MOORE’S RURAL NEW-YORKER: AN AGRICULTURAL AND FAMILY JOURNAL. 
THE CARELESS WORD, 
BY THE HON. MR3. NORTON, 
A won! Is ringing through my brain; 
It waa not meant to give me pain; 
It had no tone to hid it stay. 
When other things had passed away, 
It had no meaning more than all 
Which in an idle hour may fall; 
It was, when first the sound I heard, 
A lightly-uttered careless word. 
It was the first, the only one. 
Of those which lips for ever gone 
Breathed in their lore—which had for me 
Rebuke or harshness at >riy glee; 
Aud if those lips were here to say. 
Beloved, let it pass away,” 
Ah' then perchance—but I have heard 
The last dear tone—the careless word. 
Oh! ye who meeting, sigh to part, 
Wh*se words are treasures to some heart. 
Deal gently, ere the dark days come. 
When earth hath but for one a home; 
I,cst, musing o’er the pa* like me. 
They feed their hearts wrung bitterly. 
And, heeding not what else they heard. 
Dwell weeping on a careless word. 
TRUE MANLINESS. 
BY W. H. BRISTOL. 
Sociality is to man what modesty is to 
woman; it is a principle that should be ever 
active but, governed by occasion and con¬ 
sistency. A lack of this betrays at once a 
deficiency in true manliness. Not so much 
depends 'upon a power or faculty as upon 
its proper exercise, and when this is abused 
there is a great depreciation of its beauties. 
To the young man just entering the most 
important portion of his existence—the for¬ 
mation of a worthy name and character— 
it is well that he should first learn that so¬ 
ciety corrupts as it is corrupt — that it forms 
or moulds principles by a gradual or accel¬ 
erated progress according to the degree of 
its influence. Therefore, there is no danger 
in being too particular in the selection of 
society, and in estimating the weight of its 
various associations. 
Just and discriminating ideas generally 
lead to proper action, and a willing judg¬ 
ment enforces a strict adherence to the rules 
of propriety. Stupid, yes presumptuous 
must that young man be who would peril 
every consideration of a good character ud- 
on a base act, simply because he cannot see 
at once the true tendency of a consistent 
course of life. But it can be seen, and like 
the works of a good man, will shine before 
the world, leaving a light behind, and send¬ 
ing its arrowy beams into the future, to 
guide life’s wandering steps aright. 
Deportment, honesty, caution, and a de¬ 
sire to do right carried out in practice, are 
to human character what truth, reverence, 
and love are to religion. They are the un¬ 
varied elements of a good reputation. Such 
virtues can never be reproached, although 
the vulgar and despicable may scoff at 
them; but it is not so much in their affect¬ 
ed revulsion at them, as it is in the wish to 
reduce them to the standard of their own 
degraded natures, and vitiated passions. Let 
such scoff and sneer,—let them laugh and 
ridicule as much as they may,—a strict, up¬ 
right, onward course will evince to the 
world and to them, that there is more manly 
independence in one forgiving smile, than 
in all the pretended exceptions to worthiness 
in the society of the mean and vulgar.— 
Virtue must have its admirers, and firmness 
of principle, both moral and religious, will 
ever command the proudest encomiums of 
the intelligent world, to the exclusion of 
every other thing connected with human 
existence. 
Man is to be rated, not by his hoards of 
gold, not by the simple or temporary influ¬ 
ence he may for a time exert; but by his 
unexceptionable principles relative both to 
character and religion. Strike out these, 
and what is he? A brute without a virtue 
—a savage without a sympathy! Take 
them away and his manship is gone; lie no 
longer lives in the image of his Maker! A 
cloud of sin hangs darkly on his brow; there 
is ever a tempest on his countenance, the 
lightning in his glance, the thunder in words, 
and the rain and whirlwind in the breathing 
of his angry soul. No smile gladdens on his 
lip to tell that love is playing there; no 
smypathizing glow illuminates his cheek.— 
Every word burns with malice, and that 
voice—the mystic gift of Heaven—grates 
as harshly on the timid ear, as rushing thun¬ 
ders beating amid hilling cliffs and tumbling 
cataracts. 
But this is too dark a picture for a long- 
continued view. Turn we from it now, as 
from a frightful scene, to the only divine 
image that Virtue elevates before the world 
for example and imitation. Let man go 
abroad with just principles, and what is he ? 
An exhaustless fountain in a vast desert! 
A glorious sun shining ever—dispelling ev¬ 
ery vestige of darkness! There is love an¬ 
imating his heart, sympathy breathing in 
every tona Tears of pity—dew drops of 
the soul—gather in his eye, and gush im¬ 
petuously down his cheek Quivering on 
his lips are words that wait for utterance, 
and thoughts, winged as with lightning, play 
amid his tell-tale glances. A good man is 
abroad and the world knows and feels it.— 
Beneath his smile lurks no degrading pas¬ 
sion; within his heart there slumbers no 
guile. He is not exalted in mortal pride— 
not elevated in his own views, but honest, 
moral and virtuous before the world. He 
stands throned on truth, his fortress is wis¬ 
dom and his dominion is the vast and limit¬ 
less universe. Always upright, kind and 
sympathizing, always attached to just prin¬ 
ciples and actuated by the same, governed 
by the highest motives in doing good— 
JO O £> j 
these are his only true manliness. 
Royalton, N. Y.. Jan. 27, 1851. 
FAMILY CORRESPONDENCE. 
BY KKV. C. A. GOODRICH. 
' Were I the Postmaster-general of the 
United States, my first, annual report should 
recommend as cheap a system of postage 
as the advocates of cheap postage have de¬ 
sired. I would do this on great social 
considerations—not merely because such a 
system would be advantagous to the indus¬ 
trial pursuits of the country—all of which 
we doubt not it would promote, but I re¬ 
commend it because of its beneficial influ¬ 
ence upon the social, intellectual, and mor¬ 
al state of the rising generation. That in 
such a system lie the germs of an elevation 
and refinement, of society, and an untold 
amountof national happiness, not yet dream¬ 
ed of, the writer cannot doubt. 
And in this view, the subject deserves 
the most serious consideration. There is 
here locked up at present, a means of in¬ 
calculable good—a lever, not yet employed, 
of mighty power, which “ the powers that 
be” might employ, and employing as they 
might do, would bring upon them the bles¬ 
sing of millions. No administration, since 
the days of Washington, would be so pop¬ 
ular as that which should arrange a system 
of cheap postage, anci thus facilitate family 
correspondence, and epistolary interchanges 
among friends. 
The writer can best illustrate the advan¬ 
tages of family correspondence by present¬ 
ing an example, within his knowledge of 
a family among the members of which 
such a correspondence has existed for years, 
still in progress. 
The family in question consists of a fath¬ 
er and mother and seven children. These 
children, with one exception, are living at 
various distances from home. Some have 
families of their own, others are single. 
Among the members of this family it has 
been a practice for years to correspond 
with one another frequently—so that sel¬ 
dom a week passes during which the par¬ 
ents are not, heard from by each child, and 
each child is heard from by every other. 
Weekly journals, which chronicle home 
events, interspersed with reflections, sug¬ 
gestions, or fancies, as the case may be, are 
kept, and transmitted. By this means the 
family, though separated, in a sense still 
live together. They constitute one frater¬ 
nity. The seat and centre of their thot’s 
and affections is in the family mansion. 
There the parents live; and from this foun¬ 
tain of endearment and benign influence 
goes forth a letter here and a letter there 
to encourage—to congratulate—to comfort 
— to warn, if necessary—to point to and 
“allure to brighter worlds.” What picture 
can be more beautiful and lovely than this! 
What influence more salutary. 
And then the children, on their part, re¬ 
tain all their home feelings and home inter¬ 
ests. They may have pleasant, happy 
homes of their own, and centres of fond af¬ 
fection near them, yet the old fireside, and 
the “old family Bible” will retain a strong 
hold—and why not? And they cherish 
for each other all those brotherly and sis¬ 
terly feelings and affectionate solicitudes 
which in this cold, selfish world, constitute 
half the charm of life. If they have joys, 
they are increased by the communication 
of their existence and the causes of them. 
If they have sorrows and disappointments, 
they are divided and lessened by the sym¬ 
pathy which is felt for another. 
They share thair mutual woes 
Their mutual burdens bear, 
And often for each other flows 
The sympathizing tear. 
So much for this family, and the happy 
influence and solid joys which result from 
their systematic family correspondence. 
The cost of it is a considerable item. But 
its value can scarcely be estimated in dol¬ 
lars and cents. And yet it is doubtful 
whether many families would feel willing to 
meet the expense of it. Such a cheap post¬ 
age as the nation claims would put it in 
the power of every family to avail itself of 
all the privileges, and comforts and good 
which such a correspondence involves and 
insurea 
But there are other benefits which per¬ 
tain to such a practice. Lord Bacon some¬ 
where says, “Reading makes a full man, 
conversation a ready man writing an exact 
man.” The exercise of writing, or compos¬ 
ing, implies mental effort. The thoughts 
will necessarily be arranged. Appropriate 
words must' be sought out, and a proper 
collocation observed. In all this there is 
montal exertion, tending to strengthen and 
enlarge and sharpen the powers of the 
mind. The first essays may be weak and 
puerile. Those which follow, if the exercise 
be continued, will be more masculine and 
efficient. By this process the most sur¬ 
prising and gratifying results may be 
reached. Euclid drew his first diagrams 
in the sand. The daubs of the child may 
! end in the , masterpieces of a Raphael, a 
Titan, or a West The masterly style of 
Junius, or the polished and classical com¬ 
positions of Irving, may have been reached 
from the humblest beginnings. So with 
ancient and modern orators—Cicero, De¬ 
mosthenes, Burke, Chatham, Webster, Clay 
—all were once children, and like Paul of 
old when he was a child, they thought as 
children, spoke as children; and it was only 
after long and severe disciplinary processes 
and practices that, like Paul, on becoming- 
men they “put away childish things.” 
There is a further consideration in favor 
of training the nation to be a letter-writing 
people. It is the moral influence which 
would be exerted upon children who leave 
the paternal root So long us a youth writes 
home, aud so long as to a mother he says, 
Where’er I roam, whatever reaims to see, 
My heart untravel'd fondly turns to thee, 
that youth is comparatively safe. There is 
an anchor that moors him—there are home 
associations and endearments which bind 
him to that blessed spot, aud nothing serves 
to keep those associations and endearments 
alive so much as a regular letter correspon¬ 
dence. A letter of love and confidence from 
her sailor boy, or from her Western emi¬ 
grant son, is quite sufficient to pour joy and 
consolation into the cabin of the lone widow. 
All parents love to hear from absent chil¬ 
dren, and they are quite likely to answer 
the letters of children, and thus strengthen 
the bonds which mutually bind them to¬ 
gether. 
Up to the present time, the cost of post¬ 
age in the United States has been an effec¬ 
tual bar to the introduction of this frequent 
letter-writing, the advantages of which the 
writer has endeavored briefly to set forth. 
With a population of 20,00,00 our mail 
letters amount to CO, 00,00 anually.— 
Great Britain, with a population of 30,000,- 
000 has passing through her mails, annua¬ 
lly, 305,00,00, or 100>00 daily. Instead 
of 60,000,000 the American people should 
write nearly 250,000,000 or four times 
more than they do. 
Whence this difference? Evidently it 
is owing to the great difference in the cost 
of postage. Here letters are charged five 
or ten cents according to distance; in Great 
Britain the uniform price is one penny, or 
two cents for any distance. A writer well 
remarks: “The expectaton of writing letters 
to be sent by mail for two cents would wake 
millions of young eyes glisten with enthu¬ 
siastic determination to master the myster¬ 
ies of reading and penmanship. And the 
practice of writing thus encouraged, and 
of course commenced with the ability to 
shape a letter with a pen, would train, and 
stimulate, and discipline, and strengthen 
the minds of the rising generation to a pitch 
of intellectual advancement far beyond their 
predecessors.” And he further adds: “Con¬ 
ceive of a whole community trained to this 
exercise, and continuing in it always, and 
you have the idea of a people more intel¬ 
lectual than ever lived.” And cheap post¬ 
age will do it. 
The writer of this article never anticipates 
| being the President of the United States, 
nor one of his cabinet ministers; but had 
he that honor, and the influence which at¬ 
taches to suoh a station, he would lend all 
his energies, and devote all his time and 
talents, to the introduction of a system of 
cheap postage, as the means of accomplish¬ 
ing one of the grandest objects which the 
human mind can well conceive. — Mrs. 
Whittlesey's Magazine. 
Care of the Eyes. —Looking in the fire 
is very injurious to the eyes, particularly a 
coal fire. The stimulus of light and heat 
united soon destroy the eyes. Looking at 
molten iron will soon destroy the sight. 
Heading in the twilight is injurious to the 
j eyes, as then they are obliged to make 
great exertion. Reading or sewing with a 
side light injures the eyes, as both should 
be exposed to an equal degree of light 
The reason is, the sympathy between the 
eyes is so great that if the pupil of one is 
dilated by being kept partially in the shade, 
the one that is most exposed cannot contract 
itself sufficiently for protection, and will ul¬ 
timately be injured. Thosewho wishto pre¬ 
serve their sight should preserve their gener¬ 
al health by correct habits, and give their eyes 
just work enough with a due degree of 
light 
WE WATCHED HER BREATHING. 
We watched her breathing through the nJgW. 
Her breathing soft ;utd low. 
As on her breast the wave of life 
Kept heaving to and fro. 
So silently we seemed to speak; 
As slowly moved about. 
And we had lent her half our powow. 
To eke her being out. 
Our very hopes belled our fears, 
Our fears our hopes belied. 
We thought, her dying when she efejrt. 
And sleeping when she died. 
For when the morn came, dim and tobd. 
And chill with early showers. 
Her quiet eyelids closed;—she had 
Auother morn than ours.—Tuos. Hoor>- 
THE RIGHTS OF WOMEN 
After a day of severe exercise, and, I 
confess, such as does not usually belong to 
one of the gentler, or in common parlance, 
weaker sex, I was lounging before, and 
gazing at a beautiful wood fire, until, after 
watching the variety of images in the coals 
and ashes, I fell into a slumber. 
I dreamed that I was asleep, and had 
continued to sleep until days passed into 
weeks, weeks to months, months to years— 
in short, it was with me as it had been 
with Rip Van Winkle. I had slept many 
years, and my loeks which were once jet, 
were now white. I exhibited every change 
that usually marks the difference between 
the young and old woman. I knew my 
dwelling, however, in spite of many changes, 
but it was with difficulty I could believe 
that those who called me mother were real¬ 
ly my children. They were, apparently, 
quite overjoyed that “mother” had her sen¬ 
ses and the use of her limbs again. 
Had I been crazed, or paralyzed, thought 
I? How is it that here are six persons, 
in man’s habiliments, that call me mother, 
when I left only two sons and four daugh¬ 
ters ? One day I called one, whom I could 
believe to be my son John, and inquired 
how the case stood. He hesitated, and, at 
last said— 
“ Mother ” you had better not talk until I 
ask the Doctor, who will soon be at home, 
about your symptoms. The Doctor and 
Lawyer have been at the election, and will 
be at home shortly.” 
With this he sat down, took up a piece 
of sewing and began to sticlujuite diligently. 
“Surely!” thought I, “my son John has 
not turned tailor!” Presently David came 
in—I knew it to be my son David by his 
strong likeness to his father. He had a 
child in his arms, which he was endeavor¬ 
ing to pacify. I felt an inpulse to take it 
from him, believing that I, being a woman, 
could understand its wants better than he; 
but it clung to him and was not pleased. 
He gave it its pap without any of the awk¬ 
wardness his poor father would have shown. 
“Whose child?” asked I, involuntarily, 
“The Doctor’s,” said John. “But, mother, 
don’t talk.” 
Forbidden to talk, and filled with amaze¬ 
ment at all I saw, I looked out at the win¬ 
dow to while away the time, when I saw a 
number of horsemen approaching. John 
and David looked out aud exclaimed— 
“They are coming from the election.” 
It was a company of short and oddly- 
shaped individuals; but they appeared quite 
skillful horsemen notwithstanding. 
O 
After alighting they came in, and all re¬ 
garded me with much interest. 
“Has she spoken again?” asked one. 
“Yes, Doctor! but you had better exam¬ 
ine her case.” 
He approached me and felt my pulse. 
“ A capital pulse,” said he. “ Let me 
look at your tongue. Quite clean round 
the edges, and nearly so in the middle!” 
he added, and turning to John, he asked if 
what I had said “had been altogether lucid.” 
“Entirely so,” replied John. 
“Mother, do you know me?” asked the 
Doctor. 
“No 1 do not,” said I, “who are you?” 
“I am your daughter Elizabeth, and this” 
she added, bringing the Lawyer forward, 
is your daughter Ann, who has been to-day 
appointed a member of the Legislature. 
Here is your daughter Sarah, who is Pres¬ 
ident of our Fire Insurance Company, and 
Susan is an officer in the Njavy. You did 
not know us all the while you were paral¬ 
yzed, that is plain. This is my husband, 
whom I chose and addressed after having 
been refused by several others. Our Law¬ 
yer is not yet married, but at present is 
visiting a fine, modest young man in Phila¬ 
delphia, and should she finally be able to 
overcome his bashfulness, they will soon 
be married. You look so bewildered! 
Let me feel your pulse.” 
I jerked my hand, and exclaimed— 
“Out upon the farce you are acting! Go 
and put on your proper garments, and then I 
can tell whether I really have my childien 
about me.” 
“I fear she is not sane,” said the doctor; 
“ I must take a little blood.” 
“Stop!” cried I, “explain to me how it is 
that, after the long sleep I have had, I see 
none of my sweet, gentle girls around me, 
but a parcel of strangers claiming their 
names.’* 
A light seemed to strike the Lawyer, 
and Bhe offered to state the case to her 
mother: 
“Mother, I am yoor daughter Ann,” 
striking her riding-whip against her boot, 
quite emphatically, “riince your long sleep, 
f the Rights of Women, which you may have 
heard spoken of years ago, and set aside as 
a thing to be established when the Millen¬ 
ium had come—those Rights, so long dis¬ 
puted ; those rights so basely trampled on 
(here 6he arose and used the popular ges¬ 
tures,) have now spread from East to West, 
and from North to South, of our happy coun- 
tay. Women now vote at elections, climb 
the hill of science, side by side with men, 
and, indeed, they have rather the prece¬ 
dence. 
“Even the convenient dress so long 
usurped by men, has at length been conce¬ 
ded, and the riding hat, coat and collar, have, 
inch by inch, gained ground, and now the 
whole dress is rightfully claimed. 
“The drudgery of the nursery is m lon¬ 
ger exclusively ours—” 
At this moment another sob from the cra¬ 
dle—there had been many—made the Doc¬ 
tor interrupt the discourse to enquire what 
ailed baby. 
“ It don’t like pap, and has cried itself to 
sleep,” replied David. 
“ That was the way with the other little 
fellow who died. Evidently they have 
some organic disease,” remarked the Doctor. 
“Mother! Mother!” exclaimed some one, 
shaking me, “What is the matter?—what 
are you groaning about?” 
I opened my eyes and saw the sweet, 
fair faces of my four young daughters, with 
their pretty frocks and aprons, gazing some¬ 
what anxiously in my face. 
I was still but half awake. “Never put 
on men’s clothes, nor ride like them again,” 
said I, solemnly. 
“Mother, what do you mean?” aahwl 
Elizabeth. 
“ Are you a Doctor ?” enquired I 
“No,” answered Elizabeth, looking fright¬ 
ened; “Do you want to see a Doctor?” 
“Ann, are you a Lawyer ? Sarah, you 
are not President of the Fire Insurance 
Company? Nor Susan a Captain of the 
Navy ?” 
By this time it was quite established in 
my poor children’s minds that I raved; but, 
being then quite aroused, I told them my 
terrible dream. 
They will, they assure me, crave no rights 
further than to be good and wise women; 
and those rights have never been disputed. 
—Home Gazette 
TASTE IN FORSmrRE. 
A want of system with regard to house¬ 
hold furniture leads to inconvenience. We 
frequently see an intermixture of articles 
quite unsuited to the place they occupy and 
to each other. Sometimes it is a handsome 
table too large for a room in which every 
thing else is shabby; or an over supply of 
ugly and awkward chairs; or, perhaps, a 
showy carpet, with nothing else to match. 
But the greatest mistakes are commonly 
made in the bedroom; generally, the 
bedstead and window are so overloaded 
with drapery, that the circulation of air is 
prevented, light is kept out, and means af¬ 
forded for the collection of dust. Many 
people are apt to neglect their bed-rooms 
because they are seldom seen by visitors; 
provided the pinlor looks pretty well, they 
leave the rest of the house to take care of 
itself, a bad practice, and one that is not at 
all a true means of keeping up appearances. 
Ricuit to the Point. —Almost any one 
can be courteous in a neighbor’s house. 
If anything goes wrong, or is out of time, 
or is disagreeable, there it is made the best 
of, not the worst; even efforts are made to 
excuse it, and to show it is not felt, it is 
attributable to accident, not to design; and 
this is not only easy but natural in the 
house of a friend. I will not, therefore, be¬ 
lieve that what is so natural in the house of 
another is impossible at home, but main¬ 
tain, without fear, that all the courtesies of 
social life may be upheld in domestic so¬ 
cieties. A husband, as willing to be pleased 
at home, and as anxious to please as in a 
neighbor's house, and a wife as intent on 
making things comfortable every day to her 
family, as on set days to her guests, could 
not fail to make their own home happy. 
Ladies at the Table. —Females should 
study to promote pleasant conversation es¬ 
pecially at table. Ladies, strive to make 
yourselves agreeable at table; be sociable; 
come prepared to edify; introduce as oppor¬ 
tunity offers, pleasing and profitable conver¬ 
sation. No where does a sensible woman 
appear to so great advantage as at table.— 
A woman that graces the table, graces ev¬ 
erything. 
Defect in manners is usually the defect 
of fine perceptions. Men are to coarsely 
made for the delicacy of beautiful carriage 
and customs. 
Fashion does not often caress the great, 
but the children of the great; it is a hall of 
the Past It usually sets its face against 
the great of this hour. 
