MOORE’S RURAL NEW-YORKER: AN AGRICULTURAL AND FAMILY NEWSPAPER. 
(figurational Degartnirat. 
BY L. WETHER ELL. 
Written for the Rural New-Yorker. 
WINTER EVENINGS. 
We are now in tho midst of the season of 
long Winter Evenings—the season of social 
enjoyment, mental improvement, and re¬ 
laxation from business pursuits. Though 
earth is robed in its first snowy dress, and 
the music of the rippling streamlets have 
been hushed by chilling frosts, yet around 
tho warm and comfortable glow of the kin¬ 
dled fire-side, all may be genial, cheerful, 
and happy. The gloom of tho world of na¬ 
ture without may be no emblem of the 
charms of the world of home within. 
All, and especially the young, should be 
well provided with good books and periodi¬ 
cals, and make them the daily companions 
of their leisure hours. If carefully selected, 
and well and rightly used, they will prove 
to be richer sources of instruction and 
amusement than can be found in any other 
way — furnishing abundant materials both 
for conversation and reflection. 
It is an old saying, that a man is known 
by tho company he keeps; he may be as 
correctly judged by the works and papers 
ho generally reads, for they will indicate 
tho standard of his literary taste and knowl¬ 
edge, and his intellectual and moral ten¬ 
dencies. 
The young should not spend too much time 
in reading the successive and innumerable 
works of fiction that are being constantly 
published by tho prolific American press, 
and scattered all over the land. Their utter 
worthlessness seems to be paralleled only by 
the rapid increase of their numbers. Most 
of them are worse than harmless—they are 
positively hurtful. They inflame tho im¬ 
agination without strengthing the judgment, 
leaving the mind in any thing but a sound 
and healthy state — ready to successfully 
struggle with the stern realities of life, and 
overcome the difficulties and reverses that 
often have to be met in this actual world of 
ours. It often takes as much time to wade 
through a traspy, though exciting novel, in 
which there is not a single useful lesson or 
beautiful idea, as it does to read a valuable 
history or an interesting narrative of travels, 
to say nothing of tho injurious effects of the 
one and tho desirablo information to be de¬ 
rived from the other. 
Let every one's library be filled with fa¬ 
vorite and well-known books — those rich 
legacies which tho wisest and best of man¬ 
kind have bequeathed to tho world as the 
noblest gifts they could bestow—and on the 
table let there be found some of the leading 
newspapers and magazines, and at the end 
of the year they will be found to bo a most 
profitable investment. If a proper use is 
made of them, they cannot fail to bo highly 
beneficial to all who are privileged with 
their perusal. 
Good books can make tho heart better 
and the head wiser—and tho acquisition of 
goodness and wisdom is'the true and great 
end of human life. They will furnish win¬ 
ning inducements to the young and grow¬ 
ing members of the family to begin and 
continue tho ennobling work of self-im¬ 
provement— awakening a strong love of 
knowledge in their youthful minds—the fu¬ 
ture development and cultivation of which 
may be a life-long and pleasant pursuit— 
one that will gently lure them along in the 
bright paths of virtue, making them honor¬ 
ed and respected wherever they are. They 
will furnish additional attractions to homo, 
safely anchoring within the limits of that 
charmed circle, the restless and wandering 
spirit of many a wayward son, who might 
otherwise be spending his precious evenings 
in places of temptation, with idle or vicious 
associates, and indulging in amusements far 
less innocent than that of reading some en¬ 
tertaining volume to listening brothers and 
sisters. 
In these fortunate days of both cheap 
and good publications, there aro few who 
can not provide themselves with some of 
the best works of the most gifted authors, 
tho possession of which will afford one of 
the simplest and easiest means of combin¬ 
ing social happiness with individual im¬ 
provement. 
To grow wiser and better every day is a 
primary duty taught in tho “ Book of books.” 
In no way can this sacred injunction be bet¬ 
ter fulfilled than by frequent and familiar 
communion with the w-ritings of the greatest 
and purest minds that have lived and 
thought in the different ages of tho world— 
those who have visited earth — mingling in 
human affairs, and walking in the prosonco 
of men — but have not left it without leav¬ 
ing the bright radiance of glorious and 
deathless names behind. 
D. W. Ballou, Jr. 
Lockport, Nov. 15th, 1852. 
. 
One cannot always be a hero, but one 
may always be a man. 
NEW PUBLICATIONS. 
Perilous Adventures and Thrilling Incidents 
and Narratives of Travelers in Europe, Asia, 
Africa and America, in Various Periods of His¬ 
tory. By John Frost, LL. D. Rochester: 
Wanzer, Beardsley & Co. 
In tho narration of perilous adventures 
in traveling and other kindred incidents, 
there is for children and youth a peculiar 
charm, because tho subjects and scenes are 
of a child-like nature. Where there is one 
child like President Edwards in his boy¬ 
hood, who took delight at the ago of 14 
years, in reading Locke’s Essay on tho Hu¬ 
man Understanding, there are ten thousand 
children, who never would look at such a 
book, that would be delighted with a book 
of travels and adventures, like tho one hero 
noticed. If parents would seo their chil¬ 
dren love reading, procure such books as 
they will read, provided always, that tho 
moral influence is good—never otherwise— 
for they better never read, than to read only 
what should never bo read. 
Covell’s Digest of English Grammar. 
—This is a Synthetical and Analytical Di¬ 
gest of English Grammar, Methodically ar¬ 
ranged and classified, adapted to the use of 
schools. It is quite similar to Wells’s Gram¬ 
mar, which wo have used for several years. 
Had the author provided for, instead of re¬ 
peating Wells’s defects, we should adopt the 
Digest for a test-book on Grammar. Pub¬ 
lished by Appleton & Co. 
ER. COX ON FEMALE EDUCATION. 
Dr. Cox, commenting on an examination 
which he attended at tho Seminary for 
Young Ladies in the “ Old Dominion,” uses 
the following language : 
“ Were all our ladies of the class bluestocking, 
Well skilled as these, in science and arts, 
Their polished wit were not so provoking, 
Pragmatical, into all wisdom poking; 
So superficial, whether grave or joking; 
Incapable, though brilliant in their parts, 
Of their best grade, as—M istresses oe Hearts.”* 
On, the topic of education for tho sex, and 
the excellence of sound and rich intelli¬ 
gence, illumining the character of woman, 
without making her—disgustingly—either 
amazonian or mannish in her port, it is only 
common-place now to observe—that woman, 
as elevated or degraded, as educated or 
barbarous, is tho criterion of society; that 
what she is, all are, conferably and by 
consequence; that, as a general rule, a 
great and a good man is always found to 
have had a great and a good mother; that 
woman herself, in the maternal relations, 
is the greatest educator — educatrix — in 
the world; that as the fountain, the expo¬ 
nent, and the ornament of home, she con¬ 
trols society, and qualifies all its streams, 
especially if she is wise and good, with her 
own incomparable influence; and that she 
ought to be thoroughly and well educated 
as a Christian lady, for God’s sake, for man’s 
sake, for tho sako of the Church and the 
State, for the ends of destiny, and the pu¬ 
rity of hope, and the glory of Christ as the 
Savior of immortal man ! I go Christ-wise 
for woman’s rights—not forgetting also, 
woman’s duties, woman’s sins, woman’s dan¬ 
gers, woman’s proper spheres, woman’s pe¬ 
culiar textures, relations and blessings. 
*To no siRy-man am I indebted for this felicity of desig¬ 
nation and honorary graduation—as all Yale well knows, 
and remembers of her honored and her oldest Professor, 
SlI.LIMAN. 
THE CAPITALS I AND J. 
We do sincerely wish, that by a conven¬ 
tion or some other process, the English 
literary world would determine and estab¬ 
lish the difference in form between these 
two letters. They are a standing nuisance 
in every letter and communication received, 
in the proof sheet of every editoral you 
write, every I that wou make, and in every 
chango of compositors, whom you havo to 
instruct anew. 
I always write my I with a short round 
turn that comes just down to tho line, and 
my J with a long stroke below the line, a 
short, sharp curve, and a nearly straight 
upward stroke that roaches to the line.— 
I believe that this is a correct way, and be¬ 
ing easily understoood, would bo generally 
adopted, but for a set of brainlesss, fancy 
writing masters, who, in their eternal flour¬ 
ishes, gymnastics, and bold, round curves, 
teach that everything must be perfectly 
round or straight. I do not remember in 
two years an instance of the use of the I 
in a proper name, that I have not found it 
printed a J, and had to correct it. It is a 
source of great annoyanco to tho publishers, 
and a chagrin to the parties named. 
The difficulty should bo corrected in tho 
common schools, where the proper distinc¬ 
tion should bo taught and enforcod, how¬ 
ever detrimental to that artificial beauty 
which consists in flourishes alono.— Ohio 
Teacher. 
Our Language.— The difficulty of apply¬ 
ing rules to the pronunciation of our lan¬ 
guage may be illustrated in two linos,where 
the combination of tho letters ougli is pro¬ 
nounced seven different ways, namely, as o, 
vf of, up, ow, oo, ogh. 
“Though the tough cough and hicough plough me 
through, 
O’er like dark lough my course I still pursue.” 
Little minds rejoice over the errors of 
men of genius, as tho owl#rejoices at an 
eclipse. 
As daylight can be soon through tho 
smallest holo, so do tho most trifling things 
show a man’s character. 
$eabing for tjjt Noting. Natural JSistanj. 
>abliat{} Jltabinga. 
HONOR THE AC-ED. 
Treat old people with kindness and re¬ 
spect. Hardly a day passes that we do not 
notice much which is deeply painful. A 
true hearted man and gentleman will honor 
old age and its grey hairs. The ill-bred 
treat tho old rudely, and laugh at their tot¬ 
tering steps or old-fashioned manner or 
speech. The Arabs honor the aged. It is 
a beautiful feature in human character—a 
veneration for the aged. We love the man 
or woman who looks reverently upon those 
whose steps aro fast going down to the 
grave. 
Young people too often shun the aged as 
though their infirmities were contagious.— 
Old hearts are grieved at such treatment. 
They cling fondly to the young, and feel 
quickly the kindly tone and helping hand. 
His mind has garnered a wealth of observa¬ 
tion and experience, and ho is ever happy 
to converse. His heart beats back quickly 
to the voice of youth, and the dim old eyes 
kindlo with light as ho talks of the past. 
We love the old man or woman. They 
are but a little way advanced on tho path¬ 
way of life. A few brief years at most, and 
we, if life is spared, shall stand as they 
stand, in tho dim twilight of two worlds.— 
Do the young ever think of this ? Do they 
ever dream that years will steal upon them 
until their black locks are grey, and their 
strong limbs shrunken and tremulous ?— 
Does tho spring time of years last to the 
journey’s end — no autumn, or cheerless 
winter? No. no. young man or maiden. 
You too, are growing old. You would not 
wish to be shunned because time had car¬ 
ried you into the “ sere and yellow leaf” of 
earthly existence. Shun not others then, 
for it is painful to witness such neglect of 
that veneration and respect which is due to 
those who, liko ripened shocks, aro awaiting 
tho harvest of death. 
“ Speak gently to the aged one, 
Grieve not tlic care-worn heart; 
The sands of life are nearly run, 
Let such in peace depart!” 
Speaking of old age,—while in the cars 
we noticed an incident which filled our 
heart with pleasant thoughts. An aged 
couple were seated together, their heads 
both grey, and their eyes dim and sunken. 
Both through fatigue, had fallen asleep, the 
wife leaning upon the still broad shouldered 
husband. It was a beautiful sight. Thus 
through a half century they had journeyed 
together—the rugged oak and the clinging 
vine. There were hallowing thoughts as we 
watched them. It would have excited no 
attention, to have witnessed tho young wife 
thus leaning upon the choice of her young 
dreams, and a future all bright with hope. 
But after all the ardor of youthful love and 
affection had passed through tho ordeal of 
life’s realities, then to see the old wife, still 
leaning upon the arm with so much childish 
confidence and trust, was a scene of most 
touching and hallowing bcautv .—Cayuga 
Chief. " ’ 
PROPENSITIES AND HABITS OF LIONS. WHEN I AWAKE I AM STILL WITH THEE. 
WRITE LETTERS. 
Not to everybody, nor to all that ask you, 
or you will be taxed beyond your patience, 
and find it hard to shake off a troop of un¬ 
profitable acquaintance. Not to all girls 
who have made your heart flutter, lest you 
kindle flames you will not be able to feed,— 
lest you write soft things that will look ridi¬ 
culous in your biography,—lest some offend¬ 
ed damsel be down upon you for breach of 
promise. Not to all your cousins, lest your 
classics bo neglected and your business suf¬ 
fer. 
Write punctually to those with whom you 
have business connections. A great many, 
who lack neither industry nor resolution, 
find it extremely hard to write a business 
note of half a dozen lines. Liko rail cars, 
it is easier to run forty miles on their track 
than a rod out of the way on either side.— 
A friend of ours, who had suffered much for 
lack of letters from his vessel when on her 
voyages, gave a package of old letters, di¬ 
rected to himsolf, into tho hands of the 
captain, with positive orders for him to drop 
one into the post-office of every port where 
he touched. The post-mark on the corner 
answered his purpose. 
Write to your sister. Your letters are a 
luxury to her that she prizes above her jew¬ 
elry, and they cost you nothing, or near it. 
Be at charges for a sheet of paper and a 
thimble full of ink. The cigar you are 
smoking cost as much as tho postage of it. 
The cigar ends in ashes and smoke; the let¬ 
ter strengthens the family tie, and adds a 
strand to the blessed cords that bind the 
members of a common homo together. 
Write to your mother. If your are in 
good company, she will see in your letters 
and bo comforted in your absence. II - you 
neglect to write, her affection has hard 
struggles with her fears to assure her that 
you have not gone astray. Have not time ? 
Take time from the backgammon - hoard, 
from the calls of ceremony, from the socie¬ 
ty of companions, from sleep, from meals; 
when you hive not time to write to your 
mother, you have not time to look at a crowd 
gathered in the street. He who made time, 
gave you time enough. What havo you 
done with it ? 
Write to your father. Your postpone¬ 
ment thickeis the white hairs on his rever¬ 
end head. Aro you busier than he ? and ho 
writes to you. Ho will not misinterpret 
your silence; he can trust his boy. He 
knows you are on a busy tide — the stream 
runs fast. He will forgive you if you do 
not recognize him waving his good wishes 
from the hank. But ho must go up soon; 
and when you have time to look, his manly 
form may havo departed. Give him the 
costless solace of frequent letters, that lie 
may know to the last ho is not forgotten.— 
Writo to him to-day.— JY. Y. Times. 
Mr. Cummings, author of a work entitled 
“Hunter’s Life in South Africa,” furnishes 
curious facts respecting the lion. We givo 
two or three paragraphs : 
One of the most striking things connect¬ 
ed with tho lion is his voice, which is ex¬ 
tremely. grand and peculiarly striking. It 
consists at times of a low deep moaning, re¬ 
peated five or six times, ending in faintly 
audible sighs ; at other times he startles the 
forest with loud, deep toned, solemn roars; 
repeated five or six times in quick succes¬ 
sion, each increasing in loudness to the third 
and fourth, when his voice dies away in fivo 
or six low muffled sounds, very much re¬ 
sembling distant thunder. At times, and 
not unfrequently, a troop may bo heard in 
concert, one assuming the lead, and two, 
three, or four more singing a catch. Like 
our Scottish stags at the rutting season, 
they roar loudest in cold frosty nights; but 
on no occasion aro their voices to he hoard 
in such perfection, or so intensely powerful 
as when two or three strange troops of lions 
approach a fountain to drink at tho same 
time. When this occurs, every member of 
each troop sounds a bold roar of defiance 
at the opposite parties ; and when one roars, 
all roar together, and each seems to vie with 
his comrades in the intensity and power of 
his voico. Tho power and grandeur of these 
nocturnal forest concerts are inconceivably 
striking and pleasing to tho hunter’s ear.— 
The effect is greatly enhanced when tho 
hearer happens to be situated in the depths 
of the forest at the dead hour of midnight, 
I unaccompanied by any attendant, and en¬ 
sconced within twenty yards of tho fountain 
which tho surrounding troop of lions are 
approaching. Such has been my situation 
many scores of times; and although I am 
allowed to have a tolerably good taste for 
music. I consider the catches which I am re¬ 
galed with, as the sweetest and most natural 
I over heard. 
As a general rule, lions roar during the 
night; their sighing moans commencing as 
tho shades of evening envelop the forest, 
and continuing at intervals during the night. 
In distant and secluded regions, I have con¬ 
stantly heard them roaring loudly as latoas 
nine or ten o’clock on a bright sunny morn¬ 
ing. In hazy and rainy weather they are 
to be heard at every hour in tho day, but 
their voice is subdued. It often happens 
that when two strange male lions meet at a 
fountain a terrific combat ensues, which not 
unfrequently ends in tho death of one of 
them. The habits of tho lion aro strictly 
nocturnal; during the day lie lies concealed 
beneath the shade of some low bushy trees 
or wide-spreading bush, within tho level for¬ 
est, or on tho mountain side. He is also 
partial to lofty reeds or fields of long rank 
yellow grass, occurring in lowly valleys.— 
When he is successful in his catch and has 
secured liis prey, he does not roar much 
that night, only uttering occasionally a few 
low moans; that is, provided no intruders 
approach him, otherwise tho case would be 
very different. 
I remarked a fact .connected with the 
lion’s hour of drinking peculiar to them¬ 
selves ; they seemed unwilling to visit the 
fountains with good moonlight. Thus, when 
tho moon rose early, the lions deferred their 
watering till late in the morning; and when 
the moon rose late, they drank at an early 
hour in the night. 
Owing to the tawny color of the coat with 
which nature lias robed him, he is perfectly 
invisible in the dark; and although I have 
often heard them loudly lapping tho water 
under my very nose not twenty yards from 
mo, I could not possibly make out so much 
as tho outline of their forms. When a thirs¬ 
ty lion comes to water, he stretches out his 
massive arms, lies down on his breast to 
drink, and makes a loud lapping noiso, not 
to ho mistaken. Ho continues lapping up 
tho water for a long while, and four or five 
times during the proceeding he pauses for 
half a minute as if to tako breath. One 
thing conspicuous about thorn is their eyes, 
which, in a dark night, glow liko two balls 
of fire. 
SAGACITY OF A RAT. 
A neighbor, entitled to implicit credenco, 
relates a story of tho cunning and intelli¬ 
gence of a rat, more remarkable, wo think, 
than any wo have listened to. Ho says, be- 
ing plagued with rats about his barn, lie 
made various attempts to secure some of 
them with a trap, but without success. Tho 
trap used was made of wire, and was so con¬ 
structed that a rat on entering and nibbling 
at tho bait, tho trap would spring and catch 
tho intruder. The man, upon frequently 
finding the bait gone, tho trap sprung, and 
no prisoner, concluded ho would watch tho 
trap. Soon half a dozen rats made their ap¬ 
pearance, and among them one that seemed 
to have more years than the others. Ho 
advanced slowly and cautiously toward the 
trap, and when the others would make a 
move as if intending to rush at tho bait, the 
old fellow would wag his tail and they would 
fall behind him. 
After viewing the trap closely, the old 
fellow approached tho back part of it, and 
getting on it, shook the raised part till the 
trap sprung, and then put a paw through 
ono of the openings between tho wires, and 
taking the bait off mado his retreat with it. 
The samo thing was repoated a second time 
the samo afternoon. Our neighbor deter¬ 
mined not to be out-goneraled by a rat, and 
sot a common trap in a keg, and covered it 
with Indian meal. In due timo tho old cul¬ 
prit entered the keg and was securod.— 
fVilkesbarre Advocate. 
The flea, grass-hopper and locust jump 
200 times their own length, equal to a quar¬ 
ter of a mile for a man. 
BY HARRIET B. STOWE. 
Still, with Thee—when purple morning hreaketh, 
When the bird waketli, and the shadows flee; 
Fairer than morning, lovelier than the daylight, 
Dawns the sweet consciousness, I am with Thee. 
Alone with Thee—amid the mystic shadows, 
The solemn hush of nature newly born; 
Alone with Thee in breathless adoration, 
In the calm dew and freshness of the morn. 
As in the dawning o’er the wavelcs’ ocean, 
Tlie image of the morning star doth rest, 
So in tiiis stillness, Thou belioldest only 
Thine image in the waters of my breast. 
Still, still with Thee 1 as to each new-born morning 
A fresh and solemn splendor still is given, 
So doth this blessed conseiousnes awaking, 
Breathe, each day, nearness unto Thee and Heav’n. 
When sinks the soul, subdued by toil, to slumber, 
Its closing eye.looks up to Thee in prayer; 
Sweet tho repose beneath Thy wings o’ersliading, 
But sweeter still, to wake and find Thee there. 
So shall it be at last, in that bright morning, 
When the soul waketh, and life’s shadows flee; 
Oh! in that hour, fairer than daylight dawning, 
Shall rise the glorious thought, I am with Thee. 
Written for the Rural New-Yorker. 
BENEVOLENCE. 
Whenever wo see the spirit of benovo- 
lenco manifested we find that happiness 
reigns. The selfish person may gratify his 
passion, and theroby think to obtain pleas¬ 
ure. Ilis restles mind seeks in vain for hap¬ 
piness, for it is scarcely felt beforo it is gone, 
while self is tho only object of his toil.— 
The miser amasses wealth that neither bene¬ 
fits himself nor others, for ho has not feel¬ 
ings that prompt him to aid his fellow crea¬ 
tures. 
The whole world is spread out as a scene 
for action, and tliero is no lack of opportu¬ 
nity for him who is willing to make broader 
the stream of benevolence. If the work of 
a Howard or a Judson may not be his, yet 
each, in his own sphere, and may prove in 
a thousand ways and by little kindnosses the 
effort that fills his heart, may show good 
will hv paying duo deferenco to tho opinions 
of others, and also by restraining that un¬ 
ruly member which is often the cause of so 
much evil. 
When we consider, that we are all de¬ 
pendent creatures, not only upon our Ma¬ 
ker, hut upon one another, it seems strange 
there should bo so ofton, feelings of envy 
and revenge, which can only bring grief to 
tho heart. How different from that spirit 
manifested by Christ, who, when on earth 
was continually doing good, and who taught 
his discijiles to love their enemies. i,. 
THE BEAUTIFUL EFFECT CF PAIN. 
One of tho most beautiful effects of pain 
is its tendency to develop kind feelings be¬ 
tween man and man; to excite a friendly 
sympathy on the part of others toward tho 
person immediately afflicted. No sooner is 
a person attacked with illness, than a cor¬ 
responding degree of interest is excited in 
his behalf. Expressions of solicitudo for 
his welfare are put forward, offers of assist¬ 
ance are mado, old friendships aro revived, 
new ones developed ; all this, it is to bo re¬ 
membered, is essentially connected with tho 
suffering of sickness. Were it not for this, 
there would be no occasion for this sympa¬ 
thy. and there would be no manifestation 
of it. Every man would ho left to battle 
with the attacks of illness as he could; and 
no kind voico would be raised to cheer him 
in his hours of solitary gloom; no tender 
hands put forth in offices of kindness; no 
midnight watchers volunteer to attend his 
bedside. In contemplating the uses of pain 
that a gracious God has attached to our 
constitution as a necessary part of our ex¬ 
istence, is there any ono that calls for louder 
admiration than this, which unites the whole 
family of Adam into one universal brother¬ 
hood ; which gives exercise to tho noblest 
charities of our nature, and which is the 
means of securing to us, at the very mo¬ 
ment when we most see their valuo, the 
tendcrest assistance of tho best and kindest 
feelings of our nature ? 
WHAT IS LIFE! 
The following beautiful description, in 
answer to this question, is from Rev. Mr. 
Mountford’s Euthanasy: 
The present life is sleeping and waking; 
it is “good night,” on going to hod, and 
“ good morning,” on getting up; it is to 
wonder wonder what the day will bring ; it 
is sunshine and gloominess ; it is rain on the 
window, as one sits by the fire; it is to walk 
in tho garden and seo the flowers open, and 
hear the birds sing; it is to have the post- 
bring lotters; it is to have news from east, 
west, north, and south; it is to read old 
hooks and now books; it is to see pictures 
and hear music; it is to pray with a family 
morning and evening; it is to sit in twilight 
and meditate; it is to bo well, and somo- 
timos to ho ill; it is to have business to do 
and to do it; it is to have breakfast and 
dinner and tea; it is to belong to a town 
and havo neighbors, and to he ono of a cir¬ 
cle of acquaintances; it is to have friends to 
love ono; it is to have a sight of doar old 
faces; and with some men. to he kissed daily 
by some loving lips for fifty years ; and it is 
to know themselves thought of many times 
a day, in many places, by children and 
grand-children, and many friends. 
m 
