Written for Moore's Rural New-Yorker 
SUMMER.-A SONG. 
and touching appeals of his learned counsel have 
so adroitly placed him. 
Who has not heard the pretty maiden declare, 
time after time, her firm resolve never to marry? 
Does she practice w hat she preaches? Does she 
mean what she says? On the contrary, while in 
the very act of giving utterance to her scornful 
disclaimer of anything like affection or regard for 
the men, her thumping heart declares—“Fie, 
Sally, that’s a bouncing lie !” 
And so it is, go where you may—this popular 
antagonism of practice to theory—hea r t to tongue 
is ever seen. We might extend these examples, 
but trust our meaning is sufficiently apparent. A 
thought suggests itself, however,—is this incon¬ 
sistent being we have been considering, man? 
—man, created in the image of his Maker, en¬ 
dowed with talents of a high order, and placed 
at-the head of all created beings? If it is man, 
has he not sadly degenerated from what ho should, 
and was intended to be? Is this false appearance 
aud double-dealing necessary ? We answer, em¬ 
phatically, No. And far nobler would man appear 
if his tongue ever gave utterance to the sentiments 
of his heart. We should then see him honest with 
himself, honest with his fellow, honest with his 
Maker, and Pope says, 
“ An honest man’s the noblest work of God!” 
Buffalo, N. Y., 1859. 0. L. P. 
IIow often, loved Bummer, when cold Winter, dreary, 
Hold all these thy beauties in his chill embrace. 
Have I longing wished, until patience grew weary, 
For thou. Queen of Seasons, to reign in bis p'aee. 
Now fair, blooming Summer, I hail thee with pleasure, 
Thy soft,genial breezes—thy sweet breathing flowers, 
Thy verdant fields waving-thy promising treasure, 
Tny forests delightful and ambrosial bowers. 
Written for Moore’s Rural New-Yorker. 
REMEMBER ME. 
AFTER THE NIGHT, MORNING. 
When the day is clouded, 
Dreary, dim and cold ; 
In its web of shadows 
Not one thread of gold — 
Wing with hope the hours, 
Till the morrow’s hand 
Flings a veil of amber 
O'er the smiling land ; 
Just outside the cloudy gato 
All the golden sunbeams waitl 
When the heart is sombre, 
Shrining like a tomb 
Joy8 that dropt to ashes 
From their richest bloom— 
Though life’s rare enchantments 
Dio with their decay— 
Wait till some whito angol 
Boll the stone away; 
From its gravo some bliss may rise, 
Purer than the joy that dies! 
When dear hopes hare vanished, 
As the bright stars flee 
From the wrathful midnight, 
Wait thou trustingly— 
Buds that die in autumn, 
Sunny June will bring; 
And some hopes must perish 
That new joys may spring! 
Every cheerless winter day 
Leads at length to bloom and May. 
[Philadelphia Press. 
The jot-plumaged warblers a welcome are singing 
To thee, thou blest harbinger, Bummer, with me, 
As o'er the green meadows they gaily go winging, 
All buoyant and happy, all guileless and free. 
Through all the wide woodlands rise anthems unnum¬ 
bered 
To Him who hath sent thee o’er nature to reign — 
Dull man, O, awaken 1 too long hast thou slumbered, 
Lend thy feeble efforts to lengthen the strain 1 
Friendship, N. Y., 1859. Geraldine. 
O, not in youth’s bright spring-time 
When skies are brightest o’er me, 
When with flowers fair and 6wcot 
My path is strewn before mo; 
Not when upon my cheek 
The glow of health you see, 
When life and joy are in my eye— 
Not then remember me. 
And not when bright wing’d Hope 
Sheds her mystic radiance round me, 
When in life’s garish noonday 
Summer friends sorround me; 
Not then when Fortune smiles, 
When my heart is light and free, 
When earth is but a fairy land— 
Not then remember mo. 
But, O, when friends forsake me, 
When all is lono and dark, 
When wintry storms o’ertako mo, 
Tossing my foundering bark; 
And when my cheek is fading— 
When Hope’s brightday-dreams flee, 
When sorrow my brow is shading, 
Then—then remember me. 
Cleveland, N. Y., 1S59. 
Written for Moore's Rural New-Yorker. 
DAY DREAMS. 
Written for Moore’s Rural New-Yorker. 
THEORY vs. PRACTICE-HEART vs. TONGUE. 
It is a very easy matter to sit with folded hands 
and be a hero. Imagination never tires; our feet 
never falter from fatigue; we have no need to wipe 
the sweat drops from our aching brows; no need 
to turn aside from loathsome sights and unpleasant 
sounds ; to hear the gibes and sneers of those who 
walk not as we walk ; but living ever in an ideal 
world, among flowers and singing birds, dream 
away the life God gave for active deeds of benevo¬ 
lence, and loving kindness to our fellow creatures. 
No wonder that so many of us wander unsatisfied; 
our aspirations unrealized. We have no right to 
expect to enjoy what we have never earned. Have 
our dreams ever placed upon our heads a brighter 
crown than decks the brow of Florence Nightin¬ 
gale ? and yet, we can but partially sec how it was 
won. Our Father only knew the heart aches; the 
fearful struggles, ere the world, its pleasures, and 
its friendships could be resigned for a work so mer¬ 
ciful, that angels must have hovered very close 
around her pathway, ready to minister unto her, 
when poor human nature felt the strain too keenly. 
And you, my sisters, (I speak to the pure, the 
good, and the true,) would gladly exchange your 
dream wreath, for the bay that so beautifully 
crowns our own Elizabeth Blackwell ; and yet 
Man’s life is full of strange contrasts and queer 
contradictions. From the cradle to the grave he 
is continually playing a double part. The lan¬ 
guage of his heart, and the acts of his life are 
often at total variance. He can talk and theorize 
most admirably on all matters of public or private 
policy; but heart and practice ever stand out in 
bold relief and opposition thereto. We see the 
working of this everywhere—all around us, at all 
times and places. For instance, see that group of 
school-boys. They are engaged in the noble, 
health-invigorating game of ball. They are all at¬ 
tention, and enjoying it finely, when lo! the school- 
bell rings. Everything is dropped instanter,—it 
is “hie for school,” Ac., and a casual observer 
might imagine, from the alacrity of their obedience 
to the summons, that of all possible spots, the dear 
old school-room was just at that very moment the 
most attractive and inviting. Notso—if the truth 
was only known, they wish heartily for another 
half hour’s enjoyment of their favorite sport. 
See that unsophisticated youth who is about 
leaving home for the first time to shift for himself, 
or, in other words, to “ paddle his own canoe” 
upon the great sea of life. With what tender 
solicitude does the anxious mother caution her 
darliDg boy against evil associations, and the many 
temptations incident to youth, enjoining him to 
remember the precepts he has been taught from 
his infancy, and exhorting him, by the cultivation 
of habits of industry, strict integrity, and useful¬ 
ness, to reflect creoit upon himself, his parents, 
and his friends. Now we do not pretend to say 
that that mother really felt in her heart that the 
noble boy would fail: no, Alie knew better all the 
while! To all these cautioiMifjunctions, aud ex¬ 
hortations he dutifully ass>^^, and readily prom¬ 
ises implicit obedience,—^jPvhis heart replies, 
Written for Mooro's Rural New-Yorker. 
QUEEN MARY’S LOVE. 
BY MRS. ALLEN MORRIS. 
Written for Moore's Rural New-Yorker. 
THE IDEAL. 
01 Dark Is the gloom o’er my young spirit stealing 1 
Then why Bhould I linger where others are gay 1 
The smile that I wear, is but worn for concealing 
A heart that is wasting in sadness away. 
[Mrs. Welbt. 
At sixteen, Mary, the eldest daughter of James 
the Second, was married to William of Orange, 
who was then twenty-eight. She was pretty, 
graceful, loving, and of common understanding; 
but she lacked that strength of intellect which 
would have been worthy the counselor of the great¬ 
est Prince of his times, yet what she lacked in 
mental capacity was much more than ordinarily 
supplied by the constancy and depth of affection 
with which she regarded her cold and reserved 
husband. Had she been a woman of ambition and 
great mind, she would have reigned aloDe upon the 
throne of her ancestors, but untold love and adora¬ 
tion for William filled the soul of the noblest and 
purest of Princesses. 
They had been married about nine years, and 
though the faithful wife had tried every means in 
her power to make her husband happy, she could 
not help perceiving that something weighed heavi¬ 
ly upon his mind,— that ho was far from being 
happy,— and a few words from Mary’s instructor 
in divine matters, revealed to her the cause of 
William’s strange reserve. 
At the death of King James, Mary would then 
be the ruling sovereign of a great Kingdom,—a 
person of no small consequence,—while her hus¬ 
band would occupy only a subordinate posi¬ 
tion. This thought continually galled the proud 
spirit of the ambitious Prince, while Mary, in the 
simplicity of her heart, never cared or dreamed 
that she should ever be more than the wife of her 
husband. 
William was a man of good morals, of trusting 
friendship, of clear judgment, great strength of 
intellect, and indomitable will—yet with a soul of 
the deepest feelings, the keenest sensibilities, un¬ 
der the most implacable reserve, and most perfect 
self-control. He was worthy the love of a noble 
woman, like Mary of the Stuarts, and of the love 
and homage of his own subjects, and better qualified 
than any living Prince to succeed to the British 
throne. He did not wish to rob his wife of her 
own rights, but he could not rank below her, and 
he little understood her heart and her devotion. 
One day in summer time, tvhen nature was in¬ 
viting, the Prince, who brooded over his griefs but 
never spoke of them, started out on the chase, of 
which he was exceedingly fond. His figure was 
slender, for his health had always been delicate. 
His eyes were bright and piercing, his cheeks thin 
and farrowed with lines of care, his forehead high 
and broad. He was a great warrior rather than 
statesman—he rivaled in the battle field even the 
old and renowned Generals of his times. While 
he was pursuing the game through his native ' 
forests the Princess retired to her private apart- ' 
ments. She looked about upon the rich and costly 
adornings of her palace chamber, but not all the 1 
grandeur, the wealth, the homage paid to a Prin- ' 
cess, could fill her heart with gladness and her life ' 
with happiness — she mourned over unreturned ‘ 
love. She sat down upon a low cushion and buried ( 
her face in her hands and wept. Slowly the tears 1 
rolled down her beautiful face, and her bosom 
heaved with heavy bursting sobs. “Why, oh, 
why, my God, can I not inspire the love of the 1 
Prince—there is nothing in the world I would not t 
do for him—my life, even, would I give for his t 
happiness,” were the thoughts of her yearning, i 
There are so many rough places in our pathway 
that the frequently repeated maxim, “Life is real, 
life is earnest,” grates very harshly on our ears. 
We long to leave the dull routine of practical life, 
leave behind the world as it is, and take a ramble 
with fancy, to look at things as they might be, or 
build for ourselves airy castles, decorated with 
beautiful pictures, and place therein an image 
which is the embodiment of all that is pure and 
beautiful. When our hearts sicken at the sight of 
sorrnw, crime, and error, then this image casts its 
shadow over the objects about us, removing much 
of the gloom of stern reality. And we ever en¬ 
deavor, though vainly to make ourselves like unto 
this image, and though this temple and these 
shrines have been broken down; though we have 
wept to see them crumble, yet they have been re¬ 
built, and we have had purer, nobler purposes, 
higher aspirations, and warmer desires to elevate 
ourselves and the world. 
The world has its dreamers and its actors ; the 
practical portion of mankind keep life’s machinery 
in motion, while others, finding no attraction or 
congeniality in life as it is, dream their lives away, 
crowning and re-crowning some ideal goddess .— 
Nor do they dream in vain — they dream noble 
dreams; think noble thoughts; originate grand 
schemes which they leave for their more practical 
neighbors to carry out — thus the dreamer and the 
actor each has his work to do, but there is not that 
harmony of character that there is when the several 
parts are so fitted together as to make owe perfect, 
complete whole, when the ideal and real are blended. 
Practical people denounce the ideal as a fair 
mockery, treacherous as beautiful, they look upon 
the creation of fancy as a waste of time, and a dis¬ 
sipation to the mind, rather than as a gentle 
force to add strength to the mental powers; nor is 
this to be wondered at, for once these cold, stern, 
practical mortals, yes, even they once had an ideal 
shrine at which they sacrificed their hearts’ best, 
warmest impulses; but they have seen them pol¬ 
luted, and now they are broken down. Perhaps 
the vivacity of youth has passed away, and they 
look back upon their early fancies as an idle dream. 
But there are seme young 
FEMALE EDUCATION. 
Let the education of the young woman be com¬ 
mensurate with her influence. Is it true that., in 
the completion of social life, she is the mistress of 
that which decides its hues? Then let her be 
trained to wield this fearful power with skill, with 
principle, and for the salvation of social man. 
Does she sometimes bear the sceptre of a nation’s 
well-being in her hand? Cato said of his country¬ 
men, “ The Romans govern the world, but it is the 
women that govern the Romans.” 
The discovery of this very continent testifies to 
the political influence of women. Who favored 
stowed. Her influence unexerted, the Genoese 
mariner had never worn the laurel that now 
graces his brow. Will you now leave this all- 
potent beiDg illiterate, to rear sons debased by 
ignorance, and become dupes of the demagogue? 
Look at the domestic circle! Not more surely 
does the empress of night illuminate and beautify 
the whole canopy of heaven, than does woman, if 
educated aright, irradiate, and give her fairest 
tints to her own fireside. To leave her unculti¬ 
vated, a victim of ignorance, prejudice, and the 
vices they entail, is to take home to our bosoms a 
brood that will inflict pangs sharper than death. 
For the love and honor of our homes, let us encour¬ 
age the most liberal culture of the female mind.— 
Young Maiden. 
Romance of TnE Needle. — What a wonderful 
thing is this matter of sewing! It began in Para¬ 
dise, and was the earliest fruit of the fall. Amidst 
the odor of flowers, and by the side of meandering 
streams, and under the shade of the dark-green 
foliage, the cowering forms of the guilty progeni¬ 
tors of our race bowed in anguish and shame, as 
they took their first lessons in that art which has 
ever since been the mark of servitude and sorrow. 
And yet the curse has not been without its blessing. 
The needle with the thimble has done more for 
man than the needle of the compass. The needle¬ 
work of the Tabernacle is the most ancient record 
of the art. Early used to adorn the vestments of 
the priests, it was honored by God himself, and be¬ 
came a type of beauty and holiness. “ The king’s 
daughter is all glorious within ; her clothing is of 
wrought gold; she shall be brought unto the king 
in raiment of needle-work.” The magnificence of 
kingly pomp, the imposing spectacles of religion 
or wealth, the tribute of honor to the great, the 
charm of dignified society, the refined attractions 
of beauty, are dependent upon the needle.— Chris¬ 
tian Intelligencer. 
Use of Adversity.— You wear out your own 
clothes. You are not troubled with many visitors. 
You are exonerated from making calls. Bores do 
not bore you. Sponges do not haunt your table. 
Tax-gatherers hurry past your door. Itinerant 
bands do not play opposite your window. You 
avoid the nuisance of serving on juries. You are 
not persecuted to stand god-father. No one thinks 
of presenting you with a testimonial. No trades¬ 
man irritates you by asking, “ Is there any other 
little article to-day, sir?” You practice temper¬ 
ance. You swallow infinitely less poison than 
others. Flatterers do not shoot their rubbish into 
your ears. You are saved many a debt, many a 
deception, many a headache. And lastly, if you 
have a true friend in the world, you are sure in a 
very short space of time to learn it.— Selected. 
persons who seem to 
have no particular object in life, no ideal standard, 
to which they strive to attain, no fancy imagery to 
make their youthful lives more beautiful. It always 
makes oue sad to see them, for when they reach 
maturer years they will be still more cold, and chill 
other youthful hearts. On the other hand imagina¬ 
tive persons are no less severe in their denuncia¬ 
tion of the practical; they have such a disgust and 
disrelish of the busy life about them that were they 
the representatives of mankind in general, the 
machinery of every-day life would very soon stand 
still. 
We read in that Great Universal History, of a 
city with golden paved streets, the Great White 
Throne, and the most glorious of all of Him who 
sits thereon. Here are blended the ideal in char¬ 
acter with the real in existence. 
Let the worshiper at fancy’s shrine, still worship 
there, and, with a soul ennobled by beholding the 
grand first image of ideality, be ready to perform 
life’s great practical mission, and let him whose 
mind never rises above dull, prosy care, cast a 
glance upward to Him who sits on that Great 
White Throne, and may the image of the Greatest 
and Best be stamped indelibly upon all souls. 
Mattie M. Miner. 
SATURDAY NIGHT. 
The week is past; its latest ray 
Is vanished with the closing day; 
And ’tis as far beyond our grasp 
Its now departed hours to clasp, 
As to recall the moment bright 
When first creation sprang to light. 
The week is past! if it has brought 
Some beams of sweet and soothing thought, 
If it has left some memory dear 
Of heavenly raptures tasted here, 
It has not winged its flight in vain, 
Although it ne’er return again.— Bowring. 
“Leading Men.”— It is customary to speak of 
sundry men in the Church of Christ, as “ leading 
meni. e., they go before others, and make and 
second the motions which others vote for. It 
should not be forgotten,-however, that a man in a 
Christian Church, who really deserves the name 
of a “ leading man,” serves the Church. He moves 
and goes in the right direction. As Baxter well 
remarks,—“Chureh greatness consists in being 
greatly serviceable.” 
Tue Press. —Much has been accomplished; more 
than people are aware—so gradual lias been the 
advance. IIow noiseless is the growth of corn !— 
Watch it night and day for a week, and you will 
never see it growing; but return after two months 
and you will find it all whitening for the harvest. 
Such, and so imperceptible in the stages of their 
motion, are the victories of the press.— l)e Quincey. 
Envy, like a cold poison, benumbs and stupefies; 
and thus, as if conscious of its own impotence, it 
folds its arms in despair, and sits cursiDg in a 
corner. When it conquers it is commonly in the 
dark; by treachery and undermining, by calumny 
and detraction, 
Coleridge, speaking of the zest for new truth 
felt by those already well instructed, as compared 
with theindiffereutmental appetite of the ignorant, 
says:—“ The water-lily, in the midst of the water, 
opens its leaves and expands its petals to the first 
pattering of the shower, and rejoices in the rain¬ 
drops with a quicker sympathy than does the 
parched shrub in the desert.” 
Here and Hereafter. —It is strange that the 
experience of so many ages should not make us 
judge more solidly of the present and of the future, 
so as to take proper measures in the one for the 
other. We dote upon this world as if it were never 
to have an cud, and we neglect the next as if it 
were never to have a beginning.— Fenelon. 
Envy is no less foolish than de¬ 
testable ; it is a vice which they say keeps no holi¬ 
day, but is always in the wheel, and working upon 
its own disquiet .—Jeremy Collier. 
