296 



MOORE'S RURAL SEW- YORKER: AN AGRICULTURAL .AND FAMILY NEWSPAPER. 



SEfT. 11. 



Mm' furl-^nlifl. 



To *b*f« It* MftM* wind* o 



Wb«r« OG* I«» eot p*«p*d f> 

 AkI Wrdii»n usg Uicir D( 



8p»d ligbtulnf 

 Th« pontic* lif.i 



WfiOW b«tQtj 



Th» b«u-t Ibit h 



t by . mlh, 



d so thought of jail* 



And tipped lb* 



;E:H 



&: 



like to the dewdrop, exceedingly beentlrol ... 

 Beaton, and then gone, and like toe meteor, tearing 

 no trace, save in the half d»"t*d memory? Lore 

 an thou not also like the dewdrop, ' 

 alone of earth, and be who in th 

 much, shall in the world to come 

 he bath given, with interest 



(CMtt IpSttllang. 



orld loTeth 



EVENING THOUGHTS. 



again, and silence, and deep 



I past, which fly from the 

 jostling crowd of ntu and busy Hit's employ- 

 ment, and returning with the evening shadows, Git 

 ■ moment round In forms eo lovely and ao 

 that we forget they ore but shadows with the 

 and, aa the heart, delighted, seeks to retail 

 cbarm. a train of thought rises within, and they 

 are gone. For while the chill and darkness 

 nlgbt prevail over the broad domain of day— from 

 the point where the new light first beamed in rosy 

 beauty, to that where its latest gleam expired— i 

 remember In fear the clouds which may darken 

 life's morning, the changes which may obscure ita 

 meridian effulgence, and that nlgbt of death which 

 most at last so snroly seal, In long eclipse, the 

 springing hopes and ever-forming schemes of man. 

 It Is silence all; yet a voice holds eloquent con- 

 verse with the spirit. The windB seem hushed to 

 listen and the star.*. In their high spheres, to sparkle 

 with a now consciousness 0/ a glorious presence 

 ns If He who "walked In the garden in the cool of 

 the day," now again more manifestly reveals Him- 

 self, scattering from the fair earth and sky, the 

 pollutions which day has gathered, and importing 

 new and tUurtel tokens of Hi* love.— "a Father's 

 love! Humility then may bow the spirit down aud 

 tears suffuse the eye; but not in gilef. Like the 

 dews of evening they bat testify that His purify- 

 ing breath has passed, and called them forth; for 

 In the secret chambers of the soul there is a song 

 of gladoeai wakinji. and a softly breathed petition 

 still repeated— "Tby will be done." 



Then, thanks for the night, Its silenco filled with 

 spirit melodies— for ita deep thoughts, which warn 

 us of uucertuin joys, and chasten the too presum- 

 ing plans of life by remembrance of a certain 

 death! Thanks, too, for those welcomo visitants 

 which come when the full tide of business and ex- 

 cltemeut has subsided, briefly to restore the past, 

 and brighten tbr beautiful links which hold us to 

 each other; but, more than all, thanks for the 

 grace which, in the contemplation of earth's 

 changes, and clouds of gathering darkness, brings 

 from on high! 



ONLY A DEWDKOP. 



Do you mark yon pretty sparkler, polaed bo 

 gracefully on the extreme verge of the tiny velvet 

 blossom, which, beautiful as it. bows it fair bead 

 humbly as it WO oa to its bosom the glittering 

 atom, reflecting back from its polished surface, in 

 a thousand brilliant colors, the rajs of the rising 

 "day god," and sinking at last gently back into 

 the soft embrace of Its purple browed wooer - 

 guiok, ere it fade* Uoa. our admiring gaze, let us 

 imprison the glittering gem, winch, brighter than 

 diamond or pearl, seems to obscure (or a time 

 even the pare loveliness of spring-, floral beauties. 

 Only a dewdrop-it is gone, aud we look in vain 

 for the glowing beauty that a moment siu^e en- 

 chained onr admiring vision. 



Another gazed fervently, yet oh, bow lovingly, 

 upon the tiny form of her heart's Idol, and twining 

 her soft finger In the sunny luxuriance of curling 

 hair, echoed back from her over fall heart the rich 

 melody of baby laughter, that, springing from 

 those email red lips, filled all the room with a bird- 

 like muiic, more beautiful to that mother's ear. 

 than tbe most labored productions of art. Vet 

 again, she bowed aboTe that alight form, bat not 

 m then, with Joy and hope tightening np each 

 glance, for the baby limbs lie motionless in their 

 Utile bed, the sweet tones are hushed, and the bine- 

 veined lids fall gently over the dim eyes, bat now 

 •tuning with childish love and intelligence. Only 

 a dewirep. Ah. mourning mother, hast thou not 

 h»Ti£ ** ttlt ,h9 buddin S "•"'? of thy babe 

 *«„!*, "* dMrdr 0P- returned unspotted to the 

 heaven from which it was taken. 

 fliiS^f "***?** Mwhlag honor, of 

 Sower it S., ! b We4iUl ' amblti0D - «■ 1»» 



.™-k-ui.i!rr'.r content, wb«n lo, de.tn 



luxuriance of his desolated home, mouxnin* over 

 lost joy*. Yet not here paused the destroy his 

 wealth passed from him like a dream, and again 

 toiling and alone, he braved the world. Only a 

 dewdrop. Wealth, worldly honors— are they not 



HAVE YOU A HOKE* 



Bom! How do you interpret the word? It is 

 plain English— you have heard it all your life. 

 Home ! How does it sound ? What does it mean ? 

 Is tbe place where you eat, and drink, and sleep, 

 your home? Is it the space encloaed within walls 

 of wood, or brick, or stone? Is it tbe laud within 



yonr fences? Is it ? HArrrfait? HfefJaftl 



Home! Beautiful, bat oft misinterpreted word. 

 One may have food, and shelter, and raiment, and 

 yet have no borne— for no earthly outward seem- 

 ing, has power 10 make any one spot more dear 

 than another. 



me is not always amid pomp, or within pala- 

 It may be in the secluded valley, and within 

 tow hedge, or anywhere, if the hearts who 

 live and beat there are full of love and kindness. 



Home la where angry words and contentions, 

 jars and miaundertandfngs are banished— where 

 cruel, unkind words, cannot enter, to pierce and 

 break the heart, or drive sleep from the pillow- 

 where all is concord, unity, oneness of purpose. 

 Home, in short, is not alone in things, but ita true 

 meaning is a heart we can lean upon and trust with 

 unlimited confidence. Home is not any one thing, 

 but a combination of excellencies. 



Reader, if jou have a place yon C3ll your own- 

 no matter how humble if it is clean and adorned 

 with the comforts of life— and the hearts there 

 welcome your footsteps with joy, to whom yonr 

 presence hi a delight, your voice music, then you 

 have Indeed a home, and your happiness la but 

 little less than that enjoyed by angels. Hattie. 



DESCRIPTION OF A FLIBT, 



Your true flirt has a coarse-grained soul; well 

 modulated and well tutored, but there is no fine- 

 ness in it All its native fiuenens is made coarse, 

 by coarse efforts of the will. True feeling is a 

 rustic vulgarity tbe flirt does not tolerate; she 

 counts its healthiest and most honest minifestatlon 

 all sentiment. Yet she will play you off a pretty 

 string of Hentiment, which she has gathered from 

 tbe poets; she adjusts it prettily as a Ghobelin 

 weaver adjusts the color in his tapti. She shades 

 it off delightfully; there are no bold contrasts, but 



most artistic mellow of nuances. 



She smiles like a wizard, and jingles it with a 

 laogb, such as tolled the poor home-bound DlyBseB 

 to the CIrcean bower. She has a cast of tbe head, 

 apt and artful as the most dexterous cast of the 

 ■killing rod. Her words sparkle and flow 

 hurriedly, and with the prettiest donbleness of 

 ig. Naturalness she copiee, and she scorns, 

 herself of a single expression or re- 



impbs of her art; she chuckles 



slty to herself. And If by chance her soul — such 

 germ as Is left of it — betrays her into untoward 

 confidence, she condemns herself, as if she bad 

 committed crime. 



She is always gay, because she has no depth of 

 feeling to be stirred. The brook that runs shallow 

 over a hard pehbly bottom always rustles. She is 

 light-hearted, because her heart floats In sparkles. 

 Dn marriage, not as the great absorbent 

 of a heart's love and life, but as a happy, feasible 

 and orderly conventionality, to be played with, and 

 kept at a distance, and finally to be accepted ss 

 cover for the faint and tawdry sparklee of an old 

 and cherished heartlessness. 



She will not pine under any regrets, because she 



is no appreciation of any loss; ehe will not chafe 

 Indifference, because it is her art; ehe will not 



o worried with jealousies, because she is ignorant 

 of love. With no conception of the sonl in its 

 strength and fulness, ehe sees no lack of its de- 

 mands. A thrill she does not know ; a passion she 

 Imagine; joy is a name; grief is another; 

 and lire, with its crowding scenes of love and bit- 

 terness Is a play upon tbe stage. — Ik. MorvtL 



YOTJNG LADIES. 



Oxhc 



the great social evils of this age is ad- 

 mitted to be the reluctance of our young men to 

 sarly marriages. They won't marry now, we are 

 ;old, as they used to de, and ought to do, on $300 

 1 year. Depend upon it, in many and mony a case 

 t is not the odd hundred or two that is wanting— 

 t's the attraction. We have lost that joyous and 

 familiar intercourse between neighbors* families, 

 where young people's indlvidualiiies bad space 

 and opportunity to develop themselves, and heart 

 met heart. Our modish Copid has overstrung his 

 bow— hie arrows don't hit home. Yonng ladies 

 hide away the key of their hearts so carefully that 

 nobody thinks it worth looking for. Who is to 

 choose " the one" out of a bevy of properbebaved 

 damsels like a row of hollyhock*, differing only « 

 height and shape and color? They all look alike, 

 dress alike, talk alike, and walk alike; and, for any- 

 thing that appears to the contrary, think alike and 

 feel alike. Why.such a choice is an act of delibe- 

 *" intention— matrimony pretense; fewmenhave 

 nerve to venture upon it. No wonder they cal- 

 culate the probable bntchere' and bakers' bills be- 

 fore they take such a plunge as that Don't fancy 

 that I talk like a cynical old bird, not to be caught 

 withchaff. I talk astheespooeutof what myown 

 feelinge would be if I were young, and open as I 

 once was to the conviction of bright eyes. There's 

 my nephew, Jack Hawthorne, not long home from 

 the Crimea, six feet one, independent, hairy as a 

 Skye terrier, brave as a lion, (clasps for Alma and 

 Balaklava.) gentle as a greyhound, and I should 

 say. impressible, decidedly. " What I missed most," 

 said he, in his open-hearted, unabashed simpikry 

 • was tbe sight of a woman's face." Whereup. 



pick op a Dice girl, and 

 again at the old 



there are'no girfa now— they. c . 

 ! Catch me marrying a yonnglady 



id Jack, interjectively between 1 

 __tty; -i-n- *- 



j'.".iUC Li.iie 



«o I would," 



plU'.. 01 Ql* 



' all 



—u.\ ■ 



that Bhe would be very happy i a her ■ Home of 

 Light." So 1 looked upon the "(Jueeo of Nicat." 

 with feelings of love. Ah, me! these childish 

 fancies are, after all. more sensible than seme cu* 

 the theories of our mature: years. 



There U a Whip-poor- WUL The little fellow has 

 "planted himself." \l wish that be would grow 

 there,) directly beneath my window. How ener- 

 getlcally he emphasises the ■ WilL" I like BOtne 

 birds more than others— this one especially. He 

 has such a prompt, business-like way of anuounc 

 ing the fact that Poor Will must be whipped. But 

 I hate the black buzzards that live about this place. 

 Tbeyaeem to me like uneasy spin 

 dark forms, snd hung in the air above us, t 

 lhadows upon the green earth beneath. It may 

 appear strange, but I think that the Creator of the 

 Universe has set apart some birds for the especial 

 purpose of singing for Mm. For instance,— ye«ter- 

 day I rose early. Tbe stars were still shining, but 

 dimly. Through the chambers of tbe east came 

 the messenger, light. With a quick band ho 

 kindled the morning lire?, and soon they begnu to 

 A1 ttrat, with a pale light that trembled for 

 mce in every breath of air; then with in- 

 id brightness, until the stars were paled, and 

 imaon flowers burst through lbs long line of 

 waving cloud*. The sun was rising, and another 

 iy was dawning. On the top of a tall tree sat oue 

 these favored birds. With bis head turned to 

 the east, he gave to tbe morning air note* that 

 i as clear and distinct as the finest trillings of 

 e. At first they rose firm and load, until his 

 throat seemed to tremble with the volume of 

 eound-then they changed to a gentle whispering 

 of sweetest melody. Could any other bird equal 

 the exquisite variations of that song? Did not 

 his Creator compose the muBic of that piece?— 

 Was he not chanting n sweet anthem in accordance 

 with the will of the King of Kings? 



Well, I must stop writing. The night is waning. 

 My lamp has begun to burn low, and its light 

 trembles like the hopes and fears of my day life. 

 These things aro but the types and shadows of 

 greater realities, and nights and days are but 

 sundered links of the chain of life. More anon 



Jabkth IgBsiarjg, 



1 HEAR TIIEU CALLING," 



Bar* p«Md in; from iha *ordid **rth 



And anil .t w the blest «n high. 

 But on wn.o u„ »h«dt» of an »i rimnj 





Mabinsk on life's tumultous sea, 

 pray. Though the blest boon of h< 

 and lliy prospect of life fair, thon hu 



thy pulse may cease Its healing, and thy fo 



how 



LAMP nTJSINOF. 



t. in 



_ thinly setied portion of the Great 

 West, with too " shades tf night " closing around 

 me; 1 look out of my whdow, and Bee upon every 

 side the dim out-line ofthe "forest trees," like a 

 dark green belt encirclltg the clearing. I atraii 

 my eyes at every point, t> discover an opening— 1 

 view of the world beyod— but I fail, save in oni 

 place, (the road,) and een there the lines of per 

 spectlve close so audde.'ly, that I would rather nol 



THE POETRY OF THE PRESENT. 



We beg leave to differ with J. Wbitkb 

 of Lima, in endeavoring to support the theory 

 lhav for the present, the time of sublime poetry 



id immortal names has passed. Indeed, there 

 darkness shrouded a living world 

 and there reigned a night, entirely incompatible 

 with the nature of man. The necessities of a race 

 of progressive beings called for energetic, spirit- 

 stirring men, and they arose. Long pent-up light 

 the bonds that held in darkness the windows 

 of the soul, till, witL* the rapidity of that ethereal 

 substance, it covered the whole earth, and now is 

 shining forth as the noonday sun. Those days 

 called for great men, and the same raised them up. 



In days when history was chronicled only in 

 traditional song, lived Hombr and OasiiK— their 

 lives veiled in obscurity. Coming down to the 



find bim engaffe^rPjT^u.Torhis^oTntrTfihe" 

 fr— of the English people ) with an entbullll 



lifeless and cold in the grave. The^ while 



life still remains, put aside the vanities of earth 



and lay thy treaaureup above, " whero neither moth 



nor ruBt doth corrupt, and where thieves do not 



break through nor steal." Go watch and pray. 



Thon canst not know how soon thine hour will 



The bell that is now tolling for a fellow- 



mortal, may next toll its notes for thee. Tby life 



bangs on a brittle thread, which may be broken by 



word from Him who giveth thee breolh. TWi 



day may be thy last-art thou ready to go at tbe 



I call of Death? Watch and pray, for soon thoo 



mayest be summoned to meet thy Gon. 



And thou, gentle youth, whose little bark has 

 been launched so short a time, hast need to watch 

 and pray. Art thou etill free from care? Are 

 hopes's fair visions spread before thine ojea? 

 Dost thy pulse beat strong? Does life's sen seem 

 to be ever tranquil? Watch and pray. Thou 

 needest a strong arm to guide l by full vessel, when 

 tempests rise, and the waves of sorrow roll. Pray 

 to Him who "heareth the young ravens when they 

 cry." and he will guide thee to the "Haven of 

 rest." Though all appears bright now, it will soon 

 change. Storms will arise, and the rough winds 

 rudely blow, and thou wilt be tossed to and fro 

 upon the billows. But if thou dost pray for his 

 guidance, thy Heavenly Father will watch over 

 thee through all changes. When temptations are 



sight, shuttln, 



.toll. 



e 1 hilt 1 



■: quit 



shades ave deepened into darker 

 hues-thatthe trees hro grown more dim-thai 

 the range of my vision has become smaller, and 

 that I have lit my eveing lamp. Still I am not 



Out among the mon-lit trees — when 

 shadows play with the oung oaks— the wit 

 pauses in his course, to 00k with tbe earnea 

 of his large hazel eye?, pon the light of my 

 Then, the quiet stars ar twinkling In the bin 

 just as they did abovomy City Ho 

 moon ahines just as Hghtly as in 

 But there arc other ompanions. In the large 

 oaks beside the gate, illustrious insects continu- 

 ally assert that "Katy.ld," and that "Katydid- 

 s'!," break some unfotunate bottle. And down 

 in the pond— among to green grass, and upon 

 the "wind-stirred" leaes— a tboosand " voices of 

 the night" are swelllg; the chorus of N 

 grand anthem. Splendd songs theysing! Songs 

 of gratitude— songs of oveto the Summer Queen. 

 ;ain a the moon. How calmly 

 of w,lte clouds, and how peace- 

 fully ehe glides along he blue path o'er which her 



walked hronghoot the long hours 

 day. How my mud reverts to the hours of 

 my childhood, when ny young eyes never grew 

 tired of gazing at the '+>ig round moon.'' I had a 

 theory about her, that have since looked on aa 

 quite imaginary, I bought that when good 

 people died, they wentdireotly to the moon; and 

 I fancied that It must le a very happy home, and 

 that thoec who were thire ought to feel very con- 

 tented. They could sal along in the "slillynight," 

 among beautiful cloudy with a thousand pale stars 

 to light their happy hone*. No acorobing heat to 

 'Mstressthem — no uncertainty of wind or weather, 

 had read of comets, ind thought how splendid 

 ley appeared from tbe moon, and often (in my 

 ourageous moments,) have I longed to be there, 

 °e':— M S wondeV Jsck, "yon don^mmyTit th5t ] mi & ht s6a tae « rt * 1 fler ? ti>io ^ """^S 

 Id make yon a happier man than living half along through the burning sir. swift aa the light- 

 •days In the smoking-room of the cluK Why ning's flash, snd terrible as a thunderbolt. When 

 pick op a nice jrirL and set up the familyname mv litn« .lat-- a;»a -„.i .i.„ i.m her ton* onU»* 



my lltue sister died, and they laid her long goldt 

 "gleta among the white drapery ofthe coffin, I 

 t mere sorrow than I could express; but I com- 

 forted myself with the thought, tha: when the 

 srould look down upon me, and 



which 



the glare of a dazzling world; Ind Telvlng* the 

 mighty poet to mature within himself those won- 

 derful powers of conception and imagination 

 which, at the last, worked out that one great effort 

 of his genius,— Paradise Lost 



In the flrat place, the world has settled down 

 uto a state of comparative security. Light has 

 itruggled and conquered. It has ushered in the 

 loon of time. The days that tried men's soul's 

 have passed away. The present state of things 

 does not demand the giant minds that did the days 

 >f old and adequate to the wants will be the 

 strength or man. 



Again, the world has been blessed with master- 

 pieces of genius, which may be equalled but never 

 excelled. They have borne away the crown. The 

 idea prevails that, like ether things, poetry must 

 progress in grandeur and sublimity; tberefo 



twngta given tueesufli- 



d. When (Jwn protects, 

 Then watch and pray 



ixpectatio 

 ligherand better t 

 That of equal mei 



In the third p] 



■1 thp 



3 thing 



world has yet produced. 

 fall below its intrinsic 



__., the great and wonderful 



poems that have descended to us shine like so 



suns to illuminate the literary world, and 



ht Is sufficient. Within their angles of lfght 



efforts appear mean and useless. 



9 attempt to delineate the beauties of the 



_. Sacred Scriptures, Milton's "Paradise Lost" Is 



er lands, f^eforo n»; our pen drops from our grasp, and we 



l^nqolsh the effort. We attempt to enshrine on 



uWNabl It of poetry tho daring deeds of Roman 



„,, bBt SeinerBBE, In "Julius Csaar," has 



Ascribed the scene that we despair 



mm m " t0 °" ,&3k - If we would P'°- 



rance f* l0gy nP ° n tb ° trI * Ia aQd noMe P eree ' 



beautif Q h " U " J7 f,, , the "' a Mr * H ™*«e 



■rims." Th°' d U ft " ln her " LaDdin K of the 



eternal seasons stiU roll on In 



for thine utmost ne 



through life's fleeting ho 



And thou, too, aged man, whose r 0c e la almost 



in. dost thtm watch and pray? The bloom of 



youth has t«ft thy cheek, .bine eye Is growlu* dim, 



tby footsteps are slowand feeble, thou art tot.erins 



the verge of the tomb. Dost thou not need 



nehandtoleadtheetbroughthe"I> 1 nk rnUof" 



Soon thy Master will call thee homo. Can'st thou 



be led astray by false hopes of life? Nay, thou 



knows* thine hour is near. Then go, weary pil- 



grim, watch and pray. Thy Saviour waits for 



thee. Angels stand just on the other side of the 



river, to guide thoe to mansion* fair. Then watch 



and pray, that thou mayest be ready. 



Inhabitants of earth, ye all have need to watch 

 and pray. The youth and the middle aged, as well 

 ged. None of ye have strength of your 

 battle with temptations that are dully bo- 

 setting. Bat there Is One who will strengthen, if 

 ye will watch over your ways, aud pray for that 

 and help ye so much need. 0, a, t» 



:.'.,!-,.:" 



THE CLOSET. 



Nay, the 

 iase to be very 

 t hurried 



I'ilKrin 



1. tl e «rnai seasons 1 

 <uld elng 



sufficient If 



l may be a poetry, ,*. p *f' e * w y" 



tho present. 'oe future, but little of 

 \rd N Y 1158 Janb E - H . 



Books — Booka 



the dead. Books 



all who will 



be comfortable or prosperous 

 Popular ministers may preach, 

 . - pray In public, to the edifying of 

 others, and yet decline In their own — '- *-- 

 of examination, humiliation, and 

 suited Immediately to their own c 

 able ministers will generally ce 



.1 if their religion Is neglected, 1 



formal manner. This the fervent Christian 

 knows. He will, therefore, redeem timo for retire- 

 ment at the expense of many inconveniences: and 

 the friends of popular ministers should remember 

 this, and not too much intrude upon the regular 

 needful hours for retirement of tboso persons In 

 whose company they most delight In prosecu- 

 ting the word of God, our Own Inclinations must be 

 thwarted, we must not "spend our time'' with them 

 when duty call us another wsy, or when a pros- 

 pec* Is before us of doing essential good. — Seott. 



Tne OuMPBisaKca o^ God. — Lord, if thou t 

 >t present where shall I seek thee absent? If 

 rerywhere, why do I not see thee present? t 

 dwellest In light inaccesable; and where is '_ 

 how shall I have access 1 



lk ,,„rt :. ^of the distant and uwou " 1 ,u "« ul '"»«««Die; and where is that 



S,br!,ilv rulers. They give loacce ^ bIe Il « ht? °r how shall I have access to 



r 1 ^ Stbe society and "« ht lna "« 8il ^ I beseech thee, Lord, teach 



the presence of the best ara^- ^[ e J ^ me to seek thee, and show thyself to the seeker; 



a. fco matter how pc-ri *»• . because I can neither seek thee, unless thon teach 



prosperous of my on Ume w^»™ r *" me; nor find thee, unless thou show thyself to 



cure dwe l.ng If turned men ancf? e my ^ ^ ^ ^^ ^ 3 



■ „ Cir ??£ °f "To FWte aTd bus. Mekin « the.; let ms find fhee in loving thee, 

 my threshold to sing to me ^™£\£ aoUi J love thee in finding thee-Au^ 

 peare open, to me tbe worlds or imagio»"« , -* 



the workings of tbe human heart; and Franklin ■ *•- 



enrichea me with his practical wisdom-I shall not T HM MiNieTsv.-The office ofthe ministry re- 

 pine for want of intellectual companionship, and I °'^ one, whom no prejudice, entreaty, or gift, 



nth his pracucn. ««»-- - — 

 waui of intellectual companionship 

 become a cultivated 

 from what is called the U 



though excluded 

 iety in the place 1 



B«cokd thoughts 1 



i the adopted children of 



it UU in tbe path of rectitude, 

 1 labor, and vboee whole desire la 



"°j — Vi — Tlie lon 8 er 1 * 



' antL "" ve earnestly I beheld 



