16 
MOORE’S RURAL NEW-YORKER: AN AGRICULTURAL AND FAMILY NEWSPAPER. 
! dhicationaL 
) 
> HINTS TO TEACHERS.-BY A PUPIL. 
j Messrs. Editors :—The scholar lias fre- 
> quently received excellent advice in your 
J columns from teachers and others: will you 
1 allow a pupil to give his ideas in return .'— 
, If you think them valuable, please publish ; 
| if they are otherwise judged of, let them 
i pass promptly to oblivion and waste paper, 
i Every tcachor should adopt a mild, mu- 
| tual plan of government, treating all schol- 
i ars justly and impartially, whether the cbil- 
| dren of rich parents or of poor. And from 
» this rule of action let nothing divert him. 
! Be mild and even-tempered at all times, 
1 and under all circumstances. As like pro- 
) duces like, anger is productive of anger. If 
| scholars find it exhibited towards them by 
t the teacher, they, in return, will reciprocate 
J its manifestation, and consequently hatred 
> or discord is engendered, which renders a 
| school worse than useless to the extent of 
> such exhibitions. Anger ever acts as a law 
> of repulsion, unfitting the teacher for giv- 
j ing, and the scholar for receiving instruc- 
> tion—destroying that harmony of feeling 
j that should ever exist between them. 
> But let a teachor once thoroughly con- 
! vince scholars that he loves them, and is 
1 striving to promote their best educational 
i interest;, and how soon does he receive n 
[ return their love and esteem, that grows 
> brighter and stronger as time wears away, 
j and which can never be obliterated. Then, 
> there is nothing that can induce them to 
I wrong him in any way, or to disobey what 
> he requires of them, but on the contrary 
) his very wishes are anticipated, and need 
J not a verbal request to have them complied 
> with. Their minds are fully prepared to ro- 
J ceive any instruction he may wish to im- 
> part, and he is much better prepared to in- 
J struct them, than when laboring under the 
> degrading influences just spoken of. IIow 
> tractable and easily governed does ho find 
j them when they are bound to him by the 
i attracting principle of love. Order and 
[ harmony reigns, and the school is a pros- 
1 porous and happy one. Should not those 
, who have the care of training youthful 
| minds—those tender scions that depend 
> upon the goodness and faithfulness of your 
| cultivation for what manner of fruit they 
> shall bring forth, whether of good or evil— 
> pay particular attention to that little word, 
> love, and see that they act out in everything 
> they do, its every requirement ? Let its 
j principles ever have a homo in their broast, 
> and never drive them hence, but let them 
j ever govern those who would govern others. 
) Ohio, December, 1852. 
J ORLEANS CO. TEACHERS’ ASSOCIATION. 
J A session of this convention was held at 
> Albion, Dec. IS, at which a fair number of 
) teachers were present. They discussed a 
| set of good resolutions, affirming the pro- 
) fession of a teacher to be first in the rank 
\ of professions ; that the standard of quali- 
> fications for teachers was not high enough 
> for the best interests of education. Teach- 
> ers’ County Institutes were highly com- 
> mended, and they resolve to resuscitate 
j them in the county and petition the Logis- 
> lature for appropriations therefor. After a 
| very pleasant and useful meeting the Associ- 
> ation adjourned to meet at the Court House 
> in Albion the 29th January inst., for the 
[ election of officers. An address will bo dc- 
» livered by Rev. Mr. Fancher. 
i _____ 
I CONVENTION OF EDUCATORS. 
1 The Teachers and Professors of Collegi- 
! ate, Academic and scientific Institutions of 
the State, held an adjourned meeting in 
Rochester on Friday, (Dec. 31. ) Several 
1 reports were read by committees appointed 
at the previous meeting. Prof. C. Dewey, 
LL. D., of the University of Rochester, was 
appointed President. The topics consider¬ 
ed and discussed were such as intimately 
concern the practical educator. The next 
meeting will be held in Auburn. 
HOW TO TEACH WRITING. 
Writing has been taught solely as an art. 
Copies are set in the books taken by the 
pupils to imitate, by hook or by crook, as 
best they can, the handwriting of the mas¬ 
ter. Did you over look over the pen scratch- 
ings of a district school ? What quail tracks! 
What aspiring.after utter impossibilities !— 
What legible impressions of ideas from inky 
fingers and upset inkstands ! 1 venture to 
affirm that there are not five schools in 
Northern Illinois, claiming a share of pub¬ 
lic money, that have a set of writing books 
fit to be seen ! 
Every teacher has his own notion about 
teaching writing, and about every parent 
too, so far as to the time when “Darling 
Charley” shall learn to write. So I shall 
not prescribe which side must lean against 
the desk, or how the pen must be held, or 
the paper lay, but shall proceed to give a 
few common place notions about teaching 
writing. 
When the teacher (not the parent) de¬ 
cides it is time to begin tracing characters 
in ink, let the pupil supply himself with a 
substantial copy-book, not too large, an ink- 
stand not liable to bo overset, and pens. If 
quills are used in this iron age, tho teacher 
should mend and make them out of school 
hours, so that when tho writing signal is 
given, nothing else may require his atten¬ 
tion. Copies should also be set, and every 
arrangement completed, so that nothing 
whatever shall disturb the stillness of the 
writing hour. Let the a b c scholars alone 
till it is over with. 
Habits of neatness and care must be form¬ 
ed now, if ever. Every hasty line and every 
blot must be scrutinized and reproved. Im¬ 
proper postures and habits of hand, must be 
repeatedly noticed and corrected by the 
teacher. His eve must bo everywhere and 
on everything. None should discontinue 
writing, until the signal is given for all to 
do so. Then the pen should be carefully 
wiped, upon the wiper attached to the copy¬ 
book, and when the ink is dry, tho book 
closed, and laid away or gathered up to lio 
upon the teacher’s desk until next writing 
hour. 
Do you think, teacher, this standard is too 
high for you? Not a whit! If you ever 
want the writing exercise to be a pleasant 
one, and your coi^y books fit to be seen, you 
must aim high. Straight marks look well, 
if they show pains-taking. 
“Pot-hooks and trammels” are ten times 
better to discipline tho muscles of the fin¬ 
gers than all the fine hair strokes of the 
writing master. Suit your copies to your 
pupils ability, and oblige them to attend to 
them the requisite time. Some may teach 
writing in twelve lessons, to older brains 
and more practiced fingers, and pocket the 
$5 with tho consciousness that it has been 
a most potent incentive to the attainment 
of the hand, but you can’t teach it in thrice 
twelve lessons, to the tow-heads of our com¬ 
mon school. System and perseverance alone 
will enable you to succeed. 
Don’t forget that black board. Don’t you 
suppose you can imitate a poor letter and 
show how to make a good one on it ? Be¬ 
sides, there is the place to show the science 
of writing, analyze its principle more thor¬ 
oughly than you know how.— Prairie Far. 
PUBLIC EDUCATION. 
That the people must bo educated, in or¬ 
der to the permanence of free institutions, 
is, at this hour so evident a truism, that it 
were ridiculous to insist upon it with any 
degree of persistency. The participation 
and supervision, with which each citizen is 
indirectly invested, with regard to those in¬ 
stitutions, will naturally impress upon them 
the character of the people, whatever that 
character may prove. Now to participate 
in tho government, and to supervise its ac¬ 
tion, they must understand its mechanism; 
and to understand that mochanism, they 
must be furnished a certain amouht of ne¬ 
cessary knowledge, which cannot exist out 
of the conditions of primary education. By 
right of sovreignity they hold tho political 
power in their hands ; and if it be suffered 
in violationn of our duty, to become an ig¬ 
norant and increasing power, we shall be 
preparing days of difficulty, and if not of 
disasters, for the Republic. The best en¬ 
actments of your constitutions shall prove 
but frail monuments against the dissolving 
influence of general ignorance and of the 
moral depasement, which it fatally involves; 
thoy will sink and crumblo away from the 
moment that they shall cease to rest upon 
public and private virtue, developed by uni¬ 
versal intelligence. If knowledge, as main¬ 
tained by one of the master intellects of 
modern times, be power; most essentially 
does it behoove republics to turn into a 
power fruitful of good. 
These truths, so obvious in themselves, 
appeal with peculiar solemnity to those, 
upon whom is devolved tho responsibility of 
framing the laws of society. Their duty, 
when they have enacted laws to govern the 
people, is but half discharged. There is yet 
higher and more difficult duty to perform 
in devising such a system of legislation as 
shall have the effect of converting the peo¬ 
ple into a law—a good, safe and living law 
—to themselves. The most efficient laws, 
after all, are those which control, not by the 
power of the sword, but by tho influence of 
enlightened principle. Without this princi¬ 
ple, vivified by tho touch of education, there 
can be no peace in the community, no mor¬ 
als in society, no wisdom in the legislator. 
By the probation, which it imposes upon 
every one, to become a good and useful cit¬ 
izen, it contributes to the abatement of the 
vices, which deform the body social—digni¬ 
fies the plainness of republican morality— 
exalst tho character of private worth—fos¬ 
ters tho development of public virtue— 
check tho inroads of grasping cupidity, and 
in tho opening which it affords for every so¬ 
cial merit, opens a sourco of general pros¬ 
perity. Such a principle can grow out of 
no elements but those of a vigorous system 
of free public education, which is the com¬ 
mon share of the patrimony that the State 
is bound to dispense to its younger mem¬ 
bers. As their necessary introduction, 
therefore, to the membership of society, that 
form of education is absolutely necessary to 
all of them. The State, therefore, owes 
that form of training to all; and not only 
does it owo tho means of training, but it also 
owes the application of those means.— Prof. 
Dimitry. 
Parental Example —Your children will 
be more animated to vigorous perseverance, 
and self-dependence, tho more they witness 
your exertions to provide for your future 
welfare. There are few who can witness 
the daily display of parental and provident 
care, without having tho desire created with¬ 
in them of doing something for themselves. 
“ A thrifty father,” says a Hindoo proverb, 
“may have an oxtravagant son, but a dili¬ 
gent father rarely has an idle son.” 
We like to look upon “tho counterfeit 
presentments” of distinguished men, and 
feel assured that most of our readers share 
in this predilection. The portrait above is 
that of one who has made an ineffaceablo 
mark in American literature; his writings 
being most remarkable for an unique beau¬ 
ty and originality of diction, found nowhere 
else. The Biographical sketch below, is con¬ 
densed from an extended notice by the Poet 
Stoddard, accompanying a portrait in the 
National Magazine for January : 
Nathaniel Hawthorne was born in or 
about the year 1807, in the town of Salem, 
Massachusetts, in a house built by his grand¬ 
father, who was a maritime personage. The 
old household estate was in another part of 
the town, and had descended in the family 
ever since the settlement of the country; 
but this old man of the sea exchanged it for 
a lot of land situatod near the wharves, and 
convenient to his business, where ho built 
the house, (which is still standing,) and laid 
out a garden where the future author rolled 
on a grass plot under an apple-tree and 
picked abundant currants. One peculiari¬ 
ty of Hawthorne’s boyhood was a grievous 
disinclination to go to school, and (Provi¬ 
dence favoring him in this natural repug¬ 
nance) he never did go half as much as oth¬ 
er boys, partly owing to delicate health, 
(which he made the most of for the pur¬ 
pose.) and partly becauso much of tho time 
there were no schools within reach. 
When he was eight or nine years old, his 
mother, with her three children, took up her 
residence on the banks of the Sebago Lake, 
in Maine, where the family owned a large 
tract of land; and here Hawthorne ran quite 
wild, and would, we doubt not, have willing¬ 
ly run wild till this time, fishing all day long 
or shooting with an old fowling-piece, but 
reading a good deal too, on the rainy days 
especially in Shakspcare and the “ Pilgrim’s 
Progress,” and any poetry or light books 
within his reach. Delightful days must 
those have been; for that part of tho coun¬ 
try was wild then, with only scattered clear¬ 
ings, and nine-tenths of it primeval woods. 
But by-and-by his good mother bogan to 
think it was necessary that her boy should 
do something else; so he was sent back to 
Salem, where a private instructor fitted him 
for college. He was educated (as the phrase 
is) at Bowdoin College, Maine, as were also 
Professor Longfellow and General Franklin 
Pierce. What progress ho made in his 
studies we know not; judging from the 
scholarly air of his books, we should say no 
mean one. 
It was the fortune or misfortune, just as 
the reader pleases, of Hawthorne to have 
si me slender means of supporting himself; 
and so, on leaving college, in 1825, instead 
of immediately studying a profession, he sat 
himself down to consider what pursuit in 
life ho was best fit for. He had read end¬ 
lessly, all sorts of good and good-for-noth¬ 
ing books, and in the dearth of other em¬ 
ployment, had early begun to scribble 
sketches and stories, most of which he burn¬ 
ed. Some, however, got into the magazines 
and annuals; but being anonymous, or un¬ 
der different signatures, they did not soon 
have tho effect of concentrating any atten¬ 
tion upon tho author. Still they did bring 
him into contact with certain individuals.— 
Mr. S. G. Goodrich, (a gentloman of many 
excellent qualities, although a publisher!) 
took a very kindly interest in him, and em¬ 
ployed his pen for “The Token,” an annual. 
From the press of Monroe & Co., Boston, 
in the year 1837, appeared “ The Twice-told 
Tales,” Mr. Hawthorne’s first acknowledged 
volume. “ The Twice-told Tales” was a col¬ 
lection of essays, allegories, and stories con¬ 
tributed to various magazines and periodi¬ 
cals. In 1842 was added a socond volume. 
The success of “Tho Twice-told Tales” was 
a disgrace to public taste. The foreign nov¬ 
els of James and Bulwer, the home manu¬ 
factures of Simms and Ingraham, and hosts 
of other standard writers created “sensa¬ 
tions,” and sold by whole editions, while tho 
finest and purest tales ever written in Amer¬ 
ica—the most spiritual creations of a beau¬ 
tiful genius—dropped from the press almost 
still-born; or, to say the most, attracted a 
quito limited share of attention. 
In 1S39, Mr. Bancroft, tho historian, with¬ 
out solicitation, gave him a situation in tho 
Boston Custom-house, which proved con¬ 
siderably lucrative, and of which Hawthorne 
discharged tho duties like a man of this 
world. After two years ho resigned and 
wont to the Brook-Farm Community, at 
West Iloxbury, where ho continued one 
season, not much to his own satisfaction, 
according to all accounts. Of this period 
of his life he has written largely, though 
under tho vail of fiction, in “ I he Blythe- 
dalo Romance.” The next year he was 
married, and went to live in tho “Old 
Manse,” at Concord, Mass. His manner of 
life here is charmingly described in the in¬ 
troduction to “The Mosses from an old 
Manse.” 
From Boston he went to Salem again, 
and into the Custom-house there. Gladly 
would we copy, had we room. Hawthorne’s 
own account of his life at Salem ; for here 
(see the introduction to “ The Scarlet Let¬ 
ter”) ho is his own biographer, as in “The 
Old Manse,” not so fully as in that instance, 
however, for there is but little interest in 
tho life of a Custom-house surveyor, poet 
or dreamor though he be. 
Punctually and faithfully fulfilling his du¬ 
ties, ho remained in this ungenial employ¬ 
ment, until ho was ejected by tho Whigs, on 
the accession of General Taylor, on whose 
soul, and on all their souls, bo blessings for¬ 
ever ! Free again, ho immediately set to 
work on the “ Scarlet Letter,” tho idea of 
which was already in his mind; this he fin¬ 
ished in Salem, and shortly afterward left 
the city for l^enox. “ Tho Scarlet Letter ” 
was published in the spring of 1850. The 
good time had come at last. The author of 
“ The Twice told Tales” had written a book 
which was popular. The first edition of 
twenty-five hundred copies was all ordered 
before the day of publication, and another 
edition put immediately to press. Its suc¬ 
cess was complete. At homo and abroad 
the newspapers and reviews were loud in its 
praise; and they have not done talking of 
it yet. Four years had elapsed since the 
publication of “Tho Mosses from an Old 
Manse,” and in that time, and slowly por- 
haps, for some years before, Hawthorne’s 
fame had been steadily on tho increase.— 
Among his brethren of the quill he was 
well-known already; among purely literary 
people ho had a fair reputation ; but purely 
literary people never buy editions of books, 
and put money in each other’s pockets. 
Tho success of “ Tho Scarlet Letter ” bro’t 
out a new edition of “ Tho Twice-told Tales,” 
and “ True Stories from History and Bio¬ 
graphy,” (a child’s book.) and encouraged 
tho author to write “ Tho House of the 
Seven Gables,” and “ Tho Wonder Book,” 
both of which last were written among the 
mountains of Lenox. Hawthorne, if we 
may judge of him by his nomadic habits, 
seems not to bo a person ■who attaches him¬ 
self vory strongly to any one locality; so in 
autumn, 1851, he removed from Lenox, and 
took a house for the winter as West-New¬ 
ton, where he wrote the “ Blythedale Ro¬ 
mance,” which was published in July of the 
past year. A few months since, (probably 
in tho hope of inducing himself to take root, 
by making the soil his own.) ho bought a 
small house and estate at Concord, where 
ho now resides. 
THE POETRY OF NATURE. 
We copy the following from tho Optimist, 
a work by Tuckerman, the object of which, 
as ho states it, is to point out and uphold 
the poetry of life, and tho common resources 
of Nature, to which habit is so apt to mako 
us indifferent: 
“1 know it is sometimes said that the era 
of romance has passed, that with the pas¬ 
toral classic and chivalrous periods of tho 
world, the poetic element died out. But 
this is manifestly a groat error. The forms 
of society have greatly changed, and tho 
methods of poetical developomentare much 
modified, but the principle itself is essential 
to humanity. No ! mechanical as is the 
spirit of tho ago, and wido as is the empire 
of utility, as long as tho stars appear night¬ 
ly in the firmament, and golden clouds 
gather round tho departing sun ; as long as 
we greet tho innocent smilo of infancy and 
the gentle eyo of woman ; as long as this 
earth is visited by visions of glory, and 
dreams of love, and hopes of heaven ; while 
life is encircled by mystery, brightened by 
affection, and solemnized by death, so long 
will the poetical spirit bo abroad, with its 
fervent aspirations and deep spells of en¬ 
chantment.” 
Calhoun. —Powers, in a recent letter 
from Floronce, says:—“ I have no bust in 
my studio which attracts so much attention 
as Calhoun’s, if I except ideal ones. Many 
have said that it would pass for a bust of 
Brutus. One said :—‘ I should not like to 
be judged by that man, unless my cause was 
good.’ Another said : — He is a very stern 
man, butgoodand amiable,notwithstanding.’ 
Noither of these knew whose bust it was.’” 
SONNET: A LOVING LITE. 
Let love inspire thee, and thy life shall he 
A daily prayer to heaven for sinful earth; 
For by true love hath all true virtue birth, 
And He, whose life was Love, shall strengthen thee. 
For love, like perfume in the flow'ret’s cup, 
Its balmy influence still renders up, 
To fill each breeze with sweetness like its own : 
Thus by our loving lives a sway is thrown— 
Even though that sway to us be all unknown— 
O'er many a wanderer in this world of guile; 
And thus a soul may cost us hut a smile 1 
Let then our love in loving deeds be shown ; 
For, as their fragrance lifts itself above, 
Be sure that many a heart is lifted thus by love. 
VIRTUE. 
“Virtue is the highest proof of under- y 
standing, and the only solid basis of great- / 
ness. — Ben. Johnson. c 
“Y irtue is that quality in our actions by V 
which thoy aro fitted to do good to others <J| 
or to prevent their harm.”— Rutherford. V 
“ There can be no happiness without vir- z 
tue.”— Seneca. ? 
“ The Christian religion hath ascertained $ 
tho precise quantity of virtue necessary to <? 
salvation.”— Paley. y 
“An action, though honest, is not there- 
fore truly virtuous, unless it be out of choice, < 
and with a good will.”— Cicero. V 
“ Virtue dwells not upon the tip of the c 
tongue, but in the inmost templo of a just y 
and purified heart.”— Seneca. ) 
“ Virtue presented singly to the imagina- y 
tion or the reason, is so well recommended ; 
by its graces and strongly supported by ar- ) 
guments, that a good man wonders how any (j 
can bo bad. ”— Dr. Johnson. y 
“ It is utterly impossible there should bo y 
any virtue unless it it disinterested.” — Ci- V 
cero. S| 
“ Virtue is beauty.”— Shakspeare. < 
“ Virtue maketh men on earth famous, in l 
their graves illustrious, and in Heaven im- ( 
mortal.”— Chilo. S 
“ Such as have virtue always in their ( 
mouths and neglect its practice, are like a S 
harp, which emits a sound pleasing to oth- ) 
ers. while itself is insensible to the music.” ( 
— Diogoncs. y 
“Every thing great is not always good, z; 
but all good tilings are great.” — Demos- y 
thencs. sj 
“Virtue, tho laws and ordinances of men y 
i3 the rule of a wise man.”— Antisthenes. S| 
“ Virtue is bold, and goodnoss never fear- )| 
ful.”— Shakespeare. y 
THOUGHTS 0E HEAVEN. 
If heaven doth not enter into us by way of y 
holiness, wo shall never enter into heaven / 
by way of happiness. If you would lay up y 
a treasure of glory in heaven, lay up a treas- Si 
ure of graco in your hearts. If your souls z 
aro rich in graco, they will bo rich in glory. ( 
Tho more you do for God in this world, the s 
more God will do for you in tho world to ) 
come. As heaven is kept for the saints of I 
Christ, so they are kept for heaven by the y 
Spirit. In heaven all God’s servants will be a 
abundantly satisfied with his dealings and ? 
dispensations with them ; and shall see how < 
all conduced, like so many winds, to bring S 
them to their haven; and how even tho z 
roughest blasts helped to bring them homo- < 
wards. How can we expect to live with S 
God in heaven, if wo love not to live with z 
him on earth ? If thou lovest to worship z 
God here below, God will tako thee up to S 
worship Him above. Thou shalt change thy ; 
place, but not thy employment. Heaven ? 
is a day without a cloud to darken it, and S 
without a night to end it. Wo would be S 
seated in the heavenly Canaan, but are loth / 
to be scratched with tho briars and thorns l 
of tho wilderness. In heaven there is the ) 
presence of all good and tho absence of all z 
evil. Grace and glory differ but as tho bud c 
and blossom. What is grace but glory be- S 
gun ? What is glory but grace perfected ? ) 
We may hope for a placo in heaven if our z 
hearts are made suitable in tho state of S 
heaven. If there be any grief in heaven, S 
sure it will be for this, that wo have done <j 
no more for God on earth.— Mason. < 
The Soul of Man in Search of Rest.’— 
Almost all mankind are constantly catching 
at something more than they possess, and tor¬ 
ment themselves in vain. Nor is our rest 
to bo found amongst thoso enjoyments of 
tho world, where all things are coverd with 
a deluge of fluctuating restless waters; and 
the soul flying about, looking in vain for a 
placo on which it may sot its foot, most un¬ 
happily loses its time, its labor, and itself at 
last, like the days of the flood, which, hav¬ 
ing long sought for land, till their strength 
was quito exhausted, fell down at last and 
perished in the waters.— Leighton. 
The Peace of God. —This “passeth all 
understanding.” It cannot, therefore, be 
defined; it rofuses to bo held in the vice of 
our logic, or bo subjected to tho iron pres¬ 
sure of our metaphysical systems. It comes 
to the soul through the avenue of the sensi¬ 
bility, and not through the intellect or tho 
will. The knowledge of it derived from tho 
experience of tho heart rather than from 
any procoss of the understanding. Peace 
comes from God! 
Eloqunce. —For vividness of imagery, we 
do not believe the following sentence from 
Mr. Webster’s address in commemoration of 
the landing of the pilgrims,was over excelled: 
“ Wo hear the whisperings of youthful im¬ 
patience, and wo soo chilled and shivering 
childhood, houseless hut for a mothers arms, 
couchless but for a mother s breast, till our 
blood almost freezes.” 
