320 



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



OCT. 8. 



Mits' f txt-golw. 



THE FISHERS WIFE. 



I--*htfl«unM In tl 



□ on thy wretched pillow, 

 d lo the tea thy hatband 



That ontahiaee the falreit iUd.-Sik A Bcjtt. 

 What ii beanty? This question ma; have been 

 often asked and as frequently answered, and the 

 inquirer have found himself as little satisfied and 

 ai much perplexed as before. It Is an almost 

 Indescribable something, which, from remotest ages, 

 has received the homage of all classes. The low- 

 ly peasant end the monarch's crown have alike 

 been Influenced to bow at beauty's shrine. And 

 sorely no one should bo censored for having a 

 taste for the beautiful; for it id a quality that the 

 Creator has instilled Into all the productions of 

 his hand; and hns calculated it to be aoource of 

 pleasure and enjoyment to all of hia creatures; and 

 not only for their mjaymait, bnt for their improve 

 nunt For (as It la often said, the character of the 

 maker is shown 1n his woike,) it exerte an influence 

 upon the Beefaer after aspiring thoughts, and leads 

 the mind toward the fountain of a/I beauty. 



Again, I inquire, T.batiB imuty? We have the 

 testimony of pretending connoluKeurs thai a pol- 

 ished and intelleotual looking brow, sparkling eyes, 

 a finely turned nose, clear and blushing cheeks, 

 tempting, rosy lips, and a pretty dimpled chin, 

 constitute this all-attracting quality , But I must 

 beg leave to differ with them, unless something 

 more be added to these attractions. An inherent 

 virtuous disposition— a goodness aad grace of ac- 

 tion which arises from a gentle nnd affectionate 

 taut, is indispensable to beauty, that beauty which 

 never fadea, but ever blooms the same. Conse- 

 quently, a person having rather irregular features- 

 one that is not remarkable for particular personal 

 attractions— by cultivating a kind and gentle dhr 

 position, by schooling the soul, that it may shine 

 out brightly through the roughness of the ex 

 teriwr, and the mild expression of the face 

 speak the goodness of the heart, such may 

 be ranked with the beautiful Ladies, when 

 yon are epending your precious momenta in 

 adorning yourselves that you may appear fair, at- 

 tractive, and charming to those, your friends of 

 the opposite sex, do not forget that true biautu 

 and leave tbe mind uncultivated and unadorned \ 

 nor that the expression that arises from a grateful 

 heart to en open countenance 1b far more charm- 

 ing than any artistic blushes you can produce. 

 And remember that every gentleman prefers a 

 kind, benevolent, and nndeformed soul to the most 

 regular form and showy figure. 



I^>daf,U. e h. l isH. kid Blossom. 



Wi wonder If Awlii wears hoop*? And what 

 of it if she does?-notbing, only wo think of 

 "Stock-Op Folks' 1 every time wo see a woman 

 with hoops on. It puts ua in mind of the frog In 

 the "fable," that undertook to swell bo as to equal 

 tbo ox. The woman that sweeps along the street 

 or side walk, with a dress spread three or four feet 

 in diameter, is a tit companion for "that young gent 

 dressed in the extreme of fashion, who, aa he 

 twirls bis walking stick and puffs a fragrant Ha- 

 vana, would fain lead us to believe be Is lord of 

 this lower realm." What are the wordsthis young 

 gent would probably use, should he speak out 

 what the discerning observer of human nature 

 plainly reads in hia walk, gestures, dress, cane, and 

 clg«? "Behold! what a man I am; having no 

 other business than to make a show of myself, and 

 WMlata with a species of butterfly." We hope. 

 for humanity's sake, these butterflies are in the 



.i"I*? C oftheir mondane existence; but it la 

 not UkflJi the, wm be com9 obi6 | e ^ 0Dlesa b 



fly mothar. become women of sense, instead*' 



■. hti 





light » 



.ools of folly and faahic 

 rail, I 



roll on, we believe, jost as well 

 without you; and we hope jour papa and hus- 

 band, If yoo have any. (though we pity thtm if you 

 have.) will soon withdraw their support from th< 

 schools of folly and fashion, and leave folly's dupes 

 "alone In their glory." 





Ulyi 



We close with a quotation from Bishop Tn-tor- 

 bok:— "If the show of anything be good for any- 

 thing, I am sure sincerity la better; for why does 

 any person dissemble, or seem to be that which be 

 Is not, but because he thinks it good to have such 

 qualities as be pretends to; for to counterfeits 

 dissemble Is to put on the appearance of some r 

 excellence. Now, the best way in the world 

 aeem to be anything, is really to be what ye would 

 seem to be. Besides that, fa it many tim 

 tronblcsome to make good pretence of a quality 

 aa to have it; and, if a man have it n*t, it is I 

 one that be Is discovered to want it, and then he 

 has all bis pains for nothing.' 1 



fashion's dupes. 









And. again, what iitheUngnageo, ^ w 

 passing by »Jtol Bl » Ml , of oriaoliM _ 

 "etuck over with ribbons and hun* ^ j ■ .. 

 rtrtapT- - Behold! tow much STi"** SJ 

 Gon made me — I am for Bale 



d say soft words, and baa got nti 



rapport me in g« nieel 

 f I 



; gent ! 



esightof her 



THE PAETKMTLAB LADY. 



Touts is a coldness and precision about this 

 person's dwelling that makes yonr heart shrink 

 back (that is, if you have the least atom of 

 aooiability in your nature) with a lonely feeling, 

 ame which yoo experience when you go by 

 yourself and for the first time among decided 

 strangers. 

 Everything Is In painful order. The damask ta- 

 ecover baa been to just the same foldBeversince 

 came from tbe vender's shop, eight years ago; 

 and the legs of the chairs have been on the exact 

 diamonds In the drugget they were first placed on; 

 >-by, do you ever remember of seeing that 

 drugget off the carpet underneath? No — 

 for she never has company; the rooting, the unti- 

 diness they would occasion, would cause the poor 

 al to be Bobject to fits for the rest of her natural, 

 or rather unnatural— life. Though untidiness is a 

 fault all people should avoid, especially the young, 

 yet for mercy's sake, urge them not to be particu- 

 lar. She will become as hateful 

 friends as a sloven. 



The particular lady generally Uvea in the kitch- 

 en— and an excruciatingly tidy one it is. The 

 great parlors, with their crimson curtains, Turkish 

 carpets, mammoth mirrors, beautiful mantels, and 

 elegant paintings, always closed. Nobody visits 

 them; nobody enjoys them; the children tread on 

 tip-toe to steal a glance into them, their eyes ex- 

 pressive of wonderment and a cantiona air of 



She is nil the time dusting and washing and 

 scrubbing, and scrubbing and washing and dasting. 

 Tbe door-stepp, the wash-boards must be dally 

 scrubbed, though immaculately white they already 

 be. The very knives, forks and spoons are rubbed 

 thin and genteel by repeated cleaning. 



Yon can tell her crossing the street; Bhe watches 

 for every vehiclo and waits until it has passed a 

 square, for fear of being splashed; and even in 

 dry weather she crosses on tbe joints of her toes, 

 and holds ber dress above ber ankles. Her con- 

 stant fidget wears the flesh from her bones and 

 color from her cheeks. Sho never can get a ser- 

 vant to stay long with ber. We never heard of but 

 one "particular lady" who retained a domestic 

 longer than a year, but then she was as "particu- 



€Mtt HfiSttUang. 



SUMMER'S DEATH. 



i were gifts of rtd-flo»hioj 

 Break of night's dark oooi 



LETTERS FROM OUR FARM.— No. II. 





-r.v.ng 



tbakob spell has come over the beautiful 

 earth, and breathed Itself into the soft airs aboat 

 The heart is oppressed, in spite of fair skies 

 and undimmed sunshine, with a sense of something 

 and preclouB gone from it There is little 

 heart in ue for laugh or eong, and yet wo can 

 ardly tell why. The glory of tbe green earth is 

 ot dimmed yet, but looking wistfully upon it alt, 

 e sigh aa we whisper regretfully, — "Summer's 



True, the forests 1 



YOUNG LADIES AND HOUSE - WOEE. 



A fbihkd of ours, remarkable for strong, good 

 sense, married a very accomplished and fashiona- 

 ble young lady, attracted more by her beauty and 

 accomplishments than by anything else. In this, 

 It must be owned that hia strong, good sense did 

 not seem very apparent His wife, however, prov- 

 ed to be a very excellent companion, and was 

 deeply attached to blm, though she still loved com- 

 pany, and epent more time abroad than he ex- 

 actly approved. But, as hia income was good, 

 and his house famished with a good supply of do- 

 "cs, he was not aware of any abridgment of 

 )rt on thia accoont, and he, therefore, made 



One day, 

 pBaTUH 



"What's the matter? 



"Nancy went off at i 

 replied bis wife, "and t 

 more about cooking a i 



i few months after his marriage, 

 ruing borne to dinner, saw no ap- 

 »8ual meal, bat found hie wife in 



36 asked. 



n o'clock this morning/ 

 ) chambermaid knew ni 

 uner than the man in th< 



Couldn't 

 lion?" inquli 

 "Under my direction? I should like 

 nner cooked under my direction." 

 " Why so?" a*ked the husband in surprise, " yon 

 rtalnly do not mean to aay that you cannot cook 



"I certainly do, then," replied his wife. "How 

 should I know anything about cooking?" 

 "he husband was ailcnt, but a look of astonish- 

 it perplexed and worried bla wife. 

 Yon look very much surprised," she aald, after 

 onient or two bad elapsed. 

 And so I am," he answered; "aa much sur- 

 prised as I should U in finding the captain of one 

 of my ships unacquainted with navigation. Don't 

 'now how to cook, and themistreasof a fami- 

 ly? Jane, if there is a cooking school anywhere 

 n the city, go to it and complete your education, 

 for it is deficient in a Tery important particular." 



ToiKiare hearts all the better for keeping; they 

 become mellower, and more worth a woman's ac- 

 ceptance than the crude, unripe things too fre- 

 quently gathered— as children gather green fruit- 

 to the discomfort of those who obtain them. 



A m 



fithout poetry is like a landscape 



heir green livery, and 



>t a leaf is gone from the hough; tho meadows 



iow no tints of umber, and even tho uplands are 



:arcely browned. Tho sky wears the stainless blue 



of the yonng June, and the white clouds wander 



slowly over it, blown about by as sweet a wind as 



that which shook down the apple blossoms on 



your face, when yon lay dreaming in the orchard; 



in May. Yon were not sad then — why are yot 



now? Ah! the change is more in you, after all 



7V/i jon heard in every whisper of the wind 



prophecies of the good and the beauty that were 



to be.; now, yon are only thinking of the dismal 



Winter, waiting, wiih winding sheet of enow, I 



the grave for all this summer bloom. 



The flrat days of Antumn arc very mou 

 They are like the passing away of the flush of 

 yoath and beauty. When one first realizea that be 

 has reached tbe meridian of life, and that heart and 

 brain are beginning to ripen and mature intt 

 perfection so soon followed by decay, then c 

 a brief struggle with regretful longings, that 

 would fain cling a little longer to youth's summer 

 time. But when that is past — when the heart takes 

 home a full realization of the grandeur of carneBt 

 and perfected manhood— when life grows solemn 

 and real, as its high alms dawn upon the soul, and 

 the life to come looks nearer and more tangible— 

 then comes a time of riper joy than the passionate 

 hours of youth ever knew. Steadfastly tbe face is 

 set toward the grave, not seeing that so much, as 

 the eternity beyond it; one by one cherished follies 

 and weaknesses drop away, leaving the sonl to 

 grow and ripen in the sunshine that shines freely 

 and fully upon it, till by and by the angels come 

 and gather it for the garner of our Lord. So it 

 will be when these first days of Autumn sadness 

 are over. We shall eDjoy the mellow richness of 

 September, and the deepening glory of October, 

 with a kind. of grave happiness, and even look 

 kindly upon the sshen skies of dull November. 



The song birds have grown very silent already, 

 but we have no lack of music Here, at the Farm, 

 we have concerts from troopea of traveling musi- 

 cians, who only make engagements for September, 

 assisted by some few lingerers from the orchestra 

 of Summer. All day, while the sunshine lies warm 

 and etill over the glimmering landscape, lighting 

 w glory the brown wheat fields, and 

 hills with a mellow radiance, you may 

 lie in dreamy languor, and bear no sounds upon tbe 

 west wind, save the faintest of voices from 

 leaves, that seem as If, with every fibre relaxed, 

 ; were too Idle to give back a rustle to the 

 breezy fingers that play with them. Only this, and 

 song of the locusts up in tbe 

 and then a scream from eome 

 solitary jiy. But when the deep blue of the sky 

 begins to fade out, and the great drifts of snowy 

 clouds wander over the western horizon, and 

 about the sunset elope, building a grand 

 pavilion for the dying day-god, then begins a 



The west wind drops away till not a leaf quivers 

 a the stillness. The sky slowly changes from 

 rimson to orange, from orange to rich saffron 

 tints, that fade into pale primrose, and when you 

 think the grey of twilight has crept over the whole, 

 it flashes up again, as beautiful, if fifnter than 

 before. Then if the harvest moon cornea np, full 

 and red, over the forests, and lends the magic of 

 moonlight to tho acene, all will be ready for the 

 serenades, that are already sending out solitary 

 notes here and there — tuning their instruments. 



bier In thai 



swell as yoa listen, coming 

 the night There is some 

 r that carries joo sway 



from the present into that wonderful folate whith- 

 er yoo feci yourself tending silently day by day. 

 Something that sounds solemn to you. aa if a voice 

 from eternity cried oat to your souL Yoo do not 

 like to listen to It now, when the Simmer hu just 

 floated away from your grasp, bearing with it iq 

 many treasures that should have been yoort, but 

 which can now only shine dimly upon yoo when 

 yoa catck occasional glimpses into tbe storehouses 

 where the wealth and the beauty that " might have 

 hrrn" is laid up. So you torn away with a sigh 

 that Is more than half contrition, and might bo a 

 prayer, and then yon hear other tones. The Katy- 

 dids are gossipping as noisily as ever up in the 

 trees, telling the old tales that used to move your 

 childish wonder, when yon lay broad awake, oo 

 pleasant moonlight nights, in tho chamber close 

 under the eavea of the old brown homestead among 

 the hills. 



Don't yon remember how you, and the owner of 

 a Utile curly head on tbe next pillow, speculated 

 about that "Katy," and how you crept softly out 

 of bed, and pattered across the floor with your 

 little bore feet, and stood on tip-too at tbe open 

 window to listen? Have you forgotten how you 

 stood there, watching the bats as they circled 

 about, and how you leaned out to see if yon could 

 find the " Great Dipper," that was always such a 

 wonder to yoar eyes, thinking, in yourslmple faith, 

 that yoa were looking at the very floor of heaven? 

 if a white wing of some wandering angel had 

 flitted across tho blue, it would not h 

 surprised you, for stars and angels were closely 

 linked In your minds, ever since the time when 

 that loving mother told, in her sweet words, the 

 story of the heavenly host that 

 herds of Judea, and the star in the east, that led 

 to the Babe of Bethlehem. So you listened 

 wondered, and by and by stole back to bed, and 

 fell asleep with yoar hearts brimful of love and 



All the while the concert goea on. One can 

 hardly analyze the music without making discord 

 of it, but Nature blends it alt admirably, so that 

 note jars unpleasantly on tbe ear. A whole 

 of crickets keep up a cons'ant chorus In 

 every tone, from the mournful cry of tbe fall 

 cricket, with its sad "summer'a gone," to the 

 merry little household visitor, welcomed at many 

 fireside in spite of his mischievous pranks with 

 le good wife's carpets, for the sake of the old 

 Scotch proverb, "a cricket on the hearth it good 

 oust." Down In the meadows the frogB 

 musical a chorus aa if November were 

 ig; while their noisy oouslns, tbe tree- 



£abtorth ^«si«rj5. 



• wauy.troubl 



toadp, bid away a 



mily. 



There a 



i livery, trill c 



, thei 



.. tho 





' the aound of the r 



nft, narr.eksfl sounds that 

 hearlDg, that come in to 

 fill up tho harmony. They are like tbe semitones 

 helping to blend smoothly together 

 what would otherwise be in too striking contrast. 

 They fill the soul, and quiet it, bo that tho grating 

 jarring of ail the machinery of toil and trado 

 r tbe time forgotten. Tbo blessed influence 

 falls like dew upon the germ of abetter nature 

 within us; it buds and blossoms, and reaches tend- 

 rils upward toward heaven. 



We aro full of tearful penitence for tho evil done, 

 and of hopeful resolves for the future to walk 

 humbly before Gon,— meekly and lovingly toward 

 men. Bot with the morn comes anew the stern 

 grappling with labor,— the bitter temptatlona with- 

 out nnd doubtinga within, and the prayers and 

 bopea are all forgotten with the soands of the 

 September night n. 



HOW TO TAKE LIFE. 



T>kb life like a man. Tekeltjaat aa though it 

 was— sa it Is— an earnest, vital, essential effdfr. 

 Take it just as though you personally were born 

 to the task of perforrofug a merry part ia it — aa 

 though tbe world had waited for your coming. 

 Take it na though It was a grand opportunity to 

 do and to achieve, to carry forward great and good 

 schemes; to help and cheer a suffering, weary, it 

 may be, heart-broken brother. Tbe fact Is, life Is 

 undervalued by a great mnjority of mankind, 

 is not made half as much of aa should be tbe c 

 Where Is the man or woman who accomplishes 

 one tithe of what might be done7 Who cannot 

 look buck upon opportunities lost, plans uuachiev< 

 ed, thoughts crushed, aspirations unfulfilled, and 

 all caused from the lack of the necessary and pos- 

 sible effort! If we knew Letter how to take and 

 make the most of life, it would be far greater than 

 a. Now and then a man stands aside from tbe 

 wd, labors earnestly, steadfastly, confidently, 

 1 straightway becomes famous for wisdom, in* 

 teUnot, skill, greatness of eome sort The world 

 eri", admires, idolizes; and yet it only lib 

 . what each may do If be takes hold of life 

 with a purpose. If a man but say be trill, an 

 It tip, there la nothing in reason he mt 

 t to accomplish. There is no magic, no 

 o secret to him who is brave In heart and de- 

 termined in spirit 



LIFE AND DEATH. 



s denib?" 



, lira i, v 



t lifei 



Death is the absence of life." 

 But life is not the absence of death, for with 

 commences death. When we begin to live, we 

 also begin to die. Lift, at best is uncertain,— Death 

 e and inevitable. Heath Is tho great rock 

 nd which the waves of life dash, and foam, 

 and fret, and then vanish away, while the dark 

 i ok standB onmoved, bearing upon Its rugged 

 surface no marks of the eurge that has been wash- 

 ing it for these thousauda of years. Death is aa 

 perpetual as time; bat Death cannot enter eternity. 

 It is the shore of time, but sinks and is lost In the 

 ocean of eternity." 



"Death, then, only marks the boundaries of 

 time. It ia bnt a monument It hath no terror, 

 no power of harm— only aa it ia clothed therewith 

 by tho human mind. To those whoso lives havo 

 been well spent the paaaage of this boundary 

 gives no alarm; no phantoms pursuo them." 

 "But those whose lives have been badly spent?" 

 " Ah! at this boundary all their evil deeds ineot 

 them to be forever after their constant com- 

 Idlo prayer of the prophet 

 J righteous, 



die; often 



OvgRRrBOEN not tby memory to make so faith- 

 la servant a elave, Remember Atlas was weary, 

 ave aa much reason aa a camel, to rise when thou 



hast thy full load. Memory, like s purse, if It be 

 all that it cannot shut, all will drop oat of It 



Take heed of glattlnons curiosltie to feed on many 

 oga, lest the grecdinease of the appetlto of tby 

 mory spojl tho digestion thereof. Spoyl not 

 ■ memory with thine own jealouste, nor make it 

 1 by suspecting It. How canst thou find that 

 e which thou wilt not trust? Marsha] tby no- 

 nsinto a handsome method. One will carrle 

 loe more weight, trost and packt np fa bundles, 



than when it lica notowardly flapping about hia 



ihoulders.— Fuller. 



How little la known of what Is in tho bosom of 

 those around ue! We might explain macya cold- 

 ;ea could we look Into the heart concealed from 

 i; we should often pity where we hate, love when 

 e curl the lip wii& bcoiu end indlgation. To 

 .dfc-o without reserve of any haman action Is a 

 culpable temerity, of sll onr Bins the most unfeel- 

 ing and frequent 



iaid, ' Let 

 and let my Utter end ba like bis. 1 

 h thoughts often como i 

 always when I havo seen any 

 when I have plucked a rose, c t 



noxious weed. But lately my mind has dwelt 

 ,uuh upon the subject, and it formed tbo web of 

 ,y musings aa I came home the other night from 

 friend's house, wherein lay tho mortal remains of 

 child. She was just bursting into the mature 

 loveliness of early womanhood— the pride of the 

 household, a loving and lovely girl. I had known 

 her from her childhood— even from her infancy 

 Within a year or two she had been much at our 

 house, (whilst teaching our village school,) and I 

 i see her, as she often came Into the library, and, 

 her girlish way, sat down opon tho carpet by 

 my aide when writing, just whoro I now sit and 

 thus bad many hours of pleasant conversation. 

 Sometimes grave, sometimes gay, and always In- 

 itmctlve, for she bad a mind that relished knowl- 

 edge, and craved the companionship of those 

 whose experience could supply tho deficiencies of 



Strange how tenacious memory is of the forma 

 of beauty! I can see her now as she came Into 

 the room one evening after her school had been 

 dismissed for the day, swinging her hat by the 

 strings, all radiant with beauty, and taking her ac- 

 customed seat, inquired "what I was writing? 

 It oonld be no lovo-letter she was sure, for I was 

 too old to write such letters." 



I was writing in my diary the time and circum- 

 stances attending the death of a mother, and had 

 given way to the feelings which such an event la 

 wont to call out While reading tbe page her eyes 

 filled with tears, and when I finixhed she bowed 

 her head upon her hands and wept freely, Look- 

 ing np through her tear?, she eaid; "How pleasant 

 to be kindly remembered when we are dead. Will 

 anybody say such good things of me when I am 



Tbe young and beautifal girl baa been taken 

 and the old man left, and he now sits in the same 

 chair, and is writing at the same table and in the 

 same place; but the beautifal and animated form 

 that sat beside bim, 



Shall fall the friendly eye. 

 Through year* of grief the 



A little mound In the village cemetery marks 

 tho realing place of that form, bnt the spirit of my 

 yonng and gentle friend is 



No CoMTROHist— God docs not allow oato part 

 . ith an inch of his ground, though we might there- 

 by gain the peaceable possession of all the rest— 



