MOORE’S RURAL NEW-YORKER: AN AGRICULTURAL AND EMILY NEWSPAPER. 
Written for the Rural New-Yorker. 
ACQUIREMENT OF KNOWLEDGE. - No. I. 
It is a fault of the ago, that wo havo too 
much reading, tho tastes of many aro be¬ 
coming vitiated with the flood, and beginners 
aro at a loss whore to commence. It is not 
even a pleasurable task, because too arduous 
to select from the mass, that which is whole¬ 
some. Ono thing we regret, that so many 
confine their reading exclusively to the 
newspaper publications of tho day. Not 
that we consider tho matter contained in 
them of immoral tendency—but they are 
established for a different object. Principles 
must bo loarnod from books —now illustra¬ 
tions can bo gathored from tho papers, whose 
province it is, to record the transactions and 
developments of tho day. The periodical 
press may bo likenod to a note-book : it is 
only of temporary utility, to bo thrown aside 
when its recods aro transferred to the vari¬ 
ous departments of scienco which they illus¬ 
trate. To confine a person’s self to news¬ 
paper reading, is like entering a theatro in 
the midst of a Drama, we aro astonished at 
what wo behold, but wo cannot comprehend 
its meaning, and are uninstructed by tho 
representation. We would invoke all, to 
systematically pursue a course of reading in 
Philosophy, History, Poetry, and Religion, 
aside from perusing such publications as 
may be necessary to inform them of the 
social, business, and political condition of 
the country. 
When fashions change, opinions change 
also ; and what before seemed ridiculous, is 
regarded the perfection of gracefulness.— 
What time do vve not wasto—what exertions 
do wo not make—what means do we not 
employ'—in what extravagances do we not 
indulge, to accomplish tho desired change, 
in order that wo may be placed beyond the 
jest, and number ourselves among the ton 
of society ? Can we not occupy the same 
time—can wo not employ tho same means 
—can we not indulge in the samo expendi¬ 
tures, (when it lies within our power.) to 
overcome our repugnance to reading and 
study, to fit ourselves for refined associa¬ 
tions, to exalt moral character, and secure 
the triumph of Reason over tho passions of 
tho body ? 
But there aro many who tax themselves 
with being deficient in memory; and there¬ 
fore, as whatever they read is useful only 
so far as it amuses a leisure hour, they deem 
themselves justifiable in leaving unopened 
the volumes of Truth and Philosophy.— 
Such an apology argues but little for tho 
ingenuity of those who tender it — it is 
charging themselves with neglect and con¬ 
tempt of ono of the greatest gifts of nature; 
a talent which, above all others, is suscepti¬ 
ble of improvement. To such we would 
say, cultivate your memory. Lot not tho 
magnitude of tho undertaking appal you. 
It is not to bo expected, that you should 
impress upon your remembrance all that 
you read ; nor would it bo proper for you 
so to do. As great an effort is necessary, 
to remember trifles, as matters of impor¬ 
tance; and, if alike remembered, in illus¬ 
trating the subjects of your conversation or 
essayotical writing, you might often draw 
upon the former when you should upon tho 
latter. But, with pencil in hand, you should 
note down such observations of tho author 
you are perusing as aro really worthy,—as 
being novel to you, or illustrating some 
theory of your own. 
Tho act of transcribing, will cause you to 
consider more thoroughly the sentiment or 
fact—more especially, if you do it in your 
own language, and accompany tho subject 
with relative observations of your own. In 
this manner,you can proceed onward; con¬ 
stantly gathering mental strength in your 
progross, till you shall have arrived at that 
happy point whore arduous application re¬ 
ceives its just roward—where the acquire¬ 
ment of knowledge bocomes a pleasure, 
and where the wants of tho mind supersede 
tho cravings of the body.— l. 
The Teachers of Ohio, last spring, at a 
Convention on business pertaining to their 
vocation, ventured to select and commend 
to their fellow citizens a candidate for Su¬ 
perintendent of Schools, and their choice 
fell upon Mr. Lorin Andrews, long identi¬ 
fied with the progress of Education in that 
State, and undisputably qualified for and 
worthy of tho station. In doing this, they 
made war on no party ; for at that timo no 
party had nominated for this office. Tho 
Whigs and Free Soilors have since declined 
to nominate, leaving the fiold to Mr. An¬ 
drews ; but the Democrats have recently 
started a rival candidate, andone who origi¬ 
nally united in the Teachers’ independent 
movement. We trust there is no doubt of 
Mr. A.’s election, as thero should be none. 
The office has no proper connection with 
politics, and should not be subsorvient to 
party. To havo it filled by the Teachers’ 
nominee will be a great stride toward pop¬ 
ular emancipation from party thraldom. 
LECTURING AND LYCEUMS. 
The following article from a late number 
of tho .V. Y. Times contains many valuable 
suggestions, and is withal seasonable. Wo 
particularly commend tho hints in tho clos¬ 
ing paragraph to tho attention of our read¬ 
ers—and especially to the consideration and 
action of young men—all over the country. 
Teachers and Clergymen have duties to 
perform in this matter, and now is tho timo 
to act in the premises. Their influence and 
example may be appropriately and benefi¬ 
cially devoted to the organization and man¬ 
agement of Lyceums and similar associa¬ 
tions, and we trust their efforts in that di¬ 
rection will not bo wanting: 
To those who have much time for study, 
hearing lectures is a rather superficial way 
of gaining knowledge. It is imbibing 
thoughts quite too fast for digestion. It is 
making other peoples rhetoric and ideas 
take the place of one’s own worked-out 
thoughts. With the mass of tho communi¬ 
ty, however, it is a useful, and almost indis¬ 
pensable, amusement. The factory work¬ 
man. or mechanic, after twelve hours’ hard 
stretch of labor, cannot sit down, with any 
activity of mind, over an improving book. 
The mind has had a day’s toil. too. It has 
been with the body, and it is dull and heavy 
now. lie nods over anything but the light¬ 
est novel. A lecture—an address from a 
learned or great man. containing the results 
of long study and thought, uttered with the 
living voice, and set off with wit or oratory 
—will rouse him. He fools that magnetic 
sympathy of an audience. They ail see the 
truth clearer, and remember facts longer, 
as told to them by the speaker. Knowl¬ 
edge is vivified, and the man watches his 
shuttle or plies his hammer, next day, with 
the memories about him of now thoughts 
and pictures, loft by tho manner and voice 
of an earnest speaker. 
It is almost equally so with our City bus¬ 
iness people. A man whoso brains have 
been wracked- and strained throughout the 
dav with business, cannot easily read Hume 
or Locke in the evening, l ie must have some 
pleasant excitement with his study. Give 
him a well-dressed audience, a spirited 
speaker, and good friends to talk the sub¬ 
ject over with, and ho can really bear some¬ 
thing quite learned and abstract. Even 
Emerson and Agassiz draw full houses in 
New York. 
In view of this want, wo ought to have 
good lectures. People can afford to pay 
for them. * * We want well thought, elo¬ 
quent words, from men of intellect—men of 
action. We ought to have tho matured 
products of the best minds of the country. 
So that we get nothing decidedly offensive, 
our lecture committees should not be too 
particular about the set or school from which 
they select. Wo want to hear various tones 
of thought. * * * 
It is for the country towns and villages, 
however, that Lecturing is most needed.— 
It is tho only thing in our manufacturing 
districts which can take the place of that 
absurd trash of pamphlet novels which is 
circulating now everywhere with such mis¬ 
erable result among the factory-hands. 
The apathy of good men in the country 
on this matter of Lectures and Libraries is 
to us unaccountable. We have known a 
clergyman to mount his pulpit week after 
week, and with the greatest labor and tal¬ 
ent, attack imaginary theses of heresy; or 
apply faithful cures for all sofl*s of abstract 
sinfulness, and never utter a living word 
against tho greatest evil of his village—tho 
want of means of education. 
It ought to bo one of tho first duties of a 
country pastor to establish Lectures and a 
Library. A true Teacher has something 
else to do than forever to deal with abstract 
evil and good. He should come right down 
among tho young men, and see that they 
have books and reading rooms and lyceums. 
Lot him lecture himself; let him use his 
high influence to get in others to help tho 
first beginnings; lot him aid in selecting 
books. The Lyceum is in reality a Church 
institution. What has Religion more to fear 
than ignorance—and especially what would 
be tho inevitable result in this country—a 
self-conceited ignorance. 
Our manufacturers, if they aro men of 
any liberality, or even if they havo a just 
regard for their own interests, will establish 
Lecture-rooms and Libraries for their work¬ 
men. We know of one manufacturer in 
Worcester County, Mass., who has built a 
room, and who allows an evening each week, 
for this purpose, paying his hands their full 
wages for tho time spent there. A gener¬ 
ous and good measure, and it pays him.— 
Manufacturing is not a pin-head polishing 
or a needle-pointing, day after day, as it 
once was. Thero is comparatively little me¬ 
chanical work. A good hand must under¬ 
stand his machine; and evon if ho act by 
rote, it is a high rote. Tho employers, for 
the mass of work, want intelligent men, who 
know what they aro about. Everything 
that solidly educates his operatives, is an ad¬ 
ditional advantage for him ; though it is not 
every ono who has the good sense to per¬ 
ceive this. 
It is these Lyceums through Massachu¬ 
setts, with their weekly Loctures, and thoir 
well-stored Libraries, which have obviated 
all the worst evils of the manufacturing sys¬ 
tem, and have, as we fully believe, made the 
operatives of that State superior to any 
other working population of the world. It 
is the want of these which has made some 
of the agricultural towns of Connecticut tho 
most ignorant and backward places north of 
tho “ Cracker” settlements of the Carolinas. 
However, whatever clergymen or manu¬ 
facturers may do, we tell the young men of 
our country towns to go to work in this mat¬ 
ter themselves. Make your own Lyceum— 
state your wants to some of our best lectur¬ 
ers, and they won’t refuse one gratuitous 
lecture as a help. Go to a liberal booksel¬ 
ler of the city, and tell him you want $50 
worth of books at wholesale prices, cash ; 
and that all books afterwards wanted shall 
be bought of him at usual prices. He will 
surely start you. Subscribe for a dozen 
Times and Tribunes, [first obtaining a few 
copies of the Rural.] Open your debating 
clubs, if they only have half a dozen mem¬ 
bers. and you can discuss nothing but Ab¬ 
bott’s jYapoleon. Anything will do for a 
beginning. Ply the rich and the politicians 
for subscriptions ; and the clergy for sympa¬ 
thy. Take hold of your Lyceum, as Amer¬ 
ican young men usually do of anything they 
like, and it is sure to succeed. And if suc¬ 
cessful, you may have the satisfaction of 
having accomplished as much good for your 
town or neighborhood, as many far more 
famous founders of hospitals, or builders of 
churches. 
Jlatural Ifetom jSunkg JUatring, 
Italtli. 
COUGHING IN CONSUMPTION. 
The Herald, of July 10th, states that dur¬ 
ing tho week preceding, fifty persons died 
of consumption in Now York city. Per 
contra, a geutleman called upon us yester¬ 
day, who actually escaped from the fangs of 
this disease some years ago; and we are in¬ 
duced to present tho circumstances: 
‘•You speak of coughing considerably. 
Let me suggest to you tho query, whether 
this is not unnecessary and injurious. I 
have long been satisfied, from experience 
and observation, that much of the coughing 
which precedes and attends consumption is 
voluntary. Several years ago, I boarded 
with a man who was in the incipient stages 
of consumption. I slept in a chamber over 
his bed-room, and was obliged to hear him 
cough continually and distressingly. I en¬ 
dured the annoyance night after night, till 
it led me to reflect whether something could 
not bo done to stop it. I watched the sound 
which the man made, and observed that he 
evidently made a voluntary effort to cough. 
After this I made experiments on myself, 
and found that I could prevent myself from 
coughing, sneezing, gaping, &c., in case of 
the strongest propensity to these acts, by a 
strenuous effort of the will. Then I reflect¬ 
ed that coughing must bo very irritating 
and injurious to the delicate organs that are 
concerned in it, especially when they are in a 
diseased state. What can be worse for ul¬ 
cerated bronchia, or lungs, than tho violent 
wrenchings of a cough ? it must bo worse 
than speaking. A sore on any part of tho 
body, if it is constantly kept open by violent 
usage, or made raw again by a contusion 
just when it is healing (and of course begins 
to itch.) will grow worse, and end in death. 
Certainly, then, a sore on the lungs may be 
expected to terminate fatally, if it is con¬ 
stantly irritated, and never suffered to heal; 
and this, it seems to me, is just what cough¬ 
ing does for it. On the strength of such 
considerations as these, I made bold to ask 
the man if he could not stop coughing, lie 
answered no. I told him what I thought 
about it, as above, lie agreed to make a 
trial; and, on doing so, lie found to his sur¬ 
prise, that he could suppress his cough al¬ 
most entirely. The power of his will over 
it increased as he exercised it, and in a few 
days ho was mostly rid of the disposition to 
cough. His health, at tho same time, evi¬ 
dently improved, and when we last saw him 
he was in strong hopes of getting out of 
death’s hands.” 
This occurred eighteen years ago, and the 
man comes round now, an active business 
man, averring that ho has not had a sick 
day sinco. 
HOW TO PREVENT A COLD. 
Immunity from colds, coughs, bronchitis 
and influenza, is to bo obtained in a certain 
way, and in only one way. As long as tho 
heat of tho surface i,s sufficient to neutral¬ 
ize tho cold of tho surrounding embracing 
atmosphero, so long is it impossible for the 
person to have a cold. Tho vigor, resist¬ 
ance, positivo character of tho cutis, must 
always be groater than the air in which we 
move. Air loaded with vapor, is a good 
conductor of caloric. Such an atmosphere 
rapidly robs all heated bodies of thoir 
warmth ; and all animal bodies that aro un¬ 
able to furnish heat as fast and a little fast¬ 
er than tho air can carry it off, will take 
cold. This loss of heat by tho skin, leaves 
tho blood-vessels of the surface feeble—un¬ 
able to circulate tho blood ; as a conse¬ 
quence tho blood accumulates in tho warm 
internal organs, and that internal organ 
whose vessels aro woakest will yield to tho 
sudden fullness, the afflux will increase un¬ 
til active congestion or infiamation ensues. 
Modorato clothing, much exposure to the 
air; abundance of exercise ; always in good 
puro air ; cold water baths ; much dry fric¬ 
tion ; and a calm, tranquil, circumspect 
mind, will as certainly provont colds, 
coughs, bronchitis, &c., in any climate that 
God ovor mado, as warm nights will provont 
frosts. Tho surface must bo superior to 
the conducting power of tho air. And this 
constitutes tho immunity that all roquiro. 
Tho reason why so many in this country 
dislike tho climate, and why so many have 
coughs, is that class of poople havo feeble 
surfaces ; that class aro not constantly im¬ 
mersed in the freo air; are not calm in the 
mind ; aro not fond of bathing and do not 
enjoy it. The peoplo must have tho air 
that God has made, they must labor, play 
and sleep in it as birds do. They must not 
shut it from them, but wolcomo it; and this 
simple habit will compel tho surface to 
elaborate an amount of heat that will al¬ 
ways be superior to wind, however cold and 
searching.— Clay’s Journal of Health. 
AMERICAN MOCKING-BIRD. 
The American mocking-bird is the prince 
of all song birds, being altogether unrival¬ 
ed in the extent and variety of his vocal 
powers; and besides the fullness and melody 
of his original notes, ho has tho faculty of 
imitating the notes of all other birds, from 
the hummhg bird to the eagle. Pennant 
statos that he heard a caged ono imitate the 
mowing of a cat, and the creaking of a sign 
in high winds. Barrington says his pipes 
come nearest to the nightingale of any bird 
he ever heard. Wilson tells us that the 
ease, elegance, and rapidity of his move¬ 
ments, the animation ot his eye, and tho in¬ 
telligence ho displays in listening to and 
laying up lessons, mark the peculiarity of 
his genius. Ilis voice is full, strong and 
musical, and capable of almost every modu¬ 
lation, from the clear, mellow tones of the 
thrush, to tho savage scream of the bald 
eagle. In measure and accents ho faithful¬ 
ly follows his originals, while in strength 
and sweetness of expression, ho greatly im¬ 
proves upon them. In his native woods 
upon a dewy morning, his song rises above 
every competitor; for others appear nearly 
as inferior accompaniments. IIis own notes 
are bold and full, and varied, seeming be¬ 
yond all limits. They consist of short ex¬ 
pressions of two, three, or at most fivo or 
six syllables, generally uttered with great 
emphasis and rapidity, and continued with 
undiminished ardor for half an hour at a 
time. 
While singing ho expands his tail, keep¬ 
ing time to his own music; and the buoyant 
gaiety of his action is no less fascinating 
than his song Ho sweeps round with en¬ 
thusiastic ecstacy; he mounts and descends, 
as his song swells or dies away ; ho bounds 
aloft with the celerity of an arrow, as if to 
recover or recall his very soul, expired in 
tho last elevated strain. A bystander might 
suppose that tho whole feathered tribe had 
assembled together on a trial of skill—each 
striving to produco his utmost effort—so 
perfect aro his imitation's. Ho often de¬ 
ceives tne sportsman, and evon birds thein- 
selvos aro sometimes imposed upon by this 
admirable mimic. In confinement ho loses 
little of the power or energy of his song.— 
Ho whistles for tho dog; Crcsar starts up. 
wags his tail, and runs to meet his master. 
Ho cries like a hurt chicken, and the hen 
hurries about with feathers on end to pro¬ 
tect her injured brood. 
He repeats the tune taught him, though 
it bo of considerable length, with perfect 
accuracy. He runs over tho notes of the 
canary and tho red bird, with such superior 
execution and effect, that tho mortified 
songsters confess his triumph by thoir im 
mediate silence. His fondness for variety, 
some suppose, injures his song. Ilis imita¬ 
tion of the brown thrush is often interrupt¬ 
ed by tho crowing of cocks; and his exquis 
ito warblings after the bluo bird are mingled 
with tho screaming of swallows, or tho cack¬ 
ling of hens. During moonlight, both in 
wild and tamo state, he sings tho whole 
night long. Tho hunters, in their noctur¬ 
nal excursions, know that the moon is rising, 
the instant they hear his delightful solo.— 
After Shakspearo. Barrington attributes, in 
part, the exquisitness of the nightingale’s 
song to tho silence of the night: but if so. 
what aro wo to think of the bird which, in 
tho open glare of day, overpowers and si¬ 
lences all competition ? The natural notes 
of the American mocking bird aro similar 
to those of tho brown thrush. 
Tho mocking bird builds its nest of twigs 
and sticks, with straw, hay, wood, and tow, 
and fine fibrous roots, it chooses for its 
homo the top of a tall treo in tho woods, or 
somo venerable apple-tree in an orchard.— 
Tho family loves to romain in the same tree 
or near the same spot for years. It is a bold 
bird, and defends itself bravely, especially 
from the attacks of the black snake. 
THE GOOD HIPPOFOTAMUS AT PARIS. 
It is evident that the worthy animal in¬ 
stalled in the Jardin dos Plantes, is a precise 
counterpart of his English noighbor. The 
Parisians too aro no less curious than the 
Londoners woro. Every morning at eleven 
o’clock, before which hour tho hippopota¬ 
mus does not recoivo company, a great 
crowd may bo seen peoring through his 
park palings, patiently watching tho unrip¬ 
pled "Surface of the miniature lake, at tho 
bottoih of which the now inmate delights to 
dwell until it may bo his good pleasure to 
show himself. Frequently they wait in vain 
for an hour, during which time tho exces¬ 
sive leanness of tho thirty sho-goats that 
trowse upon the grassy margin of tho pool 
suggosts to tho imagination the fatness of 
tho delicate monster,” who daily swallows 
all the milk that can be drawn from them. 
Suddenly a convulsive shout from tho spec¬ 
tators indicates that the amphibious crea¬ 
ture’s head, or perchance tho tip of his nose 
only has appeared in the upper air, and 
then a cry of “ Coco, Coco,” (tho name of 
tho animal) is raised; but this generally 
fails to lure him from his cool bath into the 
rays of tho scorching sun. Except at feed¬ 
ing time he seldom loaves the water, until 
a keeper, taking pity on tho expectant mul¬ 
titude, “stirs him up with a long pole,” an 
operation always the signal for vociferous 
cheering. Then, with tho most perfect 
good nature, he comes out and walks majes¬ 
tically round tho lake, dilating his nostrils 
like a war-horse, and exhibiting a jolly car¬ 
cass, as round as a wine butt. Tho keepor 
jumps upon his back, knoads his plump 
haunchos, and performs a variety of other 
experiments, to all of which “ Coco ” sub¬ 
mits with entire docility, not to say indif¬ 
ference, occasionally yawning, and display¬ 
ing a throat down which Jonah might have 
slipped. 
Written for Moore’s Rural New-Yorker. 
AN EVENTIDE MEDITATIGN- 
“Anri Isaac went out to meditate in tho field at tho 
Eventide.”— Gen. 21, 63. 
Evening —tho hour of eventide—has ever 
been a favorite with tho contemplative mind 
—has ever been hallowed by thoughts of a 
meditative and devotional character. Isaac 
went out to meditate at tho eventide, and I 
love to follow the patriarch’s pleasant ex¬ 
ample. To-night, the calm fresh air seemed 
peculiarly exhilerating, and, strolling down 
“ our lane” in a dreamy mood, I gave myself 
up to the thoughts which stole upon me, as 
quietly and sweotly as a strain of distant 
music in the sleeping lakelet’s bosom. What 
those thoughts were at first, I cannot well 
express, but, looking upon the myriad stars 
which begemmed tho azure infinitude, a 
feeling of notbingnoss and insufficiency awed 
me into silence, and insensibly led mo to 
confess my weakness, and pray for strength, 
for guiding grace, for pardon and for peaco. 
i. 
My heart doth speak me in the wrong, 
Father Divine, in that I love Thee less— 
To whom I owe my all of happiness: 
Less than the blessings Thou hast showered on me, 
Le; s than the world which wiles my heart from Thee; 
O, fieo me fiom these chains—this vile duress— 
And I will praise Thee in a grateful song. 
II. 
Humble my powers are, 
Yet I stid owe Thee service for their gift, 
St 111 ) Thee shou d they bear 
Their best thank-offerings. Our Father 1 lift 
Thy countenance reconciled 
Upon Thy child : 
Who would, repentant, claim thy watchful care, 
That he no more may be by sin beguiled. 
0 ! pure and tranquilizing aro tho influ¬ 
ences of a solitary ramble in tho quiet of 
oarly evening. Every good impulse seems 
to gain now vigor, and evory passion of the 
heart to bo chastened and subdued.—n. 
Maple Hill, N. Y., 1853. 
“GOOD EYE.” 
The editor of tho Albany Register thus 
comments upon this simple phrase, so com¬ 
mon and yet so full of solemn and tender 
meaning : 
“How many emotions cluster around 
that word. How full of sadness, and to us 
how full of sorrow it sounds. It is with us 
a consecrated word. We heard it once 
within tho year, as wo hopo never to hear 
it again. Wo^poke it on an occasion such 
as wo hope never to speak it again. It was 
in tho chamber of death, at the still hour of 
night’s noon. Tho curtains wei’e all closed, 
the lights were shaded, and we stood in tho 
dim solemn twilight with others around the 
bed of the dying. The damps of death 
were on her pale young brow, and coldness 
was on her lips, as wo kissed her for tho last 
timo while living. “Good-bye, my daugh¬ 
ter,” wo whispered, and “ Good-bye. father,” 
came faintly from her dying lips. We know 
not if she ever spoko more, but “Good-bye” 
was tho last ever heard of her sweet voice. 
Wo hear that last sorrowful word often and 
often as we sit alone busy with tbo memo¬ 
ries of the past. We hear it in the silence 
of night, in tho hours of nervous wakeful¬ 
ness, as we lay upon our bed thinking of 
tho loved and the lost to us. Wo hear it in 
our dreams, when her sweet face comes 
back to us as it was in its loveliness and 
beauty. Wo hoar it when wo sit beside her 
grave in the cemetery where she sleeps 
alone, with no kindred as yet by her side.— 
She was tho hopo of our life, the prop upon 
which to lean when ago should come upon 
us and life should ho running to its dregs. 
Tho hope and the prop are gone, and wo 
caro not how soon wo go down to sleep bo- 
side our darling, beneath the shadow of 
tho treo in tho city of the»dead.” 
BEAUTIFUL EXTRACT. 
I saw tho templo roared by tho hand of 
man, standing with its high pinnacles in tho 
distant plain: tho stroam beat upon it — 
tho god of Nature hurled its thundorbults 
against it — and yot it stood as firm us 
adamant. Revelry was in its hall—tho 
gay, tho young, the happy and beautiful 
were there. 
I turned and tho temple was no more — 
its high walls scattered in ruins, the moss 
and ivy grass grow wildly there, and at mid¬ 
night hour tho owl’s cry added to the doso- 
lation of tho scene—the young and the gay, 
who had reveled thoro, had passed away. 
I saw tho child rejoicing in his youth—tho 
idol of his father. I returned and tho child 
had become old. Trembling with weight of 
years ho stood, tho last of his generation — 
a stranger amid tho desolation around him. 
I saw an oak stand in all its pride on tho 
mountain, the birds were caroling on its 
boughs. I returned—the oak was leaf! ss 
and sapless — the winds were playing thoir 
pastime through tho branches. 
“ Who is tho do3troyor ?” said I to my 
guardian angel. 
“It is timo,” said ho. “When tho morn¬ 
ing stars sang together with joy over tho 
new made world, ho commenced his course, 
and when ho shall have destroyed all that 
is beautiful on earth—plucked the sun from 
its sphere—veiled the moon in blood—yoa, 
when ho shall roll the heaven and earth 
away as a scroll, thon shall an angel from 
tho throne of God come forth, and with ono 
foot upon the land, and ono upon tho soa, 
lift up his head towards Heaven and Heav¬ 
en’s eternal, and say: 
“Timo is, Time was, Timo shall bo no 
longer.”— Paulding ■. 
