MOORE’S RURAL NEW-YORKER: AN AGRICULTURAL AND FAMILY JOURNAL. 
THE POOR MAN TO HIS SON. 
BY El. 1 2 A COOK. 
Wore, work, my boy, be not afraid, 
Look labor bravely in the face. 
Take up the hammer or the spade, 
And blqsh not for your humble place. 
Hold up your brow in honest pride, 
Though rough and swarth your hands may be, 
Such hands are sap-veins that provide 
The life-blood of the nation’s tree. 
There’s honor in the toiling part, 
That finds us in the furrowed fields; 
It stamps a crest upon the heart 
Worth more than all your quartered shields. 
Work, work, my boy, and murmur not, 
The fustian garb betrays no shame; 
The crime of forge soot leave*? no blot. 
And labor gilds the meanest name. 
And man is never half so blest, 
As when the day is busy spent. 
So as to make his evening rest 
A holiday of glad content. 
God grant thee but a due reward, 
A guerdon portion fair and just, 
And then ne’er think thy station hard, 
But work, my boy, work, hope and trust! 
ANNIE IVERS. 
AN OLD SUNDAY TALE. 
BY ADALIZA PERRY. 
One sunshiny Sabbath morning, when the 
air was all hushed, and all the bustle of the 
work-day world was put aside, there came 
in at the village church, a young blue-eyed 
girl of whom everybody whispered—“Annie 
Ivers! Annie Ivers!” and on whom every 
eye turned, some pityingly, some scornfully, 
but all with a world of curiosity. Nobody 
beckoned her forward, though, well as they 
seemed to recognize her. 
And poor Annie—1 wonder if she knew 
where she was coming when she put on 
that coarse gown and cheap, cheap hat— 
there, a costly church full of silken garments 
and waving plumes. I am sure not; but 
Annie showed a placid, meek face, and eyes 
that never seemed cognizant of the fact. 
They were alone, though, for those of the 
grand people, apparently, observed nothing 
else; and the sexton, who knew everything 
about cast, gave her a seat so far back under 
the gallery, she had it quite to herself. 
But the young girl, it was observed, look¬ 
ed just as Sunday like there, as though she 
had been under the very light of the stained 
glass windows. Indeed, some, the young 
children in especial, who observed her close¬ 
ly, asserted there was a kind of radiance 
about her where she was, just as though 
light shone out of her heart as she sat there 
at her devotions, and cast a halo round about 
her. 
But there again, who was Annie Ivers, 
whom all knew so well, and yet who came 
in there a stranger, nevertheless? Alas! 
any one could have told. Her mother was 
a poor besotted beggar-woman—“Mother 
Ivers”—known all the country over, and 
this Annie had been a bound child, and 
quite daintily brought up in a distant town, 
until now, her benefactor had died, and she, 
a child of fourteen, had been sent back, the 
past week, to her mother. 
Perhaps she was hoping to draw her into 
better ways, and live a little, though it 
might be ever so little, in the sunshine of 
home. Nobody knew how earnest and 
sincere were Annie’s prayers that day—no¬ 
body, save the Most High; nobody gave 
her one look of recognition either, though 
poor Annie, when the services were through, 
stood looking smilingly out on the familiar 
faces as they moved by her down the aisle, 
and more than once started forward with 
sparkling eyes to return a greeting that 
proved never to have been intended. Per¬ 
haps the coldness did not affect Annie;she 
only shivered in it a little at first, and then 
she dropped her eyes and seemed to get 
warmth from the same source that had 
given her face its light in the service time, 
and was seen wending her way homeward 
with buoyant feet. 
All of that week, Annie’s mother never 
came abroad. The old house grew tidier, 
and there began springing up all over it 
that same wondrous light. Annie worked 
and Annie sung ,and what was marvelous, i 
Annie’s mother was found out to have a 
breath of rare music in her heart that now 
Annie managed to tune sweetly. 
The next Sabbath she came to the church 
with her, and Annie had such a look of entire 
happiness now, the chilling glances never 
seemed to affect her in the least. And so 
people stared again, and gossipped again, 
and looked severe again, and all passed by 
and Annie was no more noticed. 
But that was not all. “ Oh, howbrightlv” 
—sung Annie’s voice in the dark alley, and 
“Oh, how brightly,” would resound from 
all over the miserable haunt, as though 
angels dwelt there. 
“ And isn’t it good she’s come here ?” 
said a poor Irish woman in the next room, 
Annie’s nearest neighbor; “there’s that in 
her eyes that makes one keep forever think¬ 
ing of the Virgin Mary up in the church; 
as though God had placed her here to keep 
service-time in our hearts always.” 
“ I could never strike Patrick to-day when 
he put me in a passion,” remarked a crony, 
. solemnly;“ for she said a little word that 
was better than blows, for it made him peni¬ 
tent, and it smote the anger out of me, too.” 
“But what for does she go into their 
grand churches, the poor child ? It goes 
to my heart to know she gets scorned there.” 
“ She scorned ?” 
“She, she?” This was a third voice. 
“And it’s a bitter draught for her, too, 
I know, for she’s but human, good as she 
is. And what fordoes she go ?—because 
her soul is full of yearnings for the speech 
of old town-folks, and she loves to worship 
God in the temple of her own people as one 
might say.” 
“ And she gets scorned there—there in 
the house of God.” 
“Yes, but it ’ill not be for long: for her 
spirit is sending its light about there, already; 
the young children come after her, ’tis said, 
and old Hugh Heatherstone opened his 
pew door for her last Sunday, and the 
young thing sat there all day among the 
great people, as much at home as though 
she’d been dressed up in silk attire.” 
Brightly enough did the sun move along 
in the sky over the dark alley. Bright 
plants began to open their leaves to it along 
the window seats, and bright human blos¬ 
soms smiled up to it radiantly. A new air 
had crept over the mean nook. Annie was 
the light of a hundred homes, and wiser 
aims and holier affections got place there 
during Annie’s stay, miraculously. These 
were glad times there, but days and months 
slipped by, and Annie’s mother died, and 
then Annie gave up the old room and was 
gone. 
Next we hear of her in old Hugh Heath- 
erstone’s house; not really a menial, but a 
sort of companion. The childless old peo¬ 
ple had been taken by her winning presence 
on the Sundays, and had sought her out, 
and employed her to read them the news¬ 
papers of evenings, to write letters for them, 
and be useful in a thousand ways. 
And here was a new sphere for Annie. 
There was costly furniture in the house, and 
fine pictures and books, but with all Annie’s 
innate refinement, she was not half as happy 
here as she had been in the poor alley, for 
rich, prosperous people, affable as they may 
be, sometimes carry an atmosphere about 
them that is sadly hard for humble folks to- 
breathe in; just as the air on high moun¬ 
tains is unfit for the respiration of the com¬ 
mon earth people. Poor Annie! the cold, 
constrained words she got, the “kindness 
that was bought,” could never do for her. 
But instead of looking in at the church door 
now, she had a place among the people, and 
hands began to be stretched out to greet 
her, for any one old Hugh Heatherstone 
noticed was surely worth regard. 
Annie smiled joyously at this at first, but 
I know not how it was, when she began to 
mingle in among them, there were the old 
conventional usages rising up like a great 
wall about them. People were very civil, 
but Annie never could steal in among them 
and feel that everywhere was home. And 
so, the old heart-light had nowhere to ex¬ 
pand, and was reflected from the icy sur¬ 
faces around, forever back upon itself.- 
What should chance? Why, it shone up 
over Annie’s face, sending such a light 
through the blue eyes and such a radiance 
over the features, something about Annie 
there was now, that seemed almost etherial. 
Now, she was wonderfully, radiantly beauti¬ 
ful. And when she came up the church 
aisle, the temple itself seemed to catch sanc¬ 
tity from her presence. People no longer 
condescended to recognize her, but approach¬ 
ed her with a kind of strange reverence, 
speaking in low voices and going away with 
better thoughts in their hearts, just as 
though they had held converse with an 
angel. 
As time wore on, the church grew stiller 
and the Sabbath days more consecrated, 
for now the young girl was supported up 
the aisle and sat ail day reclining upon 
cushions. No one looked coldly on her now. 
New and more human thoughts had crept 
abroad. But yet it was not the presence of 
an invalid’s face in their midst, that had 
wrought the change. No: a bright glow 
was on it, and it seemed at all times to be 
invested with a kind of halo. 
So had poor Annie Ivers wrought a mira¬ 
cle, as the story goes. And when one Sab¬ 
bath day Annie was not there, but the plain 
dark coffin was borne in, instead, everybody 
felt the presence of angels in the holy place, 
and the church seemed to have been on that 
day, first, really consecrated. Then all con¬ 
tributed to raise a costly headstone in the 
churchyard, with Annie’s name engraved 
on it, not so much to do honors to the de¬ 
parted, for that, they could not do, as that 
its presence should be there among them, 
a sweet token-word, whispering of life, and 
keeping selfishness and intolerance out of 
their hearts always .—Boston Museum. 
Amidst the most adverse circumstances, 
there are still reasons for cheerfulness. So 
long as there are motives to gratitude, there 
is a cause for cheerfulness. 
Experience gives by far the best mate¬ 
rial for'conversation on most subjects, but 
on some those who know are those who 
think and say the least. 
i THE POWER OF KINDNESS. 
’ The following anecdote was narrated at 
a meeting lately held in behalf of education: 
, A certain British school was remarkable 
. for the rough and savage disposition of the 
. boys who composed it. In consequence, it 
, had obtained the unenviable designation of 
“The Bulldog School.” The teacher, un¬ 
der whose supervision this state of things 
existed, and, who seemed quite unable to 
’ remedy it, was accordingly dismissed. His 
' successor, aware of these circumstances, and 
' earnestly desiring the welfare of his charge, 
( began by inquiring what mode or principle 
of action would be most likely to secure it. 
After much thought, he concluded that 
( kindness was the key to the boys’ hearts, 
and observantly waited for some favorably 
, opportunity to test its worth. One of the 
boys became dangerously ill. The teacher 
called upon him. This act was altogether 
! without precedent; report was soon circula¬ 
ted, and a good impression was suddenly 
made. When the school met, the teacher 
informed the boys about their comrade, and 
inquired if two would agree to call every 
day, and ascertain the state of his health. 
The idea was novel. Like new things, it 
was cheerfully received, and the boys regu¬ 
larly acted upon it. Their school-fellow 
had been ordered to have some wine. Ilis 
parents were very poor, and had not the 
means t#r complying with this order. The 
teacher became aware of the fact. He then, 
after telling the circumstance to his schol¬ 
ars, asked if they could not all help in this 
matter. One and another immediately cried 
out— 
“I will give a penny,” “I will give a far¬ 
thing,” and so on, according to their little 
resources. 
A collection was made. The requisite 
sum, minus sixpence, was obtained. The 
master inquired if all had been given they 
could spare. 
“ Yes.” 
It was sad to be so near the attainment of 
their object, and yet, after all, disappointed. 
Silence prevailed. At last one little fellow 
said— 
“Won’t you give the sixpence, teacher ?” 
“ Certainly, I only waited for you to ask 
me,” was the reply. 
All countenances were bright with joy. 
The wants of their sick school-fellow were 
met; his health was in due time restored. 
But the influence of this act of kindness did 
not cease with its occasion. The boys had 
felt the luxury of doing good. The school 
from that time became quite reformed; a 
proof how correctly they judge and act who 
not only train the intellect, but also the hearts 
of the young. No principle is so powerful 
for good in the education of mind, as that 
of intelligent kindness—the love, which, 
while it does not overlook wrong-doing, 
shows that it is not quenched by it—and 
that furnishes a constant and powerful im¬ 
pulse to goodness. 
OUR COMMERCIAL DESTINY- 
The States of North America are to be 
the commercial centre of the globe. This 
destiny seems so inevitable, that one hardly 
requires more than an inspection of the 
map to perceiv e it. Both sides of the globe 
—the two hemispheres—are ours, by our 
position for we are the land of two oceans. 
From our hither shore we hail the European 
and African continents; from our thither 
shore we greet the Oceanica and Asiatic 
Continent. And all between the oceans is 
our own; to be filled with our own people, 
under common institutions, speaking one 
language. 
The interior structure of this continent 
peculiarly fits it to be thus the mart of the 
globe. Its rivers open the interior, from al¬ 
most every part, and give natural outlets; 
its lakes are embosomed oceans, giving to 
the northern frontier a third shore, and an 
inland commerce, scarcely less than the At¬ 
lantic or Pacific shore. 
Such artificial ways are needed, especial¬ 
ly the great thorough fares from ocean to 
ocean—the inland highway, from the At¬ 
lantic to the Pacific—are within our own 
bounds. We have no Prussia on our bor¬ 
der; no Russia bejmnd her. Our vast in¬ 
terior is not grouped into national estates, 
blocking each other up, and wasting each 
other’s means by monstrous armies of watch 
or attack. We can ask of Commerce what 
she needs, and whether it is northward or 
southward, eastward or westward, her path 
lies among our own people. Shortly, the 
carrying-trade of the globe must be in our 
hands! Upon our shores are the gates 
through which must pour the world’s mer¬ 
chandise. 
Nor will the character of our people per¬ 
mit these resources to slumber. They are 
a thinking, inventive people; full of enter¬ 
prise and restless industry. They vex the 
ore of every mountain; they coax every 
valley; they cut the stone and hew the tim¬ 
ber, and quarry the very ice; they question 
every herb, dive into every soil, watch ev¬ 
ery secret of nature, discover what they can 
and invent what they cannot discover.— 
Rev. IL W. Beecher. 
A happy home is a glorious and instruc¬ 
tive sight; one which it does the heart good 
to see, and which, once beheld, leaves an 
ineffaceable impression on the mind. 
Wit mu) ijitmor, <j 
A CLERICAL ANECDOTE. 
Old Parson B.—who presided over a 
1 little flock in one of the back towns of the 
State of M-, was, without any exception, 
the most eccentric divine we ever knew. 
His eccentricities were carried as far in the 
pulpit as out of it. An instance we will re¬ 
late. 
Among his church members was one 
who invariably made a practice of leaving 
the church ere the parson was two-thirds 
through his sermon. This was practised 
so long, that after a while it became a mat¬ 
ter of course, and no one, save the divine, 
seemed to take notice of it; he at length 
notified Brother P. that such a thing must 
he felt assured, be needless, but P. said 
that at that hour his family needed his ser¬ 
vices at home, and he must do it; neverthe¬ 
less, on leaving church, he always took a 
roundabout course, which, by some myste¬ 
rious means always brought him in close 
proximity with the village tavern, where he 
would enter, “and thereby hangs a tale.” 
Parson B. ascertained from some source 
that P.’s object in leaving the church, was 
to obtain a “dram,” and he determined to 
stop his leaving and disturbing the congre¬ 
gation in future if such a thing was possible. 
The next Sabbath Brother P. left his seat 
at the usual time and started for the door, 
when Parson 13. exclaimed— 
“Brother P.” 
P. on being thus addressed, stopped short 
and gazed towards the pulpit. 
“ Brother P.” continued the parson, “there 
is no need of your leaving church at this 
time; as I passed the tavern this morning, 
I made arrangements with the landlord to 
keep your toddy hot till meeting was out.” 
The surprise and mortification of the 
brother can hardly be imagined. 
RUB-A-DUE, 
We find a funny story told of a military 
Captain, by the editor of a Portland paper. 
He commanded a Sacarappa company, and 
on a certain occasion, while drilling this 
limb of the nation’s bulwark in the art of 
“griin-visaged war,” the soldiers got into an 
inextricable snarl, and it was found neces¬ 
sary to stop the beating of the drum. In¬ 
stead of the usual phrase “ halt,” our com¬ 
mander bawled out somewhat pettishly — 
“Stop that drumming!” 
Notwithstanding this order, the musician 
continued to perform his “pandanniddles,” 
and flammididdles, with as much vigor as 
ever. 
“ Stop that drumming!” shouted our hero 
the second time, but the unconscious drum¬ 
mer, with head erect and foot on the move, 
still went on. 
The indignant captain could bear it no 
longer—marching directly up to the musi¬ 
cian, he drew his “battle blade” with a flour¬ 
ish, and plunging it through the head of the 
instrument, exclaimed, in a voice of thunder 
“ There, blast you, now rub-a-dub.” 
ANECDOTE OF NOAH WE3STER. 
Some years ago the great lexicographer 
passed through this region of country on 
horseback, on a visit to a brother who lived 
in Madison county. When he had reached 
the town where his brother resided, he met 
a boy going to school, and the following 
conversation passed between them: 
“ My son,” said the learned doctor, “ do 
you know where Mr. Webster lives?” 
“ Yes.” 
“Well,” continued the boy, “you aint a 
brother of his’n is you?” 
“ Yes.” 
“ Well, it can’t no how any way be that 
you is the man that made the spelling book 
can it?” 
“Yes.” 
“By golly,” rejoined the boy, as he gazed 
with awe struck wonder upon the venerable 
doctor; “by golly that’s a fish story.” 
The old gentleman often referred to the 
incident as one of the most pleasing reminis¬ 
cences of a long horseback ride. 
THE YANKEE AND THE LAWYER. 
A Native of the United States (says the 
Montreal Herald,) some time ago, having 
employed a lawyer in this city to do some 
business for him, was leaving his office with¬ 
out offering him a fee, when the lawyer 
observed, 
“ My good sir, you should give me a fee; 
you should act towards your lawyer as you 
do towards your horse—you should give 
him a feeding at starting, if you wish him 
to perform his journey.” 
“Well, squire,” answered Jonathan, “I 
always use my lawyer as I. do my hogs; 
when I want them to go to the other end 
of the yard, 1 put the feed there, and they 
gallop to it.” 
The answer was so ready and so drolly 
expressed, that the lawyer galloped (like 
the hog) to his feed, and was well fed by 
his client. 
“ Hard times, and we must make the best 
of what we have ?” as the grocer said when 
he watered the vinegar. 
“ Attempt the end, and never stand to doubt; 
Nothing’s so hard, but search will find it out.’’ 
For the Rural New-Yorker. 
MUSICAL ENIGMA. 
I am composed of 58 letters. 
My 39, 15, 45, 44, 16, 2, 36, 7 is one of the depart¬ 
ments in musical sounds. 
My 1, 12, 23, 26, 28 is one of the characters which 
represent the length of sounds. 
My 54, 4, 34, 23, 4, 49, 48 is one of the beats. 
My 3, 8, 43, 38, 23, 34, 50, 17 is one of the musical 
terms. 
My 10, 12, 19, 11, 13, 14 is one of the measures. 
My 42, 54, 44, 20, 30 is a character which repre¬ 
sents the pitch of sounds. 
My 0, 41, 57, 31, 23 is one of the subjects in musi¬ 
cal sounds. 
My 25, 34, 23, 21, 27, 10, 33, 9, 10, 5 ;s a musical 
term. 
My 2, 18, 35, 29, 22, 52, 53, 23, 56, 16, 41.2,54, 14 
1 is an artless and simple style in music. 
My 21, 40, 6, 33, 46, 32, 14. 43, 49 is a variety in 
common time. 
My 25, 17, 58 is one of the syllables. 
My 10, 2, .37, 14, 51, 23 is sometimes used at the 
end of a stall'. 
My 23, 47, 55, 9 consists of a principal sound. 
My 7, 24, 16, 18, 14, 25 is the surname of one of 
the cx-I’residents of the Boston Actidemy of 
music. 
My whole is the address of n manufacturing com¬ 
pany in the county of Onondaga. Rachel. 
[D= Answer next week. 
For the Rural New-Yorker. 
MISCELLANEOUS ENIGMA. 
I am composed of 18 letters. 
My 16, 14, 5, 3, 2, 11, 17 is a title of honor. 
My 2, 18, 9, 13, 14, 10 is used in making cheese. 
My 1, 12, 2, 17 is an intelligent being. 
My 16, 2, 18, 10, 5, 11,1,2, 4, 14, 9 is a retreat for 
runaways. 
My 3, 15, 10 is necessary for all to do. 
My 15, 8, 9, 10 is one half of my uncle. 
My 1, 17, 8, 10, 10, 7, 13 is something never satis¬ 
fied. 
My 16, 3, 5, 10, 17, 14, 6, 15, 9 is what commands 
respect. 
My 1, 7, 8, 10 is a painful disease. 
My 17, 12, 18 is what no one should do. 
My 14, 11, 16, 17, 4 is a large fowl. 
My 16, 2, 14, 18, 5 is a man’s name. 
My 17, 12, 7, 13 is a strong beast. 
My 11, 5, 9 is a lady’s name. 
My 18. 17, 6 is a kind of wood. 
My 1, 17, 8, 14 is used by cabinet makers. 
My 2, 8, 6 is an intoxicating drink. 
My 1C, 11, 6, 4 is what many are in pursuit of. 
My 1, 2, 3, 15, 10, 6, 4, 5 are not uncommon. 
My whole is the name of an inanimate produc¬ 
tion the property of a down east editor. L. 
[O 3 Answer next week. 
