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MOORE’S RURAL NEW-YORKER: AN AGRICULTURAL AND EASILY NEWSPAPER. 
JAN. 19. 
CONDUCTED BY AZILE. 
Written for Moore’s Rural New-Yorker. 
SHADOWS. 
BT MRS. C. H. GIIJDERSLXEVE. 
“The shadow creeps and creeps, and is ever looking over the 
shoulder of the sunshine.” 
The shadow comes 
Within our hearts, and softly creeps 
Where'er the golden sunbeam sleeps, 
Around our homes. 
And always thus, 
It cloudeth every happy hour, 
And withers every cherished flower 
That blooms for us. 
It lovethwell 
To linger round the coffined dead, 
And nestle near the dear one’s head 
With gloomy spell. 
It ever weaves 
With leaden fingers, stark with fear, 
A shroud to drape the dying year, 
Of purple leaves. 
And in Life’s woof, 
’Tis blending black with rainbow dyes, 
And while the ceaseless shuttle fiies, 
’Tis ne’er aloof. 
But far away 
Where angels dwell, no shadow creeps, 
But pearly-tinted sunlight sleeps 
O’er all for aye. 
Then nevermore 
Shall Darkness’wing the rose-hues pall,- 
Our Father’s smile shall lighten all 
Forever mere. 
Buffalo, N. Y. 
For the Rural New-Yorker. 
NIAGARA IN WINTER. 
Dear Rural :—If you wish to see Niagara in 
its winter grandeur, come now. To one with 
spirit enough to appreciate it, and energy enough 
to make the exertion to reach the proper points, 
its beauty now fully equals, if it does not sur¬ 
pass, that it wears in summer. 
The morning after Christmas was clear and 
cold ; the snow had fallen six inches, or nearly, 
during the night, and there was a very strong 
wind from the west. I crossed to the further 
side of the Island and walked around the lower 
part. No one had been there since the day be¬ 
fore, and, as one likes to have a visit from a very 
dear friend, I had it all to myself. The water 
had lost the bright green with which it usually 
delights the eye, exhibiting instead, a hue of 
mingled green and brown, expressive only of 
anger. And truly, it seemed not only dark, but 
swollen, with wrath—for it rushed onward to 
the precipice a mightier mass than I had seen 
in many a day before. 
The trees, stripped of their leaves, were coat¬ 
ed thick with ice, which broke as they bent be¬ 
fore the rushing wind, with a crash as if they, 
too, were shivered by the blast. The evergreens 
were embroidered with a frost-work as delicate 
as that upon your window, which glittered in 
the sunlight in strange contrast with the green 
leaves on the side unexposed to the spray which 
rose thick in the wintry air, at times almost en¬ 
tirely hiding the cataract in its chill gray folds. 
As it rose still higher, and was caught by the 
wind, it came rushing upon me with a force 
that made my face tingle, and passing on added 
to the fairy garb already decking the trees in a 
beauty almost too much for earth. 
From one position, a rainbow, bright as if 
painted on a summer cloud, rose from the water 
nearly two hundred feet below, its ends a per¬ 
fect sheet of variegated light in the dense mass 
of spray rising from both falls; while the sum¬ 
mit of the arch, where the diminished vapor 
gave less light, seemed to stand out from the 
clear blue sky. As the spray was swept on by 
the gale, it would gradually vanish, till at the 
summit scarcely a trace could be seen, and a 
moment after, as the spray increased it would 
reappd&r, soon to become as distinct as before. 
The feathery frost-work which the evergreens 
wore that morning has now disappeared, and in 
its place every leaflet, on the side to catch the 
spray, is beaded with a snowy pearl. From 
many a twig-end a snowy pear dangles among 
the green leaves, fruit, perhaps, for the lairies of 
Niagara. 
Come to Niagara now, and tell me if the bow 
painted on the rising spray, through which the 
clear blue sky appears beyond,—the trees glit¬ 
tering in the sun, every branch, every twig 
white in its drapery of frost,—the angry torrent, 
rolling its dark masses to the precipice at your 
feet,—the gray mass of vapor almost hiding the 
abyss into which the waters plunge,—the shriek 
of the passing gale,—the crash of ice,—the roar 
of the descending flood,—tell me, is not this 
enough for one exhibition of the Eternal’s 
power 
Suissac. 
BEAUTIFY YOUR HOME. 
Every man should do his best to own a home. 
The first money he can spare ought to be in¬ 
vested in a dwelling, where his family can live 
permanently. Viewed as a matter of economy, 
this is important, not only because he can ordi¬ 
narily build more cheaply than he can rent, but 
because of the expense caused hy frequent 
■change of residence. A man who early in life 
builds a home for himself and family, will save 
some thousands of dollars in the course of twen¬ 
ty years, besides avoiding the inconvenience 
and trouble of removals. Apart from this, there 
is Something agreeable to our better nature in 
having a house that we can call our own. It is 
a form of property that is more than property. 
It speaks to the heart, enlists the sentiments, 
and ennobles the possessor. The associations 
that spring up around it, as the birthplace of 
children,—as the scene of life’s holiest emotions 
—as the sanctuary where the spirit cherishes its 
purest thoughts, are such as all value ; and 
whenever their influence is exerted, the moral 
sensibilities are improved and exalted. The 
greater part of our happiness in this world is 
found at home ; but how few recollect that the 
happiness of to-day is increased by the place 
where we were happy yesterday, and that, in¬ 
sensibly, scenes and circumstances gather up a 
store of blessedness for the weary hours of the 
future ! On this account we should do all in 
our power to make home attractive. Not only 
should we cultivate such tempers as serve to 
render its intercourse amiable and affectionate, 
but we should strive to adorn it with those 
charms which good sense and refinement so 
easily impart to it. We say easily, for there are 
persons who think that a home connot be beau¬ 
tified without a considerable outlay of money. 
Such people are in error. It costs little to have 
a neat flower-garden, and to surround your 
dwelling with those simple beauties which de¬ 
light the eye far more than expensive objects. 
If you will let the sunshine and the dew adorn 
your yard, they will do more for you to bright¬ 
en the landscape and make it agreeable to the 
eye. She hangs the ivy around the ruin, and 
over the stump of a withered tree twines the 
graceful vine. A thousand arts she practices to 
animate the senses and please the mind. Fol¬ 
low her example, and do for yourself what she 
is alway laboring to do for you. Beauty is a 
divine instrumentality. It is one of God’s cho¬ 
sen forms of power. We never see creative 
energy without something beyond mere exist¬ 
ence, and hence the whole universe is a teacher 
and inspirer of beauty. Every man was born 
to be an artist, so far as the appreciation and 
enjoyment of beauty are concerned, and he robs 
himself of one of the precious gifts of his being 
if he fails to fulfill this beneficent purpose of 
his creation.— Southern Times. 
Written for Moore’s Rural New-Yorker. 
MY BROTHER. 
FLIRTATIONS OF MARRIED WOMEN. 
Tiie “innocent flirtation” of married women 
is one of the abominations of modern society.— 
Even a desire for promiscuous admiration is 
wrong in the wife. The love of one and his ap¬ 
proval should be all that site should desire.— 
Let her be ever so beaut iful, it is a disgusting, 
an appalling sight, to see her decorating that 
beauty for the public gaze—to see her seeking 
the attention of all the senseless fops around 
her, and rejoicing at the admiration of other 
eyes than those of her husband. Her beauty 
should be for him alone, not for the gaze of those 
fools that flutter around her. There is always 
among the sedate and wise a sensation of dis¬ 
gust, when a married lady attempts to trap and 
ensnare young men by a profuse display of her 
charms, or unlicensed outlay of her smiles.— 
Such charms and such smiles are loathsome to 
the indifferent beholder—“the trail of the ser¬ 
pent is over them all.” 
Such wives should know, if they do not know 
it already, that their influence over the virtue 
and the prudence of young men is as deleteri¬ 
ous as if they were the most abandoned of 
women. They lead them to beliove that there 
is no purity in the sex—that married virtue is 
but an outside show—and that delicacy and 
propriety are but masks or outside dresses.— 
The effect of their character is that of a silent 
corruption, sapping the foundation of honor and 
probity and truth. Let them beware. Let 
them reserve their charms and the fascination 
of their flattering attentions for their husbands, 
to whom they belong, and if they must be ad¬ 
mired, let it be as faithful wives, as self-deny¬ 
ing mothers, as the educators of your generation 
of immortals. It was said in the praise of 
women in ancient times— Donum mansit: laiiam 
fecit. Let such be the motto of married women 
now.— Hartford Courant. 
EVANGELINE. 
One of the editors of the New York Evange¬ 
list has lately visited the locality in the British 
provinces whereon is laid the scene of Longfel¬ 
low’s celebrated poem. He writes thus : 
“Leaving Windsor, we rolled on rapidly over 
a rich country, till we came to a spot around 
which an American poet has thrown a tender 
and touching interest. It was the sight of the 
old French village of Grand Pre, the scene of 
Longfellow’s Evangeline. I had read the poem 
but a few days before, and the scenes were still 
fresh in my mind. The general features of the 
landscape were easily identified. Yonder were 
the salt marshes, defended from the sea by dikes 
reared by the hands of the French colonists.— 
These slopes were covered by their thatched 
cottages. There stood the simple church of the 
hamlet. It was just a hundred years since the 
French were driven from this peaceful spot. 
Longfellow describes the inhabitants gathered 
on the shore, looking back in dismay at the 
flames that burst from their dwellings. But 
thougli their village was destroyed, and the 
people driven from the land, the customs intro¬ 
duced by those early settlers still linger even 
among those of another race and creed. My 
traveling companion had spent twenty years in 
France, and at once recognized many signs of 
French occupation. The rows of poplars, the 
willows that fringe every water-course, and the 
little gable-roofed cottages, at once recalled the 
villages of Normandy. As we rode along, my 
imagination was busy reviving scenes of a cen¬ 
tury ago. I saw the little church standing on 
the hill, and the peasants gathered round it on 
a fete day, or assembled to dance on the village 
green* Again I heard the merry peals of laugh¬ 
ter that had long since passed away. I saw the 
groups gathered under the trees, telling tales 
of their country beyond the sea, and the love¬ 
liest vision of all was sweet, gentle Evangeline, as 
< Homeward serenely slie walked, with God’s benediction 
upon her.’ ” 
You are far away, my brother, 
And I’m thinking of you now ; 
How cold the rain against the pane— 
The north winds rudely blow— 
The sky is black, and o’er their track 
The thick clouds swiftly go. 
I am sad to-day, my brother, 
My bosom’s fill’d with fear, 
The cause to me is a mystery— 
I wish that you were here; 
Then from my heart the fears would part. 
Replaced by joy sincere. 
Come, oh come back ! my brother— 
Come to your childhood’s home ; 
We miss you much—our grief is such 
We wonder where you roam. 
Make no delay, but haste away 
Unto your early home. 
Clinton Villa, 1856. 
II. II. 
For Moore’s Rural New-Yorker. 
THE TRULY HONORABLE. 
Chill Winter lias come, and with its mighty 
powers has closed the Summer scene. The 
farmer is relieved from his perplexing cares, his 
anxiety about the coming crop is past, the nox¬ 
ious weeds have ceased to grow, and the de¬ 
vouring insects rest in sleep. The lengthened 
evenings invite him to forego his worldly cares, 
and enjoy the rich boon with which the Creator 
has blessed his summer’s toil, and by the cheer¬ 
ful fire with conscious gratitude review the past 
and meditate on the future, so that he may faith¬ 
fully perform the part allotted by his Creator. 
Mankind are created to be the regulators of 
their actions and the abettors of their own hap¬ 
piness,—the Lord of the Universe neither feeds 
nor clothes them, nor shelters them from the 
winter’s blasts, nor screens them from the sum¬ 
mer’s scorching sun ; but he has created them 
with powers, and supplied them with the means, 
to accomplish all these great and important ob¬ 
jects, so that every human being has a duty to 
perform, which calls forth the active energies of 
body and mind,—yes, a solemn duty demanded 
of them by their Maker. No one lias the right 
to spend his time in idleness or folly. 
Aristocratic pride, which is reared in luxury 
and sloth, has succeeded in attaching the name 
of Honorable to the pomp and display of wealth, 
and branded useful labor as degrading, low, and 
mean, which is false and unjust, and ruinous to 
the health, happiness and prosperity of the hu¬ 
man race. The diversified pursuits of civilized 
man afford ample room for all to be usefully 
employed, and every calling or pursuit which 
adds to the general good of society is honorable, 
—no useful vocation in the checkered scenes of 
life is servile nor mean. The title of greui, or 
honorable, arc the just tributes to wisdom and 
goodness; they who perform the part allotted 
to them in life with judicious prudence, and do 
their duty to themselves and fellows as required 
of them by their Maker are truly great, for “ an 
honest man is the noblest work of God and 
they who with a congenial glow spread happi¬ 
ness around their sphere, are justly deserving 
of honor. 
The cobbler on his bench may be equally as 
honorable as he who occupies the Presidential 
chair, or they who wear the Monarch’s crown ; 
and he who cultivates his fifty acres, so as to 
produce the greatest value and not impoverish 
the soil, is equally deserving of the honored 
name of a good farmer as those who occupy 
their hundreds. And those who Skillfully use 
the mechanic’s tools, though solitary and alone, 
may be equally as great and honorable as those 
who oversee a thousand. The kitchen maid 
who prepares the daily food is much more use¬ 
fully employed than they who spend their time 
at the toilet for vain display, and ought to be 
more honored. The matron, who, with judi¬ 
cious prudence, prepares the earth’s productions 
to feed, clothe and comfort her household, and 
trains the infant minds to fix the moral chart, so 
as to shun the rock of vice, and to expand the 
soul and lay the foundation for its future great¬ 
ness, performs the noble part allotted her by 
her Creator, and is the most honorable of the 
human race. She who attends the sick, and 
wipes the sweat from the aching brow, or miti¬ 
gates the sorrows of the unfortunate and cheers 
the weary and forlorn, enjoys the heavenly balm 
of conscious pleasure which the idle and frivol¬ 
ous can never know. 
Those who instruct the young to unlock the 
door of science, and expand the mighty power 
of mind, are much more honorable than they 
who ape the butterfly and flutter life away as an 
empty dream. To promote virtue and increase 
human happiness, make labor honorable, and to 
prevent crime, brand idleness as mean and de¬ 
grading. W. Gaubutt. 
Wheatland, N. Y.. Dec., 1855. 
Written for Moore's Rural New-Yorker. 
PATRICK HENRY. 
MORE HOLIDAY3 NEEDED. 
Among the conspicuous orators who flourished 
in the days of the Revolution, there arc none 
who compel our admiration more than Patrick 
Henry. And there are none who furnish a more 
complete exception to that doctrine which has 
been almost universally promulgated, that, with¬ 
out arduous and unceasing labor none can be¬ 
come eminently great. The extraordinary tal¬ 
ents which he possessed were implanted and 
matured within him by nature. These were not 
drawn forth and developed by learning and dis¬ 
cipline, from his earliest youth to manhood. 
Nor did he then elevate himself step by step to 
that high pinnacle of renown whereon he stood. 
He did not appear like the slow north-eastern 
storm, which as a warning first sends forth a 
change in the sky, and gives men time to pre¬ 
pare for its coming ; but he burst upon them 
like a thunder cloud from the west, and the 
lightnings of his eloquence flashed over the land 
and filled the souls of men with fear and admi¬ 
ration. 
He was emphatically the Orator of Nature.— 
Art had not spoiled him—education had not 
destroyed the pure originality of his thought. 
While he was yet young, and roving along 
the streams with his fishing rod, or through the 
forest in pursuit of game, he gathered from Na¬ 
ture ideas and illustrations, and stored them in 
his retentive memory for future use. Earth, 
ocean, the storm and the stars of heaven, alike 
paid tribute to his mighty genius. 
He lived quietly and unnoticed among his 
neighbors, but his prophetic vision discerned the 
shadows of “ coming events,” and he prepared for 
noble action in the strife that should call forth 
all of the patriot’s powers. It was fortunate for 
Ins own fame, and fortunate for his country, that 
he lived in the days of the Revolution. He was 
just the man for the times. His sympathies 
were all on the side of freedom, and he put forth 
his best efforts for its acquisition. 
He was an early and devoted patriot. While 
others were wavering and halting between safe¬ 
ty and slavery on the one hand, and danger and 
freedom on the other, his own mind was decided, 
and he was pressing on in the path of duty and 
honor. He d iscerned the spark of liberty, glow¬ 
ing in the hearts of his countrymen, and with 
his mighty eloquence he fanned it to a consum¬ 
ing flame. He wielded an immense power.— 
That uneducated and inexperienced backwoods¬ 
man standing on the floor of the Virginia Legis¬ 
lature, shook the throne of the most powerful 
monarch on earth, and aided materially in 
wresting from England her fairest and richest 
colonies. 
As a lawyer he was generally successful. Al¬ 
though he was not a profound scholar, nor well 
versed in the technicalities of legal science, yet 
give him a case wlierc lie could deal with fact 
and principle, and he was irresistible. He over¬ 
whelmed his opponent with a torrent of argu¬ 
ment and invective, and held captive the minds 
of the audience and jury by the varied charms 
of his eloquence. 
He was undoubtedly the greatest orator of liis 
age. That is, he was unequalled in the imme¬ 
diate effect which he produced upon his hear¬ 
ers, the completeness with which he mingled his 
own spirit with theirs, and persuaded them to 
adopt his opinions. 
As a patriot, an orator and cit izen, he perform¬ 
ed his duties without exception ; and he lived 
to be richly rewarded for his labors. He saw 
that country for which he had toiled, and strug¬ 
gled, and periled his life, take its stand among 
the nations of the earth. It was a bright star in 
the firmament, and men gazed and wondered. 
The principles which he advocated became its 
principles. The remembrance of his actions is 
treasured up in its history as a precious inheri¬ 
tance. And his fame is linked so firmly to the 
cause of liberty, that not until it shall cease to 
be valued by men, will the name of Henry be 
forgotten. G. F. Wilcox. 
Perinton, N. Y., 1850. 
INCIDENT AT AN INSANE ASYLUM. 
THE WHITE HAIR. 
A hair of silvery whiteness, like the first fa¬ 
ded leaf of early autumn, has fallen silently 
upon the table beside us. It has not the sound 
of the rustling leaf, but there is a sad and touch¬ 
ing eloquence in its teaching. The leaf lives 
and blooms again in after summers ; there is 
but one summer and one autumn in life. The 
tenement of clay awakes not from the grave of 
its winter sleep to again live on in the beauty 
and greenness of youth. Childhood springs not 
again from the mould of life’s autumn decav. 
A white hair! Well, thou warnest us. Years 
have been busy in the locks. The first silent 
driftings of winter are lodging gently there.— 
The season is passing! We have no dread of 
old age. There is beauty and sublimity in hon¬ 
orable old age. We involuntarily reverence the 
forms which bear the marks of years of storm. 
Gray hairs are sacred. Do we not love the old 
with a more hallowing love because of those 
who are yet moored by the old hearth ? 
A white hair ! such withered ones are thick¬ 
ening' on the brow. More and more frequently 
they are falling. With the summers and sunny 
memories of childhood yet fresh and unfading 
in the heart, the white hairs of decay are falling 
beside us! The bud and bloom hath been 
closely followed by the “sear and the yellow 
leaf.” And the years—so quickly have they 
gone by ? It is so—that hair came from our own 
thinned locks. And yet it seems but yesterday 
that at the old homestead and in the school 
room, wc leaped and laughed with a childish 
band with the horizon of years far away and 
unthought of. It is but a step from this day to 
the early springtime, yet a broad battle field 
lies between. 
Well, well, let the hairs whiten and fall. Be 
ours the task of keeping these footprints from 
the inner temple. The walls may grow weath¬ 
er-beaten, but “ the light of other days” shall 
burn brightly within. The winter even may 
come, but under the warm glow of sunny memo¬ 
ries and of Hope, the flowers shall bloom with¬ 
out fading. The loves and hopes of the past— 
all its friendships—shall live perennial through 
the year of life, while a thousand memories and 
affections shall cling closely to the last. 
A white hair! We’ll heed the monitor, It 
tells that the day of labor is wasting, and tLe 
night cometh by and by when we can toil not. 
Welcome, then, the life-battles to come. In fall 
harness, then, it is best to await the going down 
of the sun, for deeds that are right and true, 
will leave a “lingering ray,” like the lovely 
crimson of the last daylight, to make beautiful 
life’s sunset.— Cayuga Chief. 
PRACTICAL COUNSEL. 
Amos Lawrence, of Boston, in his Diary and 
Correspondence, gives the following character¬ 
istic counsels .— 
At the commencement of your journey the 
difference between goingywrf rigid or n little tor ong, 
will be the difference between finding yourself 
in good quarters or the miserable bog or slough, 
at the end of it. Do not cheat yourself by do¬ 
ing what you suspect may be wrong. YT>u are 
as much accountable to your conscience as you 
would be to me to use due diligence in taking 
care of a bag of money which I might send by 
you. “ Good principles, good temper and good 
manners, will carry a man through the world 
much better than he can get along with the ab¬ 
sence of either. The most important is good 
principles.” “ Temptation, if successfully re¬ 
sisted, strengthens the character ; but it should 
always be avoided." “ The moral taste, like 
the natural, is vitiated by abuse.” “ He whose 
life ends at thirty may have done much, while 
he who has reached the age one hundred may 
have done little.” “ Bring home no foreign fan¬ 
cies which are inapplicable to our state of 
society.” 
NATURE WILL BE REPORTED. 
The heart of man craves occasional relaxation 
and diversion. So does his body. Nature will 
indemnify herself, if these shall be denied.— 
Our Sundays which all of us are desirous of 
preserving and keeping holy, as of yore, will be 
desecrated and turned into days of sport and 
amusement, if other occasions shall not be sup¬ 
plied. We may regret, we may condemn, but 
cannot help it. To prevent so great an evil, of 
which Europe furnishes a sad example, let us 
add to the number of holidays from time to time, 
and thereby do what we can to rescue the Sab¬ 
bath from that desecration, which is growing 
more common every year, and from which reli¬ 
gion has so much to apprehend.— Newark Adv. 
It is with health as with our property — we 
rarely trouble ourselves in looking seriously 
after it until it is gone. 
A very pleasing and affecting incident is the 
following, from the Gospel Banner: 
As we were leaving one of the halls, where 
several of the inmates were moving back and 
forth, a woman, from some cause, was seized 
with a paroxysm of wrath, and followed after us 
with clenched fists, violent gestures, and loud 
vociferations. As the door closed after us, she 
grasped the gratings of the window, and scowled 
and frowned at us, and seemed in a perfect rage 
as she shook the bars between us. We had, 
before entering, plucked a harebell—one of the 
sweetest flowers that bloom — and we stepped 
to the window and presented it to l*r. Never 
did we see a change more instantaneous. Had 
we touched her with a magic wand the effect 
could not have been more wonderful. She was 
transformed in an instant. A smile was spread 
over her face — her whole attitude became one 
of gentleness — and her entire demeanor was a 
testimony to the power of kindness. The ex¬ 
pression she wore as we left the place, proved to 
us that a flower is more potent than a whip or 
a club — good treatment better than straight 
jackets and scourgings, and confirmed an opin¬ 
ion we long have held, that we had rather risk 
our safety, and the welfare of the worst of the 
insane with a smile, a gentle word, a token of 
love, for our weapons, than to be armed with 
revolvers. The latter may kill; the former 
transforms — converts. 
All things arc engaged in writing their own 
history. The planet and pebble goes attended 
by its shadow. The rolling rock leaves its 
scratches on the mountain side.; the river its 
channels in the soil; the animal, its bones in 
the stratum ; the fern and leaf their modest ep¬ 
itaph in the coal. The falling drop makes its 
sepulchre in the sand or stone, not a foot steps 
into snow or along the ground, but prints in 
characters more or less lasting, a map of its 
march—every act of the man inscribes itself on 
the memories of its fellows, and his own face.— 
The air is full of sound—the sky of tokens ; the 
ground is all memoranda and singing natures, 
and every object is covered over with hints that 
speak to the intelligent.— Selected. 
THE ENJOYMENT OF OCCUPATION. 
As we may notice, even iff*a calm, by the in¬ 
clination of a tree in a forest, from which side 
come the fiercest and most frequent blasts of the 
storm, so an attentive observer of men may easi¬ 
ly distinguish the heaviest gales of passion. 
The mind requires some object on which its 
powers must be exercised, and without which it 
preys upon itself and becomes miserable. A 
person accustomed to a life of activity longs for 
ease and retirement, and when he has accom¬ 
plished this purpose, finds himself wretched.— 
The pleasure of relaxation is known to those 
only who have regular and interesting occupa¬ 
tion. Continued relaxation soon becomes a 
weariness ; and on this ground, we may safely 
assert that the greatest degree of real enjoy¬ 
ment belongs not to th,e luxurious man of 
wealth, or the listless votary of fashion, but to 
the middle classes of .society, who, along with 
the comforts of life, have constant and impor¬ 
tant occupation. 
Rosseau used to say, “ that to write a good 
love letter, you ought to begin without knowing 
what you mean to Say, and to finish without 
knowing anything that you have written.”— 
And in fact, that is the true rulo for any kind 
of a letter, besides a business communicatioii. 
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