8 
MOOSE'S RURAL NEW-YORKER: AN AGRICULTURAL AND FAMILY NEWSPAPER 
JAN. 2 
Written for Moore's Rural New-Yorker. 
A SPIRIT-DREAM. 
BY JENNY A. STONE. 
Where the wind spirits whisper 
Tye wandered alone, 
The leaves of the forest 
Hare welcomed me home. 
Low voiceB are sighing 
Along the green sod, 
« Kneel thee down softly 
And pray to thy God.” 
The blue skies are arching 
This temple so vast, 
And the voices of Nature 
Float dreamily past; 
The waters are flowing 
In musical chime 
With the song of the wild-bird, 
The beatings of Time. 
My forehead is resting 
Low on the green moss, 
Not here in my dreaming 
’Twill wearily toss; 
For the coolness is stealing 
Deep into my brain, 
Life’s fever is sinking,— 
I’m tranquil again. 
0, oft in my slumbers 
I’ve dreamed of the Past, 
’Twas bright, ’twas all glory, 
Too glorious to last, 
But this is soul-freedom; 
’Tis real,—’tis true; 
Alone in the forest, 
My covering, yon blue. 
Far, far from all sorrow, 
All discord, all strife, 
Far, far from the cankers 
And envies of life; 
No stony-eyed glances, 
No breathings of hate, 
No love born too early, 
Or wisdom too late. 
The spirits I’ve longed for 
Are noar to me now, 
Their touch on my eyelids, 
Their breath on my brow. 
Dim fingers are threading 
The waves of my hair, 
Faint shadows are floating 
Through all the still air. 
And yet I must waken 
To earth-life again, 
Must bow 'neatli the burden 
Of grief and of pain,— 
Go, go, thou, sweet dreaming, 
Here on this green sod, 
ril kneel me down softly 
And pray to my God. 
Hadley, Mich., 1857. 
Written fbr Moore's Rural New-Yorker 
A SPICY EPISTLE FROM KENTUCKY. 
BY MRS. MARY J. HOLMES. 
Louisville Hotel, Ky., Dec., 1857. 
Having been to Jail, to Stales Prison, to the 
Legislature, and to hear the Hon. Thos. P. Mar¬ 
shall lecture, I have, 1 believe, gathered enough 
material for a letter to the Rural. 
When a child, everything pertaining to Kentuc¬ 
ky, possessed for me a peculiar fascination, and re¬ 
membering this, I am lead to hope that among 
your readers there are at least a few who will be 
interested in this sketch, because it dates from the 
land of Daniel Boone. Kentucky, however, has 
changed much since the days when the renowned 
hunter started the wild beast from his lair, or 
tracked the red man to his wigwam ’neath the 
woodland shade, and, could he start suddenly into 
life, he would look in vain for his vast hunting 
grounds where now stand many flourishing cities 
and towns. 
It is four weeks since I left the Empire State, on 
whose hills the wintry snows have already fallen, 
and are falling still, perchance, while here as I 
write in a room without a fire, the warm, damp air, 
(for it is raining,) comes in through the open win¬ 
dow, seeming to me more like the balmy breath of 
an April shower than the chilly December wind.— 
Bnt not thus has it always been, for the same storm 
which brought out overcoats, furs and mittens at 
the north, gave us a passing growl, just enough to 
bend the negroes double, while I, in my big blanket 
shawl before the glowing grate, ministered first to 
my eyes and then to my nose, while between times 
I shut the doors, which the people here invariably 
leave ajar, be the weather what it may. One day 
of warm sunshine, however, is sufficient to make 
us forget the chills, and for the last two weeks we 
have enjoyed all the warmth and geniality of Oc¬ 
tober weather. My home proper, or rather the 
place where I keep my two trunks, is in Woodford, 
at the house of Dr. Steele, where I daily see mani¬ 
fested all the warm-hearted hospitality and kind¬ 
liness of manner which so deservedly renders Ken¬ 
tucky a favorite with her northern sisters. 
For the present, however, I am stopping at the 
Louisville Hotel, in Louisville, which is, I dare say, 
a beautiful city, seen under favorable circumstances 
—but alas, the fates seem to be against me, for ever 
since I came the clouds have poured down rain, 
which, mingling with the earth below and the coal 
dust of the chimneys above, renders the pavements 
anything but agreeable to a lady who cares aught 
about the appearance of the bottom of her dress! 
But I came to see, and when once a woman’s reso¬ 
lution is taken, it requires something more power¬ 
ful than the elements to turn her aside from her 
purpose; so, in spite of the weather, I have been 
over a portion of the town, which seems to me 
somewhat like Rochester, except that the streets 
and sidewalks are wider, and it has more of a busi¬ 
ness air, owing, probably, to the river, which neces¬ 
sarily brings the city a great deal of trade. The 
stores here are very fine, though almost every one 
hangs out the advertisement “ Selling off at prime 
N. Y. cost,” thus [indicating that they, too, have 
heard of the ogress, called “hard times.” (I sup¬ 
pose it must be of the feminine gender, as gentle¬ 
men accuse us ladies of having caused it!) These 
advertisements mean something here, for elegant 
silks of the bayadere style, which, four weeks since, 
sold for $40 and $50 per pattern, are now offered 
for $25 and $28, and but for the unfortunate cir¬ 
cumstance that my purse was empty, I verily be¬ 
lieve I should have bought up quantities of dry¬ 
goods and turned pedlar at once! But, to make 
amends for these cheap silks, I saw in one place a 
set of furs marked “Only One Thousand Dollars!” 
Involuntarily I thought of the starving poor in 
. New York city, and how far the thousand dollars, 
which some foolish woman will pay for those furs, 
would go towards feeding the hungry multitude. 
It was in the vicinity of these costly furs that I 
met with what I consider a hair-breadth escape .— 
With my head down and thoughts intent upon my 
muddy shoes, I was about crossing the street, when 
my attention was attracted by an unusual commo¬ 
tion, and looking up I saw?men, women and chil¬ 
dren flying in all directions, while coming straight 
towards me and snapping at everything in its way, 
was a large and formidable looking hog! Know¬ 
ing that a pig in the street was not an uncommon 
occurrence, I moved leisurely on, until a shout of 
“Take care, lady, the hog is mad!" started both 
hair and bonnet from the back of my head! With 
a scream and a bound I landed in a clothing store, 
where I ran behind the counter, if indeed, I did 
not hide under it Hydrophobia is a thing which 
of all others I most dread, and though I suppose I 
was not bitten, I came so near it that should I here¬ 
after go snarling and snapping through the world ; 
my friends, I trust, will not impute it to any ill-nature 
on my part, but rather to my encounter with a mad 
hog! 
Louisville is, I believe, noted for its handsome 
women, but the rain keeps them within doors, so I 
have no opportunity of knowing how they will com¬ 
pare with the ladies at home. To make amends for 
the weather, I have most delightful quarters at the 
Louisville Hotel, which is a model of order and 
cleanliness. This I say truthfully, for my polite 
host and hostess have taken me all over the build¬ 
ing, from the fifth story, which overlooks the broad 
Ohio, to the basement, where are manufactured 
good things innumerable for the wants of the in¬ 
ner man. Everything is perfectly neat, and it is, I 
believe, one of the finest Hotels in the State. Mr. 
Stedman, the present gentlemanly proprietor, is a 
native of New York, and those who are traveling 
through Louisville cannot do better than give him 
a call. 
The public [amusements here at present consist 
of the Theatre,— Negro Minstrels,— Lectures on 
Dr. Kane, and Lectures on History (Italy,) by the 
Hon. Thos. F. Marshall. Out of the four I, last 
night, chose the latter, and though he kept us sit¬ 
ting on hard benches for the space of three long 
hours, I felt repaid for having gone. It is some¬ 
thing, you know, to hear Tom. Marshall, as they 
call him. As his lecture was purely historical, some 
parts of it were necessarily drj-, besides which he 
was not quite as eloquent as usual. Political 
speech-making is his forte, and whenever he touch¬ 
ed upon his favorite hobby — Americanism — he 
warmed up perceptibly, and I can readily under¬ 
stand why, notwithstanding his besetting sin, Ken¬ 
tucky is proud to claim him as her son. 
To-morrow I leave here for Frankfort, where the 
Legislature is now in session, and in my next I will 
give you the benefit of whatever I may see which 
I think will interest you, besides telling you of a 
visit which, on my way here, I made to the Legis¬ 
lative Halls and Penitentiary. Hoping I have not 
wearied you, I remain Yours, truly, 
M. J. H. 
OUR DAUGHTERS. 
For Moore’s Rural New-Yorker 
COUNTRY LIFE. 
BY JOHN H. BAZLEY. 
In towns and cities thousands live 
Seeking for something which wfll give 
Large gains for little toil; 
They strain their wits, distress their minds, 
And call him smart or great who finds 
Some new way to despoil. 
How strange! that men of goodly parts 
Should condescend to meanest arts 
In trying to get cash; 
Will shave, and cheat, and swindle, too, 
Without regard to me or you, 
So they may cut a dash. 
Why is it so? What mania fills 
Their silly heads and perverse wills 
That thus they chase the wind; 
Losing their health and manly minds, 
Losing each tie and grace that binds 
Us mortals to our kind? 
Thrice blessed is a Country Life, 
Far, far away from noise and strife, 
In some secluded spot; 
Where killing cares are seldom found, 
Where peace and plenty most abound, 
And friends are ne’er forgot. 
Labor is God’s command to man, 
Happy are they who do and can 
Obey the great intent; 
No artificial wants they’ll crave, 
Few sleepless nights, no thoughts that rave, 
But rest in sweet content. 
The flocks and herds in fields and groves, 
Lie down in shade or feed in droves, 
Conscious that God is there; 
The herbs, shrubs, plants, around us rise, 
Sweet flowers send incense to the skies, a 
While fruit trees bloom and bear. ™ 
Nature’s domain is a concert hall, 
Where birds with songs and caw and call, 
Invoke the Deity; 
The plowman whistles o’er the land, 
The milkmaid singeth blithe and bland, 
In sweet simplicity. 
Oh, give me, then, a Country Life, 
Far, far away from pride and strife, 
Where happiness is found; 
My wishes moderate and wise, 
My passions tamed in modest guise, 
And all by love is crowned. 
Blockley, Philadelphia Co., Pa., 1857. 
Written fbr Moore's Rural New-Yorker. 
WAIFS.”—NO. I. 
The greatest danger to our daughters in the 
present time, is the neglect of domestic education. 
Not only to themselves, but to husbands, families, 
and the community at large, does the evil extend. 
By far the greatest amount of happiness in civilized 
life is found in the domestic relation, and most of 
this depends on the domestic culture and habits of 
the wife and mother. Let our daughters be intel¬ 
lectually educated as highly as possible; let their 
moral and social nature receive the highest graces 
of vigor and refinement; but along with these, let 
the domestic virtues find a prominent place. 
We cannot say much about our daughters being 
hereafter wives and mothers, but we ought to think 
much of it, and give the thought prominence in 
all our plans for their education. Good wives they 
cannot be, at least for men of intelligence, without 
mental culture; good mothers they certainly can¬ 
not be without it; and more than this, they cannot 
be such wives as men need, unless they are good 
housekeepers; without a thorough and practical 
training to that end. Our daughters should be 
practically taught to bake, wash, sweep, cook, set 
table, and do everything appertaining to the order, 
neatness, economy and happiness of the household. 
All this, they can learn as well as not, and better 
than not. It need not interfere in the least with 
their intellectual education, nor with the highest 
style of refinement. On the contrary, it shall 
greatly contribute thereto. Only let that time 
which is worse than wasted in idleness, sauntering, 
gossip, frivolous reading, and the various modern 
female dissipations which kill time and health, be 
devoted to domestic duties and education, and our 
daughters wonld soon be all that the highest inter¬ 
ests of society demand. A benign, elevating influ¬ 
ence would go forth through all the families of the 
land. Health and happiness would now sparkle in 
many a lustreless eye, the bloom would return to 
beautify many a faded cheek, and doctor's bills 
would give way to bills of wholesome fare.— Saint 
Loins Advertiser. 
Around the chimney’s smoke the swallows fly 
Like memories floating round a soul at rest; 
Anon they fold their wings within their nest, 
Like soaring fancies cherished silently. 
The children smile beneath their parents’ eye, 
Basking in love, as flowers beneath the snn; 
And sportively the little prattlers run, 
Like thronging joys when life and hope are high. 
Far off the toiling city murmurs deep— 
A sea of life whose ever-restless waves 
Beat on a golden shore—tumultuous beat, 
Mocked by the silent lips of those who sleep 
Around the city in their quiet graves, 
The final home where all at last will meet. 
It was among the loveliest customs of the an¬ 
cients to bury the young at morning twilight: for j 
as they strove to give the softest interpretation to i 
death, so they imagined that Aurora, who loved the { 
young, had stolen them to her embrace. 
Scandal. —Query first. Is there any one, in pos¬ 
session of the goodly field which “Old Stapleton” 
denominated “human natur,” who has not had 
fountains of wrath found and most deeply stirred 
therein, by the “witch-hazel ” of “they say!” 
Second. Has there ever existed an upper ten 
clique, a quiet little village or a country neighbor¬ 
hood, in which the thistle seed of scandal were not 
duly sown by certain long-tongued, small-souled, 
peering, quizzing and quibbling bundles of evil 
called gossips? 
We have always liked the looks of Patience— 
though it has been our fortune to view her only 
from a distance,—and consider a forgiving spirit 
one of the white jewels of a heart-casket, but should 
our senses and feelings be called as members of 
council for deciding as to the wrong of tongue or 
pen “ assault and battery” against the sin, scandal, 
and the sinner, scandal-monger, we feel pretty sure 
that the “jury” would report “ not guilty;” a ver- 
dietto which Judge Conscience would say “ Amen.” 
Hawk-eyed and hawk-spirited, always watching 
for some poor little chicken of an impropriety to 
pounce upon, are these disturbers of both public 
and private peace, but the similarity ceases here, 
for instead of devouring the “ game” immediately 
after its seizure, it is twisted into as forbidding a 
shape as possible, well peppered with malice, and 
passed round for the inspection of all who have 
“motes” in their eyes large enough to prevent 
their seeing the motive which starts it; while at 
every fresh display a feather is added till it is at the 
last grown from a small impropriety to a large sin, 
and the capturer tells wondrous stories of the flock 
which was left behind. 
And so “ plausible ” as they are at times. Do 
you receive a call from one of them, there is noth¬ 
ing in the seven kingdoms nicer than within your 
house, nothing so “ recherche ” as your toilet, no 
church whose discipline is so j ust, or whose members 
are wrapped in such robes of righteousness, as that to 
which you belong, while you are firmly assured that 
your friendship is more highly prized than any oth¬ 
er, that without it life, in such a place as the neigh¬ 
borhood is pictured, would be unendurable. But if 
you could be a “disembodied spirit” at your next 
neighbors in an hour from that time! Wouldn't you 
hear the tongue,—likened more to a “razor-strop” 
than aught else, being plied with oil to your face, 
that the words which pass over it behind your 
back may be the sharper,—give a most amusing 
sketch of the Bedlamic appearance of domicil and 
person, the utter wickedness and laxity of law in 
your church, and above all, of your greenness in 
supposing that any friendship was entertained for 
such an unpopular, ill-favored person as yourself ? 
It’s a lovable picture isn’t it ? Well, heart-mana¬ 
ger, “ drop the curtain,” but give us time between 
the “ acts ” to form the resolution of being now¬ 
commentary as to the doings of our neighbors, and 
reflect that all have some short-comings in the line 
of duty, some over-goings in the matter of prudence, 
a fact which should be kept before our mental vis¬ 
ion while noting the same in others, and also serve 
as a bridle for our tongues when their starting 
point is the delineation of other people's characters. 
A Word about Garrets. —Not being versed in 
phrenology, we don’t know how largely veneration 
is developed on our cranium, but it is a fixed fact 
we gaze upon with solemn optics, and “touch with 
reverential fingers,” the worn-outs and cast-offs,the 
great, cumbersome chests, lame tables and broken- 
backed chairs which grace a “ garret” 
The more cobwebs on the windows, dust on the 
rafters, and confusion on the floor there may be, 
the more it is to our taste, too, and though the con¬ 
fession may cause some shaking of curls and agita¬ 
tion of cap-frills among the more order-loving of 
our sex, we are not disposed to “abate one jot or 
tittle ” of its honesty, even to prevent such a demon¬ 
stration; for miniature w'orlds in chaos are our on¬ 
ly consolation for not viewing the large one in that 
state, and change, be it only from the beaten track 
to the wayside, from neatness to disorder, is one of 
the hunger-cries of our nature. 
There are lessons to be learned in garrets, too,— 
lessons such as are not written for our reading in 
draperied parlors or elegant drawing-rooms, for 
their letters are in the form of rough furniture and 
coarse garments, spelling words that are reminders 
of the “ leal and true” natures, which, wedded to 
strong, free intellects, cleared, broke up and cul¬ 
tured, the earth-bosom which holds and nurtures 
“ This great and mighty nation.” 
“Young America” is not generally thought to be 
of a very reflective turn of mind, but we believe 
t that the spirit of investigation goes into the past as 
r well as future occasionally—that there are times 
when the “ fire” goes down slightly round the “ many 
irons,” and the owner has dreams of the “ Has 
Been” as well as “To Be;” dreams followed by a 
waking thought that a great deal was accomplished 
at the first, without which the perfection reached 
at the last would never have been. 
And now, springing from our present reflective 
mood is a protest which we wish to enter against 
the opinions of some of the elder ones, a 3 to the 
unthinking natures of “ us young folks.” “ Sit 
down and think " is the remedy which mothers gen¬ 
erally prescribe for a “ want-something-to-do” dis¬ 
ease, just as though that was a thing unusual and 
would work a cure, when in reality it would but 
aggravate the “ ailment.” 
There are some natures overflowing with life and 
fun, of which wise ones say “thoughtless,” and 
which, judging from outward manifestations, do 
almost seem so, but could all the “moods” of the 
heart-grammar be read, “each expressing some 
particular being,- action or passion,” opinions might 
“ meet with a change.” 
We believe that there never was and never will 
be a mind standing clear of idiocy, which is not ever 
active, and as near the danger of thinking too much 
as too little; —so don’t accuse us, even in jest, of not 
thinking,—you of the older and wiser heads,—only 
pray that we may think rightly, that in the day to 
come, youth’s hope-birds may not find a winter in 
our hearts, which, chilling them, will rob our 
thoughts of the “ light of their presence.” 
Charlotte Center, N. Y., 1857. Ellen C. Lake. 
DRESS IN THE CARS. 
Speaking of old clothes—in the name of dust 
and ashes, don’t “ dress up” to ride five hundred 
miles in the cars in summer time. That gentleman 
over yonder lives in mortal fear for his immaculate 
castor. Every five minutes he removes and ca¬ 
resses it, now with his handkerchief and now with 
his elbow. Every five minutes he thumps it against 
the car, and straightway takes it off to note the ef¬ 
fect of the collision. Now he pets it by holding it 
in his lap like a firkin of butter, and now he puts 
it up in the rack to roost. He bangs it on a hook 
and it slips off. He places it upon the seat beside 
him. There! a man has sat upon it, and finished it! 
Just so with his “brand new” coat. The cinders 
fly fiercely at it, and the dust settles shamelessly on 
it, and the urchin behind him attempts to write 
with a doughnut on its glossy back. Just so with 
his vest—his wedding vest, wrought with divers 
posies in white silk. It looks like the canvas of a 
circus tent in October, and nothing will cleanse it 
except by the grace of chalk and camphene. 
He is a very nice man, no doubt; we notice his 
hair is parted behind with geometric accuracy, and 
he wears lemon-colored kids, but the man beyond 
him in the loose linen coat — price $1 — and a hat 
that Billy Barlow might have sung of, 
“ All round mv hat I wears a weeping willow”,— 
and a vest as sleek with wear as an “ unshortened” 
pie-crust, is a far more sensible man than he; and 
we venture a shrewd guess, could buy him, and 
keep him withal, if he pleased. 
And there’s a woman in a white hat, all trembling 
with mock snow-drops and white roses, and a blue- 
and-wkite plaid silk. This minute she looks like a 
lily, just plucked, but in about four hours one might 
fancy slie had selected her dress pattern from an 
old continental flag. And then how “worked” she 
looks, and how troubled she seems, and yet how 
very fine she thinks she is, and almost pities the 
poor lady in black and white check, who has, per¬ 
haps, under that plain glove of Lisle thread, a ring 
that, like the circlet of Gyges, could buy field lily 
invisible. 
Happy is the traveler who is poor enough to have 
old clothes, and proud enough to wear them, for 
pride, after all, is more than half a virtue, while 
vanity at best is almost too weak to be a vice.— 
Chicago Journal. 
YOUNG MEN. 
I love to look upon a young man. There is a 
hidden potency concealed within his breast which 
charms and pains me. I silently ask:—What will 
that youth accomplish in after life? Will he take 
rank with the benefactors or scourgers of his race? 
Will lie exhibit the patriotic virtues of Hampden 
and Washington, or the selfish craftiness of Bene¬ 
dict Arnold? If he have genius will he consecrate 
it, like Milton and Montgomery, to humanity and 
religion; or like Moore and Byron, to the polluted 
altars of passion? If he have mercantile skill, will 
he employ it like Astor, to gratify his lust of wealth, 
or to elevate and bless humanity, like some of our 
merchant princes? If the gift of eloquence be 
hidden in his undeveloped soul, will he use it like 
Summerfield, in favor of religion, or like Patrick 
Henry or Adams, in battling for human rights; or 
will he, for mammon’s sake, prostitute that gift to 
the use of tyranny and infidelity? Will that im¬ 
mortal soul, which beams with intelligence and 
power in his countenance, ally itself with its Crea- 
or, and rise to the sublime height of destiny; or 
will it wage war with truth and duty, and thus sink 
to degradation and death? As I raise these great 
queries, I at once do reverence to the high poten¬ 
tiality of his nature, and tremble for his fate.— 
Daniel Wise. 
I consider the soul of man as the ruin of a glo. 
rious pile of buildings, where, amidst great heaps 
rubbish, you meet with noble fragments of sculp¬ 
ture, broken pillars and obelisks, and a magnifi¬ 
cence in confusion.— Selected. 
BLOSSOMS. 
In the economy of nature, there are often blos¬ 
soms without fruit Some of the marvels of the 
floral world exhaust, in the lavishness of their 
beauty and the improvidence of their fragrance, 
^he strength of the stems which bear them, and the 
petals drop and the stems wither together. Yet we 
loved these flowers better than the others. Their 
brief life was a reign of glory. They charmed the 
finer senses, they purified the grosser tastes, they 
filled the soul of her who tended them with brim¬ 
ming delight, and led the heart to Him'who is the 
author of beauty. So there are human blossoms— 
born, let us believe, to be blossoms only—born to 
expend in the beauty and fragrance of childhood, 
the life we would gladly see extended into the 
rounded and ripe fruit of manhood or womanhood, 
and to grow mellow where they hang, among the 
soft autumnal days of age. But they burst in 
bloom; they gladden us, they touch all the deep 
springs of tenderness within us, they shine like 
lamps at our side, casting their light like golden 
bars into our future, and then they fall, leaving us 
groping, stumbling, weeping, despairing. 
But these human blossoms — not prematurely 
fallen; but, as blossoms, fully perfected — have 
their mission. In the period of their bloom, how 
have they sweetened the life of father, mother, 
brother, friend! 
What music have they made in the heart? What 
rewards have their sweet beauty and tender prattle 
bestowed upon toil? What lessons of patience and 
self-control, have they taught to the hasty tongue 
and hand? WTiat stimulus have they given to the 
failing form of labor? What blessings have they 
been all the time — giving sweetness and signifi¬ 
cance to life by their countless innocent ministries? 
Do their ministries fail when they fail? Do they 
not go forth and beckon from afar? We grieve_ 
we weep; but blessed be be who can so far in¬ 
terpret the painful text of Providence as to perceive 
that grief and tears are charged with the most 
sacred office. From this time, how deep into the 
valley of sorrow will our hearts sympathetically 
follow the stricken and afflicted! How warm a 
smile shall we have for other children ? 
How our ambitions, our struggles, our disap¬ 
pointments will all be softened by the memory of 
that pale little face—the living echoes of that sweet 
little voice — the recollection of that charming 
smile! That little blossom — so weak, so fragrant, 
so beautiful — has softened, elevated and irradiated 
a whole life. Oh, there is blessing in the blossom 
blossoming, blessing in the blasting. We shall 
know this sometime; we know it now. How can 
the journey after this be otherwise than pleasant, 
with a faith within us sweeter than knowledge, and 
better than assurance, that an angel awaits our 
coming at the end? How can we do otherwise 
than seek the place where, transplanted and im¬ 
mortalized in beauty, the blossoms will be all 
fadeless and fragrant forever?— Springfield Rep. 
APHORISMS BY DR. JOHNSON. 
—People may be taken in once, who imagine that 
an author is greater in private life than other men. 
Uncommon parts require uncommon opportunities 
for their exertion. 
— There is nothing too little for so little a crea¬ 
ture as man. It is by studying little things that we 
attain the great art of having as little misery and 
as much happiness as possible. 
— I would not advise a rigid adherence to a par¬ 
ticular plan of study. I myself have never persist¬ 
ed in any plan two days together. A man ought to 
read just as inclination leads him; for what he 
reads as a task will do him little good. A young 
man should read five hours a day; and so may ac¬ 
quire a great deal of knowledge. 
— Every man prefers virtue when there is not 
some strong incitation to transgress its precepts. 
— Every desire is a viper in a bosom, who while 
he was chill, was harmless; but when warmth gave 
him strength he exerted it in poison. 
— Men can be estimated by those who know 
them not, only as they are represented by those 
who know them. 
— We must confess the faults of our favorite in 
order to obtain credit to our praises of his excel- 
cies. 
— The longer we live and the more we think, the 
higher value we learn to put on the friendship and 
tenderness of parents and friends. 
— Happiness consists in the multiplicity of agree¬ 
able consciousness. 
— So far is it from being true that men are nat¬ 
urally equal, that no two people can be half an 
hour together but one shall acquire an evident su¬ 
periority over the other. 
— He that voluntarily continues in ignorance, is 
guilty of all the crimes which ignorance produees. 
IMPATIENCE THE VICE OF THE AGE. 
The eager desire to press forward, not so much 
to conquer obstacles, as to elude them; that gam¬ 
bling with the solemn destinies of life, seeking ever 
to set success upon the chances of a die; that 
hastening from the wish conceived to the end 
accomplished; that thirst after quick returns to 
ingenious toil, and breathless spurrings along short 
cuts to the goal, which we see everywhere around 
us, from the Mechanic’s Institute to the stock 
market—beginning in education with the primers 
of infancy, deluging us with “Philosophies for the 
million,” and “Sciences made easy;” characteriz¬ 
ing the books of our writers, the speeches of our 
statesman, no less tlian the dealings of our specu¬ 
lators, seem, I confess, to me, to constitute a very 
diseased and very general symptom of the times. I 
hold that the greatest friend to man is labor; that 
knowledge without toil, if possible, were worthless; 
that toil in pursuit of knowledge is the best knowl¬ 
edge we can attain; that the continued effort for 
fame is nobler than fame itself; that it is not wealth 
suddenly acquired which is deserving of homage, 
but the virtues which a man exercises in the slow 
pursuit of wealth — the abilities so called forth, the 
self-denials so imposed; in a word, that Labor and 
Patience are the true schoolmasters on earth.— 
Bulwer. 
Keep your temper in disputes. The cool ham¬ 
mer fashions the red-hot iron to any shape needed. 
