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Poets have tasked their genius and resorted to all that is brilliant, fair and sweet in nature for similitudes to express their admiration and rapture in contemplating female beauty. Thus Lee exclaims :

"O she is all perfection!
All that the blooming earth can send forth fair;
All that the gaudy Heavens can drop down glorious.
A lavish planet reign'd when she was born,
And made her of such kindred mould to Hear'n,

She scems more Heaven's than ours."
Otway sings :

“Angels were painted fair to look like you:
There's in you all that we believe of Heav'n-
Amazing brightness, purity, and truth,

Eternal joy and everlasting peace.”
And Thompson :

Her form was fresher than the morning rose
When the dew wets its leares; unstain'd and pure,
As is the lily, or the mountain snow.

A native grace
Sat fair proportioned on her polish'd limbs,
Veil'd in a simple robe, their best attire,
Beyond the pomp of dress : for loveliness
Needs not the foreign aid of ornament,

But is when unadoru'd, adorn'd the most.
And Shakspeare:

Oh she doeth teach the torches to burn bright!
Her beauty hangs upon the cheek of night
Like a rich jewel in an Ethiop's ear;
Beauty too rich for use, for earth too dear.
Her lily hand, her rosy cheek lies under,
Cozening the pillow of a lawful kiss :
Without the bed her other fair hand was
On the green coverlet : whose perfect white
Show'd like an April daisy on the grass,
With pearly sweat, resembling dew of night.
Her eyes like marigolds had sheath'd their light;
And canopied in darkness sweetly lay,

Till they might open to adorn the day.
Joanna Baillie, thus describes the influence of beauty :

When I approach
Her loveliness, so absolute she seems,
And in herself complete, so well to know
Hor own, that what she wills to do or say,
Seems wisest, virtuousost, discreetest, best;
All higher knowledge in her presence falls
Degraded, wisdom in discourse with her

Loses discountenanc'd, and like folly shows.
Yet poets are not always carried off their feet by the charm of beauty :
but moderate their raptures by an infusion of reason. Listen to Ben
Jonson :

Give me a look, give me a face
That makes simplicity a grace
Robes loosely flowing, buir as free ;
Such sweet neglect moro takoth mo,
Tbon all the adulterios of art,
That strike mine oyes, but not my heart.

And Shakspeare :

Beauty is but a vain and doubtful good,
A shining gloss, that fadeth suddenly,
A lower that dies when first it 'gios to bud,
A brittle glass, that's broken presently;
A doubtful good, a gloss, a glass, a flower,
Lost, faded, broken, dead within an hour.

And as good lost, is seld or never found,
As fading gloss no rubbing will refresh,
As flowers dead lie withered on the ground,
As broken glass no cement can redress;
So beauty blemish'd once, forever's lost,
In spite of physic, painting, pains, or cost.

It is a remark of St. Pierre, that every trait of beauty may be referred to some virtue, as to innocence, candor, generosity, modesty or heroism; and beauty unaccompanied by virtue is as a flower without perfume.

Virtue indeed is like a precious stone, best plainly set, yet surely virtue shows best in a body that is comely, though not of delicate features, and that has rather dignity of presence than beauty of aspect. It is seldom seen that very beautiful persons are of great virtue ; as if nature were rather busy not to err, than labored to produce entire excellence. Such persons, therefore prove accomplished, but not of great spirit; and study behavior rather than virtue. But this holds not always; for Julius Cæsar, Augustus, Titus, Philip le Bel of France, Edward the Fourth of England, Alcibiades of Athens, Ismael the sophy of Persia, were all high and great spirits, and yet the most beautiful men of their times. In analyzing beauty it will be found that the effect of favor or expression is superior to that of color, and of decent and graceful motion is more than that of favor even ; indeed the best part of beauty, is that which a picture cannot portray, nor the first sight of the life disclose. There is no excellent beauty, that has not some strangeness in the proportions. And upon this point, it were hard to tell whether A pelles or Albert Duret was the greater trifler; one of whom, undertook to draw a personage by geometrical exactness; the other by selecting the best features from divers faces, to make one of surpassing excellence. Such portraits, I think, would please nobody but the painter that made them. Not but I grant a painter may make a better face than ever was seen; but he must do it by a kind of spatching a grace beyond the reach of art—like a musician that produces by a sort of inspiration an exquisite air in music. A man shall occasionally see faces, of which if you examine the features separately, you will not find one good, and yet altogether they are comely. If it be true, that the principal charm of beauty is in decent motion, it is no wonder that persons in years seem many times more lovely and amiable than those who are younger ; Pul. chrorun autumnus pulcher ; the autumn of the beautiful, is beautiful : for it must be observed, that no youth can be comely but by allowance, and considering the youth as making up the comeliness.

Beauty is like summer iruits which easily corrupt and cannot last; and, generally, it makes a dissolute youth and an old age somewhat out of countenance; but, on the other hand, if it light well, it causes virtue to shine and puts vice to the blush.


Over the river on the hill,
Lieth a village white and still;
All around it the forest trees
Shiver and whisper in the breeze ;
Over it sailing shadows go
Of soaring hawk and screaming crow,
And mountain grasses, low and sweet,
Grow in the middle of every street.
Over the river, under the hill,
Another village lieth still;
There I see in the cloudy pight
Twinkling stars of household light,
Fires that gleam from the smithy's door,
Mists that curl on the river shore;
And in the roads no grasses grow,
For the wheels that hasten to and fro.
In that village on the hill,
Never is sound of smithy or mill;
The houses are thatched with grass and flowers,
Never a clock to tell the hours,
The marble doors are always shut,
You cannot enter in hall or hut;
All in the village lie asleep;
Never a grain to sow or reap,
Never in dreams to moan or sigh;
Silent, and idle, and low they lie.
In that village under the bill,
When the night is starry and still,
Many a weary soul in prayer
Looks to the other village there,
And weeping and sighing, longs to go
Up to that home from this below;
Longs to sleep by the forest wild,
Wbither have vanished wife and child,
And heareth, praying, this answer fall-
• Patience! that village shall hold ye all !"

Mountain, valley, brook and river

Bless tbe rain ;
And the dancing leaflets quiver

With the rain ;
Save the sparkling, crystal drop
In the silver lily's cup,
How the arid earth drinks up

All the rain !
Merrily singing as it yields
Blessings to the thirsty fields;
What a lordly power it wields

As it falls !"



As we were riding in the cars one day, a blind man entered at a waystation. Seeing by the manner in which he was feeling his way along the aisle of the car that he was probably blind, a gentleman asked him whether he desired a seat, and receiving and afirmative answer, he was kindly guided to a vacant seat. He was a young man of about twenty years of age, with a placid countenance, and cleanly, though not richly clad.

Scarcely had he been seated when a man opposite him in the car who who you would at once suspect even from his looks and airs, of having more physical force than intellectual or moral polish in his composition, bawled out-for the word bawled is not to strong—"Are you blind ?"

“ Yes sir," answered the young man meekly.

"Would you like to see ?" said the questioner, with a waggering and boisterous manner.

“I can't say that I have much of a desire to see," said the blind man. That's right-you are better off so—you'll get to heaven sure !”

"I do not know that I have any better chance than anybody else," replied the young man.

'Yes, you have ”_said our bold hero.
“How so ?” modestly asked the blind man.

Because you can't see—you can't do anything wrong, because you can't see how to do it-you'll get to heaven, sure.”

All this was said in such a light, frivolous, and game-making tone, that the young man, eridently discovering that it was not even a gentleman, much less a christian, that he was speaking to, turned away, merely remarking in a subdued tone : “I think there are many ways in which a man can commit sin without being able to see.

If it was the intention of the one who thus questioned the blind man to show his bad breeding, he succeeded most admirably; for, from their looks, we judged that there were cone wło heard it, that were not disgusted. If it was his design to make sport of a deeply afilicted fellow being, he was thwarted beautifully by the meekness and good behavior of the blind man. If he intended to suggest an unsound principle, pamely, that there is a merit in blindness that insures heaven, he received a most cntting reproof. Seldom have we seen a man so completely bafiled ; and he showed by his self-abased look afterward, that he thought less of himself after the conversation than he did before it.

The cars rolled on land we could not refain from saying to ourself, what a difference between these two men. The one is a healthy, hearty, robust man, in possession of all his faculties of mind, and organs of body, but to what a miserable use has he been putting his gifts and mercies. The other deeply afflicted-blind, and lonely—but he is evidently in possession of a christian spirit, and as a man, in the sight of God and man, far in advance of him who thus insulted his infirmity. What a day will that be, when it will be seen that abused mercies rise up to condemn some, while through affliction's will well others have found the life that is forever free from ills !


IN January last an intelligent-looking man called at the office of the House of Industry, Five Points, New York, and told a tale of suffering. I accompanied him to his residence in L. street. We passed up one flight of stairs, then another and another, till we reached the garret-floor. He pushed open a door, and as we entered the room said: “This is my home." Home! What mockery to call such a place as that liome! Here was a room not more than eight or ten feet square, without a stove, without furniture, and even without a bed, if we except some straw picked up at the stables, and one or two old comforters not worth pawning; and yet this was all the home the poor man had! Yet it was home, for it was the stopping-place of those he loved.

When I looked around the room and saw its desolation, I inquired if he had no stove. “I sold it," he said. “I have sold everythingeverything! I was always in hopes of getting employment, and while I had anything that I could sell, I could not bear to think of begging. My hopes are almost gone now; but I do not care about myself. If the children were provided for, then I should feel easy."

“Why are they in bed at this time of day?" I asked, as I saw two fine children, a boy and girl, huddled together in the apology for a bed before mentioned; "they do not look ill.”

"No, thank God, they are not sick; but they have no clothes, so they are in bed to keep warm.

“No clothes ! no clothes at all ?" said I. “How came they in such & state ?"

“I said I sold everything; yes, I sold everything, even to the children's clothes. You may think it strange that I have done so, but we have seen hard times, hard times, sir. All I have now to say, is this : Take these poor children from this miserable place, and do for them as you are doing for other children. It is hard—very hard, to part with my little ones; but it would be harder to see them carried off to Potter's field. Yes, take them, and the Lord bless you."

I told him to come to the House for some clothes for the children, as we could not take them out in the condition they were then in. He preferred to wait till evening, as he did not wish to have his neighbors know of his great distress. At evening he came and obtained clothing for the children, and in a few minutes returned, bringing them with him.

This was our introduction to Willie Brown and his sister. The father gave us the privilege of sending them to good homes, away from the evil inflaence of the city. A few weeks since the little girl was sent to live with a kind family in Illinois.

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