S84 



MOORE'S RURAL EFEW-YOREER. 



LADY FRANKLIN. 





[ It is seldom thai two such poets live uude 

 Ibo Murrlmao, In Ameabury, Maes, The 

 Elizabeth U. Whittle*, slater of John G. TVhi 



I >< 



Ion] 



«~sT' 





Hope, that saw Willi lleeplMI vision, 





which I shall never more behold but in memory. 

 How natural— how life like they look. They speak 

 to uie of departed joys, and gently whisper of 

 those which nevet die. Mjflpiril seems entranced 

 as I listen to their strains of melody, and I forget 

 l.ir awhile e.uih's cares and griefs in tho contem- 

 plation of all that is pure aud lovely. Though 

 absent in body, yet, methinks, on angel's wings 

 they hover near me, whispering of their bettor 

 home on high. 



As I take a retrospective view and dwell for 

 a moment upon the many changes marking the 

 past— bringing to mind the children who aro now 



field , 



thought. How great the contrast. Where is the 

 youthful band which once mingled together? Ah, 

 Time, that insatiable destroyer, bos separated 

 them by land aud sea. Tonight I sit wond 

 where they all are. In memory's ball they flock 

 around me, and I seem to hear again their merry 

 laugh as in days of yore. Some are instructing 

 the young immortal mind. Nellie is teaching 

 where she and I oft have sported. There stands the 

 old shade tree (only its shadow has a little broader 

 grown,) where happy children with me have gath- 

 ered, but are now far from the rural retreat. I 



ON THE RIVER. 



> the i 



! Oft 





far away, yet are bound to my heart by a thousand 

 ties and recollections which strengthen with each 

 fleeting year. How oft some old familiar lay brings 

 the absent back again, — they loved and sang the 



in the days of "auld lang syne." Their 

 parting token, how dearly we prize it. Oft we 

 bathe it in tears to keep remembrance sweeter and 

 purer. I love to think of absent loved ones, and 



we've crossed the ocean billows of life, may 

 those who have long been severed here meet, no 



to part, around the Throne of the Great 

 Eternal. Rosa. 



Mari-cllas, Onun. Co., N. Y., 1SC9. 



"WEDDED TO GOLD." 





.nge bio: 



strangely sad as they 

 amid her golden curls, 

 — no wonder that her brow was pale as marble, 

 as they threw the long snowy veil back from her 

 lovely face; and as a joyful child went past her, 

 tripping lightly on its way, no wonder that in her 

 heart arose the prayer, "God save thee, little 

 prattler, from a like fate !" They looked upon her 

 as the hollow laugh rang from her lips, when the 

 fitful jest passed round, and they thought she was 

 happy. Oh, human nature! how many there are 

 who part with every noble affection,— with every 

 feeling of the heart, for paltry gold. He whom 

 they bad chosen Tor her was rich, and why should 

 she not be happy? 



Ah she spoke the words which bound her to an- 

 other, her face was illumined by a smile, and she 

 was classed amoDg those enjoying fortune's favors; 

 but they could not look into ber heart,— could not 

 see the affection which had long ago brightened 

 her way,— the childish love which she had once 

 possessed. The mournful spectre which haunted 

 her by day and night was unseen, unknown by all 

 others. None could open the secret doors of her 

 heart, and go far back through all the silent halls, 

 and gaze upon a little mound with the inscription: 

 " Buried Eopu." None witnessed the throbbings 

 of the young heart which beat so wildly, and none 

 knew the constant prayer to God, " that He would 

 send her rest,— rest, though it came with the bier, 

 the pall, aud all that mortals dread. Gladly 

 would she have wrapped a shroud of withered 

 hopes around the heart which had so often been 

 swayed to and fro in the tempest of grief— like 

 willow by the water's edge, ever bedding to drink 

 the bitter waters, yet not breaking — gladly would 

 she have done this, and found rest beneath the 

 coffin lid ; but no, she must live on, smile on, and 

 be happy, though her heart were breaking. 



Was she not rich V— then, why not happy i Aye, 

 why? No wonder that, as time passed on 

 :banged. They culled her cold, proud, haughty,— 



GROW BEAUTIFUL. 



Persons may outgrow disease and become 

 healthy, by proper attention to the laws of their 

 physical constitution. By moderate and daily 

 ise, men have become active and strong in 

 limb and muscle. But to grow beautiful, how?— 

 Age dims the lustre of the eye, and pales the roses 

 beauty's cheek; while crow-feet and furrows, 

 I wrinkles, and lost teeth, aud gray hairs, and 

 bald head, aud tottering limbs, and limping leet, 

 most sadly mar the human form divine. But dim 

 as the eye is, as pallid and sunken as may be the 

 face of beauty, and frail and feeble that once 

 Btrong, erect, and manly body, the immortal soul 

 just fledging its wings for its home in heaven, may 

 look out through those faded windows as beautiful 



ing as the tear that glistens in affection's eye-by 

 growing kindly, by cultivating sympathy with all 

 human kind, by cherishing forbearance towards 

 the follies and foibles of our race, and feeding day 

 by day on that love of God and man which lifts us 

 from the brute and makes us akin to aDgels, 



[list, and delude o 

 udo the world. 

 There is beauty 





; Edcc, 



c Yoi 



Morgan, the gifted Irish authoress, whose 

 delighted the higher oircles in former years, when 

 conversing with a friend about some young ladies 

 who had lost their fortune, made the following very 

 sensible remarks concerning the proper education 

 of young women:— "In the tetc a-tde eonversa- 

 tion with Mrs. Hall, on the subject of some young 

 bereft of fortune, Lady Mor- 



'■1. IV. that 



e LM/mg 

 ;r ilu-iiri! 



i — well had i 



but they ki 



struggled to cloak her it 

 on the calm and placid ei 

 of what was passing be 

 i.nin]ili.-Led her object. 



At length her prayers 

 so long sought was found. They laid the form, 

 which had moved so sadly through the halls of 

 pleasure, in the silent Collin, and she was free. No 

 longer must she carry on the work of deceit — no 

 longer need she endure the crushing weight — 

 they put hack the hair from the fair white brow, 

 folded the bands over her pulseless breast, and 

 laid her where the spring flowers blossomed, and 

 the auti 

 life of v 



THE ABSENT. 





arth. 



Spent in their m 

 pressure of their 

 well known voice 

 which strengthen 

 fliot. To-night I am thinking of" 

 brother who, one year ago, was amid 

 circle, but now is far away in a wes 

 from the home that gave him birth 

 loved friends and companions of ear 

 memory her vigils keep, a fervent prayer oacc 

 to Gon to guide and protect him through the m 

 snares and temptations of life. 

 There come to me to-night many fair foi 



leasure in the memory of 

 ave long wandered from 

 iy never behold again on 



the gladsome hours we 

 e seem to feel the warm 



and to hear again their 

 wards of hope and cheer 



dear, absent 

 ur household 

 rn land,— far 

 n»d the many 



gan said, wil 

 They do everything that is fashionable"— imper- 

 '•'.ahj; their singing, and drawing, and dancing, 

 nd language, amount to nothing. They are edu- 

 cated to marry, and had there been time they 

 .ght have gone off with, and hereafter//-^, hus- 

 nds. They cannot earn their own salt ; they do 

 t even know how to dresB themselves. I desire 

 give mry girl, no matter what her rank, a 

 ide — a profession, if the word pleases you bet- 

 •; cultivate what is necessary in tho position 

 she is born to ; cultivate all things in moderation, 

 ic thing to perfection, no matter what it is* 

 for which she has a talent — drawing, music, em- 

 broidery, housekeeping, even; give ber a staff to 

 lay hold of, let her feel this will carry me through 

 life without dependence. I was independent al 

 fourteen, and never went in debt.' " 



BwptloiTT or Duess.— Prentice of the Louis- 

 ville Journal, speaks thus to his readers:— "Those 

 who think that, in order to dress well, it is neces- 

 sary to dress extravagantly and gaudily, make a 

 great mistake. Nothing so well becomes true 

 feminine beauty as simplicity/ We hare seen 

 many a remarkably fine person robbed of its fine 

 effect by being over-dressed. Nothing is more 

 unbecoming than over-loaded beauty. The sim- 

 plicity of tho classic taste is seen in tho old 

 statues and pictures, painted by men of very 

 superior artistic genius. In Athens the ladies 

 wore not gaudily, but simply arrayed, and we 

 doubt whether any ladies excited more udmira- 



whose superb forms were worthy of them, were 

 always very plainly dressed. Fashion ofteu pre- 

 sents the lines of the butterfly, but fashion is not 

 a classic goddess." 



B.tuYnoon.— We are profoundly convinced that 

 the first year of a child's life is the most tremen- 

 dously important of any succeeding twehe-month, 

 though the creature shall number threescore and 

 ten. Consider the blank sheet of paper with which 

 the head of everybaby, according to the philoso- 

 and shudder, when 



CULTIVATE THE BEAUTIFUL. 



We are many times of that class, "whieb, hav- 

 g eyes see not," and debar ourselves of much of 

 e enjoyment Heaven has bountifully spread for 

 . We become buried in self, forgetful that we 

 e more, eDJoy more, are better and nobler by 



The 1 

 soft: 





taste for the beautiful i 

 and Gon has spread iin 

 its gratification. Shall 

 are but sorry philosoph< 

 be simply utilitarians, 

 not,) not only in educati 



rs who would teat 

 They err (if I i 



n morals and r 



who fail to make them attractive and beau- 

 not made them so, why should we 

 Wby desecrate nod despoil what 



Go 



Whyi 





i lined. Think of i 



hooks and bangers upon it, i 



ith rolling-pins, or, at best, wooden skewers!— 

 Poor human papyrus I How many after-scratcb- 

 ngs and cuttlefish-rubbings it will take to rub out 

 .be marks— that, after all, may never wholly be 

 effaced, but remain dingy and dark under snow 

 ite hairs.— .Arro/d. 



Uppixess in part is imoginary, and its posses- 

 n depends almost entirely upon ourselves; con- 

 tinent is the key which unlocks the treaiure 

 ise, and with " godliness is great gain." 



deform them 

 be has beautified 



Acute observers tell us that the surroundi 

 a people has to do, not only with the forma! 

 their characters, but that the lineaments 

 face are moulded by them. And does not 01 

 observation confirm it? You find the r 

 mountaineer a counterpart of his 

 Italy the foster-mother of the arts 

 her beautiful laud.-oipi'-. ami .-oil and sunnyskies, 

 tend to develop the beautiful in the soul? T 

 atmosphere we breath, joyful or sad, thankful 

 complaining, slowly hut surely stamps itself upon 

 us. If our homes and our school-rooms are sur- 

 rounded with lovely objects — if only the good, 

 the true, and the beautiful are inculcated, will 

 they not gleam from the countenance, and sparkle 



demon: 



tion. They exist in 

 when called upon. W 

 reflecting too much, but often fr 

 little. We never repine at the dispensations 

 Providence, except when we undervalue the bless- 

 ings which we receive, and then we cheat ourselves 

 instead of tho Giver. Nohere is the wisdom 

 and benevolence of Divine care more beautifully 

 shown than in this,— our highest enjoyments are 

 universal. All the charms of the outer world are 

 a common feast. Air and water, dew and sun- 

 shine, are without money and without price. The 

 luxuries of life, are the bane of our existence.— 

 They enfeeble our bodies, weaken our minds, blear 

 our eyes, benumb our faculties and warp our 

 judgments. It is well for us as a nation that they 

 are confined to the (ew. It is the mechanic, and 

 the farmer's son that steps into the halls of legis- 

 lation. Their children in turn become pampered, 

 and again the poor boy steps up to fill the post of 

 honor and emolument. 



The Englishman, in the qui 

 touting himself in the adornn 

 or the pleasures of the chas 

 contrast to the bustling money-making 

 So long as we pay a premium for rogues to sit ir 

 Legislative Halls, and lend our devotions tc 

 wealth, while artists, the literary, and the scien 

 tific, starve, just so long shall we have of these, 

 second-rate individuals. It is no wonder that wt 



painters like the old Italian school; or 

 poets such as England has produced. The talent 



ght have generated 



another channel — sta 



ten, perverted to unholy purposes. II 

 this ambition to rule were at an end, and meri 

 only received preferment, we might hope for 

 revolution in society. But it is possible to awaken 

 ft love for the truly beautiful, which shall grow 

 with coniiog years. 



Kv, if w 



fined to cond 



a will rcspon 



seldom unhappy f rc „ 



Meeting to 



THE RAINY DAY. 



""■"■'•ii jHi.r, main's brow. 



Upon Nlgtii'a darkfninc veil ■ 



for deeplj po>ni lb* Ay\ n% Tt . Br , ' 

 Its race lg almost run- 



lls spring of light and \nj \t gone, 



\n& aulamn now, nlUi shorlrnlng days 

 James In the light of golden raja, 

 Lnd glglis npnn [ha lislenino; ear, 



f his home, con 

 of bis grounds, 

 orms a striking 



■ Tli.r. 





POVERTY NOT SO GREAT A CURSE. 



If there is anything in the world that a young 

 man should be more grateful for than another, 

 it is the poverty which necessitates his starting 

 in life under very great disadvantages. Poverty 

 is one of the best tests of human quality in 

 existence. A triumph over it 

 with honor from West Point. 

 stuff and stamina. It is a certificate of 

 labor creditably performed. A young man who 

 cannot stand Ibis test is not good lor anything. 

 He can never rise above a drudge or a pauper. 

 A young man who cannot feel his will harden as 

 the yoke of poverty presses upon him, and his 

 pluck rise with every difliulty that poverty 



: like graduating 

 ■orthy 



d drear, 



...Kb li 



■udj,< 



Written fo 



Moore's Rural Is 



ew-Torker 





VOICES. 





Thb voice wa 



the crc 



wninggiftofG 



od to man 







most readily 





thoughts to our 



fellow. 



reatures.andt 



rough this 







can exercise the greatest 







t tones of the 



voice have 



great power ove 





otionsoftheso 



jI,— if they 



are gentle and 



kind, 



kindred feeling will be 











unfriendly, like 







sed. How 



carefully then should we 



guard this delicate instrn- 







when touched 







, harmc 







But there are 



voices, 



Myriads of voic 



es, brealh- 



ing everywhere 



'lis c 



ot alone to ma 



i that God 



has granted thi 







Who has 



not heard another voice 



-even the voice 



of Nature, 







iidefi 



the service of our Creator there 



eperor purer than the cultivation of 



i nature and in art. It may serve 



agreeablo pastime to fill up the in- 



rring amid severe studies, but may be 



im, Unlike other enjoyments it 



but elevates and ennobles the 



„..,ta„,-, 



III.' IjL'illltifl 



tervals occi. 

 combined with 



other faculties. It would seem as though beauty 

 begat beauty in its tendency upon the human 

 heart, for, ever softening and purifying, it unfolds 

 a higher life,— engenders a new existence— creates 



more blissful. Can that individual be truly said 



to Jive who sees in an external world, with all 



its nice dependencies and adaptations, nothing 



beautiful ? 

 It is true, literally and proverbially, that Ameri- 

 ins who have bidden defiance to everything where 

 itellectual or mechanical skill is concerned, have 



forgotten one great item, vi/,, the art of rendering 

 asant. The child, instead of being 



permitted to give expression to the natural emo- 

 onsof its heart, is taught to repress and cloak in 

 oical indifference the finest feelings which 

 eaven has implanted. It is but a little thing for 

 parent or n teacher to mould the plastic mind of 

 child in such a manner.that it may seek its own 



enjoyment within itself. A timely word, an allu- 

 thought, may enable it to discover beauty 



and hide himself. Poverty saves a thousand 



nen than it ruins; for it only ruins those 



re not particularly worth saving, while it 



multitudes of those whom wealth would 



■uined. If aDy young man who reads thit 



letter is so unfortunate as to be rich, I give hire 



my pity. I pity you, my rich young friend, be- 



te you are in danger. You lack one great 



uIuh In ellurt and excellence, which your poor 



panion possesses. You will be very apt, if 



have a soft spot in your head, to think 



self above him, and that sort of thing makes you 



and injures you. With full pockets and 



>mach, and good linen and broadcloth on 



your back, your heart and soul plethoric, iu the 



e of life you will find yourself surpassed by 



the poor boys around you, before you know it. 



o, my boy, if you are poor, thank God aud 



e courage ; for he intends to give you a chance 



to make something of yourself. If you had 



plenty of money, ten chances to one it would 



spoil you for all useful purposes. Do you lack 



education? Have you been cut short in tho text 



books? Remember that education, like some 



other things, docs not consist in the multitude of 



things a man possesses. What can you do 



That is the question that settles the business fo 





Do 



Do 





mind, by any means whatsoever, received that 

 discipline which gives to it action, power and 

 facility ? If so, then you are more a man, and a 

 thousand times better educated than the fellow 

 who graduates from a college with his brains full 

 of stuff that he cannot apply to the practical 

 business of life— stuff, the acquisition of which 

 has been iu no sense a disciplinary process so far 

 as ho is concerned. There are very few men in 

 this world less than thirty years, of age, and 

 unmarried, who can o fiord to he rich. One of the 

 greatest benefits to he reaped from great financial 

 disasters is the saving of a large crop of young 



ng of the storm, or in the musical plash of 

 imie waterfall. There may be much in her 

 ne tones to stir the quick perceptions of the 

 but her gentle whisperings have so much of 



•motion. GladsoDgs have the little babbling 

 brooks sung to us in our childhood, and now we 

 can never watch their silvery waters, murmuring 

 so peacefully along, without having our thoughts 

 wafted back to happy by-gone days. 



But the humon voice and the voice of Nature 

 are not the only ones we may hear; for there are 

 voices, sweet spirit voices, that thrill through the 

 soul, and echo there long after the lones that 

 awakened them have died away. When the heart 

 is sad and weary, soothing whispers are heard 

 telling of a Land of Rest where the cares and sor- 

 rows of earth have no entrance. They speak of 

 unfading flowers, — of trees t 

 — of bright, beautiful water 

 fully,— of angel bands wil 

 golden harps, — of music mor 

 was struck from earthly lyres,— of a starry crown 

 to be exchanged for the burdensome cross, and we 

 long to say to the fettered soul, "Plume thy 



lat always are green, 

 ; melodious than e'er 



behiud the 





verlasting 



sorrow of earth, and find an 

 je glories of the Better Land." 

 hen we feel an impatient res- 

 iess of soul, and find it well nigh impossible 

 claim, " Thy will be done," one spirit voice, 

 nor to all others, will speak to the heart, and 

 ; but listen it will leach us the dilficult les- 

 of heroic endurance and patient waiting, till 



B be called t 





Gainesville, "Wyoming Oo.,K. Y., 



Taue Contentment.— Iu this age of restlessness 

 and wild speculation, when so many are searching 

 eagerly for happiness, and sighing, after numer- 

 ous disappointments, " Who will show us any 

 good?" it is refreshing to meet with a contented 

 Christian heart, which has found true peace by 

 living in constant communion with Goo. Iu one 

 of our exchonges we find the following —Said a 

 venerable farmer, some eighty years old, to a rela- 

 tive who had lately visited him,— "I havelircdon 

 this farm for more than half a century. I have no 



earth. I t 



o change 





s long asllivi 





tho t 



fertile n 

 has surrounded us with ii 

 delight; but neglecting th 

 and dreams that end in d 



,ception of som 

 prodigal in he 

 lexhaustible sou 

 ise we chose phantoi 

 sappointment and d 



i,-ifi«. 



by his 

 child re 

 the gin 



-The following lines by Hartley 



I |ii(>i'iJ, hurhingor early sno. 



■ie.— liuautii'ul is the old age of the right- 

 autiful as the slow, drooping, mellow 

 >f n nch, glorious summer. In the old 

 ore has fulfilled her work ; she loads bim 

 fruits of a well spent life, and surrounded 

 ell trained, obedient children, aud his 

 a children, she rocks him away softly to 

 , to which he is followed by blessings. 



■sire to be any richer than I 

 now am. I have worshiped the Gon of my fath- 

 er's with tbe same people for more than forty 

 years. During Ibis time I have rarely been absent 

 from the sanctuary on the Sabbath, and have never 



confined to my bed by sickness for a single day. 

 The blessings of Goo have been richly spread 

 around me, and I made up my imud long ago, that 

 if I wished to be happier, I must have more re- 



