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SEPT. 20. 
MOORED RURAL NEW-YORKER: AN AGRICULTURAL AND FAMILY NEWSPAPER. 
305 
b 
•butatiit. 
Written for Moore’s Rural New-Yorker. 
GOOD READING. 
1 An Easy, Plowing and Graceful Enunciation.” 
In a former communication I remarked that 
good reading is inferior only to good singing.— 
The question naturally arises, in what does 
good reading consist ? Were we to derive our 
answer from the practice of readers generally, 
we should conclude that it consists of “every¬ 
thing in general, and nothing in particular.”— 
One, who calls himself a good reader, reads so 
fast as to tire the hearer by the effort to “ keep 
up” with him ; another reads so slow as to tire 
from the opposite cause. One reads in a life¬ 
less drawling; another in a boisterous, impet¬ 
uous manner. One is tiresome from monotony; 
another is equally so from a monotonous varie¬ 
ty. One reads till out of breath, without ac¬ 
cent, emphasis, cadence, <fcc., and pauses only 
when he must; another—but there is no end to 
the catalogue. 
Much has been written on the subject of good 
reading, and books on Elocution, Oratory, <fec., 
of every degree of merit, abound. Unless, 
however, the student possesses a somewhat cor¬ 
rect taste, he will derive little advantage from 
the study of rules. Hence a necessity for the 
instructions of the living teacher. It often 
happens, however, that the teacher himself is a 
bad reader, in which case there is no help or 
hope, but in some lucky contingency of the 
future. 
The greatest difficulty in the way of our be¬ 
coming good readers lies in our early educa¬ 
tion. We are first made, or allowed to become, 
bad readers ; and such is the influence of habit, 
that we become blind to our faults, and such its 
strength, that very few ever entirely recover 
from the effects of early training. Hence 
merely to direct any one to read in any partic¬ 
ular manner, is in effect to tell him to read just 
as he does. Every one claims to read in a nat¬ 
ural manner. The truth is, he has been so long 
accustomed to read in the way he does, that it 
has become an easy, and to him the only easy, 
natural manner. For such to read in the easy, 
simple style of conversation, would be quite 
unnatural. 
Small as is the number of good readers, it is 
often found that some, who may be called tole¬ 
rably good readers of prose, fail almost entirely 
in reading poetry. Even in the pulpit, where, 
of all places, we should most expect to find good 
readers, both of prose and poetry, how small is 
the number of the latter. Some read every 
couplet alike, commencing on a high key and 
descending gradually and uniformly to its close, 
Others read every stanza alike except some 
slight variation on the third line. Others read 
with considerable variety, but it is that kind of 
variety that seems not to be produced by a re 
gard to the sense, but by an apparent convic¬ 
tion that some kind of variety is necessary. 
I am often reminded, when listening to our 
public readers, of a remark made by our vene¬ 
rable President, while connected with Union 
College. Speaking on the subject of gesture in 
Elocution, he remarked that “gestures should 
be prompted by the nature of the subject;” but 
in stead of this, many appear to consider them 
a kind of necessary appendage to every speech, 
and accordingly intersperse them through it at 
regular intervals. Such is the variety of many 
readers. 
But, on this subject, more anon. h. 
Out West, Aug., 1856. 
character generally. Of these two examples, 
the latter will probably become an indolent 
and worthless fellow; the former an honest, 
capable and trustworthy citizen. 
Judge you, now, which course you would 
prefer for your boy. If you wish him to be a 
spoiled child, an ungovernable youth and 
worthless man, let him go and come when he 
chooses, l eproach the teacher before him for not 
overlooking his fault, and take him out of 
school because he will not do it. If, on the 
contrary, you wish him to be an honor to you, 
take an interest in his progress—teach him to 
make his wishes subservient to the regulations 
of the school, and implant in his mind the im¬ 
portance of obedience, punctuality and assi¬ 
duity .—Illinois Teacher. 
SCHOOL GOVERNMENT. 
TO PARENTS. 
If the teacher would gain the confidence of 
his pupils and their parents, he must first de¬ 
serve it. Hone can read character with more 
accuracy than children and youth. They may 
not understand the teacher’s principles and no¬ 
tions, but they will form just views of the man. 
If, therefore, he is false, his pupils will find him 
out and distrust him. The teacher should 
cherish no principles and indulge in no habits 
which he would not see engrafted upon the 
character of those committed to his charge.— 
He must be a true man if he would gain confi¬ 
dence and respect. 
To be more definite, the teacher must be 
frank and truthful in all his intercourse with 
pupils and parents. In the organization and 
management of his school, he should pursue an 
open and straight-forward course ; be ready al¬ 
ways to make known and explain his views 
and to listen to the views of his employers.— 
Not by any means to be dictated to and con¬ 
trolled by them, but to manifest his frankness, 
a quality which always commands respect.— 
This same frankness would lead him to express 
his views on all proper occasions upon any 
subject that would naturally come up in his in¬ 
tercourse with the families of his district. The 
teacher should never shun an honest expression 
of his opinions for fear of losing confidence. I 
do not mean that he should allow himself to 
enter into angry disputes with his employers, 
or manifest in the least degree a disposition to 
interfere with their opinions. Common sense, 
which every true teacher is supposed to have, 
would save him from such blindness. 
The idea of frankness suggests another de¬ 
sirable characteristic in the teacher, namely, 
manly independence. Nothing is better calcu¬ 
lated to secure confidence. No man can gain 
the respect and confidence of others, who has 
not a mind of his own and cannot act in his 
own sphere independently. The teacher should 
always seek to learn the opinions and views of 
his patrons, and he may frequently modify his 
judgment by them, but never will he be gov¬ 
erned by these opinions and views. If he 
would be respected, he will never allow others 
to intrude upon his rights nor trample upon his 
authority. 
Again, the teacher must feel a deep interest 
in his business, and always manifest earnest¬ 
ness in the discharge of his duties in the school, 
by the way, and in the family. He will be re¬ 
garded as a good and efficient teacher if he 
manifests his ability by his zeal and industry. 
The world gives credit for every honest effort 
to excel in this as well as in every other depart¬ 
ment of labor. And the teacher can rely with 
safety upon the judgment of his pupils and 
patrons as to what he is and what he does. If 
lie would gain their confidence, he must throw 
his whole soul into the work and acquit himself 
like a man .—Illinois Teacher. 
Written for Moore’s Rural New-Yorker. 
LOVE. 
WILLIAM HICKLING PRESCOTT, LL. D 
I wish to call your attention to one fact:— 
that interfering with the teacher’s discipline 
for preserving punctuality not only does injus¬ 
tice to him, but has a very deleterious influence 
on the school, and also founds a principle of 
non-obedience to your own injunctions, and 
diminishes their estimate of the importance 
of regular habits. To explain, take the in¬ 
stance of tardiness. You say, “ My children 
will always be punctual, unless necessarily 
detained, and I do not think it is a just 
requirement.” Did it ever occur to you that 
all children are not as honest as yours ? that 
the dishonest seek extenuation from the liberty 
given the honest ? Your boy goes late, and 
you give him an excuse which you desire to 
serve for the term, viz: “ He will always be 
punctual if possible.” Let the teacher accept 
this general excuse, and the next time your boy 
is tardy he takes his seat, under the observation 
of the school, without rendering the usual ac¬ 
count, every heedless and dishonest scholar 
says to himself, “ I won’t bring an excuse next 
time." He comes tardy. “ Where is your ex¬ 
cuse, sir ?” “ I have none ; you let so-and-so 
take his seat without one—why not me ?”— 
Tlius the teacher is pricked with the sharp horn 
of a dilemma, and must prevaricate to retain 
his dignity. 
How much trouble would have been saved 
by complying with the teacher’sjwishes ! But 
why make this ado about punctuality ? Be¬ 
cause its importance is daily and hourly foiced 
upon our observation. Show me a lad punctual 
at every roll-call—starts the moment a recita¬ 
tion is called, with quick but quiet step and 
brightening eye, and you show one that is al¬ 
ways prepared for every question, and eager to 
drink in every observation and explanation. 
Again, take one who has no regard to disci¬ 
pline. He is indifferent to noble^incentives— 
tardy in the morning—tardy at noon—tardy at 
recitation; throws down his books and slate 
with a clatter; is laughing, or looking another 
way when questioned ; in fact, is a troublesome 
LOOK ON THE BRIGHT SIDE. 
A teacher’s opinions will modify the success 
of his efforts. No one can accomplish that 
which he deems impossible. Any one can 
perform what he believes possible. A strong 
faith in the perfectibility of human nature, 
should characterize every teacher. By this, I 
mean nothing more than the belief that the 
human soul is limitless in its capacity for de¬ 
velopment, with truth as a means, and that, 
wherever there is a human mind, there may the 
seed of truth be sown, with the assurance that 
it will grow. 
We often expect too little. We have little 
faith. Our calling has a tendency to lead the 
mind to dwell more upon the faults than the 
virtues of human nature. We have parental 
indifference to contend with. Truths that glow 
with importance to us, scarcely attract a mo¬ 
ment’s attention from those whom they most 
nearly concern. Our most disinterested efforts 
are often misrepresented. Those whom we 
sought to benefit, are found to be most bitter in 
their enmity. A thousand things annoy us 
day by day. A pleasant school is often the 
exception instead of the rule. We are so much 
engaged in details that we often fail to see 
things as parts of a whole. We see the clouds 
and forget the sunshine beyond. But much 
may be done to counteract this tendency. 
We should accustom ourselves to seek for 
those buds of excellence, which we may warm 
into life by care. There are germs in the hu¬ 
man heart that need only the rain and sunshine 
to blossom as the rose. Shun a distrustful 
spirit. Distrust is the night-shade under which 
no*beautiful plants can grow. We shall find 
much promotive of this feeling in our pupils, 
but we may counteract it by seeking for other 
than vicious characteristics. The human heart 
is a harp—its strings are tuneless, but the hid¬ 
den soul of harmony will return, as the master 
hand touches it, or the breeze of kindness 
sweeps over it.— Wisconsin Journal [of Ed. 
For every department of science and the arts, 
nature requires peculiar gifts. It is rare that 
we see combined in any one man all the ele¬ 
ments of genius and greatness—occasionally we 
see one that can play an indifferent hand at all 
the games of life. If a man be remarkably 
gifted in any one thing,—painting, music, poe¬ 
try, history, trade, or lingual acquisitions,—he 
is generally fit for little besides. In this way, 
by devoting their particular talent to the sub¬ 
ject peculiarly adapted to it, we have a few 
great men, whose concentrating genius casts its 
illuminations into one strong focus of light to 
reveal the hidden riches of knowledge or art. 
In the department of history, few men rank 
higher than William Hickling Prescott, the 
renowned American Historian. His faultless 
diction, the very essence of poetry, covers the 
dry angles of chronology and musty records 
with a robe of grace and beauty which makes 
the plainest and dryest facts of history attrac¬ 
tive, and appeals irresistibly to him who follows 
in the flowery paths he opens before him, mak¬ 
ing the author at once 'his, friend. Nor does the 
poetry of its outward adorning weaken at all 
one’s faith in the honest truthfulness of the nar¬ 
rative, for he feels that he is Safe in the compa¬ 
ny of one whose magic wand converts what has 
so long remained as merely the catacombs of 
the past, filled with dead men’s bones, into the 
real action of living men and women, who pass 
before us, veritable actors in the scenes he so 
witchingly describes. 
William H. Prescott was born in Salem, 
Massachusetts, in 1796. His father was an able 
lawyer and judge, who was the son of that 
Prescott whose name is forever associated with 
“ Bunker Hill,” as the fearless leader of that 
brave band who opened the drama of our Revo¬ 
lution so gallantly on that bloody height. His 
father removed to Boston when he was but 12 
years of age. Here the opportunities for edu¬ 
cation, for which the metropolis of New Eng¬ 
land is noted, were faithfully improved by the 
embryo historian. In 1811, he entered Har¬ 
vard College, at Cambridge. Although it was 
while in College that the great affliction of his 
life befell him, yet he was graduated with a 
high standard of excellence in 1814, and en¬ 
tered at once upon a preparation for the profes¬ 
sion of his choice, and the same in which his 
father had already distinguished himself. But 
finding that his sight was entirely failing him, 
and that he received no benefit from the advice 
of American physicians, he resolved to try the 
advantages of travel and European medical 
skill. For two years he traveled over Europe, 
visiting England, France, Germany and Italy, 
consulting the best oculists in London and 
Paris. Alas ! all was useless, and he returned 
once more to Boston in utter darkness. 
But his was no desponding spirit, and with a 
cheerful heart he resolved that the inner per¬ 
ception of his mind should suffer no injury from 
the darkening of the windows of his body. He 
determined to become a historian in the best 
sense of the term, and devoted himself, for ten 
years, to traveling, studying models cultivating 
his taste and style, until he felt competent to 
the task. Then ten more in musing among the 
rusty records of the past for the materials of 
the first great work of his life. 
In 1838, at the age of forty-two, he took his 
place as an author before the world, and pub¬ 
lished, simultaneously at Boston and London, 
his “ History of Ferdinand and Isabella.” This 
work has run through many editions, and has 
been translated into nearly all the languages of 
Europe. In 1843, his second great work, “ The 
Conquest of Mexico,” was given to the world. 
It was received with demonstrations of delight 
and honor. The same may be said of his 
“Conquest of Peru,” published in 1847. His 
last book, “The History of Philip II,” pub¬ 
lished some six months since, receives equal 
commendation with the other productions of 
his pen. 
Mr. Prescott has earned a rich fame, and will 
carry with him through life the blessings of 
millions, whose hearts have been made glad, 
and whose minds have been strengthened, by 
the perusal of his beautiful productions. Near¬ 
ly every literary society has honored him with 
a membership, and Oxford conferred on him 
the title of Doctor of Laws. 
GRAY, THE POET. 
“God so loved the world, that he gave his only begotten 
Sow, that whosoeyer believeth in Hih should not perish, bat 
have everlasting life.”— John iii., 16. 
Mysterious attribute, eternally unknown ; 
Divinely signified, and signally alone— 
The central source of all Intelligence,— 
The Living Spring whence all Benevolence 
Flows down to man, by Heaven’s deep decree, 
In living streams—spontaneous, copious, free. 
0, Love ! whence, and to whom, thy strange display ? 
The chasm, how vast 1 yet no unkind delay ;— 
For Love,—endearing link in heavenly Mercy’s chain, 
Would bind rebellious man to God in love again. 
When first in man his conscience whispered—“Death” 
Go-d’8 loving purpose saved—it mildly saith,— 
What strange encouragement amid such woe 1— 
« Thy seed, 0 woman, shall this “ Death” o’erthrow ; 
“ For peaceful Hope, exchange your trembling Fear ; 
“Know thy estate know Love,— thy Savior near : 
“ Know that my Son in death shall bear my frown,— 
« Assume your guilt, that on your head, the crown 
“ Redeemed by substitutionary pain, 
“ May be replaced, and so secure remain, 
“A monument of Love, unknown to thee before.” 
0, Man 1 this Love endures ; its Author, then, adore. 
Eternity co-eval with Divinity 
Did Love exist in virtual humanity. 
The point in that eternity appeared, 
When strangely God in man, his Love endeared 
To our despising and rebelling race,— 
But Love of all on earth,—the seal of Peace, 
Unknown, but to the ardency of Prayer ; 
But to the soul that loves to urge a share 
Of “Life renewed," as Love would urge the “deed” 
In all its length and breadth, to all who need. 
O ! passing, boundless Love 1 near to my heart, 
Mav I still find thee warm,—ne’er to depart. 
An d as the influx of Thy Love to me, is “/rea” 
So may a kindred flow go back from me, to Thee ; 
As constant as Love’s changeless faithfulness, 
So may my trust,—my constant steadfastness, 
Evince that I partake of Life Divine,— 
A share of Love, 0 God, like unto Thine ; 
That so cemented,—bound by Love’s strong band, 
To Thee, and to Thy Truth,—I thus may stand 
Steadfast till death, againBt this world’s stern strife, 
Buoyed with the hope that Death shall prove my Life. 
York, N. Y., May, 1856. t. l. 
The literary habits and personal peculiarities 
of Gray are familiar to us from the numerous 
representations and allusions of his friends. It 
is easy to fancy the recluse poet sitting in his 
college chambers in the old quadrangle of Pem¬ 
broke hall. His windows are ornamented with 
mignonnette and choice flowers in China vases, 
but outside may be discerned some iron work 
intended to be serviceable as a fire-escape, for 
he has a horror of fire. His furniture is neat 
and select—his books, rather for use than show, 
are disposed around him. He has a harpsi¬ 
chord in the room. In a corner of one of the 
apartments is a trunk containing his deceased 
mother’s dresses, carefully folded up and pre¬ 
served. His fastidiousness bordering upon ef¬ 
feminacy, is visible in his gait and manner—in 
his handsome features and small, well-dressed 
person, especially when he walks abroad and 
sinks the author and hard student in “the 
gentleman who sometimes writes for his amuse¬ 
ment.” He writes always with a crow quill, 
speaks slowly and sententiously, and shuns the 
crew of dissonant college revellers, who call him 
“a prig,” and seek to annoy him. Long morn¬ 
ings of study, and nights feverish from ill health 
are spent in those chambers. He is often list¬ 
less and in low spirits ; yet his natural temper 
is not desponding, and he delights in employ¬ 
ment. He has always something to learn or to 
communicate—some sally of humor or quiet 
stroke of satire for his friends and correspon¬ 
dents—some note on natural history to enter in 
his journal—some passage of Plato to unfold 
and illustrate—some golden thought of classic 
inspiration to inlay on his page—some bold im¬ 
age to tone down — some verse to re-touch and 
harmonize. His life is, on the whole, innocent 
and happy, and a feeling of thankfulness to the 
Great Giver is breathed over all.— Ency. Brit. 
THE WHOLE BUSINESS OF LIFE. 
The amiable and gifted Jane Taylor, the 
last time she took up her pen—it was only the 
day preceding her death—it is stated, wrote as 
follows: 
“ Oh, my dear friends, if you knew what 
thoughts I have now, you would see as I do, 
that the whole business of life is preparing for 
death ! How much time is spent in preparing 
to live ! How little in preparing to die I One 
who had lived more than fifty years, said, as 
the hand of death was upon him :— £ I have all 
•my days been getting ready to live, and now I 
must die.’ 
Would men but spend as much time prepar¬ 
ing to die, as they spend in preparing to live, 
the agonies of death would not so frequently be 
heightened by despair. The whole business of 
life is to prepare for death. Thousands of 
death-beds—death-beds of rejoicing and death¬ 
beds of despair—have borne witness of this 
truth. The reader will bear witness to it—per¬ 
haps at an early day. In view of this truth, this 
very day should be spent in preparing to die. 
Our chief attention should this day be given to 
things which shall prepare us for the closing 
day of lite. In the same way should all our 
days be spent. Such a course would not render 
life a dreary waste. Far from it. That man 
best enjoys life, who is best prepared to leave. 
It is a mournful thought, that in all probability, 
some reader of these lines will meet death with¬ 
out being prepared for its dread realities.” 
CHRIST, A SHADOW. 
Written for Moore’s Rural New-Yorker. 
MISCELLANEOUS ENIGMA. 
I am composed of 39 letters. 
My 11, 23, 9, 26, 22 wa3 an officer in the Revo¬ 
lution. 
My 1, 38,20, 14 was an eminent peacemaker. 
My 14, 8, 11, 6, 23 is a river of Africa. 
My 32, 37, 34, 17, 39, 3, 39, 19, 20, 26, 7 is an 
instrument in common use. 
My 8, 7, 25, 18, 20,11 was a celebrated Ameri¬ 
can author. 
My 39, 13, 2,7, 3,27 is a particular friend of the 
ladies. 
My 14, 29, 12, 11, 23, 2, 12 is a county in N. Y. 
My 12, 6, 14, 26, 23, 4 was a hero of Ancient 
Mythology. 
My 37, 3, 39,34, 17 was a Grecian poet. 
My 16, 23, 28, 36 is a religious rite. 
My 24,3, 25, 26 is a bird. 
My 10, 38, 35 is a small but important word. 
My 5, 31, 6 is a kind of bird. 
My 15,37,23,21,6 is pleasant in warm weather. 
My whole is a common proverb. 
Yates, N. Y. D. S. 
Answer next week. 
Written for Moore’s Rural New-Yorker. 
ARITHMETICAL PROBLEM. 
A park '10 rods square has a gravel walk 
around it, the area of which is 19-100 of the 
whole area of the park. What is the width of 
the gravel walk ? 
Brandt, N. Y. N. J. C. 
Answer next week. 
Answer to Miscellaneous Enigma in No. 349: 
Cultivate the mind more and adorn the body 
less. 
Answer to Mathematical Problem in No. 347: 
100, 362, 240; length of side, 396 miles. 
Christ is declared in Scripture, to be 
shadow to the friendless and afflicted soul. We 
read of the shadow of a cloud, the shadow of a 
tree, the shadow of a rock, the shadow of the 
tabernacle from the heat. The shadow of the 
cloud in the harvest, is grateful, but transient, 
The shadow of a tree under which we sit down 
is delightful, but it is limited to a small dis¬ 
tance, and the rays frequently pierce the boughs, 
The shadow of a great rock is dense and cool ; 
but it befriends not on every side, and covers 
little from the vertical rays. The shadow of a 
tabernacle into which we may continually re¬ 
sort, and find not only room, but entertainment, 
is the most complete and inviting. Christ is 
what they imply, and more than all of them 
combined. He is not only perfect, but Divine ; 
and he that dwelleth in the secret place of the 
Most High, shall abide under the shadow of the 
Almighty.— Jay. 
The Soul. —What is there to survive the age ? 
That which the age has little thought of, but 
which is living in us all—the Soul, the Immor¬ 
tal Spirit. Of this all ages are the unfoldings, 
and it is greater than all. We must not feel, in 
the contemplation of the vast movements of our 
own and former times, as if we were ourselves 
nothing. I repeat it, we are greater than all 
We are to survive our age—to comprehend it 
and to pronounce its sentence. As yet, how¬ 
ever, we are encompassed with darkness. The 
issues of our time, how obscure ! The future 
into which it opens, who of-us can foresee?— 
To the father of all ages I commit this future 
with humble, yet courageous and unfaltering 
hope.— Channing. 
Too many persons seem to use their religion 
as a diver does his bell, to venture down into 
the depths of worldliness with safety, and there 
grope for pearls with just so much of heaven’s 
air as will keep them from suffocating, and no 
more ; and some, alas ! as at times is the case 
with divers, are suffocated in the experiment. 
O. B. Checver. 
