ned, and when she came to the
depot, she said, "Please, sir, give me your card, that I may mention
your name to my husband." She hurried out, and looked at it, and saw
the name of Daniel Webster. The woman was thrilled with the joy that
came to her in her sphere of service. Earth knows no fairer, holier
relation than that of mother; and she turned with delight from the
bubbles and froth of fashion to the grand work before her of raising
men for God and humanity.

"The treasures of the deep are not so precious
As are the concealed comforts of a man
Locked up in woman's love. I scent the air
Of blessings when I come but near the house.
What a delicious breath marriage sends forth!
The violet bed's not sweeter."

Think of the realm in which woman may rule. If she be elegant and
refined; if she has learned how to govern, first herself, and then
those about her, there is a charm diffused through the home which
reveals itself in the good order of the establishment, in the
politeness of the servants, in the genial disposition of the children,
in the delightful intercourse of the different portions of the
household, and in the fact that "her husband is known in the gates
when he sitteth among the elders of the land. Strength and honor are
her clothing, and she shall rejoice in time to come. She openeth her
mouth with wisdom, and her tongue is the law of kindness. She looketh
well to the ways of her household, and eateth not the bread of
idleness. Her children rise up and call her blessed; her husband also,
and he praiseth her. Many daughters have done virtuously; but thou
excellest them all."

In such words did King Lemuel praise this excellency of woman. Blessed
memory! Who does not remember that one form of the old-fashioned
mother,--the law of whose life was love; one who was the divinity
of our infancy, and the sacred presence in the shrine of our first
earthly idolatry; one whose heart was ever green, though the snows of
time had gathered in the boughs of her life-tree; one to whom we never
grow old, but in the plumed troop or the grave council are children
still; one who welcomed us coming, blessed us going, and forgets us
never; one who waits for the echo of our returning footstep, or who,
perhaps, has gone on to the better land, and keeps a light in the
window for those left behind.

Such women have power now as did the Hannahs and the Ruths of the
olden time. When thinking of them, you are convinced