MOORE’S RURAL NEW-YORKER: AN AGRICULTURAL AND FAMILY NEWSPAPER. 
For Moore’s Rural New-Yorker. 
AT EVENING. 
BY WM. EDWARD KNOWLES. 
The dewy lids of eve have gently closed 
Upon the lower world, now hushed and still; 
And from the far-off hills the twilight spreads 
Her russet livery o’er the silent vale. 
Stillness, with wings now folded, nestles there, 
Twin sisters, born with silence and with sleep. 
And all things animate—from simplest worm. 
To man himself—feel the dull heaviness, 
And lay them down in sign of sweet repose, 
And nature, sleeping in the holy light 
Of the full-rounded moon and quiet stars, 
Rests not more calmly than the weary heart, 
Freed from the tierce embatt’lings of the day. 
Its numberless anxieties are checked, 
Its earnest longings still, and calmly rest 
Within the casket of th’ unconscious soul. 
An hour like this brings up the bliss of such 
Repose. Nor can we murmnr that our God 
Has here ordained the day and night; has set 
Apart our labor, and our rest, and still 
And unaware, our thanks arise, 
That the grey mantle of the night shuts out 
The sleeping from the wakeful world. Know thou, 
The coming season, and their speedy change, 
Have each an added charm : and the cool breath 
Of morn may give a strength before unknown : 
And the red sun, ere yet its beams have reached 
The wakened vale, may paint its image on 
The lofty hills, and add its golden splendor 
To morning’s charms; yet the taxed senses will 
Grow weary, and incline to eve’s repose; 
The powers of mind and body will desire 
The change, and languid g row in sign of rest,— 
Father of Fife and Light 1 Thou gav’st to us 
The day and night. They are of Thine appointing: 
And Thou did’st set them wide apart, in Thine 
Unbounded wisdom—Thy light from darkness, 
And darkness from the light. We feel Thy goodness 
As shades of night close in upon our toil, 
Wearied with strife aud heat of day. Then comes 
The gentle eve, from off her sable throne, 
And with a sweet forgetfulness, turns soft 
The key of sleep upon a silent world! 
Wilson, N. Y., 1853. 
For the Rural New-Yorker. 
A REMINISCENCE. 
BY S. FURMAN. 
No locality but has its talc of historical 
or legendary interest. Our own beautiful 
and sequestered region—shut in from the 
world by the bright waters of the Seneca 
and Cayuga Lakes—is not without its asso¬ 
ciation and “ incidents” of the “olden time.” 
At an early day in the history of our 
Stato, Col. Mynderse built a flouring mill at 
Seneca Falls. This was the first public im 
pi’ovement of any note. Till then, the now 
beautiful and highly cultivated lands of 
Soneca county, had developed none of their 
resources—discovered none of the elements 
of wealth and agricultural greatness which 
characterize them at the present day. But 
American genius and enterprise soon trans¬ 
formed the wilderness into fruitful fields; 
and whore once the god of silence swayed 
his universal sceptre, the busy hum of in¬ 
dustry is heard, and a happy, joyous people 
have reared their homes. There were no 
roads then, as now; no stately, hospitable 
farm house, to greot the oyo and gladden 
the heart of the weary traveler—but the log 
hut camo and reared its rudo proportions 
amid the forest shades—and marked trees 
served to guide the way between the distant 
settlement and the pioneer’s rude home in 
the forost. It would not do, in those days, 
to linger too long upon tho caresses of little 
ones, and tho smilos of homo ; nor “ tarry 
long at the wine,” when on embassies of 
trade at tho border sottloment. An amus¬ 
ing instance, illustrative of the “poetry” and 
“ heroism” of pionoor life in this country, 
occurred in tho town of Romulus; and as I 
have never seon it in print, I will ondeavor 
to give it a shape and a dress for the public. 
It was rolated to mo by the venerable JonN 
Warne, who settled hero in 1804. 
A Mr. Stephen Sherwood went to a 
neighboring settlement on horse-back for 
supplies, and for some reason did not get 
started for homo till late in tho afternoon. 
It was a mild day in autumn, the balmy 
south wind whispering onchantingly thro’ 
tho thick clustering foliage; now and thou 
snatching — though not rudoly—a golden 
loaf from its parent stom, and bearing it 
gently to tho earth. Mr. Sherwood’s thot’s 
wore soon among the leaves—beautiful, 
heraldic emblems of the fading glories of 
tho year. The yellow autumn sun, unheed¬ 
ed by our traveler, was fast sinking to rost, 
and throwing a deeper onchantmcnt over 
tho scene as he shed his lingoring, his rich¬ 
est glories upon the world. But now a 
dark, portontious cloud camo swelling up to 
intercept his golden flood, and wrap the 
earth in gloom, as if to mimic the soul’s 
eclipse whon lighted up by tho brightest 
of earthly hopes. Tho low muttering of 
thunder was heard. Its tones deeponed, 
and tho night-king was already throwing his 
dark mantle over tho earth. Tho rain set 
in. Tho howling of wolves and tho hoot¬ 
ing of owls minglod in strange discord with 
tho “ music of tho spheres,” Avhilo the fierce 
lightning lent its terror to tho scene. Mr. 
S. was naturally bold and daring, and never 
oasily frightened, but tho conflicting ele¬ 
ments seemed now to possoss unwonted ter¬ 
ror, and to swell a note ill at harmony with 
his natural calmness within. In the dark¬ 
ness of the hour and tho fierceness of the 
storm, our hero lost his way. 
The storm ceased. But Mr. S.’s perplex¬ 
ities increased, as he advanced in an un¬ 
known direction. More than once was he 
compelled to dismount, and with his jack- 
knifo clear away tho brush from tho fallen 
tree top, and back his horse out before ho 
could proceed; and now fears, and new 
anxieties aroso to perplex his nervous ef¬ 
forts at every “looking out.” But having 
at length got in an unusually perplexing 
situation, and finding that all efforts to 
reach home that night were vain, he cried 
out in deop dispair, “ O God ! what shall I 
do ?” 
But, hark ! Tho echoing response ! Was 
it the welcome tones of his anxious, waiting 
wife ? Tho merry shout of his darling boy ? 
Start not, dear reader; it was tho wild and 
savage yell of half a score of wolves, start¬ 
ing up seemingly from undor his very feet! 
And with a deep, unearthly groan, he drop¬ 
ped his reins and his bundle of “ notions,” 
and convulsively grasping the trunk of a 
huge shellbark hickory, was by some myste¬ 
rious process soon lodged among its branch¬ 
es, some fifty feet from the ground. 
High now in his retreat, our horo could 
distinctly hear the soft murmurings of a lit¬ 
tle brook, as it leaped over tho impediments 
in its bed, but could neither toll its name or 
course. And ho fancied, too, at times, that 
he heard his tormenters growling and gnaw¬ 
ing at the foot of the tree, intent, if not on 
climbling after, of at least starving him into 
a surrender. 
But morning camo, and with it, a rovela- 
tion. His “high tower” stood upon the 
south bank of what is known in the neigh¬ 
borhood, as “ Big Hollow,” and near the 
present residence of Mr. II. L. Kinne. His 
faithful horse still stood where he had so 
unceremoniously loft him, but the “ bundle,” 
less fortunately, had lodged in some bram¬ 
bles near the bottom of the steep declivity, 
whore ho had surprised tho pack of wolves. 
How ho should get down was now a por- 
ploxing question. He “got up easy enough,” 
as ho afterwards declared, in relating the 
incident; “ but,” he would say, with empha¬ 
sis, “ how the deuco I’d get down ?’ After 
some difficulty, however, looso bark kicked 
off, hands bruised, and clothes rent, the feat 
was accomplished, and Mr. Sherwood pro¬ 
ceeded homeward, where he arrived to¬ 
wards noon, to tho groat relief of his family 
and friends. 
For tlie Rural New-Yorker. 
SOCIAL INTERCOURSE. 
There is certainly something refining in 
an intimacy cemented by tho pure princi¬ 
ples of Friendship. Mind naturally seeks 
to commingle with its kindred spirit, and 
doing so it grows better and wiser for the 
intercourse. It seeks, too, for expansion— 
for a greator scopo of power—for a higher 
and holier state; and in congenial society, 
where high moral principles prevail, it finds 
food for its growth. 
Hence wo should cultivate tho “ tios of 
friendship,” and strive to enlarge that com¬ 
munion of spirit whereby one is made bet¬ 
ter. We should seek ardently for that bet¬ 
tor and higher state, and though we find wo 
may not make that rapid progess we desiro, 
yet wo should tako hopo to socuro all the 
improvement possible from our privileges. 
Wo should strive tho more to cultivate and 
merit tho friendship of those whose worth 
shinos pre-eminent in their characters, ma¬ 
king them patterns of excellence for others 
to admire and imitato. Hence should wo 
tho more greatly prize the correspondence 
of thoso wo dearly love as friends, but whoso 
distanco from us precludes froquent com¬ 
munion face to face. 
Our present rates of postage are choap 
and need bo no bar to the enjoyment of this 
priceless boon—the benefits of which may 
bo incalculable. If at first it seem a task, 
yet a persovoranco in it, with care, will in 
a little while make it pleasuro that no price 
would make us forego. Besides the social 
benefits, one is rnoro than compensated by 
tho intellectual training he receives. Cul¬ 
ling his choicest thoughts, and clothing 
them in the best language of which he is 
capable, he comes to find it dolightsome, 
and as practico gives him more experience, 
ho is himsolf surprised at tho progress he is 
making, and ovontually ho finds ho may say 
something that can benefit community and 
thus his moans of doing good are vastly in¬ 
creased, whilst tho good that comes to him¬ 
self is oqually enhanced in value. Tho tiino 
is surely coming whon mind, rather than 
money, will measure the true worth of the 
mind in tho estimation of tho masses ; and 
he whoso mind Is most adorned with truth 
and wisdom, and tho gems of learning, will 
bo counted greatest among men. Then by 
all moans, cultivate high and social inter¬ 
course, and strive for tho true advancement 
of the inward man. T. e. w. 
FISHING WITH , A PIN. * 
There is a quaint idea, not badly set forth 
in the following extract, entitled “ Fishing 
with a Pin.” There are many who fish with 
pins in this world—some because they are 
too poor to buy books, and others because 
they are too lazy to obtain them. That man 
or woman fishes with a pin who “ goes the 
wrong way to work,” or employs incorrect 
or insufficient means to effect an object. In 
company with the pin-hook angler, we may 
class tho fisher with a golden hook, or the 
man who applies great means to effect very 
small results. The man who plays at games 
which are not worth the candle, and shoots 
birds not worth tho powder, is a sworn ally 
of the golden-hook fisherman. But to tho 
extract. 
“ Oh! what are the prizes we cherish to win, 
To the first little shiner we caught with a pin.” 
Didst thou never, when a little child, tie 
mother’s lost apron string to a willow rod, 
attach to the string a crooked pin, and then 
sally forth in pompous dignity to “ catch 
big fish in the river,” and sit patiently long 
hours, watching and wondering why the fish 
don’t come and bite ? 
When the kind sister came with the in¬ 
quiry, what luck, “ not one fish,” replies the 
tearful angler, “they won’t bite.” No, they 
won’t bito the bad hook, you must have some 
bait; a grass-hopper will do, if worms are not 
to be found: then, how in childish innocence 
you pitied the poor worm, and turned your 
head aside while it was being fastened upon 
tho pin-hook, and again you cast in the lino. 
What is your reward ?—not the perch, or 
speckled trout you dreamed of, but you re¬ 
turn triumphantly with a little shiner poised 
upon a string. 
Did’st thou never think in after years, 
how like life was thy first ossay in angling, 
“ fishing with a pin ?” When school days 
came, and you mingled in tho littio world of 
miniature men and women, where many 
were striving for precedence, yet unwilling 
to take the necessary steps to gain tho desired 
end, fancying that by some rare fortune they 
should become wise and great without bait? 
Did’st never see a student aiming for dis¬ 
tinction, pilfering from Shakespeare, Byron, 
Milton, and Tom Moore, to embellish his 
essay, and furnish gassy perorations ? Well 
may you laugh, for he has stolen his bait, 
and is fishing with a pin ! 
See that merchant handing down goods, 
adroitly piling up sugared words the while 
to win customers, who are better pleased 
with simple truth, and honesty ; he, too, is 
fishing with a pin. 
Mark that politician bowing and smiling, 
and trying to win favors by pretended 
friendship from those whom, after election, 
he would not recognise. Ah ! crafty, but 
short-sighted seeker for office, you are fish¬ 
ing with a pin and unsavory bait. 
Look at that aspiring youth, with a large 
stock of impudence, and a small share of 
brains, whose greatest strength is like Sam¬ 
son’s, in tho hair upon his head, upper lip, 
and chin, whose greatest feat is a liberal dis¬ 
play of cash, earned no matter how. See 
him swoll and strut, smoke cigars in people’s 
faces, drink brandy and sherry-cobblers, and 
utter loud oaths, yet expect to win favors 
from all who know him. Poor, silly ape! he 
is fishing for whales with a pin. 
Dost see that nice young man, fresh from 
the hands of the tailor and barber, his fash¬ 
ionably curled hair, slick and shining, his 
hat and cane a la mode, resplendent with 
the glory of new beaver, and patent leather, 
elaborately coining honeyed words, and soft 
sentences, to pour into the ears of the fash¬ 
ionable Miss Blank. 
Hast marked that young lady, all dress 
and jewelry, a mantua-maker, and milliner’s 
making advertisement, tripping the streets 
bowing and smiling, lending a willing ear to 
the flatteries of her dandy beau, peeping 
from under her eyelids to see what she has 
has effected by her manoeuvres and flirta¬ 
tions ? This charming pair are both anglers 
in the sea of matrimony. They will be 
equally successful, for they will each catch a 
shiner, and nothing more. 
RAGE FOR THE RURAL. 
There has been a genoral airing of coun¬ 
try-seats during the last two or throe weeks. 
People who are so fortunate as to possess 
those agreeable appendages to existence, 
are hastening to them. Many well known 
families have already gone—the first of May 
having released them from hotel and board¬ 
ing-house engagements. “Country-life with¬ 
in city reach” is growing in public esteem 
hero as well as in Boston and Philadelphia. 
Indeed, the passion which now exists in the 
vicinity of Now-York for ornamental gar¬ 
dening, cottage architecture and rural em¬ 
bellishment generally, is extraordinary. It 
amounts to a rage, in some neighborhoods. 
This accounts for tho heterogenous collec¬ 
tion of rural objects now daily exposed in 
Wall street, to tempt place owners to buy 
and take home with them in the afternoon. 
Frequently one may see between Trinity 
Church and the Custom House, Shanghai 
chickens, Newfoundland dogs, Shetland po¬ 
nies, birds, trees, pigeons, goats, roots, 
shrubs, bulbs and seeds, garden chairs, min¬ 
iature hot-houses, and newly invented im¬ 
plements—all displayed on the sidewalk.— 
These, with the usual throng of apple-wo¬ 
men, cake-dealers, stock brokers and ex¬ 
pressmen, render the upper part of Wall 
street almost impassable. The taste for ru¬ 
ral elegance is one of which every one must 
approve, and by which the whole country 
should be pervaded.— Home Journal. 
A cotemporary says ho don’t believe in 
tho water cure, and gives as a reason— 
“ There is Mr. (naming a noted political ed¬ 
itor) he has been lying in his damp sheet for 
twenty years, and he’s worse now than ever.” 
Pride hides our own faults, and magnifies 
the faults of others. 
DOMESTIC LIFE IN GERMANY. 
The following letter originally appeared 
in the Boston Congregationalist. It is from - 
George P. Fisher, Esq., formerly Clerk in 
the State Department, under J. M. Clayton : 
I have become pretty much accustomed 
to tho German style of living, and like it.— 
But the interest one feels in Germany is 
mainly a spiritual interest, and centers in 
the scientific, social and domestic circles; 
in a word, in the inner life of the people.— 
One finds hore in tho family an intimacy 
between parents and children, and a devo¬ 
tion of a father to his homo circle. The 
calm German, whose world is in his books, 
and his spiritual strength of tho time, seeks 
his recreation, and his struggles, in the bos¬ 
om of his home. 
And though he may not have much of the 
world’s goods, he has treasures of knowledge 
often, and a refinement of culturo which the 
rich cannot buy. 
Their fondness for titles is droll. Think 
of addressing a man as “ Herr Gorhein Rath 
Appellations Ritcher Rosenberben;” and 
you must put on all the titles, else you are 
impolite. So it is tho universal custom for 
the wife to recoive the titles of her husband, 
with the female terminations ; and I believe 
the ladies are more sensitive at their omis¬ 
sion than the men. For instance, if the 
husband is professor, the wife is “ professor- 
inn.” If the husband is “Consistorial Rath,” 
the wife must be addressed as “ Consistorial 
Rathmn,” else she may be enraged. 
The distinction of ranks and occupations 
is very nicely observed and preserved ; and 
it is for this purpose, I conjecture, that the 
name of one’s occupation is prefixed to his 
proper name. For examplo, you hear al¬ 
ways of “ merchant” such a one, and “ cab¬ 
inet maker ” so and so; and a man is re¬ 
minded to tho day of his death, not only of 
his own, but also of his father’s occupation. 
Tho proclamation of the banns of marriage 
in the pulpit is in this style. One hears 
such notices every day in church, as the fol¬ 
lowing : Mr. Bookseller Herman Frederick 
Gottlob Eichte, son of Iron dealer (so and 
so) and Dorothea Maria Schmidt, daughter 
of Book-keeper (so and so) intend marriage. 
When I have talked with intelligent Ger¬ 
mans themselves about this title mania, 
they havo laughed at it; but it was the cus¬ 
tom, so all of them must conform. For¬ 
eigners, however, aro allowed some liberties 
in these things; and where a man has six 
titles I generally put on three and some¬ 
times four. However, I find it best to con¬ 
form to the manners of the people. I even 
attended a great festival in honor of the 
King’s birth-day, and joined in giving the 
health of the King, Queen, and all the royal 
family ; while a friend by me drank to the 
“ one and thirty stars of the American Un¬ 
ion.” 
Duels are of every day occurence; and 
more comic than tragic, being fought with 
swords, and seldom resulting in any mate¬ 
rial injuries, as the armor of the combatants 
is an effectual protection for every part of 
the body except tho face, which is some¬ 
times a little slashed. This custom of duel¬ 
ling is defended seriously by almost all the 
students, and is accompanied with the cer¬ 
emonies which have come down from remote 
times. Of course, in the German Universi¬ 
ties there is always a teacher of fencing, who 
prepares the Jesuits and Divines in the “ no¬ 
ble art of self-defence.” 
Let me not forgot to say that “Uncle Tom’s 
Cabin ” is exciting great attention in Ger¬ 
many. Three translations have already ap¬ 
peared ; and tho utmost curiosity is felt 
here to learn something respecting the 
“ niggers.” Indeed their interest seemed to 
be about equally divided between Negroes, 
Indians and Mormons. On hardly any sub¬ 
ject havo I been more questioned than con¬ 
cerning the Mormons, a people with whom 
I havo very litlle acquaintance. If I had a 
live one to exhibit, I could make a small for¬ 
tune among thoso speculative, philosophic, 
^meditative Deutschen. 
Tho rapid progi-ess of the Americans, in¬ 
deed their hurry in every thing, is a marvel 
to the more quiet nations of the old world. 
Tho swiftness of our railroads and steam¬ 
boats, with all the accidents and explosions, 
are carefully recorded in the papers. When 
they tell us that these accidents are horrid, 
etc., we reply that we prefer to get along 
faster in tho world, even if wo do now and 
then lose a leg or a hand. Hore they move 
slower and surer. Accidents on railroads 
for example, are almost unheard of. The 
German takes no step until he has smoked 
over it. 
DANDIES - BUTTERFLIES. 
Dandies have been styled the “ butterflies | 
of society;” but I regard the simile as far 
too favorable to the dandies. They strut 
in borrowed plumage, and couldn’t cut any 
swell at all, if the tailor, hatter, boot-maker, 
jewelor, perfumer, etc., did not expend lots 
of labor in fixing up their moan carcassos— 
to bo often cheated in tho end. Now, but¬ 
terflies soar and glitter in intrinsic radiance, 
owing their bright beauty wholly to the 
generous hand of the creator. They don’t 
swindle suits of gay attire out of working 
insects, and then “ feel big ” in the results 
of their fraud. They do the best they know, 
enjoying healthful and innocent pleasures, 
leading as useful a life as they are capable 
of, and insulting or injuring no other crea- 
turo when they shine in the sunbeams and 
flit amid tho flowers. Here, again, they 
have tho advantage of dandies. For the 
latter don’t improve their natural powers, 
but overload and stifle with finery and folly, 
all noble aspirations and right endeavors.— 
Thoy might perform tho actions of men, and 
be honored; they choose to practice tho 
antics of monkeys, and be hissed at.— JYeiv 
England Farmer. 
Severity o’er reaches its wise purpose; 
too tightly stretched the bow string snaps. 
Jfur % iife. 
Written for Moore’s Rural New-Yorker. : 
TO THE RIVER IN SPRING. ( 
— 
Murmur on thou rippling river 
In thy merry course so free. 
Hurrying onward, downward, ever ( 
To the blue and boundless sea. ( 
There to leave each tiny wavelet ( 
In its mighty foaming bed, 
There to blend thy crystal current 
Fresh as at the Fountain Head. 
In the deep and ancient forest 
Bubbles up a little spring. 
In the shade of trembling branches 
From the earth's dark breast within : 
Thence a little stream meanders, 
In the valley low ’tis seen, 
Like a winding thread of silver, 
On a robe of velvet green. 
Now the stream grows broader, deeper, 
Changing from the little rill, 
To a pleasant placid river 
“ Wand’ring at its own sweet will;” 
Bordered by the willows’ fringes, 
Almost hidden from the gaze 
By the tasseled alder’s shadows, 
Slow and silently its strays. 
When the winter winds are sighing 
Through the forest’s leafless bough, 
Then is hushed the pleasant music, 
That its waves are playing now— 
Then it wraps an icy mantle 
Close around its silent form, 
Waiting for the vernal spring-time 
With its showers and sunlight warm. 
Gentle stream, how oft I’ve wandered 
O’er thy banks in spring’s sweet hours, 
When on every tufted hillock 
Bloom the violet’s starry flowers; 
And beneath the grateful shadows, 
Gazed upon thy glassy stream, 
Till the landscape fair around me, 
Seemed the pictures of a dream. 
Soft and soothing are thy murmurs, 
Sweetest music is thy voice, 
Morn, and noon, and dewy twilight, 
Still thou ever dost rejoice : 
Image of the fleeting moments, 
Ceaseless as their onward flow. 
Bearing all our joys and sorrows 
To the tide of Long Ago. 
Mary Augusta B. 
GIRLHOOD OF A POETESS. 
My cottage overlooked tho mansion and 
grounds of Mr. Landon, the father of L. E. 
L. at Old Brompton, a narrow lane only di¬ 
viding our residences. My first recollection 
of the future poetess is that of a plump girl, 
grown enough almost to be mistaken for a 
woman, bowling a hoop round tho walks, 
with the hoop-stick in one hand and the 
book in the ocher, reading as she ran, and 
as well as she could manage both exercise 
and instruction at the same time. The ex¬ 
orcise was prescribed and insisted upon ; the 
book was her own irrepressible choice. A 
slight acquaintance grew out of the neigh¬ 
borhood ; and I was surprised one clay by 
an intimation from her mother that Letitia 
was addicted to poetical composition, and 
asking me to peruse a few of her efforts, and 
what I thought of them. I read and was 
exceedingly struck by these juvenile pro¬ 
ductions—crude and inaccurate, as might 
be anticipated, in style, but containing ideas 
so original and extraordinary, that I found 
it impossible to believe they omanated from 
the apparent romp, and singular contradic¬ 
tion of the hoop and^ volume. An elder 
cousin, who took part in her education, 
seemed to me to be the real, and Letitia on¬ 
ly the ostensible writer, and the application 
made under that disguise to conceal the dif¬ 
fidence of a first attempt at authorship.— 
But the bill was a truo bill, and my doubts 
were speedily dispelled. 
RULES FOR HOME EDUCATION- 
I - 
The following aro worthy of being print¬ 
ed in letters of gold, and being placed in a 
conspicuous position in every household : 
1. From your children’s earliest infancy, 
you must inculcate the necessity of instant 
obedience. 
2. Unite firmness with gentleness. Let 
your children always understand that you 
moan exactly what you say. 
3. Never promise them anything, unless 
you are sure that you can give them what 
you promise. 
4. If you tell a child to do something, 
show him how to do it, and see that it is done. 
5. Always punish your children for wil¬ 
fully disobeying you, but never punish in 
anger. 
6. Never let them perceive that they can 
vox you or make you lose your self com¬ 
mand. 
7. If they give way to petulance and tem¬ 
per, wait till they are calm, and then gently 
reason with them on the impropriety of 
their conduct. 
8. Remember that a little present punish¬ 
ment when the occasion arises, is much more 
effectual than the threatening of a great 
punishment should tho fault bo renewed. 
9. Never give your children anything bo- 
cause they cry for it. 
10. On no account allow them to do at 
one time what you have forbidden, under 
tho like circmnstancos, at another. 
11. Teach them that tho only sure and 
easy way to appear good, is to be good. 
12. Accustom them to make their little 
recitals with perfect truth. 
13. Nevor allow of tale-bearing. 
14. Teach them that self-indulgence, is 
the appointed and sure method of securing 
happiness. 
Pension Provisos.— In tho Senate of tho 
United States, recently, a pension was grant¬ 
ed to Betsey Norton, a widow of ninety odd 
years, “ to continue for life, unless she mar¬ 
ry again.” 
