MOORE’S RURAL NEW-YORKER: AN AGRICULTURAL AND FAMILY NEWSPAPER, 
277 
(Original |$cmn. 
Written for the Rural New-Yorker. 
DREAMS OE YOUTH. 
Dreams of you'll — liow bright your shadows, 
Floating through the misty past — 
Dreams of birds, and flowers, and meadows— 
Fair—yet aye 1 too fair to last. 
Dreams of youth — Oh '. pass not from me; 
Draw your curtains round me now— 
Stay—nor ever part ye from me, 
Till Death’s signet press my brow. 
Dreams o f youth — earth is but brighter, 
For the shadowy light ye cast, 
O’er the landscape—glowing — lighter — 
Though the vision may not last. 
Dreaming youth — let more than dreaming, 
From the shadowy vision ri-e; 
Wake, and light a fire whose gleaming, 
Rests Ls shadow in the skies. 
Deeds of youth — Oh ! bid your dawning, 
Fail upon the wounded heart — 
Bind the broken — cheer the mourning — 
Love, and joy, and peace impart. 
Then shall dreams of youth grow brighter, 
When the deeds of manhood come— 
Then the seal of Death rest lighter, 
On the heart whose work is done. 
Victor, Aug. 14, 1852. Juliette N- 
<£jje llurnl fikttrfj 9aook. 
THE BLACKSMITH. 
THE INFLUENCE OF LETTERS ON MORALS. 
Break from thy body’s grasp tliy spirit's trance : 
Give thy soul air, tliy faculties expanse. 
Knock off the shackles which thy spirit hind 
To dust and sense, and set at large thy mind ! 
Then move in sympathy with God's great whole, 
And bo, like man at first, “ a liviug soul.”— Dana. 
Several years ago, before Lord Chancel¬ 
lor Brougham was editor of a penny maga¬ 
zine, or ever wo had heard of the great ef¬ 
forts of learned men in England to diffuse 
information among the humble classes in 
that country, a young gentleman, who was 
a member of a literary society in New Eng¬ 
land, which had for its object mutual im¬ 
provement and the diffusion of letters among 
the rising generation, took a bundle of chil¬ 
dren’s books in his chaise box, as he was set¬ 
ting out on a journey into tho country. 
His intention was to hand them to a clergy¬ 
man, or schoolmaster, as he passed through 
some obscure town ; hut he soon forgot that 
lie had them in his possession. Having 
traveled two or three days, his horse cast a 
shoe; and, on inquiry, much to his annoy¬ 
ance, he learned that there was no black¬ 
smith to ho found within a mile; the inform¬ 
ant assuring the traveler, ‘' That if the smith 
was sober, he would shoe his horse as well 
as any man in these parts.” 
When the traveler reached tho black¬ 
smith’s shop, he found him quite sober; his 
eldest son, ho said, had gone to the store, 
four miles off, to get a jug of rum ; and as 
ho had to work alone, it would take him 
soino time to make and set the shoe. The 
gentleman was requested to walk into tho 
house to rest himself, while tho smith was 
at work. The house, on tho outside, pre¬ 
sented every appearance of poverty and 
wretchedness; it had battens on the roof 
for shingles, and the top of the chimney as¬ 
cended but a few inches above the ridge 
pole. Yet tho outward aspect of the house 
was princely when compared with the inte¬ 
rior. It had been intended for three rooms 
on the floor, but there was neither lath, 
plaster, nor jointed boards, by way of parti¬ 
tion to he seen—a few rough boards mark¬ 
ed, rather than made, a distinction in the 
building. The garret—for the house was 
only one story high—was ascended by a 
short ladder. The furniture in this part 
of tho premises consisted of two beds—if 
such a mass of rags as were exhibited to view 
could he so called—with some tattered blan¬ 
kets, which showed that a portion of the 
family slept thore. Three wooden bottom¬ 
ed chairs, a table, a milk-pan, and a few tin 
measures, made up a good part of tho mova¬ 
bles in the lower story. There was a large 
quantity of ashes in the fire placo, covered 
with potato skins, and a kettle standing near 
which boro evident marks of recent use in 
making hasty pudding. There was a win¬ 
dow and two port holes in the main room; 
several panes had been broken in tho win¬ 
dow, their places being supplied by bundles 
of rags. A dirty, singed cat, slept close to 
the ashes ; when her mistress attempted to 
drive her away, she slowly arose, and stretch¬ 
ing one leg after another and partially open¬ 
ing her eyes, leisurely moved off. She was 
just such a grimalkin as a rat would like to 
see; one too indolent to do him any harm. 
Near one of the beds, a short-legged big¬ 
headed mongrel, surly dog reared himself 
to eye tho stranger, hut on his growling sev¬ 
eral times, the woman gave him a kick and 
sent him yelping out of doors. Bv way of 
treating her guest with great civility, the 
mistress of tho house took up tho broom, 
and began to sweep a spot to place his chair. 
“ She was sorry,” she said, “ that her house 
was so dirty, hut her child had been sick for 
several days, and it had taken up all her 
time.” The traveler had not before noticed 
a child in ono of the beds, of about three 
years old. pale, emaciated, and listless. The 
mother observed, that ‘‘within two days it 
had been very sick, and that she had not a 
drop of rum to give her, but hoped her son 
Jim would be along soon from the store, and 
then she would have something to offer tho 
gentleman to drink.” In a short time the 
son made his appearance. Ho was a tall, 
athletic fellow, whose whole dress consisted 
of a tow-cloth shut and pantaloons; he was 
hare-footed and bare-headed ; when ho went 
to the store, he had borrowed his father’s 
hat to wear, hut on entering the house he 
threw it off. His hair was long and matted 
looking defiance to comb or brush, things, 
which it had never known. His brawny 
arms were naked, his shirt sleeves being 
rolled up; and his whole appearance was 
that of Caliban’s before lie had been taught 
human language by Prospero: but there was 
a good nature in his face, unlike the expres¬ 
sion of Sycorax’s son ; and after he had 
drank his fill, he seemed ready to say, 
“ I pray tliee, lot ms bring thee where crabs grow; 
And I, with my long nails, will dig thee pig-nuts; 
Show thee a jay's ucst, and instruct thee how 
To snare the nimble marmozet; I’ll, bring thee 
To clustering filberts, and sometimes I’ll get thee 
Young sea-mells from the rock.” 
Jim’s arrival was a jubilee; tho jug went 
round briskly, and each one poured out 
what he wanted into a tin dipper, or broken 
mug, and diluting the liquor a little with 
some excellent water, took a hearty swig.— 
The mother sweetened some of the rum with 
maple sugar, and mixing it with a little milk 
and water, gave it to the child as food and 
medicine. The little wretch raised her 
head to take the dose, as familiarly as she 
would to have drank a cup of pure milk.— 
“ There, dear, it will do you good,” said the 
mother; “now go to sleep, and get well.” 
Turning to the stranger, she “hoped the 
gentleman would drink with them, if they 
were poor folks ; ” but he politely declined 
much to their disappointment. 
After the father and son had gone into 
the shop to resume their labors, the travel¬ 
ler made some inquiries of the woman about 
her family. Ho found she had five children 
living. “Jim” was the first horn; tho two 
next were boys, then gone a fishing; the 
fourth was a daughter, then about thirteen 
years old ; and the one in the bed made up 
the number. “ Lucy, the eldest daughter,” 
she said, “ did not live at home, but with 
Deacon Thompson, a very nice man, who 
had sent her to school, and she could read tho 
biblo and the newspaper. No one of the 
family but Lucy took to learning; in fact, 
they did not know a letter of tho alphabet.” 
The traveller recollected his bundle of 
books, and brought it from his chaise box 
into the house. On examining it he found 
that the assortment was such, as to form a 
pretty little library for Miss Lucy. Taking 
out his pencil, he wrote a note in one of the 
hooks to deacon Thompson, presenting the 
whole of them to Miss Lucy Danforth, then 
under his care, requesting him to see that 
she was not deprived of them by any ono. 
The horse being shod Jim was hired to set 
off to tho Deacon’s with the bundle—the 
poor fellow not knowing that he was carry¬ 
ing a present to his sister. The traveler 
continued his journey, and the incident 
soon passed from his mind, amid the pleas- 
and cares of the world, 
some few years after this event, the trav¬ 
eler was called to see his friends on this 
same route. As he passed the site of old 
Danforth’s blacksmith’s shop, ho saw that 
new buildings had been erected; and he in¬ 
ternally exclaimed, thinking that the place 
had passed into tho hands of some now pro¬ 
prietor, “ so pass away the wicked.” The 
traveler had proceeded but a mile or two, 
when he saw that a thunder cloud hung on 
his rear, and that it was time for him to 
seek a shelter. ’As he was driving by a 
good looking farm house, he saw a venera¬ 
ble gentleman standing at the door, appar¬ 
ently watching, with great anxiety, the ap¬ 
proaching tornado. Bowing to tho travel 
er, he invited him to put his horse in tho 
barn, or under tho shed, and to tarry with 
him till the storm should pass over. The 
invitation was gratefully acepted. 
The shower was preceded by a “ mighty 
wind.” While this was passing over, the 
good old man remained quiet; but as soon 
as the thunder began to roar, ho seemed 
much agitated. He was sitting in the mid¬ 
dle of the room at a table on which was 
placed an open bible, from which he read a 
few verses, as a sort of propitiatory offering 
to the “ God who speaketh in the thunder, 
and rideth upon tho wings of tho wind.” 
Seeing the traveler perfectly unmoved, and 
even enjoying the sublimity of the scene, 
tho old man lifting up his pale face, inquir¬ 
ed “ if ho did not feel terrified at such a 
demonstration of God’s wrath?” “No,” 
was the reply, “ I do not consider it such a 
demonstration, but rather a pi-oof of his 
goodness. This phenomena is resolved to 
causes as natural as the flowing of tho brook 
which hubbies by your door; and probably 
more have been drowned in its lovely waters, 
than have ever been killed by lightning with¬ 
in fifty miles of you.” After a pause, the 
old man said he believed that was true ; and 
mentioned several who had been drowned 
in his neighborhood, but could think of but 
one who had been killed by lightning. The 
traveler remarked, that God is never angry, 
it was only a human phrase. He some¬ 
times punished in justice, but not so often 
by fire as by pestilence. The very thunder 
and lightning, he added, was sent for our 
benefit, as it was a great purifier of the air. 
Well, that is true,” said the old man. Tho 
traveler continued, and explained the phe¬ 
nomena of tho lightning flash and tho thun¬ 
der-clap, and before tho storm had subsi¬ 
ded, the veteran seemed calm, and wrapt in 
a course of reasoning with himself upon the 
subject. 
Iu turning over tho leaves of tho Bible, 
tho traveler saw on the blank leaf between 
the Old and New Testaments, the name of 
James Thompson, and his family record.— 
The thought of Lucy Danforth came across 
his mind, but he was almost afraid to in¬ 
quire after her. At length, however, ho 
asked, “ Who now occupies the place whore 
Danforth, the blacksmith, was living some 
six or seven years ago ?” The reply was, 
“Danforth himself and his family.” “You 
must bo a stranger in these parts,’ said the 
Deacon, “ if you have never heard of the 
great change in the life of tho blacksmith 
down here.” The traveler assured the Dea¬ 
con that ho was indoed a stranger, and lis¬ 
tened to tho Deacon’s recital with great in¬ 
terest. 
Tho old man commenced with the shoo¬ 
ing of the noble horse—(indeed ho was tru¬ 
ly so)—and of the gift of tho stranger to 
tho child. All was given with minutenoss, 
and tho account brought to his recollection 
many remarks he had mado at the time, 
which had before escaped his memory.— 
The Deacon said, “I received the books, 
with this pencil note.” (which he had pre¬ 
served,) “for Lucy Danforth.” The trav¬ 
eler recognized his own hand, and faintly 
inquired if Lucy was yet living. “ 0, yes,” 
was the reply, “ she is to be married at my ; 
house, in a "few days, to Doctor Moore, a j 
very likely man. She is a fine child, and { 
has been the making of the whole family.— | 
Soon after tho stranger, as he signed him- j 
self, gave her the books, she visited her fath- I 
er, and read some of tho tales to him; he ! 
was a man of strong mind, notwithstanding | 
his ignorance ? and from the pride ho felt j 
that his daughter was able to read, and j 
front his gratitude to tho stranger — for he i 
had always said that he had treated his fatni- | 
ly like a prince—he was induced to hear ; 
Lucy read a story or two. fie declared j 
that he did, upon his soul and honor, like j 
the books. ‘ Jim,’ and the other boys, sat j 
grinning by her side, as she was reading, and | 
half hinted that they, too, should like to ; 
know how to read. She caught the hint, 
and began to teach them. The father also j 
said that lie should bo glad to read, if no- j 
body should know that lie was ‘ schooling ! 
of it in his old age.’ 
Silently they all began—and Lucy came 
once every day to impart to them a portion 
of her little store of knowledge, without, 
however, making it known to the neighbors, 
whoso laughs and sneers they feared. She 
continued in this course until all could read 
the Bible, with a fair understanding of its 
contents. She did not stop here. They 
were taught to write as well as read. Tho 
first development of this fact was an occa- j 
sion of the blacksmith’s buying a horse and j 
wagon of one of his neighbors. A part of ! 
the purchase money was paid down, and a 
part was to be paid in blacksmith’s work,— ■ 
the due-bill for the work was written by j 
Squire K-, of whom the purchase was j 
made; and when ho was about to call on 
Danforth to make his mark, as formerly, j 
the old man said, ‘ Squire, you need not 
trouble yourself to write my name;’ and ! 
taking up rhe pen, wrote William Danforth, j 
in a bold and fair hand. This was strange, 
and no one could explain the mystery. 
The next winter, when tho town school 
was opened, Danforth’s boys attended on 
the first day. The teacher, on the usual 
examination, found them among the first in 
his school. This was another miracle.— 
Shortly after this, the keeper of the store 
stated, that for a whole year he had sold the 
Danforths but one jug of rum, and that was 
in haying time; and afterwards when he 
stopped to have his horse shod, ho asked 
for something to drink, and tho jug was 
produced, with scarcely the diminution of a 
gill from its original contents. A meeting¬ 
house was built and old Danforth hid high 
for a large pew ; this so delighted and won¬ 
der-struck all, that no one bid over him.— 
His whole family came to hear the Gospel 
preached, in neat and cleanly apparel, and 
were attentive to the preacher. The little 
child, who had received its dose of rum and 
sugar, died; and the clergyman, who was a 
transient preacher, attended the funeral, 
and made some judicious observations to tho 
parents, and the bi'Others and sisters. 
Lucy was still tho guardian angel of tho 
family; she came every day, while this feel¬ 
ing of bereavement was upon her kindred, 
and read some appropriate story from the 
books she had, or from such as she obtained 
from the library which had been founded in 
the parish, and to which she had access.— 
The temper of her father had been softened, 
and every seed now sown was on good 
ground. From an attendant on public wor¬ 
ship, he had become a member of the church, 
without a particle of fanaticism or bigotry in 
his composition. His business increased 
every day ; his boys became fine mechanics; 
his shop was enlarged to meet the claims of 
his customers; and his wretched mansion 
was soon removed, and another of larger 
dimensions, and greater conveniences, erect¬ 
ed in its place. Tho daughter had done all. 
If the Roman daughter, who gave her teem¬ 
ing breast to preserve the life of her father, 
had temples erected to her memory, ought 
not she who came silently hut perseveringly 
every day, to cherish the mind and raise 
the morals of her father and kindred, and 
to givo religious instruction to those whom 
she saw sunk in vice and ignorance—ought 
not sho to have a name and a praise among 
the benefactors of mankind ?” 
Tho traveler listened to the tale with de¬ 
light and wonder. Ho exhibited a deep in¬ 
terest in the story, and accepted an invita¬ 
tion from Deacon Thompson to attend the 
marriage festival of Lucy Danforth, tho next 
week, on his x-eturn from visiting his friends. 
As yet ho had contrived to conceal tho fact 
that ho was the early patron of Miss Lucy 
—it was the interest which he had manifest¬ 
ed in the narrative, that procured him an 
invitation to tho wedding. On his promis¬ 
ing to return on the appointed day, he left 
for Miss Lucy a new publication of Miss 
Edgeworth’s that he had taken with him, 
for perusal on his way; and on tho title 
page he traced a few lines to her. Miss Lu¬ 
cy at once saw, from tho hand-writing, that 
the person who had presented her with the 
library, and the ono who had promised to 
attend her wedding, wore one and the same; 
and this sho communicated to Deacon 
Thompson, who thought there was a re- 
semblanco in tho hand-writing, but seemed 
to doubt whether tho philosopher who had 
been discussing tho lightning and tfie storm 
with him, could be tho young sprucely dress¬ 
ed man, that Lucy had described tho stran¬ 
ger to have been. 
When the wedding day arrived, many of 
tho good people had assembled, and the 
stranger was anxiously expected; hut still 
there was an hour to elapse before the time 
would arrive, when he had stipulated to be 
on the spot. At length ho appeared, with 
his horse all in a foam. Ho had been de 
tained by some accident. As soon as he en¬ 
tered the house, a grave and respectable 
man arose, and took him by the hand. It 
was the old blacksmith. Tho mutual recog¬ 
nition was instantaneous. Jim also knew 
him, and gave him a hearty shake of the 
hand. The traveler now announced his 
name. It had been familiar to them all 
through the medium of his connections.— 
Lucy had taught a school in the district 
where his friends lived. She also came for¬ 
ward to greet him with modesty and feel¬ 
ing. She was indeed a lovely girl, with a 
fine blue eye, and open countenance, that 
beamed with intelligence ; and her manners 
were frank and easy, tho offspring of great 
good sense and mental dignity. She had 
read much, and her selections had been ex¬ 
cellent. She had been exti’emely happy in 
improving her mind, and witnessing tho 
effects that, under Providence, sho had been 
able to produce on her family. 
Lucy had seen the young man who was 
about to become her husband but a year or 
two before. He had then, while she was 
yet quite youthful, offered himself in mar¬ 
riage : but sho declined his addresses, giv¬ 
ing as a reason for her refusal, that sho had 
not as yet done enough for her family, and 
that she could not think of matrimony un¬ 
til she had seen every thing prosperous with 
her parents. That time came sooner than 
she could have expected. When her par¬ 
ents and her brothers were learning to read, 
they gave up the use of all ardent spirits— 
wei*e much more industrious than they ever 
had been—laid up their earnings—contract¬ 
ed for materials for building a new house— 
and their success not only made them ap¬ 
pear better in their own estimation, but al¬ 
so in that of their neighbors. Instead of 
idling away their time, the ring of the an¬ 
vil was heard all tho day long. One of the 
boys had been a year with an eminent edge 
tool-maker in the city, and had returned 
with the character of a first rate workman. 
So great was the change, that from being 
outcasts and by-words, as idle, intemperate, 
and profligate, it had now passed into a 
proverb, “ as industrious as the. Danforths.’" 
Lucy’s young lover, who had watched for 
this change, ventured to hint to hei\ that 
her resistance was no longer needed. " 
Doctor Mooro was himself a fortunate 
man ;—when quite a boy, ambitious to ex¬ 
cel in school, he had attracted the notice of 
a learned physician from Scotland, who had, 
after the peace of 1783, settled in New Eng¬ 
land. The doctor saw that the lad was clev¬ 
er and good tempered, and took upon him¬ 
self to call forth his talents. After gradu¬ 
ating at Dartmouth College, he commenced 
his studies with his patron, and from his as¬ 
siduity, zeal, and courteous demeanor, be¬ 
came very dear to his aged instructor.— 
Having finished his apprenticeship, the pu¬ 
pil was made a partner, and relieved Doc¬ 
tor Peterson from some of the laborious 
parts of his professional duties. The old 
physician had neither wife, child, nor kin¬ 
dred, in this country, and of course made 
his pupil his heir. Doctor Moore had ob¬ 
tained a full practice when his patron died. 
The estate was not large, hut still a very 
pretty estate in the country. A part of it 
consisted of a neat house, with a large, well 
improved garden, in which was collected all 
tho plants of the country, and many exotics, 
which tho old gentleman was acclimating. 
The new possessor valued this proof of 
his patron’s knowledge and tasto; but as 
professional duties would not allow him to 
give it much attention, he was anxious that 
whoever he should marry should have a 
taste for botany. Lucy Danforth was a 
botanist by natural feeling and assiduous 
study, and was made a bride and a priest¬ 
ess of Flora at tho same moment. She 
was to take the sole direction of the gar¬ 
den, so beloved by her husband, as a re¬ 
membrance of his patron and friend. Un¬ 
der her care, the 
“ Flowers a new returning season bring.” 
and attract tho attention of every traveler 
that passes. After the marriage ceremony 
had been performed, and friends had in¬ 
dulged in the playful sallies of merriment 
common on such occasions, the old people 
prepared to depart. Mr. Danforth, senior, 
for he was no longer called “ Old Danforth,” 
but sometimes “ Squire Danforth,” (as that 
very year ho was chosen one of the select¬ 
men of tho town) stepped up to the traveler, 
and with a look and tone of affection and 
hospitality, invited him to spend the night 
with him, as it was now late. The invitation 
was accepted; and on entering the new 
house, he found everything plain, neat and 
substantial. The supper table was spread 
with a profusion of good things; the cakes 
and butter were excellent, hut the trout 
were most to the taste of the guest. Aftor 
talking an hour or more, Mr. Danforth in¬ 
quired of his guest if he would attend fam¬ 
ily prayer with him, which being l-eadily 
assented to, a large family Bible was placed 
on tho table, and the father of the family 
read in a deal*, forcible, and correct manner; 
his emphasis was judicious, for he under¬ 
stood what he was reading. He then arose, 
and leaning over his chair, began in a mild 
and subdued tone, an extempore pi'ayer, in 
which he recounted all the wonders God 
had done for himself and family, and poured 
out his whole soul in gratitude to Him for 
his abundant mercies. The daughter was 
not forgotten ; tor her and her husband, a 
blessing was invoked, and tho guest shared 
tho good man’s benison. Tho allusion to 
his instrumentality in their return, was 
touched with the delicacy and power of a 
master. 
Tho whole sceno was solemn and affect¬ 
ing. What a chango had conxo over this 
houso ! He who was now a patriarch, prais¬ 
ing God—rising in moral majesty in the 
traveler’s view, at every sentence he uttered 
—had stood in his presence only six years 
before, his eyes bloodshot with intemper¬ 
ance, his throat choked with profanity, and 
his lips parched with blasphemies. With¬ 
out any cant, tho traveler called this a re¬ 
freshing hour. Ho had been bred among 
. the learned, was familiar with the great, and 
had witnessed the highest of mighty mind; 
but ho has often been heard to declare that 
the blacksmith’s prayer had moro influence 
on his atfections, hopes and faith, than all 
the eloquence he had ever heard in the 
temples of justice, the halls of legislation, 
or from the sacred desk; and he has adopted 
it as a maxim ever since, that on literature , 
well directed, mainly rests the happiness of 
man, here and hereafter. 
Written for Moore’s Rural New-Yorker. 
A TWILIGHT REVERIE. 
Tiif.se beautiful twilight shadows. Oh! 
how they exalt one’s mind, to a brighter 
and purer sphere. They are so quiet, in 
their sad, sweet beauty. They make mo 
feel like ono in a pleasant dream, after a 
day of toil and care,—and I fancy I can hear 
the fluttering seraph’s wings, as they hover 
near to catch the hearts deep throbbings.— 
And now, as I gaze out on the clear azure 
sky, it looks like a thin gossamer veil, spread 
far above our lower earth, to guard the holy 
sanctuary of heaven from unhallowed eyes; 
but so transparent, that one who looks long, 
and oai*nestly, may almost see tho faces of 
friends, bending lovingly down from their 
own bright homo.—as though they longed 
to stoop low enough to kiss our upturned 
faces. When I see the bright and glorious 
sun, sink slowly, and silently from my view, 
I gaze on it with pleasui'O, for I know what 
hallowed thoughts come, after his dazzling 
splendor has faded from my sight. I view 
the lengthening shadows, with a sort of 
pleasant gladness, and watch the beautiful 
clouds as they gather round the distant tree- 
tops, and float languidly, and dreamily on, 
regardless of the many earnest eyes that 
gaze,—and float in fancy, thus dream-like, 
in tho “ spirit land.” 
Oh ! how I love tho twilight. It is so calm, 
and peaceful, it fills one’s soul to overflow¬ 
ing, with such sweet memories and holy aspi¬ 
rations, as though tho spirit was roving in 
heavenly courts, and drinking heavenly 
dews, and then brought back such heavenly 
longings, and placed them in tho breast, 
that it seems to exalt tho mind above the 
things of eai'th. And now, as I sit here by 
the open window, I can almost hear the mu¬ 
sic of golden harps, lightly tuned by angel 
fingers. And look ! there are two twin stars 
just opening their twinkling eyes to gaze on 
me, and they look soo feeble and pale, and 
almost cease their blinking, as though even 
the dim light of tho faded sun was too bright 
for their weak sight. But they grow bi'ight- 
er and more restless, as though they were 
dazzled at first, and turned away to gain 
new strength, and meet the fading light of 
earth. But now they have ceased to twin¬ 
kle, and smile so sweetly, and look bright, 
but quiet, in their own soft light, and gaze 
so earnestly, yet silently, on mo, that I can¬ 
not but compare them with the tender light, 
and gentle beaming love, of the eyes of a 
dearly chei’ished mother. 
I had a mother once. Oh! how many 
hearts thrill when they see these words, 
that thoy have so often uttered. Yes, there 
are many who feel, and know, that they once 
had a mother; but now she has gone to her 
starry home. And as I gaze on earnestly, I 
can fancy I see her form, in the white foamy 
clouds, and those stars are her own loving- 
eyes. And now, I am lost in a dream, and 
am floating languidly, in a careless bark, 
away down on a silver sti-eam, with that 
fairy form, and those star-eyes,—and now I 
am a “ mere child ” again, and can just tot- 
tlo around the floor, and gaze into the dai'k, 
lustrous eyes of my mothei - , even as I gaze 
on these far-off stars. Those stars ! they 
bring up such holy thoughts, and tell me 
of years long gone,—and I i-emember me 
now, when I was almost a baby, and weary 
with my childish play, I would climb my 
mother’s knee, and ex’e these little stars had 
shown their trembling light, she would un¬ 
clasp the tiny hooks that held my dress to¬ 
gether. and take off my little shoes from my 
weary feet,—and she did it so gently, as on¬ 
ly a mother can do, and then my bare feet 
tottered to the corner, by the head of my 
little bed, and brought my night-dress, and 
she fastened it round my baby neck, and as 
I i-aised my head for her to tie the cap un¬ 
der my chin, she stooped, and pressed her 
lips slightly against my childish brow, and 
then sho. taught me to kneel, and clasp my 
tiny hands together, and repeat after her, 
“ Our Father who art in heaven.” 
But I have grown older now, and my 
childish innocence is gone, for I have tasted 
deeply of earth’s sori*ows, and it is only 
when these twilight shades bring on these 
reveries of my angel mother, that my sor¬ 
rows seem lighter, and I hear her voice in 
the wispering trees, and feel hor warm 
breath on my chill brow, as I gaze upward 
to her starry homo. And now, there are 
thousands of those star-eyes in tho broad 
bluo heavens, and they all look down upon 
mo, and I turn, to look upon myself, only 
to find that I am alone,—all alone,—in tho 
“ stilly night.” Emily. 
Bainbridge, N. Y., 1852. 
