MOORE’S RURAL NEW-YORKER I AN AGRICULTURAL AND FAMILY NEWSPAPER. 
QiJ^V)V\n» V V V»»V *V V V AVrr* ♦ 
WOULD YOUT 
Baby crowing on your knee, 
While you sing some little ditty, 
Pulls your hair or thumbs your “ ee,” 
Would you think it wasn’t pretty ? 
Tell me, could you ? 
If you owned the “ baby,” would you ? 
Wife, with arm about your neck, 
Says you look just like the baby; 
Wants some Cash to make a “ spec;” 
And you would refuse her —may be :— 
Would you ? should you ? 
If you owned the “ woman,” would you ? 
Little labor, little strife, 
Little care and little cot; 
Would you sing for single life ? 
Would you murmur at your lot? 
Tell me, should you ? 
If you owned the “ cottage” would you ? 
Health and comforts, children fair, 
Wife to meet you at the door, 
Fond hearts throbbing for you there;— 
Toll me, would you ask for more ? 
Should you ? could you ? 
If you owned the “ ready,” would you ? 
Re-written for Moore’s Rural New-Yorker. 
A STORY FOR BOYS. 
Frank Eastman’s Garden and Library. 
Books wore not always as easy to bo ob¬ 
tained as at present, and papers like the 
Rural — so interesting, instructive and 
cheap — are among the inventions of a later 
ago. Many a farmer’s son, forty years ago, 
seldom saw a book, except the few he used 
at school, and often those he so learned by 
heart that their contents could never be 
forgotten. Now-a-days, wo change our 
school-books so frequently, that it rather 
puzzles a scholar to remember what, and 
how many, ho has used. Their pictures, 
too, are great improvements on the cuts of 
“ the Boy that Stole Apples,” “ the Fox and 
the Brambles,” &c., which adorned the old 
“ Webster Spelling Book,” for instance. 
But I have a story to tell — or something 
of ono — of a farmer’s boy, and his way of 
getting books and an education — a library 
and a profession — by his own exertions. 
This way, it will bo seen, was proposed by 
his sister,— and many a man owes his pros¬ 
perity to the influence and advice of his 
sister,— and very few boys ever have cause 
to repont that they listen to, and hoed her 
love-prompted admonitions. 
Frank Eastman was as bright and merry 
a lad as you could find in all Western Now 
York. At the time my little history com¬ 
mences, ho was just thirteen ; activo and 
hearty, with a frank, open countenance very 
winning to look upon. Chlidren generally, 
if healthy and well used, wear more or less 
of the impress of good nature upon their 
faces, and somo seom the embodiment of 
merry, innocent childhood. Such a one 
was Frank, who lived with his paronts in a 
little brown houso on the hill-side, half 
hidden from view by trees and shubberry. 
There was lovely and peaceful scenery 
around them — not without its influences 
on thoso who daily looked upon it. A little 
brook wound along the baso of the hill, 
sparkling and singing in the sunshine, and 
giving back a pleasant picture of the flowers 
which peeped into its crystal waters. It had 
its work, too, as the mill on its bank proved 
every day by its usoful activity. 
Mr. Eastman’s small farm affordod by its 
products all the necessaries of life, but left 
little for luxuries or superfluities ; yet ho 
and his family were contented and happy. 
It is not the abundance of a man’s posses¬ 
sions which constitute his happiness; if it 
were, thoso who now onjoy the brightest 
sunshine would soon change places with the 
most care-worn and miserable. Frank was 
sent to school, and loved to go, and had al¬ 
ready becomo <juito a proficient in the 
branches there taught; but felt anxious to 
advanco still farther, could ho only get the 
proper books to study. His father, too, was 
willing to assist him as far as he was able, 
and encouraged him in seeking for a bettor' 
education than had boen in his own power 
to obtain. 
It was a beautiful morning in spring, that 
Frank was walking through the garden with 
his sister Amy, two years older than him¬ 
self, and telling her with groat earnestness, 
of his plans for a garden of his own, the 
spot for which his father had just given him, 
to oncourago him to work and plan for him¬ 
self. 
“ Soo, Amy, here it is, all ready to com¬ 
mence. What shall I plant in it ?” said he. 
“ It is not dug up yet, brother Frank,” 
said Amy with a sinilo. 
“But it soon will bo, you know, and now 
is a good time to plan the planting of it. I 
want to know what you think it would be 
best to do. Besides, you shall havo a place 
in it for your flowers, and I will make a 
bordor for you.” 
Amy had hoard her fathor and mother 
talking of Frank’s education, and how much 
they wished they could give him hotter ad¬ 
vantages for study, and, naturally thought¬ 
ful, she readily perceived that horo was a 
chance to earn money, so she replied: 
“ My plan, Frank, is something like this : 
In tho course of the week you can dig it up 
deeply and well, and then as the proper 
season comes, can plant and sow it to 
garden vegetables. My placo shall bo near 
this shady corner; this shall be as pretty as 
possible with flowers. You may plant three 
rows of corn on tho north side, and then 
three rows of climbing beans, with a few 
pumpkin vines among the corn, as Father 
does in tho brook lot The south part you 
can sow to boots and onions, and a few hills 
of melons and squashes would fill the mid- 
dlo of your garden. All theso, if well taken 
care of, will grow well, and the miller and 
store-keeper, I dare say, will buy somo of 
them, so you can get money to pay for a 
Geography and Atlas, and tho Grammar 
you want so badly; and perhaps thero will 
bo enough over fora largo “ Robinson Cru¬ 
soe,” telling the whole story, some of which 
we havo read in tho primer mothor bought 
you. She said she saw ono in tho store, 
you know.” 
“ Thank you ! Amy, thank you!” ex¬ 
claimed Frank, clapping his hands, delight¬ 
ed at the schcmo. “I did not think so far 
as that; it is just what I will do, and have 
my books yet.” 
The ground was prepared with much 
labor, thoroughly and well—the seeds were 
planted under the direction of his parents 
and Amy; and earnestly did ho watch then- 
first springing up, and patiently did ho tend 
them in thoso hours when ho could bo 
spared from his father’s service. Amy did 
not allow him to despond for want of word 
and act of encouragoment. Sho not only 
set him an example of clean culture in her 
flower bordor, but sho aided him in keeping 
his bods froo from weeds, and in neat and 
thrifty order. Tho soil seemed kindly, and 
its care and culture was well repaid by tho 
products which it yielded. Tho miller did 
happen to want a bushel of onions, half a 
bushel of beets and all his pumpkins, and 
paid him well for them; and tho storo- 
koepor took onions, beets, beans and squash¬ 
es enough to pay for tho Geography and 
Grammar, and threw in a half-quire of 
paper and two slate poncils. For somo 
service to a neighbor he had been rewarded 
with half-a-dozen duck’s eggs; these Amy 
hatched under a hen, and for keeping them 
through the winter Frank rcsorved his 
bushel of golden corn ears. 
We might make a long story of this — 
telling of tho pride and happinoss of Frank 
when he got his first books as tho reward of 
his own exertions, and of the various ways 
and moans by which ho became possessor 
of quite a library. But what we have al¬ 
ready told will prove, we hope, a suggestion 
of value to many a boy of thirteen or thoro- 
abouts, anxious for knowledge. 
This was years ago, but who could not 
then predict that Frank would arrive at 
honor and distinction ? Would ho who had 
done thus much, givo up at any difficulty ? 
No! not ho. Tho habits of persevering in¬ 
dustry he had acquired, enabled him to 
master them all, mental and pecuniary, and 
in a few years ho fitted himself for Collogo, 
where ho graduated with honor. Ho be¬ 
came an eminent lawyer, and is still in the 
practico of his profession, and his talents 
and integrity aro respected by all. Happy, 
too, in tho bosom of his family, ho is as 
happy-hearted as, whon a boy, he labored 
for a worthy object, for such ho has kept in 
view, as all his career of industrious self- 
reliance. j. h. B. 
Bachelor Buckannan. —Few, perhaps, 
says an exchange, know tho real cause of 
tho long, lonely life of our new minister to 
St. James, Mr. Buchannan. The story is 
briefly told. When in his early manhood, 
ho paid his addresses to a beautiful lady of 
his native city of Lancaster, Pa. Each be- 
camo deeply enamored, and they woro on- 
gagod. On a given evening, sho requested 
his company to a party at a friend’s, which 
he declined on the plea of business engage¬ 
ments. Circumstances rendering it neces¬ 
sary, he, late in tho evening, gallanted a 
young lady to hor homo, and on tho way— 
they met. Mortified and chagrined at what 
she deemed unfaithfulness and desertion, 
and imagining the worst, sho left the city- 
early in tho morning, and returned— a 
i corpse. Such is tho sad story of his early 
love, nor can the high places of distinction 
and trust make him forgot, nor tho wreaths 
of honor that encircles his brow bury, the 
memory of tho early loved and lost. 
Juvenile Aeronaut. —Charles Wise, aged 
17 yoars, son of Mr. John Wiso, tho well 
known aeronaut, ascended in his father’s 
balloon, tho “ Irono,” from Shannondale 
Springs, a few days ago, in tho presence of 
a large concourso of spectators. Tho as¬ 
cension took placo at 20 minutes past two 
o’clock p. m., and at 10 minutos after 4 the 
balloon decended on the farm of Mr. E. 
Turner, five miles above Shophordstown, 
Va. Threo ladios, it is said, caught the 
tow-line and brought the balloon safely to 
tho ground. Tho youthful aoronaut was 
soon surrounded by a number of persons, 
and was kindly entertained by Mr. Tumor. 
ABOUT WANTS. 
“ Man wants but little here below, 
Nor wants that little long,” 
So said the poet; but there aro few in 
this world who concide with his opinion.— 
lie probably never took a newspaper, for if 
he had, and had cast his eyes over the ad¬ 
vertising columns, ho could not but have 
altered his opinion. Our wants commence 
with the dawn of our reasoji; we first want 
toys and gewgaws, candies and gingerbread; 
then, as our ideas expand, tvo begin to have 
a predilection for the the “root of all evil,” 
the possession of which will, we imagine, be 
tho means of gratifying all other wants.— 
In short, this is “ a consummation devoutly 
to bo wished ” by all human aspirations, 
and is about the only want that can never 
be thoroughly satisfied, as the moro we get 
tho more wo want. Then a man wants a 
wife, 
“Which want sticks in his head 
Till he gets one, and then he wdnts another instead.” 
Then come our ambitious wants. The 
school boy wants to leave school and go to 
work, the apprentice wants to becomo a 
journeyman, the journeyman wants to bean 
employer, tho employer wants to retire, tho 
rotirod tradesman wants to become a mem¬ 
ber of Congress, tho member of Congress 
wants to be Governor, the Governor wants 
to bo President, and the President—but wo 
will stop hero. Tho Presidential chair is 
tho beau ideal of republican ambition ; but 
never having occupied that honorable sta¬ 
tion ourself, and not being on sufficient 
terms of intimacy with those who have, to 
ascertain if it was possible for a man after 
obtaining that dignity, to want anything 
further in this world, wo are unable to state 
moro on this point. Tho editor wants sub¬ 
scribers to his paper, and wants them to 
pay for it; ho also wants the community in 
general to advertise, thereby letting “all 
tho world and tho rest of mankind ” know 
what they want, at the same time gratifying 
his want of patronago. 
THE ORATOR AND THE NEWSPAPER. 
Compare tho orator, ono of tho noblest 
vehicles for tho diffusion of thought, with 
tho newspaper, and wo may gain a faint 
glimpse of the ubiquitous power of the lat¬ 
ter. The orator speaks to hundreds; the 
newspaper addresses millions. Tho words of 
tho orator may die on tho air ; the language 
of the nowspapor is stamped upon tablets 
imperishable. Tho arguments of an orator 
may follow each other so rapidly, that a 
majority of tho audience may struggle in a 
net of ratiocination; the reasonings of the 
newspaper may be scanned at leisure, with¬ 
out the danger of perplexity. Tho passion 
ot an orator inflames an assembly, the feel¬ 
ings of a nowspapor electrifies a continent. 
The orator is tor an edifico; the nowspaper 
for a world ; the ono shines for an hour, tho 
other for all time. The orator may be com¬ 
pared to the lightning, which flashes over 
a valley for a moment, bat loavos it again in 
darkness; tho newspaper to a sun blazing 
steadily over a whole earth and “fixed on 
the basis of its own eternity;” 
Printing has happily boen defined tho 
“art preservative of all arts.” Printing 
makes tho orator moro than an orator. It 
catches up his dying words and breathes in¬ 
to them tho breath of life. It is tho speak¬ 
ing gallery through which tho orator thun¬ 
ders in tho ears of ages. Ho leans from the 
tomb over tho cradle of the rising genera¬ 
tions. 
THE HOME GRANDMOTHER. 
She is by the fire—a dear old lady, with 
nicely crimped and plaited cap-border, and 
tho old fashioned spectacles—as pleasant a 
picture of tho home grandmother as any- 
living heart could wish to soe. Tho oraclo 
of the family—the record of births, deaths, 
and marriages—tho narrator of old revolu¬ 
tionary stories, that keep bright young 
oyes big and wide awako till the evening 
logs fall to ashes—what should we do with¬ 
out the homo grandmother ? How many- 
little faults sho hides! What a delightful 
special pleader is sho when tho rod trem¬ 
bles over tho unfortunate urchin’s head. 
“Do you got many lickings ?” inquired a 
flaxen-haired youngster of his curly-headed 
playmate. 
“ No,” was the prompt, half indignant an¬ 
swer ; “ I’ve got a grandmother.” 
Love that good woman. Sit at hor feet 
and learn of her pationt lessons from tho 
past. Though she knows no grammar, can¬ 
not tell the boundaries of distant States or 
the history of nations, she has that perhaps 
which exceods all lore,—wisdom. Sho has 
fought, life’s battlo, and eonquorod. She 
has laid hor treasures away-, and grown 
purer, stronger, through tears of sorrow.— 
Never lot her feel tho sting of ingratitude. 
Sit at her feet. Sho will teach you all the 
dangers ot lite’s journey, and teach you 
how to go cheerfully and smilingly to tho 
gate of death, trusting like her in a blissful 
hereafter. 
Evil Speaking.— It is not good to speak 
evil of all whom we know bad; it is worse 
to judge evil of any who may prove good.— 
To speak ill upon knowledge, shows a want 
of charity; to speak ill upon suspicion, 
shows a want of honesty. I will not speak 
so bad as I know of many-; I will not speak 
worso than I know of any. To know evil of 
others, and not speak it, is sometimes dis¬ 
cretion ; to speak ovil of others, and not 
know it, is always dishonesty. He may- be 
ovil himself, who speaks good of others up¬ 
on knowledge; but he can never be good 
himself, who speaks evil of others upon sus¬ 
picion.— Arthur Warwick: “Spare Min¬ 
utes,” 1637. 
People seldom lovo those who withstand 
their prejudices, and ondoavor to control 
their passions. 
NIAGARA FALLS ALBUM. 
The International Journal gives a variety 
of extracts from the Album to bo found in 
tho immediate vicinity of Niagara Falls. In 
tins album, thoso who feel particularly in¬ 
spired by the sights and sounds around 
them, may record tho effect in such lan¬ 
guage as they happen to havo at command. 
Tho first is from the pen of Mr. Foote, 
criticised by Mr. Lcgg, and others thus : 
To hear this water roar, 
To see this water poar, 
Is certainly much more, 
Than I’ve seen or heard before.— J. Foole. 
To hear a jack-ass bray. 
Is nothing new to-day— 
You can neither sing nor sav, 
So you may go away .—J Legg. 
You had better toddle, too. 
For you re blockheads through and through; 
’Pon my honor it is true— 
Cock-a-doodle-doo— Francis Head. 
Good morning: how d’ye do? 
How much wiser, pray, are you, 
Than the other stupid two ? 
Tell me that, and tell me true.— Durham. 
“Should tho British Lion ever como to 
tho Falls of Niagara, ho will there see the 
proud Eaglo of American Liberty sitting in 
his majesty, and will go roaming down that 
mighty cataract in despair.—Sam.” 
“ It tho American Eagle conies to the 
British side of the Falls, that same old Lion 
will pluck his feather, and compel him to 
take shelter behind a cotton bale.” 
But the noxt fellow is disposed to allay all 
“animosities” and prejudices. 
“ May the- mighty waters of the Niagara 
smother, in their etornal vortex, all tho an¬ 
imosities and rancours that may ever havo 
existed between Great Britain and her fair 
daughters of tho West, and remain an over¬ 
lasting and indestructible monumont. of tho 
harmony which I trust will never ceaso to 
exist between tho two nations, (of one blood) 
at onco the most onlightonod in tho world. 
—Geo. Mair.” 
“ How lonoly and desolate would tho life 
of man bo without—Woman ?” 
“ What has woman to do with the Falls ? 
—Quip.” 
“ If woman has not to do with the Falls, 
I should like to know who has — sho made 
tho first fall herself.—Crank.” 
“ Oh ! what a fall was there, my country¬ 
men !—Shakspeare.” 
“This atmosphere is terribly destructive 
to starched collars, and takes the curls out 
of one’s whiskers with amazing celerity.— 
Charles Augustus Mandevillo.” 
“ The pretty creature ! It should have 
put itself, whiskers and all, into a band-box. 
Should’nt it ?” 
EMPIRE OF QUEEN VICTORIA. 
Finciie, in his “Boundaries of Empire,” 
rather grandiloquently dishes up tho won¬ 
der and greatness of Queen Victoria’s em¬ 
pire, as follows : 
“ Tho Queen of England is now sovereign 
over one continent, a hundred peninsulas, 
fivo hundred promontories, a thousand lakes, 
two thousand rivers, and ten thousand 
islands. She waves hor hand, and five hun¬ 
dred warriors march to battlo, to conquor 
or to die. She bends hor head, and at the 
signal a thousand ships of war, and a hun¬ 
dred thousand sailors, perform her bidding 
on the ocean. She walks upon tho earth, 
and ono hundred and twoniy millions of 
human beings feol tho slightest pressure of 
her foot. Come, all yo conquerors, and 
kneel before tno Queen of England, and ac¬ 
knowledge the superior extent of her de¬ 
pendent provinces, her subjugated king¬ 
doms, and her vanquished empires. Tho 
Assyrian empire was not so wealthy. The 
Roman empiro was not so populous. Tho 
Persian empire was not so extensive. Tho 
Arabian empire was not so powerful. The 
Carthaginian empiro was not so much dread¬ 
ed. The Spanish empiro was not so widely 
diffused. We havo over-run agreater extent 
of country than Attila, that scourge of God, 
ever ruled ! Wo have subdued moro em¬ 
pires. and dethroned moro kings than Al¬ 
exander of Macedon ! We have conquered 
moro nations than Napoleon, in the pleni¬ 
tude of his power, ever subdued ! Wo have 
acquired a larger extont of territory than 
Tamerlane tho Tartar ever spurred his 
horse’s hoof across.” This is indeod a proud 
boast, and should stimulate to good actions. 
AN OWLISH CITY. 
If wo may believe tho local itemizer of 
the N. Y. Tribune “ Gotham never sleeps 
all over; it always has ono oyo open. It 
walks and talks in its sleep, and if it dreams, 
it is always in the day time. They dream 
in Wall street among •fancies;’ they dream 
in tho Elysian Fields, among the ‘fancy.’— 
Tho offices of the morning papers, like 
bright e es, never wink all night long, and 
all night long the type, like ‘ the Grand 
Army,’ is wheeling into lino, and forming 
into column for the * chaso.’ The lamps of 
Ilesturant’s ‘palo thoir ineffectual fires,’ 
only at tho dawn. Jorsoy City Ferry swings 
like a pendulum all night, from shore to 
shore. The Sixth avenue cars are sleepless. 
Vico is wakeful, so are poverty, and pain. 
There’s a stampede of milk wagons from the 
foot of Courdand street, through every 
hour, and every avenue, from twelve to 
breakfast, from Bloomingdale to tho Bat¬ 
tery. New York has a touch of tho owl : 
half of it sees clearest in the dark ; a traco 
of the vampire : it preys most in the night; 
and a cross of the butterfly : it’s gayest in 
the sunshine. Full of idols as India, full of 
Bibles as tho ‘ Union,’ full of money chan¬ 
gers as tho Temple, full of lazzaroni as Na¬ 
ples, it’s the marvel of Christendom.” 
A Good Idea. —A sentimental chap in¬ 
tends to petition to Congress for an act to 
improve the channels of affection, so that 
henceforth the “ course of true love may 
run smooth.” 
Jfur % IdRiics. 
GIRLS WHO WANT HUSBANDS. 
Girls, you want to got married, don’t 
you? All, what a natural thing it is for 
young ladies who have such a hankering 
for tho sterner sex ! It is a weakness that 
woman has, arid for this reason she is called 
the weaker sex. Well, if you want to get 
married, don’t for conscience sake act like 
fools about it. Don’t go into a fit of the 
nips every time you see a hat and a pair of 
whiskers. Don’t get tho idea into your 
heads that you must put yourself in the way 
of every young man in tho neighborhood,.in 
order to attract notice, for if you don’t run 
after the men they will run after you.— 
Mark that. 
A husband-hunter is tho most detestable 
of all young: ladies. She is full of starch 
and puckers; she puts on many false airs, 
and she is so nice that she appears ridicu¬ 
lous in the eyes of every decent person.— 
She may generally be found at mooting, 
coming in, of course, about the last ono, al¬ 
ways at social parties, and invariably takes 
a front seat at concerts. She tries to be 
the belle of tho place, and thinks sho is.— 
Poor girl ! You are fitting yourself for an 
old maid, just as sure as the Sabbath comes 
on Sunday. Men will flirt with you, and 
flatter you, simply because they love to do 
it; but they have no moro idea of making 
you a wife than they have of committing 
suicide. If I was a young man, I would 
have no moro to do with such a fancy than 
I would with a rattlesnake. 
Now, girls, lot Nelly givo you a piece of 
her advice, and she knows from experience 
if you practice it, you will gain a reputation 
of being worthy girls and stand a fair 
chance of getting respectable husbands. It 
is all well enough that you learn to finger 
the piano, work embroidery, study gram¬ 
mar, etc., but don’t neglect letting grand¬ 
ma, or your dear mother teach you how to 
make bread and get a meal of victuals good 
enough for a king. No part of a house¬ 
keeper’s duties should be neglected ; if you 
do not marry a wealthy husband you will 
need to know how to do such work, and if 
you do, it will be no disadvantage for you 
to know how to oversoo a servant girl, and 
instruct her to do theso things as you would 
have them done. In tho next place, don’t 
pretend to be what you aro not. Affecta¬ 
tion is the most despicable of accomplish¬ 
ments, and will only cause sensible people 
to laugh at you. No ono but a fool will be 
caught by affectation—it has a transparent 
skin, easily to be seen through. 
Dress plain, but neatly. Remember that 
nothing gives a girl so modest, becoming 
and lovely an appearance, as a neat and 
plain dress. All the flummery and tinsel 
work of the dressmaker and milliner aro 
unnecessary. 
If you are really handsome, they do not 
add to your beauty one particle ; if you aro 
homely, they only make you look worso.— 
Gentlemen don’t court your faces and jew¬ 
elry, but your own dear selves. 
Finger-rings and folderols may do to look 
at, but they add nothing to the value of a 
wife—all young men know that. If you 
know how to talk, do it naturally, and do 
not be so distressingly polite as to spoil all 
you say. If your hair is straight, don’t put 
on tho curling-tongs to mak6 people believe 
you have negro blood in your veins. If 
your neck is very black, wear a lace collar, 
but don’t be so foolish as to daub on paint, 
thinking that people are so blind as not to 
see it; and if your cheeks are rosy, don’t 
apply pink saucers, for the deception will 
be detected and become the gossip of the 
neighborhood. 
Finally, girls, listen to tho counsel of your 
mothers, and ask their advice in everything. 
Think less of fashion than you do of kitch¬ 
en duties—less of romances than you do of 
the realities of life—and instead of trying 
to catch a beaux, strive to make yourselves 
worthy being caught by them. 
Nelly Gray. 
“IT’S ME.’’ 
Passing a neat littlo martin box of a houso 
ono evening, we happened to soe a man 
waiting at the door for admittance. At the 
instant a green blind above just opened a 
littlo way, and by the gas light we caught a 
glimpse of a pair of brilliant eyes, and a 
flutter of something white, and a "bird-toned 
voice softly said, “ Who’s there ?” “ It’s 
mo,” was the brief response. The eye and 
the flutter disappeared from tho window, 
like stars in a cloud, and we almost fancied, 
as we passed on, we could hear the patter¬ 
ing of two little feet upon the stairs, winged 
with welcome. 
It was a trifle; it all happened in an in¬ 
stant, but it haunted us for an hour—“ It’s 
me !” Amid tho jar of tho great city, thoso 
words fell upon the quick oar aloft, and met 
a glad response. 
“ It’s me !” and who was “ me ?” The 
pride of a heart’s life, no doubt; tho tree a 
vine was clinging to ; the “ defender of the 
faithful,” in the best sense of the term. 
“ It’s mo !” Many there aro who would 
give half their hearts, and more than half 
the hope in them, for one such recognition 
in this “ wide, wide world.” On ’Change, in 
the Directory, at the Post Office, he was 
known as A. B. C., Esq., but on that thresh- 
hold', and within those walls, “it’s me,” and 
nothing moro; and what moro is thero one 
would love to be ? 
Few of all the hearts that boat so wildly, 
warmly, sadly, slowly, but can recognize a 
true soul amid the darkness of the world, in 
that simple but eloquent “it’s me.” As if 
he had said — 
“ Now I am nothing to all the world, 
For I’m all the world to thee.” 
Wno cannot keep his own secret ought 
not to complain if another tells it 
