now vacant of the brilliant picture before me. For a long time, however, creeping age, and infant hands, were the only objects which met my view, and I was about to leave the field, disappointed that no 'form fresher than the morning rose' had met my view, when, turning to a remote corner, a being attracted my attention, whose loveliness would require the pen of a Thomson to describe. It was a young female, who had laid an infant, of which she was evidently the youthful mother, upon the bundle of corn which she had just gathered, and left it under the protection of a faithful guardian, a large dog, which still kept watch by its side. I conjectured, that the infant had been asleep when first laid there, but it was now awake, and was tossing about its little hands and feet, and crowing in great glee, highly delighted with a flower that it had accidentally caught in its little hand. The mother had, probably, come when the reapers left the field, to take her breakfast of bread and milk, which was in a basket near her, as well as to look after the safety of her child; and finding it so happy on its rural bed, she had allowed it to remain there, whilst she, with a mother's vanity, amused herself with ornamenting its little hat with some of the ears of corn that she had just gathered. I do not know that even Thomson would have described her as beautiful, though certainly, 'a native grace sat fair proportioned on her polished limbs,' and the sweet expression of maternal tenderness, which beamed from her eye, and illumined her whole countenance, would have afforded ample scope to his descriptive powers. I stood riveted to the spot, and gazed on this interesting young creature and her child, both as lovely as poet's dream, or the flower that the traveller sees springing from the arid sand of the desert. I took my pencil and endeavoured to sketch the group, with the farm house and the village spire in the distance; not however, for myself, for the picture rests on my mind in more vivid colours than ever were spread on painter's palette, but with the hope of giving you some faint idea of the loveliness that had so much seized my own fancy."

"Ah, papa," said Louisa, archly, "I see, though you are always so anxious to keep us from setting much value on personal beauty, that you admire it as much yourself as any body does."

"You must remember, however, Louisa," returned her father, "that what I have spoken of, is that most delightful species of beauty which is expressive of high moral qualities; and this depends not on regularity of feature, or perfection of form, but on that which is infinitely superior to both, good and amiable dispositions. Where the mind is pure, the thoughts elevated, and the sentiments liberal and kind, a pleasing expression will be found to pervade the most rugged set of features that were ever bestowed upon a human being. Besides, this species of beauty is highly improvable, for as the mind becomes cultivated—as it takes a wider range among the works of nature, and a deeper interest in the happiness of its fellow-beings, and the cultivation of its own powers, the expression of the face will become more refined and elevated. The chief beauty which struck me in the English gleaner, was that of expression, the expression of a kind and amiable heart, and the light of moral goodness illumined her countenance: and it is that species of beauty alone, my dear children, for which I am anxious to see you conspicuous."

"But, papa!" exclaimed both the sisters at once, as their father now rose from his seat, "you must not leave us so soon, we have not heard half enough about England yet."

"I have spent as much time with you as I can spare at present, but will take an early opportunity of indulging myself in retracing some more English scenes, many of which were as new, though few more interesting than the Gleaner."

THE STORM.

BY MRS. HUGHS.