Iv 
I • 
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i ?— .. ■ . . . . .......... ............,... ... — ...'.„ 
JAN. 19. 
MOORE’S RURAL NEW-YORKER: AN AGRICULTURAL AND F AMIL Y NEWSPAPER. 
t f ijtttatflp. 
Written for Mooro's Kural New-Yorker. 
THE SCHOLAR. 
[Continued next week.] 
The difference between being learned and 
becoming learned, is like that between having, 
through self-exertion, one’s pockets full of gold, 
and digging, plowing, planing or hammering to 
fill them. To be learned or rich are conditions 
sufficiently pleasant to every one; to become 
either, requires labors and sacrifices of ease and 
present enjoyment, from which millions shrink. 
Though the prosecution of knowledge or wealth, 
to be successful, must be entered on with a 
heartiness and enthusiasm that cause the indi¬ 
vidual to experience much satisfaction in the 
very act of acquiring, yet the grand incitement 
always lies at the end of the journey. No one 
would devote himself during a long period to 
continuous hard labor, either mental orphysi- 
cal, for the mere pleasure of the exercise. Men 
do not toil from morning till night at raising 
grain, or building houses, or shoeing horses as 
an agreeable pastime, but -for the expected 
profit; and the ambitious school-boy submits 
to the drudgery of committing to memory the 
Greek verb only for the advantage of knowing 
it. As the strife for material riches has some¬ 
times for its sole object the gratification of self, 
sometimes a selfish purpose blended with a 
generous desire to benefit others, so also has 
the search for intellectual wealth; and if the 
man of ideas gives more freely of his posses¬ 
sions than the man of money, we must, in jus¬ 
tice to the latter, remember that his neighbor 
can impart of his treasure without at all dimin¬ 
ishing his gathered store. 
So much has already been written on the 
requisites to the attainment of good scholar¬ 
ship, that anything that could be said here 
might seem like impertinent repetition, yet as 
there are certain points that can hardly be in¬ 
sisted on too often, it may not be wholly amiss 
to give a brief statement of a few of them in 
this place, hirst, then, among the necessary 
qualifications for successful literary culture, or, 
rather, only second in importance to capacity to 
receive, is willingness to be taught,' This term 
is used to include, along with the desire for 
knowledge and the mental energy necessary to 
acquire it, readiness to acknowledge the need 
of instruction, and to recognize another’s ability 
to communicate it. Though the faithful teacher 
may have unlimited patience with stupidity, if 
he see that his pupil is trying earnestly to get 
the better of it, he cannot fail of being discour¬ 
aged and repelled by continued indifference, 
whether manifested by the dullard or the boy 
of brilliant parts. The most hopeful is chilled 
by contact with it, , ' ,wI ton ofiov. in , t»in 
to properly meet and overcome it. Until it 
does yield to efforts for its removal, time spent 
at school is, for all purposes of immediate profit, 
nearly or quite thrown away. The anxious 
parent may indeed feel recompensed, for, how¬ 
ever great care and means he has expended on 
his child’s education, if at last he has the satis¬ 
faction of seeing awakened in him a taste for 
study, and believes that his repeated and un¬ 
tiring efforts in that direction have contributed 
to the welcome end, and this inclination to 
mental improvement, though coming when the 
season specially devoted to preparation for ac¬ 
tive life is well nigh or fully spent, is of incal¬ 
culable value to the youth ; still the exactions 
of business generally leave so little room for 
indulgence in what was formerly regarded xvith 
dread and dislike, that the utmost industry 
and economy of time cannot compensate for the 
precious earlier years wasted in inattention. 
And indeed school days passed in listlessness 
and inactivity, though often enough made the 
subject of sincere bitter regrets in after life, are 
seldom followed by a hopeful, determined effort 
to retrieve what has been lost; a keenly morti¬ 
fying perception of the need of education, and 
a tantalizing remembrance of opportunities un¬ 
improved remain constant evidences of mis¬ 
spent years, but rarely serve any other purpose 
than to afford succeeding youths a too often un¬ 
heeded lesson drawn from the experience of 
their predecessors. Perhaps, too, the generally 
accepted saying, that the earlier years of life 
constitute the season particularly favorable to 
the acquirement of knowledge, and the inexora¬ 
ble fact that that period cannot be repeated, 
furnish, many times, a welcome excuse for de¬ 
clining to enlist in a pursuit whose objects now 
look sufficiently important, but for undertaking 
which there is really as little heart as before. 
Gi\en, then, the desire for learning, and the 
disposition to seek it, it may be superfluous to 
ask that they be accompanied by the humility 
of conscious ignorance — superfluous because 
they are scarcely separable. It would be diffi¬ 
cult to conceive an ardent thirst for knowledge 
existing unconnected with a certain charming 
teachableness—an engaging air of deference—a 
something that I hardly know how to express, 
but which every teacher, at least, will readily 
understand and recognize as one of the most 
potent attractions a pupil can possess. This 
quality is not to be confounded with a slavish 
submission of thought and opinion to another’s 
views ; it is not inconsistent with a proper in¬ 
dependence ; it is only the respect we all owe 
to our superiors in wisdom, and especially to 
'those from whom we setek instruction. Its op¬ 
posite is shown in an offensive, conceited man¬ 
ner oi applying for help — a manner that con- 
■\cys l£ort ot impertinent challenge to solve the 
difficult question it you can; sometimes, too, it 
is manifested in a habit of quizzing, and au af¬ 
fectation of smartness in asking questions, not 
to elicit information, but apparently to win the 
trepidation of possessing a subtle, critical, in¬ 
quiring mind. This disposition, so far from 
being evidence of uncommon depth or genuine 
quickness of intellect, is proof of a really vain, 
frivolous, irreverent spirit, A. 
South Livonia, N. Y. 
WORK INTELLIGENTLY. 
In order to realize the nature of any work, we 
must understand two things, viz : the object to 
be worked upon, and the design to be accom¬ 
plished by it, or, in other words, we must have 
a clear idea of the end to be attained. 
This is the case with all labor. The sculptor 
first studies carefully the most graceful forms, 
the fairest and most symmetrical models of 
beauty. Then when his ideal is fixed in his 
mind, he selects the rough block of marble, 
measures its dimensions, studies carefully the 
grain or strata, and endeavors to ascertain 
whether his ideal does really exist in that rough 
piece of rock. 
The engineer calculates the height of the 
mountains to be leveled, estimates the depth 
! anil breadth of the chasms to be spanned, or the 
| distance in the solid granite through which the 
j iron horse must force his way, uniting city with 
city, and hamlet with hamlet. These things he 
must understand fully before he is ready to 
make even a beginning. 
Thus it is with every business of life. It 
must be understood to be accomplished. There 
must be close calculation, careful study, and at 
all times a full understanding of the great end 
and object to be attained. 
How important then that the teacher, more 
than all others, should understand his work. 
The material upon which we act is mind ; the 
breath of God; that which places man so far 
above all other creatures. And shall we not 
study this wonderful thing ? Aye, study earnest¬ 
ly, thoughtfully, then work faithfully, and en¬ 
deavor so to educate our pupils as to fit them to 
act well their part in the busy drama of life, as 
good and honest members of society ; as intelli¬ 
gent and faithful citizens, and above all as re¬ 
sponsible beings.—L. L. Casii>, in Conn. School 
Journal. 
f 
VISIT YOUR SCHOOLS. 
The following remarks are worthy of the at¬ 
tention of those interested : 
You could not do a better thing. Your boy 
has the idea that you care scarcely more than a 
fig’s value about his progress there : your girl 
thinks you are too busy about more importaut 
matters to worry about her recitations. Gram¬ 
mar is dry as dust to her, Geography is tedious, 
Arithmetic is a bore, Reading is horrid. Writing 
is her special abomination. If she speaks of 
either at the table, she is hushed up. You talk 
of stocks and Senatorship, of the war and free 
trade. The young ones learn to think their 
studies very small Matters in comparison with 
yours. 
But visit your school to-day. Hear a lesson 
or two recited. LearnJ’rom their teachers what 
their standing is, in what they oftenest fail, in 
what they excel. See who sits next them in 
the school room. See how they compare in per¬ 
sonal appearance, whether they look happy and 
at home. If acquainted with their school hab¬ 
its, you cannot but be interested in them, and 
then you cannot possibly avoid talking of them. 
Making their matters subjects of home conver¬ 
sation will certainly stimulate them to better 
efforts—make better scholars of them. By all 
means then visit your schools. Go alone, if no 
one will go with you. You will always be wel¬ 
comed by the teacher, unless he is a fit one to 
be turned off. —Pittsburg Visitor. 
.YMOUYH 
HENRY WARD BEECHER’S CHURCH. 
Strangers visiting New York, and remaining 
over Sunday, often visit Plymouth Church, 
Brooklyn, where that distinguished Congrega¬ 
tional preacher, Henry Ward Beecher, officiates. 
It is a plain structure, with few pretensions to 
architectural elegamce, its chief charm being in 
the eloquence of its independent preacher. The 
interior, ot which we shall give a representation 
in a future number, is plain also, but is admira¬ 
bly adapted to the purposes for which it was 
designed. It is 105 feet long and 80 feet broad, 
with a height of 43 feet from floor to ceiling. 
The lecture room of two stories is 50 by 80 feet; 
the whole extent of both, from street to street, 
being 185 feet. There are eleven rooms in all, 
viz., the main audience room, measuring 76 by 
92 feet in the clear, the lecture room, 48 by 51 
feet; the Sabbath School room, 24 by 64 feet • 
four rooms for Bible and infant classes, each 10 
by 16 feet; two social circle parlors, each 24 by 
32 feet; a reception parlor and pastor’s study, 
each 14 by 22 feet. The church will seat, in 
pews, 2,050 persons ; and with additional seats 
P 10 ' i^ml for the aisles, etc., can be made to con¬ 
tain nearly 3,000. It. is generally filled in every 
part, and often crowded. 
CURIOSITIES OF WATER. 
Nor is the hailstone less soluble in earth 
than in air. Placed under a bell glass with 
twice its weight of lime, it gradually melts and 
disappears; and there remain four parts, instead 
of three, of perfectly dry earth under the glass. 
Of a plaster of Paris statue, weighing five 
pounds, more than one good pound is solidified 
water. Even the precious opal is but a mass of 
flint and water, combined in the proportion of 
nine grains of the earthy ingredient to one of 
the fluid. Of an acre of clay land a foot deep, 
weighing about one thousand two hundred tons, 
at least four hundred tons are water; and, even 
of the great mountain chains with which the 
globe is ribbed, many millions of tons are water 
solidified into earth. 
Water, indeed exists around us to an extent 
and wnd<»r oaxuliUoiis which escape the notice of 
cursory observers. When the d vr buys of the 
dry salter one hundred pounds each of alum, 
carbonate of soda, and soap, he obtains in ex¬ 
change for his money, no leas than forty-five 
pounds of water in the first lot, sixty-four 
pounds in the second, and a variable quantity, 
sometimes amounting to seventy-three and a half 
pounds, in the third. Even the transparent air 
we breathe contains, in ordinary weather, about 
five grains of water diffused through each cubic 
foot of its bulk, and thus rarified water no more 
wets the air, than the solidified water wets the 
lime or opal in which it is absorbed.— Selected. 
Real merit gains the esteem of the virtuous, 
its counterfeit the regard of the multitude ; for 
the world more frequently rewards the appear¬ 
ance of merit, than it does merit itself. 
' BLUE ” WHITE LETTER-PAPER. 
The practice of blueing the paper pulp had 
ite origin in a singularly accidental circumstance, 
which, not merely as an historical fact, but as 
forming an amusing anecdote, is perhaps worth 
mentioning. 
It occurred about the year 1790, at a paper- 
mill belonging to Mr. Buttenshaw, whose wife, on 
the occasion in question, was superintending the 
washing of some fine linen, when accidentally 
she dropped her bag of powdered blue into the 
midst ot some pulp in a forward state of prepa- 
j at ion, and so great was the fear she entertained 
ot the mischief she had done, seeing the blue 
mpidly amalgamated with the pulp, that all 
allusion to it was studiously avoided, until, on 
Mr. Buttenshaw’s inquiring in great astonish¬ 
ment what it was that imparted the peculiar 
color tbe pulp, liis wife, perceiving that no 
gieat damage had been done, took courage, and 
at once disclosed the secret; for which she was 
afterwards rewarded in a remarkable manner 
X ’J lier husband, who being naturally pleased 
with an advance of so much as four shillings per 
bundle, upon submitting the improved make to 
the London market, immediately purchased a 
costly scarlet cloak, (somewhat more congenial 
to taste in those days, it is presumed, than it 
would be now,) with much satisfaction to the 
sharer of his joy.— Herring's Paper and Paper¬ 
making. 
Tuere is nothing on earth so beautiful ;is the 
household on which Christian love forever smiles, 
and where religion walks, a counselor and friend. 
No cloud can darken it, for its twin stars are 
centered in the soul. No storms can make it 
tremble, for it has a heavenly support and a 
heavenly anchor. I he home circle, surrounded 
by such influence, has an ante-past of the joys of 
a heavenly home.— Selected. 
METEOROLOGICAL OBSERVATIONS, 
MADE AT ROCHESTER, STATE OF NEW YORK. 
University of Rochester — Annual Abstract — Wm. C. Learned and Wm. C. Pratt, Observers. 
Latitude 43°, 8', 17". Longitude 77°, 51'. Height of Station above the Sea, 516 Feet. 
1855. 
Thermometer. .. Monthly Mean... 
Highest Degree,. 
Winds .North,. 
North-oast, 
East,. 
South-east, 
South,. 
West, , 
Total of each Month, 31 
Weather .Fair Days,... 
Cloudy Days, 
Total of each Month, 
Rain,. 
Snow,. 
Bain and Snow,.... 
Rain Gauge,. 
Jan. 
Feb. 
March 
Atril. 
May. 
June. 
July. 
Aug. 
Suit. 
Ocr. 
Nov. 
Dec. 
27.7 
17.4 
30.4 
45.9 
57.5 
62.8 
71.7 
67.9 
63.5 
47.8 
42.3 
30.5 
52 
40.6 
52.2 
75.5 
82 
92.6 
95 
83 
84 
74 
60.3 
52.5 
7 
J_ 
—2) 
5.6 
17 
36.2 
45 
56.3 
50 
44 
32.7 
27 
9 
45 
60.6 
46.6 
68.5 
45.8 
47.5 
38.7 
33 
40 
41.3 
33.3 
43.5 
7 
_ 
14 
31 
24 
31 
30 
17 
3 
1 
5 
12 
2 
14 
6 
24 
8 
12 
2! 
18 
19 
25 
29 
29 
29.450 | 29.403 
29.337 
29.431 
29.462 
29.330 
29.527 
29.569 
29.604 
29.392 
29.501 
29.373 
30.495 
29.976 
29.864 
29.776 
29.677 
29.619 
29.750 
29.880 
29.870 
29.800 
29.927 
29.953 
28.615 
29.091 
28.769 
29.04S 
29.221 
28.861 
29.100 
29.120 
29.225 
29.109 
28.810 
28.422 
1.880J .885 
1.095 
.728 
.456 
.758 
.650 
.760 
.645 
.691 
1.117 
1.531 
1% 
1% 
1% 
4% 
6 
8% 
3% 
4 
1 
0 
2 
3 
2 
7* 
10% 
2 
1% 
0 
3 
1 % 
2% 
15% 
5% 
2 
4% 
0% 
1 
1% 
4 
6% 
6% 
5% 
3% 
3% 
1% 
2% 
2 
3% 
9 
5% 
4% 
2 
0% 
1 X 
4% 
4% 
11 
1?3 
4 
2 
0 
1 
5% 
5% 
1% 
5% 
2% 
2 
2% 
3% 
6% 
4% 
4 
' 3% 
4% 
2% 
3 
4% 
6% 
3% 
2% 
2 ~ 
1% 
0 
3 
9% 
5 
l* 
1% 
1% 
1 
4% 
6% 
3% 
S 
4 
2% 
1 
1% 
2 
5 
5% 
10 
3 
31 
28 
31 30 
31 
30 
31 31 I 30 
31 
30 
31 
S 
W 
S W 
W 
W 
W 
S 
S W 
S W 
S 
W 
W 
Oi 
co 
7% 
12 
7 % 
6 | 10 | 13 
9 
6% j 5% 
24% | 25 
23 % | 18% 
19 
22% 
25 
21 
17 
22 
23% 
25% 
31 
28 
ft | 30 
31 | 30 
31 | 31 | 30 
31 
30 | 31 
5 | 2 
4 
11 | 5 | 12 
15 
13 | 14 
14 
11 | 6 
13 
13 
2 | 0 | ° 
0 
0 | 0 
1 
5 | 12 
3 
1 
3 |' 2 
0 
0 
0 
0 
3 
2 
2 
3.327 
1.460 
1.4S5 
2.046 
1.957 
5.550 
5.261 
2.633 
1.797 
4.845 
1.060 
2.485 
Annual Results. 
17.1 Annual Mean 
95, highest degree during the year. 
-20, lowest “ << n 
f 60.5, greatest monthly range. 
(.1185 “ annual “ 
17th July, warmest day in the year. 
6th Feb., coldest << i< 
f 29.448, an’l mean. 29.604 highest 
1 mean. Sept. 29.330, lowest do. June 
30.495, highest observation baromet’r 
28.422, lowest “ a 
f 2.073, annual range. 1.880, greatest 
1 monthly range. 0.456, lowest do. 
35 north wind during the year. 
20 north-east “ “ 
16% east “ “ 
30% south-east “ “ 
60% south “ a 
79 south-west “ << 
84 west “ “ 
39% north-west “ “ 
365 Total. 
W wind prevailing during the year. 
98 fair days. 
267 cloudy days. 
365 total. 
112 days on which rain foil. 
57 “ “ snow fell. 
17 “ “ rain and snow foil. 
133.913, total amount of water fallen 
1 during the year. 
[This, though a distinct poem, is divided in our Common 
Version, and forms a part of the 9th and 10th chapters of 
Isaiah. It is hero printed in accordance with the system 
of parallelism, which is the prominent peculiarity of He¬ 
brew versification.] 
A PROPHETIC ODE. 
The Lord sent a word unto Jacob ; and it hath lighted 
upon Israel. 
And all the people shall know even Ephraim and the inhab¬ 
itants of Samaria, 
That say in the pride and stoutness of heart, 
The bricks are fallen down, but we will build with hewn 
stones ; 
The sycamores are cut down, but we will change them unto 
cedars. 
I herefore the Lord shall set up the adversaries of Rezin 
against him, 
And join his enemies together ; 
The Syrians before and the Philistines behind ; 
And they shall devour Israel with open mouth. 
For all this, His anger is not turned away, 
But his hand is stretched out still. 
For the people turneth not unto Him that smiteth them, 
Neither do they seek the Lord of Hosts. 
Therefore the Lord will cut oirfrom Israel 
Head and tail, branch and rush in one day : 
The Ruler and the Honorable, he is the head, 
And the Prophet that teachetli lies, lie is the tail. 
For the leaders of this people cause them to err ; 
And they that are led of them are destroyed. 
Therefore the Lord shall have no joy in their young men, 
Neither shall have mercy on their fatherless and widows,'; 
I or every one is a hypocrite and an evil doer, 
And every mouth speaketh folly. 
I or all this, His anger is not turned away, 
But His hand is stretched out still. 
For wickedness burnetii as the fire ; 
It shall devour the briers and thorns, 
And shall kindle in the thickets of the forest, 
And they shall mount up like the lifting up of smoke. 
Through the wrath of the Lord of Hosts is the land dark¬ 
ened, 
And the people shall be as the fuel of the fire : 
Is o man shall spare his brother. 
And he shall snatch on the right hand, and be hungry, 
And he shall eat on the loft hand, and not be satisfied: 
They shall eat every man the flesh of his own arm ; 
Manasseh Ephraim, and Ephraim Manasseh ; 
And they together shall he against Judah. 
For all this, His anger is not turned away, 
But His hand is stretched out still. 
Woe unto them that teach unrighteous decrees 
And that write grievousness which they have prescribed ; 
To turn aside the needy from judgment, 
And to take away the right from the poor of my people ; 
That widows may be their prey ; 
And that they may rob the fatherless. 
And what will ye do in the day of visitation, 
And in the desolation which shall come from far ? 
To whom will ye flee for help ? 
And where will be your glory ? 
Without me they shall bow down under the prisoners, 
And they shall fall under the slain. 
For all this, His anger is not turned away, 
But His hand is stretched out still. 
Written for the Rural New-Yorker. 
IMMORTALITY. 
There is probably no occurrence in the life¬ 
time of a human being, that so softens the heart, 
excites the feelings, and produces so deep an 
impression upon the mind, as the loss of rela¬ 
tives and friends by death. While standing 
around the lifeless remains of one that we have 
loved and valued, and with whom we have 
participated in the thrilling delights of social 
blessedness, and mingled in the endearing re¬ 
lations that bind man to liis fellow, the tender 
sensibilities of our nature melt, and the most 
unbending firmness of the stoical philosopher 
yields to the subduing influence of emotions 
that reason has no ability to control — we drop 
the tear of regretful sorrow, as the thought flits 
across the mind that we shall never again meet 
the beloved object before us in this world._ 
How dear to the heart at such a moment, is the 
hope that, although the dust returns to the earth 
as it was, the spirit shall not perish under the 
petrifying frcst3 of annihilation, and sleep the 
perpetual slumber of forgetfulness, but shall re¬ 
turn to God who gave it, to participate in those 
pure perennial joys, that bloom in fadeless and 
unchanging glory in the “realms immortal.” 
And how doubly dear, a well confirmed assur¬ 
ance that we shall there meet our relatives and 
friends, in the enjoyment of every good that a 
God of infinite benevolence can impart. 
However much we may labor to persuade 
ourselves, when health fills our veins with vigor, 
and friends smile rejoicingly around us, and 
prosperity gilds our pathway of life with joy 
and gladness, yet when adversity casts its 
blight over our prospects, when friends lie be¬ 
fore us in the cold embrace of death, or disease 
premonishes us that the clods of the valley will 
eventually cover all that is mortal about us, the 
heart recoils at the thought that, 
“All our hopes anti all our joys, 
Are prisoned in life’s narrow bound,” 
and the mind instinctively reaches forward to 
a state beyond the grave, in which this mortal 
shall put on immortality, and the vicissitudes 
and sorrows of this life shall be exchanged for 
the beatitude of perpetual blessedness. 
Eatouville, N. Y. aha 
Braver is the peace of our spirit, the stillness 
of our thoughts, the evenness of recollection, the 
seat of meditation, the rest of our cares, and the 
calm of our tempest; prayer is the issue of a 
quiet mind, of untroubled thoughts, it is the 
daughter of charity and the sister of meekness ; 
and he that prays to God with an angry, that is 
with a troubled and decomposed sprrit, is like 
liim that retires into a battle to meditate, and 
sets up his closet in the out-quarters of an army. 
Our thoughts should depend from our souls as 
leaves from a tree—so natural,so unconstrained- 
ly ornamental, so easily stirred, so closely con¬ 
nected, so entirely one in nature. Anil like 
leaves upon a tree, when a stormy wind shakes 
them, we shall see only the sickly, the pale, and 
