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



DEC. 11. 



E FI.OWEK-LlXGOiGE OF THE HE1RT. 



Hop''* s*eet spell .mood 



GLEANINGS- No. IV. 



"I want you to understand, Winnie" — and my 



mother thrnht her bonneted head in at the door 



" I want you tu understand that the bread is in the 



"Very easy of comprehension, I am sore. But 

 what have I to do with the bread's being in the 

 oven? I am perfectly willing it should remain 



A slight frown. " Well, I wish yon to attend to 

 the baking of that bread, as I'm going out Now, 

 don't bum u up, Winnie!" 



I think I laughed, notwithstanding this pathetic 

 appeal, I could not help it. I had a slight pre- 

 sentiment that the bread would be burned. An- 

 other moment she was gone, the bread safe in the 

 oven, and I so comfortably seated in my arm-chair, 

 that I hardly think I nooid have changed my po- 

 sition If all the bread in the universe were in one 

 vast conflagration. But I really did mean to at- 

 tend to that bread. 



What a snow-storm! I watched the pearly 

 flakes— cogitating the while, something like this: 

 What a pity folks can't live without eating. I pos- 

 itively think it is sad. However, " what must be, 

 must b?," and there's more truth then poetry in it, 

 I imagine. Yet how much labor, expense, and 

 care, would be abolished, could we subsist with- 

 out— victuals. Now, there's mamma, walking ont 

 in this enow-storm, never heeding the beautiful 

 flakes — so large and feathery— never minding 

 the human figures passing and re-passing; but hur- 

 rying on, worrying all the time because "she's 

 sure Winnie will let the bread burn !" 



(I wonder if it needs turning jot? I'll take it 

 for granted that it don'L) 



People hurry, and worry, and drudge — that is, 

 moBt of them do — from "morn till dewy eve," 

 with the grim demon Care, ever nrglng them on. 

 Is it, I wonder, because they ever have before their 

 eyes, the truth that there fs "no work, nor device, 

 nor knowledge in the grave" whltbcr they are fast 

 hastening? I wot not. For, if it were so, thoy 

 would have thought less of secular affairs, end re- 

 membered mercy, faith, and judgment to come, i 

 never believed in living a life of idleness, but I do 

 think it is our duty to pause once in a while and 

 bask in the sunshine — to stop now and then and 

 gambol gaily on the green spots which dot our 

 road-side. Now, if I were Mr. Cabb Mr> n, that 

 bowed, anxious looking man, I would lock up my 

 business, look, thoughts, and all, with my boxes 

 to& bales, and as I neared home, I would whistle 

 "Begone, dull care!*' or shout "Get thee behind 

 me. Satan!" to the invisible spirit. Then I would 

 surprise Mrs. Cabb Much by being pleasant and 

 sociable. Yea, I believe I would kiss her, and tell 

 her she Is th« he8t mtl0 wife JQ the worU R 

 would l>e a new scene in her life-drama, and I om 

 Bnre Mrs. C. would like the change. Then I would 

 have a regular g ttlue f romps with the children- 

 those little ones who are almost afraid of the 

 gloomy, taciturn niau they call papa. I think Mr. 

 Cake Mrcn would feel li se a .. new orea t are » 



And Mrs. Cabb Mccn-what a pale, weary look 

 Bhc has. No need of it, whatever, A mere slave 

 to domestic drudgery. All useless. I would 

 less for " creature comforta" and bo more mindful 

 of the souls of my family. 1 would not cook i 

 much if I were her. I would have lighter, BirnplL. 

 food and fewer dishes. Perhaps husband would 



frown and mutter, at lirtt, but I would convince 

 him tbut it wa9 for his good aa well as mine. It's 

 my firm belief that what people eat, influences 

 their thoughts and actions. Yee. there is many a 

 short, unkind woid concealed in that rich pie 

 crust— many a gloomy, weary feeling imbedded in 

 masses of cake and floating in highly seasoned 

 dishes. 



Then, my domestic cares so much lightened, I 

 would devote more time to husband and children, 

 1 wonld have an Interesting book on hand, and, 

 after supper, while he reclined on the eofa. I would 

 read aloud to him. wooing his thougM 

 lebor and care. I would tell the children stories; 

 just such BtoTies aa I loved to hear when I was a 

 child, and I would teach them of Heaven, end point 

 out the way. In a short time I think Mr. Cabb 

 Mccn would bo applying to the Legislature for a 

 change of name. 



Mamma at the door! Indignation and sorrow 

 resting on her face— and a tin in each hand, filled 

 with the blackened ruins of that bread. "I knew 

 you would burn it, Win — I felt sure of it- And 

 now what shall I do?" 



Dear me! if I had not been minding the affairs 

 of Mr. and Mrs. Care Mpch, I might have remem- 

 bered my own. However, if it does them any 

 good I shall not care for one baking of bread. 



HOOPOLOGY, AGAIN. 



I iokfbss myself surprised that any sensible 

 reader of onr Rural should be so firm a supporter 

 of this hoop delusion, etill I do not consider myself 

 vanquished, and, as the lady thinks I have only 

 ridiculed her favorite science, I am ready now 

 to meet her, together with every other hooped 

 lady in Christendom, with no other weapon than 

 plain, common sense, and, if I am not victorious, 

 then success go with them. Her first plea is 

 "heavy skirts." No one disputes their being in- 

 jailous, bnt " common sense" asks, is a skirt which 

 stands at an angle of forty-five degrees from the 

 body, the remedy we need for this evil? Aproper 

 degree of heat is just as essential to health as the 

 want of it. and how happens it that these hoopB, 

 which are so cool in summer, become so very 

 warm in winter? With the Indian, I am ready to 

 exclaim, "It must be an evil breath that blows both 

 hot and cold." There is no sense in it— this is only 

 one of the many excuses for this foolish fashion. 

 It is very common to hear persona descant npon 

 their meiifs, and say they shall alwayi wear them, 

 whatever change may come, but when the " fickle 

 goddess " proclaims " thy days, ob, hoops, are end- 

 ed I" the lady who still persists in wearing them 

 will deserve a place in Barncm's Museum, There 

 is not one who will have the moral courage to do 

 it. 6he says, too, " Bhe hs9 never found them in- 

 convenient in traveling." I, too, have traveled in 

 company with hoop, and, if I ever found anything 

 a nuisance, it is that. With the frogs in the old 

 fable, I oan say, "It may be sport for you who 

 wear them, but it is death for as who are obliged 

 to tolerate them." Here is common sense again 

 —every hooped lady occupies sufficient room for 

 two, end as such should pay extra fare for the 

 trouble she makes. If you wish to get ont of an 

 omnibus, you must crowd^tbrongh, each one look- 

 ing as If she wonld annihilate yon for troubling 

 her hoops. It is the same everywhere, in the car, 

 in the street — they are nuisances, nothing else. I 

 do not wonder " penny editors " and "street row- 

 dies" ridicule them, so does every person who 

 has one particle of "common sense," at heart, if 

 not byword. Who makes these fashions? Some 

 of them are Parisian, and what greater etain npon 

 ns as American women than this aping of foreign 

 styles? But all do not come from there, tbey are 

 manufactured in our cities by Mademoiselles and 

 Madams, who never even saw Paris, and we, so 

 eager for new things, follow them, and dare not 

 Bay a word. Wear hoops, not I! They are of no 

 practical benefit to the female race — tbey are 

 nothing but a gigantic bumbog. 



OUR MOTHER. 



Peace to Jur memory. She has gone. The 

 heart that once beat so warmly — the voice that has 

 so often gone up to God in prayer for up, is hushed, 

 cold, silent in death. It is good to remember her 

 as a friend— as a Christian friend — but, oh. how 

 dear to remember her as a kind and affectionate 

 mother. 



We are orphaned— not by every tie, but from a 

 dear mother's sympathy and a mother's love. 

 There is avoid in our hearts— a loneliness we 

 never before have realized. Grief softena our 

 hearts, gives all worldly objects and worldly 

 schemes a careless attention, and fits our "better 

 natures" for an examination. She has left a 

 quiet record. How sinful the wish to briDg her 

 back to these trying scenes — rather bless Him, 

 who is merciful, and has taken the spirit to its re- 

 ward. Death-bed scenes, the grave, and the ab- 

 sence of one beloved, will have their influence on 

 the living— may it follow us to manhood and to 

 " green old age," (should it be ours,) Spirit Mother. 

 Be our Guardian Angel, for 



.rllilj l, 



■"l.vb '< 





Tub cook, the housemaid, and the laundress are 

 the pillars on which our domestic comfort rests. 

 Without them, nothing is possible in family or in- 

 dividual life. The weU cooked dinner, tho tidy 

 room, the clean Bhirt, are the Inndmarka of true 

 civilization. Below them all Is barbarism. 



Sympathy is much more catching than intelli- 

 gence. Anybody can foeJ, but everybody cannot 

 understand. Hence pity for a person brought into 

 distress by bis own acts, often outweighs all the 

 conviction produced by a knowledge of his 

 crimes. 



We cannot all of us be beautiful, but the pleas- 

 antness of a cood-humored look 1b denied to 

 none, We can oil of ua increase and strengthen 

 the family affections and the delights of home. 



(BMtt fpswltai 



DARE AND DO. 



not, though - ho*t 

 *rd! Duty's pitbpc 

 o gild the p»ge of » 



Bight, nor lose the Cooqaeror's Crown ; 

 ratch thy right h»od-sme thy birthrlght- 



ELDER BROTHER. 



Elder Brother ! Is there in any language 

 another name, besides the matchless one of 

 "Mother," bo hallowed as this? It expresses 

 more than father, sister, child, and even more than 

 husband, or wife. A fatlur is something to be 

 esteemed and reverenced; a sister is the kind play- 

 mate of your childhood, and the loving sym- 

 pathizer in after years, but her woman's nature, so 

 like your own, precludes the possibility of great 

 variety in tastes and emotions. A wife is to be 

 loved, fondled, and protected; concerning a ftus- 

 band— although you may love and respect him, 

 and though yon mak>. his interests your owd, you 

 feel he la no part of yonr real self— none of the 

 blood of your loved family courses through his 

 veins, and the natural impulses of the heart are not 

 the same. To a female there oan be no relation bo 

 dear, so pure, as that of brother. He fs fond and 

 proud of his sister; for her he will forego more 

 privileges, and endure more hardships than even 

 the interests olse/J would induce him to do. This 

 is trne of a brotiwr, bnt elder brother— hoy, infinitely 

 nboveall this! Brother is a Bweet word, fall of 

 melody to every sister'9 ear, but "elder brother" 

 is moBt peculiarly and emphatically so. For this 

 reason, when Christ graciously Btyled himself our 

 great Elder Brother, he allowed us to bestow npon 

 him a dearer appellation than even " Abba, Father." 



Eider brother! What are the thougths that 

 throng your busy brain, as you repeat that phrase? 

 Does it remind you of neglect and nnkindnese, of 

 angry worde, or haughty treatment? Ok. not it 

 brings up naught bnt the most pleasing recollec- 

 tions. In childhood, your "elder brother" ever 

 gave you the prettier toy— he led you over the 

 smooth path — he climbed the rugged hillside to 

 secure for you the treasure which lay at ihe top — 

 in all his woodland rambles, he gathered the 

 flowers and the mosses for you, his loved sister. 

 He oonld jump over the laughing brook which 

 danced through the meadow, but he would make 

 the stony bridge for your dainty feet to tread. He 

 was ever ready to explain the meaning of a beauti- 

 ful picture, or an exquisite piece of statuary. His 

 collection of stories and anecdotes, which he re- 

 lated as he cracked nuts for you in the long 

 winter evenings, was inexhaustible. His willing 

 lingers placed the frame to support your feeble 

 flowers, and formed the trellis for your little vine. 



When he was in College, loving letters he wrote 

 to you, detailing all the pleasing incidents in his 

 college-life; and when he came home in the vaca- 

 tion, what appropria;e gifts he always bronght 

 to you! When you started for boarding-school, 

 with what affectionate earnestness did ho caution 

 yon against the snares and temptations into which 

 yon wonld be likely to fall! With how much 

 tender sympathy did he listen to the recital of 

 your little vexation?, and with what joy did he 

 learn of your happiness! With his similar tastes, 

 and bis strong, maoly nature, he ennobled and 

 strengthened you, With what fervency did he 

 endeavor to lead you to know Christ! With 

 what winning words and sweet entreatk-s did he 

 tell you of a Savior'a love, and urge you to accept 

 a Redeemer's atonement! What solicitude did he 

 ever manifest that the gentltmm into whose society 

 yon were thrown, should be of the best oharaoter! 

 When the fertunate one at length arrived, and 

 you were "betrothed," yon loved your brother 

 none the less because you had found a new love; 

 he was still allowed the old place in your heart's 

 affections. 



In after years', when he and yourself are sur- 

 rounded with family cares, he was still advising 

 schemes for your happiness, and you looked op to 

 that "elder brother" with the same respect and 

 a fleet Ion that you did when a girl. And now that he 

 has passed away from this world's cares, and your 

 head la silvered with flge, your form bent, and your 

 step feeble, you BtUl love to think of that Bnlnted 

 one, and his virtues lie deeply enshrined within 

 your memory's caUiet. 



THE PHYSICIAN. 



How largely is the world indebted to the medi- 

 cal profession. How much of the skill and knowl- 

 edge that is the means of alleviating the woes of 

 Buffering bamauity is committed to physicians; 

 yet how few give them that respect and true sym- 

 pathy every true member of the profession de- 

 serves. Whose toils more arduous— whose respon- 

 sibilities more pressing — than his, who, regardless 

 of personal comfort, in darkness and tempest 

 hastens to obey the summons that calls him t< 

 bedside of a suflsring fellow- creature, well a 

 that upon his promptitude life and death may de- 

 pend. How many have toiled until prematurely 

 old and care-worn; yet one-half the world regard 

 their obligation to their physician aa entin 

 pecuniary one, nor think that a debt of love, and 

 gratitnde, and veneration is due to one who, under 

 God, has raised them from the weary couch of 

 pain— brought back from the borders of the tomb 

 those dear as life itself, or ministered by the dying 

 bed of departed ones. That there are those who 

 are a disgrace to the profession, we will not deny, 

 —that it has given to the world some of the lofti- 

 est specimens of philanthropy and manhood, i 

 confidently affirm. We have no sympathy with 

 that littleness that regards paltry dollars a»d c 

 as the only merited compensation of those who 

 bear the lamp of science in Ihe midst of pestilent 

 contagion, and death. We regard them as the in- 

 struments of God's benevolence — we reverenc 

 profession and every member who worthily bears 

 its insignia. Lina Lsb. 



Sherburne, N. Y., 18GB. 



The duties which we owe to our own moral be- 

 ing are Ihe ground and condition of all other 

 duties; and to set our nature at strife with itself 

 for a good purpose, implies the same sort of pru- 

 dence as a priest of Diana would have manifested, 

 who should have proposed to dig np the celebrat- 

 ed charooal foundations of the mighty Temple of 

 Ephesus, in order to furnish fuel for the burnt of- 

 fering* on its altars. Trntb, virtue, and happiness 

 may be distinguished from each other, but cannot 

 be divided; they subsist by a mutual coinherenoe, 

 which gives a shadow of divinity, even to our ku- 



"In it the steamship arrives and unloads her 

 freightage; in it the lightning flashes for thought; 

 In it the city booms, the corn blades glitter, the 

 wheat rustles iu its golden beads, the cattle low 

 from u thousand hills, and the market hums; in it 

 the spring blooms and the autumn blows; In itthe 

 poet sings, and with his song the low wind oornes 

 fresh and Bweet over old meadows, und happy faces 

 gleam from forgotten doors. Yee, tho world nirnu 

 every day in the daily newspaper. Its columns are 

 freighted with the world's merchandise. Through 

 their avenues ring merrily the marriage bells, and 

 through them hearses move and funeral kuolla are 

 tolled." 



ItEAmMi.— Reading Is one of the greatestconao- 

 ittlouoi life; it la the norM of virtue, the up- 

 holder in adversity, the prop of independence, the 

 support of a just pride, the strengthener of eleva- 

 ted opinlona; it is the shield againBt the tyranny 

 of all petty passions; it 1b the repeller of the fool's 

 scoff and the knave's poiason. 



Fttfcftfb mating*. 



THE ANGKfj OF HOPE. 



■ ■ ■ 



MONOTONY. 



Monotony Is pleasant initself; morallypleaaant, 

 and morally useful. Living in the same house is 

 monotonous; but three removes, say the wise, are 

 as bad as a fire, I delight in that same monotony. 

 It saves cnrioBity, anxiety, excitement, disappoint- 

 ment, and a host of bad passions. It gives a man 

 the blessed invigorating feeling that he is at home; 

 that be has roots, deep and wide, struck down Into 

 all be sees: and that the only being who wi 

 nothinir cruel or useless, can tear them up. 

 pleasant to look down on the same parish day after 

 day, and say, I kuow all that lies beneath, and all 

 beneath know me. If I want a friend, I kc 

 where to find him; if I want work done, I know 

 who will do it. It is pleasant and good to Be 

 same trees year after year; the same birds coming 

 back in spring to the same shrubs; the same banks 

 covered with the same flowers, and broken (if they 

 be stiff ones) by the same gaps. Pleasant and 

 good it is to ride on the same horse, to sit in the 

 same chair, to wear tbe same old coat. That man 

 who offered twenty pounds reward for a lost carpet- 

 bag fall of old boots, was a sage, and I wish I knew 

 him. Why should one change one's place, any 

 more than one's wife and one's children? Is 

 hermit crab, slipping his tail out of one strange 

 shell Into another, in the hopes of its fitting 1 

 little better, either a dignified, Bafe, or graceful 

 animal? The oftener one sees, the better i 

 knows; and the belter one knows, tho more i 

 lovee.—Fraser\ Magaxme, 



SET A GOOD EXAMPLE. 



Nothing is so easily done aa to preach and t 

 of obligations which we are under to do justly i 

 to walk humbly; bnt it is altogether a differ 

 matter to write, and preach, and talk by exam 

 And yet, though the former be nsefol. how mi 

 more valuable and effective is the latter? What 

 ore those most beautiful essays on the cardinal 

 virtues compared with the excellence of the life i 

 which these virtues have a living and vital exis 

 ence? It was not alone the doctrines, advanced 

 with such dignified and persuasive elotjuenc 

 our Savior, nor the wonderful miracles performed 

 by him, which made the hearts of men follow i 

 him; these were rendered donbly effective by the 

 example which he set at all times, even unde 

 most trying circumstances. 



And so it is now, in an bumble itu-c, by 

 human hopes. Men may preach and the t 

 will listen, but profit comes by example. A parent, 

 for instance, inculcates gentleness to his ohildr 

 by many sound precepts, bat they see him treat ] 

 beast in a rude and angry manner, and. in con 

 •luenco, his instructions are worse than lost, for 

 they are neither heeded nor respected. His 

 ample, as a gentle and humane man, would have 

 been sufficient for hia children without one word 

 of command. Men are just like children in this 

 respect, and imitate a guod example, while 

 cept alone, will pass into one ear andoota 



The Newspater. — On Wednesday week 

 Lovisville (Ky.) Journal reached its twenty-eighth 

 year, and its Editor, George D. Prentice, 

 review thereof, feelingly remarks: — "The history 

 of a newspaper is much of tho world's history.- 

 The daily paper is the day's history — it clasps the 

 world's daylight. Bonnd in its daily colamop, 

 world, with alt its passing events, circles. Iu 

 modern life the newspaper is truly 



lyoaog cheek pile*, 

 ,1 toan I dry, 

 right hour nigh. 





THE ABSENT 



To HIOHT as I sit by the glowing fire-light list- 

 ening to tbe wild wind's wail without, thoughts or 

 loved ones far away twine around my heart, and 

 down fond memory's hall comes echoing the glee- 

 ful tones I nsed to hear, causing me to rejoice 

 again with the old-time gladness. But this is only 

 a revetie. As I rouse from my dreem, fainter and 

 fainter, to my ear come these well-known sounds, 

 wlnle at my side the prattling voices of little broth- 

 ers bid me turn from the mystic past, to listen to 

 their words of childish love and innocence. Yet, 

 they cannot disperse the sunny memories that 

 ci -j iv J my heatt to-night. 



Arrayed in immortal beauty comes the form of 

 one much loved, bunging to me glad tidings from 

 the spirit-land, and p^rtrsying to my vision the 

 beauties of her home in Paradise. List! she sings 

 to me tbe exulting songs taught her by the Most 

 High. Upon my cheek I feel her breath, and hov- 

 ering o'er me her angel wings, "Daughter of 

 earth!" she says, "thou hast a work to do. Lay 

 aside all worldly ambition and glory, :iud Improve 

 tbe gift thy God has given thee. Go and minister, 



How refreshing to the weary heart these sacred 

 communions with those who have long wandered 

 from us, and who we never expect to meet this 

 side of eternity. Bnt we are fast hastening on to 

 greet them, and our barks 'mid wrecks and fears, 

 are pushing their woy through time's pathlesB 

 deep, and when a few more winds and stormshave 

 beat againttt them, "Our Father" who ever standB 

 at the helm will anchor ns safely on the "fail- 

 banks of deliverance." Rosa Baker. 



LIFE'S VOYAGERS. 



I show him, a man of years, with silver locks 

 and gentle eyes, that give a genial warmth to hia 

 wan face, where dwells the smile of Content. His 

 is a face that the friendleBa and the stranger love 

 to look upon, for there they read the truth qfFHmd- 

 ship. He was blessed with a companion that fully 

 possessed his virtues, and where such hearts meet, 

 what a halo of brightness must surrosnd their 

 pathway. Hers was a spirit to cheer the despond- 

 ing and lonely— to lift the datk curtain of sorrow 

 from wounded hearts, and shed a mother's love 

 around their footsteps. Quietly life's current has 

 borno them gently along— their way has been one 

 of pleasure. Often had the golden sunlight of 

 life scattered its life-giving lays about them- If 

 ever dark cloads cast a shadow o'er the scene, it 

 was but a momentary darkness thut, when post) 

 more fully revealed tho brightness of those stars 

 that shone forth in their congenial sky. 



A chango oame — how great a change! The 

 mother had disappeared beneath Death's dark 

 saves; and as tbey closed over her, »he whispered, 

 ■Peace — Poace." Al"s! for the lone voyager, 

 vho ia nowupon Time's river oompanionleBs. But 

 io looketh up, and saith — "my Father dceth all 

 things well-in Him will I trust." Methinks I see 

 him nearing the great. Ocean of Eternity — no 

 sunken rocks are In bis pathway, nor falls tho 

 sullen roar of angry billows upon his ears. In 

 calmness ho awaits the heavenly brcezo that will 

 nit him to his glorious home. n. a. h. ii. 



SUubuu.N.Y ,1868. 



There ia not a spider hanging on a king's wall 

 bnt hath its errand; there is not a nettle that 

 growcth in the corner of the chnrch-yard hot hath 

 Its purpose; there Is not a single Insect Haltering, 



the breeze bnt aceompIiBheth some divine de- 



ie; and I will never have itthat God er<:aled any 



in, especially any Christian i 



d to be a nothing.— Spvrgtoi 



. be a blank, 



Ifl t 



