- 5 * 
for the time, and it had never been done. She 
had often tried herself, hut found it impossible 
to do everything, and had finally yielded to 
circumstances which 6eemed too strong for her, 
and settled down into a silent, orderly house¬ 
keeper-nothing more—the best part of her 
nature smothered. 
Oue of her griefs had been that, among her 
five children, there were no girls into whose 
understanding ear she could whisper her wants 
and wishes. The sons, all hut one, were now 
grown to manhood, and, like their father, were 
accustomed to work at whatever brought the i 
quickest returns. They were upright men, but 
their timid mother never ventured to ask them 1 
to do anything out of the usual course for her, 1 
because their refusal to comply with her wishes { 
would pain her more than it would to give them I 
up entirely. Besides, the cares of living aud t 
providing for her family had occupied her mind < 
so long, that her ideas had latterly almost ceased 
to stray beyond her kitchen. But the sight oi 
that picture had brought up afresh her old un¬ 
gratified love of flowers; and as she looked out 
at her grass-grown door-yard, a sigh, part grief, 
part anger, escaped her. True, there wa 3 a 1 
bush oi snow drops, which having once been !. 
dropped into the grass, still seemed to keep up 1 
a struggle for life amongst the sods; a sweet- 
brier rose bush stood near the house; hut the 
clumps of elders in the corners of the zigzag , 
rail fence grew far more luxuriantly. The ! 
ghosts of two or three trees that had been ° 
girdled by being used as hitching posts, seemed b 
to stare reproachfully at every passer by. u 
“Mother.” P 
She started up,—her youngest son, a qniet d 
boy of fourteen, stood looking over her should- ^ 
er at the paper. “ 
‘Mother, why couldn’t we have such nice ^ 
things as those in our yard — and roses, and / 
dahlias, like Mr. Vines’ folks ?” Jl 
“ It is what I have longed for all my life, but 
there has never been time for such things. 
Your father was always busy, and it has been all 
I could do to take care of yon aud the rest, and 
| v.-n up trying.” 
Written for Moore’s Rural New V orkcr, 
GOVERNING CHILDREN. 
r I confess to a great incapacity for the 
responsibility of governing children. Of course 
they depend almost wholly upon older and 
experienced minds, for guidance; and a mother, 
or father, who expects, as many seem to, that 
instinct, or some intuitive perception, will lead 
their children into dutiful ways, and a consistent 
course, will find themselves sadly mistaken. 
As a general rule, all children are perverse, 
wilful, selfish. They like to have their own 
way every time, aud it is nearly always the 
wrong way. No doubt, if a child never heard 
or witnessed any improper language or con¬ 
duct, it would he far less care, aud less hateful. 
Too often, we must punish our little ones for 
imitating the conduct of older, and who should 
be, wiser and better people. 
A firm, gentle and uniform course, is the true 
one to pursue, and we know it; and yet, in busy 
aud engrossing times, we too often allow things 
to pass which demand attention, and then at 
another time we reap the consequences in some 
exhibition or outbreak, at onto grievous and 
mortifying. 
How much we mothers need wisdom, patience, 
perseverance, that our “ children may grow up 
aud call us blessed.” Queechy. 
EMPLOYMENT OF WOMEN IN PARIS. 
A Paris letter iu one of the English journals, 
thus refers to the subject of the employment of 
women iu the French Capital: — “ The books of 
nine-tenths of the retail shops in Paris are kept 
by women. I do not remember a coffee-house 
in the city the counter of which is not presided 
over by a woman. The box-offices of the thea¬ 
ters are attended by women —not only those 
of the evening, but those open during the day 
for the sale of reserved places. The box-openers 
and audience-seekers are women. And not only 
do women act as sellers in such establishments as 
are naturally fitted for them, but even in gro¬ 
ceries, hardware shops, wood yards, fruit shops, 
butcheries, Ac. In these places the book-keeper 
is a woman, fenced in and separated from the 
rest by a framework of glass. The ticket-sellers 
at the railway stations are principally women. 
I have had the pleasure of purchasing a seat j 
daily of a good looking young person of about ^ 
twenty-four years. From appearance I would ( 
say she was engaged to the conductor of the four 
Written for Moore’s Rural New-Yorker. 
WESTERN PRAIRIES. 
BY MARGARET MARSHALL. 
“ That haven of eternal rest 
Found just a little farther West.” 
Half a century ago 
Idle lay the prairies wide, 
And the wild horse stooped to drink, 
With the rad deer by his side. 
Never had a human face 
Scared the wild hen from her nest, 
Not a human foot had trod 
The boundless prairies or the West. 
And from out the bolts of woodland, 
Waking all the echoes drear, 
Barked the wolf,—but all nnheeded,— 
Not a human thing to hear, 
One by one, came hardy settlers, 
Grasped the land from Nature’s sway; 
Now where is the grassy forest f 
Where the deer and wolf, to-day ? 
Little groves of trees enfolding 
Little cottages within, 
Where, a score of years ago, 
Not a human face was seen. 
Little towns have changed to cities, 
Boundless plains to wealthy farms, 
Aud the West smiles at the doings 
Of her Btalwart children's arms. 
What was once a t rackless prairie, 
Now is crossed by iron hands, 
And the rushing locomotive 
Bears its wealth to other lands. 
Some who thought that this far country 
Was to be their earthly rest, 
Say. "my children, we had better 
Move a little farther West!" 
Staunton, Ill., May, 1865. 
Written for Moore’s Rural New-Yorker. 
POESY. 
o’clock train. Women even guard the stations 
and some of the less frequented crossings. 
Women cry the rate of exchange every after¬ 
noon after the Bourse hours; and more numbers 
of the newspapers are disposed of by women than 
by men. I never yet saw a newsboy in France. 
In the porters’ lodges in the city there are as 
The ability to write good poetry, though 
arrogated by many, is granted to few. Things 
called poems are showered upon us now-a-days 
as profusely as was manna upon the Israelites. 
Here, however, the similitude ends; for, while 
the latter was uecessary to sustain physical life, 
the former are not only useless for that purpose, 
but are decidedly pernicious as tending to men¬ 
tal death. The only utility, which we can 
ascribe to them, is that of revealing the strange 
fatuity of many persons, who seem to think 
that good poetry can he manufactured at all 
times and by everybody. In order to contribute 
our mite towards the correction of this preva- 
conditiou of poetic excellence; for the poet is 
obliged to select from an infinite variety of 
images; aud in proportion to the variety of his 
- images must be the variety in modes of express¬ 
ing them. 
We are not unaware, that it is possible for a 
man to have an intuitive scuse of propriety, in 
matters pertaining to literature. Homer has 
been cited as an example. Though no scholar 
pretends that Homer's perception of fine dis¬ 
tinctions was equal to that of many later poets, 
yet he certainly discovered great taste in his 
adaptation or phrases, and excelled all his suc¬ 
cessors in invention, But all this is manifestly 
irrelevant; for we believe that all reputable 
poets since his day have been persons of culture, 
and many of them indeed of the very highest. 
Oue exception cannot invalidate a rule. 
lhe poet should also possess a fair amount of 
Learning* 
We do not mean by this, that his mind should 
be a repository of all sorts of facts, like a store¬ 
house crammed with promiscuous goods. Such 
treatment tends to becloud and coufuse. We 
mean, that be may have some knowledge of 
physical science, but that he should by all means 
be skilled enough in linguistics to enable him 
to master his own vernacular. In regard to the 
Greek Poets this was unnecessary. They enjoy¬ 
ed the advantage of a vernacular which has ever 
since been commended as “the highest attain¬ 
ment. of human speech.” The Greek language 
was not so much a compound as in itself a mag¬ 
nificent totality. So true is this, that even by 
the Greeks themselves it was popularly ascribed 
to a mythical origin. With modern languages 
the ease is far different. We affirm, without 
fear of contradiction, that no man can become 
master of the English language without a 
knowledge of several others, particularly the 
Latiu, the Greek, and tho Anglo-Saxon. The 
garb iu which the poet clothes his creations ne¬ 
cessitates the most intimate acquaintance with 
bis own tongue. So great a man as Alexander 
Pope is reported to have spent days on a single 
couplet. How foolish, then, for those to at¬ 
tempt to write poetry who cannot express them¬ 
selves decently even in prose. 
We might mention other conditions of excel¬ 
lence iu poetry, but want of space forbids. 
Those just noticed we consider essential. A 
little reflection will suffice to enlighten any one 
as to his possession of them. If he do not pos¬ 
sess them, he had better not attempt anything 
so hazardous and difficult ns poetical composi¬ 
tion. 
Limited space has also prevented us from for- 
tlflying our points with illustrations from famil¬ 
iar poets. This we may do at some future time. 
For the present we dismiss the subject with a 
remark, which wc beg all concerned to carefully 
Written for Moore’fl Rural New-Yorker. 
WAITING. 
BT a. T. ALLIS. 
Not by tho mystic river's side, 
Whose noiseless waters but divide 
Time and Eternity; 
Waiting for angel forms to come 
And bear my spirit to its home, 
When Bet at liberty. 
Not for the hidden seeds of death, 
Warmed by dlgeaso’e fevered breath, 
To spring from out this clay, 
And slowly sap its vital flow, 
Till languidly its earth-lights glow, 
Then tide at length away. 
Not for the tide of rolliog years 
To staunch the flow of fruitless tears 
O'er cherished hopes now fled; 
Or heal a wounded heart, whose pain. 
Though half forgotten, comes again 
With memories of its dead. 
Bnt in the flnsh of manhood’s prime, 
Ere yet tho scathing band of time 
Has traced its lines of care, 
Waiting to know the Master's will, 
Learning this stubborn heart to still, 
Learning His yoke to wear. 
Learning to trust the hand Divine 
Unhesitatingly with mine, 
Aud follow cheerfully 
Where it shall lead, unquestioning, 
’Till finally the soul shall fling 
Off its mortality. 
Waiting to learn I Learning to wait 
’Till Heaven shall Invigorate 
Once more this crippled form, 
And teach these willing feet to tread 
With fearlesB step, wherever led, 
In sunshine or in storm. 
Waiting until the furnace fires 
Shall purify the soul’s desires; 
Consume its dross, and run 
This molten being Into inonld, 
Reflecting, as if mirror souled 
The imago of the SON. 
Waiting, while words of holy cheer 
Are sweetly whispered In my ear, 
Bidding each doubt bo still; 
And while this bark shall press the wave, 
Making my spirit strong and brave 
To do or bear His will. 
Stephen’s Mills, Steuben Co., N. Y. 
-»■»•* 
Written for Moore’s Rural New-Yorker. 
RESIGNATION. 
many portresses asiK>rter&, find a landlord would !“* error - pu ’ T0 “ toiicU«p<m a few of vl7 „ ttat grMt poet3 „ Drie<1 
. * 1 41 insH nmviTS nnt.imil and ap mil run -whiph wp 11 , . , , . 
- prefer to take tor this service a woman without 
, a husband than a man without a wife. Omuibus 
a conductors submit their waybills at the transfer 
t offices to women for inspection and ratification, 
i Women let donkeys for ride3 at Montmorency, 
; and saddle them, too -- *- uC 
r _—... 5 ui ju rut rare, agree with you as to the 
i price, and you find them quite as responsible as 
; men. Without multiplying instances, you will 
i see that a number of avenues are open to females 
here, which in England are closed. There are 
other capacities iu which women are employed 
in France, which I trust and believe would never 
be accepted by women at home; a brigade of I 
street-sweepers contains an equal number of 
males and females. There are female chiffoniers 
aud old clothes’ women. A complete establish¬ 
ment of a fruit and vegetable peddler consists 
of a cart, a man to shout aud sell, and a woman 
and a horse harnessed into straps to drag. In 
the country, women labor in the fields and 
thrash and winnow iu the barns. I might say 
that from a motive of pity, I employed an old 
grandmother to weed on alloy and tend a straw¬ 
berry bed and hawthorne grove, iu which I take 
an unusual interest, considering that they grow 
on land not my own.” 
IN LOVE WITH THE PARSON. 
The Loudon Court Journal tells us the fol¬ 
lowing pretty love story: —“A scene lately 
took place at the house of Colonel aud Lady—, 
in the north. The daughter, a very lovely girl, 
fell in love with the tutor, a Presbyterian clergy- 
tnan, and so far forgot herself as to makeknuwn 
to him her attachment. In honor bound, and 
to the credit of the Sootch clergy be it 6poken, 
he reasoned with her, and then, finding argument 
of no avail, went to her father and begged for 
his immediate dismissal. The Colonel was as¬ 
tounded, but when upon inquiry the truth trans- 1 
pired, he was so struck with the young man’s 
deep 6ense of honor that he told him he would ' 
give him an opportunity of going to Oxford and c 
taking orders, and that upon entering the 1 
English Church be would not only give him a 
living, but his daughter also. We understand 
both parties are very happy uuder so kind and \ 
sensible an arrangement.” 
THE TENDER PASSION. 
Thackeray says that “ when a man is in love 
with one woman in a family, it is astonishing 
It w*> «| _ nyiuuu tn « ftaAUjij, lb ID ttC lUmOLULlV 
~ ’ 1110 , , e1 ’ * cau 6 ! >ade > an( l I will try to how fond he becomes of every one connected 
WlLLIAM Viog will show me with it, He ingratiates himself with the maids ; 
n4 V°® e pla,lU to8Url with - M he is bland with the butler; he interests himself 
hi* U de motive now,—to please with the footman; he runs on errands for the 
ner'everh'r’. aS '!n * Ufa bi,Ubelf; a,ltl 118 be is daughters; he gives and lends money to the 
SMoeedlnW, llPM '" l,,r 1 °“^ he jj“« 
Eveigf oeu Cottage. 
Ann* nn-t • ' '**. T ' werc the Y uttered by any one bnt papa t he drinks 
sa “ T r r 1D the London Athenseum sweet Port wine, tor which he would curse the 
o - f maybe rau - ed in two steward aud the whole committee at a club; he 
r lvlsl0ns ‘ s oomy mesmerlzers, who bears even with the cautunkerous old maiden 
compel pretty women to marry them by tlie 
power of the eye, aud irreclaimable scamps 
with whom all the fair sex fall in love from their 
own delightful instinct.” 
aunt; he beats time when darling little Fanny 
performs her piece on the piano; and smiles 
when wicked, lively little Bobby upsets the cof¬ 
fee over his shirt.” 
those powers, natural and acquired, which we 
u think essential to the production of genuine 
l 15 poetry. The first requisite is a 
er 
Vivid Imatriuntiink 
y This is the creative faculty In painting, 
ilc •*“» -u.ci so-called imitative arts, 
ij e every new image, each new arrangement, is as 
a8 certainly a creation as was that of the earth on 
[lj I which we dwell. It is the embodiment of a con¬ 
es eeption which originates in the imagination. In 
re a still widerand higher sense does this hold true 
, d in poetry. To a greater extent than any other 
> r artist does the poet deal in drafts on the imagin- 
,f atiou. By this faculty are constructed all those 
,f poems of beauty and grandeur, which, when 
■a fixed in appropriate metre, resist t ie eroel u; of 
time. He seeks to address mind, not exclusively 
9 by material media through the senses, hut only 
n partially —his only help from externals being 
Q the Impression communicated through the ear 
•] by the flow of rhythm and the gicglc of rhyme. 
y Hence, he cauuot represent his creations in 
j marble aud color, but only in that commonplace 
. thing called written language, which, of itself, 
e possesses very little, if any, attraction for any 
f sense. In order, therefore, that his works may 
tie popular, his only resource is to counterpoise 
this advantage by superiority of conception. 
This every great poet lias done. 
It may lie needless to add that, In sane and 
wakeful hours, this faculty is direc :ly under the 
control of the will. Its monstrosities in a state 
1 of delirium may he learned in asylums; some of 
its extravagancies during sleep are portrayed 
in Suakspeark’s Midsummer-Night’s Dream. 
Hence, the Poet is responsible for the quality of 
his conceptions. Hence, too, the necessity of 
another faculty called 
Judgment. 
Whether this be a faculty or a combination of 
faculties, it is not our business to determine. 
What it docs wc know by results. That it, is as 
essential to the poet us to the judge, no one will 
deny who has the slightest notion of what is de¬ 
manded of both. The latter decides as to what 
is equitable in law; the former determines the 
propriety of substance and expression In a dc- • 
partment of literature. The necessity of close , 
discrimination is as imperious in poesy as in die- - 
pensing justice—nay, if there he an excess in , 
I either case, we at once affirm it of the former. , 
Nicety of judgmeut presupposes a . 
Disciplined Intellect. t 
The intellect, proper is the thiuking uppara- c 
tue; or it may be defined as that faculty by c 
which wc see things as they are; for this, we \ 
apprehend, is about the sum of its functions, s 
The ability to detect slight differences wc re- a 
gard ub that which mainly distinguishes the man ii 
of culture from the man of facts, and from all fl 
other men. He can look ut things patiently and 
intently, till ho ascertains exactly what they arc; 
and when that point is gained, a judgment fol " 
lows instantaneously. “A distinction without a fti 
difference ” is the humiliating confession of a h 
man’s inability to perceive a distinction which s< 
really exists. There am probably no two things r< 
or thoughts which have not some point of dlf- ji 
l'crcnce. Now, if all this he true, we surely uro SI 
Justified iu Insisting on high culture as u primary st 
able ones neglected, and bad ones despised. We ~ , ... , , , 
may add, that much of the poetry in provincial . ll0 'J J beau , t ' ful and ll0W canobhn S 15 the exer ' 
newspapere Is to the last de°rec despicable C 86 ° f * blS 6t ‘ an virtuc • ^ commands the 
P o * respect even of unbelievers in our holy religion, 
----—- ’ ojvait.. Li..* .feu pittances it to the highest 
Love of Home. —It is only shallow-minded elevation of Christian faith, love and peace. By 
pretenders who either make distinguished origiu resignation we do not mean the studied insensi- 
or personal merit a personal matter to boast of. biiity to calamity of the stoie or the savage, or 
A man who is not ashamed of himself need not calm, philosophical submission to what is con- 
lie ashamed of his early condition. It did not eidered Inevitable fate. These, no doubt, were 
happen to me to be born in a log cabin, but my 1° bo expected and allowed in other days, when 
. elder brothers and sisters were born in a log 
cabin, raised among the snow drifts of New 
, Hampshire, at a period so early that when the 
! smoke first rose from its rude chimney, aud 
p curled over the frozen hill, there was no similar 
evidence of a white man’s habitation between it 
and the settlements on the rivers of Canada. Its 
remains still exist; I make it an annual visit. 
I carry my children to it, to teach them the 
hardships endured by the generations which 
have gone before them. I love to dwell on the 
tender recollections, the kindred ties, the early 
affections, and the narrations and incidents 
which mingle with all I kuow of this primitive 
family abode.— Daniel Webster. 
Good Night. —How commonplace is this ex¬ 
pression, and yet what volumes it may speak for 
all future time! We never listen to its passiug, 
that this thought does not force itself upon us, 
be the tone in which it is uttered never so gay. 
The lapse of a lew fatal hours or minutes may 
surround and hedge it with horrors, that of all 
the million words which a life time has recorded, 
these two little words alone shall seem to be 
remembered. Good night! tho little child bus 
lisped as it passed to ubrighter morn than ours; 
the lover with ids gay dream of nuptial morrow; 
the wife aud mother, all tho fragile threads of 
household cares still in her fingers; the father 
with appealing eye of childhood all unanswered. 
Goodnight! that seal upon days past and days 
to come— what hand so rash as to rend aside the 
vail that hides its to-morrow!— Selected. 
■■ ■ - - i ■ 
The Swbkt Small Courtesies.—I want to 
tell you a secret. The way to make yourself 
pleasant to others, is to show them attention. 
The whole world is like the miller at Mansfield, 
who cared for nobody — no, not he, because 
nobody eared for him. And the whole world 
would serve you so, if you gave them the same 
cause. Let every one, therefore, sec that you 1 
do care for them, by showing them the small 
courtesies, In which there is no parade, whose 
voice is still to please, and which manifest them- 1 
selves by tender aud affectionate looks, and little 
acta of attention, giving others the preference 
in every little enjoyment at the table, in the 
field, walking, oil ling, or standing.— Hm. Wirt, < 
the glorious light of the Gospel bad notdispelled 
the gloom of heathenism, but, however worthy 
in themselves, they do not become this age of 
advanced civilization and enlightenment. But 
by resignation we mean that Christian disposi¬ 
tion which recogiuzes the hand of God in all 
trials and uillictions, and, while not indifferent 
to their severity, or able to probe the secret of 
their mission, yet submits unmnrmuringly to 
them, as evidences of His goodness and justice, 
no less than of His power. 
The life of the Saviour of mankind was a 
constant embodiment and exponent, of this vir¬ 
tue, and especially so towards its close. In 
those lost hours, when Ills heart was so oppress¬ 
ed by the guilt of this fallen world, when His 
prophetic vision buw so clearly all the dread 
scenes of Pilatr’s Judgment hall of Calvary,— 
the mock trial, the scourging*, the idle jeers, 
the weary march to the place of execution, the 
ignominious death of the cross,— and when He 
prayed, “Father, if Tbou he willing, remove 
this cup from me,” He could yet add, “Never¬ 
theless, not my will but Thine he done.” The 
anguish, which caused sweat, as it were, great 
drops of blood to fall from Hi* agonized body, 
was a painful evidence of His humanity, with all 
its frailty and imperfection ; but the spirit which 
triumphed over this, and led Him to fulfill with 
resignation His mission to our lost race, was 
Divine. 
How easy is it to learn the lesson contained 
iu this fact from our Lord’s history! With this 
notable example before us, we should strive 
most earnestly to cultivate so noble and godlike 
a virtue. It is comparatively easy to practice it 
iu the petty Ills of Ute, but we should not fall to 
do this when our hearts are bowed beneath the 
weight of overwhelming trial and distress. So 
shall we come forth as gold purified by the fire, 
our faith exalted, our fidelity increased, our love 
strengthened, our peace that which “ passeth all 
understanding,” So shall the sorrows of this 
mortal state prepara us to obey with alacrity the 
summous to that higher life beyond tho grave, 
when fullness of joy reigns forevermore. 
Vizitelli was a “sport” of the first water, 
wearing Wellington outside boots, red neckties, 
and jockey coats; be was stout, and parted his 
hair in the middle. There was no literary 
society, so to speak, in the capital. Everybody 
read novels for their plots, aud poems for their 
jingle. Blue stockings were unknown, and 
Sliakspeare, bad lie lived here, would have 
starved to death.— C'or. Ji. T. World. 1 
Remember that God is no curious or critical 
| observer of the plain expressions that fall from 
bis poor children when they are iu their closet 
duties; ’tis not a flow of words, or studied no¬ 
tions, seraphic expressions, or elegant phrases 
in prayer, which take the car, or delight tho 
heart of God, or open the gate of glory, or bring 
down the best of blessings upon the soul; but 
uprightness, holiness, heavenlinees, spirituality 
and brokenuesB of heart—these are the things 
that make a conquest upon God, and turn most 
to the soul’s aecount. 
