MOORE’S RURAL NEW-YORKER: AN AGRICULTU RAL AND FAMILY JOURNAL. 
TOO MUCH NURSERY LEGISLATION. and every deed. But I fear that some- 
_ , T . . . . i times I have been guilty of binding heavy 
From what I have noticed in myself and burdens and grievous to be borne, and of 
in nth^rs the inniiirv h:is suirfresten ltse It t ° , r 
SYMPATHY. 
There’s a language that’s mute, there’s a silence can 
speak, 
There’s a something that cannot be told; 
There are words that can only be read on the cheek. 
And thoughts but the eyes can unfold. 
There’s a look so expressive, so timid, so kind. 
So conscious, so quick to impart. 
Though dumb, in an instant it speaks out the mind, 
And strikes in an instant the heart. 
This eloquent silence, this converse of soul, 
In vain we attempt to suppress; 
More prompt it appears from the wish to control; 
More apt the fond truth to express. 
FANCIES ABOUT BIRDS. 
Allow us, gentle reader, to scribble at 
random of one of the felicities of rural life; 
— that of seeing and hearing birds in their 
native haunts—observing their habits, ad¬ 
miring their beauty and listening to their 
varied notes, which are the unwritten music 
to the poetry of at least one volume of the 
works of Nature. 
Birds, of all animals, have the largest 
share of grace and beauty. Does not the 
gay yellow-bird as he floats in gentle curves 
through the summer air, seem a fit person¬ 
ification of joyousness? —and the swallow, 
how playfully graceful its swift-winged mo¬ 
tion ? And, so nicely are birds adapted to 
to the element they make their home, by 
their light, oval forms, and strong expansive 
wings, that none can fail to perceive the 
wisdom which planned their mode of exist¬ 
ence. 
— How different are the characteristics of 
birds. Each has a song to suit some fancy 
—each tells some tale to the heart of the lis¬ 
tener—is suggestive of some feeling, or 
awakens some emotion of the soul. Yon¬ 
der robin is singing a song of its home—its 
birth-nest in the apple tree — and telling 
of domestic happiness. The blue-bird near 
him, trills his sweet and melancholy strain, 
tuned in unison with plaintive memories; 
for such its notes recall to mind;—while 
yon sparrow from the topmost bough of the 
peach tree pours forth a song prophetic of 
future joys—of brighter days to come. The 
black-bird placing himself on an elm by the 
brook side, strikes a strain defiant—one of 
bold self-confident independence. 
But few birds remain with us through 
the year. The greater part “come when 
Nature is putting on her most pleasing as¬ 
pect, and stay only through the months of 
sunshine and gladness.” Who has not 
wished that with them he might fly from 
the domains of old Winter, and enjoy a 
clime of perpetual verdure and bloom? — 
Yet all are not summer friends. Oft with 
the falling flakes come flocks of snow-birds 
—which ever seem the merriest when their 
; little wings are half hidden by the desoend- 
; ing snow. They add much of life and ani- 
I mation to the wintry landscape. When the 
I ground is frozen hard—when the earth is 
! wrapped in her snowy garment,— then 
, comes the Winter King—the blithe snow- 
' bird—and alighting on the scanty remaining 
j stalks of flowers or weeds, he feeds on their 
; seeds, and scatters the chaff over the snow. 
| He is often seen around the farm house, 
J and accompanies the woodman to his labor, 
! and cheers him by his presence, and his 
> simple song. 
> Crows, which follow us in our conquest 
> of the wilderness, we must say a word 
about. They have been voted nuisances 
at town meetings, but that does not prove 
them such. They do mischief sometimes, 
as our corn-fields can testify, but we would 
not banish them for that. Their flight, slow, 
( steady and strong—their monotonous notes 
which cannot be called a song, and their 
sober hued garb, always remind us of old, 
| and once stately castles, now in ruins—of 
| ancient, venerable trees, and of the unceas¬ 
ing flow of a broad, deep river. 
The pigeons now so plenty and so perse¬ 
cuted—(we like them in a pot-pie)—did 
\ you ever watch them in the woods on a 
\ warm spring day—and note their winning 
ways and tones so like the human voice ? 
We have, and could not have the heart to 
harm them, notwithstanding the liking afore- 
? said. H. 
> Maple Hill, N. Y. 
Old men are long shadows, and their 
j evening sun lies cold upon the earth, but 
they all point towards the morning.— Ow- 
| en Feltham. 
Cultivate your own heart aright; re¬ 
member that “ whatsoever a man soweth 
j that shall he also reap.” 
in others, the inquiry has suggested itsell j * n 
— Is there not often an excessive legislation c iq' ( j 
for children? Do not parents sometimes 
make so many rules that, even with good 
intentions, they are ruling tyrannically ? I 
know that I have been vexed at myself Ti 
laying them upon the shoulders of my 
A MINE UNDER THE SEA. 
know that I have been vexed at myself Tiie following description of a visit to 
when, having given some order altogether Botallack Copper Mine, in England, is from 
unnecessary, it became necessary in my es- a work recently published, entitled “Ram- 
timation, to chastise on account of the vio- bios beyond Railroads.” In complete min- 
Iation of that order. ing equipment, with candles stuck by lumps 
On an unexpected emergency, to see two of clay to their felt hats, the travelers have 
or three little faces looking up with intense painfully descended, by perpendicular lad- 
interest for the decision of some disputed dors and along dripping-wet rock passages, 
point, is to me by no means amusing.— fathoms down into pitchy darkness; the 
Sometimes the case is a plain one, and the miner who guides them calls a halt, and 
decision easy T . But I appeal to parents, their exact position with reference to the 
whether it is not difficult at other times to surface of the “terraqueous globe” is thus 
know what should be said and what order described: 
should be given. I am disposed to think, “ We are now four hundred yards out, 
that in the difficult cases, it is not so much under the bottom of the sea! and twenty 
profound reasoning as a purer moral percep- fathoms, or a hundred and twenty feet be- 
tion that is requisite. low the sea level. Coast-trade vessels are 
Besides the sense of oppression which sailing over our heads. Two hundred and 
may smoulder in a child’s mind, when his forty feet beneath us men are at work, and 
casehas been hastily and erroneously judged there are galleries deeper yet, even below 
there is stirred up and strengthened in him that! The extraordinary position down the 
an unjust spirit. As he has beet treated, face of the clifl? of the engines and other 
so, unless renewing grace prevents, wil 
works on the surface, at Bottallack, is now 
treat others. It seems an ascertained fact, explained. The mine is not excavated like 
that however we might look for righteous- other mines under the land, but under the 
ness from those who have felt the miseries sea! 
of unrighteous treatment, yet when those Having communicated these particulars, 
who have been much wronged become mas- the miner next tells us to keep strict silence 
ters, they usually (unless they have been and listen. We obey him, sitting speech- 
converted) exercise an unrighteous mastery. less and motionless. It the reader could 
I fear, therefore, lest by erioneous judg- only have beheld us now, dressed in our 
ments I should confirm and promote the copper colored garments, huddled close to- 
unrighteous dispositions of my children. gether in a mere cleitof subterranean rock, 
When busied with the duties of my call- with a dame burning on our heads and 
ing, or when bent upon securing a season darkness enveloping our limbs—he must 
of relaxation, I am sometimes rather unwill- certainly have imagined, without any vio- 
ing to enter into the details of some appa- l <J,1 t stretch of fancy, that he was looking 
rently petty trouble which a child may 
bring to me, and at first am ready, like 
Gallio, to drive the annoyer from the judg¬ 
ment seat, for I do not seem to care for 
those little matters. But upon reflection I 
say to myself: “Here you are wrong. You 
should encourage your child to bring his 
down upon a conclave of gnomes. 
After listening for a few moments, a dis¬ 
tant, unearthly noise becomes faintly audi¬ 
ble—a long, low mysterious moaning, that 
never changes—that is felt on the ear as 
well as heard by it —a sound that might 
proceed from some incalculable distance— 
from some far invisible bight—a sound un¬ 
causes to you. To whom ought the little lrom some lar mvisioie nignt a sound un- 
one to go? Let him not feel that it is 1'ke anything that is heard on the upper 
mere importunity that induces you to give ground, in the iree airot Heaven a sound 
him a hearing. Let him perceive that you so sublimely mournful and still, so ghostly 
have a sense of righteousness in the small- and impressive, when listened to in the 
est matters. Recollect that they are not subterranean recesses of the earth, that we 
small in the estimation of the child, nor continue instinctively to hold our peace, as 
small in their effect upon him; and that the 
smallest matters involve great principles.— 
And if you cannot attend to him just now, 
if enchanted by it, and think not of com¬ 
municating to each other the strange feeling 
and astonishment which it has inspired in 
tell him, before sending him away, that in us both from the first 
a few hours, or as soon as may be, you will At the miner speaks again, and tells 
try to settle the affair for him.” us that what we h « ar is the sound of the 
When Adam was placed in Eden, only sur ‘. Iash j"8 lhe rocks * h , undrcd ,,nd tw, n - 
one tree was prohibited by the all wise God; ‘J '?.» above 1 us > a " d ° f ‘ be ^es hat are 
and that prohibition whs enforced. But breaking on the beach beyond. Ihe tide 
, f. : i ,__ , ,t • * . . I-* now at the flow, and the sea is in no ex- 
how often is such a scene as this enacted by .. ’ . . . , 
e . ^ u ,i „ • ,1 traordinary state of agitation; so the sound 
some of us: •* Ihomas and Martha, go into . , / . ° 
., „ i . ,i _| it is low and distant lust at this period. But, 
that room and stop there until 1 come back. . J . . , . >, . . ’ 
v i . 1 ... ...„ I...... a . , i when storms are at their height, when the 
Y our clothes are clean, now don t, get down , . ° ’ . . 
on the carpet. Let the books alone-and 00ean lmll f m ™ nto, " s al “ r mountains of 
do not climb on those chairs. Keep still, »“ Ur lh ' , the " tbe " 0,se “ *»«•! 
for the baby is asleep in the room overhead, the roaring heard down here in the mine 
Yesterday one of you slreaked the window I s “ mt*|>ressibly fierce and awful, that the 
i ;e ...... a a boldest men at work are afraid to continue 
with your fingers, and it you do so to-day , . . , .. , . . 
„ , P;_i at ... _... , „ their labor—all ascend to the surface to 
for the baby is asleep in the room overhead. 
Yesterday one of you slreaked the window ® “ inexpressibly herce and awful, that the 
_, t i „ . i boldest men at work are afraid to continue 
with your fingers, and it you do so to-day , . . , .. , . . 
,n . P- . \rf J their labor—all ascend to the surface to 
you 11 get whipped. jnow, see that you , , , , , , 
mind what I say; and see that you lot the breathe the upper air and stand on the 
door of that closet stay shut.” Possibly firm earth; dreading, though no catastrophe 
some additional directions are given; and b»s ever happened yet, that the sea will 
all these are to be kept by a couple of child- break J" “ them ,f the J remaln 1,1 the cav ' 
ren between three and six years old, it may ern K ow - 
be, and for nearly an hour, until the father aear "’S lh,s ' Z gel U[> , , t0 lo ° k a f tl,e 
or mother shall return. I have asked my- rock above ns. /ft e are able to stand up- 
self before now, what shall these children right m the position we now occupy ; and 
do ? Almost every thing is forbidden them, 
Haring our candles hither and thither in the 
darkness, can see the bright, pure copper 
and as long as they remember all these or- ’ ,, . &" 1 ’ V A . 
d«rs thfiv feel as if in orison. streaking _ the gallery in every direction 
not have forgotten them. He has broken a 
parent’s commands, and has done wrong; 
but why bind him with so many orders?— 
H0ME ' utfcies mrnmm. 
Nothing can humanity worse spare than 
pleasing and gracious memories of home. -“ 
So fervently does humanity cling to what For tbe R " ral Nfi ' v ‘ York<!r - 
nature owes it, that those who have no home SCATTERE D F RIENDS, 
will make one for themselves in vision.— BY , DA rAIR] > IELD . 
Those who have an evil one, will soften - 
down its many vices, and of the scantiest Where are they, the kindly hearted, 
affections bring forth rays of the heart to Those we loved so warn, and weir? 
, . o J Where are those we €arly trusted 
brighten their retrospect. It is the mir- scattered where; ohi who can ten? 
acle of the five loaves performed spiritually ™_ . , , 
for the soul, fest the instincts of our human- Some, the gayest of our hand, 
ity should faint and perish by the way.— Tread a lone and joyless pathway— 
The visitings of early home thoughts are strangers in a distant land, 
the last to quit US. Feeble age has them Some are lingering still among us, 
when it has nothing else in memory; and 0,1 their brovvs 1)0 trace of car e. 
when all the furniture which imagination »-;ttim slow and saddened heart-throb, 
. , . . G , 1 ells of sorrow’s footsteps there, 
put together has gone to pieces and to dust, 
these, not constructed but planted, planted SSstvJSdllring, 
down in the living SOU of primal conscious- {lut too oft, Uie thorn has lingered, 
ness, flourish to the last; when the treasures And tire blossom died in spring, 
which experience has been many years col- Some,-alas! not few their number 
lecting, a few months may seem to take They—the gentlest—loved the best—- 
away, some diamonds are left behind, which Spread their spirit-wings and hasted 
even the thief, time, has spared-reminis- To the mansions of the blest. 
cences that glimmer through bare and blank Tllcy ’ tt>R ha PP' est of t!ie scattered, 
obscurity from the crevices of youth. Seraph crowned is every brow, 
. J . . , , j , , 1 bough the way is wide between us, 
As every thing human has an element of They are nearest to us now. 
good in it, that which is good in a vicious Alfred Centre, N. Y., May, 1851. 
home is what the past gives back to feeling; -—-— 
it is also that which is good in an evil man CO MFO RT. 
that the remembrance of a virtuous home „ n . r „ e , • , 
, . . , c . u . . I here are excellent women full of kind 
acts on. I here is no mist of guilt so thick • . lr e 
that it can always exclude the light of such "teljigence-women ®f* 
, J c b . r . ten with abundant pecuniary means and 
remembrance; no tempest of passion furious ^ artic]es of £ ess , urnkuK _ 
as always to silence its voices. During a i A i • , .. 
lull in the hurricane of revelrv the neal of l ^ personal appearance is always untidy 
oil ,ii ti 7’ , and the aspect of their homes comfortless, 
the babbath bell may come along the track r P . , „ ■ ■ e r , , 
r . , i ., , , iji -i I here is an air of negligence and disorder 
of wasted years, and though loaded heavi y . ol i • r r • ° . 
•„ , , J , ° rn . { about all their affairs. The very sight of 
will not be unkindly in its tones. Through i • , . , A ,. 6 
,, t y , T. . Y ® , the parlor gives one a homesick feeling.— 
the reck,ngs o luxury, faces that beamed TUt .- c ,, ildr f n look uninviti and ch(!er f ess . 
on the prodigal m youth may seem to start There is kindn(!ss of di ° silionj but n0 
in roubic {, -T, r ir d ; ou ! r** how m a„ y ^m,- 
red with grief, though pallid with afflictions, „ A J \ & . , 
, ii?, i u- , • , ’ en away and exposed to temptation and 
turn mildly towards him, not in anger, but „ ,, 0 - q f ,, c 
■ A • 1 . V e L I perils abroad simply for the want of an at- 
m sorrow. Amidst the chorus of bacchan- u _ i a i e i i 
! , i • , tractive home! A cheerful room, where 
als and the refrains of lewdness, the satiated • c ,• r j 
libertine may fancy, at moments, that lie an “ r , of aud 
hears the calls of loved ones gone to hea- “ vlrtoea ® F “ CS ' 
ven, startling him from the trance of death. R , . .. . , . 
r T j ,i f i , . , But there is another extreme as fatal to 
Under the loud carousals that rage above c , , , 
, ■ A , , , - . f t comfort as that of which we have spoken, 
the brain, deep down and one y in Ins heart, m. , u i i , • 
f , , • , ./ ,. Z, I he parlor may be altogether too nice.— 
there may come to him too, the whisper of r P . „ £ •. ! , . ” • c ,, , , 
. , J , , .. I he furniture may be too painfully orderly 
parental exhortation, the murmur of house- • -. rm r J r , 3 
f , . , .1 , , ? in its arrangement The mistress of the 
bold prayer, and the music of domestic k „ P , . . , 
. „ ^ J house may be too precious in her attire.— 
hymns. mi v . « 
The very criminal in his cell will often IhW6 “7 b« ®<> spontaneity of 
* . mnvpmpnt nn hnisfpmnQ nvorfinixr r»f crMfiics 
ders they leel as if in prison. .u evt-.y 
^ J , . 1 . , , , . . Lumps ot ore, of the most lustrous green 
Presently a pair of sprightly horses dash color> traverSed by a natura ] network of thin, 
along the street with a carnage, and Thomas red veins of iron> ar here and there m 
runs to the window, climbs on a chair puts , irregular patches , over which water 
one hand against a pane ol glass. Here j s dr ippi n g slowly and incessantly in certain 
are two laws broken at once In Ins eager- kct £ is the salt water percolating 
ness he forgot the orders. True, he should [hrough invisible crannies in the work. On 
For tbe Rural New-Yorker. 
SCATTERED FRIENDS. 
BY IDA FAIRFIELD. 
Where are they, the kindly hearted, 
Those we loved so warm and well? 
Where are those we early trusted 
Scattered where; Oh! who can tell? 
Chances, changes have come o’er them, 
Some, the gayest of our liand, 
Tread a lone and joyless pathway— 
Strangers in a distant land. 
Some are lingering still among us, 
On their brows no trace of care, 
But the slow and saddened heart-tlirob, 
Tells of sorrow’s footsteps there. 
Some have sought at Hymens altar, 
I'or the flowerets love could bring, 
But too oft, the thorn has lingered. 
And tire blossom died in spring. 
Some,—alas! not few their number 
Tliey—the gentlest—loved the best— 
Spread their spirit-wings and hasted 
To the mansions of the blest. 
They, tlie happiest of the scattered, 
Seraph crowned is every brow, 
Though the way is wide between us, 
Tliey are nearest to us now. 
Alfred Centre, N. Y., May, 1851. 
COMFORT. 
There are excellent women full of kind 
comfort, is a great promoter of the domes¬ 
tic virtues. 
But there is another extreme as fatal to 
uu*y^i, uuu tiiCi lAiucaiVy UUmCOUU i _ 1 . • • i 
. * J house may be too precious in her attire.— 
The very criminal in his cell will often IhWe “7 be ”, ease ' n0 s P<>ntane.ty of 
have these visitations—ministers to exhort ”° t vement ' boisterons overflow of spinta, 
not enemies to accuse-angels to beseech, *f„ °a t? ° r 
not (lemons to scoff. The sentenced culpri sl ! 0uld ba dlsarran 8 ed - Tbe ? usl ? d ‘ 
i • i • i . • , . . r a ish anection must be restrained lest the 
dnrmg even h s last night on earth must maternal cholor shou , d be tumbleA 
sleep, and perchance may dream, and sel¬ 
dom will that dream be all in the present 
In dress and housekeeping, as in man- 
and in prison ; not all of it, if any, will be of ners and literature, perlection lies in that 
chains and blood, of shapeless terrors, and wlde re 8 ion where ease and order, care and 
pale faced avengers, of the scaffold and the ne gl*g ence are united, and both extremes 
shroud. Far other things will be in the are made to y ield real comfort. It is a 
dream. He once was honest, and spent his 8 reat art and requires a rare combination 
childhood, it may be, in a rustic home, and of Christian graces and inferior but essen- 
grew to youth amidst laborious men and qualities to make a comfortable home; 
with simple nature. Out of imagery thus and ^ere is ho sphere in life so attractive 
derived will his dream be formed. In such or 60 i m P or tent as that which is the pecu- 
drearas will be the green field and the liar and blessed province of a refined, de- 
wooded land; the boat sleeping on the affectionate, accomplished woman 
stream; the rock mirrored in the lake; tbe a,tdd ber household duties. Christian 
shadow, watched expectingly from the 
school-room window, as it shortens to the pt 
noontide hour. Then there will be parents, __ 
blessed in their unbroken circle ; there will be When a woman is possessed of a high 
young companions, laughing in their play; degree of tact, she sees, as by a kind of 
there will be bright harvest evenings, after second sight, when any little emergency is 
FEMALE TACT. 
days of healthful toil; there will be family 
greetings, thanksgiving feasts; there will be 
likely to occur, or when, to use a more fa¬ 
miliar expression, things do not seem likely 
the grasp of friendship; there will be the to go right. She is thus aware of any sud- 
kiss of love. 1 he dream will not be entire- den turn in conversation, and pepared for 
ly, it at all, a dream of crime, disgrace and w bat it may lead to; but above all, she can 
death; it will be one that reproduces, on penetrate into the state of mind of those 
the brink of eternity, the freshness of emo- sbe { s placed in contact with, so as to detect 
tion, hope, and desire with which existence the gathering gloom upon another’s brow, 
on earth began. Giles. before the mental storm shall have reached 
END WORDS IN IRE FAMILY, fo ™ idabl » beiglit; to know when the 
_ tone ot voice has altered; when any unwel- 
Theke are few families, we imagine, corac thought shall have presented itself, 
ywhere, in which love is not abused as a ? d w ben the pulse ol feeling is beating 
rnishing a license for impoliteness. A higher or lower ol some apparently trifling 
isband, father, or brother, will speak harsh c * rc umstance which has just transpired. 
>rds to those whom he loves the best, and In these and innumerable instances of a 
KIND WORDS IN THE FAMILY. 
through invisible crannies in the work. On 
stormy days it spurts out furiously in thin, 
continuous streams. Just over our heads 
we observe a wooden plug of the thickness 
Presently, after both have stood or leaned of a man > s leg; there is a hole here, and the 
about until weary, Martha bethinks herself . is all th | t we have t0 kee p out the sea! 
of an engraving which her mother showed f mmen se wealth of metal is contained in 
her yesterday in one of the books. Oh, the roof of this gallery, throughout its whole 
I homas, says she, “ you were not m the length; but it remains, and will always re • 
room yesterday when mother showed me ma f n> untouched . the rainers dare not take 
that beautiful picture ” She looks for it on it> for u is t> and a eat part of the rock 
the table thinking all the while, not about which forms their on f pr ‘ tection against 
a forbidden book, but merely^ about the the gea> and which has been so far worked 
anywhere, in which love is not abused as 
furnishing a license for impoliteness. A 
husband, father, or brother, will speak harsh 
words to those whom he loves the best, and 
to those who love him the best, simply be- similar nature, the woman of tact not only 
cause the security of love and family pride perceives the variations which are constant- 
keeps him from getting his head bioken. ly taking place in the atmosphere of social 
It is a shame that a man will speak more life, but she adapts herself to them with a 
impolitely, at times, to his wife or his sister facility which the law of love enables her 
than he would dare to any other female, to carry out, so as to spare her friends the 
except a low and vicious one. pai n and annoyance which so frequently 
It is thus that the holiest affections of arise out of mere mismanagement of famil- 
man’s nature prove to be a weaker protec- lar and apparently unimportant affairs. 
beautitul picture. Not finding it there, she away here, that its thickness is limited to an don w °man within the family circle than And how often do these seeming trifles 
opens the closet, and soon shows the en- averao . e 0 f three feet only between the wa- t, l ie restraints of society, and that a woman, —these accidental betrayals of what there 
graving to her brother. Here again two ^ er a ® d tke gadery i n which we now stand, usually, is indebted for the kindest polite- would have been no duplicity in concealing 
laws are broken. Martha has done wrong, vr n0 kno L s w ) ia t m Lrht he the eonsc- ncss of life to those not belonging to her —bow often do these wound us more than 
But was it right to leave children in a room 5_' LWiL L.u own household. Things ought* not to he direct unkindness. 
for an hour with nothing to do; with so 
many laws, and so many occasions for trans¬ 
gression ? 
quence of another clay’s labor with the pick¬ 
axe on any part of it” 
Cage Birds.—I n this variable climate, 
The foregoing scene is but a sample of you must take special care never to leave 
what often takes place in other circumstan¬ 
ces, and with other children. 
your birds in a cold room, or in a room 
without a fire. Keep them at one equable 
The principle is, I think, a good one, but warmth, and they will thrive—neglect them 
I sometimes come short in the observance i n this matter and their feathers will become 
of it, viz.: few orders, and those well en - raffled; their head will find its way behind 
forced. I am no advocate for indifference the wing; and their dissolution will be 
to the actions and tempers of children.— 
Everything said or done by any of us has 
a moral quality. The law of our God is ex- 
speedy. 
One man, taught, soon becomes teacher 
ceeding broad, and reaches every thought I of many others. 
usually, is indebted for the kindest polite- would have been no duplicity in concealing 
ness of life to those not belonging to her —how often do these wound us more than 
own household. Things ought not to be direct unkindness. 
so. The man, who, because it will not be ---- 
resented, inflicts his spleen and bad temper Let every married woman be persuaded 
upon those of his hearth-stone, is a small that there are two ways of governing a 
coward, and a very mean man. Kind words family. The first is, by the expression of 
are the circulating medium between true that which threatens force. The second is 
gentlemen and true ladies at home, and no by the power of love, to which even strength 
polish exhibited in society can atone for the will yield. Over the mind of the husband 
hard language and disrespectful treatment a wife should never employ any other power 
too often indulged in between those bound than gentleness. 
together by God’s own ties of blood, and -- 
the still more sacred bonds of conjugal love. If woman knew their power and wished 
-- to exert it, they would always show sweet- 
From one centre, knowledge radiates in ness of temper, for then they are almost ir- 
a thousand directions. resistable. 
