..■ ■ ■ •_ 
Written for Moore’s Rural New-Yorker. 
SUMMER’S DEPARTURE. 
Written for Moore’s Rural New-Yorker. 
SOLITUDE, 
Twas the last day of summer—as lovely and bright 
As the glories that shine on a mid-summer night— 
E’en Nature seemed smiling in beauty serene 
1 As she gave the farewell to her favorite queen — 
The zephyrs were playing o’er meadow and hill, 
And cohoes were list’ning in hollows so still, 
While Phcbbub above, in her radiant sheen, 
A halo of glory threw over the scene. 
In the freedom of youth, and with spirits as gay 
As the songs of the birds that we met on our way, 
We clambered the hill-side and traversed the glen. 
Where oft we have wandered again and again, 
To list the low voice of the murmuring rill 
That in spring-time, when swollen, once turned the old 
mill; 
Now with moss overgrown, so silent and cold, 
What tales of the past might its record unfold i 
And then in the forest we saw at their play, 
The shadows that flitted through aisles dim and gray, 
Where fairies might lingerTn rural delight, 
And hie to their acorn-cups quickly at night. 
The grass made a carpet rich and soft to our feet, 
And many a mossy trunk offered a seat, 
While the hemlock and e estnut, with oak intertwined, 
Formed a couch where a king might in pomp have 
reclined. 
Yet onward we wandered in dreamy delay, 
Now weaving wild flowers in a brilliant boquet, 
Now twining a wreath, like the sages of yore, 
For the brows of their heroes when battle was o’er. 
Up the hills, down the vales, with a joy that e’en now 
Brings a light to the eye and a smile to the brow, 
We wended our way till the broad azure blue 
Of Ontario’s wave spread full on our view. 
But night was approaching, and far in the west, 
The day-god was sinking in splendor to re 3 t; 
While o’er the calm waters a broad belt of gold, 
A pathway to Paradise seemed to unfold; 
So, gath’ring our treasures we hied to our home, 
Unfettered in dreams on that pathway to roam. 
Oh, ye who in cities are tolling away, 
Where brick walls and black smoke quench the light of 
the day, 
Would ye quaff the rich goblet of beauty and health, 
Which not honors can purchase, nor glittering wealth ? 
Go traverse the forest, the meadow and field, 
And feel the glad impulse whioh nature doth yield ; 
Go bask in the sunshine—go muse on the strand— 
And be grateful to God for the works of his hand. 
Somerset, N. Y., 1859. W. C. W. 
Eulogies, sonnets, and invocations have erst 
proclaimed the beauties, benefits, and deligta of 
solitude. It comes to us a delightful rest — a 
breathing pause in the steep and rugged ascent— 
a moment’s calm in life’s seething vortex. For 
tbis we appreciate and seek it. Yet we look with 
suspicion and something of awe on him who, dis¬ 
gusted at life’s revelations, loathing the world 
spurns it from him a paltry bubble, and in 
“ Dear Solitude, the soul’s best friend,” 
waits the sealing of the book. The gloomy recluse 
who turns his back upon society, and from the dark 
fastnesses of his solitude hurls bitter taunts and 
stinging rebukes at the 
Written for Moore’s Rural New-Yorker, 
TO MY MOTHER. 
Written for Moore's Rural New-Yorker, 
THY WILL BE DONE. 
Mv mother! at thy holy name 
What thronging memories come— 
Once more I’m sitting by thy side 
Within my much-loved home. 
Again thine eves, so full of pure 
And deep affection, on mo shine; 
Which, with their gentle light, so oft ’ 
Have calmed this passionate heart of mine. 
I see thy smile, so calm and sweet, 
Which oft my giddy mirth reproved — 
Thy kiss upon my brow I feel 
That telle how dearly I am loved. 
I see—I feel-and yet I dream, 
For I, alas! am far from thee, 
And those bright hours, that real seem. 
Memory alone recalls to mo. 
Mina, N. Y., 1859. Lt 
Thy will be done.' Oh, what a state 
Of meek submission that implies 1 
That, disappointed, still can wait 
In patience for the promised prize. 
Thy will be done ! Yes, God’s own wL'J, 
Without a thought of ours that err, 
And which, tho’ often crossed, can etiH 
Give up at once and not demur. 
Thy will be done! and only this, 
Whatever else is left undone; 
And let obedience and bliss 
Through all our Uvea and natures run. 
Tby will be done! and can we say 
This sweet acknowledgment of trust 
In that sincere and humble way 
That every true believer must? 
Victor, N. Y., 1859. 
errors and failings of his fel¬ 
lows, is, to us, a repulsive vampire, fattening on the 
wrongs and evils of his brethren, from whom no 
good can emanate. All the shining virtues, sweet 
peace and calm contentment, ascribed to solitude 
have not there their origin or abode. Too sure 
has ready evidence established solitude the birth¬ 
place of mischief. Evil thoughts are bora in 
secret, wicked plans devised, and deadly results 
follow. Devils hold secret orgies. Wrong and 
error, dark purpose and deadly deeds, have their 
origin, education and maturity in silence and 
secret. Alone with his evil thoughts and dark 
fancies, the assassin arranges his vile plans, and 
assassin 
under night’s fitting darkness and secrecy, fulfills 
his terrible purpose. The crafty wolf and stealthy 
anaconda spring from hidden solitudes upon the 
innocent, unsuspecting victim, and these may 
find their counterpart in hnman society. 
It is well for man at times to isolate himself 
from his surroundings, and hold severe commu¬ 
nion with himself,—ask himself how far the pages 
of experience are perused to his profit and advance¬ 
ment. How much of good is learned—how much of 
charity and kindness has he passed on the other 
side,—and if he discover a mission appointed him, 
there, undisturbed, digest his plans for its noble 
fulfillment. There, too, may we seek the source 
—search out the cause of the wide extension of 
error, crime, and suffering, whose lengthening 
shadows are veiling our country in shame and 
gloom, and rouse our ability to alleviate or remove. 
Long continued solitude makes ene morose, fret¬ 
ful, jealous—anything but a pleasant companion 
to mingle again ' 
Written for Moore’s Rural New-Yorker. 
OUR GARDEN. 
“ Youn little Iamb is sheltered 
Within a pasture fair; 
No scorching heat of summer, 
No blighting frost is there— 
Can you not trust your darling 
To the kind Shepherd’s care ?” 
The little voice was silent, 
The footsteps, light and small, 
Stole softly o’er the carpet; 
And vainly on the wall 
Tho mother strained her eyes to see 
The tiny shadow falL 
At mom, when household faces 
Came gently to the door, 
They found the tender mother 
Clay-cold upon the floor. 
On earth another coffin; 
In heaven one angel more! 
[Harper’s Maga; 
We have each of us got one, reader,— a garden 
of the heart. Many are the flowers, but I fear 
there arc more weeds. Sometimes chilling winds 
sweep through it—blighting all the blossoms.— 
The leaves become faded and crisp, emitting no 
fragrance. This oftenest happens in mature life, 
when 
“ Ambition’s wild, aspiring dream is o’er.” 
I gaze upon the little prattler by my side with 
sad forebodings of what may he. 
Her rosy face 
looks up very confidingly from its sunny frame of 
curls, and while I press a kiss upon the little 
mouth, a prayer goes up from my soul that “Min¬ 
nie’s garden may ever be bright with the flowers 
of affection, and the little ‘ Hope-bird ’ ever sing 
as gaily upon the green sprays of Trust.” Trust! 
“ A volume in a word, 
An ocean in a tear.” 
It is a cool fountain upon the dusty highway of 
Life, and its rainbow foam reflects the light which 
streams through the windows of the Future.— 
There are many smooth paths winding through 
“ our gardens,” and Joy loves to dance therein to 
the music of Hope and Love; but this happy 
visitor often flees from the presence of a pale, sad¬ 
eyed stranger, whose veil of sorrow is woven 
with tears. We cannot welcome her cordially, 
even if her first words are, “ Your light affliction, 
which is but for a moment, worketh out for you 
a far more exceeding and eternal weight of glory.^ 
No! The eye of faith is dim—our spirit’s bell 
is tolling tbe knell of cherished hopes, and we 
listen to it instead. Anticipation has folded her 
wings and now dark despair broods o’eiwis. We 
forget that 
“ Behind a frowning Providence 
He hides a smiling face.” 
There are no more singing birds fluttering through 
“our garden’’—silent and desolate, it only echoes 
that slow, dismal, tolling—tolling. The flowers 
are almost crushed by the blinding “ tear-rain ;” 
but when the storm has passed we can see the 
blessed baptismal, in the freshness and purity of 
each blossom. 
Oh, Earth’s sorrowing ones, who are walking 
with torn and bleeding feet over a thorny path¬ 
way, “look ‘out for the light.’ ” “Night brings 
out stars as Sorrows show U3 Truths.” Each 
bears a new blessing in her hand for some poor 
mortal! We should take comfort from this, know- 
Writtea for Moore’s Rural New-Yorker. 
Plain Talks to American Women.-No. 17 . 
in society. Unused to respecting 
others rights, and forgetful of that mutual de¬ 
pendence co-existent with society, the recluse 
occupies an unhappy position. 
To such results solitude cau present no legal 
claims, and certainly is not, therefore, deserving 
sounding pean, or pompous eulogy. 
Ben Burdock. 
ed salutary by sages and philosophers. Galen 
says, ‘ He who has two loaves of bread, let him 
sell one and buy flowers, for bread is food for the 
body, but flowers are food for the soul.’ If the 
1 perception of the beautiful ’ may be made con¬ 
ducive to present and future happiness, if it have 
a tendency to refine and sublimate the character, 
ought it not to receive culture throughout the 
whole process of education ? It takes root, most 
naturally and deeply, in the simple and loviDg 
heart; and is, therefore, peculiarly fitted t<^ the 
^arly years of life, when, to borrow the words of a 
German'writer, ‘ every sweet sound takes a swe6t 
odor by the hand, and walks in through the open 
door of the child’s heart.’ ” 
Now may not the united efforts of the mothers 
accomplish very much in each district, in this 
direction? Could they not cause young trees, 
and shrubbery, and flowers to be transplanted to 
the environs of the school edifice ? If there is no 
fence to protect them, can they not contrive some 
way to secure one ? Can they not add very much 
to the attractiveness of the interior, by placing 
upon the floor a plain rag-carpet, the workman¬ 
ship of their own hands? Can they not, with 
very little trouble, curtain the windows, and place 
a spread upon the table ? If all would share in 
the work, with how little actual outlay of money 
might the school-room be made a delightful place, 
a place where the children would love to congre¬ 
gate, and whose influence would shed a refinement 
over their characters, which the bare, broken 
walls, cob-webbed windows, and unclean floors 
could never exert—a place where the mothers 
would find it pleasant to spend an occasional after¬ 
noon in listening to the recitations of their chil¬ 
dren, observing their deportment, and assisting in 
their studies. 
Mothers, “ rouse to ” this “ work of high and 
holy love!” It is worthy your attention. What 
subject, external to her own salvation, can be of 
greater moment to the mother than the proper 
unfolding and development of her children’s na¬ 
tures ? How can she regard as of permanent im¬ 
portance those trifles which so frequently engage 
her attention? Does she not feel that her off¬ 
spring are the inestimable gift of God— unpolish¬ 
ed gems, which she may trample in the dust, or 
whose brilliancy she may so develop, and, by the 
assistance of the Giver, improve, that they shall 
be worthy a place in the diadem of tbe Savior, 
there to “ shine as stars forever and ever.” Let 
her realize that she must, at a future day, render 
account for the manner in which she has discharg¬ 
ed her duty to those committed to her trust, and 
“ Not deem it woman’s part to waste 
Life in inglorious sloth, to sport awhile 
Amid the flowers, or on the summer wave, 
Then fleet like the Ephemeron away, 
Building no temple in her children’s hearts, 
Save to the vanity and pride of life,” 
but “ work while the day lasts,” that a noble edi¬ 
fice may arise there which shall be forever golden 
with the glory streaming from the Throne of God. 
BY MR-3. M. P. A. CEOZIER. 
District Schools.— We have given some hints 
to aid mothers who may think best that the pri¬ 
mary education of their children be conducted 
under their own eye; but there will be many 
whose circumstances will not permit this, and 
others who may not think it a matter of sufficient 
ce to cause them to change the course 
1 already adopted, of relying principally 
Common School and its influences, for 
•al culture. To sutjb., then, is this article 
y addressed. 
ot have occurred to all of you, that the 
o patronize a District School can have 
■.1 influence in determining its charac- 
voices are not heard at the school- 
ey are not chosen members of the 
- • bow, then, can they greatly pro¬ 
mote its interests—ho wean they effect any needed 
change ? 
They may, if necessary, call a school-meeting 
of their own, and decide what kind of a school it 
ought to be, and that it must be sustained. They 
may pass resolutions relative to the character and 
qualifications needed by tbe teacher who is to be 
intrusted with the education of their children 
the arrangements necessary for the comfort of the 
pupils, and their advancement in knowledge—in 
short, they may resolve what shall be the stand¬ 
ard at which their school shall aim, and set them¬ 
selves vigorously at work to bring about its 
attainment. The report of their meeting heintr 
WHINING 
Written for 'fore’s Rural New-Yorker. 
HOW TO anJfc'LIFE. 
There is a class of persons in this world, by no 
meSWft small, whose prominent peculiarity is whin¬ 
ing. They whine because they are poor, or if rich, 
because they have no health to enjoy their riches; 
they whine because it is too shiny; they whine 
because it is too rainy; they whine because they 
have “no luck” and others’ prosperity exceeds 
theirs; they whine because some friends have died 
and they are still living; they whine because they 
have aches and pains, and have aches and pains 
because they whine, and they whine no one can 
tell why. Now, I would like to say a word to 
these whining persons. 
First, Stop whining. It is of no use—this 
If we would meet life a truly philosophic 
spirit, we must cultivate *alm indifference to the 
numerous and varied illsrand vexations to which 
humanity is subject. A few years, at most, number 
the term of our pilgrimage, and shorter and short¬ 
er seem the years, as we hasten on our way. Brief, 
indeed, are the hours of youth, and hope, and 
pleasure, and we all learn the sad lesson as time 
advances, that change, decay and death are written 
on all things. Each one of us, as compared with 
the great mass of human beings, is of no more im¬ 
portance than a grain of sand on the sea shore, or 
a blade of grass in the fields, and comparatively 
few immortal names will be recorded for the re¬ 
membrance or veneration of coming millions. 
Our dearest friends sink into the grave by our 
side, and we wake to find our fondest hopes and 
anticipations wrecked, or vanished. The friend- 
ever¬ 
lasting complaining, fretting, scolding, fault-find¬ 
ing and whining. Why, you are the most deluded 
set of creatures that ever lived. Did you not know 
that it is a well-settled principle of physiology and 
common sense, that these habits are more exhaus¬ 
tive of nervous vitality than almost any other 
violation of physiological law? And do you not 
know that life is pretty much as you take it and 
make it? You can make it bright, sunshinv, or 
you can make it dark, shadowy. This life is meant 
only to be disciplinary—to fit us for a higher and 
purer state of being. Then stop whining and fret¬ 
ting, and “ go on your way rejoicing.” 
Second, Sing the song of life cheerily. Hark ! 
Do you hear yonder bird singing joyously its merry 
carols, as it hops from bough to bough in its 
native forest-home? Imitate it! Take up your 
song of life, using it joyously and bravely. Sing 
on, though you feel it not. You are a miserable, 
nervous dyspeptic, in wrong relations to yourself 
and all God’s universe, and that’s all that ails you. 
Then stop short, take up the song of life, and leave 
off forever that whine of death. 
“ A merry heart doeth good like a medicine; but 
a broken spirit drieth up the bones. 
selves, and we know it not. Why do we, miserable 
creatures of a day, spend a moment in repining 
for fancied advantages of name, or station ? To 
seek all the good we can is our duty, and to 
acquire all the capacity and fitness for life in our 
power. But to sigh for what is beyond our reach, 
to covet beauty, or praise, or fame, or wealth—and 
carry a morose and lowering brow, how will it 
lessen our trials, or open the way to brighter days ? 
Which of us is satisfied with our condition as it is? 
And which of us has not to bear burdens laid upon us 
thro’ the ignorance or thoughtlessness of others ? 
Yerily, we may not choose a sunny, flowery path, 
nor even can we find unalloyed peace and happi¬ 
ness in our present undeveloped, inharmonious 
life. Then let us take life as it comes. If storms 
and difficulties beset our way, endeavor to preserve 
a serene temper. If joys and blessings come un¬ 
expectedly, receive them with a thankful heart. 
Sometimes a wise course will avert the cloud 
that threatened. Let us seek wisdom, so that 
whether our way be prosperous or adverse, we may 
walk calmly, unmoved by envy or detraction.— 
Whatever may be the future in the world hereafter 
we know not—we are taught to hope it is not a 
repetition of the errors, the blindness, the perver¬ 
sity which poisons what might, and should be, a 
beautiful, happy, and desirable existence. Let us 
believe we shall yet see clearly and live rightly. 
Queechv. 
ANTICIPATING EVILS, 
Enjoy the present, whatsoever it may be, and 
be not solicitous for the future; for if you take 
your foot from the present standing, and thrust it 
forward towards to-morrow’s events, you are in a 
restless condition. It is like refusing to quench 
your present thirst by fearing you shall want 
drink the next day. If it be well to-day, it is 
madness to make the present miserable by fearing 
it may be ill to-morrow—when you are full of to¬ 
day’s dinner, to fear that you shall want the next 
day’s supper; for it may be you shall not, and 
then to what purpose was this day’s affliction ?— 
But if to-morrow you shall want, your sorrow will 
come time enough, though you do not hasten it; 
let your trouble tarry till its day comes. But if it 
chance to be ill to-day, do not increase it by the 
cares of to-morrow. Enjoy the blessings of this 
day, if God send them, and the evils of it bear 
patiently and sweetly; for this day is only ours— 
we are dead to yesterday, and we are not born to 
the morrow. He, therefore, is wise that eDjoys a 3 
much as is possible; and if only that day’s trouble 
leans upon him, it is singular and finite. “ Suffi¬ 
cient to the day (said Christ) is the evil thereof;” 
sufficient, but not intolerable. But if we look 
abroad, and bring into one day’s thoughts the evil 
of many, certain and uncertain, what will be and 
what will never be, our load will be as intolerable 
as it is unreasonable .—Jeremy Taylor. 
employ an inefficient teacher, lest the school 
should be “ non est.” The voters of the district 
would be ashamed to refuse to vote a tax for the 
repairs of the house, or the apparatus which the 
mothers had unanimously resolved necessary for 
the comfort and progress of the school. 
But not alone by the influence they might exert 
upon the minds ot those thus having the interests 
of the school particularly in charge, can the 
mothers advance those interests. They should 
establish “ a regular system of school visitation,” 
some one or more of their number being present 
at least weekly, to see what is being done, call the 
attention of the teacher to any errors observed in 
his management or system of instruction, and 
give encouragement to both teacher and scholars. 
Understanding this plan of the mothers, how 
careful would the teacher be in adopting the best 
methods of teaching of which he could avail him¬ 
self* and he who might be so favored as to be 
approved by them, would feel that he had a right 
arm of strength upon which to rely, and would 
gird himself daily for his toil with courage as to 
the result. And the children, knowing that the 
Live simply, 
cheerfully and trustingly; and, by-and-by, your 
troubles “ will take to themselves wings and fly 
away.” You will gradually grow more and more 
into harmony with the natural order of things, and 
the bright light of heaven will shine pleasantly 
down into your souls and baptize them into new 
life .—Life Illustrated. 
Past Troubles. —Don’t harp on past troubles. 
When we see a pale, nervous woman, in the midst 
of her friends, preferring to entertain them with 
a list of the racking pains she has suffered, to a 
saunter in God’s free air and sunshine, we cannot 
wonder that the rose returns not to her blanched 
cheek. Why is it to some these memories are 
very meat and drink ? They consume them—the 
bitter agony is acted over and over again, the tear 
thrice shed, the place cherished where such a 
dreadful thing occurred—the scar fondly petted 
that tells of the almost fatal knife. They gasp 
over, and yet cling to them. 
-It is a strange and tedious 
’hen violence attempts to vanquish truth. 
I All the efforts of violence cannot weaken truth, 
and only serve to give it fresh vigor. All the 
rights of truth cannot arrest violence, and only 
serve to exasperate it. When force meets force, 
the weaker must succumb to the stronger; when 
argument is opposed to argument, the solid and 
convincing triumph over the empty and false; but 
violence and verity can make no impress on each 
other. Let none suppose, however, that the two 
are therefore equal to each other, for there is this 
vast difference between them, that violence has a 
certain course to run, limited by the appointment 
of heaven, which overrules its effects to the glory 
of the truth which it assails; whereas verity en¬ 
dures forever, and triumphs over its enemies, be- 
-Pascal. 
their progress, would be much more ambitious to 
excel, than where no parental approbation was 
sought or expected. 
“But,” says one, perhaps, “we mothers have 
not time to attend to these things.” 
What, not even time to see that your Common 
Schools are what they should be? Your cares 
may have excused you from adopting an extended 
system of home education, but they certainly 
should not excuse you from the responsibility of 
taking some interest in your children’s intellectual 
welfare. 
Still further, we would call the attention of those 
mothers who patronize the Common Schools, to 
the making of the “school-house” a pleasant 
place of resort for the little ones—to an apprecia¬ 
tion of the subject of “ the beautiful and taateful 
Peace.-— Peace is better than joy. Joy is an 
uneasy guest, and always on tiptoe to depart. It 
tires and wears us out, and yet keeps us ever fear¬ 
ing that the next moment it will be gone. Peace 
is not so—it comes more quietly, it stays more 
contentedly, and it never exhausts our strength, 
nor gives us one anxious thought. Therefore let 
us pray for peace. It is the gift of God—promised 
to all His children; and if we have it in our hearts 
we shall not pine for joy, though its bright wings 
never touch us while we tarry in the world. 
ing eternal and almighty as God himself. 
IIow to Direct Your Letters. — When you 
send your letters [so he calls our prayers,] be sure 
and direct them to the care of the Redeemer, and 
then they’ll never miscarry .—Mathew Ilenry. 
Reviling may be less common and less polite, 
but it is not more wicked than flattery. 
Willis. 
