r.vttt;:::::::: ^ 
MOORE’S RURAL NEW-YORKER: AN AGRICULTURAL AND FAMILY NEWSPAPER. 
MY MOTHER. 
BY N. P. WILLIS. 
My Mother's voice ! How often creeps 
Its cadence on my lonely hours, 
Like healing on the wings of sleep, 
Or dew on th’ unconscious flowers. 
I might forget her melting prayer, 
While ’wildering pleasures madly fly; 
But in the still, unbroken air, 
Her gentle toues come stealing by; 
And years of sin and manhood flee, 
And leave me at my mother's knee. 
I have been out at eventide, 
Beneath a moon-lit sky of Spring, 
When earth was garnished like a bride, 
And night had on her silver wing; 
Wheu bursting buds and dewy grass, 
And waters leaping to the light; 
And all that makes the pulses pass 
With wilder fleetness, thronged the night; 
When all was beauty, then have I 
With friends on whom my love is flung, 
Like myrrh on winds of A raby, 
Gazed up where evening’s lamp is hung— 
And when the beateous spirit there 
Flung over all its golden chain, 
My mother’s voice came on the air, 
Like the light dropping of the rain; 
And resting on some silver star, 
The spirit of a bended knee, 
I've poured a deep and fervent prayer, 
That our eternity might be— 
To rise in Heaven, like stars by night, 
And tread a living path of light. 
A JOURNEY ACROSS THE PRAIRIES. 
One who has never seen a Prairie, must 
necessarily form very inadequate, if not 
very eroneous, ideas concerning this re- 
markable phenomenon of the Western 
world. A vast extended plain, bounded on 
all sides by the blue sky, or at most, by a 
narrow horizontal lino, or bolt, of a darker 
blue, rising but little above the plain of the 
sensible horizon, indicating the distant 
range of woodlands which soom almost to 
diminish or recode as you approach thorn, 
is not all that is meant by a Prairie. Sev¬ 
eral other items must be taken into account, 
some of which may bo understood by a 
perusal of the following thoughts, that in¬ 
voluntarily suggested themselves to the 
mind of the writer while crossing the Prarie 
(from Northvillo to Ottawa) that covers a 
large portion of tho North part of Lasallo 
county, Illinois. 
[This Prairie, like most others, is not en¬ 
tirely level, but presents hero and thero 
gentle swells, or risings, which in some 
places were sufficiently extensive and ele¬ 
vated to answer tho purpose of sites for 
buildings. There are also many depres¬ 
sions, or basins, generally of small depth 
and extent, which in wot weather aro filled 
with water, many of which can frequently 
be seen from the same point; tho more dis¬ 
tant exhibiting a mere line of water on the 
surface of tho ground. Those, communi¬ 
cating with each other, and their waters 
settling away into tho lower parts of the 
Prairie, form what aro callod “sloughs,” 
(hero pronounced sloos ,) which often in¬ 
crease to streams of considerable size.] 
But that which appearod most singular 
to tho writer, was, that in journeying across 
the Prairie in any direction, whether north, 
south, oast, or west, wo always appeared to 
bo ascending a hill of very gentle elevation. 
This, I am informed, ceases to bo the case 
when porsons become familiar with Prairie 
traveling. 
Anothor thing which I could not avoid 
noticing, was tho rounded appearance of 
what is generally considered a plain. In 
every direction thore was tho appearance of 
looking over a hill. This was, perhaps, in 
part caused by the “ curvature of tho earth’s 
surface,” which is known to bo about eight 
inches to a milo, and which becomes very 
manifest on a plain of several miles in ex¬ 
tent. 
Another phenomenon equally remarka¬ 
ble is, tho deception in regard to distances. 
An object that appears to be distant per¬ 
haps two milos, is found to bo more than 
twice that distance; and the travolor often 
becomes impatient, as ho finds tho object of 
his pursuit more remote at tho end of a 
given time, tAian ho supposed it to bo at tho 
beginning. 
Another phenomenon equally observable, 
is, tho Prairie wind. To one accustomed 
to an uneven, or hilly country, it may seem 
strange that the winds on tho Prairies aro 
often stronger, as well as more bleak and 
severe, than in a hill-country. Yet such is 
tho fact; (at least so it appearod to mo;)for 
mooting with nothing to intercept their 
progress, they often sweep tho Prairie, as 
they lash tho Ocean, with tromondous fury. 
Further, standing alone in what appears 
to bo an almost boundless oxpan3o, without 
a singlo object of any kind near to break 
tho monotony of the scone, the mind be¬ 
comes sensibly oppressed with a sonso of 
loneliness, or desolateness. Add to this tho 
fact, that with nothing to divert time, tho 
travolor is every moment in danger of los¬ 
ing the points of compass, (and most cer¬ 
tainly does, if the day be cloudy, or the 
night dark,) and we can hardly conceive of 
a condition moro sad and gloomy. Hence 
tho idea of being overtaken by darkness or 
a storm, in such a place, is fearful in the 
oxtremo. Thore is nothing to which he can 
run for shelter, no placo whore ho can hide 
from the poltings of tho storm. 
Again, tho reflecting mind feels its little¬ 
ness—its insignificance. In the presence of 
the mighty cataract, it is overwhelmed with 
a sense of majesty; whilo here, on tho vast 
Prairie, it is almost swallowed up with a 
sense of infinity. Thero it is awed into 
silence by a display of power; hero, by the 
idea of immensity. 
Everything hero becomes an object of in¬ 
terest. A solitary shrub, a stono, (some of 
these aro sometimes found,) a bird, a reptile, 
or even a flower, acquires a degree of im¬ 
portance unporceived before ; and tho first 
impulse is to wonder, if not inquire, how it 
came here ! H. 
Out West, May, 1853. 
A MAINE LAW ARGUMENT. 
A few years ago, says a correspondent of 
the National Intelligencer, I was in com¬ 
pany with a gentleman who had just return¬ 
ed from the city of L., in New England.— 
He said he put up at a hotel, and for a time 
took his soat in tho bar-room. Tho door 
opened suddenly, and a female stopped in. 
She was the very picture of agony—her 
hair disheveled, her dross negligent, her eye 
unsteady, and her movements eccentric.— 
Sho seemed to hesitate at first, but at 
length, gathering courage, she moved up to 
tho bar, and said : “Landlord, don’t sell my 
poor husband any moro rum. You have al¬ 
ready ruined us ! You know that before 
he bogan to coino to your bar, ho was a so¬ 
ber man. Ho was as kind a husband as any 
woman ever had. Wo had a good homo, a 
good farm, and every comfort. But you 
sold him liquor until ho had no more money 
to pay. Unbeknown to me, you got a mort¬ 
gage on his farm; you sold it, and turned 
mo and my helpless children out of doors ! 
My husband has lost his health, his charac¬ 
ter, and his reputation. He bocamo cross 
and abusive to mo, whom he once tenderly 
loved. He turns me out of our wretched 
hovel into the cold and the storm! He 
comes homo from your tavern infuriated 
like a demon. My onco kind and amiablo 
husband and tho tender fathor is a madman 
when ho is in liquor. Ho beats mo and my 
children cruelly, and threatens to murder 
us ! Oh ! don’t give him any more liquor !” 
and the tears gushed from her eyes, while 
tho landlord stood speechless. 
In tho midst of those entreaties, which 
should have broken a heart of adamant, a 
man stepped into tho bar-room, and, with 
the vacant stare of an inebriato, moved to¬ 
ward the bar. Instantly tho pleading wife 
threw herself between the man and the bar, 
and, with one hand against his breast, and 
the other stretched out imploringly to tho 
landlord, sho said, “ Oh don’t! my doar ! 
don’t drink ! You’ll broak my heart;” and 
bursting with agony, she turned to the land¬ 
lord, and said, “ Oh, don’t lot him have it! 
don’t! don’t!” And whilo this scene was 
passing, heart-rending and awful beyond 
tho power of description, the landlord 
walked out from behind the counter, and 
taking the woman rudely by tho arm, said, 
“ This is no placo for women ;” and violent¬ 
ly tore her from her husband, and, pushing 
her out, shut the door against her. He then 
went behind the counter, and placod a bot¬ 
tle of liquor upon it. Tho wretched ine¬ 
briate staggered up and drank his dram, 
placed a piece of money upon the counter, 
the landlord wiped it off complacently into 
tho drawer, and tho drunkard passed out, 
maddened with tho draught, to renew his 
brutal attacks upon his dofenceless wife 
and children. 
Nobody defends such barbarous cruelty 
as this. No one apologizes for it. All agree 
to pronounce the landlord a brute. But 
thore was one fact deserving special atten¬ 
tion. Tho whole transaction was under 
sanction of law! For tho sale of every 
glass of that ruinous liquor, which reduced 
an honest man and a good citizen to the 
lowest degree of suflbring and infamy, he 
cob Id show a “ license” from tho officers of 
justice, under authority solemnly convoyod 
by gravo senators and assemblymen, signed 
hv the Governor and bearing tho seal of 
tho State! 
There was no redross in law for this suf¬ 
fering lady. She had been robbed of her 
home, of hor comfort, of her husband, and 
the blight of despair had been thrown over 
her wholo family ; but the law protected tho 
destroyor, and loft her to endure hor an¬ 
guish without tho hope of relief! 
The pooplo of that Stato havo changed 
the law on that subjoct since; so that tho 
rum-seller cannot take away tho homo of 
the helpless, and ruin a man with impunity. 
Have they done right ? 
THE AUTHOR OF “SWEET HOME.” 
As I sit in my garret horo (in Washing¬ 
ton.) watching the course of groat men and 
the destiny of party, I moot often with 
strange contitdictions in this ovontful life. 
Tho most remarkable was that of J. How¬ 
ard Payne, author of “ Sweet Homo !” I 
know him personally. Ho occupied tho 
rooms undor mo for some time, and his con¬ 
versation was so captivating that I often 
spent wholo days in his apartment. Ho was 
an applicant for office at tho time—Consul 
at Tunis—from which ho had beon remov¬ 
ed. What a sad thing it was to seo tho 
poot subjected to all the humiliation of of¬ 
fice-seeking. Of an evening wo would walk 
along the stroots, looking into tho lighted 
parlors as we passed. Once in a while wo 
would seo some family circle so happy, and 
forming so beautiful a group that we would 
both stop, and then pass silently on. On 
such occasions he would give mo a history 
of his wanderings—his trials, and all the 
cares incident to his sensitive nature and 
povorty. “ How often,” said ho onco, “ I 
have boen in tho hoart of Paris, Berlin, and 
London, or somo other city, and heard per¬ 
sons singing, or the hand-organ playing 
“ Sweet Home,” without a shilling to buy the 
next meal, or a place to put my head. The 
world has literally sung my song until every 
heart is familiar with its melody. Yet, I 
have been a wanderer from my boyhood.— 
My country has turned mo ruthlessly from 
my office ; and in my old ago I have to sub¬ 
mit to humiliation for broad.” Thus ho 
would complain of his hapless lot. His only 
wish was to die in a foreign land, to be bu¬ 
ried by strangers, and sleep in obscurity. 
I mot him one day looking unusually sad. 
“ Have you got your Consulate ?” said I. 
“Yes, and leave in a week for Tunis; I 
shall never return.” 
Tho last expression was not a political 
faith. Far from it. Poor Payne ; his wish 
was realized ; he diod at Tunis. Whether 
his remains have boen brought to his coun¬ 
try, I know not. Thoy should be, and if 
none others would do it, let tho homeless 
throughout the world give a penny for a 
monument to Payne. I knew him, and will 
givo my penny, and for an inscription tho 
following: 
HERE LIES 
J. HOWARD PAYNE, 
The Author of “ Sweet Home.” 
A wandei’er in life; he whose songs were 
sung in every tongue, and found 
an echo in every heart, 
NEVER HAD A HOME. 
HE DIED 
IN A FOREIGN LAND! 
REMARKABLE PHYSICAL PHENOMENON. 
A SLEEPING GIANT — A RIP VAN WINKLE. 
Our attention was called yesterday to a 
most extraordinary phenomenon. A full 
grown man, six feet and two inches tall, 37 
years of age, has slept for nearly five years, 
with only occasional and brief intervals of 
wakefulness. The name of this man, sub¬ 
ject to so remarkable a suspension of tho 
ordinary faculties of the race, is Cornelius 
Broomor. Ho is tho son of a farmor living 
in the town of Clarkson, in this county, in 
whoso family only this singular instance of 
prolonged somnolency has ever occurred. 
Tho subject of our notice first foil into this 
long sleep on the 19th Juno, 1848, and since 
that time has been awake at different peri¬ 
ods, from a few hours to four months at a 
time. It is romarked that when he comos 
out of this catalepsy, ho appears to have no 
knowledge of the lapse of time, or circum¬ 
stances taking place whilo he sleeps. Tho 
fit comes upon him instantly, without, so far 
as is known, any warning. His eyes close, 
his jaws are set, his muscles contract, and 
his whole form is rigid, so that if ho is stand¬ 
ing, he continues in that position partly bent 
over; and it is not easy to pull him down. 
Ho has continued in this condition for 
months together, unable to speak or move. 
Various experiments have been tried to 
restore him to consciousness, but without 
effect. A seton has been inserted in the 
back of his neck, without producing any ap¬ 
parent effect, and on one occasion cayenne 
pepper, moistened with spirits of turpentine, 
was put into his mouth, and no visible emo¬ 
tion was caused by the caustic doso. Phy¬ 
sicians have seen and wondered, theroized 
and experimented in vain. The man sleeps 
on, lives, oats, retains perfect health, with a 
pulse at 80, and without variation. When 
asleep, he may bo placed upon his foet, and 
ho will stand for days together, as ho has 
been known to do for three days and nights 
in succession. In order to feed him, it is 
necessary to pry open his firmly set jaws ; 
and in this manner, but little food is intro¬ 
duced into his stomach. He is not, howover, 
much emaciated, keeps his natural color, 
and appears entirely without disease, ex¬ 
cepting that which produces his strango 
sleep. When he awakes, he comes out of 
his trance suddenly, his rigid muscles relax 
at once, he asks for meat or drink, and falls 
to voraciously. If asked why ho sleeps so 
much, ho appears to regard it as an imposi¬ 
tion, just as an active man would receive an 
intimation that he was considered sluggish. 
The last time ho was awake was about 
five or six weeks since. He was left nearly 
alone at homo; and on coming out of sleep, 
ho got up and wont to the lake shore where 
his brothers were; going into a gocery, he 
called for liquor, and asked tho company to 
drink with him. On such occasions ho is 
not violent or angry ; appears strong and in 
the full possession of his mental faculties. 
A slight indication that he is not entirely 
unaware of what is transpiring about him, 
was givon recently, by his asking his fathor 
if ho intended to allow him to bo taken to 
New York ? Several parties had beon en¬ 
deavoring to get permission to exhibit him, 
and ho appears to have become aware of it 
by some means; perhaps by hearing con¬ 
versation about him. This was tho only in¬ 
stance of the kind, we bolieve. Tho fact 
that the eye-lids are in a constant tremor, 
favors tho idea of his semi-consciousness. 
This man is now in charge of Mr. Gardner 
Davis, of Broekport, who intends to exhibit 
him to tho public, so that a thing so wonder 
ful may bo soen by all the world. A broth¬ 
er of tho romarkablo somnambulist accom¬ 
panies him — a healty, strong man, six foet 
and two inches tall. Many of our Physi¬ 
cians have visited the man, at the placo 
whero he is lodged,— Mr. Demarost’s Com¬ 
mercial Hotel, Front street. Efforts havo 
boen made to waken him, rocontly, so that 
tho Faculty, who aro deeply interested in 
tho matter, may see him in his wakon mood. 
It is a little singular that whiskey will havo 
the dosirod effect, if it is possible to get 
enough down his throat. But he resists the 
introduction of the liquor, and it is vory 
difficult to get it down in any quantity. 
jffnv ,0ttQr ’ 5t wiU bo seen ’ was written tho day 
(Xu X IP Jl/ttUllS* before James Warner’s marriage : 
___ “ Yes, my dear friend, tho die is cast, and 
Written for the Rural New-Yorker. ho b ? wh ° SG Slde 1 expected to Stand and 
LITTLE COUSIN CLARA take upon myself the solemn responsibilities 
- of a wife, is to be married to Jenny Carlton. 
_ I uo not blamo James for loving her, for 
What a lovely little Fairy, she is beautiful and learnod;—he has a pro- 
Art thou, gentle cousin Clara! fossion, and perhaps thinks he ought to 
With thy \\^s so mild and winning, i *x* ° 
Sure, thou never thought's! of sinning I have a wlto to Preside at his fireside who is 
Blue as violets in the meadow, moro beautiful and accomplished than your 
Is thiue eye beneath the shadow very plain friend, Susan. Jenny possesses 
Of the lids so gently sleeping, , , , 
Watch above them ever keeping, superior attractions, but my mother has al- ; 
Ever changing their expression, ways taught 1110 that genteel aCCOinplisll- 
Bearning now Love’s sweet confession, metlts a lono, w jU not make a family COIll- 
Trembling then, in childish sorrow, „ . , J , 
Followed by the smiles that borrow iortablo that a wife, no matter how intcl- 
Haif the beauty they inherit, leetual she may be, should possess a tolera- 
From thy sinless child-like spirit. ble knowledge of liouse-kcoping, in order to 
Well thy mother loves the twining make her husband and family happy. Of 
of thy hair so soft and[shining domestic affairs Jen y knows nothing;- 
Parted smoothly from thy temples, . . J . . 
Or in curls concealing dimples With tllO hubltS JclinCS hclS formed in his 
That in either cheek are hiding, mother’s well-ordered homo, I fear for his 
When she gives thee gentle chiding. happiness. Do not think, dear M., that 
Little mouth so “ wee and bonnie, 11 ’ ’ > 
Sweet its kiss as golden honey; keenly as I feci this crushing of long- 
Llps as red as bursting cherry, cherished hopes and expectations, I shall 
Wearing smiles so aich and merry. sit down 8Upinely and gl'ieVO OVCr my 
Blessings on thee, priceless treasure! , r J J 
Spring of deepest, purest pleasure, hCcirt S SOITOW. No—i Still h&YO duties tO 
Promise, every sorrow cheering, perform, and must seek in employment of 
Rainbow, brightest tokens bearing. mind and hands, a balm for tho wound that 
E er, as now, thou happy creature, j fool must be long in healing. Pray excuse 
Health and joy deck every feature, , 
Purity make ti.ee her dwelling, selfishness in troubling you with my 
Every ruder passion quelling; griefs, but I feel to-day as though I must 
Then with parents’ fond caressing, seek sympathy, for I know not how to bear 
They will feel thou art the blessing , ,, 
Dearest, from the Heavenly Giver SGl ' rGWS alone, 
Whose protection’s o'er us ever. And nobly did she bear her sorrows.— 
short and fleeting be thy sorrow, She did not sit down and repine, but deter- 
Grief, like night, soon fade to-morrow . , ,. ,. c , c , 
When stiU brighter is the dawning, mmod fc ° IlV0 a 1,fe ° f usefulness. Some 
From tho clouds its bright forewarning. friends urged her to prosecute tho recreant 
Were it mine to give thee pleasures, lover for a “ breach of promise.” Such an 
Mine to guard thy mother's treasure, idea sho indignantly repelled. 
Sickness ne’er should fade the roses, s\ C ,, .1 . , c , . , 
Which thy rounded cheek disclose* 0£ al1 tl ‘° S0Cial SinS ° f " hich y 0Un S men 
Care should pass thee bright and youthful are guilty, it has always appeared to me 
And thy spirit free ami truthful, there is none for which they are surer to 
Few tire trials that surround thee, , ., , ., ,. ,, ,, , 
Many, dear, the friends around thee; meet Wlth a S P Ccd y retribution, than that 
Truth, the angel of thy bosom, of trifling with the holiest affections of a 
Love, its purest, earthly blossom, trusting heart. When a young man has, 
Innocence, thy footsteps guiding , , . ? i • j -± , , , . 
Ever smooth thy days be gliding, b y kindness and assiduity, secured to him- 
To those scenes so bright and vernal self such a treasure, let him be careful how 
In the beauteous laud eternal. he ca stS it lightly from him, lest ho plant 
Poolville, N. Y., 1853. ., . , . .. , ’ . 
____thorns in his pillow that will pierce his 
THE OLD LETTER-BOX temples, when whitened locks warn him that 
_ his lamp of life will soon go out, and he 
by a farmer’s wife. would fain look back on the past without 
-- remorse. 
Did any of tho readers of the “Rural” The subsequent life of James Warner 
ever encounter a May-day as connected f u py illustrates this idea. I will, therefore, 
with tho custom ‘more honored in the for awhile lay aside tho Letter-Box, and re¬ 
breach than tho observance,” of pulling up lat0 somo incidents that may serve to im- 
stakes and removing to a new residence ?— press on young minds the importance of a 
tho time that tiiesallthe domestic virtues faithful adherence to plighted vows. Un- 
of a house-keeper, tho time when long-lost romantic as is his story, I think you will 
things are brought to light, and many more find in it one more example of tho truth, 
are forever lost. The season for a general « He that soweth tho wind, will reap tho 
overhauling and setting in order of chests, whirlwind.” 
trunks, drawers, bundles, bags, and last —___- 
comos the old Letter-Box — the contents of FEMALE DELICACY, 
which aro to bo sorted over, and the least . „ , . , 
„ a j. 11 , . Above other features which adorn the 
c 1 ij n '£ n 0 10 0,111 In S' female character, delicacy stands foremost 
basket, to make room for more; a part, within the province of good taste. Not that 
still precious for sake of old associations, delicacy which is perpetually in quest of 
are to be preserved a littlo longer. something to be ashamed of, which makes 
„ , . , merit of a blush, and simpers at tho false 
1 . cro is a ium o too precious to con- construction its own ingenuity has put upon 
sign to tho flames. They were written an innocent remark; this spurious kind of 
many years ago, during a separation of delicacy is as far removed from good taste 
young hearts that were sanguine of a happy as from good feoling and good sense; but 
future, quite sure that they, at least, should the hi g h - m j nded " hicb maintains 
, , , , . ’ its pure and undeviating walk alike amongst 
escape tie rocks and shoals in tho sea of WO men as in tho society of men — which 
matrimony, whore so many barks, deep- shrinks from no necessary duty, and can 
freighted with heart treasures, had been so speak, when required, with seriousness and 
fatally wrecked. Though the writers have kindness of things at which it would be 
often sat in tho shadow of “Adversity's M“sh-that delicacy 
. , . J which knows how to confer a bonefit without 
dark wing, they have ever retained a con- wounding the feelings of another, and which 
fidence in each other that has blunted its understands also how and when to receive 
arrows so that none have pierced their souls, one — that delicacy which can give alms 
At the bottom of a letter written a short withoufc assumption, and which pains not 
time previous to their marriage, I And the th<J l,t “ s^eptible being in creati on. 
following, written by the same hand nearly A pajtAGRAPH FOE THE LADIES. 
twenty-five years later: - 
Though silver threads bedeck my brow, Female education now-a-davs, often fails 
And youth hath lang syne fled, the mark, and Misses are so both in name 
My heart beats warmly for thee now, and nature. Hear what a Connecticut cou- 
As when we first were wed. temporary has to say : 
But let us lay these aside, and explore “ Is housekeeping an ossential part of fe- 
still further. male education ? Undoubtedly it is. For 
Written for the Rural New-Yorker. 
LITTLE COUSIN CLARA. 
BY M. AUGUSTA JSRAINAUD. 
What a lovely little Fairy, 
Art thou, gentle cousin Clara! 
With thy ways so mild and winning. 
Sure, thou never thought's! of sinning I 
Blue as violets in the meadow, 
Is thine eye beneath the shadow 
Of the lids so gently sleeping, 
Watch above them ever keeping. 
Ever changing their expression, 
Beaming now Love’s sweet confession. 
Trembling then, in childish sorrow, 
Followed by the smiles that borrow 
Half the beauty they inherit, 
From thy sinless child-like spirit. 
Well thy mother loves the twining 
Of thy hair so soft and shining, 
Parted smoothly from thy temples, 
Or in curls concealing dimples 
That in either cheek are hiding, 
When she gives thee gentle chiding. 
Little mouth so “ wee” and bonnie. 
Sweet its kiss as golden honey; 
Lips as red as bursting cherry, 
Wearing smiles so arch and merry. 
Blessings on thee, priceless treasure 1 
Spring of deepest, purest pleasure, 
Promise, every sorrow cheering, 
Rainbow, brightest tokens bearing. 
E’er, ns now, thou happy creature. 
Health and joy deck every feature, 
Purity make thee her dwelling, 
Every ruder passion quelling; 
Then with parents’ fond caressing, 
They will feel thou art the blessing 
Dearest, from the Heavenly Giver 
Whose protection’s o'er us ever. 
Short and fleeting be thy sorrow, 
Grief, like night, soon fade to-morrow 
When still brighter is the dawning, 
From the clouds its bright forewarning. 
Were it mine to give thee pleasures, 
Mine to guard thy mother’s treasure. 
Sickness ne’er should fade the roses. 
Which thy rounded cheek discloses; 
Caro should pass tlieo bright and youthful 
And thy spirit free and truthful, 
Few tire trials that surround thee. 
Many, dear, the friends around thee; 
Truth, the angel of thy bosom, 
Love, its purest, earthly blossom, 
Innocence, thy footsteps guiding 
Ever smooth thy days be gliding, 
To those scenes so bright and vernal 
In the beauteous laud eternal. 
Poolville, N. Y., 1853. 
THE OLD LETTER-BOX. 
BY A FARMERS WIFE. 
Did any of tho readers of tho “Rural” 
time previous to their marriage, I fled the tlw mo st b °»'g in creati on. 
following, written by the same hand nearly A PAEAGEAP h fob THE LADIES. 
twenty-five years later: - 
Though silver threads bedeck my brow, FEMALE education nOW-a-davS, often fails 
And youth hath lang S yne fled, the mark, and Misses are so both in name 
My heart beats warmly for thee now, and nature. Hear what a Connecticut cou- 
As when we first were wed. temporary has to say : 
But let us lay these aside, and explore “ Is housekeeping an ossential part of fe- 
still further male education ? Undoubtedly it is. For 
Hero is a confidential letter from one of ? in an 7 sit " at . ion ° f „ U {\*° 
be ignorant ot the various business that bo- 
the sterner sex, who had been unsuccessful longs to good housekeeping, is as great a 
in his efforts to gain tho affections of my deficiency as not to understand accounts, 
friend J. He loved with all tho enthusiasm or for tho masters of a vessel not to bo ac- 
of a Klopstock; like him he thought his quainted with navigation. If a woman does 
,, ,. , . ,, not know how the various work ot a house 
bleeding heart could never heal, and like ghould be done> she might as well know 
him, too, at length found anothor Meta nothing, for that is her expross vocation; 
that eclipsed tho first. Such aro young and it matters not how much learning, or 
men’s hearts, and seldom are they broken bow many accomplishments she may have, 
by one failure. if she is wanting hi that which is to fit her 
peculiar calling.” 
Here is another letter, that calls up so ____ 
many emotions and recollections that I Marriage. —When youth weds youth for 
must linger awhile over its contents; it is love, it is beautiful; when youth weds age 
from a pure-hoarled country girl, who had * or mone y> i fc ,i s monstrous, and only hate, 
, 1 j • ., a. v misery and criminality can come from it.— 
been superseded in tho affections of a stu- 0 f tbie “ thrice sodden fools’ who marry 
dent, whom she had boen attached to from their grandfathers and grandmothers, old 
childhood, and to whom she was engaged to Thomas Fuller says with equal truth and 
be married. Tho young lady who stepped wit—“ They that marry ancient people 
between her and the object of her attach- n )erely in expectation to bury them, hang 
, A , themselves in hopes some one may come and 
ment. was one whom nature had endowed cu( . ^ halter ” 
with personal attractions, and a gifted mind,_ _ , _ __ 
cultivated in tho best schools of the times- It is a raisorablo state of mind to havo 
in short, ono every way qualified to capti- f ew things to desire, and many things to 
vafce the heart of a devoted student. This fear. 
