.. . . . ........ ... ViAI> t An,fu>l WWAWW, ....,.. 
FEB. 9. 
MOORE’S RURAL NEW-YORKER: AN AGRICULTURAL AND FAMILY NEWSPAPER. 
£ ftmtafuT. 
BE THOROUGH. 
In our various modes of educational discipline, 
there is probably no more grievous error than 
the system of forcing — cultivating the men¬ 
tal organism upon the hot-house principle.— 
Such a course of tuition not only makes super¬ 
ficial scholars, but unfits those brought under 
its guidance for the sterner duties of life. The 
mind thus tutored will never be able to toil 
manfully or struggle amid the reverses of the 
world’s battle-field. Such character lacks stam¬ 
ina, and as a consequence can be at best but a 
tool for the knavish and designing—one of those 
plastic beings ready for any impress—a suppor¬ 
ter of every new theory and dogma. 
The process of acquiring knowledge must be 
one of time, and assiduous, energetic action. 
Here, would we succeed, labor-saving machi¬ 
nery cannot be brought into effective use, no 
skillful engineering can place us easily at the 
top of the hill of science, steam nor electricity 
cannot lend aid to our onward flight, the gladi¬ 
ator in the arena of learning must contend with 
unfaltering ardor if he wish to press a crown.— 
A spirit of abidingness should possess the stu¬ 
dent—to linger for certainties rather than get 
over a course of “magnificent distances”—the 
studies that attract the attention of the pupil 
to-day, are not to be forgotten while mastering 
the “ higher branches” to-morrow. To know and 
to do well whatever we undertake is the secret of 
success. 
The mind is to be benefited by what it grasps 
and retains, not by what it comprehends and as 
suddenly loses. An impression to call forth 
ideas and exercise thought, must not be tran¬ 
sient. As the athlete can preserve the devel¬ 
opment of muscle which marks his physical 
superiority, only by continued bodily action, 
so the scholar requires constant mental effort to 
train, direct and strengthen the powers of mind. 
To be well educated it is not essential that a 
vast surface should be scanned, nor that a mul¬ 
tiplicity of subjects should receive an examina¬ 
tion ; but it is a vital necessity that a thorough 
knowledge of whatever has occupied attention 
should be acquired. A few fundamental sub¬ 
jects well digested and understood are of more 
real and permanent value than a superficial ac¬ 
quaintance with an endless variety of themes. 
One well established, working principle is of 
more utility to the race than tomes of specula¬ 
tive theory.— k. 
-.4—*■- 
EDUCATIONAL STATISTICS. 
We take the following interesting statistics 
from the Report of the Superintendent of Public 
Instruction of the State of New York, recently 
submitted to the Legislature : 
According to the Report it appears the whole 
number of school districts in the State on the 
1st day of July, 1855, is reported as 11,748 ; 
July 1, 1854, 11,798, a decrease of 50. The 
number of “parts of districts” united to con¬ 
stitute joint districts is G,124, the number re¬ 
ported for the preceding year was 5,875. 
Eleven “ separate neighborhoods ” containing 
in all 201 children between the ages of 4 and 
21 years were reported as being attached to dis¬ 
tricts in the adjoining States. The schools were 
kept open and taught by qualified teachers, for 
an average period of about eight months. * 
In regard to the matter of school statistics the 
Superintendent says : 
“ It is a great defect that those which are fur¬ 
nished by the trustees of districts relate, not to 
the year preceding the session of the Legisla¬ 
ture to which they are submitted by this De¬ 
partment, but to the year before ; the Legisla¬ 
ture of 1856, having before it the statistics of 
1854. Those which are furnished by the town 
superhdendents, relate to a different year, includ¬ 
ing the last six months of 1854 and the first six 
months of 1855. It would seem as if the sys¬ 
tem was contrived for the express purpose of 
defeating any attempt at comparison which 
might render the accounts presented by the one 
set of officers a test of the correctness of those 
furnished by the others. The only apology for 
it is the supposed necessity of affording ample 
time to the town superintendents for returning 
the reports of the trustees to them for the sup¬ 
ply of omissions and correct ion of such errors as 
the superintendents may detect. 
According to the statistics furnished, it appears 
that the number of children between the ages 
of 4 and 21 years reported as residents of the 
several school districts on the 31 st day of De¬ 
cember, 1854, was 1,224,127, an increase over 
the previous year of 37,418. 
The number of children taught in the public schools in 
the year 1854, is reported at... .900,532 in 1853 877,201 
Attending private schools (1564) 53,764 (1501) 34,279 
“ schools for col. children (38) 5,243 (30) 4,568 
“ academies, per rep. of Reg’ts 38,734 37,406 
Total attendants in the State, .. .998,273 953,454 
The number of children reported as attending the public 
of their libraries. It is probable that the num¬ 
ber is not small in which the library money is 
expended illegally in the payment of teachers’ 
wages. No explanation, however, can be given 
which invalidates the inference that there is a 
great want of interest in the preservation and 
use of the libraries. The glaring defects of the 
statistics are irreconcilable with any theory 
which admits that hearty appreciation of the 
benefits of the library system, which is essen¬ 
tial to a degree of usefulness commensurate to its 
expense. It is very certain that the annual ex¬ 
penditure of $55,000 ought to enrich the district 
libraries with books which would be estimated 
at a higher rate than to be omitted in the annual 
reports. The Superintendent deems it equally 
certain that such a result is not at present act¬ 
ually attained. 
The schools of the State were visited during 
the year 1854 by the several town and city 
superintendents 22,082 times. This is some¬ 
thing of an improvement over the report of the 
preceding year. It shows, however, an avenage 
of less than two visits per annum to each school, 
which is the minimum enjoined by law. 
The amount of public money received by the trustees of 
school district boards of education during the year 1854, was 
For teachers’ wages.$1,173,073,83 
For libraries. 55,216,31 
Amount raised by tax for teachers’ wages (in¬ 
cluding board) in city, village and union 
free schools, -where rate-bills are dispensed 
with. 691,687,94 
Raised hy rate-bills. 382,359,08 
Raised by tax for tuition of children exempted 
from rate-bills, and for deficiencies in collec¬ 
tion of rate-bills. 41,948,16 
Paid for teachers’ wages in colored schools be¬ 
sides public money. 2,393,25 
Raised for purchasing sites for school houses 86,950,83 
“ purcli’g or build’g school houses, &c. 404,061,63 
“ hiring school houses_.... 14,885,14 
“ repairing fences and out-buildings 136,219,97 
“ insuring. 4,518,74 
“ purchasing fuel, building fires, Ac. 110,802,45 
“ purchasing book cases and furniture 16,130,92 
“ for other incidental expenses. 96,420,84 
usings. 
it; m 
schools, was in. 
. 1854, 
1853, 
During the entire year 
.13,925 
13,391 
10 months and less than 12,. 
.44,61S 
42,174 
8 “ « 
10,_ 
.66,244 
71,193 
6 « “ 
8,. 
.131,116 
128,206 
4 « « 
6,. 
.180,956 
177,957 
2 “ « 
4,. 
.219,151 
212,110 
less than 2,. 
. 
.210,500 
199,155 
The number of volumes reported in the dis¬ 
trict libraries was 1,505,370, being 66,900 less 
than the preceding year, and 98,840 less than in 
the year 1852. In the intermediate two years 
$98,873,37 was received by the trustees of dis¬ 
tricts for the increase of their libraries. It 
would appear, therefore, that for every dollar 
expended one volume was lost or destroyed.— 
It is impossible to believe that this is a true ex¬ 
hibition of the facts. Very many of the districts 
are delinquent in reporting upon the condition 
$3,216,669,09 
The amount received by the town superintendents and 
boards of education in cities, villages and union free 
school districts for the year ending on the 1st of July, 1855, 
by their reports, was 
From county treasurer, State funds__$1,089,726,04 
From county treasurer for fines, Ac., underact 
to suppress gambling. 2,444 55 
From income of gospel and school lots. 9,016,72 
From fines and forfeitures . 241,73 
From all sources not before enumerated. 1,026,833,S9 
$2,128,262,93 
Of this amount there is reported as having 
been previous to J uly 1, 1855, apportioned 
for the payment of teachers’ wages during 
the civil year 1855 .$1,430,535,20 
For libraries. 46,081,14 
BENJAMIN WEST. 
$1,476,616,34 
Leaving on the 1st of July, 1855,.$651,646,59 
which had either been appropriated to other expenses of 
maintaining the schools, or was applicable to those purpo¬ 
ses and to the payment of teachers and the increase of li¬ 
braries during the remainder of the year which has just 
closed. 
Further extracts from this important document 
will be given hereafter. 
BOOKS. 
A learned writer says of books :—“ They are 
masters who instruct us without rods or ferules, 
without words or anger, without bread or 
money. If you approach them, they are not 
asleep ; if you seek them, they do not hide ; if 
you blunder, they do not scold; if you are ig¬ 
norant, they do not laugh at you. Few things 
are more entertaining than to pore over a book¬ 
stall. There are few here as they have them in 
Europe, in the open street, where a passer-by 
may saunter, look at the various titles, or dip 
into a volume. This is rather to be lamented 
for loungers, aye, even lor book worms, as great 
lovers of books are called. The latter person 
often seeks works that are not to be found else¬ 
where, and is often treated with novelty amid 
old musty rubbish that no one could ever sup¬ 
pose contained anything new. And then you 
are smitten by the cheapness, or what you 
think is cheapness ; for be it known, that when¬ 
ever you see a book you like, and are determin¬ 
ed to buy, it is always cheap. A book does not 
come to you as an intruder. You seek i:, and 
by reflecting as you read, you hold converse 
with a new acquaintance; you compare each 
other’s minds without danger of a violent col¬ 
lision. If you do not approve of what he says, 
you turn from him quietly, without hard words 
passing. If you approve, you dwell upon the 
expressions and read them over again. Here is 
at once a double pleasure. La Bruycre says :— 
“ When a person of feeling and discernment 
reads a book, and it excites in him elevated 
thoughts, he may be sure the work is good, and 
he needs no other mode of proving it." 
It is asserted that in the English language 
proper, apart from technical and scientific 
terms, there are 20,500 nouns, 40 pronouns, 9,- 
200 adjectives, 8,000 verbs, 2,600 adverbs, 60 
prepositions, 19 conjunctions, 68 interjections, 
and two articles—in all above 40,000 words.— 
According to Webster’s Dictionary, there are 
one hundred thousand words. 
Libraries. —There are, within ten miles of the 
Boston State House, 300,000 volumes in private 
libraries, said libraries being of 1,000 volumes 
and upwards. Ten of these libraries contain 
92,000 volumes, giving an average of 9,200 each ; 
and twelve contain 100,000, being an average of 
8,334 each. 
Tue habit of talking familiarly and usefully 
to his children, to each according to his capa¬ 
city, is an invaluable quality in a parent, and 
its exercise will be delightful to both. 
Duties in general, like that class of them 
called debts, give more trouble the longer they 
remain unpaid. 
2£ftll fUfl. 
4 AMERICAN ARTISTS. 
Amerwa, although, as a general thing, distin¬ 
guished by her inventors and men of eminence 
in the industrial arts, is not devoid of great 
names also in the departments of Painting, 
Sculpture and Song. In the two last, our con¬ 
temporary sculptors and poets excel those of 
any past period of our history; but in the de¬ 
partment of painting, the greatest American 
artists seem either to have passed away, or not 
yet to have risen upon the world. 
Among those earliest and most distinguished 
of our countrymen, and of whom we may be 
justly proud, may be mentioned the name of 
Benjamin West. His father, who was descend¬ 
ed from a respectable Quaker family in Eng¬ 
land, emigrated to Pennsylvania, and settled at 
Springfield, where Benjamin was born in the 
year 1738. He was the youngest of ten chil¬ 
dren, and manifested the bent of his genius at a 
very early age. The first effort recorded, of 
this proclivity to become a painter, was that in 
his seventh year, when, seated beside a cradle 
and watching over the slumbers of an infant of 
his eldest sister, he drew with red and hlack 
ink a portrait of the child. No aids of art were 
provided him, and no encouragement given to 
pursue tlie’bent of his genius for several years j 
and the only colors he obtained were red and 
yellow, the composition of which he learned 
from the Indians. A merchant named Penning¬ 
ton, a cousin of the youthful artist, at length, 
seeing some of his sketches, and becoming 
aware of the boy’s passion for painting, made 
him a present of a box of colors, brushes, Ac.; 
with which, in a solitary garret where he betook 
himself, he produced an original painting of re¬ 
markable beauty. Galt, in his “Life in the 
West,” states that he saw this picture sixty - 
seven years afterwards in a room with one of 
the great works of his riper years, viz., “ Christ 
Rejected,” and was struck with the style and 
coloring of the juvenile production. 
A council of Quakers was at length called to 
settle the question, whether or not young West 
should be perrnitted to pursue the art; and, al¬ 
though not regarding it with favor on general 
principles, they sanctioned it in a case so re¬ 
markable. At the age of eighteen, West estab¬ 
lished himself as a portrait painter at Philadel¬ 
phia, and afterwards practised this profession in 
New York. In the year 1760 he went to Italy, 
where he was elected a member of the Acada- 
mies of Parma, Florence and Bologna. In 1763 
he went to England, and soon after became 
painter to the King, George the Third ; and, on 
the death of Sir Joshua Reynolds, was elected 
in the year 1791 President of the Royal Acade¬ 
my. In 1803 he completed one of the best of 
his great paintings, viz., “ Christ healing the 
Sick.” It was executed for the Quakers of 
Philadelphia to aid them in building a hospital, 
but the British institution offering him three 
thousand guineas for it, he con enteu to sell, on 
condition that hy might ' ave the privilege of 
copying it for the original destination. This 
was done, and the second picture is now in 
Philadelphia. Benjamin West died in London 
in the year 1820, at the age of eighty-two, full 
of years ar.d honors; and his moital remains lie 
buried in t. Paul’s Cathedral. He originated 
over four hundred paintings of celebrity, among 
the most important of which may be reckoned 
“ Christ Rejected “ Christ Healing the Sick;” 
“ Death on the Pale Horse,” Ac. His subjects 
were mostly Scriptural and Historical, and his 
coloring and execution admirable ; and though 
not equal in boldness and freedom to some of 
the old masters, West will be esteemed as one 
of the first ot modern artists. 
Flowers in Private Rooms. —In Europe in 
general, and in France and Germany in partic¬ 
ular, flowers of all sorts, but especially those 
the most fragrant, are admitted into the saloons, 
chambers, and even bed-rooms of all classes of 
people ; and, instead of complaining of any ill 
effects arising from their presence, complain 
rather of not procuring them in sufficient abund¬ 
ance. The flowers most in demand for the 
chambers of the French and Germans, are oran¬ 
ges, jessamines, carnations, honey-suckle, mig¬ 
nonette, olive, rocket, rose, violet, wall-flower, 
rosemary, stock, lavender, savory, oleander, hy¬ 
acinth, lilac, syringa, heliotrope, Ac., all sweet- 
smelling.— Selected. 
Wiiat men want is, not talent, it is purpose ; 
in other words, not the power to achieve, but the 
will to labor. 
PREPARING EIRE-WOOD. 
Dear Rural :—In your article on the subject 
for the 12th of January, you say :—“ In the con¬ 
version of water into steam, 140 degrees of heat 
arc absorbed and become latent, so as to become 
wholly unappreciable. This, of course, is ab¬ 
stracted from the burning fuel, and is entirely 
lost as a means of warmth.” 
One work on chemistry says, that in the con¬ 
version of water from the solid form, ice, at 32°, 
to the fluid form at 32°, 140 degrees of heat are 
absorbed and become latent; and that in the 
conversion of water at 212°, the boiling point, 
into steam, at the same temperature 1,000 de¬ 
grees of heat are absorbed and become latent. 
How much heat is lost by burning green, or 
wet, fuel ? One might suppose, from your arti¬ 
cle, that there is a loss of all the latent heat, 
varying from 1,140° to 1,000, according as the 
wood is frozen or not, absorbed by the water 
from the burning fuel. 
If the water is frozen when the wood enters 
the fire, it absorbs 140° to become fluid at 32°, 
the same temperature as before. The absorp¬ 
tion of 180° more raises it to 212°, the boiling 
point, and a further absorption of 1,000° con¬ 
verts it into steam at the same temperature, 
212°. Of the 1,320 degrees of heat thus taken 
from the fire, 1,140 are latent in the steam.— 
How much of the 1,320 degrees thus absorbed 
is lost ? Suppose the atmosphere of the room 
to be maintained at 70°, and such a length of 
pipe leading from the stove that a thermometer 
held in the end, where it leaves the room, 
stands at 100°. In passing along the pipe, the 
water would give off the 1,000 degrees of latent 
heat to restore its liquid form at 212°, and suf¬ 
fer a further reduction of 112 degrees to the 
temperature of the thermometer within the end 
of the pipe. Thus the water would restore to 
the air of the room 1,112 of the 1,320 degrees 
absorbed, giving a loss of 208 degrees. 
Again, if the water is at the temperature of 
the room, 70°, there would be a loss of 30°—the 
difference between the air of the room and the 
interior of the end of the pipe. 
If the water is at the freezing point, 32°, 
there will be a loss of 68 degrees. If the water 
contained in the wood is in the form of ice, the 
loss will be equal to the caloric ot fluidity, 140°, 
added to the difference between the air of the 
room and the interior of the pipe or chimney at 
the point where it ceases to give off heat to the 
room. If the water is in the liquid form, the 
loss will be equal to that difference alone, the 
caloric of fluidity having been drawn from some 
other source than the fire. Suissac. 
Our correspondent is right in reference to the 
amount of caloric absorbed in converting water 
into steam, but that renders our argument 
against the use of green fuel still more conclu¬ 
sive. It is true that a re-condensation of the 
steam causes its latent heat to become again 
free, but this condensation usually occurs after 
the vapors have escaped into the atmosphere, 
and it is therefore of no avail in warming a 
room. Condensation of smoky vapors in a 
stovepipe is an evil always to be avoided. —Eds. 
GUM ARABIC. 
In Morocco, about the middle of November, 
that is, after the rainy season, which begins in 
July, a gummy juice exudes spontaneously from 
the trunk and principal branches of the acacia 
tree. In about fifteen days it thickens in fur¬ 
rows, down which it runs, either in a circular or 
worm shape, or commonly assuming the form of 
oval and round tears, about the size of a pigeon’s 
egg, of different colors, as they belong to the 
white or red gum tree. About the middle of 
December the Moors encamp on the borders of 
the forest, and the harvest lasts six weeks. The 
gum is packed in very large sacks of leather, 
and brought on the backs of bullocks and cam¬ 
els to certain ports, where it is sold to French 
and English merchants. The gum is highly 
nutritious. During the whole time of harvest, 
of the journey, and of the fair, the Moors of the 
desert live almost entirely upon it; and expe¬ 
rience has proved that six ounces of gum are 
sufficient for the support of a man twenty-four 
hours.— Selected. 
There is an End. —To everything beneath 
the sun there comes a last day—and of all futu¬ 
rity this is the only portion of time that can in 
all cases be infallibly predicted. Let the 
sanguine then take warning, and the disheart¬ 
ened take courage ; for to every joy and to every 
sorrow, to every hope and every fear, there will 
come a last day ; and the man ought so to live 
by foresight, that while he learns in every state 
to be content, he shall in each be prepared for 
another, whatever the other may be.— Selected. 
Prithee, what is Charity ? 
Is she one with heavy eye, 
Weeping near to sorrow’s bed, 
Soothing sinner’s hour of dread, 
Fearing not that stain may light 
On the robe of spotless white, 
Though she treads the darkest scene, 
Where misery and sin have been ? 
She who points to heaven above ; 
She whose heart is fill’d with love ; 
She who feels no prudish fear, 
When the child of shame draws near ; 
She who bids her not despair, 
For God will hear repenting prayer ; 
She who does her alms unknown ; 
She who bonds at Mercy’s throne,— 
Hidden from all human eye,— 
Trust me—this is Charity. 
Written for Moore’s Rural New-Yorker. 
THE PRODIGAL SON. 
It is a lone and dreary spot; there is a fam¬ 
ine in the land ; nature has checked her wont¬ 
ed course, and withheld her usual supplies, and 
naught of vegetation decks the sterile earth ; 
no stream of water issues forth to refresh and 
cool the parching soil—all is barren, desolate 
and wild. 
And in this dreary spot there sits a young 
man, a wandering and impoverished exile of Ju. 
dea, whose degrading office it is to feed and 
watch a herd of the filthiest and most loathsome 
animals, the very abomination of the Jews, and 
who would fain satisfy the cravings of his appe¬ 
tite with the scanty food of the swine. Why is 
this young man forced to be thus employed, 
and what is the cause of his degradation to so 
menial a service ? 
He was once the pride and joy of a peaceful 
and well-ordered home ; but his restless spirit 
longed to flee from the monotony and restraint 
of domestic life, and seek for pleasure in other 
lands and among strange people. Taking with 
him his inheritance, and accompanied only by 
the benedictions of his parents, he leaves the 
paternal roof, and travels to foreign countries. 
There he squanders in riotous living the com¬ 
petence bestowed upon him by his fond father, 
and when the famine scourges the land, he does 
not see his danger, and return, but remains, and 
is gradually reduced by want till he finally oc¬ 
cupies the place in Avhich we now portray him. 
He sits, and thoughtfully, mournfully, his 
eyes wander over the barren waste around him, 
and then, as they turn in the direction of his 
long-deserted home, they are filled to overflow¬ 
ing with bitter, bitter tears. Hisjformer, pleas¬ 
ure-seeking companions have deserted him 
and he is left alone by all who were his friends 
in prosperity. No voice comes on his ear, en¬ 
couraging and soothing his troubled heart; no 
sympathetic tear is shed for him ; no prayer he 
hears in his behalf; and while he is left alone 
to commune with his own thoughts and memo¬ 
ries, he is filled with a spirit of remorse, and 
there is a famine at his very soul. While he 
sits brooding over his dire afflictions,"and as he 
recounts the various calamities which have suc¬ 
cessively befallen him, his mind, like the nee¬ 
dle to the inevitable pole, turns with a yearning 
such as aTost child alone can feel, to the home 
he so thoughtlessly abandoned ; to the parents 
who, his heart tells him, still remember their 
wayward boy, and who daily and hourly pray 
for his welfare at the throne of Him who guides 
(he wandering ; and a tear of silent anguish 
steals down his wan cheek which now glows at 
the thought of home. He returns to himself._ 
He is conscious that ’ e has pursued a career of 
infinite folly, and, as he beholds his poverty and 
rags, and feels the gnawing of the famine, he 
cries, “ How many hired servants in my father’s 
house have bread enough and to spare, while I 
perish with hunger.” The memory of his la¬ 
ther’s love comes over him, and he asks himself 
if that father’s love wilhiot vouchsafe him a home, 
and receive the wandering outcast to its com¬ 
forting shelter. He resolves to go and test that 
love, and he says : “ I will arise and go unto 
my Father, and say unto him. Father, I have 
sinned against Heaven, and f efore thee, and am 
no more worthy to be called thy son; let me 
serve thee, and be saved from my own folly.” 
Now, let us watch the repentant prodigal, as 
he approaches his father’s house. He is weary 
and sick, from fasting and a long journey ; his 
dress consists of rags, n>nd his whole appearau ce 
denotes one in the most abject state of poverty 
and distress. His steps are slow and feeble, 
and it seems as though it were his only ambition 
to reach his father’s door, to hear that father’s 
voice, and lay him down a d die. But now his 
heart is lifted up within him as he descries that 
well-remembered form running to meet him ; 
and new strength seems given to his tottering 
limbs, as he approaches his parent, who, over¬ 
come with joy, speaks not a word, but, falling 
on his neck, imprints upon him a father’s for¬ 
giving kiss! O, the joy, the ecstatic bliss of 
that moment! But in the midst of his happi¬ 
ness he humbles himself at his father’s feet, and 
confesses his guilt;—“ Father, I have sinned 
against Heaven and in thy sight, and am no 
more worthy to be called thy son ; make me as 
one of thy hired servants.” But his father will 
not witness his humiliation ; he calls for rai¬ 
ment to be put upon him, and ornaments for his 
person ; he makes ready an entertainment, and 
kills for him the fatted calf; and calling his 
friends to be merry and rejoice with him, he 
says—“ It is meet that we should be merry; for 
this, my son, was dead and is alive again ; was 
lost, and is found.” o. g. o. 
Leave the worst case in the hand of the 
Great Advocate, who always answers confidence 
beyond our hopes or expectation. 
....... 
