MOORE’S RURAL NEW-YORKER: AN AGRICULTURAL AND FAMILY NEWSPAPER. 
ffiistellanraits. 
TEE UPPER REALM OF SILENCE. 
BY J. CLEMENT. 
Far above the habitations of man no living thiojr exists, 
no soumi is heard. The very e ho of the traveler’s foot¬ 
steps startles him in i .e awful solitude and silence that 
reign in those dwellings of everlasting snow 
Where first the beams of morning meet the embrace 
Of earth's aspiring peaks, for ever crowned 
With tlcecy splendors, like i girdle bound. 
And shadows, horn e’re evening twilight, trace 
Their lengthening circuit round the mountain’!? ha?e. 
There not a print of beast is ever found. 
Nor scream of plum’d m.aran ier doth resound. 
The footfall on the snow cost's flinty face 
Half awes the traveler in ins skyward march; 
For Silence there, in her sublime abode, 
Dwells like a monitor anenr heaven’s arch, 
And seems o whisper of a lofty road 
Afar from sands the pilgrim’s feet that parch, 
High o’er life’s glaciers, leading on to God. 
LOVE’S ECLIPSES. his eyes and sadness in his heart; for the 
a, T ~ , c „ form of Marion was before him. as love’s 
S™ Marion Linvate! She was the eclipse fell upon her gentle spirit, and she 
gentlest, dearest, best beloved of old and turned from him in the vine-wreathed ar- 
voimg m our pleasant village of Aldorton. bor. He had lost her from that moment, 
JNo ono was so great a favorite with the and for what 0 
children as Marion. She could scarcely stir A long s ; g h fluttered up from the breast 
abroad without having two or three sunny- of the young man. and ho turned and walk- 
i* him* in Ync awfnl wiihute aild aiiraice'ttot att f ldant ’ llke graces, on cd slowly away —Sons of Temp Offering. 
io dwellings of evecinsting snow nci tootsteps. And she loved the dear young -^_ { f 6 
Mrs. SoxEitViLLE’s Physical Gkoorapuy. creatures as tenderly as if she had been an JUDGE STORY’S INDUSTRY 
st the beams of morning meet the embrace angel, and thej the objects ox her especial -- 
i’s aspiring peaks, for ever crowned care. Marion was beautiful. Beautiful, The secrets by which Judge Story was 
not as a Hebe; but spiritually beautiful, if I enabled to accomplish so much in so short 
may so speak. In person, she was rather a time, were systematic industry, variation 
below the middle stature, but delicately and of labor, and concentration of mind. Ho 
symmetrically made. Her countenance did ! was never idle. He knew the value of those 
not strike you at first; still, few looked at odds and ends of time which are so often 
her who did not turn almost involuntarily, thrown away as useless, and he turned them 
to look again, for the very soul of goodness all to good account. His time and his work 
was in her gentle face, and looked from her were apportioned, so that there was always 
blue and heavenly eyes. Yes, all loved } something ready for the was to time to be 
And seems o whisper of a lofty ros-d blue. and. heavenly eyes. Yes, all loved something ready for the waste time to bo 
Afnr irom sands the pilgrim’s feet that parch, Marion Linvale, for no one could help Iov- expended upon. lie varied his labors_ 
High o'er life’s glaciers, leading on to God. ing her. But, there was one who loved her never overworking himself on one subject, 
-- -» —- with a more ardent passion than the rest, never straining his faculties too long in one 
A oaIAi aeR ON BIRDS AND TREEa, a^d ' va ^ Mark "V\ ilford, a gay-hearted, direction, but recreating himself by chanco 
t>t-t> w T- t i . high-spirited young man. He was the eld- of occupation. LJe never suffered himself 
• ’ Bural . \\e have had near two est son of Judge Wilford. To many it was to become nervous or excited in his studies * 
weeks of first-rato sleighing since the exit a cause of wonder that Marion should yield but the moment that one employment began 
<>1 th year, but for two days past, Bo- ^er .heart to the fascinations of one like to irritate him, ho abandoned it for another 
reas has been playing his antics with the Wilfort !’ s ° °PP osite iu character in every which should exercise different faculties.— 
snow and pilino- it hioh in many a fantastic P a ’ i ; tl « ular - But Love rarely regards metes When he worked, it was with his whole mind , 
, , j, ^ • , L and bounds which the wisest mark out for and with a concentration of all his powers 
heap, much to the annoyance of the unfor- him. upon the subject in hand. Listlessness and 
tuate wayfarer whom business or pleasure Mark, after passing through College, was half-attention bring little to pass. What 
has called away from his fire-side. It is by seut to Boston by his father to study law was worth doing at all, ho thought worth 
contrast only that we are enabled fully to £ ith an . eminent counsellor in that city— ; doing well. 
appreciate the ' different phases of n.-Pm-n xu™. h l S . S0C1 ? 1 feelings seen drew him into I And here it may bo interesting to state 
of the old year, but for two days past, Bo¬ 
reas lias been playing his antics with tlie 
snow and piling it high in many a fantastic 
heap, much to the annoyance of the unfor- 
tuate wayfarer whom business or pleasure 
lias called away from his fire-side. It is by 
contrast only that we are enabled fully to 
appreciate the different phases of nature ft -1 * Ieenn g s s o° n «rew mm into I Ami here it may be interesting to state 
, r . . , 1 \ the society of young men as fond of pleas- j his personal habits during the day. He rose 
witnessed during,the changes of the rolling 11 m as himself and Ik. wi ™ .. 5 . i * . 
can in a good decree realize the contrast a . nd 011 „ t 10 same da ? called over t0 s eo Ma- i library, and occupied the interval, whether 
that a first class January bluster would pro- Jt'l YZ’TZmMk ° Sh'™ 8 « ve « r in writing.- 
. ii-ii . .... ance of Mark that affected the pure-hearted When the family assembled ho was called 
duco; and while I am tins evening listening maiden with pain the moment she looked and breakfasted with them. After break- 
to the meanings of the wintry blasts which at him; and, when he bent close to kiss her, fast lie sat in the drawing-room, and spent 
are careering over the desolate, snow-cov- and breathed in her face, the odor of brandy from half to three-quarters of an hour in 
ere 1 fields, my mind wanders back at a was so strong that it produced a momentary reading the newspapers of the day. He 
glance to the emerald fields of June What sickn . css - When they parted after a brief then returned to his study and wrote till 
8 meeting, Marion went quietly up to her the bell sounded for his lecture at the Law 
a contrast. Now. the freezing blasts are chamber, and, after closing the door, sat School. After lecturing for two and some- 
howling through the naked branches of the down and wept silently. times three hours, lie returned to his study 
maple grove that surrounds my dwelling. On the next day Mark camo over for and worked until two o’clock, when lie was 
Then, the branches wore gently swaying in Mai ’i° n 111 his father’s rockaway, and in- called to dinner. To his dinner, (which, oh 
the summer breeze with their beautiful robes sis ‘ ed ?? !u ' r ridin S outwith him - She did his part, was always simple,) hegavean hour, 
, , ,, I-. . n °t wish to go, yet was not prepared to ana then betook himself again to his study 
of trembling leaves, and the listening ear decline the invitation. The brief debate in ! "’here, in the winter time ho worked as 
was charmed with richest melody from rui- hor mind was decided in favor of the young U on S as the day-light lasted, unless called 
merous feathered songsters that nestled man’s request. About a mile from Aldei^ awa Y by a visitor, or obliged to attend a 
among the branches. ton stands a public house, much frequented moot-court. I hen he came down and join- 
T , ° „ .. . . „ by pleasure parties from the village. Out od tho family, and work for the dav was 
^ I nave ever been a lover of the denizens ox to this Mark Wilford drove, and alighting, over. Tea came in at about seven, and 
tho mr. They have ever appeared to me walked with Marion into the beautiful gar- ! how lively and gay was he then, chatting 
almost too fair and pure for this groveling, den laid out for tho accommodation of visi- j over the most familiar topics of the day, or 
sensual world. In my boyhood I was taught tors. Entering one of the arbors, he called I entering into deeper currents of conversa- 
. . . “ • t.n a conianl «tn<1 nwlannil _ I tifin wilTi nniml iwan All U:„ 1 . 1 ... 1 _x-x 
how lively and gay was he then, chatting 
_ i_ 1 , . .. , 7 . 
that it was wrong to harm some kinds of t° a sen-ant, and ordered refreshments, nam- . — ,-t-- .i Cil , 
I • i , , , 1 xi x mg. particularly, a bottle of wine. Already U P stairs in the library; ho was hero the 
’ eic was a large class tnat were he had been drinking enough to give his domestic man in his home. During the 
proscribed as doing injury to man (while spirits an unusual degree of volatility : a fact evening he received liis friends; and ho was 
they were innocently employed seeking their perceived by Marion, much to her grief, rarely without company ; but, if alone, he 
daily bread) and he that killed most of them soon aftcr they commenced their ride. read som o new publication of the day—the 
was the best fellow. For many years past “ Xo > not wine, Mark,” said she quickly, revie ''! 8 ’ .a novel, an English newspaper; 
•I -I 1 „„ ,i„„ sometimes correct.oi a nrnn+'.B>io Q + llo^nn,! 
tion with equal ease. All of his law lie left 
up stairs in the library; he was here the 
on after they commenced their ride. rea d some new publication of the day—the 
“No, not wine, Mark,” said sho quickly rev iews, .a novel, an English newspaper; 
caking from an impulse of the moment! some times corrected a proof-sheet, listened 
“Why not? Yes. wine; a bottle of vmir I music, talked with the family, or what 
that I had purchased, where the houso is turned to Marion with light and jesting 
surrounded with a beautiful grove of maple words - His oyes were not clear enough to 
locust, &c., and I soon found that tho birds ^ok through tbo gentle smile she had forced 
-x X, . 1 • , ,. to her face, and see tho sadness that was 
made it their home as they arrived from beneath. 
their southern journey. In the month of Soon the refreshments came, and Mark’s 
June I counted 20 varieties of birds that j a <d was to fill a glass of wine and offer 
made their homes on my premises, or to j ^ t®,Marion. But she drew back and said, 
whose songs I could listen in the surround- T -n 1 • t x i 
• c 11 ...I , i . then 1 will drink two glasses for everv 
ing fiolds. V, hat so well calculated to calm one I would have taken—one for you and one 
an . soothe the spirit of tho laboring man, for myself, alternately,” he replied gaily, 
and to elevate the thoughts and affections and raising the glass to his lips, emptied it 
heavenward, as to sit on a quiet sabbath j. n , a kieath. A second and a third glass 
morning in the early summer bv the open *° ^ 0 'J, ed ’ <ind ^ 1 ?. 1 . 1 pcicci'ing the deep sad- 
, . xf j. y , , ness that was veiling the face of the sweet 
window, fanned by the fragrant zephyrs that girl, lie drew his arm around her, and com- 
have been dallying with the clover blossoms menced singing the words of Moore:_ 
and kissing the cheek of tho damask rose, “Nnytell me not, de ir, that the goblet drowns 
and listen to tho dulcet symphonies of the BeKurafe% in tgy a, ^^!^ ; 
branches ! His must be a sordid spirit that Are all J f,ave sllnk »> its bright waves yet. 
a . i , , . , , ... . Ne’er hath a fleam 
feathered choir whose borne is m the waving lieen lost in the sirenn 
can behold no beauty in a scene like this— T " at or 8011,5 
The man of refined feeling will have his of 8if!hs i ’ , 
... 45 h ill (lout on the snrl. ice, and hallow my bow] 
spirit elevated, and his affections will soar Then fancy not, dearest, that Wi,.e can steal 
i x*x , - , ... ,, . „ . One blissful (Iream of the hear; from ine • 
aloft and mingle With this song of praise to Like founts that awaken the pilgrim’s zeal,’ 
the Great Creator. 1 ,ie bim 1 but br te |ltens n) y lov e for thee!” 
I think (as many others are beginning to • lisfce “? l ’ t uti1 )! 0 wa ®. done ’ shrink- 
... . v . J uegmmug tu ]n2: jarther and farther from dm •.ixf.im 
“ Nay (ell me not, de ir, that ihe gohlet drowns 
One cflartn of feeling and fond regret; 
Believe me. a few of ttiy angry frowns 
Are all I have sunk in its bright waves yet. 
Ne’er hath a fleam 
Been lost in the sirenn 
That ever was shed from thy form or soul; 
That spell of those eyes, 
The halm of thy sighs, 
S-il! float on the surface, and hallow my bowl 
Then fancy not, dearest, that wi,.e can steal 
One blissful dream of the hear; from ine ; 
Like founts that awaken the pilgrim’s zeal, 
The bowl but brightens my love for thee.” 
played. 
In the summer afternoon lie left his libra¬ 
ry towards twilight, and might always be 
seen by the passer-by sitting with his family 
under the portico talking or reading some 
light pamphlet or newspaper,often surround- 
ed by friends, and making the air ring with 
his gay laugh. This, with the interval oc¬ 
cupied by tea, would last till nine o’clock. 
Generally, also, the summer afternoon was 
varied threo or four times a week, in pleas¬ 
ant weather, by a drive with Mrs. Story of 
about an hour through the surrounding 
country in an open chaise. At about ten! 
or half-past ten, he retired for tho night] 
never varying a half-hour from this time. 
THE MER DE GLACE. 
A traveler writing from the little village 
of Chamouix at the foot of Mt. Blanc, thus 
gives us a bit of his adventures: 
My first and only Alpine excursion was to 
the Mer de Glace, one of the great, indeed 
the greatest, glaciers of the Alps. This gla¬ 
cier is not a broad, smooth, glistening mass 
of ico, as I had supposed; it is a river of 
the Great Creator. 1 “ ^ ^e.” ice , ten or twclv0 “ iles long> a mile wido> 
I think (as many others are beo-innin^ to • Mari ^ u hstcii e«l until ho was done, shrink- and from two hundred to two thousand feet 
fbink 1 fb-if lxi.-.io pc n i .'. i mg Luther and farther from him, while the in thickness. It fills, or rather chokes up a 
II *\ j til tic t’iiCv on ds <is ii whole are a beno- qIijhIawq tlAAnonnxi <> j.i i.i> ± • i < • . 1 
n ,/ .. . . sn iaows aeepenea on her heart as love s great gorge, which lies between snow capped 
lit rather than an evil in a neonmarv nnmt eclmsfi beo-.-in _i... 1 
. tAACMi, mm LckUOGU II1IIL to l UCUrll I 
music was to me an ample compensation for was about lifting from the table. 
.v .« , . xi x T , \ ,, ., , y. .to ..- .exx^xvx. motion cracks it transversely, and opens ten 
tlie iew clierries that I cheerfully divided • And do you really wish to go home?” he thousand chasms, each of which is a blue, 
with them. If those who are fond of music asked - ; ^ bottomless abyss. Its surfaco looks like 
(who have not already a grove around their ^ ark - Txike mc back. I must mountain-blocks of marble split from tho 
dwelling) would embrace their first oppor- S° kack at 011ce - quarry, and standing on edge irregularly to- 
hiniiv tv) of x x v . Not a word more was said. Marion mov- gether. Bowlders of granite, weighing fivo 
- ' !t ' ' ° U ’ nil R kc 111 a ^ cw cd away from the arbor, and Mark walked hundred tons, lie lightly on the glacier" like 
years not only be refreshed by its cooling silently by her side. Brief were the sen- pebbles on an ice pond, and are borne down 
shade in summer, but listen to a concert tcilces th ey uttered as they rode back to the by it to tho valley. Imagine a mountain 
which for sweetness of melody would far , And wh en they parted at Marion’s with a motion of one foot per day ! Really 
surpass the Nightingale of Sweden, or the x - tk e speed seems as great as that of the 
o , r r, • 1 Wnether Maik was angry or not, Marion floods of Niagara. 
1 Barn- n. y. Jan u isy> S . 110 ^ 110 ^ ll,dc . cd . she did not think of After looking at this terrible momentum, 
that. Lie was changed, and she felt an in- tho wonder comes how it could be staid* 
K.u,,.v Rising.—H appy tho man who is Lov0 ' sli S 1 “"'“ ^ 
to him 'VXLirSn 0 lLo m fifil ln fw ay “"’I .. Majk d W not visit Marion again during further.” Walking out upon it you sou 
puritv -mil freshness Tb U ° 5 oom and his stay of a week in Aldorton. Shame, death within a step, ax’ d fool yourself an 
The-copy of nature rather than anger, kept him away; for he atom. One visit is enough. 7 
“h l?l IZill^ft/mZnh! Tl P 1 d T ly Y m °i Uing ° f her sud ' Th0 sides of thes « hl ? h mountains are 
“1 ” rn L r .c t - j , be called den shrinking from him when ho sang the always shedding snow, ice! and rocks which 
early walker!^ ^ S,7® th ? ^ of which > ^ k e altogether fornfa glacier.’ There are many 
f or A_ a vo . xi • . ' ‘ c - v . v ! rd Liought of them in his sober state, lie saw of them among the Alps. From these melt- 
pors. dross h ° 8h °“‘ d ^ ^ 
and the dews sparkle upon blossoming hedo-o A!dorto»r iiLo.,fi 1 0 8 la '°") aid at Deference is tho most complicate, the 
rows.— Bulicer. ‘ ° " g ^ ZZZ aZ lS T ' TOS most , i !’ dircct - tho most elogaht of all 
mortal ox Marion Lanvale. Tears wero in compliments. 
3d ‘ r , bottomless abyss. Its surfaco looks like 
Yes, Mark. ^ lake mo back. I must mountain-blocks of marble split from tho 
jack at once.” quarry, and standing on edgo irregularly to- 
nf ft \17/’Y7*1 I TIT ? _iL TY 11 i' V. V . . J - 
surpass the Nightingalo of Sweden, or the 
Swan of Erin. n. n. b. 
Barre, N. Y., Jan. 14, IBS-2. 
Early Rising.— Happy the man who is 
an early riser. Every morning day comes 
DREAM-LIFE IN THE SICE-ROOM. 
[Clarence,- tho hero of “Dream-Life” 
j goes away to school—becomes a climber, 
and under tho goad of “little coward’’ ven¬ 
tures too far—receiving a shattered arm for 
his temerity.] 
“ After this, come those long, weary days 
of confinement, when you lie still, through 
all the hours of noon, looking out upon the 
cheerful sunshine, only through the win¬ 
dows of your little room. Yet it seems a 
grand thing to have the whole household 
attendant upon you. The doors are opened 
, and shut softly, and they all step noiselessly 
: about your chamber; and when you groan 
| with pain, you are sure of meeting sad, sym- 
; pathizing looks. Your mother will step 
gently to-your side and lay her cool, white 
hand upon your forehead; and little Nelly 
will gaze at you from tho foot of your hod 
with a sad earnestness, and with tears of 
pity in her soft hazel eyes. And afterward, 
as your pain passes away, sho will bring you 
her prettiest books, and fresh flowers, and 
whatever she knows you will love. 
But it is dreadful, when you wake at night, 
j from your feverish slumber, and see nothing 
I but the spectral shadows that the sick-lamp 
; upon the hearth throws aslant the walls; 
and hear nothing but the heavy breathing 
of the old nurse in the easy chair, and the 
ticking of the clock upon the mantel. Then, 
silence and the night crowd upon your sou] 
drearily. But your thought is active. It 
shapes at your bed-side (he loved figure of 
your mother, or it calls up the whole com¬ 
pany of Dr. Bidlow’s boys; and weeks of 
study or of play, group like magic on your 
quickened vision :—then, a twinge of pain 
j will call again the dreariness, and your head 
tosses upon the pillow, and your eye searches 
the gloom vainly for the pleasant faces; and 
your fears brood on that drearier, coining 
night of Death—far longer, and far more 
cheerless than this. 
But oven here, the memory of some little 
I prayer you have been taught, which prom- 
! ises a Morning after the Night, comes to 
j your throbbing brain; and its murmur on 
j your fevered lips, as you breathe it, soothes 
like a caress of angels, and wooes you to 
smiles and sleep. 
And with such fancies drifting on your 
thought, you count for the hundredth time 
the figures upon tho curtains of your bed— 
you trace out the flower wreaths upon the 
paper hangings of your room;—your eyes 
rest idly on the cat playing idly with the 
fringe of the curtain :—you see your mother 
j sitting with her needle-work beside tho fire; 
—you watch the sunbeams as they drift along 
the carpet, from morning until noon; and 
from noon till night, you watch them play 
ing on the leaves, dropping spangles on the 
lawn ; and as you watch—you dream.”— Ik. 
Marvel. 
MIRAGE ON SENECA LAKE. 
A correspondent of the Geneva (N. Ah) 
Courier, thus describes a scene on this beau¬ 
tiful sheet of water: 
“.After a few minutes’ stop at Lodi Land¬ 
ing tho boat takes a diagonal course for the 
landings on the west side of tho lake, and 
in its crossing you are furnished with some 
of the finest views of the tour. Long Point 
and Lodi Point stretch far into the lakeap- 
! parently in tho north view, and the high 
hills around the head of the lake rise up in 
majesty, while the beautiful rising grounds 
stretch up from the east and west shores, 
varied with wood and field, and here and 
there a church spire towering above the 
groves. As you are half across, look back 
to the points of land before referred to, and 
you will perceive as perfect a mirage as ever 
delighted the curious traveler, or ever de¬ 
luded the thirsty Bedouin in the desert of 
Sahara or Arabia. A piece of ground is 
seen suspended in the air over the bosom of 
the lake, stretching out unsupported, from 
the shore. The woods on the extremity of 
Long Point, are half submerged with water, 
and from the waves, their tops tower into 
tho sky. The lake stretches into the land, 
and you see land and trees above and below 
it. From some points of view, you may 
imagine, or seem to see, the groves on one 
shore stretching out over the water, and al¬ 
most meeting tho groves reaching from tho 
other shore. 
Why this phenomenon of nature has never 
been referred to by travelers, or poets, who 
have made the unsurpassed Seneca tho 
themo of their description, or of their song, 
I know not; bat to me it is the most won¬ 
derful and beautiful phenomenon visible 
around the lake. If I have not misjudged 
its causes, they are that different strata of 
air stretch over the lake, affected and formed 
by the temperature of the water.—and rays 
of light passing from the denser medium 
next the water, to tho rare above it, are re¬ 
fracted from the perpendicular, and bent to 
the direction of the eye, and as objects are 
seen in the last direction of the rays, they 
necessarily appear elevated so that the wa¬ 
ter appears to have risen into the air or 
nearly to the tops of tho trees. If it be 
about the middle of the day, with a south 
wind, we may see the effect upon tho lake’s 
surfaco of the wind changing from south to 
north. The large swell in the distance, is 
fretted over with counter ripples, which does 
not at first seem to disturb the present di¬ 
rection of the waves; but it increases upon 
I it until tho swells subside, and the ripples 
increase in size and spread over tho whole 
surface of the water. ’ 
The best dowry to advance the marriage 
of a young lady is, to have in her counte¬ 
nance mildness, in her speech wisdom, and 
in her behavior modesty. 
Life after all is but a bundle of hints, 
j each suggesting actual and positive develop¬ 
ment, but rarely reaching it. 
Sir, I say that it is employment that 
makes tho people happy.— Webster. 
lute -leparlmrat 
For the Rural New-Yorker. 
“A WIFE WANTED.” 
Mr. Moore; —Have any of your fair readers paid any 
regard to the wants of Alpha ?—or is your “ Cxlehs in 
searcli of a v\ ife ” even now ? If so please present him 
i ( - le following Impromptu on reading his advertisement, 
with the kind regards of Sylvia. 
“ Li want of a wife,” ah, poor man I declare, 
A "n ife is indeed a commodity rare; 
In buyii-g and selling the men are so trickish, 
1 own that the women have grown rather skittish. 
A maid cannot now, as in chivalric days, 
Bn wooed for her virtues and womanly ways, 
But a flait even stronger than love she requires— 
Now hut a few thousands her warm heaii desires ; 
Then gladly in pantry and kitchen she’ll serve, 
And e'er do her liest your kind words to deserve. 
She’ll black up your loots and milk all your cows, 
And use all the “goods” which your bounty allows — 
Be clever and kind to obey your commands, 
And what mere, 1 aslc is’t your lordship demands ? 
Ah! well 1 bethink me, e’en merits like these 
Cannot for the “ chinking ” virtues suffice— 
A wife must not only subservient he, 
But have cash of her own, some two thousand or three; 
If now Mr. A. the cash you wouid wed, 
And no other merits will answer instead, 
Please draw on iny banker the sum you require, 
And satisfy once your longing desire. 
And-if a noon wife you really need, 
To churn your butter and mix your bread, 
1 think (if you pay her a pretty good price, 
My trusty Bridget would well suffice. 
But if a fair maid you ever would woo, 
Be a brave knight as valiant as true. 
And wide on your banner, O lie it enrolled, 
“ Love is not purchased with silver or gold.” 
A HUSBAND WANTED. 
Mr. Moore : —In tho Rural of Dec. 18tli, 
last, a young man advertises for a wife, of 
whom you speak in high terms of commen¬ 
dation. It is rather a delicate matter for a 
young lady to publicly declare that sho 
wishes to have a husband, but as it is now 
leap year, and you promise to adhere to 
strict integrity, honor and secrecy, I will 
have the boldness to say, that I am willing 
to have a respectable farmer for a husband, 
providing that he is worthy my affections. 
As to tho necessary qualifications for at¬ 
tractiveness. I am confident fhat I possess 
them; for mama says that I am pretty, and 
papa says that I am witty. As to money, I 
cannot say that I havo much, but I have 
that which is admitted by the wise, to be 
much preferable,—a finished education. I 
have attended a boarding school from tho 
time I was fourteen, until nearly the pres¬ 
ent time, say twenty-one. I have acquired 
all the necessary English branches, to fit me 
for an accomplished lady; including French, 
music and drawing. I can sing, dance, and 
play the piano; can draw and paint; in fine 
I have a finished education, having graduated 
last spring. 
I confess that I am not much acquainted 
with domestic affairs, having never had time 
to busy myself much in the kitchen; but 
that, I think is of little consequence, for a 
little extra compensation will secure a 
kitchen maid competent to take charge of 
its duties, and do its drudgery. I can take 
care of the drawing and sitting rooms, and 
wait on company very politely, even the 
most fashionable; for from childhood I have 
associated in the highest circles of society, 
and doubt not but that Mr. A-will find 
me deserving of his affections. And if he 
will contrive how we may enjoy a personal 
interview, shielded from the satirical and 
criticising eyes of the public,—I trust that 
we will have a happy meeting, and a joyful 
and happy union. Isola. 
THE WIFE OF LORD BYRON. 
The circumstances under which I first 
saw Mrs. Opie. remind me to say a few words 
of Lady Noel Byron, the widow of the Poet. 
She appeared as mild as the blue sky of an 
Italian summer evening. Edified by her in¬ 
telligent conversation, and charmed with 
the softened grace of her manners, one could 
not but say to himself—can it he that mild 
blue eye. that mellow voice, that bland mein, 
belonged to the Lady Byron, the wife of the 
wild genius, whose erratic fire, while it start¬ 
led the round world with its glare, withered 
all that was sweet and lovely within its own 
domestic circle, nor paled till it had consum¬ 
ed its owner by the intensity of its own vol¬ 
canic hell ? 
There is a sprightliness in the conversa¬ 
tion of Lady Byron that wins the listener, 
and a common sense that edifies him, while 
the tinge of sadness which flows through it, 
gives a serious and sincere hue to the vein 
of pure morality that pervades much of this 
unfortunate woman’s discourse. Decidedly 
plain looking—for, even in the bloom of 
youth, she could not have been handsome— 
her countenance when in repose is rather dull 
and uninteresting, but it kindles up when 
excited by the contact of kindred minds, 
and is set off by an address and manners 
familiar and easy. 
Lady Byron has found occasional relief 
from the cloud that memory hangs over her, 
by participating in enterprises of charity 
and philanthropy. Indeed, she seems to be 
quite a reformer, apparently holding firmly 
while uttering cautiously, the liberal politi¬ 
cal sentiments which constituted the redeem¬ 
ing feature in her husband’s character. As 
might be expected, sho is sensitive to all al¬ 
lusions in her presence to him. seeming de¬ 
sirous that the thick veil of oblivion should 
hide all traces of their lamentable union and 
separation.— H. B. Stanton. 
