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:

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:

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, hair as free;
Such sweet neglect more taketh me,

Than all the adulteries of art,

That strike mine eyes, but not my heart.

And Shakspeare :

Beauty is but a vain and doubtful good,
A shining gloss, that fadeth suddenly,
A flower that dies when first it 'gins 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 Apelles 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 felicity-by 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; Pulchrorun 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 fruits 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.

THE TWO VILLAGES.

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 night
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 hill,
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,
Whither have vanished wife and child,
And heareth, praying, this answer fall-
"Patience! that village shall hold ye all!"

A BLIND MAN'S REPROOF.

RY THE EDITOR.

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 affirmative 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, evidently 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 none who heard it, that were not disgusted. If it was his design to make sport of a deeply afflicted fellow being, he was thwarted beautifully by the meekness and good behavior of the blind man. If he intended to suggest an unsound principle, namely, that there is a merit in blindness that insures heaven, he received a most entting reproof. Seldom have we seen a man so completely baffled; 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 ! - and 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!

A BOY'S TRIUMPH IN DEATH.

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 home! 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 a 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. father gave us the privilege of sending them to good homes, away from the evil influence of the city. A few weeks since the little girl was sent to live with a kind family in Illinois.

The