MOORE’S RURAL NEW-YORKER: AN AGRICULTURAL AND FAMILY NEWSPAPER. 
MR. PRESCOTT'S MODE OF WRITING. 
THE PLEBEIAN. 
GRASS. 
BY NINA ZANINA. 
I seek for blossom far and wide, 
Is there not then one early comer ? 
Through all the wood, one single bud 
To tell my yearning heart of summer ? 
By streams that seemed to sing of flowers, 
They were so musically flowing; 
I sought in vain, alas 1 not yet— 
Not yet—but lo 1 the grass is growing. 
Exquisite grass, each fairy blade, 
Made glorious by the dews adorning, 
1 With starry splendor flashing back 
) The cloudless brilliancy of morning. 
) Fair grass, o'er all the barren earth 
\ A robe of velvet verdure throwing; 
( No more in vain I wander forth— 
) The beautiful green grass is growing. 
) Where on the azure April skies 
) The “ Iron Horse” his breath is flinging— 
) And in the stead of woodland birds 
The busy steamboat bells are ringing— 
j Where up and down the noisy marts, 
> The restless human tide is flowing— 
E'vn there, a joy to yearning hearts, 
The delicate young grass is growing. 
Its fresh luxuriance bears me back 
To the first memories of life’s morning. 
When Winter seemed, “ how leaden winged,” 
And, Oh, how slow, the sun’s returning: 
Then watching through the ceaseless rain. 
Life had no bliss like that of knowing 
That Spring had surely come again, 
The beautifut green grass was growing. 
Sweet voucher of the coming spring, 
I bless thy gentle ministration, 
With the glad morn, I too would sing 
A hymn of thanks and adoration. 
Year after year wilt thou be hailed 
By hearts like mine with gladness glowing, 
When eyes that watch thee now have failed. 
And o’er my grave the grass is growing. 
[ Ohio Farmer. 
Written for the Rural New-Yorker. 
DOG-KEEPING NEWSPAPER - BORROWERS. 
“ The man that is too poor to take a paper, has bought 
a long, slab-sided dog, and bargained for two hound 
pups.”— A Newspaper. 
Yes, hero it goes 1—pen in hand ! What 
a text! I’vo long been “aching'’ to give 
these “newspaper borrowers,” my mind, but 
could’nt find a text until now. 
Now, my friend, two questions—Do you 
borrow your neighbor’s paper ?— do you 
keep a dog ? If you answer both affirma¬ 
tively, then lot me say, you should be 
ashamed to do the first ,—and why do you 
keep a dog ? You perhaps answer, “ to pro¬ 
tect myself and property.” Better invoke, 
and rely on Heaven to protect yourself, than 
on the sagacity of a dog, liable at any mo¬ 
ment to becomo “ mad’’ thereby endanger¬ 
ing your life and the lives of your family. 
Were you to expend the amount expended 
for the sustenance of your dog, in providing 
fastenings and locks for your buildings, your 
property would be much more effectually 
secured, and the lives of those seeking your 
property would not bo periled. But should 
you wish to “put the rascals out of the 
way,’ would it not bo much moro humane 
to shoot them down, than to torture them 
to death with hydrophobia? 
Look here, friend: have you a son or 
daughter old enoygh to play with your fa¬ 
vorite dog:—a golden rivulet from own life 
tide—one on whom your brightest hopes 
are centered—do you love that boy—that 
girl ? Yes, as your own soul. Your faith¬ 
ful, and, as you think, gentle dog entere the 
room—your child joyfully runs to caress 
him—plays with him, and as he plays, play¬ 
fully pulls his ear—the dog growls—a little 
harder—still he pulls—the dog shows his 
teeth—snaps at him! * * * Heavens 1 
ho has bitten tho child 1 see that spot on its 
arm 1 —you apply remedy after remedy—all 
tho preventives of hydrophobia you can 
hoar of—you await tho result with heart¬ 
bursting anxiety. * * A few days have 
passed and no sign betokening madness has 
appeared. You hope it was nothing. But 
at last!—at last, those spmptoms which 
predict the fate of your own loved child, ap- 
poar. It dies 1 you know how. Now sir, 
will you keep that dog ? Of what value is 
your property, compared with the life of 
your child, of your neighbors children, or 
your fellow man ? 
I have neighbors whom I osteem as friends, 
and would ivillingly lend a paper, were they 
too poor to take one. Yet those neighbors 
keep dogs —I call on an errand, or an eve¬ 
ning visit. Tho moment I step in tho yard, 
out bounds a howling, growling bull dog, to 
meet mo 1 Is this neighborly, or a neigh¬ 
borly greeting ? 
You keep a dog, and too poor to take a 
paper 1—“ can’t afford to take one till your 
farm is paid for !” Yet how much solid 
cash could you have taken last fall for that 
calf you traded for that ugly-looking cur 
of yours ? Threo dollars 1 That would 
have secured you the “ Rural” and “ Wool 
Grower,” and loft a balance of one dollar for 
charitable purposes 1 “ Too poor to take a 
paper,” eh ? Cant afford it, can you ? If 
thero is a class in the wide world, I would 
like to seo banished, it is these dog-kbefing 
NE WSPABER-EORRO WERS. 
Charlie Chestnut. 
It may not be generally known to our 7 , 
readers that Prescott, tho historian, is de- ^ (Continuedfrom page 140, this number.) 
prived of tho use of his eyes; and that in his Supper was announced, and the convor- 
extensive researches into the sources of his- sation became general. After tho supper 
tory, as well as in the preparation of his the company separated into groups. Ed- 
manuscript, he is obliged to resort to an ar- i f v 8 1 , „ 
tificial process, which ho thus describes in a w , ? aused near one of them ’ composed of 
letter to Mr. Putnam: g ir ' s L’om twelve to fifteen years of age, 
“ As you desire, I send you a specimen of clustered round a tablo examining some en- 
my autograph. It is the''concluding page gravings. While ho stood contemplating 
t ! ,o!r h fW face, agent.eman, struck with 
is not as you imagine, made by a pencil, but 1 ie ex P tGSSl0n °f his fine countenance, ap¬ 
is indelible, being made with an apparatus pcoached him and remarked, “An interest- 
used by the blind. This is a very simple at- ing sight, sir.” 
jfoT % Idtfe 
TO A GIRL IN HER THIRTEENTH YEAR. 
fair, consisting of a frame, of the size of a “Ah ■ 
common sheet of letter paper, with brass Edward 
wires inserted in it to correspond with the T , 
number of lines wanted. On one side of ^ tie 1 
this frame is pasted a leaf of thin carbona- became 
“Ah yes, theirs is the golden ago,” replied 
The usually grave face of tho gentleman 
became animated as he viewed the group. 
ted paper, such as is used to obtain dupli- “ If the minds of our youth,” said he, “ were 
cates. Instead of a pen, the writer makes properly trained, and taught that useful 
use of a stylus, of ivory or agate, tho last , , 
better or harder. The greater difficulties !” duStry was more hon °rable than genteel 
in tho way of a blind man’s writing in the 1( bcness, we could assign no limit to the 
usual manner, arise from not knowing when greatness to which our Republic might 
the ink is exhausted in his pen, and when aspire.” 
°,"t “Ik— ?°‘ h S®' At ,his morac " t Mr. and Mrs. Kosu an- 
culties are obviated by this simple writing > , -r-, v 
caso, which enables one to do his work as P roached Dr - Wilmer, the gentleman with 
well in the dark as in tho light. Though wll0m Edward was conversing, 
my trouble is not blindness, but a disorder “Pray, Dr. Wilmer,” said Mrs. Rose, 
of the eye, the effect, as far as this is con- “ what grave subject are you discussing to- 
cerned, is the same, and I am wholly inca- » 
paciated for writing in the ordinary way.— , ' 
In this manner I have written every word »o weie speaking of the "golden ago,’ 
ot my historicals. This modus operandi ex- ma dam, and a smile of peculiar meaning 
poses ono to some embarrassments ; for, as lit up his grave face, 
one cannot see what he is doing on the oth- “ Something wo are not likely to see at 
er side ot the paper, anymore than the nrosont , l r 
performer in a tread-mill can see what he P ro f U in thl * astern country, I fancy. I 
is grinding on the other side of the wall, it don t beheve there is real gold enough in tho 
becomes very dificult to make corrections, country to buy a fashionable dress in an east- 
This requires the subject to bo pretty thor- era city.” This was said by Mrs. Rose with 
ougMy canvassed m the mind and all the a complacent glance at her own expensive 
blots and erasures to be made before taking , , ? . expensive 
up the pen, or rather the stylus. This dreSS ’ whlch sho was weann S for the ftr st 
compels mo to go over my composition to ^ ra °- As they passed on Dr. Wilmer re- 
the extent of a whole chapter however long sumed tho conversation, 
it may be, several times in my mind before “ In conversation with an intelligent lady, 
sitting down to my desk. When there, the „ , , , TTT ,_ . • & . , 
work becomes ono of memory rather than ^ a P oIoononGe asked, AVhat is wanting that 
of creation, and the writing "is apt to run 7 0utl of ^ rance bo well educated?’ 
off glibly enough. 
‘Mothers,’ was the brief reply. But alas ! 
“A letter which I recoivod some years continued the Dr., “ for our golden dreams 
wEn e i'^l, th ^ F r Ch l r t 0 r i an - f hierry of g rea tnoss, while fashion reigns supreme, 
who is totally blind, urged mo by all means J b , ’ 
to cultivate the habit of dictation, to which C e , bo to hei sceptre,— while sho ex- 
ho has resorted; and James, the eminent alts to tno most conspicuous place in society 
novelist, who has adopted this habit, finds it mothers, who have no higher aim than to bo 
favorable to facility of composition. But I considered tho most brilliant of the gems 
w 7 AnX*°° *° n A g ac T tomedto I"? ? W t with which th °y surround themselves.” 
way to change. And, to say the truth, I . . . 
never dictated a sentence in my life for pub- ^usic, wine, a display of rich confection- j 
lication, without its falling so flat on my aries, and all tho et cetoras of a fashionable 
ear that I felt almost ashamed to send it to party, concluded the evening 
the press. I suppose it is a habit. a , ,, 
“Ono thing I may add. My manuscript Roadway bel'e may perhaps smile at j 
is usualy too illegible (I have sent you a fa- the ldea °* a fashionable party in the wild ; 
vorablo specimen) for tho press, and it is al- west — but soon as the woodman’s axe lays ; 
ways fairly copied by an amanuensis before low the giant tree, ere vitality ha:-. left tho I 
it is consigned to the printer. I have ac- roots, busy crowds of human beings throng ! 
companied the autograph with these ex- • , , . ® ° 
planations, which are at your service, if you tbestreots > spacious and handsomo buildings i 
think they will havo an" interest for your nse on evex 7 band, where not many moons j 
readers. My modus operandi has tho merit before, the red man roamed in the solatary j 
of novelty; at least I havo nover heard of grandeur of his native forests; distinctions I 
sides myS!” 011861 *** ad ° pt ° d ifc be ' in S0GiGt T are created, and the influence of 
--_ fashion is felt and soon, from tho dress of 
OFFICE BEGGARS.-CORWIN’S ADVICE- tbe votar y recently from New York, to tho 
The Capital has been besieged since the P GCuhar cufc of thG hunter’s tunic, and his 
4th of March, and bids fair to be for months J aurd y coon-skin cap—from tho church 
longer. Hungry swarm succeeds hungry decked in humble imitation of the gorgeous 
swarm ; it is humiliating to witness the oa- city edifice, to the rudest log cabin, 
gerness with which young men, whoso true -nr i ■, ,, , 
field is the world of industry and enterprise, . Geb ^ and mont hs passed away, during j 
strive for a miserable dependanco and scan- w hich Edward wrote many times to Julia ■ 
ty pittance, to be paid out of tho public Snowden, but he received no anwer, nor 
treasury. could ho obtain any information respecting 
About three years ago, a young man pre- h Ar m- +]•,« <,-1 -n x x- & 
sented himself to Mr. Corwin for a clerkship. h ' h , G ot her Slle nce. But time 
Thrice was he refused ; and still he made a s P cd on ’ as bo a ^ vva y s w ’ d 5 whether we hang 
fourth effort. His perseverance and spirit a leaden weight to his wings, or chide his i 
of determination awakened a friendly in- lingering footsteps; and we will not stop to 
torest in his welfare, and the Secretary ad- tell how despair sometimes spread his dark * 
vised him, m the strongest possible terms, xra,™ i , , .. , „ j 
to abondon his purpose, and go to tho West , ^ . ' r ’ 01 10w be appbed all i 
to abondon his purpose, and go to tho West, 
if ho could do no better outside the Depart¬ 
ments. 
the energies of his powerful mind to busi¬ 
ness, till his health began to fall—a sacrifice 
“My young friend,” said he, “go to the to mental exertions. 
Northwest; buy 160 acres of government The period prescribed by Miss Snowden 
land—or, if you have not tho money to pur- .. ~\ J , 
chase, squat on it; get you an axe and mat- as tho lmait of his absence had nearly ex- 
tock ; put up a log cabin for your habitation P irod > and Edward, sad and weary, set out 
and raise a little corn and potatoes; keep ° n tbe journey that was to decide his fate, 
your conscience clear, and livo like a free [ Continued next week.'] 
man ; your own master with no one to give --—-_ 
you orders, and without dependence upon STUDYING AND SOCIAL VISITING 
any body. Do that and you will become - 
honored, respected, influential and rich.— There are somo who would rather have 
But accept a clerkship hero, and you sink a social visit from their paster than a good 
at once all independence; your energies serman; and there are somo, too, so un¬ 
become relaxed, and you are unfitted in a reasonable as to expect both; but I cannot 
lew yoars lor any other and moro indepond- consider them wise or just. There mav bo 
ent position.' I may give you a place to-day, others who think that it costs nothing to 
and I can kick you out again to-morrow; preach well, but they know nothing. There 
and. there is another man over thero at the are ministers who shake sermons out of their 
\Y hito House, who can kick me out, and the sleeves ; but are they worth * the shaking’ 
peoplo by-and-by can kick him out; and so after they are out? The flock soon shows 
wo go. But it you own an acre ot land, it the kind of pasture upon which it has been 
is your kingdom; your cabin is your castle subsisted. For myself, I do not know a 
you are a sovreign, and you will feel it in more heartless thing, or one more wicked, 
every throbbing of.your pulse, and every than for a minister to ascend on the Sab- 
day ot your life will assuro mo of your bath, and, when souls are hungry for the 
tluinks lor having thus advised you.” . bread of life, talk nonsense in tho name of 
It the thousands who so ardently strive the Lord. It is much easier, and much 
for places under Government would ponder more agreeable, likewise, to spend an after¬ 
well those words, and exercise a sound dis- noon in a social circle than in close and la- 
crotion in their application, thus many a borious thinking in a silont chamber. It 
young and gallant spirit would be saved has not been for want of inclination that I 
from inanition, to be useful to tho world, have never been a greater visitor, but be¬ 
am! a joy rathor than grief to its possessor, cause my conception of what a faithful pas- 
- — ---— tor ought to be embraced higher traits of 
As a fool, Avhile tho images tremble on tho character than those which are gratified with 
bosom of tho water, thinks that the trees, admiration in a lady’s parlor; and if you 
towns, and the wide horizon, aro dancing to are wise, and seek tho good of the church, 
do him pleasure; so man, while nature per- you will allow mo, unmolested, to pursue this 
forms her dostined course, believes that all course. So far it has been woll.— Pastor’s 
her motions are but to entertain his eyes. Memorial. 
BY WM. SIDNEY WALKER. 
Tiiy steps are dancing toward the bound 
Between the child and woman, 
And thoughts and feelings more profound, 
And other years are coming; 
And thou shait be more deeply fair, 
More precious to the heart, 
But never canst thou be again 
That lovely thing thou art. 
And youth shall pass, with all the brood 
Of fancy-fed affection; 
And grief shall come with womanhood, 
To waken cold reflection. 
Thou’lt learn to toil, and watch, and weep 
O’er pleasures unreturning, 
Like one who wakes from pleasant sleep 
Unto the cares of morning. 
******* 
Nay, say not so 1 nor cloud the sun 
Of joyous expectation, 
Ordained to bless the little one, 
The freshling of creation 1 
Nor doubt that He who thus doth feed 
Her early lamp with gladness. 
Will be her present help in need, 
Her comforter in sadness I 
Smile on, then, little winsome thing! 
All rich in nature’s treasure; 
Thou hast within thy heart a spring 
Of self-renewing pleasure. 
Smile on, fair child, and take thy fill 
Of mirth, till time shall end it; 
’Tis nature’s wise and gentle will, 
And who shall reprehend it ? 
Written for the Rural New-Yorker. 
A CHAPTER ON GOOD NURSING. 
BY A FARMER’S WIFE. 
The “Rural New-Yorker,” at a very 
moderate calculation, is read every week by 
ono hundred thousand individuals, who are 
or may bo, feelingly interested in the sub¬ 
ject of good nursing. Granting that one- 
fourth of that number will allow their atten¬ 
tion to rest on this article, and are thereby 
prompted to acquire some of the little arts 
that involve the comparative comfort of 
every family, the writer will feel conscious 
of having the thanks of many a suffering 
invalid. 
When I consider the amount of human 
life, especially in its early stages, that is 
every day sacrificed by no nursing at all, or 
what is still worse, bad nursing, I do not 
fear attaching too much importance to the 
subject of good nursing. Unhappily this is 
not one of tho accomplishments that can be 
acquired by set lessons, or a course of in¬ 
struction—it must be learned by experience 
and tact, in the use of such faculties and 
knowledge, as always ought to be brought 
into action by tho side of a sick bed. 
The acquirement of a perfect command 
of the nerves, and a mind so fortified as to 
meet all emergencies, are among the imper¬ 
ative requisites of a really good nurso. Who 
that has over suffered a single week’s ill¬ 
ness, especially if obliged to employ watch¬ 
ers, has not been painfully conscious of 
defects in this department of duty ? 
It is a well known fact, that if persons 
are neat in their habits when in health, they 
becomo nervously sensitive on this subject 
when sick. Not being able to employ tho 
hands, the mind wanders from ono subject 
to another, till it commences a scrutiny of 
every portion of the room that is accessible 
to prying eyes—hence, the importance of 
having it in such order as will bear tho 
closest inspection. Cleanliness of the bed 
and of all things about a sick person, is not 
only conducive to tho quiet of the mind, 
but in reality contributes essentially to the 
recovery. 
At all times when the weather is suitable 
a free current of air should be admitted, 
once or twice a day; especially in the morn¬ 
ing. This can generally be done safely, by 
covering tho patient entirely in the bed for 
a few moments. Tho frequent changing of 
the air and clothes, is of the utmost import¬ 
ance in that dreadful scourge of children. 
scarlet fever. That is a disease, too, in 
which there is as much responsibility rest¬ 
ing on the nurso as on the physician, what¬ 
ever may bo tho Doctor’s “pathic.” 
Any one who for a moment recalls the in¬ 
describable nausea that has been felt when 
somo ill-prepared food has been offered to 
her, will bo particularly careful not to of- 
for any thing disgusting to a sensitive stom¬ 
ach. Thero are so many rules and recipes 
for preparing nourishment for the sick, that 
I scarcely need mention any. There aro a 
few things, however, that are very generally 
required, very simple, yet all will allow aro 
seldom made palatable,—one of which, is a 
cup of tea. 
I was in tho sick room of a lady not long 
since, when her dinner, which consisted of 
tea and toast, was brought to her. “ 0 
dear,” said sho, “I cannot drink this tea: it 
makes me sick. ’ It was luke-warm and had 
stood till it was insipid. I requested the 
liberty of invading Bridget’s dominions 
and preparing tea for her in (as I think.) 
the only proper way for a sick person. 
Have the water boiling, and if there is a 
China bowl or mug in the house, use it_if 
not tako the next best bowl or coffee cup, 
scald it till it is heated through, then put 
enough tea to give the required strength 
into the hot dish, pour boiling water on it, 
cover tight, and in three or four minutes 
add the cream and sugar. You will then 
have a cup of tea, the fragrance of which 
will revivo tho invalid. Lot it be drank 
from the dish in which it is made. 
M hen tbe lady received her tea. so differ¬ 
ent from the former cup, she remarked that 
sho hoped Bridget saw how it was made— 
but alas 1 lor the memory of Bridget. I 
will mention another thing that is very use¬ 
ful in almost all diseases, yet few know how 
it should bo prepared, to make it acceptable 
to a weak stomach. I mean tho bark of 
slippery elm. Not more than a pint should 
be prepared at a time,—it should bo dono 
by cutting the bark into fino strips, about a 
teacupful to a pint of cold water, to which 
the bark readily yields its mucilage, which 
is all that is wanted, without imparting any 
of tho woody taste that is given by using 
hot water. In many cases, lemon juice and 
a little ice, added to tho water, are not ob¬ 
jectionable. No kind of food or drink for 
the sick, should be raado in such quantities 
as to grow stale before using. 
Lqual in importance to the preparation 
of nourishment and medicine, is a faculty 
of waiting upon the sick in a kind and prop¬ 
er manner, suppressing any desire to hurry 
the trembling patient. Having every thing 
done promptly and cheerfully, is a very irm 
portant matter to the invalid. It is ex¬ 
tremely trying to the weak and debilitated 
patient, to be obliged to wait long for one 
to put a cup of drink to the parched lips, 
or have tho cup placed in the trembling 
hand, and no clean napkin spread to catch 
a chance drop that might fall. 
How irksome to the convalescent, when 
the appetite is keen, to be obliged to wait 
till tho family has dined before receiving 
his or her portion. The invalid’s wants 
should be first supplied. 
Y hen the patient lies burning with fever, 
no ono in health can realize how refresh¬ 
ing it is to have the parched skin bathed in 
the cool and limpid element, by a light and 
delicate hand. There is such a difference 
in the manner of performing all these little 
offices, that it is in vain to prescribe rules. 
Some persons seem to have a natural talent 
for nursing the sick acceptably. It is a gift 
that is sometimes granted to men, as well as 
women. I have an individual in my mind’s 
eye, at this moment, who is a resident of a 
city in California, whose faculties in that lino 
are so highly estimated, that he is frequent- 
ly engaged to watch tho sick, at ten dollars 
a night—such nursing cannot often bo ho’t 
even with gold. He is one of tho rare in¬ 
dividuals who can act the barber, the clerk, 
or tho valet, while his pleasant conversation 
inspires cheerfulness, and his gentle and 
firm manner assures hope. 
The business and pursuits of men in gen¬ 
eral, are adverse to a cultivation of this do- 
sirable accomplishment,—but I do think it 
is a pity that mothers do not oftener initiate 
their boys into the little arts that would 
at times contribute much to tho comfort of 
a family. If men would acquaint them¬ 
selves a little moro with the requirements 
of a sick-room, how often would it enable 
them to relieve the tired and anxious moth¬ 
er at the bed-side of the sick and dying 
child. Such knowledge could do a man no 
harm; if never called for, so much the bet¬ 
ter—yet the want of it might cost the life 
of some individual, dear to him as his own. 
Wiliow-dell Farm, April, 1853. 
Excellent Women.— Much of the gold- 
dust of humanity lies beneath our feet, un¬ 
seen by tho multitude, in unwritten biog¬ 
raphy. Particularly is this true of the 
female sex. Besides the mother of Wash¬ 
ington, there have been Marys, whose char¬ 
acters have been equally as beautiful as hers; 
and yet they aro wholly unknown to fame. 
They had neither son nor husband possessed 
ot a sufficiency of the elements of greatness 
to make themselves famous; consequently 
these good mothers lived, wrought, died, and 
were unheard of. Yet they lived not in vain ; 
if meriting the title of “excellent,” in the 
scriptual sense, their work was approved by 
their Divine Master; their influence was felt 
powerfully in a limited circle; and whilo 
they have gone to their reward, tho impress 
of their character is loft behind, to bo felt 
by generations to come.—J. Clement. 
The true Teacher.— For my own part, I 
shall think well before I trust any teacher 
with the training of my George or Caroline 
x4mclia. The toacher"l select shall be at 
least one who is worthy to be called my 
friend. He shall be one who is, in worth of 
character, if not in cash, at least my equal. 
To such a teacher I will give my confi¬ 
dence and my respect. This I will do so 
trankly, that if everybody did the same, tho 
schoolmaster would never .again seek to en¬ 
tice ladies and gentlemen to walk up, by 
sounding a trumpet for himself, and play¬ 
ing Merry Andrew during the vacation at 
I his school-room door. —Charles Dickeiis. 
:::: 
