I 
MOORE’S RURAL NEW-YORKER: AN AGRICULTURAL AND FAMILY NEWSPAPER. 
fhetiral. 
Written for the Rural New-Yorker. 
AUTUMN DAYS. 
BY IDA FAIRFIELD. 
There's a soothing charm, in the voiceless air, 
A glory deep, in the changing sky ; 
The spirit of beauty, the spirit of prayer, 
Is hovering softly nigh. 
On the distant hills is a dreamy haze, 
And light in the rallies below, 
And the rippling waves, of the streamlet blase 
With the sun’s reflected glow. 
The leaves of the forest in beauty unfold 
A mantle of gorgeous sheen, 
Of crimson and purple and kingly gold, 
With trappings of soberer green. 
a * * * • 
Great fleecy clouds, like beds of down. 
Drift slowly, softly by, 
And o'er the meadows dark and brown 
The chasing shadows fly. 
And fancy pictures cherubs bright, 
In yonder azure air,— 
I see their glancing wings of light. 
And gleams of golden hair. 
The soul lies still, with folded wing, 
Its vain desires at rest, 
And earth no coming dream can bring 
To make the heart more blest. 
Loved autumn days, yearly ye come, 
Yearly, ye weave your spell, 
To bring the heart a dream of joy, 
To whisper, “ all is well.” . 
Wyoming, N. Y., Oct., 1852. 
j C[tc Hurai Iketrl; 9Sook. 
Written for Moore’s Rural New-Yorker. 
OUR NEIGHBORS AT DUNNVILLE. 
BY A FARMER’S WIFE. 
Chapter 2. 
[ Concluded from last week.] 
Were the Staffords happy in their new 
homo? Far from it. It is impossible in the 
nature of things, for such peoplo to enjoy 
life. With them, life was a continued strug¬ 
gle after riches, and a more elevated posi¬ 
tion in society,—while they were painfully 
conscious, that all the respect they received 
was accorded, not to any worth, but to the 
power their inonoy conferred. If at any 
time Capt. Stafford felt a twinge from the 
troublesome monitor within, its prick was 
soothed by a misapplication of the Scrip- 
turo, “ If any provide not for his own, and 
especially for those of his own household, 
ho hath denied the faith, and is worse than 
an infidel,”—forgetting the equally binding 
injunction, “ Whatsoever yo would that men 
should do unto you, do yo oven so unto 
them.” It is true that Mrs. Stafford had 
attained to tho most aristocratic dwelling in 
the village, which sho forthwith invested 
with tho title of Stafford-dale, though the 
mansion was situated on quite an elevation. 
Tho daughters, Jane and Susan, wero sent 
to the Academy, but Sarah was so homely 
and awkward it was never worth while to 
teach her anything but housework, of which 
her sisters had a very genteel horror. Mrs. 
S. said Sarah never would rise above the 
“ commonality,” an epithet sho always ap¬ 
plied to her less wealthy neighbors. 
Tho eldest child of the Staffords, an only 
son of nineteen years, had become a dash¬ 
ing blade, who could toss off a glass of 
brandy and drive his tandem team with 
what his fond mother thought an inimita¬ 
ble grace; and when the daughters return¬ 
ed from school, having “ finished their edu¬ 
cation,” sho felt that her children must be 
the envy and admiration of all observers, as 
they were borne through tho village in a 
gaudy vehicle behind Edward’s splendid 
*• greys.” It is true Capt. Stafford winced 
a little under tho heavy sums Edward fre¬ 
quently abstracted, but he contrived to 
make his father beliove it was all in the way 
of business, and if ho did get cheated in 
trading horses occasionally, or lose a bet at a 
raco, it was no more than older heads were 
liable to do. It was somewhat easier to 
hoodwink the Capt. than formerly; his 
tremulous limbs requirod a stimulant that 
muddled his brain. 
About this timo Capt. Stafford was at¬ 
tacked with paralysis which threatened to 
put an end to his operations, but ho sur¬ 
vived it, though too much broken down to 
attend to business, which was loft to tho solo 
management of Edward, who, in his turn, 
left it to clerks, while his timo was mostly 
spent in tho pursuit of what he termed 
pleasure. Things passed along in this man¬ 
ner two or three years, when one day, as if 
a gleam of the meaning of the “ golden 
rule ” had found its way to tho mind of 
Capt. Stafford, ho called for tho box in which 
most of his papers were kept, and looking 
them over carefully, occasionally threw one 
in the fire. A neighbor who found him thus 
employed exclaimed, Why, Captain, what 
are you doing? ” Said ho, “ I am burning 
up tho notes of some poor fellows who can’t 
pay any thing, so that my heirs shall not 
quarrel over and plague them after I am 
dead.” 
Not long after this occurrence, Edward 
was brought homo from a horso race, in a 
state of insensibility, with a fractured skull. 
He never returned to consciousness, and 
after tho lapso of a few days ho was borne 
to his narrow homo, with but little sympa¬ 
thy from neighbors, except such as is always 
elicited by like shocking casualties. The 
next morning it was discovered that tho 
clerk to whom tho business was entrusted, 
who had evidently been sometime preparing 
for such a step, had absconded, taking all 
tho available means ho could abstract.— 
There were no telegraphs and railroads in 
those days, by which to overtake rogues, 
and the thief escaped to some other country, 
—where, it was never known. 
Debts contracted by Edward poured in 
on the invalid father, whose name he had 
always freely used, so that it became neces¬ 
sary to wind up their affairs as speedily as 
possible. When this was done, they found 
themselves possessed of barely enough, be¬ 
sides their homo, to enable them to live in 
tho plainest manner with the strictest econ¬ 
omy. 
Jane and Susan were just such girls as 
wo might expect from the character of the 
mother; vain, inefficient, light-minded girls, 
who thought the admiration of dandies the 
first, and marriage tho second grand object 
of their existence — and to secure these, 
they thought a delicate hand, a showy dress, 
a rouged cheek and a simpering air, wore 
tho only necessary concomitants. Perhaps 
a legitimate inference from tho trashy 
things that constituted their only reading. 
Capt. Stafford one day received a letter 
from a gentleman in Boston, of whom he 
formerly bought goods, informing him that 
Mr. Palmer, the junior partner of the firm, 
would soon bo in his neighborhood, and 
would call on him for such information in 
regard to business as he might need. This 
information caused some little commotion 
in the family as it afforded an opportunity 
for conquest, and Air. Palmer would fur¬ 
nish an eligible mark for their most effect¬ 
ive artillery. It would appear vulgar to be 
without a servant girl ; therefore Sarah must 
personate that functionary, which she in 
fact was, only sho was admitted to tho ta¬ 
ble when they had no company. Sarah 
often said, much to the mortification of her 
sisters, that sho preferred having the kitch¬ 
en to herself with a book, than to be in tho 
parlor, listening to the nonsense of such ad- 
dlepates as their beaus. 
On the occasion of Mr. Palmer’s visit, 
Sarah performed her part with so much 
propriety, and anticipated the wants of the 
invalid so tenderly, that Mr. Palmer was 
led to observe her intelligent though plain 
countenance with some interest. His at¬ 
tention was attracted to that degree, that he 
determined on questioning his host. Ac¬ 
cordingly he approached the subject by con¬ 
gratulating him on having such a rare do¬ 
mestic. “ Domestic,” repeated Capt. Staf¬ 
ford, with surprise, “ do you mean Sarah?— 
why sho is my youngest daughter, and tho’ 
they call her homely and awkward, she is 
worth forty of the other girls. In all my 
long years of sickness, sho has nursed me 
most tenderly, without ever getting out of 
patience, being cross, or unkind. 
Tho conversation was interrupted by tho 
entrance of Jane, who came in to invite Mr. 
Palmer to walk in the garden. Mr. Palmer 
determined to make use of his discovery to 
test tho character of Jane. In the garden 
they encountered Sarah, gathering fruit for 
her father. This afforded him an opportu¬ 
nity to speak of her, and turning his eyas 
full on Jane’s face said, “That young lady 
I presume is a relative of yours ; I think I 
discover a family likeness.” “ O, no.” said 
Jane, very carelessly, “ she is only a servant 
girl who has lived with mother a long timo 
and makes herself very useful.” This was 
sufficient to show Jane’s character and in¬ 
duce Mr. Palmer to make the acquaintance 
of the protended servant girl. Airs. Staf¬ 
ford at that moment called Jane, which fa¬ 
vored his design. Approaching Sarah, and 
offering to assist her in gathering the fruit, he 
commenced a general conversation in which 
she evinced much intelligence and practical 
sense. 
Mr. Palmer was a man of some thirty 
years of ago, who had made up his mind to 
exchange tho discomforts of bachelorhood, 
for the pleasure of doubling his happiness 
by taking some worthy object with whom to 
divide it. To effect this, he wished to find a 
companion in whom were united tho ac¬ 
complishments requisite to the character of 
a woman , in distinction from tho mere fine 
lady. Here in a village on the banks of the 
Androscoggin, had he found a modest wild- 
flower, which lie believed by cultivation 
might become the pride of a city conserva¬ 
tory. His business detained him in tho 
neighborhood sevoral weeks, sufficient timo 
for tho acquaintance with Sarah Stafford to 
ripen into a warmer feeling than mere 
friendship, much to tho mortification of her 
mother and sisters at being caught in their 
duplicity and vain pretensions. 
As I am not obliged to resort to fiction to 
furnish tho main incidents of this story, I 
must be excused from dressing them in the 
garb of fashionable romance, or of depict¬ 
ing so fierce a passion that it could not out¬ 
last tho disappointment of finding its ideal 
divinity nothing but a frail mortal. The 
true interests of the parties to a matrimo¬ 
nial contract, require the foreknowledgo of 
the fact that each is necessarily an imper¬ 
fect being, and that mutual forbearance and 
kindness is indispensablo to the security of 
happiness. Both Mr. Palmer and Sarah, 
believed tho doctrine so beautifully express¬ 
ed in Colton’s Fireside: 
“ If solid liappiness we prize, 
Within our breast the jewel lies, 
And they ar; fools who roam; 
The world has little to bestow, 
From our own selves our joys must flow, 
And that dear cot, our home.” 
Therefore when Mr. Palmer offered him¬ 
self to her who had hitherto occupied only 
Cinderilla’s place, ho was accepted, with the 
provision that tho marriage should he de¬ 
ferred for a while, as her father’s health was 
rapidly declining, and sho felt her incom¬ 
petence to take tho direction of a household 
without farther discipline. 
Soon after Mr. Palmer’s return home, ho 
spoke to Airs. Evans (who was an intimate 
friend of his.) of some incidents of his jour¬ 
ney, and of his acquaintance with the Staf¬ 
fords, not supposing she had any knowledge 
of tho family. Great was his surprise and 
pleasure to find that his betrothed was the 
former favorite of his friend. 
In a few months Capt. Stafford passed 
away, not like thoso who have learned that 
“ In this the art of living lies 
To want no more than may suffice.” 
Is it strange that tho last days of the rum- 
seller and usurer should be haunted with 
“ widows’ tears and orphans’ moans?” But 
it is pleasant to realize that 
“ Precious the penetential tear, 
Precious is the sigh sincere, 
Acceptable to God.” 
When Mr. Palmer went to Dunnville to 
perform the last duties to the father of Sa¬ 
rah, he was tho bearer of a pressing invita¬ 
tion to her from Airs. Evans, requesting her 
to spend a few months with her former 
friend, which was gladly accepted. There 
she set herself assiduously to tho cultivation 
of her mind and manners, and with her 
natural disposition, and Mrs. Evans kind 
assistance, she soon acquired an ease and 
dignity that made her appear to advantage 
in tho polished circle of friends whose soci¬ 
ety sho enjoyed. In due time she became 
Airs. Palmer, to whose hospitalities and 
happy firesido I have often been admitted, 
—and what is particularly pleasant is tho 
evident pride and tenderness with which 
tho forest flower is regarded by its fortu¬ 
nate possessoi’, and the beauty it has acquir¬ 
ed by cultivation. 
A few weeks after Capt. Stafford’s death 
the placo was visited by an old man, who 
had nothing but his riches to recommend 
him, but these were sufficient to secure the 
consent of Jane Stafford to become his 
third wife, and the step-mother of sons and 
daughters older than herself. In a few 
months the old “ Blue-beard ” throw off the 
mask, and by his jealousy and cruelty, com¬ 
pelled her to a flight from the gilded mise¬ 
ry for which she bartered her liberty. She 
sought shelter in her former home, where 
sho lived till the birth of a daughter, which 
in her dying moments she desired should 
be sent to her sister Sarah, whom sho had 
learned to respect, and whose superiority 
she had rcognized. 
Susan married a farmer, and removed to 
Aroostook, but by what process her mind 
was brought to the acceptance of one of 
such plebeian calling, and how she manages 
the concerns of a “ new settler ” in tho wil- 
dorness, I am not informed. 
Stafford-dale has passed into tho hands 
of strangers, and Mrs. Stafford is in tho 
family of Air. and Airs. Palmer, where she 
enjoys the respect duo to age—having learn¬ 
ed the lesson, though late in life, that rich¬ 
es alone can neither impart happiness, or 
command the respect and affection, without 
which life is scarcely worth tho possession. 
CONSTA NCY. 
Constancy, whether in love or friendship, 
is certainly one of the most striking proofs 
of a great and noble mind, as fickleness is 
of the contrary. Love is but a more refined, 
a more tender friendship; and when that 
lovo is strengthened by tho sacred ties of 
marriage, it ought to bo equally lasting and 
inviolate. In such a state, the joy or grief 
of oither party must be shared by the other; 
they must both be as ono, or happiness can 
never bo expected. In order to promote 
this agreeing will, constancy, tenderness, 
and a proper regard and allowance for tho 
frailties of humanity, are indispensably ne¬ 
cessary. When these are united, they may 
truly be said to bo our union of souls, which 
is the greatest felicity on earth. j. s. a. 
Media, Pa., September 4,1852. 
Xabies’ lipartramt. 
AN ADVERTISEMENT. , 
Wastkd— a hand to hold my own, 
A s down life's vale I glide : 
Wanted—an arm to lean upon, 1 
Forever by my side. * 
Wanted—a firm and steady foot, 
With step secure and free, 
To take its straight and onward pace, 
Over life's path with me. 1 
1 
Wanted—a form erect and high, 
A head above my own; 
So much that I might walk beneath 
Its shadow o’er me thrown. 
Wanted—an eye, within whose depth, 
Mine own might look and see 
Uprising from a guileless heart, 
O’erflown with love for me. 
1 
Wanted—a lip, whose kindest smile 
Would speak for me alone; 
A voice whose richest melody 
Would breathe affection's tone. 
Wanted—a true, religious soul, 
To pious purpose given; 
With whom my own might pass along 
The road that leads to Heaven. 
For the Rural New-Yorker. 
THE SEASONS. 
BY ELIZA WOODWORTII. 
Winter ! fit emblem of departed joys, and 
desolated hopes, sunken and withered is thy 
cheek, stern thy countenance. White are 
thy garments, and hoary is thy hair. Thou 
contest destroying the beauty of earth,— 
dimming tho brightness of this world, and 
darkening tho face of heaven. But 1 love 
thee, though icy is thy touch, fierce thy 
voice, desolating thy footsteps, dark tho 
gloom that enshrouds theo, dreadful the 
stormy wrath that lingers around thee.— 
Thou walkest over the mountains, their 
greenness is shrouded; thou wanderest thro’ 
the valleys, their brightness is hidden ; thou 
sittest by the fountain, its voice is silent; 
by tho whispering rill, and its low tones are 
[ heard no more. Thou callest the frost from 
tho clear, cold heaven; thou biddest the 
blast shriek thy war cry on tho hill-top, and 
we hear; thou commandest the freezing and 
the howling wind,,and hail to blight and 
blast, and tho storm god comes forth from 
his misty home in the dim clouds. 
O, Winter is thy heart cold, is thy spirit 
chilled? Few are thy friends, far between 
thy smiles, and frequent thy frowns. Still 
thou art lovely in thine icy beauty, and I 
would not live where thou art not—where 
“ No forest trees stand stripped and bare, 
No stream beneath the ice is dead, 
No mountain top, with sleety hair, 
Bends o’er the snows its reverend head.” 
Spring has faded, but she comes in mem¬ 
ory, tho beautiful, the pure — a thing of 
smiles and tears, of sadness and mirth,— 
Now weeping bitterly over the fair flowers, 
blighted by the blast, and withered by the 
wasting touch of tho frost-king,— sighing 
sanely for tho merry music of the babbling 
brooklet, and the singing rill; — calling 
plaintfully for the joyous bird to come 
again, and cheer her with its melody; — 
smiling as sweetly as though she had never 
known sorrow, or soon the gladdening earth 
darkened by the destroying reign of win¬ 
ter— then in the midst of her brightning 
beauty, with a slow and noiseless footstep 
sho glided from us, and we saw her no more ! 
“ The flowers that lift their pearly cheek, 
To springtime’s azure sky. 
And every lovely leaflet meek, 
Unfoldeth but to die.” 
And then came summer, clad in beauty^ 
and crowned with verdure. Calling forth 
the flowers from their silent dust — wooing 
tho gentle dew-drops from tho pure heavens, 
and winning tho sunlight to tho beautiful 
earth. But a little while she stayed, ere 
her brightness faded, and her eyes grew 
dim, and autumn laid her in the tomb.— 
IIow liko earthly hope ! 
“ The rosy buds that gem the lea. 
In summer's golden ray. 
Ne’er whisper in tiieir music free, 
Of changes, or decay.” 
And Autumn appears, in sighing sadness, 
with a bleared eye, and a croaking voice.— 
Ho shakes his thin locks in the chill breeze, 
and with his bony hand he strips tho ver¬ 
dure and bloom from the forest, buries the 
flowers, so fair and innocent, in tho cold 
ground. A few days, and he will grapple 
fiercely with his sturdy brother, and ho too 
will depart. 
“But every blossom's starry eye, 
Must shut in shades of even, 
And leaflets sing us when they die. 
There's nothing true hut heaven 1 ” 
Albion, N. Y., 1852. 
Good Nature. —Ono cannot imagino any 
quality of tho human mind whence greater 
advantages can arise to society than good 
nature, seeing that man is a social being, 
not made for solitude but conversation.— 
Good nature not only lessens the sorrows 
of life, but increases its comforts. It is 
moro agreeable than beauty or even wit.— 
It gives a pleasing expression to tho coun¬ 
tenance, and induces a multitude of the 
most amiable observations. It is, indeed, 
tho origin of all society. Wero it not for 
good nature, men could not exist together, 
nor hold intercourse with one another. 
A HOME WITHOUT A SISTER. 
Who, that has been deprived of a sister, 
can I’effect upon the closing scenes of hor 
mortal existence, without tho deepest sor¬ 
row and sadness of heart ? A month, per¬ 
haps a short week since, and she was among 
tho living; there was tho same cheerful 
countenance; the same joyous spirit; tho 
same care and thought for the interests of 
those whoso happy lot it was to enjoy her 
society. Bv.t she is gone, and how sad tho 
change ! The returning brother will meet 
no more her welcome smile. Ho visits the 
home of his childhood with a heavy heart. 
Ho approaches the threshold, and looks up¬ 
on a stranger’s countenance; ho listens, and 
a stranger’s voice falls upon his ear. Ho 
fancies, for once, that it is all a dream ; ho 
passes from chamber to chamber, seeking 
in vain for the departed one. She is not 
there ! Oh ! what agony fills his breast!— 
what melancholy is resting upon his spirit! 
His once happy homo has now no charms, 
no comforts, no allurements for him. 
“ This is the desert, this the solitude: 
The vale fuueral, the sad cypress gloom.” 
It may be an index of a weak mind (in 
the opinion of some) to weep on such an 
occasion ; but weeping is the readiest of re¬ 
lief to a heart too full for utterance. 
“ Flow forth afresh my tears.” 
To him who is still the recipient of a sis¬ 
ter’s kindness and attention, a sharer in her 
sympathies, her love, and affections, these 
thoughts may seem idle and visionary ; but 
they are sad, sober truths, and a mourning 
brother, one who has been brought to feci 
too keenly the pangs of sunderod ties of 
sisterly affection, cannot doubt their reality. 
HANNAH MORE'S OPINION OF HER SEX. 
This eminent woman wrote discriminate- 
ly of the male and female intellect. She 
remarks: 
“ One may venture, perhaps, to assert 
that women have equal parts, but are infe¬ 
rior in wholeness of mind, in the integral 
understanding; that though a superior wo¬ 
man may possess single faculties in equal 
perfection, yet there is commonly a juster 
proportion in the mind of a superior man ; 
that if women have, in an equal degree, tho 
faculty of fancy which creates images, and 
tho faculty of memory which collects and 
stores ideas, they seem not to possess in 
equal measure the faculty of comparing, 
analyzing, and separating these ideas ; that 
deep and patient thinking which goes to 
the bottom of a subject; nor that power of 
arrangement which knows how to link a 
thousand connected ideas in one dependent 
train, without losing sight of tho original 
idea out of which the rest grew, and on 
which they all hang. The female, too, 
wanting steadiness in her intellectual pur¬ 
suits, is perpetually turned aside by her 
characteristic tastes and feelings.” 
To this passage the objection has been 
made, that it refutes itself; since it shows 
that one “ superior woman,” at least, pos¬ 
sessed the very quality which it denies to 
the sex—tho power of comparing, combin¬ 
ing, analyzing and separating ideas. 
A FEMALE SCULPTOR. 
A young woman named Harriet Hosmer, 
of Watertown, Alass., about twenty years of 
age, has recently produced a piece of sculp¬ 
ture in marble which evinces talent of a 
high order, and promises to render her 
prominent as an artist. She calls the bust 
which she has completed, “ Hesper, the 
Evening Star.” It has the face of a lovely 
maiden gently falling asleep with the sound 
of distant music. Her hair is gracefully 
arranged, and intertwined with capsules of 
the poppy. A star shines on her forehead, 
and under her breast lies the crescent moon. 
The conception of the subject of the whole 
work was her own, men having been em¬ 
ployed only to chop off some of the larger 
pieces of marble as the work was in pro¬ 
gress. The bust is exhibited in Boston.— 
Miss Hosmer proposes to visit Romo for a 
few years, with a view of becoming a sculp¬ 
tor by profession. 
The Female Capacity. —Women in their 
course of action, describe a smaller circle 
than men; but the perfection of a circle 
consists not in its dimensions, but in its cor¬ 
rectness. There may be here and there a 
soaring female who looks down with disdain 
on tho paltry affairs of “ this dim speck call¬ 
ed earth; ” who despises order snd regulari¬ 
ty as indications of a groveling spirit; but a 
sound mind judges directly contrary. Tho 
larger the capacity, tho wider is the space 
of duties it takes in. Proportion and pro¬ 
priety are among tho best secrets of domes¬ 
tic wisdom ; and there is no surer test of in¬ 
tegrity and judgment than a well proportion¬ 
ed expenditure.— Moore. 
A Thought. —The irritating grain of sand, 
which by accident or incaution has got 
within the shell of tho oyster, incites tho 
living inmate to secrete from its own re¬ 
sources the means of coating the intrusive 
substance, and thus germinates tho pearl. 
And is it not, or may it not be even so with 
troubles and afflictions in our case ? We, 
too, may turn even sickness and sorrow into 
pearls of great price. 
TnE cure of all tho ills and wrongs, tho 
caros and sorrows, and tho crimes of hu¬ 
manity, lies in that ono word, Love ! It is 
tho divine vitality that every where pro¬ 
duces and restores life. To each and every 
ono of us it gives the power of working 
miracles if wo will. 
Pride is a vice that pride itself inclines 
every man to find in others, and overlook 
in himself. 
Excf.ssive indulgence to children by pa¬ 
rents is only self indulgence under an alias. 
