1§o MOORE’S RURAL NEW-YORKER: AN AGRICULTURAL, LITERARY AND FAMILY NEWSPAPER, l? 
iRrl-ifoIk 
CONDUCTED BY AZILE. 
THE PHANTOM. 
t!Y BAYARD TAYLOR, 
Agadc I sit within the mansion, 
In the old familiar seat ; 
And shade and sunshine chase each other 
O’er the carpet at my feet. 
But the sweet brier’s arms have wrestled upwards 
In the summers that are past; 
And the willow trails its branches lower 
Than when I saw them last. 
They strive to shut the sunshine wholly 
From out the hauntod room ; 
To fill the house that once was joyful, 
With silence and with gloom. 
And many kind, remembered faces, 
Within the doorway come — 
Voices, that wake the sweeter music 
Of one that now is dumb. 
They sing in tones as glad as ever. 
The songs she loved to hear ; 
They braid the rose in summer garlands 
Whose flowers to her were dear. 
And still, her footsteps in the passage, 
Her blushes at the door, 
Her timid words of maiden welcome, 
Come back to me once more. 
And all forgetful of my sorrow, 
Unmindful of my pain, 
I tbink she has but newly left me, 
And soon will come again. 
She stays without, perchance a moment, 
To dress her dark brown hair ; 
I hear the rustle of her garments, 
Her light step on the stair 1 
0 fluttering heart! control thy tumult, 
Lest eyes profane should see 
My cheeks betray the rush of rapture 
Her coming brings to me ! 
She tarries long ; but lo 1 a whisper 
Beyond the open door, 
And, gliding through the quiet sunshine, 
A shadow on the floor ! 
Ah ! ’tis the whispering vine that calls me, 
The vine whose shadow strays ; 
And my patient heart must still await her, 
Nor chide her long delays. 
But my heart grows sick with weary waiting, 
As many a time before ; 
Her foot is ever at the threshold, 
Yet never passes o’er. 
For Moore’s Rural New-Yorker. 
THE MACHINERY OF LIFE. 
In looking beyond and beneath the smiling 
surface of society, we cannot fail to discover 
that its gilded elegance and fascinating ease 
oftentimes overshadow and depend upon the 
obstructed movement of many a turbid under¬ 
current. Its machinery is concealed, and ever 
and anon, as a pinion fails or an axle creaks, 
the flowing stream is checked, or by some 
sudden concussion is beaten into numberless 
eddying whirlpools, or perchance a mighty 
maelstrom. It is only thus that the thought¬ 
less mariner or head-strong pilot, cruising 
upon the sea of life, can be taught to avoid 
its dangerous quick-sands, or to heed its un¬ 
failing land-marks. Irksome as may be its 
clamor—unmusical as may be its measured 
intonations—yet alone to the skillfully hidden 
and well-regulated machinery of life, can we 
trust for that harmonious and finished exterior 
which the constitution of our minds demands, 
and which our innate predilections ever seek. 
Why else do we involuntarily shrink from the 
drudgery of the innumerable details which 
make up the sum of our daily comfort and 
happiness ? 
In the finished picture,—its strong lights 
and shadows,— its harmony of colors and 
beauty of effect, we see only the glorious idea 
and gifted execution of the artist, while-the 
long years of patient toil and unwearied 
drilling which he has endured, are unnumbered 
—the machinery has been forgotten in the 
grandeur of its creation. 
The accomplished musician, reveling in 
chromatics and falsettoes, delights his auditors 
without a jar of the studied clashing through 
which he has attained such excellence, and the 
minstrel of keys and strings is not less careful 
to conceal discipline of a merely muscular 
nature. The flowery periods and glowing 
sentences of the fascinating writer, in their 
flashings of wit and graspings of thought 
betray not the jaded brain and trembling 
hand, which deeply conned and studiously re¬ 
placed each meaning word and thrilling 
expression. We recline upon luxurious divans 
—we listen to gay music—we join in the 
merry dance, or perhaps enjoy the warm 
summer breeze beneath a glorious canopy of 
moonlight or twilight, without one apprecia¬ 
ting thought of the complicated and perfected 
engine by which we are borne along. We 
sit upon velvet cushions, and take rapid 
glances over the green fields and extended 
plains, the forest dells and river glades, the 
rugged rocks and swollen rivers, over which 
we are dashing in our lightning trains, and we 
fully acquiesce in the comfortable arrangement 
which shelters the great moving power from 
our vision. 
Who that spices his early meal with the 
fresh morning paper, remembers the busied 
Editor or flurried type-setter, and much less 
the literal machinery which has befittingly 
arrayed the voluminous sheet ? The skillful 
housekeeper with her natural aptitude, never 
allows the bustle of business, or the excitement 1 
of haste, to appear in her establishment, but 
with a true understanding of the mechanism of 
mind, cherishes about her that loving quiet 
and attractive ease, which mingle so largely 
in all memories of home influence. The varied 
and suggestive beauty of sky, earth and ocean, 
would avail us but little without an eye to 
behold or a mind to appreciate it; even so 
the necessary practical frame-work of society, 
in all its shapes, would be but a wrangling 
evil as it jostled against our mental taste3 and 
emotions, unless we understood its peculiar 
construction and adaptation. 
The machinery of life must include the en¬ 
ginery of the outer world, and of the immortal 
part within us, and only in a thorough under¬ 
standing of their numerous relations and 
dependencies, can we expect success in any 
pursuit, or honorable excellence in any calling 
or project. None more than the teacher can 
need or prize this invaluable knowledge. He 
must not only comprehend the inimitable 
laws of system and order which must govern 
the school-room, but he must clearly discern 
the mysteries of that inscrutable mind which 
we all possess, and in which we have some¬ 
thing in common. Its elaborate construction 
—its intricate mechanism should have been so 
faithfully studied by the instructor, that he 
may be able, by some judicious and well- 
timed means, to ignite the accumulated refuse 
and rubbish which has been stored away, and 
by the heat of its combustion to unloose a valve 
which shall permit the vapor of new-born 
resolves to course freely through the whole 
machine, and rouse it to vigorous and healthy 
action. But one current—the opening of one 
valve may not be sufficient—the now lubricat¬ 
ed pistons and wheels must be kept in motion 
by a continued exciting power, that of author¬ 
ity or persuasion, perhaps. How elevated the 
task, yet how difficult! He whose faith 
teaches him that the spark dwelling within 
us is an emanation of Divinity, can never for 
one moment doubt that the most grovelling 
and debased mind may be roused and inflamed 
by any influence which may press upon its 
hidden and unused springs. And to know the 
application of this influence is to be able to 
mould a degraded mass of vicious propensities 
into the full embodiment of elevated goodness. 
This is to harmonize the warring elements 
which control life’s machinery. 
Person’s in all conditions of life,—the Judge 
upon the bench, the practical salesman, the 
potent belle of the ball-room, the juggler in 
the highway,—all seek, and in some measure 
possess this knowledge. No research can be 
more important, no philosophy deeper. No 
ancient lore or modern creation can afford 
more ample space for thought than this spread¬ 
ing field of searching inquiry and unwearied 
observation. We cannot doubt that were 
the corresponding outer and inner machinery 
of life perfectly developed, understood and 
adapted, we should have attained that posi¬ 
tion for which we are ultimately designed, 
when jarrings and collisions shall cease, and 
be forever at rest. In the suggestions of his 
creative power,—in all the wide expanse of 
the illimitable universe, we may discern a plan 
or a system of machinery not unlike the mini¬ 
mum one by which man is expected to rear 
his feeble structures and incomplete architec¬ 
ture. But the portion assigned him is suited 
to his capacities, while from the Great Archi¬ 
tect we are daily taught through His creations 
that harmony is one great result of all His 
purposes. We have no confused sounds,—no 
terriffic thunders,—no crush of worlds in the 
headlong speed with which we move through 
space. All is beautiful fitness,—glorious con¬ 
cord, and thus will this “ music of the spheres ” 
be heard and felt through the ceaseless ages of 
an unknown eternity. l. a. t. 
Cleveland. Ohio. 1855. 
THE GOOD OF CHILDREN. 
What would this world be really worth, if 
it were robbed of the hearty laugh, and merry 
prattle of little children ? What home would 
be worth the name of “ home,” if there were 
taken from it those little vines, which morning 
and night put out their little arms to climb 
and kiss the parent stem ? What hearth would 
look cheerful, if around it were not those little 
Lares to cheat it of its loneliness and gloom ? 
What a desert is, without an oasis—a forest, 
without a shrub—a garden, without a flower 
—a lute without a string, so is a home without 
children. Who does not love little children ? 
Who does not feel happy, when his heart-doors 
are locked suspiciously against all the rest of 
the world, in raising its windows and letting 
these little ones flock in, and rummage every 
secret drawer and cupboard from the basement 
to the attic ? Happy is that man who loves 
little children. Let him be a stranger in a 
strange place—let him meet with faces un¬ 
known before—let him find no heart which 
beats sympathetically with his own, and yet 
the sparkling eyes, the curly locks, the sprightly 
step, and the happy laughter of children are 
the same to him here as at home. Their bright 
faces are like stars to him, ever twinkling the 
same wherever he goes ; their gay voices are 
like cheerful murmuring rivulets, or like the 
happy songs of birds, always sounding the 
same to his ears. Let him be sad—let the 
clouds of sorrow gather their darkness and his 
years—let the snows of adversity chill his bet- 
ter nature—jind yet but let him feel the influ¬ 
ence of children, and his soul, like a broken 
instrument, now repaired and newly strung, 
vibrates with softer and more melodious tones. 
(Llioict' lEistcllitm). 
TKY TO BE HAPPY. 
I.KT ua try to be happy !—we may, if we will, 
Find some pleasure In life to o’erbaiance the ill; 
There was never an evil, if well understood, 
But what, rightly managed, would turn to a good. 
If we were but as ready to look to the light, 
As we are, to set moping, because it is night, 
We should own it a truth, both in word and in deed, 
That who tries to be happy, is sure to succeed. 
Let us try to be happy !—some shades of regret 
Are sure to hang round, which we cannot forget; 
There are times when the lightest of spirits must bow, 
And the sunniest face wear a cloud on its brow ; 
We must never bid feelings, the purest and best, 
To lie blunted and cold in our bosoms at rest ; 
But the deeper our own griefs, the greater our need 
To try to be happy, lest other hearts bleed. 
Oh ! try to he happy !—it is not long 
We shall cheer on each other by counsel or song ; 
If we make the best use of our time that we may, 
There is much we can do to enliven the way. 
Let us only in earnestness each do our best — 
Before God and our conscience, and trust for the rest; 
Still taking this truth, both in word and in deed, 
That who tries to be happy, is sure to succeed. 
GLIMPSES OF THE PEOPLE. 
BY AN EYE-WITNESS. 
NO. 3--“THE NAME OF THE THING.” 
“What’s in a name?” So sang Shaks- 
peare, the “ immortal bard.” We do not 
question for a moment his right do so, neither 
do we dispute the assertion which follows, viz., 
“ A rose, by any other name would smell as 
sweetbut we do say, that if the poet had 
lived in these days, it is scarcely probable that 
he would have asked such a question. We do 
not pretend to know how it was in his time, 
but now there is everything in a name, and 
the incense of praise is ten times more grateful 
to us when yclept “ public opinion.” 
A young girl just venturing on the confines 
of womanhood, gives her hand to a wealthy 
and influential man, old enough to be her 
father, and whose head is crowned with many 
a whitened lock. She tries to persuade her¬ 
self and him that her heart goes with the hand, 
and the world says it is “ a splendid match.” 
Time passes, and the name of the thing veils 
aching hearts, unhappy homes and circles, 
care-worn brows with smiles. 
A young man, honest, respectable and in¬ 
dustrious, seeks employment. He is a stranger; 
“Unknown his parentage and name, 
Unknown the land from whence he came 
and it would seem as though the fates were in 
conspiracy against him. He is looked upon 
with a suspicious eye by almost every one to 
whom he applies. He is told,—“ We don’t 
know I ou ! can you bring testimonials of good 
character, and recommendations from some 
reliable source ?” Another no better than he, 
perhaps not as good, has rich relations. He 
has letters of introduction from his Uncle the 
Governor, or his Grand-father the Hon. Mr. 
So-and-so. With these for an “ open Sesame,” 
what wonder that assisted step by step, by those 
who are eager to give him a chance “ for his 
own sake and that of his friends.” he soon 
climbs the ladder of success. 
Walk with me a few moments along one of 
the principal streets of a capital city. Here, 
on the right, stands the residence of Gen. 
E-, “ a fine old gentleman, very rich and 
very benevolent.” At the time of the great 
famine in Ireland he subscribed more largely 
to the “ Relief Fund,” than did any of his 
fellow citizens. The papers lauded his “ noble 
charity,” public speakers in the cause, held 
him up as a shining example of munificence, 
and the name of the thing ranged far and wide. 
It is a damp cloudy morning in November, 
and the east-wind is keen. On the broad 
marble steps of this mansion are huddled a 
group of ill-clad wretches, on whose haggard 
faces the seal of want and woe is set. They 
are a father, mother, an infant and a little 
suffering boy. Strangers in a strange land, 
without money and without food, they have 
found a chill resting place at the rich man’s 
door. A carriage rolls over the smooth pave¬ 
ment, the obsequious servant opens the door, 
and Gen. E. alights. As he mounts the steps 
he is greeted with imploring looks and feebly 
extended hands from the poor creatures, who 
would silently crave his compassion. He 
heeds them not, but hurrying on closes the 
door behind him, and a few moments after a 
waiter comes out, and with a surly voice and 
rude gestures orders them to depart, “ and not 
be hanging around gentlemen’s door-steps, if 
they don’t want the police after them.” 
Mr. A’s family and Air. B's are very inti¬ 
mate friends, and each is highly esteemed by 
the other. Air. A. becomes unfortunate in 
business, and fails ; intemperance follows fail¬ 
ure, crime follows intemperance, and Air. A. is 
tried and convicted of forgery. Air. B's family 
continue to associate with Air. A’s for a time 
after their loss of fortune. They say—“ Mrs. 
A. and her daughters are very fine people, and 
surely none the less so for the alteration in 
their circumstances.” But when the last two 
evils come upon the afflicted family, the weak 
chain of their friendship, unable to sustain the 
shock, is broken, and though they still regard 
them with civility, all intimacy is at an end. 
Why is it ? Are not Mrs. A. and her daugh- 
i ters as amiable, ladv-like and loveable as before? 
Do they not now, more than ever, need your 
sympathy and kindness ? “ Oh, yes! very 
true! but then who would want the name of 
the thing.” 
Let us make a morning call upon a young 
heiress, and of course a belle. She is not at 
home — how provoking ! In reply to our in¬ 
quiry, “Are you sure ?” Biddy goes again to 
see, and while she is gone a merry face peeps 
over the top of the staircase, and a gay voice 
cries—“ 0 ! ’tis only you ! come right up. 
I’m sorry I kept you waiting, Biddy did not 
tell me who it was.” 
Where is the shame for bringing falsehood 
upon herself, and upon her ignorant domestic! 
“You see how unfit I am to receive com¬ 
pany,” she continues, holding up her arms 
which are bare to the elbows, and smeared 
with varnish and paint, and her faded wrapper, 
torn and decorated with numerous spots of 
the same sticky substances, to which adhere 
little shreds of leather. “ I’m just completing 
my leather-work frame for my last picture, is 
it not beautiful ? You have not seen my new 
shoes yet, have you ? I must show them to 
you.” They prove to be cloth gaiters of the 
common kind, the only thing remarkable 
about them being that she made them herself. 
“ It is all the fashion now for young ladies to 
make their own shoes. They do them more 
neatly, they fit better, and by this means they 
can always have them match the color of their 
dresses. Besides it savesa great deal of money.” 
“ But can you not afford to buy your picture 
frames and shoes, and thus save yourself the 
trouble of making them ?” we naturally ask. 
“ 0 ! certainly, but we like to do them, and 
we have plenty of time.” 
“ Then why do you not make some to sell ? 
you could command a high price for them.” 
“ Alercy ! I would not have the name of the 
thing. What would people say to Aliss Such- 
an-one’s making shoes for a living, or for 
money at all. We might make some for a 
Fair or a Benevolent Society.” 
Here, then, is the great difference : — So 
long as the necessity for labor does not exist, 
a young lady or married woman, whose father 
or husband is able to support her without 
work, may boast of making her own dresses, 
shoes or picture-frames, cooking for the fam¬ 
ily, or may even help to clean the dirtiest 
Hall, for a charity Festival, and it is set 
down as an evidence of her capability and en¬ 
ergy of character. But if by any reverse of 
fortune it becomes necessary for her to per¬ 
form these offices, she loses caste at onceamoDg 
her acquaintances, and becomes half ashamed 
to acknowledge that she does that which was 
once her boast, unless she is really possessed 
of those attributes which the voice of popu¬ 
lar opinion once ascribed to her. If she is, 
the name will be but an empty sound. 
Happening a short time since to be seated 
near a young gentleman and lady in the cars, 
we were involuntari y made the auditor of the 
following delectable little piece of gossip : 
“ I saw Belle I)-to-day,” said the 
gentleman, who by-the-way, did not appear to 
be over nineteen years of age, and attired in 
the very extreme of fashion. 
“ Ah ! did you, how did she look ?” simpered 
the lady, a Miss of sixteen or thereabouts. 
“ Beautiful as ever! but I was surprised and 
shocked to see her display a want of good 
taste which I did not expect in her. She had 
on a pale blue silk bonnet with flowers inside, 
and on her hands— deep blue kids!” 
“ Why, how exceedingly inappropriate !” 
exclaimed the little lady. “ I have always 
thought Belle a perfect model of taste and 
elegance in dress. As to that of which you 
speak, the very name of the thing, would ban¬ 
ish the idea.” 
Mrs. - is a widow of very limited 
means, but very ambitious. She contrives to 
“ keep up appearances ” on a large scale, and 
what her income will not purchase she obtains 
on credit. Her credit is not the best, and as 
fast as it grows threadbare in one place, she is 
obliged to remove to another. In this man¬ 
ner she has accumulated debt upon debt which 
she has neither means nor intention of paying. 
Still she gives parties, sends her children to 
fashionable and expensive schools, and though 
despised, unloved, and unrespected, is seeming¬ 
ly careless of everything save the desire to be 
thought a fashionable woman of the world, 
just for the name of the thing. 0 ! how un¬ 
enviable a name! 
Notwitkstandnig these, there are still some 
men, some women, (would that the number 
were greater !) who, looking only to Him who 
was “ meek and lowly in heart ” for exam¬ 
ple and approval, strive to make their lives a 
type of that charity so beautifully set forth in 
the language of St. Paul. They pursue “ the 
even tenor of their way,” seeking not and 
caring not for the applause or condemnation 
of the world, which, however ungrateful, is al¬ 
ways the better for their having lived. 
Time is like a verb, that can only be of use 
in the present tense. 
Time never sits heavily on us but when it is 
badly employed. 
Time is a grateful friend ; use it well, and 
it never fails to make suitable requital. 
Time is like a creditor who allows an ample 
space to make up accounts, but is inexorable 
at last. 
HOW HE BECAME A MILLIONAIRE. 
AIr. AIcDonough, the millionaire of New 
Orleans, has engraved upon his tomb a series 
of maxims, which he had prescribed as the 
rules of his guidance through life, and to 
which his success iu business is mainly attrib¬ 
utable. They are so sound, and contain so 
much practical wisdom, that we copy them : 
Rules for the Guidance of my Life, 1804. 
—Remember always that labor is one of the 
conditions of our existence. Time is gold; 
throw not one minute away, but place each 
one to account. Do unto all men as you 
would be done by. Never put off till to¬ 
morrow what you can do to-day. Never 
covet what is not your own. Never think 
any matter so trifling as not to deserve notice. 
Never give out that which does not first come 
in. Never spend but to produce. Let the 
greatest order regulate the transactions of 
your life. Study in your course of life to do 
the greatest amount of good. Deprive your¬ 
self of nothing necessary to your comfort, 
but live in an honorable simplicity and fru¬ 
gality. Labor, then, to the last moment of 
your existence. Pursue strictly the above 
rules, and the Divine blessing and riches of 
every kind will flow upon you to your heart’s 
content; but, first of all, remember that the 
chief and greatest study of our life should be 
to tend, by all means in our power, to the 
honor and glory of our Divine Creator.— 
The conclusion to which I have arrived is, 
that without temperance, there is no health; 
without virtue no order ; without religion no 
happiness; and that the aim of our being is 
to live wisely, soberly and righteously. 
HOME . 
“ My habits are retired and domestic, and 
all my sources of happiness are at home.” — 
Edward Bates. 
This was the reply of Hon. Edward Bates, 
ol Missouri, when pressed by a committee of 
the Whig members of the State Legislature, to 
consent to be their candidate for United States 
Senator. The reply was a touching one, and 
will be remembered long after the forensic dis- 
plays of the gentleman’s splendid talents shall 
have been forgotten. “ Happiness at home!” 
Who would relinquish it for all the excite¬ 
ments of ambition, the pride of an elevated 
station or the power of place ! He does not 
waste his hours even in the pure pleasures of 
home. He does not relinquish his duties for 
even the calm enjoyments of his domestic 
hearth. He is not one of those who would spend 
“ the noon of manhood in a myrtle shade.” 
He is one of the greatest lawyers and most 
zealous advocates of the West. But here we 
have the secret of his power—of his capability 
of endurance. Home to him is the “ mother 
earth” to Antaeus ; it invigorates him for the 
constantly recurring duties of the day. How 
delightful to have such a source of support 
amid the trials of business, the vicissitudes of 
fortune, the fatigues of an active life, as a plea¬ 
sant home—made up of the love of wife and 
children and friends.— Conn. Courant. 
A MAN ENTERING INTO LIFE. 
A man entering into life ought accurately 
to know three things:—First, where he is. 
Secondly, where he is going. Thirdly, what 
he had best do under these circumstances. 
First, where he is—that is to say, what sort of 
a world he has got into ; how large it is ; what 
kind of creatures live in it, and how ; what it is 
made of, and what may be made of it. Sec¬ 
ondly, where he is going—that is to say, what 
chances or reports there are of any other world 
beside this ; what seems to be the nature of 
that other world; and whether, for informa¬ 
tion respecting it, he had better consult the 
Bible, or Koran, or the Council of Trent.— 
Thirdly, what he had best do under these cir¬ 
cumstances—that is to say, what kind of 
faculties he possesses; what is his place in 
society; and what are the readiest means in 
his power of attaining happiness and diffusing 
it. The man who knows these things, and 
fl'ho has had his will so subdued in learning 
them, that he is ready to do what he knows 
he ought, I should call educated ; and the man 
who knows them not, uneducated, though he 
should talk all the tongues of Babel. 
Seven Fools.— The angry man—who sets 
his own house on fire, in order that he may 
burn his neighbor’s. The envious man—who 
cannot enjoy life because others do. The 
robber—who, for the consideration of a few 
dollars, gives the world liberty to hang him. 
The hypochondriac—whose highest happiness 
consists in rendering himself miserable. The 
jealous man—who poisons his own banquet 
and then eats of it. The miser—who starves 
himself to death in order that his heir may 
feast. The slanderer—who tells tales for the 
sake of giving his enemy an opportunity of 
proving him a liar. 
Courtesies of Life.— In our intercourse 
one with another, there are many little ways 
which we may assume without imputation of 
littleness or foppishness. A smile, a cordial 
bow, an earnestness of manner in addressing 
a friend or more especially a stranger, costs 
but a slight effort, and generally will insure a 
corresponding pleasantness, even from the ill- 
tempered. This would be but a melancholy 
world if all the courtesies of life were disre¬ 
garded, and a sulky, mistaken kind of straight¬ 
forwardness adopted. 
Trifles.—N ever be cast down by trifles.— 
If a spider breaks his thread twenty times, 
twenty times he will mend it again. »Alake up 
your minds to do a thing and you will do it. 
Fear not, if trouble comes upon you, keep 
your spirit though the day be a dark one. 
A troubled mind is often relieved by 
maintaining a cheerful demeanor. The effort 
withdraws its attention from the cause of 
pain, and the cheerfulness which it promotes 
in others extends by sympathy to itself. 
