’VW'U'UfV'w'W'oMOHf 
MOORE’S RURAL NEW-YORKER: AN AGRICULTURAL AND FAMILY NEWSPAPER, 
JAN. IS. 
itaims’ Htfrt-ffllifl. 
CONDUCTED BY AZILE 
■Written for Moore’s Rural New-Yorker. 
TO-NIGHT. 
Oh ! call not a shade of sadness, 
To linger on my brow, 
For my heart is o’er full of its gladness, 
And I must be happy now. 
I know that the shadows are creeping 
O’er the sky that now beameth so bright, 
I know there’ll be time for weeping, 
But let me be happy to-night. 
Hope’s flowers in my pathway are springing, 
What though they are doomed to decay, 
Round Love’s shrine my heart-tendrils are clinging, 
That bright dream may soon pass away. 
From Love’s lyre the first song is awaking, 
Oh ! speak not of sorrow’s chill blight, 
There’ll be time enough yet for heart-aching, 
Then lot me be happy to-night. 
You tell me of hopes that were cherished 
As fondly in years agone ; 
But now they are faded and perished, 
And those gold-tinted visions have flown. 
I know it is truth you are telling, ’ 
But my Future is beaming so bright, 
And my glad heart with rapture is swelling, 
Oh ! I MUST be happy to-night. 
Then call not a shade of sorrow 
To linger upon my brow, 
Though weeping may come with the morrow, 
Yet I will be happy now. 
Attica Centre, Oct., 1855. Mybta May. 
-- 
For the Rural New-Yorker. 
MARY. —A FRAGMENT. 
* * * The earth was very beautiful, and 
the mellow-throated birds gaily trilled forth its 
varied loveliness, until the green leaves which 
trembled above them, blushed crimson at the 
sound of such sweet praise. Then I knew the 
glorious Autumn had come, and that soon her 
gorgeous robe would enfold the bosom of the 
fading year. 
Yet, the beauty of that quiet morning,— the 
•sweet song of birds only threw a deeper sadness 
over my heart, for I was hastening to the bed¬ 
side of a young friend,— who, they said, must 
die. Oh, the heart-piercing words — must die! 
I would have knelt beside her, to hide the tear¬ 
drops, fast falling adown my cheeks; but stretch¬ 
ing out her pale, thin hand, she clasped mine, 
while her clear, blue eyes rested on me with a 
mild, joyous expression, as though she but 
waited a welcome summons. Amid our little 
band, she was a favorite,— our fairest one; — 
beautiful, yet fragile as the summer rose. Scarce 
three moons had waxed and waned, since we 
stood beside the open grave of a beloved brother, 
to whose warm poet-heart, her own had been so 
closely united, that when Death set his icy seal 
upon that beaming brow, his chilling presence 
curdled her young life-blood, and vain were the 
efforts of parents, brothers, sisters, and friends 
to warm it again to a bright, healthy glow; — 
vain their efforts to stay the summons of the 
dark-winged messenger! 
And now that mourning group circled around 
her dying couch. The gentle breeze stole softly 
in, and lifted the sunny curls from her white 
temples. A loving smile played around her 
lips,— her sweet voice whispered—“Mother, 
dear ones, weep not for me. I am happy now. 
C-- is waiting to bear me to our Father’s 
house, where is a mansion prepared for me. 
There will I await you all—farewell.” 
We strewed her grave with the flowers she 
loved,— moistened their bright petals with the ’ 
warm, gushing tears of early friendship; and ; 
went forth into the world again, to share its ' 
hollow joys,— its cankering cares;—to bask in 
its fitful sun-shine, and to receive, with un¬ 
sheltered head, its pitiless storms and blinding 
tempests;—yet often bas the dying scene of 
that frail flower of love, beamed upon my troub¬ 
led way, like a bright star, lighting up the 
darkness of my soul, and I exclaim,— 
“ Thus, would that I, 
Iu tlie green summer of my youth might die !” 
Baldwinsville, Mich. C. H. PaEljman. 
The Mother.—A writer beautifully remarks 
that a man’s mother is the representative of his 
Maker. Misfortune, and even crime, set no bar¬ 
riers between ber and her son. While his moth¬ 
er lives he has one friend on earth who will not 
listen when he is slandered, who will not desert 
him when he suffers, who will soothe him in his 
sorrows, and speak to him of hope when he is 
ready to despair. Her affections know no ebbing 
tide. They flow on from a pure fountain, and 
speak happiness through this vale of tears, and 
cease only at the ocean of eternity. 
-- 
A Loveless Home.—T here is no loneliness, 
there can be none in all the waste or peopled 
deserts of the world bearing the slightest com¬ 
parison with that of an unloved wife ! She 
stands amid her family like a living statue 
among the marble memorials of the dead—in¬ 
stinct with life, yet paralyzed with death— the 
burning tide of natural feeling circled round 
• ber heart—the thousand channels frozen through 
which that feeling ought to flow.— Mrs. Ellis. 
An elegant mind informing a graceful person, 
is like a spirit lamp in an alabaster vase, 
shedding round its own softened radiance and 
heightening the beauty of its medium. An 
elegant mind in a plain, ungraceful person, is 
like the same lamp enclosed in a vase of bronze; 
we may, if we approach near enough, rejoice in 
its influence, though we may not behold its 
radiance. 
Simplicity and genuine unaffectedness is of 
greater value than beauty. The latter will cap¬ 
tivate, but not retain, while the former will make 
a deeper impression each day. 
T HE TRUTH IN LOVE. 
Many people, both old and young, do right 
things; things which ought to be done—in a 
wrong way, or in a wrong spirit. For instance, 
it is our duty to reprove sin, to obey our parents, 
and to be charitable to the poor; but all these 
things may be done in a very improper manner, 
and from motives which is not commendable or 
pleasing in the sight of God. 
Take a few examples. I was once seated in 
an omnibus in Manchester, when two youths 
were carrying on a very flippant convention, in 
which they often took their Maker’s name in 
vain. A young person, who sat opposite them, 
took upon him to reprove them for their rude¬ 
ness and prefaneness, which, of course was per¬ 
fectly right. But the reproof was given in so 
harsh and ungracious a manner, and with so lit¬ 
tle of the Christian tenderness which “ hates the 
sin, but still the sinner loves,” that it only pro¬ 
voked further controversy, and lead to a painful 
and unseemingly exhibition of temper on both 
sides. NTow that was doing a right thing in a 
wrong spirit. 
Again : a mother asked her son, a little boy 
about nine years of age, to allow his little sister 
who was only three, to sit where he had selfish¬ 
ly placed himself at the table. The son looked 
at his mother and seemed unwilling to obey ; 
till finding he would be required to comply, he 
at length slowly and sullenly sought another 
place. But the act of obedience was performed 
with so bad a grace, and with so much reluc¬ 
tance, that the right thing was done in a very 
wrong way. 
In another case, a little boy said to his moth¬ 
er, “ Mother, I gave a penny to a poor beggar 
this morning : was I a good boy ?” 
“ What motive had you in view ?” said the 
judicious mother. “Did you give it because 
you thought him poor, or because you thought 
I should call you a good boy.” 
“ Because I thought you would call me a good 
boy ?” 
That, also, was doing a right thing from a 
wrong motive. 
You see from all these instances how impor¬ 
tant it is to pay attention to our manner, our 
spirit, and our motives .—Early Lays. 
-- 
“MY MOTHER KNOWS BEST.” 
A r arty of little girls stood talking beneath 
my window. Some nice plan was on foot; they 
were going into the woods, and they meant to 
make oak leaf trimming, and pick berries, and 
carry luncheons. Oh, it was so fine a time they 
meant to have. “ NTow,” said they to one of the 
number, “Ellen, you run home and ask your 
mother if you may go. Tell her we are all go¬ 
ing, and you must.” Ellen, with her green 
crape bonnet, skipped across the way and went 
into the house opposite. She was gone some 
time. 
The little girls kept looking up to the win¬ 
dows very impatiently. At length the door 
opened, and Ellen came down the steps. She 
did not seem to be in a hurry to join her com¬ 
panions, and they cried out, “You got leave ?— 
You are going, are you ?” Ellen shook her 
head, and said her mother could not let her go. 
“ Oh,” cried the children, it is too had ! Hot 
go ! It is really unkind in your mother.”— 
“ Why, I would make her let you.” “ Oh, Oh.” 
“I would go whether or no.” “My mother 
knows best,” was Ellen’s answer, and it was a 
beautiful one. Her lips quivered a little, for I 
suppose she wanted to go, and was much disap¬ 
pointed not to get leave ; but she did not look 
angry or pouting, and her voice was very gen¬ 
tle, but firm, when she said “ My mother knows 
best.” There are a great many occasions when 
mothers do not see fit to give their children leave 
to go and do where and what they wish to ; and 
how often are they rebellious and pouting in con¬ 
sequence of it. But this is not the true way.— 
The true way is cheerful acquiescence in your 
mother’s decision. Trust her, and smooth down 
your ruffled feelings by the sweet and beautiful 
thought, “ My mother knows best.” It will save 
you many tears and much sorrow. It is the 
gratitude you owe her who has done so much for 
you.— Selected. 
A Greek Maiden being asked what fortune 
she would bring ber husband, replied in the fol¬ 
lowing beautiful and forcible language : — “I 
will bring him wbat gold cannot purchase — a 
heart unspotted, and virtue without a stain— 
which is all that descended to me from my 
parents.” 
Home and 'Women. —The following lines are 
extremely well done : 
Home is a man’s ark, when trouble springs, 
When gathering tempests shade his morrow ; 
And woman’s love the bird that brings 
His peace branch o’er a flood of sorrow. 
If you love others, they will love you. If 
you speak kindly to them, they will speak kind¬ 
ly to you. Love is repaid with love, and hatred 
with hatred. Would you hear a sweet and 
pleasant echo, speak sweetly and pleasantly 
yourself. 
He is but half prepared for the journey of 
life who takes not with him that friend who will 
forsake in no emergency, who will divide his 
sorrows, increase his joys, lift the veil from his 
heart, and throw sunshine around the darkest 
“ Let the miser have his gold, and the man of 
honor his emblems of renown, but let my por¬ 
tion be the boon of friendship, secured within 
some faithful heart, in which peace, contentment 
and every virtue reigns perpetually supreme.” 
If we did but know how little some enjoy of 
the great things that they possess, there would 
not be much envy in the world. 
Ciioirr fliMfllamj. 
PAST, PRESENT, AND FUTURE. 
I CAN see that I grow older, 
And I note it day by day ! 
I can feel my heart grow colder 
, As its pleasures pass away. 
At the tell-tale glass I linger, 
As with faded eye I trace 
Solemn tokens which Time’s finger 
Has engraven on my face. 
But one moment can restore me 
To my boyhood and my prime, 
And sweet memories come o’er me 
Of that brief and blessed time ; 
Then I hear a father’s blessing, 
And I feel a mother’s kiss ; 
And again I am caressing 
One who shared with me my bliss. 
Who shall say the Past must perish 
’Neath the Future’s coming waves? 
What the soul delights to cherish 
From Oblivion’s depths it saves I 
Looking backward, on I’m gliding, 
Till I reach that final shore 
Where the Present is abiding, 
And where Change shall come no more. 
Written for Moore’s Rural New-Yorker. 
FARMERS’ SONS. 
BY FRANK FREEQUILL. 
The class of young men included under the 
above title comprise no inconsiderable portion 
of the rising generation. And it is not prepos¬ 
terous to suppose they will contribute their 
share to give a distinctive character to the suc¬ 
ceeding age. Aye, we even affirm that their 
individuality may he even now detected amid 
the strange compound of thoughts, deeds, epochs 
and events which make up the history of the ■ 
past. Still to some the “ country boy” is always 
associated in the mind with an almost green¬ 
house verdancy, or coupled with an idea of rus¬ 
tic boorishness which drawing-rooms could 
hardly contain. City editors are even witty 
about “country cousins,” and there is also an 
incipient portion of humanity who, proud of 
the urban distinction of “ nice young men,” or 
“fast young men,” are never slow to wink and 
draw down the corners of their mouths, when 
in company of a tall, plainly-dressed, honest- 
speaking farmer's son. Such ridicule often 
comes from those smooth-haired, spindle-shank¬ 
ed, tiptoeing youths who, leaning over a coun¬ 
ter, simper out from day to day—“ Just look at 
the figure ma’am ; fast colors, too, ma’am—only 
eight yards for a dress, ma’am; you see it’s 
wide, very wide ! —shan’t I cut it off, ma’am ?” 
And they deliver themselves of their little 
speech with a fluency and self-satisfaction that 
seems to increase with every repetition. Such 
things as these it is who talk of “ country plugs!” 
—to whom they are as much inferior as a trans¬ 
parency to a true man. 
But it was not others' ridicule that we intend¬ 
ed to censure ; it only emanates from those who 
deserve it most. We only wish to ask, why 
farmers’ sons sometimes seem to be ashamed of 
themselves ? Why, when they approach the 
age of manhood, leave the “ old homestead,” and 
desert the plow for an occupation less lucrative 
and honorable ? That in many cases there may 
be good reasons for such a course, we do not de¬ 
ny. True, in whatever sphere of life the farm¬ 
er’s son would try his fortune, he has most glo¬ 
rious examples to encourage him. History tells 
us of one who was called from the plow to the 
palace, from the farm to the forum ; and when 
he had silenced the angry tumults of a State, 
resumed again the quiet duties of a husband¬ 
man. Of whose resting-place did Halleck 
write those beautiful lines which the reader will 
excuse us if we quote ? 
“ Such graves as his are pilgrim-shrines, 
Shrines to no code or creed confined— 
The Delphian vales, the Palestine®, 
The Meceas of the mind.” 
Who cannot answer ? It was Burns, the plow - 
boy, afterwards the National Bard of Scotland. 
And Burns himself has left evidence that he 
composed, while engaged in rural pursuits, some 
of the rarest gems of his poetry. But who that 
ever succeeded, first left the farm because he 
was ashamed to guide the ox or turn the stub¬ 
born glebe 2 Oh fie ! young man ! don’t think 
because you are a farmer’s son that Heaven bas 
cast your lot too low. But if your natural in¬ 
clinations, or the force of circumstances, call you 
from the fertile fields, go and remember that 
from the same starting point many have reach¬ 
ed the high places of earth. If not,—if you 
really delight to till the soil,—be ever proud and 
worthy of your occupation. Whether you go 
to the broad prairies of the West, or staying 
with the “ old farm” make it smile its gratitude 
with plenteous harvests, always strive to ele¬ 
vate the most honorable, if not the most digni¬ 
fied profession in the world. 
Albany, N. Y., Dec., 1855. 
- - - 4 - 
Don’t be too Clever. —The fact is, in this 
very naughty world it will not do to carry your 
heart upon your sleeves. You must not be too 
confiding, too trusting. You must learn to say 
“No” oftener, and “Yes” seldomer. “It is a 
burning shame,” says Simon Simple, “ that the 
world will not let a man be as good as he might 
be, without imposing upon him.” And we quite 
agree with him, but it is not the only burning 
shame in the world, for there is a harvest of 
them, when poverty says to me and Mr. Simple^ 
and others, “don’t you do good, old fellow, 
you’ll be made a tool of.”— Selected. 
“ Don’t tell me of to-morrow, 
Give me the men who’ll say, 
Then when a good deed’s to he done, 
Let’s do the deed to-day ! 
We may command the present, 
If we act and never wait; 
But repentance is the phantom 
Of the past that comes too late !” 
Written for the Rural New-Yorker. 
NEVER DESPAIR. 
What though once-supposed friends have 
disclaimed and deserted you—fortune, the jade, 
deceived you—and the stern tyrant, adversity, 
roughly asserted his despotic power to trample 
you down V “While there’s life there’s hope.” 
Has detraction’s busy tongue assailed thy 
peace, and contumely’s venomed shaft poisoned 
thy happiness, by giving reputation its death 
blow ; — destroyed thy confidence in friendly 
promise, and rendered thee suspicious of selfish¬ 
ness in the exhibition of brotherly kindness; or 
the tide of public opinion well nigh over¬ 
whelmed you ’neath its angry waves ? Never 
despair. Yield not to the influence of sadness 
the blighting power of dejection, which sinks 
you in degrading inaction, or drives you to seek 
relief in some fatal vice, or to drown recollection 
in the poisoning bowl. Arouse, and shake the 
oppressive burden from overpowering thee.— 
Quench the stings of slander in the waters of 
Lethe — bury despondency in oblivion — fling 
melancholy to the Avinds, and with firm bearing 
and a stout heart push on to the attainment of a 
higher goal. The open field for energetic action 
is large, and the call for vigorous laborers im¬ 
mensely exceed, the supply. 
Much precious time is squandered, valuable 
labor lost, mental activity stupefied and dead¬ 
ened, by vain regrets, useless repinings, and 
unavailing idleness. The appeal for volunteers 
in the great battle of life, in exterminating 
ignorance and error, and planting high on an 
everlasting foundation the banner of intelligence 
and right, is directed to you, would you but 
grant it audience. 
Let no cloud again darken thy spirit, or 
weight of sadness oppress thy heart. Arouse 
ambition’s smouldering fires. The laurel may 
e’en now be wreathed, destined to grace thy 
brow. Burst the trammels that impede thy 
progress, and cling to hope. The world frowned 
darkly upon all who have ever yet won Fame’s 
wreath, hut on they toiled. Place high thy 
standard, and with a firm tread and fearless eye 
press steadily onward. Persevere, and thou’lt 
surely reach it. Are there those who have 
watched, unrewarded, through long sorrowful 
years, for the dawning of a brighter morrow, 
when the weary soul should calmly rest ?— 
Hope’s bright rays still illume their dark path¬ 
way, and cheerfully yet they watch. 
Never despair ! Faint not, though thy task be 
heavy, and victory is thine. s. 
BEAUTIEUL EXTRACT. 
The following waif, afloat on the “ sea of read¬ 
ing,” we clip from an exchange. We do not 
know its paternity, but it contains some whole¬ 
some truths, beautifully set forth : 
Men seldom think of the great event of death 
until the shadow falls across their own path, 
hiding forever from their eyes the traces- of the 
loved ones whose living smiles was the sunlight 
of their existence. Death is the great antago¬ 
nist of life, and the cold thought of the tomb is 
the skeleton of all feasts. We do not want to 
go through the dark valley, although its passage 
may lead to paradise ; and, with Charles-Lamb, 
we do not want to lie down in the muddy 
grave, even with kings and princes for our bed- 
fellows. But the fiat of Nature is inexorable. 
There is no appeal or relief from the great law 
which dooms us to dust.. We .flourish and we 
fade as the leaves of the forest, and the flower 
that blooms and withers, in a day has not a frail¬ 
er hold upon life than the mightiest monarch 
that ever shook the earth with his footsteps.:— 
Generations of man appear and vanish as the 
grass, and the countless multitude that throngs 
the world to-day, will to-morrow disappear as- 
the footsteps on the shore. 
In the- beautiful drama of Ion, the instinct of 
immortality, so eloquently uttered by the death 
devoted Greek, finds a deep response in every 
thoughtful soul. When about to yield his-youug 
existence as a sacrifice to fate, bis beloved. Glem- 
anthe asks if they shall not meet against© which 
he replies : — “I have asked that dreadful ques¬ 
tion of the hills that look eternal—of the clear 
streams that flow forever—of the stars, among 
whose fields of azure my raised spirit hath 
walked in glory. All were dumb. But while 
I gaze upon thy living face, I feel that there is 
something in the kwe that mantles through its 
beauty that cannot wholly perish. We shall 
meet again, Clemanthe.” 
The Appearance of Milton. —According to 
Keightley’s recent life of Milton, the great poet 
Avas rather under the middle size, well built and 
muscular. “His deportment Avas affable, and 
gait erect and manly, bespeaking courage and 
undauntedness. He was skilled in the use of 
the small SAVord, and though he certainly would 
not have engaged in a duel, he had strength, 
skill, and courage to repel the attack of an 
adversary. His hair, which never fell off, was 
of a light broAvn hue, and he wore it parted on 
his forehead, as is represented in his portraits. 
His eyes were gray, and as the blindness was 
internal, they suffered no change of appearance 
from it. His face was oval, and his complexion 
so fine in youth, that at Cambridge he Avas, as 
we are told by Aubrey, called the lady of his 
College. Even in his later days his cheeks re¬ 
tained a ruddy tinge. He had a fine ear for 
music, and was Avell skilled in that delightful 
science. He used to perform on the organ and 
bass viol. His voice was sweet and musical, 
and we may prssume that his singing shoAved 
taste and science.” 
There are two things which ought to teach 
us to think but meanly of human glory ; the 
very best have had their calumniators—the very 
worst their panegyrists. 
THE RACES OE MEN. 
Under the above heading, the editor of Life 
Illustrated thus describes the races of men as 
they at present exist upon this globe : 
Whatever opinion we may adopt in reference 
to the much mooted question of the original 
unity or diversity of the human races, the fact 
that strongly-marked differences now exist, ren¬ 
dering divisions and a classification necessary, 
is obvious. Plumenhach makes five grand di¬ 
visions or races—the Caucasian, the Mangolian, 
the Ethiopic, the American, and the Malay. 
The Caucasian Race. —This is the leading 
branch of the human family. It is remarkable 
for physiological developments, personal beauty, 
and_intellectual superiority. We find in it the 
farthest remove from the animal brain, features, 
and bair. Its progress in literature, science, and 
the arts has left all the other races far behind. 
The chief families of this race are are the Cau¬ 
casian proper, the Germanic, the Celtic, the Ara¬ 
bian, tha Libyan, the Nilotic, and the Hindostancs. 
The Mongolian Race. —In physiological char¬ 
acter, as well as in intellect, this race is very 
decidedly inferior to the Caucasian. The Mon¬ 
golians, embracing the Mongol Tartars, Turks, 
the Chinese, and the Polar tribes, are distinguish¬ 
ed by long, black, and straight hair, scanty 
beard, olive-colored skin, black eyes, short, 
broad nose, broad, flat cheek-bones, oblong and 
flattened skull, and Ioav forehead. 
The Ethiopic Race. —This race embraces the 
Negroes of Central Africa, the Caffres and Hot¬ 
tentots of South Africa, the Australians, and the 
Icelanders of the Indian ' Archipelago and the 
Pacific Ocean. Their physical characteristics 
are too well known in this country to require 
description. In disposition they are easy, indo¬ 
lent, cheerful, sympathetic, confiding, obsequious, 
fond of sensual pleasure and gaudy attire, and 
exceedingly improvident. In intellect this race 
varies much, but a majority'of its tribes rank 
very low, though exceptional individuals have 
occasionally exhibited a good deal of talent. 
The American Race. —The American race 
embraces most of the Indian tribes which form¬ 
erly inhabited North and South America. The 
Indians are generally of a reddish brown or 
copper color, but vary considerably in complex¬ 
ion. Their hair is long,, straight,, and black, 
beard deficient, eyes black andjjdeep-set, cheek 
bones high, forehead receding, nose aquiline, 
skull small and high at the crown, features 
rough, form well developed and symmetrical.— 
They are sedate, proud, firm, brave, revengeful, 
and exceedingly slow in acquiring the arts of 
civilization. 
The Malay Race. —The Malays^have tawny 
or dark brown skin, coarse, black hair, large 
moutbs, broad, short noses, protruding teeth, 
broad and low foreheads, and low topheads.— 
They exhibit considerable intellectual capacity, 
but tbeir moral character is very low. They 
inhabit Borneo, Java, the Phillippine Islands,. 
New Zealand, the Polynesian Islands and a part 
of Madagascar. 
SHAKSFEARE AND~THE BIBLE. 
j Bible —But though I be rude in speech.—2' 
Cor. xi. 6. 
Othello —Rude am I in speech. 
Bible —Show hi» eyes and grieve his heart.— 
1 Sam. xi. 33. 
Macbeth —ShoAV his eyes and grieve his heart, 
Bible —Thou hast brouglitYne into the dust of 
death.—Psal. 
Macbeth —Lighted fools the way to dusty 
death. 
Bible —Look upon me, because I am black,, 
because the sun has looked upon me.—Sol. 
Song. 1. 6. 
Merchant of Venice —Mistake me not for my 
complexion; its shadowy livery of the burning 
sun. 
Bible —I smote him, I caught him by his beard 
and smote him, and slew him.—1 Sam. xvn 35. 
Othello —I took him by the throat, the circum¬ 
cised dog, and smote him. 
Bible —Opened Job his mouth and cursed his 
day ; let it not be joined unto tbe days of the 
year, let it not come into the number of months-. 
—Job in 16. 
Macbeth —May this accursed hour stand, aye, 
accursed in the calendar. 
Bible— What is man, that thou art mindful of 
him ? Thou hast made him a little loAver than 
the angels. Thou crownest him with glory and 
honor, and didst set him over the Avorks of thy 
hand.—Psal. vm. 4, 5, 6. 
Hamlet —What a piece of work is man ? How 
noble in reason, boAV infinite in faculties ? In 
form and moving how express and admirable ! 
In action how like an angel! In apprehension, 
how like a god ! The beauty of the world, the 
paragon of animals. 
Bible —Nicanor lay dead in his harness. 
Macbeth —We will die Avith harness on our 
back.— Selected. 
Chinese in Australia. —A letter from Aus¬ 
tralia says :—“At this moment we are watching 
the progress of what may turn out the most ex¬ 
traordinary event of modern times — the vast 
immigration of the Chinese, Avho are flocking 
here by thousands. They come without their 
wives and families, are extremely frugal, and 
always live and save money out of the refuse 
washing stuff the English diggers‘throw away. 
They are very unpopular at the gold fields; 
but it is from prejudice. Many of their notions 
of morality and conduct are different from our 
own; but out of 20,000 surrounded by five times 
their number of vigilant British rivals, there 
have not been twenty committals for crime 
from them during the last sixYuonths.” 
-- 
The more early our minds approach to a state 
of purity in this life, the greater Avill be our 
chance of realizing true happiness. 
