Blianllartmts. 
For the Rural New-Yorker. 
A THOUGHT. 
In the carelcs? days of childhood. 
When my heart was light and free, 
And the dim and distant future 
Wore a wondrous charm for me: 
Ere the curtain had teen lifted 
Ere the veil had been otf thrown. 
Which conceals from childish vision 
All that's dark, and drear, and lone. 
Ere my heart had learned the lesson. 
That the world’s not all it seems. 
That some dismal, dark foreboding 
Still will mar our brightest dreams; 
Not a thought of pain or sorrow 
Found a place within my breast; 
For my soul was like a fountain 
With its waters lulled to rest. 
Often ’neath the gentle starlight, 
Would I wander forth uioue. 
Gazing at the wondrous beauty 
Over hill and valiey thrown, 
Ling’ring near the silvery ripples 
On the streamlet’s bosom cast. 
Watching for the tall tree's shadows, 
As they waved so gently past. 
Then, in nature’s awful silence, 
1 have raised my soul on high. 
And with spirits held communion, 
In the blue and vaulted sky. 
O ! such tones of heavenly music 
Ne’er again on earth i’ll hear. 
For I am a child no longer ; 
Trust has given place to fear. 
Then the stars looked down so gently, 
And the night-winds murmured low. 
And the dim and lengthened shadows 
Lightly o’er the hills would go; 
Then my heart would swell with gladness, 
And the music of the spheres 
In its all'-efHr.-incing beauty, 
liurst upon my ravished ears. 
O, for words to toll the rapture 
Which within my soul was slirred, 
When my rtajP iirst caught the accents 
Of the voice wifeh I have heard! 
Could l be a child forever— 
But those happy days have flown, 
And with them, their sweet companion, 
Childish innocence, has gone. 
But, though fled my early visions. 
Though no converse I may hold 
With those bright celestial beings 
That on high their wings unfold,— 
Yet I know they still are with me. 
And their number’s all untold; 
Yes ! tin y all are watching o’er me, 
Watching o’er me as of old. 
Who shall say the world of spirits, 
Spotless, holy, pure and bright. 
Th y who loved us in their lifetime, 
Dwelling now in endless light;— 
Who shall say they are not with us. 
Loving fondly as before, 
Watching, guarding every footstep 
’Till we meet to part no more ? 
A SHOUT CHAPTER UPON THREE CENTS. 
Mr. N. was a philosopher, and, unlike 
many others, had found out the important 
secret that a man could not spend his pat¬ 
rimony and still have it. The morning that 
his son James became of age he went to 
his money drawer, and taking out three 
cents gave them to him, saying.—“ James, 
here are three cents, if you add one to them 
you will have four, if you spend one you 
will have hut two, and if you pay three for 
a glass of spirits, you'll not have any.” 
IIow many of the readers of the Rural 
will recognize their acquaintances in these 
different classes. Young A. starts in life 
with a small sum left or given him by a 
father. Not over anxious to commence busi¬ 
ness while young and inexperienced, he lays 
by his “ three cents ” until ho can add to 
them. IT' goes to work under an employer, 
acquiring the knowledge of business and 
experience calculated to ensure success. In 
due time he finds an opening for himself-— 
he embraces the opportunity—invests his 
funds grown larger by the additions to them 
—becomes a useful citizen, an enterprising 
business man, and ere long a man of wealth 
and station in the community. 
On the other hand young B. is of an in¬ 
dependent cast; lie cannot brook restraint, 
he will not bo subject to the arbitrary will 
of an employer, not he—besides, he is in 
haste to be rich and make a stir in the world. 
He cannot be contented to “ bide his time,” 
and learn from the experience of others, so 
he commences business—strikes out a new 
path for himself, and leaves the old beaten 
one for common plodders. Fortunes are 
made in a day by those who have the ener¬ 
gy to get them—nothing but railroad and 
telegraph speed satisfies him. In a short 
time he has run his brief race, and disheart¬ 
ened and dispirited he abandons the field, 
and ten to one if ho ever enters it again,— 
at least one of his three cents is gone, and 
lucky is he if he has two remaining. 
C. commences differently from either of 
the others—he will not work under instruc¬ 
tions, neither will ho ho subjected to the 
dry details of business. Pleasure is his 
motto, and self-gratification his life—what 
cares he to know whether grain grows upon 
the land, or upon trees, whether milk comes 
out of the cow’s udder or out of her horns : 
humus is all humbug to him, and Ammonia 
he thinks some female name. But he can 
dance and can talk nonsense in polite soci¬ 
ety ; he is also a capital shot, and on the sub¬ 
ject of woodcock and quails, trout and black 
bass, is about right. After a while wo see 
him swallowing the glass of spirits by which 
his “ three cents ” soon leave him, and he 
ends his career—perhaps in the Penitenti¬ 
ary, or else in a drunkard’s garret—no one 
to pity him—all exclaiming “good enough for 
him, he might have done better with the 
start he had in the world.” 
Young man do you recognise your own 
likeness in either of these cases ?—if so, think 
of the result. * 
We who live “inside the loop-holes of re¬ 
treat,” cannot but fool when we road the 
N. Y. papers, that veni, vidi, vici, should be 
inscribed on the frontlet of Kossuth. But 
our self-love has not been thrown from its 
position by those impulses of the heart 
which the unsophisticated eloquence, fervid 
patriotism, and honest, masterly reasoning 
of Kossuth has move’d as by storm in the 
city of New York. Hence we of the coun¬ 
try are not to be condemned for lack of 
spontaneous feeling and action in the cause 
of enslaved Hungary, until Kossuth him¬ 
self has appeared among us with his magic 
wand, to stir up the same warm impulses 
which now animate botli the body and soul 
of our great metropolis! 
“ Put your pity in my hat,” was the ex¬ 
clamation of the shipwrecked Frenchman, 
but I would ask whose pity is not chilled by 
the space which separates him from those 
who suffer. Let Kossuth como through our 
rural districts and he will find heart here, 
and hand too! But if a committee send 
committeemen among us, very like the ru¬ 
ral ear will be both cold and deaf to the 
cause they advocate; Kossuth alone in pro¬ 
pria persona can bring the “fire from the 
flint,” because his eloquence is the voice of 
truth coming from a heart and mind moved 
by the strongest emotions of long suffering 
sympathy; an eloquence and truthfulness 
which no proxy can infuse into the hearts 
of the people. Let him como then and 
hold out his hat in the name of his op¬ 
pressed fatherland, and it will be filled. 
Asmodeus. 
KEEP A DIARY. 
It is not to he supposed that all will heed 
the above injunction, especially those who 
have grown gray without it, and though 
theyjnay know how to keep a diary, yet for 
them to do so now, would bo almost impos¬ 
sible. It is not for such that I write, but 
for those of my young friends who are eager 
to know how to spend their lives to the best 
advantage, and to leave for their children, 
a brief history of their deeds. This desira¬ 
ble end cannot bo attained without keeping 
a diary or journal from day to day. 
Then let every young person who can 
wield the pen, purchase a tuck diary, con¬ 
taining an almanac, &c., and a blank space 
for memorandums for every day in the year. 
Having hook, pen and ink, in readiness, com¬ 
mence on the first day of January to im¬ 
press the mind with what transpires during 
the day, and just before retiring, note down 
any reinarkablo occurence,—what you have 
done, what you have left undone, what you 
have learned from experience, your expenses, 
your income, the state of the weather and 
everything of importance for future refer¬ 
ence: continue this practice every day in the 
year without fail, and it will strengthen your 
memory, increase your capacity to compose, 
improve your hand-writing, and be a source 
of pleasure to yourself, your friends, and 
your children when you are laid beneath the 
clods of the valley. H. a. b. 
THE STUDY OF NATURE. 
The study of Nature enlarges the mind. 
“ It grows with that it feeds on,” and the 
vastness of its themes compel the expansion 
and elevation of its powers. In Nature 
there is nothing absolutely little. A leaf 
defies the power of imitative art as effect¬ 
ually as the giant forest—a sunbeam, as the 
sun himself. This study, furthermore, re¬ 
fines the passions and the affections. The 
heart of man, unless debased by corrupt as¬ 
sociations, will beat in unison with the ex¬ 
quisite chords of Nature’s harp. 
The history of great and good men, in all 
ages of the world, attests the power of Na¬ 
ture to sooth and charm the heart, even 
when regarded merely in her outward man¬ 
ifestations. How much more when her in¬ 
ward spirit and mystery are revealed to man, 
and lie stands, as it were, in the very pres¬ 
ence of the sublime Builder, beholding the 
processes of his mysterious operations ? Can 
such a man take pleasure in the dissipations 
of the sensualist ? Can he delight in those 
grovelling pursuits which check the current 
of pure and generous feeling ? Reason and 
virtue answer, no !— Richard's Claims of 
Science. 
Height of Meanness. —The Boston Mu¬ 
seum states that not a hundred miles from 
its office there lives a woman occupying a 
high position in society, who is a subscriber 
to one of the leading religious journals of 
Boston. This woman is in the habit of rent¬ 
ing her paper every week to a poor old wo¬ 
man for one cent per copy, the paper to be 
returned in 24 hours. The Museum thinks 
this case has no parallel. 
NAPOLEON nd. 
We find in Blackwood, for November, a 1 
description of the appearance and habits of ! 
Louis Nauoleon, taken from the letter of ! 
the German Professor Stahr, which is at | 
this time interesting: 
“I stood near enough to see him well: 
and never did 1 behold a moro unmeaning 
countenance. An unwholesome gray-brown 
is its prevailing tint. Of likeness to the 
great Emperor, there is scarcely a trace. 
Ho is naturally good tempered and harm¬ 
less, and by no means without ability. But 
he is tainted with the moral corruption of 
all European societies, Italian, French and 
English. He has the pouariture of the 
drawing-room education of all nations.— 
Still ho is not devoid of sense, nor of a cer¬ 
tain goodness of disposition. He can weep, 
unaffectedly weep, over a touching case of 
wretchedness and misery, and ho willingly 
shows clemency, when asked, even to polit¬ 
ical opponents. But no reliance can he 
placed in him. In a word, his character is 
that of a woman. As a result of his wan¬ 
dering and adventurous existence, he ap¬ 
pears to-day as a German, to-morrow as a 
Frenchman, and the day after to-morrow as 
an Englishman or Italian. He is wholly 
without fixed principles, and without moral 
stay. If any one represents to him the im¬ 
morality of an act, he will laugh and say, 
4 Bah! what is that to me ?’ But the very 
next day you shall find him as much op¬ 
pressed with moral scruples, as any German 
candidate. 
He has the physical courage of his unu¬ 
sual bodily strength— corporis robore stolide 
ferox —supported by a fatalist belief in his 
star; and this belief, which has lately ac¬ 
quired increased strength by his extraordi¬ 
nary vicissitude of fortune, blinds him to his 
real position, and renders him deaf to the 
warning voices of his few honest friends.— 
In this respect his mother, who unceasingly 
stimulated his ambition, did him much harm. 
Personally he is modest and unassuming, 
but he is madly vain of his name, and of his 
legitimate claims. That he has done and 
continues to do himself grevious harm, as it 
is universally said, by excesses of the most 
unrefined description, and by opium smok¬ 
ing, seems unfortunately to be only too true. 
For the change in him since his youth has 
been altogether too great. Nevertheless, 
lie is much less the tool of others than might 
be supposed. He has a way of half-closing 
his inexpressive light-blue eyes, which he 
has adopted to prevent persons from read¬ 
ing his thoughts. His chief delusion is that 
the army is unconditionally devoted to him. 
This is by no means the case.” 
A CHINESE LAUNDRY. 
About ten o’ clock last evening, we step¬ 
ped into a pretty extensive laundry on IIigh- 
street, carried on by Celestials. At the very 
first glance we were impressed with the or¬ 
der and system observable in the establish¬ 
ment. Those who were at work greeted us 
with a “chin-chin” as we entered, and kept 
on with their work. A grave-looking Celes¬ 
tial sat at a table, a great deal like pine, in¬ 
diting a letter to a San Francisco correspon¬ 
dent. From a glance at the letter, we 
thought there was considerable character in 
it. Still another Celestial drew a bench to¬ 
wards the table, and kindly motioned us to 
a seat. He had, of course, a shaved head, 
and thereby hangs a tail. 
We subsided into the seat, or rather upon 
it, and took a general survey, What a truly 
industrious people they are. At work, cheer¬ 
fully and briskly, at ten o’clock at night.— 
Huge piles of linen and under-clothing 
disposed in baskets around the room, near 
the different ironers. Those at work damp¬ 
ening and ironing — peculiar processes, 
both. A bowl of water is standing at the 
ironer’s side, as in ordinary laundries, but 
used very differently; instead of dipping the 
fingers in the water, and then snapping 
them over the clothes, the operator puts his 
head in the bowl, fills his mouth with water, 
and then blows so that the water comes from 
his mouth in a mist resembling the emission 
of steam from an escape pipe, at the same 
time so directing his head that this mist is 
scattered all over the piece he is about to 
iron; he then seizes his flat-iron. This in¬ 
vention beats the “ Yankees” all to fits. It 
is a vessel resembling a small, deep, metallic 
wash basin, having a highly polished fiat 
bottom, and a fire of charcoal continu¬ 
ally burning in it. Thus they “keep the 
iron hot,” without running to the fire every 
five minutes, and spitting on the iron to as¬ 
certain by the “sizzle” if it be ready to use. 
This ironing machine has a long handle, 
and is propelled without danger of burning 
the fingers by the slipping of the “ ironing 
rag.” Ladies who use the ordinary flat iron 
will appreciate the improvement.— Marys¬ 
ville {Cal.) Herald. 
Don’t be discouraged if you are unfor¬ 
tunate, and arc lying flat on your back.— 
Rise—stand erect, and persevere in some¬ 
thing else. Fall again, if you can’t do bet¬ 
ter, but never yield to despondency. As 
fast as you fall, spring up to your feet again, 
and there will always be hope. Lie still— 
lament that you are in the ditch, and you 
but cause rejoicing among your enemies, 
and no one will render you assistance. Dig 
out—work hard, persevere, with a determin¬ 
ation to earn a comfortable living, and you 
shall have it. Scores will tly to your assist¬ 
ance, who would help to cover you with re¬ 
proaches. when writhing and lamenting over 
your misfortunes. The whole secret of suc¬ 
cess in life is—activity. To action—to ac¬ 
tion—to action—and you will never see the 
day that you will need assistance, which will 
not be rendered in some shape or other.— 
Activity is the life of man; it makes him for 
this world, to say nothing of the world to 
come. 
THK Pi® 
Medical students may be proverbially_ _ 1 
“ hard cases ” for aught we know. Yet it ~ ~ 1 - 
cannot bo denied that few are moro beuev- Female Education —No. 2 of a series of excel- 
olent and kind hearted than these same ^ ent articles on this subject, (commenced last 
hard cases are. It may be because they wit- week,) will be given in our next. 
ness so much suffering and distress, they We have several other articles on file for early 
become accustomed, as it were, to scenes publication in this department. 
from which they at first turned away, un- ____ 
able to witness. 
A few years ago we happened to be in 
company of a number of students, from one 
of whom we heard the following story. 
It was a cold Christmas morning, in the 
year 18 —. a medical student, whom I will 
call Rush Rudder was proceeding on his way 
“WOMAN'S RIGHTS” IN THE COUNTRY. 
Messrs. Eds: —My kind regards are ten¬ 
dered to friend “Richard,” who so elo¬ 
quently discusses the subject of “ Woman’s 
Rights” in the last Rural, with a request 
to meet some fellow students in a beautiful ! *^ lad d bo comes hi to the country again ho 
little village of Richmond, where forgetting will not trespass upon country “WoiHen’s 
books and studies, they had intended to Rights.” 
spend the annivcisary ot the uay, which It is our happy privilege to take the “ pail 
brought peace and good will to men. As • „„„. ,» , 1 „ 
i „ _ j • .1 „ ,, in one hand, with a little “food tor the cow 
he was passing through one ot those narrow I ’ 
streets in the northern part of the city, he wdb ” lc “crumpled horns m the other, to 
met a small girl weeping as though her heart P a y her f° r patient endurance whilo wo tor- 
would break. The crowd passed on without tare from her one of the best luxuries of life, 
noticing her, but when the poor student and which, if dono by the hard hands of our 
saw her, his heart was touched, and lie could e j.i , , , , , . . 
,,, ’ , , • . . ,, fathers and brothers, would bo beyond en- 
not pass without inquiring the cause ot ’ J 
her greif- durance,—at the same tnpe diverting such 
“Oh, sir,” she answei’ed him, “it is not hands from pressing duties, in making ar- 
±or myself I care, but my mother is so sick rangements for winter. What should we 
apd she sent me to the tailor for whom she country girls do? We learn by the Rural 
works, but he could not pay me.” •, n . , . , . ,, ,.. . ’ 
” Where does your mother live ?” he asked thdt th e sickly trash circulated by pubhsh- 
after he had listened to her plain story.— crs not devoted to tho best interests of hu- 
The little girl led him into a small house, ma nity, is unprofitable — wo havo no old 
where lay a sick woman laboring under pianos to torture instead of old “crumple” 
great debility, and rapidly sinking for want whilst mother gets the breakfast—father 
ot propei nomishmuit. carries away the wool to be worked by fac- 
Ever and anon could be heard the laugh , . . “ . ,. , - 
of tho passers-by, clad in furs and well pro- ^ ories 10 season 1S I ,ast d,r garden exer- 
tected from the keen blast of Boreas, as they cisc amongst our beautiful flowers and plants 
joined in the merry making of that festive in the early morning, and experience proves 
da .V— and the sick woman would sigh as to us that it is not only a dutv, but pleasant 
their mon-y laugh fell on her ears It may and profitable to put on our morning work 
be her mind reverted to her happier davs. , » .. . ;? , 
Such thoughts will often steal upon the dis- ‘ 10bS ’ W!t l a substantial tight pair ot shoes, 
tressed, however much they guard against and * n the healthful morning air, take at 
them. least as much exerciso as to walk to a good 
“ I give you some medicine, which I comfortable shed in the barn yard, milk our 
hope will do you good ” said the student— cows carry tho milk t0 tho dairy room and 
“ But no matter about that, said he, know- •, , , 
ing full well what she was about to say.— strain scald and wash our pads, help 
“ No matter, you can pay me when you get mother with tho breakfast, and all the rou- 
money enough to spare, and without wait- tine of morning domestic duties. Then 
ing to hear any objections on her part ho comes tho pleasurable hour of arranging 
wished her good day, promising to call soon our toilefc , and we then peruse tho last 
again, bo much time had elapsed while t, . ' . ., . , * , . , 
tiie student was thus engaged, that it was RAL ’ anc °“ ier mteresting, and mind- 
too late for him to meet his friends, as at im proveing journals, which our fathers by 
starting in the morning ho had intended. 
Every morning a supply of food and med¬ 
icine was sent to the poor woman, who rap¬ 
idly improved until convalescent; and every 
day the student wended his way to his pa¬ 
tient, to inquire how she did. 
our industry and economy are better enabled 
to provido. Wo resort to tho library, 
with body and mind invigorated, intellect 
brightened, and conscious w r e have done all 
that the favorable inventions for “ woman's 
The commencement of the University rights,” have left for us to do as dutiful 
to the arduous duties of his profession, hi uiat are per¬ 
il is native city, Cincinnati, when one morn- haps uow mingling with the dust, that like 
ing, several years after ho had left the Uni- them we may bo useful here and an exam- 
versity, a splendid coach drove up to his pie to others who succeed us. 
door, and a beautiful female entered his of- T r ,i . . 
flee. The young physician lifted his eyes If om ; s y m P athlsm g fnend “Richard* 
from his book; he had seen that face before knows ot any “village ladies’ who indulge 
—but when, or how, or where, he knew not. in the hours of their mothers’ toil, in prepar- 
“ I have come, sir,” said she, “ to pay ing breakfast for them when they please to 
vendor medicine received from you long nse, and dare not say cow! let his sympa- 
tV "“ When did you receive tho medicines ?” * hiesb ® lavished U P 0U them ,*nd I will leave 
asked the Doctor in a business manner, (but bim hnagino how much misery such bring 
it was a counterfeit.) upon themselves, by their habits of idleness; 
“ On a cold Christmas morning, in the late hours, bad reading, neglect of duty to 
y°; ir ' S_ 7 j 3™ ^'jV 1 imor g"'l crying in the their p aren ts and their own best interests, 
citv of Philadelphia, you snoke kindly to ,.. T ,. . ’ 
her, followed her to her sick mother, and wbdo > at the same time I would respectfully 
purchased food and medicines until she re- asb him never again to have inscribed in our 
covered. That poor sick woman was the very reliable Rural one syllable, that would 
only daughter ot a wealthy gentleman, but tend to turning tho minds of wo “farmer 
marrying contrary to her fathers wish, he girls » f rom dolng our duty in our healthful 
banished her from his house. ® 
Her husband soon died, and she was forced occu P a Lon, for fear of being told by tho 
to support herself and child by her needle, men that we “join them in doing work at 
but unused to labor, days and nights of toil the barn.” Milk Maid. 
were too much for her, and she sunk beneath “ in the Country,” Dec. 23, issi. 
the task, and had it not been for you she--—•—- 
would have died, and left her daughter ex- THE WIFE’S OFFICE, 
posed to the charities of a cold, heartless ^ _ ■ 
world; yea to all the temptations which The office ot a wife is tho happiest, yet 
helpless females are subject to in our largo nK)5t laborious—the highest, yet most hum- 
cities. ’ hie position that frail mortality can occupy. 
Her father died shortly after her recovery, ^ or * s there any station on the earth to which 
without a will, consequently she fell heir to the “ lords of creation” can aspire, the du- 
all his vast ^state. Kind sir. that woman ties ot which are more responsible, and the 
was my mother, and I am the little girl you faithful or imperfect discharge of which will 
spoko ‘so kindly to.” " “ be rewarded with more intensity, than those 
The rest of my story is soon told. They blie wife, that we believe to bo one of tho 
were married—Dr. Rudder and the wealthy consequences of the violation of the high 
heiress. And if you ever visit the city of f rus f committed to the first wife in the gar- 
Cincinnati, you may see tho beautiful house den <d Eden, which was that she should be 
where Rush Rudder has retired from prac- “ au helpmate to him.” 
tice; still he pursues the study of his favor- To society she is an indispensable member, 
ite science, and much we are indebted to To tho parlor the most important personage, 
him for his researches in tho field of med- in the dining room the most absolute sov- 
iciue. ereign, in her chamber a guardian angel, in 
-—- the sick room the best physician—to her 
Life.—L ife, without some necessity for children the wisest priest, and to her hus- 
exertion, must ever lack real interest. That band the most valuable agent, tho dearest 
state is capable of the greatest enjoyment and cheapest counsellor, the most loved and 
where necessity urges, but not painfully; loving companion; in a word the wife to 
where effort is required, but as much as pos- home is every blessing the mortal mind 
sible without anxiety; where the spring and can conceive or heart desire. “Home with- 
summer of life are preparatory to the har- out a wife is a strange land,” a head without 
vest of autumn and the repose of winter.— brains, a heart without conscience, a ship 
Then is every season sweet, and in a well without sails, an ocean without waves, a 
spent life, the last the best—tho season of world without religion. 
calm enjoyment, the richest in recollections, --- 
the brightest in hope. Good training and a I beg you to take to heart ono maxim, 
fair start constitute a more desirable patri- which fo/myself I have ever observed, and 
mony than wealth; and those parents who over shall: it is, never to say more than is 
study their children’s welfare rather than necessary. The unspoken word never does 
the gratification of their own avarice or van- harm, but what is onco uttered cannot be 
ity. would do well to think of this. Is it better recalled, and no man can foresee its conse- 
to run a successful race, or to begin and end quences.— Kossuth. 
---- Bachelors may be known by their un- 
Inspirf, children, with a love of the True, polished manners, and generally lack but- 
tho Beautiful,and the Good. Then will they tons; while married men are distinguished 
be protected, as by a coat of mail from evil by their ease in ladies society, and domestic 
in all its insidious attacks. looking phizzes. 
necessary. The unspoken word never does 
harm, but what is onco uttered cannot be 
recalled, and no man can foresee its conse¬ 
quences.— Kossuth. 
