MOORE’S RURAL NEW-YORKER: AN AGRICULTURAL 
cv 
f 
)* ' v -' 
LIKE TEE EVERGREEN. 
Some liken their iove to the beautiful rose, 
And some to the violet sweet in the shade: 
But the Flower Queen dies when the Summer day goes, 
And the blue eye shuts when the Spring blossoms fade! 
So we ll choose for our emblem a sturdier thing, 
We will go to the mountain and worship its tree; 
Then a health to the Cedar—the Evergreen King, 
Like that Evergreen so shall our friendship he. 
The perfume it carries is deeply concealed, 
Not a breath of rich scent will its branches impart; 
But how lasting and pure is the odor revealed 
In the inmost and deepest recess of its heart; 
It growefh in might and it liveth right long, 
And the longer it liveth the nobler the tree ; 
Then a health to the Cedar—the true and the strong, 
Like the Evergreen so shall our Friendship be ! 
It remaiueth unseared in the deluge of light, 
When the flood of the sun tide is pouring around; 
And as firmly and bravely it meetetb the night, 
With the storm torrent laden, and thunder cloud 
crowned ; 
And so shall all changes that Fortune can bring 
Find our spirits unaltered and stanch as the tree; 
Then a health to the Cedar, the Evergreen King, 
Like that Evergreen so shall our Friendship be 1 
STANZAS. 
There are three lessons I would write,— 
Three words—as with a burning pen, 
In tracings of eternal light, 
Upon the hearts of men. 
Have Hope! Tho’ clouds environ now, 
And gladness hides her face with score. 
Chase thou the shadows from thy brow,— 
No night but hath its morn. 
Have Faith! where’er thy bark is driven,— 
The calm’s disport—the tempest's mirth,— 
Know this—God rules the hosts of heaven, 
Th’ inhabitants of earth. 
Have Love ! Not love alone for one, 
But man as man, thy brother call,— 
And scatter, like circling sun, 
Tlty charities on all. 
Titus grave these lessons on thy soul— 
Hope, Faith and Love—and thou shalt find, 
Strength, when life's surges wildest roll,— 
Light, when thou else wer’t blind ! 
For the Rural New-Yorker. 
AN EXCUSE, AND A MORAL. 
Once an English captain arrived in tho 
harbor of Constantinople. Being fatigued 
from tho long voyage, ho wished to onjoy 
himself by riding through tho winding 
streets of that city. Hiving often hoard 
of tho excellent horses of the Turks, and 
wishing to trot like a Turk, ho ordered a 
fiery Arabian horse for tho afternoon, and 
when ho had dressed himself very splendidly 
in a red coat embroidered with gold, black¬ 
ened his beard and whiskers, he mounted the 
horse. Hereupon, while riding through tho 
gate, ho appeared ridiculous to the Turks, 
who had never beforo seen a rider like tho 
English captain. His knees drawn up, his 
back turned into a curve, and his head and 
neck bent down, gave him the appearance 
of a poor tailor at work. Tho captain, 
thinking the Turks were laughing in conse¬ 
quence of their amazement at his beautiful 
appearance, rode out, with satisfaction to 
himself, to the great square. Suddenly the 
horse runs with great leaps, and the captain 
seizing him by tho mane, shouts into his ear 
in English; hut tho horse does not under¬ 
stand his rider, and. bounding high in tho 
air, throws him into the sand. Tho Turks 
pity him very much, and oven carry him to 
his ship. They command the captain’s in¬ 
terpreter, that he should never allow his un¬ 
skillful master to bo soen on horseback in 
the streets of Constantinople. 
As soon as tho Turks loft him tho captain 
asked his interpreter what they had said.— 
The interpreter ropliod,—“ They only think 
that you are a bad rider, and wish that 
you should not suffer yoursolf to be soon on 
an Arabian horse in thoir city.” In conso- 
quenco of this tho captain was vexed and 
groatly ashamed, and replied thus : “ Go 
into tho city and toll them your master is 
generally a good rider, but to-day, alas, at 
dinner ho drank a glass of wine too much, 
and fell from tho horso in a state of intoxi¬ 
cation.” • 
Tho interpreter goes into tho city and re¬ 
lates tho whole matter to tho Turks. But 
they listen to him with horror, and say •— 
“We believed him to be a good man, but 
thought he did not sit properly upon his 
horso, because his father had not taught him 
any better. But what do you say !—ho fell 
from his horse intoxicated with wino !— 
Shame to that infidel!” 
But an old Mussulman, who bad seen and 
beard the whole affair, spoko as follows : 
“ Listen to mo my peoplo; do not believe 
that he was thrown from his horso because 
he had drunk too much. I know it would 
happen so as soon as I saw in what manner 
he was riding. But I will tell you why he 
would rather complain of the wine and rep¬ 
resent himself to you as a drunkard than a 
bad rider. It is the vanity of man which 
caused this, and by which men aro lead to 
deceit and falsehood. Many a man prefers 
to bo possessed of a vico if ho only has other 
shining talonts. Somo, rather than betray 
an act which might cause somo ridicule, will 
confess a sin. And thus this captain, being 
ashamed, prefers (and that too by lying) to 
bo called a drunkard to passing for a bad 
rider.” s. t. 
THEOLOGY OF THE CHINESE REBELS. 
There is one curious and interesting fact 
developed so far, by that most extraordinary 
of all modern revolutions—the Chinese Re¬ 
bellion—and that is the existence among the 
roputed heathen of that isolated quarter of 
tho world of a far more correct and in¬ 
telligible view of Christianity, and a deci¬ 
dedly more general knowledge of the Bible 
and the great truths it teaches, than we 
have hitherto been disposed to give them 
credit for. Thus, in one of the proclama¬ 
tions recently issued by the rebel chief, ho 
by way of preface thus recites an outline of 
the theological opinions held by tho insur¬ 
rectionists. 
“Yank, entitled tho Eastern King, and 
general-in chief, with Seaou, entitled the 
Western King, also genoral-in chief of Tha- 
eping, by Divine appointment Emperor of 
Theonkwo, tho celestial dynasty, unitedly 
issuo this proclamation, to announce that 
they have received the commands of Heaven 
to slaughter the imps and save the people. 
According to the Old Testament, tho Great 
God (Shanhte) our Heavenly Father, in six 
days created the heavens and the earth, and 
the land and the sea, men and all things.— 
The Great God is spiritual Fatfe , omnis¬ 
cient, omnipotent and omnipresent: all na¬ 
tions under heaven are acquainted with his 
great power, In tracing up the records of 
by-gone ages, we find that since the creation 
of the world the Great God has frequently 
manifested his displeasure, and how can it 
be that you people of the world aro still ig¬ 
norant of it ? The Great God in the first 
instance displayed his anger, and sent down 
a great rain, during forty days and forty 
nights, by which means the flood was pro¬ 
duced. On a second occasion the Great 
God manifested his displeasure, and came 
down to save Israol out ot' tho land of Egypt. 
On a third occasion l>o displayed His awful 
majesty when the Savior of the world, tho 
Lord Jesus, became incarnate in the land of 
Judea, and suffered for the redemption of 
mankind. In later ages Ho again manifest¬ 
ed His indignation, and in the Ting-yew 
year (A. D. 1837) tho Great God sent a ce¬ 
lestial messenger, who was commissioned by 
the Lord of Heaven, when he ascended on 
high, to put to death the fiendish bands.— 
Again He has sent the celestial King to take 
the lead of the empire and save the people. 
From the Mo-shin to the Sin-hao year (A. 
D. 1848—51) the Great God has compas- 
sioned the calamities of the people, who 
have been entangled in the meshes of the 
Devil’s knot: and on tho third moon of tho 
latter year, the exalted Lord and the Great 
Emperor appeared ; and in the ninth moon, 
Jesus, tho Savior of the world, manifested 
himself, exerting innumerable acts of power, 
and slaughtering a very large number of tho 
impish fiends in several pitched battles;” 
ADVERTISING FOR A WIFE. 
A Now York youth furnishes the follow¬ 
ing statement of his personal experience, to 
tho editor of tho New York Weokly Mes¬ 
senger : 
In February last I was in Boston. A 
friend of mine, for a joke, advertised for a 
wife worth ono thousand dollars. A lady 
answered, requesting an interview, under 
the assumed name of “ Adelaide Meek.”— 
I replied to her note, apparently, in good 
earnest. Sho wrote again, naming a time 
and place to moot. I met hor, and found 
her to bo well accomplished, in the first 
society, with wealthy connections, &c. She 
had answerod for a joko. We became inter¬ 
ested in each other. Sho introduced me to 
hor relations, whom I found to be of the 
ton. Wo were engaged. All her friends 
were in favor of the match, except her fa¬ 
ther. Tho 18th of Juno was appointed for 
our wedding. I returned to New York in 
April. She wrote me three times a week, 
asseverating that nothing but death should 
part us. She wrote to have me get the cer¬ 
tificate from the city clerk where I lived, and 
hurry up my cakes. I have it. She then 
wrote to mo that as we were so soon to be 
married, she would want a great many things 
and hor father, although vei’y wealthy, would 
not fit her out, because sho would not marry 
tho ono ho wished her to, and therefore she 
desired mo to send her somo money ; I mail¬ 
ed hor money in presenco of tho clerk of 
tho post office, to tho amount of $603, sinco 
when sho will have nothing to do with me 
—not even to answer my letters, or giving 
a reason for cutting me. Now, what course 
should I tako ? Can I make it a case of 
false protenco, or would it bo better to bring 
an action for breach of promise ? If tho 
latter, must I not tender her my humble 
self prior to the day appointed for our wed¬ 
ding ? Have I a right to publish her letter ? 
If so it will bo a rich treat for uppertendom. 
I am bound to havo my $600 worth in somo 
way. 
Tho editor of tho Messenger givos the lad 
the following “ advice gratis :” 
Wo publish tho unhappy experience of a 
victim in search of a wife, with a melancholy 
pleasure, for tho benefit of mankind at largo, 
lie appears to have been “taken in and done 
for ” completely. As to his $603, no com¬ 
plaint beforo any polico justice, or dread 
magnate of tho law, will ever bring back ono 
farthing of it to his bleeding pocket, since, 
according to tho familiar ruling in criminal 
charges of this nature, tho prosecutor must 
at least havo exorcised ordinary prudence. 
The law will not punish one who merely 
makes a dupe of another. Tho question of 
the publication of tho letters is another horn 
of tho dilemma. She would probably frus¬ 
trate his attempt by injunction. Between 
law and love, his hands and heart are pretty 
well bound. Wo advise him to make a note 
of his Boston courtship and turn over a new 
leaf. 
A little wrong done to another is a great 
injury done to ourselves. 
WELCOME TO THE COUNTRY. 
Avaunt, brick walls! Hence, glaring 
beat, reflected in dusky red on every house 
top. Welcomo green fields, and orchards 
with your drowsy shadows. Welcomo, hedg¬ 
es glittering with pearl-sprinkled blooms.— 
Welcome, grassy nooks, fragrant hiding- 
places of the modest strawberry. Welcome, 
lumbering wagons and heavy eyed oxen. 
Welcome, village maids with your saucy 
bonnets shading the healthy lustre of cheek 
and eye. Welcome, uncouth cow-boy with 
broken hat hanging over thy honest brown 
face. Welcomo, likewise, low-thatched cot¬ 
tages, and vino-bowered windows—welcome, 
unstudied grouping of fragrant garden-flow¬ 
ers—welcome, cool dark wells with your old 
fashioned sweeps, upon whose buckets tho 
loving moss clings with damp and dainty 
touch. 
Welcome, clean-sanded kitchen, over 
whose porch droop the pale roses of the 
sweet brier. Welcomo, broad hearth, whose 
cheery flame shall never more polish tho 
noedlo of that kind old mother, for she hath 
laid by her household cares, and sleepeth 
in an older home. 
Welcome cool entries with strips of snowy 
matting. From here the purple of the hills, 
the blended blue of sky and river, the white 
wing of the breeze, and gentle stirring thro’ 
tho upland fields—delight the vision. " Wel¬ 
come, cool-dairy where stand fat cheese and 
pans of cream, golden with the promise of 
sweet butter. Welcomo, all country sights, 
and sounds, even to the old cow-bell that 
dings unmusically along the meadows. 
Welcomo, the Sabbath, when tho door of 
tho little church turns meekly on its hinges 
to lot in God s poople. Welcomo, quaint 
garden of tho dead, where rosy children 
gather butter cups from ancient graves.— 
Welcome, thrice welcome God’s handiwork ! 
lot man’s “ excellent wisdom” and cunning 
skill, stand afar off and worship .—Olive 
Branch. 
HEREDITARY FEATURES. 
The author of tho work entitled “Record 
of Creation,” mentions, some curious facts 
under this branch of his subject. A peculiar 
thickness of the under lip has been heredi¬ 
tary to the Imperial House of Hapsburg, 
ever since the marriage, some centuries ago, 
with the Polish family of Jagelon, whtinco 
it came. In our own royal family, a cer¬ 
tain fulness of tho lower and lateral parts 
ot the face is conspicuous in the portraits of 
the whole series of sovereigns, from George 
first to A ictoria, and has been equally mark¬ 
ed in other members of the family. Tho 
females of the Ducal House of Gordon have 
long been remarkable for a peculiar elegant 
conformation of the neck. The Clackman- 
nashire Bruces, who are descended from a 
common stock with the famous Robert 
Bruce, of Scotland, are said to havo that 
strongly-marked form of the chest bones 
and jaws which appears on tho coins of that 
heroic monarch, as it did in his actual face 
when his bones wore disinterred at Dum 
fermline, about thirty years ago. The preva¬ 
lent tallness of the peopls of Potsdam, many 
of whom aro descended from the gigantic 
guards of Frederick I; the Spanish features 
observable in the people of the county of 
Galway, in which, some centuries ago, some 
Spanish settlements were made; and the 
hereditary beauty of the women of Prague, 
aro well-known facts which have attracted 
tho attention of chronologists. Tho bur¬ 
gesses of R omo (the most invariable portion 
of every population) exhibit, at tho present 
day, precisely the same type of face and 
form as their ancestors, whose busts may be 
seen carved in relief on the ancient sarcho- 
phagi; and the Jewish physiognomists, por¬ 
trayed upon the sepulchral monument of 
Egypt, are identical with those which may 
be observed among modern Jews in the 
streets of any of our great cities. 
PROGRESS OF MANKIND. 
The immenso strides in progress which 
civilized men have made within the last two 
centuries, are really incredible until the 
subject is thoroughly considered. Yet wo 
do not exaggerate when we say that a jour¬ 
neyman mechanic, in the present day, lives 
substantially better than a noble did four 
centuries ago. Thero still survives a house¬ 
hold book, kept by one of the great Dukes 
of Northumberland, which leaves no doubt 
on this subject. From that volume we learn 
that his grace breakfasted on ale and her¬ 
rings, dined usually on boiled beef, and was 
as ignorant, at supper, of the luxury of tea 
or coffee, as he was, in his household furni¬ 
ture, of carpets, sofas, or hair mattrasses.— 
In tho Poston letters, written about the 
middle of tho fifteenth century, we have 
further evidence of the almost incredible 
want of physical comforts among tho upper 
classes. Tho Duke of Norfolk of that day, 
one of the groatest of English noblemen, 
was often in need of the smallest sums of 
money, while persons of less exalted rank 
had frequently to submit to the greatest 
privations for want of a few shillings. Tho 
richest men in tho land dressed poorer, were 
lodged more rudely, and ato coarser food in 
those times than any industrious mechanic 
of our own. Even as late as Queen Eliza¬ 
beth’s reign, the royal floors were covered 
with rushos instead of carpet. When Phil¬ 
ip the Second, consort of Mary, Elizabeth's 
sister, visited England, his courtiers wrote 
back to Spain that the people lived in huts 
of nettles and mud, and slept on logs for 
pillows. 
The greatest pleasure of life is love ; the 
greatest treasure is contentment; tho great¬ 
est possession is health; the greatest ease is 
sleep; and the best medicine a true friend. 
Whatever situation in life you wish ( 
propose for yourself, acquire a clear, luci 
idea of the inconveniences attending it. 
AND FAMILY NEWSPAPER. 
Jfjtrr t|e Safe 
TAKE ME HOME TO DIE. 
Thu land is very bright, mother, 
The flowers are very fair, 
There is magic in the orange groves, 
And fragrance in the air; 
But take me to my good old home, 
Where the brook goes bubbling by, 
Let us go back again, mother, 
Ob, take me home to die. 
Let my father’s hand but rest, mother, 
In blessing on my head. 
Let my brothers and my sisters dear 
But throng around my bed; 
Oh, let me feel that loved ones ne’er. 
Receive my parting breath, 
When I bid you all good night, mother, 
And sleep the sleep of death, 
Dear mother, I am weeping, 
I cannot stop the tears, 
They're swelling at the thought of home, 
And of my early years. 
But I am getting faint, mother, 
Oh, take me to your breast, 
And lot me feel your lip mother, 
Again my forehead press. 
There’s dimness on my sight, mother, 
I cannot get my breath; 
Is it your sobs I hear, mother ? 
Oh 1 tell me, is this death ? 
You II tell my father how I yearned 
Once more to see him near; 
You'11 kiss my brothers each for me— 
They will forget, I fear. 
You’ll tell my sisters, mother dear, 
I have gone up on high; 
And if they are good children here, 
They will see me when they die. 
I feel I’m going now, mother— 
One kiss, ere life is riven, 
And now farewell, my own mother, 
Until we meet in Heaven. 
THE GOOD WOMAN. 
The good woman is ono who, as a maid¬ 
en, as a wife, as a mother, as a daughter, as 
a sister, as a member of social life, as a child 
of God and an object of tho Savior’s dying 
love, cultivates her affections and largo sen¬ 
sibilities into an instinctive repugnance to 
the very thoughts of sin ; whose disposition 
is tempered by a religious judgment that re¬ 
pels every inducement to anger and bitter¬ 
ness ; who, though firm for her own rights 
and thoso of othors, yet defends them with¬ 
out anger or unkindnoss, and can willingly 
yield, when yielding is best and for tho best; 
who loves to perform acts of neighborly 
kindness, of compassion, and of benevo¬ 
lence ; who. rejecting the promptings of a 
foolish pride founded on mere wealth and 
station, loves to do good as a common mem¬ 
ber of a common humanity ; who is courte¬ 
ous in society, and strives to bo happy in tho 
happiness of others ; whose unspotted puri¬ 
ty of soul gives her an outward charm that 
is to her what fragrance is to the lily of the 
valley, and compels the sinful to hide the 
taint on their souls, when in hor presence; 
who desires to expand her mind with sub¬ 
stantial knowledge: and who strives to 
know what Christianity is, and to make it 
the standard of her faith, her hopes, her 
moral and spiritual wants, and her life ; such 
a woman is the good , the Christain woman. 
This sido of the homo of angels, there is no 
being so beautiful, so admirable. I speak 
not now of mere beauty of person ; for how¬ 
ever desirable that may be, it is no evidence 
of excellence of soul, since it oftentimes is 
connected with an unlovely character, with 
an ugly disposition. I speak of that beauty 
of moral and spiritual character, which is 
admirable and attractive alike in youth, in 
middle age, and in declining years makes 
death peaceful and radiant with joy, and 
leaves an influence that forms a memorial, 
like to that which the Savior attached to the 
woman, who in her gratitude and humility, 
anointed his head with fragrant ointmont.— 
IIo w much society and the world are indebted 
for their goodness and happiness, to woman, 
notwithstanding so many of her sex fail of 
reaching the height of excellence which they 
are all capable of attaining. m. 
Lucy Stone in Pen and Ink. —Twenty- 
three years of ago, a brunette of petite 
figure, with largo but not unpleasant fea¬ 
tures, and a benevolont expression. Her 
eyes full and expressive—a prominent nose, 
with a slight inclination to turn up, a large 
full mouth and good teeth. She was 
dressed in a black silk polka jackot open in 
front, showing a fine cambric shirt down to 
tho waist, with a shirt collar rolled over; 
black silk skirt half way down to the ankle 
and cut full; trowsers of black silk, fitting 
close to tho leg, a good sized foot with gai¬ 
ter boots. She wears her hair short and 
combed back. She looks like a precocious 
little girl on the platform. 
Advice to a Bride. —I beg to remind my 
new daughter that the husband has a thou¬ 
sand elements of disturbance in his daily 
avocations to which his wife is an utter 
stranger; and it will be her privilege, and 
her title to tho respect of all whose respect 
is worth having, to make his own fire-side 
the most attractive place in the universe for 
the calm repose of a weary body or excited 
mind. The minor comforts, which are the 
most valuable, bocause the most constantly 
in requisition, will depend more upon her 
looks, her mannor, and tho evidences of her 
forethought, than upon all the other occur¬ 
rences of life. 
SCENE IN A RAILROAD CAR. 
[Train just on tho point of starting.— 
Enter hurriedly, a young married couple.] 
Young Husband. “Make haste, Bessy ; 
no time to bo lost. Here’s a seat.” 
Young Wife [anxiously glancing at a 
bundle in her arms.] “George, isn’t there 
too much air comes in here ? I am afraid 
baby will take cold.” 
Young Husband [good humoredly.] “Not 
a bit of it. He’ll get along famously.” 
Young Wife. “But I am so uneasy, you 
know. I wonder if there’s been any small¬ 
pox here, or measles, or whooping-cough ? 
Do please ask the conductor.” 
Young Husband. “ Nonsense; you musn’t 
think about such things. Remomber mo to 
the old folks ; and don’t let them spoil the 
little fellow. Good-by! Time’s up; I 
must be off.” 
Young Wife [detaining him.] “ Stop a 
minute, Georgo, they wont go just yet.— 
Mind and take good earo of yourself; and 
bo sure and writo to mo often. You’ll find 
all your things put nicely away in tho two 
lower drawers. There’s a dozen shirts ; 
seven pair of stockings ; four pair of draw¬ 
ers ; six-.” 
Young Husband, [turnivg to leave.] “I 
know, I know. Never mind about them 
now. I dare say I shall find them all 
right.” 
Young Wife. “And, Goorge—one word 
more—only one word.” 
Young Husband. “Well what is it Bes¬ 
sy ? Be quick.” 
Young wife. “The washerwoman.— 
Don’t let her charge you more than half a 
dollar a dozen. She has got now of yours 
-.” [Bell rings.] 
Young Husband [hastily moving away.] 
“ Yes, yes ; I’ll see to it.” 
Young Wife [calling him hack and speak¬ 
ing quickly.] “ Count the pieces before 
you send them. These people are so care¬ 
less. Who will sew your buttons on while 
I am gone I wonder ?” [Husband gets fid- 
gotty.] “Now don’t be in such a hurry, 
that’s a dear. I haven’t half-” 
Young Husband [looking out.] “Indeed 
Bessy, I can’t stay any longer. Don’t you 
see the cars are beginning to move ?” 
Young Wife. “So they are I declare.— 
But. George ”—[ho turns back abruptly]— 
“ won’t you kiss the baby before you go ?” 
[Young husband looks round.half shame¬ 
faced at the passengers. Tho anxious 
mother unwraps the mysterious bundle, and 
discloses a tiny face nestling in among a 
world of frills and embroidery. Young 
husband snatches a hurried kiss, and then 
hastens away, with a laugh, and a very red 
face, just as the train is beginning to gather 
speed. Young wife looks sorrowfully out 
at the window for a moment ; but, present¬ 
ly, brightens up, and kisses her hand to 
young husband, standing on the platform. 
Train leaves the depot with a rush.]— Ar¬ 
thur s Home Gazette. 
A FEMALE ADVENTURER. 
A correspondent of the New York Trib¬ 
une, writing from Traverse Des Sioux, Min¬ 
nesota, gives an account of the adventures 
of a young woman who sought employment 
in that new country. She could command, 
as a woman, about four dollars per month, 
while men where getting from twenty to 
forty. An expedition was fitting out for 
the pineries to cut logs to be rafted down 
the river in the Spring. She doffed her fo- 
male apparel, cut her hair and donned tho 
male habiliments, and proceeded to offer 
herself as cook for the gangs. This was 
after much thought about tho danger of ex¬ 
posure to health and virtuo ; but sho could 
get no means of living in her true character. 
She was hired as a young man, at thirty 
dollars a month, to cook. Sho proceeded 
to the pineries to cut her wood and cook for 
some fifteen hands. They had one huge 
bed in which they all slept, never taking off 
their clothes, and seldom changing their 
coarso flannel garments—all the better for 
her—and all but tho cook engaged daily in 
cutting pine logs. She could do tho cook¬ 
ing and the household duties, drawing water 
—everything but chopping wood—without 
danger of detection. The chopping she 
contrived to do after the men had left tho 
cabin. The young cook became a general 
favorite, and each gang of hands wished 
they had that cook. Ono day one of the 
men saw the cook chopping wood, and im¬ 
mediately said “ that’s a woman.” It began 
to be rumored about, which the cook hear¬ 
ing, she demanded her wages—six weeks, at 
thirty dollars a month—and returned to the 
settlement, having earned nearly as much 
in male attire, in six weeks, as sho would 
have received in somebody’s kitchen in St. 
Paul’s for a whole year. * Surely there is a 
virtue in pantaloons. 
MY LITTLE SUNBEAM. 
Never saw my little sunbeam? Well, she 
was a little creature who passed my window 
each day, on her way to school, and who 
made my acquaintance, child-fashion, with 
a smile. Perhaps none but myself would 
have called her pretty; but hor oyes were 
full of love, and her voice of music. Every 
day she laid a little bunch of violets on my 
window. You might have thought it a tri¬ 
fling gift, but it was much to me; for, after 
my little sunbeam had vanishod, I closed 
my eyes, and the fragrance of thoso tiny 
flowers carried me back, O, whither ? 
They told of a fragrant, shadowy wood; 
of a rippling brook; of a bird’s song; of 
whispered leaf-music, of a mossy seat; of 
dark, soul-lit eyes ; of a voice sweet, and 
low, and thrilling; of a vow that was never 
broken till death chilled the lips that made 
it. God shield my little Sunbeam ! May 
she find more roses than thorns in her 
earthly pathway.— Fern Leaves. 
Want of care does us more damage than, 
want of knowledge. 
