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\ m ,' u MOORE’S RURAL NEW-YORKER: AN AGRICULTURAL AND FAMILY NEWSPAPER. 
Written for Moore’s Rural New-Yorker 
PRIZES IN SCHOOL. 
The practice of awarding prizes to spelling 
classes may, it is thought, be productive of good 
or of evil, according to the manner in which 
they are awarded. The old fashioned way 
was to ofFer a certain sum of money to the one 
who should “ be at the head the most; a smal¬ 
ler sum to the next and perhaps a third, still 
smaller to the third best. I have practiced this 
method until I am convinced that it is produc¬ 
tive of more harm than good. The reason is 
this:—I never yet have seen a class of five, 
twelve or fifteen scholars so arranged, but that 
some two or three of them would greatly excel 
the rest in correct spelling. Now let a teacher 
offer prizes on the above conditions, and what 
is the result ? After spelling a few times, it 
becomes apparent, not only to the teacher, but 
to the class that such and such ones will surely 
obtain the prizes. Those who have ascertained 
that there is no chance for them, lose what am¬ 
bition they may have had,— thinking if they 
get to the head it will avail them nothing, there 
being others who are so much in advance, and 
they thus become discouraged, and uninterested 
in the spelling 1 exercise. 
My short experience in school teaching has 
convinced me of the truth of the above-men¬ 
tioned assertions, and in order to offer equal 
encouragements, I have, with success, adopted 
different methods. To the “ first class” I would 
offer no prize,—for if the large scholars usually 
composing that class, are not old enough, and 
ambitious enough to realize the propriety of en¬ 
deavoring to spell well when called upon, they 
should be treated to some other stimulus than 
is contained in a few pence of prize money.— 
To the “second class” I would offer a prize in 
the following manner :—Place the prize upon 
the desk with the understanding that the one 
at the head at night has the privilege of claim¬ 
ing it as his own. For the smaller classes, I 
would have small paste-board cards, marked 
with some peculiar mark, known only to my¬ 
self. The one at the head of the class each 
night, takes one of these cards. After they 
have got any certain number fixed upon, they 
are entitled to a prize. By adopting this 
method, it is evident that each number of the 
class has equal inducements to get to the head, 
for each time he does so he has pay for it. I 
would not be understood as decidedly in favor 
of the prize system but when it is thought ad¬ 
visable to introduce it, I know of no better 
way than the above. H - F - c - 
Darien, N. Y., 1856. 
A WORD TO YOUNG TEACHERS. 
Repeated observation has proved conclusive- d< 
ly, that too much ardor is a common fault with tl 
young teachers, more particularly, perhaps, m 
with lady teachers. The young lady has look- ly 
ed forward through many years, to the era 0 j 
when she may be prepared to take charge of a 0 i 
school. The happy time has come, and her i r 
dearest wish is, to be a good Teacher, to gain gj 
a high place. She engages in her duties eager- S( 
ly_laying many fine plans, without even fl 
dreaming that she may not with resolution n 
make them effectual. She must be a first-class 
teacher—nothing less will satisfy her ambition, 
and in her innocence she deems that all is si 
pending upon her “ first schoolthat will de- tl 
cide her reputation. So she commences, ardent fi 
and hopeful, and if the improvement of hei pu- n 
pils were proportionate to her ardor, in one a 
short term they would pass almost from the al- 1 
phabet to fluxions, or through what it has taken r 
her many years to acquire. But very soon ar- t 
dor becomes impatience because her scholars t 
do not learn. She is anxious to see their im- i 
provement from day to day, and as she cannot, t 
she tires of her employment, and, perhaps, f 
abandons it after one or two terms, though she c 
may have possessed all the elements of a good i 
teacher, save 'patience and perseverance. Now, to i 
such teachers I would say—“ Let your ardor be 
well tempered with patience, and perseverance 
be united with energy, remembering that it is 
steady, persevering effort that ensures success. 
Look for the improvement of your pupils back 1 
through weeks, in some instances through 
months of time, if you would have it percepti- ' 
ble. The All-wise has so ordered, that educa¬ 
tion enters the mind slowly, very slowly it seems 
to our short-sighted vision ; but it is good that 
it should be thus. And oh I teach patiently, 
constantly, and the reward will certainly come. 
The improvement will be evident after many 
days. 
“ Learn a lesson from the rains of heaven.— 
The soil of earth is dry and parched, but the 
sun’s rays are now obscured, and the darkening 
clouds promise rain. But comes it down vio¬ 
lently—at once ? Oh no. The shrouding mist 
first comes, then very small drops, so finely and 
gently that you can scarcely see that the dusty 
soil is even dampened; but look again after 
some hours—the surface so thoroughly impreg¬ 
nated with moisture, that it will absorb large 
quantities of water—so heavy rains fall. So 
with the youthful mind. After much gently- 
falling instruction it is prepared for deep 
draughts of knowledge. 
Bo you say your scholars need not to be so 
dull, they might learn faster ?—rather say you 
wish you could make the matter so plain that 
they could more easily receive it. Those who 
place you over their children do not expect you 
will learn for them, but that you will lead 
them along, step by step — instructing * to 
the measure of capacity.’ Let your leading 
motive be, then, a sincere desire to benefit 
i your scholars. Seek for them the gentlest } 
plainest, pleasantest pathway up the rugged 
hill; and, be assured, your reputation will not 
suffer in consequence. And be not discouraged, 
though you may repeat the same to a scholar 
forty-nine times; at the fiftieth hearing it may 
be indelibly impressed. Will you, then, have 
labored in vain ? 
Trim well your lamp of patience from day 
to day, and, by its true and constant light you 
may effect a world of good, and win a desira¬ 
ble place in many hearts. 
Do good for good’s own sake — so shalt thou 
have a better praise, and reap a richer harvest of 
reward.”— Mass. Teacher. 
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 ac¬ 
complished 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 modes 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 
and breadth of the chasms to be spanned, or 
the distance in the solid granite through which 
the 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 earn¬ 
estly, thoughtfully, then work faithfully, and 
endeavor 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 in¬ 
telligent and faithful citizens, and above all as 
responsible beings.— Conn. School Journal. 
School Discipline. —A teacher who habitual¬ 
ly, in governing his pupils, acts with discrimi¬ 
nation and conscientiousness, who is so just in 
his estimate of the nature and degree of the 
fault, and of its correction, as to give the im¬ 
pression that right-dealing is his aim and study, 
will acquire the confidence of his pupils in a 
■ degree that will render discipline easy ; while 
i the one who, from carelessness, hate or passioD- 
, makes frequent mistakes, and punishes unjust- 
■ ly, will be regarded as destitute of the feelings 
t of humanity, and hated as a tyrant. The good 
i or the evil reaches far beyond the particular 
r instances to which the discipline is applied, it 
i spreads out like an atmosphere over the whole 
- school, and brings its benign or malignant in- 
i fluence in contact with every pupil.— Rev. Bar- 
i nabas Sears. 
Tne solo may bo sung by a female voice, if preferred; or it may be 3ung in semi or full chorus, 
depending upon circumstances. 
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I 1. When thy harvest yields thee pleasure, Thou the golden sheaf shalt bind; 
i 2. When thine olive-plants, increasing, Pour their plenty o’er the plain, 
3. YVhen thy favored vintage, flowing, Gladdens thine autumnal scene, 
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To the poor belongs the treasure Of the scattered ears behind: 
Grateful thou shall take the blessing, But not search the boughs again: 
Own the bounteous hand bestowing, But the vines the poor shall glean: 
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This thy God ordains to bless 
This thy God ordains to bless 
So thy God ordains to bless 
The widow and the fatherless. 
The widow and the fatherless. 
The widow and the fatherless. 
Origin of the word “Tariff.” —At the 
southern point of Spain, and running out into 
the Straits of Gibraltar, is a promontory, which, 
from its position, is admirably adapted for com¬ 
manding the entrance to the Mediterranean, 
and watching the exit and entrance of all ships. 
A fortress stands upon this promontory, called 
now, as it was called in the Moorish domina¬ 
tion, “ Tarifa.” It was the custom of the Moors 
to watch all merchant ships going into or com¬ 
ing out of the midland sea, and, issuing from 
this stronghold, to levy duties, according to a 
fixed scale, on all merchandise passing in and 
out. And this was called, from the place where 
it was levied, tarifa, and from this comes our 
word tariff. 
Educate the Whole Man. — Everybody 
should have his head, heart and hand educated. 
By the proper education of his hand, he will be 
enabled to supply his wants, to add to his com¬ 
fort, and to assist those around him. The high¬ 
est object is of great value— and everything 
that hinders us is comparatively worthless. 
When wisdom reigns in the head, and love in 
the heart, the man is ever ready to do good,— 
order and peace reign around him, and sin and 
sorrow are almost unknown. 
Education. —Everything is education ; the 
trains of thought you are indulging this hour ; 
the society in which you will spend the even¬ 
ing ; the conversations, walks, and incidents of 
to-morrow. And so it ought to be. We may 
thank the world for its infinite means of im¬ 
pression and excitement which keep our facul¬ 
ties awake and in action, while it is our impor¬ 
tant office to preside over that action, and guide 
it to some divine result.— John Foster. 
Think of This. — Antisthenes was asked 
' what he got by learning. His reply was that 
he could talk to himself without being be- 
* holden to others for the delight of good com- 
} P an y- ___ 
I In the word abstemious, the five vowels of the 
t alphabet stand in their grammatical order 
0 a-e-i-o-u. The word facetious presents the 
II same accidental singularity, and facetiously 
i brings in the y. 
o ----— 
g Indolence leaves the door of the soul unlock- 
it ed, and thieves and robbers go in and spoil it 
t of it treasures. 
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This thy God ordains to bless The widow and the fatherless. 
This thy God ordains to bless The widow and the fatherless. 
So tny God ordains to bless The widow and the fatherless. 
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FRIENDSHIP’S MISSION. 
Bt Miss M. Jane Chamberlain. 
These stancas may appropriately be sung to the preceding music. 
Friendship had a sacred mission, ’Twas to nerve for noble effort, 
When. lx>vond yon azure dome, To reclaim the feet that rove; 
When, beyond yon azure dome, 
Smiling sweet she spread her pinions. 
On our earth to find a home; 
When she left her native dime, 
For the changeful realms of time. 
Twas to weave some shady bowers. 
Where the weary ones might rest: 
’Twas to strew with fragrant flowers 
Paths by care and sorrow pressed: 
Twas to cheer the night of grief. 
And bring the burdened heart relief. 
Twas to lure to paths of wisdom. 
And a brighter world above; 
’Twas to shed a radiant beam 
All along life’s hurrying stream. 
Twas to waken sad emotions 
When the parting hour is nigh, 
Bidding oft the heart’s deep sorrow 
Issue from the sparkling eye; 
To bathe with tears the flowers that bloom 
O’er the peaceful, silent tomb. 
But the hand that brings our sorrow 
Gently wipes the falling tear; 
Friendship whispers of reunion 
In another, brighter sphere; 
There the severed meet at home. 
Where no parting hour shall come. 
THE BED OP THE ATLANTIC. 
The U. S. steamer Arctic, which arrived at 
the Navy Yard on the 14th inst., has sounded 
the Atlantic all the way across, finding the 
greatest depth 2,070 fathoms (more than two 
miles.) It was not accomplished without diffi¬ 
culties, as many of the instruments used were 
new inventions. The bed of the ocean, in the 
section traversed by the Arctic, is a plateau, as 
already announced by Capt. Berryman, who 
had twice before sounded across the Atlantic. 
The bottom in the deepest part is a very fine 
mud, of a mouse-gray color, so soft that the 
sounding instruments frequently sank several 
feet into the mud. They brought up speci¬ 
mens of the bottom, at every sounding, in quills 
which were attached to the end of the sound- 
instrument. Toward the shores on each side, 
this mud changes into a fine green ooze. No 
other substances were met with, no rock, nor 
anything that might prove fatal to a telegraph 
wire. There seems to be now nothing to hin¬ 
der the great work, to unite Europe and Amer¬ 
ica by means of a telegraph wire; an under¬ 
taking so grand that few thought it possible.— 
The whole distance across was found to be 
1,640 sea miles, from St. John, Newfoundland, 
to Yalentia Harbor, Ireland. The greatest 
depth was found nearly in the center between 
these two places. The profile of the Atlantic 
bed, on this route, is of far easier grade than 
many of our railroad profiles. 
Men are like ougles—the more brass they 
contain, the farther you can hear them. Women 
are like tulips—the more modest and retired 
they appear, the better you love them. 
Keep your temper in disputes. The cool 
hammer fashions the red-hot iron in'o any 
shape needed. 
taiitatji Dfeiup. 
Written for Moore’s Rural New-Yorker. ) 
THE PRODIGAL’S RETURN. 
J 
Mr long-forgotten home, and Father dear, j 
I now remember thee, and yearn to share j 
Afresh with thee my wonted happiness. 3 
Sweeter than these vile husks is Sonship’s bliss. 2 
Shall servants share the rich paternal board, ( 
That I, a Son, so wantonly despised, C 
And feel no pang,—no yearning to return, ) 
And realize a Father’s love — unchanged ?— ) 
Why do I hesitate ?—I will arise— 2 
I’ll to my Father forthwith go, to him r 
Confess my guilt,—unbosom all my woe. C 
Farewell, ye phantoms !—fascinating snares ! y 
That lured my soul; I now renounce ye all, 3 
My wanton despite of dear home’s delight, 2 
For your vile sake, embitters this my woe :— ( 
This woe I feel while with you stay,—Farewell. £ 
Homeward he speeds,—his tears, his hopes, his fears, t 
The while alternating, as in a soul at morn { 
Of holy life awaked, when, lo ! he prays. £ 
True prayer has harmony with human woe ; y 
It strikes the keys of Love “ within the vail." : 
And vibrates thence as from the heart of God. 2 
And now to him it was no doubtful dawn ; r 
He felt the “ Dayspring” warm, as forth his beams, £ 
Unclouded, Bhed upon his path the “ Light” y 
That long had proved but “ darkness ” to his soul. i 
Behold the Father !—he whose eye of Love, 2 
Far-distant sees his erring child return ,— £ 
Compassion cannot wait ; he runs, they'meet, £ 
Embrace ; and tears baptize the holy kiss. \ 
Contrition to confession yields ; the will, i 
Subdued by Lore no longer cloaks its guilt. 2 
“ Oh ! Father, I have sinned, - abused thy Love, ; 
And what but pity can I claim from thee ! £ 
My conscious eye, when scanning all within, J 
Discovers grim Demerit on the throne 
That Guiltiness erected for her seat; ; 
Usurping equally, thy rightful claims, ; 
And my own happiness, in serving thee. • 
Encouraged that thy Love clings to me still, 
I yield myself to thee, to thee my fears ; 
Remove them,—Father I give me peace in thee : — 
0 make me but a servant in thy house, ; 
Since now, my Sonship’s rights I’ve forfeited.” : 
His Father heard the plea,—his heart was'moved ; J 
He gave him peace,— he, loving, took him home. ; 
He clad him with the best,—the richest robe ; 
Beseemed him best of all,— for Love delights 
To lavish choicest gifts on objects dear : 
It orders every want supplied in haste : 
The “ fatted calf” is slain,—and mirth, and joy 
- Reverberate around,—like that of Heaven. 
Distinguished now by Love’s assurances ;— 
A convert from the crooked ways of sin ; 
He knows he is a Son,—and “ free indeed." 
His by-gone woes ! -he wonders how they fled ;— 
His present joys I—he glories in their stay. 
York, Oct., 1856. T. Logan. 
CHARITY. 
Night kissed the young rose, and it bent 
softly to sleep. Stars shone, and pure dew- 
drops hung upon its bosom, and watched its 
sweet slumbers. Morning came with its dan¬ 
cing breezes, and they whispered to the young 
rose, and it awoke joyous and smiling.) Lightly 
it danced to and fro in all the loveliness of 
health and youthful innocence. Then came 
the ardent sun-god, sweeping from the east, 
and smote the young rose with its scorching 
rays and it fainted. Deserted and almost 
heart-brokeD, it dropped to the dust in loveli¬ 
ness and despair. Now the gentle breeze, 
which had been gamboling over the sea, push¬ 
ing on the home-bound bark, sweeping over 
hill and dale, by the neat cottage and the still 
brook, turning the old mill, fanning the brow of 
disease, and frisking the curls of innocent 
childhood—came tripping along on her errands 
of mercy and love, and when she saw the 
young rose she hastened to kiss it, and fondly 
bathed its forehead in cool, refreshing showers, 
and the young rose revived and looked and 
smiled in gratitude to the kind breeze, but she 
hurried quickly away ; for she soon perceived 
that a delicious fragrance had been poured on 
her wings by the grateful rose ; and the kind 
breeze was glad in heart, and went away sing¬ 
ing through the trees. Thus charity, like the 
breeze, gathers fragrance from the drooping 
flowers it refreshes, and unconsciously reaps a 
reward in the performance of its office of kind¬ 
ness, which steals on the heart like rich per¬ 
fume to bless and to cheer. 
PRAYER. 
The praying soul is a quickened soul. The 
prayerless soul is a lifeless soul. The individ¬ 
ual that has never prayed, has never known 
what one throb of spiritual life is. He may 
content himself with the external form—he 
may kneel in the outer court of the tabernacle, 
and as the holy Leighton expresses it, “ breathe 
his tune and air of words,” and yet continue 
an utter stranger to true prayer. Beloved 
reader, are you such an one 1 Let the voice of 
tender affection now lead you to a serious con¬ 
sideration of your real state. Mistake not the 
outward form, for the inward spirit of prayer. 
The soul may be dead, with all the appearance 
: of life. But where there is true prayer there is 
,h real life; for prayer is the ascending of the 
i- Divine life to God from whom it came. It came 
r- from God and returns to him again. As the 
r- river flows towards the ocean, or as the infant 
— turns to its mother, the author of its existence 
je and the source of its nourishment, so the “ well 
d, of water” in a renewed soul, “ springing up,” 
st rises heavenwards, so a soul born of God, turns 
;n to God, its author, its sustainer, its keeper. 
Never have I felt religion to be so precious, 
never have I felt the toils and anxieties of the 
ministry to be so light, or its rewards so glori¬ 
ous, as when I have passed the people of my 
charge, the friends of Jesus, one after another, 
into the hands of their Redeemer, and taking 
leave of them in the dying room, have gone 
away comforted by the blessed hope of meeting 
them again in the world of light, my joy and 
crown of rejoicing in the day of the Lord Jesus. 
—An Aged Minister. 
... . . ....... “ ’* 
