MOORE’S RURAL NEW-YORKER: AN AGRICULTURAL VXD FAMILY NEWSPAPER 
349 
|5oefiml. 
A HAND TO TAKE. 
EY CHARM'S MACICAY. 
You’re rich, and yet you are not proud. 
You are not selfish, hard, or vain; 
You look upon the comjnon crowd 
Wi ll sympathy and not disdain; 
You’d travel far to share your gold 
With humble sorrow unconsoled; 
You’d raise the orphan from the dust, 
And help the sad and widowed mother; 
Give me your hand—you shall—you must— 
I love you as a brother. 
You’re poor, and yet you do not scorn 
Or hate the wealthy for tncir wealth; 
You foil contented night and morn. 
And prize the gifts of strength and health; 
You’d share y our little with a friend, 
And what you cannot give you’d lend; 
You take humanity on trust. 
And see some merit in another; 
Give me your hand—you shall—you must— 
i love you as a brother. 
And what care I how rich you he ? 
I love you if your th >ughts are pure; 
What signifies your poverty, 
If you can struggle and endure ? 
”f is not the birds that make the spring, 
’Tis not the crown that makes the king— 
If you are wise, and good, and just, 
You've riches better than all other, 
Give me your hand—you shall—you must— 
I love you as a brother. 
€\jt llural Ikrtrlj 3cook. 
Written for M fore's Rural New-Yorker. 
THE KISING FAMILY. 
BY TO, EDWARD KNOWLES. 
Chapter I. 
Mr. Washburn was a man in humble cir¬ 
cumstances, and toiled unceasingly to meet 
the wants of his increasing family. In this 
1m was aided by the timely efforts, and pru¬ 
dent management of his worthy wife. They 
were contented and happy, in endeavoring 
to make “ both ends meet.” There was a 
laudable exertion manifested by these occu¬ 
pants of a small dwelling in an obscure 
street. But by a sudden turn of affairs, 
Mr. Washburn found himself in possession 
of an independent fortune, and placod above 
the necessity of arduous toil. Whether it 
was by a sudden rise in flour, or candles, we 
certainly have forgotten.— neither should 
wo fool justified in telling by which it was 
brought about. It is sufficient to know that 
ho iiad become wealthy. 
Mrs. Washburn’s ideas of fasliionablo so¬ 
ciety were as great as her husband’s fortune. 
The time had been when the possession of 
a now cottage and plain furniture, would 
have rendered her perfectly happy. But 
now a splendid palace on a fashionable 
street, with the whole catalogue of appen¬ 
dages, was scarcely sufficient to satisfy her 
desires. She wished once only to bo above 
Mrs. Johnson ; but now she knew no person 
by that name. She went farther than that 
—she had forgotten that she had lived in 
the unpainted cottage on Pino stroet. In 
fact, Mrs. Washburn had grown fashionable. 
Why should she not ? Her husband owned 
a grand house, and was rich beyond a tho’t. 
Their mansion was fitted up in the best 
style, and was # situatod in a grand avenue. 
She walked into the different furnishing 
stores with an important air, and talked 
grandly to the polite shopmen. All in all, 
she was perfectly happy, and expressed her 
thoughts to that effect. 
“My dear husband,” she remarked, one 
day, “ what shall we do with this room ? It 
has but ono large window in it, and that 
looks back. I can put all tho others to 
sorr\o use, but I am puzzled to know what 
to do with this. Why did you plan after 
this fashion ?” 
“It is just like Warren’s, opposite,” he 
replied ; “ and of course must bo right.— 
They uso it, I believe, for a library; though 
I must confess that I do not like it.” 
“ Well I do,” she continued, brightening 
up with a now idea. “ We must of course 
have a library, and fill it handsomely with 
book-cases.” 
Mr. Washburn looked thoughtful for a 
moment, and said—“But what books shall 
wo purchase? I am not posted up in such 
matters.” 
“Never mind that,” she replied, “I will 
drive around to Paige’s and order the 
cases.” A short drive brought her to the 
shop. 
“ Mr. Page,” (she spoko in hor most im¬ 
portant manner,) “I wish to look at some 
book cases, for my now library,—some of 
your best articles. ’ 
She selected tho most costly article and 
ordered it to bo sent home. It was in (Jothic 
stylo, and in reality looked “grand.” 
Mr. Washburn took the height of the 
shelves, and went to tho auction room to 
make the purchase of the hooks. Such as 
did not come up to Mrs. Washburn’s ideas 
of splendor, were sent to tho book-binder's 
to be rebound. At last all was put up that 
they could think of, tho last shopman paid 
and they sat down to enjoy life. 
Several months passed in monotonous 
succession, and Mrs. Washburn began to 
wonder why people did not call. 
“ It was not neighborly,” sho said to her 
husband, one evening, “ for people to thus 
stay away.” 
“ The Warren’s have visitors enough.” 
said Mr. Washburn, as lie glanced across tho 
street, and saw the well-lighted rooms. 
“ Why don’t somo of them call here ?” she 
asked sadly. 
“ Because wo are not grand enough for 
such company, I suppose,” ho answered im¬ 
patiently. 
“ Not grand enough,” she replied quickly. 
“ We are grand enough. I should like to 
know who are grander 1” 
Mr. Washburn made no reply to this, but 
sat in thoughtful silence. 
“Why do you not get acquainted with 
Mr. Warren r” she asked, shortly after, “ and 
that would break the ice between us.” 
“ I do meet him every day, and nod to 
him as we pass,” he replied. 
“Then why does not Mrs. Warren call 
on mo ?” she asked, half angrily. “ It is a 
downright insult.” 
Several weeks more were passed in tho 
same seclusion and negloct. Mr. and Mrs. 
Washburn wore angry at this seeming in¬ 
difference. 
“ Tho Warrens,” he ejaculated with a 
a sneer. Why ho “ could buy them out 
twice over !” They at last drove round, and 
were determined to call first. But strange 
to them every body was “not at homo.”— 
They left their cards, and came home again, 
to await tho time when their neighbors 
should return the calls. 
But tho calls were not returned, merely 
their cards. This was a puzzle to tho sim¬ 
ple minded Mrs. Washburn, and she resolv¬ 
ed at the end of a week to call again upon the 
elite of the place. But this time her cards 
were not returned. They were left un¬ 
noticed. 
“ Mrs. Washburn,” repeated Mrs. Wil¬ 
liams.—“ Who on earth, Mrs. Warren, is 
she? She is continually leaving her card, 
and a perfect stranger.” 
“ They livo opposito us, and have lately 
amassed a fortune. From their conduct, I 
should judge they were in humble circum¬ 
stances.” 
Consequently sho was dismissed from 
their minds—and the new comer sat won¬ 
dering why they did not call upon her. 
Mr. Washburn, though ho had retired 
from active business, still had matters to oc¬ 
cupy his attention. There were stocks and 
lots, and a host of other business to inquire 
into. But Mrs. Washburn had in reality, 
nothing to occupy her time and mind.— 
There were no household duties to attend 
to ; no sewing to bo done, or harrassing fam¬ 
ily cares to claim her attention. Thoy had 
but three children, and they were beyond 
tho years of childhood, and ablo to “ take 
care of themselves.” 
While she was thus languishing to see 
some ono, tho thought flashed upon her 
mind that sho would engage at once the 
poor milliner who occasionally sewed at tho 
residences of her rich neighbors. By this 
means sho hoped to find out their mode of 
living, stjlc of clothing, &c, By Miss Em¬ 
erson. tho sowing girl, she found out that 
tho Warrens were far from being rich,— 
that they borrowed all the patterns for their 
dresses, and lived in tho most economical 
manner. Yet sho was puzzled to seo why 
they were sustained in society ; or how they 
managed to keep up appearances. Neither 
could Mr. Washburn understand this mat¬ 
ter, as, like all purse-proud aristocrats, he 
could seo no promotion except through the 
influence of wealth. 
Chapter II. 
In spite of all the neglect with which tho 
Washburns were treated, the pathway seem- 
od opened for their advancement in society. 
There had for somo time been an ett'ort 
made to establish a now Opera company.— 
Tho subscription books were taken to their 
residence, to help on tho desired object.— 
Mr. Washburn, with his usual liberality, put 
down tho greatest sum opposito his name, 
and felt a sort of inward satisfaction in thus 
being a patron of fashion, music, and all 
that sort of tiling. lie was pleased to show 
in this way his right to ho among tho “ up¬ 
per ten.” His wife was no less pleased, and 
already saw herself “tho admired of many 
admirers.” 
The house opened with a brilliant dis¬ 
play, and everybody wore in attendance.— 
It was a source of pleasure to tho Wash¬ 
burns to seo them at least, although their 
acquaintance did not extend to a single in¬ 
dividual. The conversation around them 
was carried on with spirit and animation.— 
All seemed in good spirits and full of talk. 
But poor Mrs. Washburn sat alone with her 
husband, and deprived of all these privi¬ 
leges. Sho could not discover tho secret of 
getting promoted in society, even when 
helped on by tho influence of money. But 
sho discovered that the music of tho eve¬ 
ning was not the same with each act. She 
was made cognizant of this fact, by thecon- 
versation of those around. Yet how they 
could tell, was beyond her comprehension. 
They resolved to place their oldest son 
and daughter at tho best schools, and un¬ 
der the best teachers. They were to learn 
languages, and all the fino arts ; and to bo 
“ accomplished ” in the first degree. “ Poor 
souls,” said their mother. “ They shall nev¬ 
er know the mortification of ignorance.”— 
And to her delight they soon “spoko 
French,” and were growing quite intimate 
with tho children of her rich neighbors. 
It was at th is time that the Washburns 
decided on a grand entertainment. This 
they thought would bring around the de¬ 
sired acquaintance. Their cards of invita¬ 
tion were sent to all tho elite, and Mrs. 
Washburn awaited with a painful anxiety 
the return of the cards of acceptance. But 
alas ! they did not come. 
Tho Warren’s were not to be in town at 
that time, and the Williams’ were already 
gone. An so it was, clear through the whole 
list; from the rich banker, to tho head 
clerk in an insurance office. 
This last failure was beyond tho last ex¬ 
tremity of endurance. In despair they re¬ 
solved to take a tour to Europe, and learn 
those manners which they wished to prac¬ 
tice at home. Great preparations were 
made, the children recalled from the dull 
routine of school, and at last tho closed 
shutters told that thoy were off to foreign 
climes. 
Chapter III. 
Paris, the centre of fashion and folly, 
was tho destination of the Washburns.— 
Within its whirl of gayety and fashion, they 
hoped to cut an imposing figure. And to 
accomplish ibis, Mr. Washburn opened wide 
the clasp of his purse. Wherever money 
could gain admittance they were to be seen, 
sporting with a wealth of jewelry, and Par¬ 
isian airs. 
“ Who are those ?” asked ono of the no¬ 
bility of a friend, pointing to the Wash¬ 
burns. “ They seem born with money, and 
destitute of education.” 
“They are Americans,” replied the one 
addressed, “ and spend beyond reason. In 
fact they belong to that class of ignorant 
people, who travel because they are wealthy, 
and not with a view of improving either 
mind or heart.” 
Tho Washburns attended tho theatre, and 
attracted considerable attention by their 
vulgarity and blunders. 
“ Who is that spiteful looking woman ?’ 
asked Airs. Read of hor friend, Mrs. Par¬ 
sons. “ She seems as restless as though no 
play was going on.” 
“ A lady from our city, I believe, whoso 
husband has suddenly become rich.” 
“ What is her name?” 
“ Washburn.” 
“Not tiio Washburns that livod in- 
street,” continued Mrs. Read. 
“Tho same, I believe.” 
“ Why, she was the most kind-hearted wo¬ 
man I ever knew. Can it be possible that 
she has changed so much ?” 
“Very probable sho was kind-hearted 
once; but now they are rich and wish to be 
fashionable,—and their ignorance prevents 
them from rising very high.” 
“ What a misfortune to bo rich,” exclaim¬ 
ed Mrs. Read. “No doubt they experience 
much mortification. Sudden wealth spoils 
some people, and makes them appear fool¬ 
ish in tho eyes of sensible people. 
And so tho Washburns finished their stay- 
abroad, and came home again to livo in neg¬ 
lect and misery. They had mado no ac¬ 
quaintances while abroad, and but few at 
home. 
Years passed, and they had grown wise 
by past experience; and while they made 
loss display, they made more friends. Five 
children had grown to man and woman¬ 
hood, with an education fitted to adorn any 
sphere. 
“Who is that noble young man, that wait¬ 
ed on your daughter last night to Warren’s 
party ?” asked Mrs. Clayvillo of her friend, 
Mrs. War!and. 
“Arthur Washburn,” she replied. 
What, a son of that woman that we laugh¬ 
ed at so some years ago ?” 
“ Yes,” sho replied. “ Education has rais¬ 
ed them up to the standard of fashionable 
society. They have suffered a good deal of 
mortification, however, in tho * transition 
state ’ from low to high life.” 
In a few months, Arthur, now doing a pro¬ 
fitable business, was engaged to the charm¬ 
ing Alice Warland ; and expects to sustain, 
ere long, a nearer and dearer relation to tho 
object of his choico. 
Every one must think in a way peculiar 
to himself: since he finds in his path a truth 
or a kind of truth, which effects his whole 
life; only lot him cease to control himself; 
mero naked instinct is not becoming to man. 
laMea* Ifjiartmmt. 
LITTLE NELL. 
Spring with breezes coo] and airy, 
Opened on a little fairy; 
Ever resiless, making merry, 
She, with pouting lips of cherry, 
Lisped the words she eonld not master. 
Vexed that she might speak no faster,—• 
Laughing, running, playing dancing, 
Mischief, all her joys enchanting; 
Full of baby-mirth and glee, 
It was a joyous sight to see, 
Sweet little Nell. 
Summer came, the green earth’s lover, 
Ki idling the tufted clover— 
Calling down the glittering showers, 
Breathing on the lmds and flowers; 
Rivaling young pleasant May, 
In a generous holiday 1 
Smai'est insects hummed a tune, 
Through the blessed nights of June : 
And the maiden sang iikr song, 
Through die days so bright and long— 
Dear little Nell. 
Autumn came ! the leaves were falling— 
Death, the little one was calling; 
Pale and wan she grew, and weakly, 
Bearing all her pains so meekly. 
That to us she seemed s ill dearer 
As the trial hour drew nearer; 
But. she left us hopeless, lonely, 
Watching by her semblance only; 
An«l a li'tle grave they made her. 
In the cliurch-yard cold, they laid her—• 
Laid her sof !y down to rest, 
With a white rose on her breast 1— 
Poor little Nell.’ 
WOMAN’S PROFESSION. 
BY MISS BEECHER. 
The only profession open to woman, cor¬ 
responding to tho three liberal professions 
for man, is that of an educator. All allow 
that this is exceeded in importance by neith¬ 
er of tho professions of tho other sex, and 
yet no such provision has been made for 
the liberal education of woman. It is im¬ 
possible for her to secure such teachers and 
other advantages as colleges and profes¬ 
sional schools offer, while the very inferior 
ones obiained in the first female seminaries 
oiteti cost double or treble the expense of a 
college course. This heavy expense neces¬ 
sarily diminishes the time allowed by most 
parents for the education of their daugh¬ 
ters. 
The superior advantages provided for 
men enable them to compete with woman 
on very unequal terms, even in the sole lib¬ 
eral profession open to her. Tho best edu¬ 
cated, of course, take precedence, and thus 
we see tho posts of honor and emolument 
in education, even in the training of her own 
sex, to a wide extent, taken from woman and 
given to man. As a consequence, itf* Hows 
that well educated women, especially in the 
higher circles, have no elevating profession 
or aim in life to employ their highest powers. 
To estimate the evil of this, imagine what 
would be tho depressing influence on young 
men, if all the liberal professions, and all 
endowed institutions were taken from them, 
and they were confined to the pursuits that 
usually occupy well-educated women of the 
higher classes previous to marriage. If wo¬ 
man was trained for her profession as an 
educator, and had posts of honor and emol¬ 
ument open to her, she would be in thesame 
position in regard to incentives to energetic 
and useful action as her brothers. To edu¬ 
cate tho human mind would bo her business 
in life. When true affection calls her to the 
first relation in life, sho would pursue her 
profession as a Mother; but, if not so called, 
slio would bo equally well employed as the 
educator of others, and find the stimulus of 
honorable employment, position, and emol¬ 
ument, just as her brothers do in their pro¬ 
fessions. Thus no woman would be tempt¬ 
ed to profane the holiest relation by enter¬ 
ing it as the only avenue to the full employ¬ 
ment of her intellect and affections; and 
thus would the large class of educated wo¬ 
men who are unemployed during those 
years that intervene between the close of 
school-days and marriage — the most effec¬ 
tive years in the profession of an educator 
—become a rich blessing to their country 
and the world. 
There is, besides, a large class of educated 
women who. though married, have no such 
domestic claims as would interfere with 
I their being connected with female institu¬ 
tions as men are connected with colleges. 
In tho few cases in which women of su¬ 
perior energy and ability make for them¬ 
selves posts of honor and emolument as 
principals of female institutions, how differ¬ 
ent their lot from that of the other sex in 
their higher positions as educators ! The 
professors in colleges deem it an unreasona¬ 
ble exaction, if, after six or eight years’ 
training in endowed institution, they are re¬ 
quired to teach more than two hours a dav. 
while, at the same time, tho responsibilities 
: of the institution are so divided that no one 
; is burdened. But woman, with a feebler 
constitution, after very inferior advantages 
to fit her for her duties, when she assumes 
the higher posts of her profession, becomes 
responsible to the public for the instruction 
of every pupil in every branch of female 
study, and all tho details of government, 
finance, and the other responsibilities con¬ 
nected with such institution ; and, in addi¬ 
tion to all this, often teaches five or six hours 
a day. Tho result is tho constant ruin ol 
health to tho finest female teachers, and the 
constant relinquishment of their posts to 
tho more favored sex. The plea often urg- 
od for giving men the preference to women 
in the charge of tho best female institutions 
rests solely on the fact that men have had 
better advantages of education provided at 
public expense, and that so much is requir¬ 
ed of female principles that not one in twen¬ 
ty can retain such a position without entire 
prostration. 
In tho professions of men, whatever is 
solected as so important as to demand pub¬ 
lic endowments, instantly becomes honora¬ 
ble. Crowds throng tho favored path, even 
when it is seen that a great portion must fail 
entirely, and tho majority gain only a mod¬ 
erate competency. Take away from the 
liberal professions all endowed institutions, 
and what a change would ensue ! 
The greatest evils incident to tho lot of 
woman arise from the fact that her profes¬ 
sion is not made honorable. 
ABOUT JEWELRY. 
“ like a jewel iu an Ethiop’s ear.” 
That is just where it belongs. Tho love 
of jewelry is barbaric. In savage countries, 
where gold or pearls, feathers or shells, and 
that “kind of motley” is your only wear, 
ornaments, in the absence of all other dress, 
aro the solo evidence of rank and conse¬ 
quence. In such a state, tho ear-rings and 
tho nose-rings, the chains, the hoops, tho 
trinkets, trappings, and other gauds, aro 
most probably genuine. Paste, perfumery, 
and imposture are tho later products of civ¬ 
ilization, and belong to the march of intel¬ 
lect and the progress of tho race. Mankind 
have already reached a stage of improve¬ 
ment, when it becomes an important ques¬ 
tion,—whether jewelry has not exhausted 
its usefulness, and seen its best days. Can 
it do anything more for men and women ? 
Having risen with the rich and great, and 
perhaps helped them up to their present 
height of refinement, are now these costly 
gems to fall off soon, and sink down among 
the unintellectual, barbarous people whence 
they spring ? 
Diamond and pearls : gold and sapphires; 
emeralds and carbuncles, and the whole 
family of gems, have run their race, and be¬ 
come as obsolete and useless as hour-glasses 
and clepsydras. 
They have all alike ceased to indicateany- 
thing, even the poor merit of being rich.— 
The gold watch astonishes no more; it may 
bo only a Peter Funk. Who can tell wheth¬ 
er that yellow cable dangling from tho wais- 
coat is a genuine Californian ? Is that 
gooseberry-looking thing in tho bosom a 
real emerald ? Or that glistening bauble, a 
brilliant or a bastard t Time was when 
these various appendages were diplomas of 
the condition of the wearer. But now, in¬ 
stead of determining the character of the 
cratt by the flags flying in the rigging, tho 
process is reversed. Tho face, and hands, 
and air of the individual are to be carefully 
scrutinized; his conversation, if possible, 
listened to : when his words are duly weigh¬ 
ed, and his manners duly noted, then, and 
not before, is the ring upon his finger pro¬ 
nounced a sapphire, or a sham ; and the im¬ 
mense chain he patiently lugs about deter¬ 
mined to bo pure deception or pure dust. 
What is tho use now of all this savage 
finery ? It certificates nothing — except it 
is tho silliness of the person who thinks it 
does. If we know beforehand that the 
wearer is a nabob, wo conclude the yellow 
glister is a topaz, and not glass. But we do 
not then want the information; if it is not 
an interpreter it is nothing. Ilmv ridicu¬ 
lous are all cheating imitations of gold and 
precious stones! Thoy are nothing till 
their character is ascertained. When that 
is done they are worse than nothing — de¬ 
ceiving nobody, but disgusting every man of 
sense; not useless simply, but ridiculous.— 
Lot oysters wear pearls, and toads carry 
gems, as they have been leigned to do, in 
their heads; the jewel reputation is tho only 
one worth a real man’s care. So universal 
has the tasto for finery become, that a plain 
dress is now a badge of distinction. 
FEMALE ATTIRE. 
The stylo of ladies’ dress which now pre¬ 
vails. has been much spoken against of late. 
An English writer defends it," however de¬ 
claring it to be, “upon the whole, in as fa¬ 
vorable a state as the most vehement advo¬ 
cate for what is called nature and simplici¬ 
ty could desire. It is a costume in which 
they can dress quickly, walk nimbly, eat 
plentifully, stoop easily, loll gracefully, and 
in short, perform all the duties of life^ with¬ 
out lot or hindrance. The head is left to its 
natural size, the skin to its native purity, 
the waist at its proper region, tho heels at 
their real level. Tho dress is one calcula¬ 
ted to bring out the natural beauties of the 
person, and each of them has, as far as wo 
see, fair play. In former days what was 
known of a woman’s hair in the cap of Hen¬ 
ry tho Eight’s timo : or of her forehead un¬ 
der her hair in George the Thrd’s time; or 
of the fall of her shoulders in a welt nr wing 
in Queen Elizabeth’s time; or of the slen¬ 
derness of her throat in a gorget of Edward 
Firsts tiino; or of the shape of her arm in 
the bishops sleeve even in our own times. 
Now-a-days all these points receive full 
satisfaction for past neglect, and a woman 
breaks upon us in such a plentitude of 
charms, that we hardly know where to be¬ 
gin the catalogue. Hair light as silk, in 
floating curls, or massive as" marhle in shi¬ 
ning coils. Forehead bright and smooth as 
mother-of-pearl, and arched in matchless 
symmetry by its own beautiful drapery.— 
Ear, which for centuries had lain concealed, 
set on the side of the head like a delicate 
shell. Throat, a lovely stalk, leading the 
oye upward to a lovlier flower, and down¬ 
ward along a fair sloping ridge, undulating 
in the true line of beauty, to" the polished 
precipice of the shoulder, whence, from rho 
pendent calix of the shortest possible sleeves, 
hangs a lovely branch, smooth and glitter¬ 
ing like palo pink coral slightly curved to- 
artls the figure, and terminating in five pa¬ 
per potals. pinker still, folding and unfold¬ 
ing at your own sweet will, and especially 
contrived by nature to pick your heart 
clean to the bone before you know what you 
are about.” 
O ! let thy soul remember, what the will 
of heaven ordains is good for all; and if for 
all, then good for all.— Aikensxde. 
i 
