We know no lovelier object of vision than the face of a healthful child, just at the period when intelligence and affection begin to inspire its features. The evil passions have, as yet, left no trace of their power upon it; care and anxiety have destroyed no line of beauty; selfishness has given no repulsive expression to any movement of its delicate organs. But probably that peculiar loveliness of expression depends most upon simplicity of character, as contrasted with either complexity or duplicity. The child has no excessive consciousness; no intense reflectiveness; both of which cause that shyness, embarrassment, diffidence, and the want of openness in the countenance so often seen in young persons. The heart at first plays freely within; and feeling gushes forth like a mountain rill fearless and unconstrained. All that, is soon to be exchanged for the formal observance of rules and proprieties. Then if the man ever returns to this simplicity, it will be by some kind of regeneration. He must be converted, to become as a little child in anything that is desirable. If, for instance he becomes a true orator, he must return to the same bold, unconscious utterance of his emotions. If he becomes a confirmed Christian, he must act out heavenly principles with the same spontaneity and freedom as a child. There are many orators who speak very correctly; but who never utter such music to the human soul, nor beam such thrilling glances as are heard and felt from the lips and eye of a little child. There is many a good man whose goodness puts him in a strait-jacket. It makes him stiff and his friends uncomfortable. The difficulty lies here; while his principles govern him, they have not become a part of himself. But in a little child, every act and word is like the bursting forth of a flower; it is the result of life, not of reflection and rule. The child has no artificial manners resulting from rules not yet incorporated in the soul, but merely inscribed on its outer walls.—Sel.