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MOORE’S RURAL NEW-YORKER: AN AGRICULTURAL, LITERARY AN!) FAMILY NEWSPAPER. 
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SUMMER SCHOOLS AND VACATIONS. Sn 
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The summer term of our schools com* i [< 
menced last week Monday, and will continue wi 
for almost three months. This will carry the F 
term about up to the first of August, and " e11 III 
on towards the sickly season, (if the season 17 
happens to be sickly,) at which time there Sc 
ought to be a general respite from mental ex- tic 
ertion on the part of all our youth. Experi- pe 
ence everywhere, and in all grades of schools 
in this country, demonstrates that a long va¬ 
cation is necessary through the latter part of V ei 
summer and the earlier weeks of autumn. In to 
nearly all, if not in all, of our colleges, the foJ 
commencement exercises occur at or about the ^ 
twentieth of July, and are succeeded by a gu 
long vacation of four to eight weeks. The w( 
longest vacation of the year occurs at this a 
time in those institutions which draw their to 
pupils from the wealthier classes of the com- l ' 
munity; while several others, (and they are ^ 
by no means the least distinguished in rank | e , 
and scholarships,) which receive their priuci- iu 
pal support from young men ot limited means, sc 
fix the period of the longest vacation during F 
the months of winter. This is done lor the ^ 
purpose of permitting students to take winter m 
schools through the couutry, and thus enable or 
them to earn at least a portion of the means fii 
necessary to carry them through college. ot 
It would be impossible for many a young ^ 
man, earnest in the pursuit of an education, pj 
ever to attain the object of his desires, if it p] 
were not for this opportunity of helping him- y< 
j self; and we know of several who have more ^ 
than half paid their expenses in this way, and t ‘ 
at the same time maintained a high position ] a 
of scholarship in their respective classes.— aj 
These long winter vacations are the result of c< 
a necessity, which must override all arguments y 
in favor of fixing on any other time of the ^ 
year; but in our common schools, ond espe- 0 
cially in those where the tuition is absolutely a 
free, as it is in this city, the time for long va- t; 
cations should be in the latter part of summer 1 
and the earlier part of autumn, as above stated. 
Our school authorities have consequently fixed j 
upon that date. c 
It would be vastly pleasant, no doubt, for p 
our young friends in the public schools to ® 
make excursions into the country, and ramble • 
over green fields from this date forward, in- j 
stead of poring over text books in a crowded a 
school-room; but they must bear in mind 
that the road to eminence in any honorable j 
pursuit is not a flowery pathway, and that c 
toil and trouble is much more likely to be < 
met with everywhere than pleasure and relax- £ 
ation. It is the stout heart and the strong 
hand that wins the prize, but even these will 1 
be of no avail unless an unflinching spirit has 
them under its control. Let them labor on, < 
then, for three months more, and a respite for < 
a time at least will be given them. Our ’ 
young friends in the couutry have ample ! 
playgrounds, and fresh free air while going to ] 
and from the summer schools, and consequent- ( 
ly do not stand so much in need of a long va¬ 
cation during the summer season as their 
equals in the city ; but the misfortune iu their 
case is, that the public money is so scant, or 
the rate-bill kept so low, that too frequently 
an extended term is found impracticable at 
any season of the year. 
SET EXAMINATIONS—A FACT. 
At a school examination, fur which the 
scholars had made mighty preparations, during 
a whole month, a class was called out to re¬ 
cite in geography. Some little bustle was 
made iu finding the exact places of the schol¬ 
ars in the class, and then began the question¬ 
ing. 
A question was put to Lucy. 
“ Let John answer,” said the Committee. 
“ Didn’t hear the question,” said John. 
“ What are the torrid zones ?” asked the 
teacher with a little vexation in his manner. 
»• The island of Spitzbergen '.’’shouted John, 
as full of confidence as the teacher had been of 
fear. 
u No, no,” apologized the teacher, “ you 
know that, John.” 
“I gave my answer,” pleaded John in self- 
defence. 
The merciless Committee had no doubt of 
that; but quietly said again, “ let Susan 
tell us.” 
“ It is noted for being the place whore Na¬ 
poleon was confined at the time of his first 
banishment,” said Susan, with energy and de¬ 
liberation. 
“ Not quite right, my good girl,” said the 
Committee. “ Now let us hear what Wil¬ 
liam will say.” 
“ William,” said the teacher meekly, “ what 
are the torrid zones?” 
“ It rises in the Rocky Mountains and runs 
South East., and empties into the Mississippi!” 
thundered William. 
The roar from the visitors which hailed this 
answer, completed the teacher’s mortification, 
and sent the cla^s down. We may add, that 
teacher has not, since attempted to achieve a 
brilliant reputation by a set examination.— 
II. I. Schoolmaster. 
Convince a wise man of his error, and he 
will thank you ; convince a fool, and he may 
insult you. 
THE SMITHSONIAN INSTITUTE. 
One of the Dukes of Northumberland, in 
the last century, had a son, who, taking his 
mother’s name, was known as Mr. James 
Smithson. He was educated at Oxford, 
where he took the degree of A. M., in 1 1 86 . 
He was a man of quiet, unassuming habits, 
with a taste for scientific pursuits. A small 
property he inherited from his mother, and an 
annuity settled upon him by his father, ena¬ 
bled him to gratify this taste through life. In 
1787 he was chosen a member of the Royal 
Society, to whose “Philosophical Transac¬ 
tions ” he communicated several valuable pa¬ 
pers. He was the associate of many of the 
prominent scientific men of England, and at¬ 
tained some distinction as a chemist. 
Frugal in his habits, and prudent in his in¬ 
vestments, his competence gradually increased 
to fortune. He had no fixed residence and 
formed no family ties. The latter part of his 
life he spent mostly on the Continent. He 
never visited America, and knew it only from 
such reports as English travelers at the time 
were accustomed to give of it. He drew up 
a will, by which he bequeathed his property 
to his next of kin, a nephew, for life, and to 
his children absolutely and forever.. 
But as there was a remote possibility that 
the will might be frustrated by the death of the 
legatees a saving clause was inserted, provid¬ 
ing that in such case the property should de- , 
scend “to the United States of America, to . 
found at YY ashington under the name of the 
Smithsonian Institution, an establishment for 1 
the increase and diffusion of knowledge among 
men.” It contemplated a distant contingency 
only, and probably was not inserted from any 
fixed plan, or from any confident expecta ion 
of its being carried out. It so happened, how¬ 
ever, that the distant contingency occurred. 
Mr. Smithson died at Genoa, in 1829, leaving 
property to the amount of £ 120,000 sterling, 
His nephew died without issue, five or six 
years after, at Pisa. 
The United States were then, for the first 
time notified of the bequest which had fallen 
to them. Congress immediately passed a 
law authorizing the President to appoint an 
agent to apply to the English Court of Chan¬ 
cery for the real and personal estate of James 
Smithson, and pledging “ the faith of the gov¬ 
ernment,” for the application of ihe fund to 
the purposes specified. Hon. Richard Rush, 
of Philadelphia, was accordingly appointed 
agent, went to England, obtained the proper¬ 
ty, and paid it, in gold sovereigns, into the 
Treasury of the United States, in September, 
1838. 
It was invested, by order of Congress, in 
Arkansas stock. Here it had another narrow 
chance of being lost. For Arkansas stocks 
soon began to go down—down—down, and ! 
shortly became worth about as much as Indi¬ 
ana bank bills are now. But Congress, think¬ 
ing it bnt right to repair the consequences of 
its own error, assumed the stocks at par value, 
and re-invested the amount in the United 
States Sixes. 
There was no family to take or claim the 
1 household effects, and what were not sold were 
' sent to America. The visitor at the Patent 
1 Office, in YVashington, will find one of the 
■ glass cases devoted to the preservation of the 
* - personal effects of the late James Smithson, 
j Esq.” Amongs these relics are his plate, walk¬ 
ing stick, inkstand, chemical apparatus, &c. 
1 The original fund was $515,L69, and the ac- 
- cumulated interest amounted, in 1826, to 
$242,129. Considering this enough to begin 
with, Congress in August of that year, passed 
another act to establish the institution, it 
provided for the appointment of a board of 
* fifteen regents, minutely specifying the qualifi- 
‘ cations required, and devotes the accruing in- 
* terest to defraying the expenses of erecting a 
r bui'ding, with library, museum, laboratory, 
r in Washington. The principal is not to be 
trenched upon, but to remain a permanent 
loan. The present edifice on the Mall was ac- 
f cordingly commenced. The law forbids the 
t Board to contain two citizens of the same 
State. The building is now nearly completed, 
and the annual income is $30,000. 
usings. 
THE SEAL.-SEAL HUNTING. 
This singular animal is chiefly an inhabit¬ 
ant of the Frigid zones, although it lives 
also in the temperate zones. It has been call¬ 
ed the connecting liuk between ihe fish and 
the beast, but all its instincts and attributes 
partake of the higher order of animals. 11 is 
very intelligent, can easily be tamed when 
caught, shows great affection for its young, 
which it trains and instructs with truly pater¬ 
nal tenderness, and exhibits traits of character 
almost as admirable as those of the dog. 
The head of the seal is round like that of 
the human species, its nose is broad with large 
prominent eyes, little external signs of ears, 
and its mouth is surrounded by whiskers or 
smellers like those ot a cat. Ihe foie legs 
scarce'y protrude from the body at all, and 
seem to serve only the purpose of fins. Tbey 
are furnished with five toes which hold the 
body in position, as it moves along over bar¬ 
riers of ice. The hind feet are in the form of 
flippers, and with the short tail serve the pur¬ 
pose of propellers. The movements of the 
seal upon the land are very ungainly and awk 
ward, although it will urge itself along even 
on land, with a degree of swiftness, difficult to 
be overtaken ; but in the sea the animal is 
most at home. It is unable to breathe under 
water, but is capable of suspending its breath 
for a long time, and by diving thus eludes its 
pursuers. 
The seal when full grown weighs about two 
hundred and twenty-five pouuds, and its body 
is covered with a short coarse hair. The car¬ 
cass is exceedingly I at, yielding a large amount 
of oil, aud its skin is of great value onaccount 
of its toughness. 
The seal is indispensable to the inhabitants 
of many northern countries, and, there are ex¬ 
tensive reaches of coast along our frozen seas, 
inhabited by Esquimaux, which, without the 
means of life furnished by the seal, would be 
en'irely uninhabitable. Its skin provides | 
them with clothes and tents, its flesh with 
food, its bones with weapons and domestic im¬ 
plements, its intestines with strings, its fat 
with lights ; everything, in fact, which belongs 
to the animal, is turned to some account in 
the Exquimaux’ domestic economy. 
There are various ways of killing the seal, 
the most common of which is to steal silently 
upon them while basking or sleeping on the 
ice, and kill them with a blow upon the head 
with a club. 
MANNER OP TAKING THE SEAL. 
A DESIDERATUM. 
Among the many duties of The Coming 
Man, not the least difficult and necessary will 
be the task of preparing a full set of good 
school-books for the Coming Children. In¬ 
numerable writers have felt iu their experience 
as teachers, the lack of such ; have done llieir 
best to supply the want; each in turn have 
been superseded by the “ next no better,” and 
yet the good school books are a desideratum. 
It is our belief— nec inexpert 1 loquimur —that 
the struggle is in a wrong direction. Teachers 
must be better prepared, not books. To a 
good teacher, any book, or no book, is enough ; 
at least in elementary studies. With such 
views, we see with indifference the rapid sue 
cession of geographies or arithmetics “ on an 
entirely new plan,” which flood the country 
weekly. They all fail, and must fail, for the 
simple reason that the teaching cannot be put 
into the booh. The book which will tend to 
improve our methods of instruction, is a Man¬ 
ual of Methodology for Teachers; and such a 
book we have yet, to see, although we believe 
that sue 1 an one is in contemplation, at least 
iu one quarter.— Putnam’s Monthly. 
The Teacher’s Occupation. —Have you 
ever thought of what that man is who teaches 
children? You go into the workshop of a 
wheel right; he is making wheels and shafts, 
and you say he is a useful man ; you enter the 
house of a weaver who is making cloth, and 
you say this is a valuable man ; >ou visit the 
blacksmith’s shop, where you find him making 
pickaxes, hammers and plowshares, and you 
say—this mau is essential; you salute the.-e 
skillful laborers. You enter the house ot a 
schoolmaster, salute him more profoundly.— 
Do you know what he is doing?—he is manu¬ 
facturing minds. 
Incessant activity, of what kind soever, 
leads at last to bankruptcy of health. 
The second ent illustrates the manner in come for air. Here he will sit motionless, pa- 
which the Esquimaux lies in wait for the pur- tiently watching the aperture for six hours to- 
pose of capturing a seal. As we said before, gether, with the thermometer more than twen- 
they are unable to breathe under water, and tv degrees below zero; and when one of the 
hence, like the musk-rat and 01 her amphibious animals makes his appearance, the ambushed 
animals, they must rise to the sui face from time sentinel suddenly transfixes him with a spear, 
to time to renew the breath. The Indian Other modes of capturing the seal we will give 
seats himself behind a screen of snow, beside a in a future paper, illustrated like this with en- 
hole in the ice where the seal will be likely to gravings. _ 
PARIS FUEL SHOPS. 
The fuel with which to cook a dinner in 
Paris costs nearly as much as the dinner itself. 
Fuel is very scarce, and the American is sur¬ 
prised to find shops all over the city, fitted up 
with shelves like those in shoe stores, upon 
which is stored wood, split up in pieces about 
the size of a man’s finger, and done up in bun¬ 
dles. as matches were in the days of the tin¬ 
der-box, steel and flint; they are about the 
size of a bunch of asparagus. These little 
bundles sell at from two to six sous. Larger 
sticks are bundled up in the same way, and 
sell at a frightful price. Charcoal is sold by 
weight, and hard coal-, being nearly as expen¬ 
sive as wood, cau be bought iu the smallest 
quantity at any of these luel shops.. lhey 
are generally kept by women. The windows 
of these shops are often decorated with a cur 
tain or inside shutter, upon which split wood 
and round wood are painted to represent the 
bundles sold inside. 
A SINGULAR PHENOMENON 
We have never seen in print a notice of the 
following strange fact, although every steam 
boot man acquainted with Green River navi¬ 
gation can verify its truth. Just aoove the 
locks, when the river is in a certain stage, very 
low, for several miles steamboats shut down 
their furnace doors and allow no torches tube 
lighted, for fear of what the deck hands call 
“ setting the river on fire!” Frequently boats 
using torches or keeping their furnace door, 
open at this particular place, have found 
themselves engulphed in blue flames, greatly 
to the alarm of the passengers, and in several 
instances setting the steamers on fire. In 
some instances the passengers have only been 
prevented by the strenuous exertions of ihe 
officers from leaping overboard in their alarm. 
The cause of llie singular phenomenon is 
simply this : The bottom of the river becomes 
covered with forest leaves and rubbish to the 
depth of some inches, probably several feet.—• 
Boats in low water run through this bed of 
vegetable matter, their wheels stirring it up 
thoroughly. An inflammable gas is thus per¬ 
mitted to escape, which, on communication 
with a flame, at once takes fire, and burns 
with a blue blaze. At such time the boat is 
stopped and the flame ceases. YVhen out, the 
boat goes on again, taking the precaution 
mentioned above. Unless allowed to continue 
some little time, this burning gas is not apt 
to communicate its flame to the wood—bat it 
is quiie sufficient to seriously alarm those not 
acquainted with its cause .—Evansville (lad.) 
Journal. 
The greatest esteem which an author can 
express for ihe public is, never to bring fiuth 
that, which it expects, but, what he himself, 
witfl that degree of culture, native and for¬ 
eign. to which he has attained, discerns to be 
right and usefuL 
ONE BY ONE. 
O.vb by one the sands are flowing, 
One by one the mountains fall ; 
Some are coming, some are going, 
Do not strive to grasp them alt. 
One by one thy duties wait thee, 
Let thy whole strength go to each, 
Let no future dreams elate thee, 
Learn thou first what these can teach. 
One by one (bright gifts from Heaven) 
Joys are sent thee here below ; 
Take them readily when given, 
Ready too to let them go. 
One by one thy griefs shall meet thee, 
Do not fear an armed band ; 
One will fade as others greet thee, 
Shadows passing through the land 
Do not look at life’s long sorrow ; 
Seo how small each moment’s pain ; 
God will help thee for to-morrow, 
Every day begin again. 
Every hour that fleets so slowly 
Has its task to do or bear ; 
Luminous the crown, and holy, 
If thou set each gem with care. j 
Do not linger with regretting, 
Or for passing hours despond ; . 
Nor the daily toil forgetting, : 
Look too eagerly beyond. : 
Hours are golden links, God’s token, : 
Reaching Heaven ; but one by one 
Take them, lest the chain be broken 
Ere the pilgrimage be done. 
[HyusckoXd Worrit. 
MAN AND IMMORTALITY. 
Man is a seed, and birth is planting. He is 
iu life for cultivation, not exhibition ; he is 
here chiefly to be acted on, not to be character¬ 
istically an agent. For though man is also 
an actor, he is yet more a recipient. Though 
he produces effects, he receives a thousand-fold 
more than he produces. And he is to be esti¬ 
mated by his capacity of receiving, not of 
doing. He has hts least value in what he can 
do ; it all lies in what he is capable of having 
done to him. The eye, the ear, the tongue, 
the nerve of touch, all are simple receivers.— 
The understanding, the affections, the moral 
sentiments, all, are, primarily arid character¬ 
istically, recipients of influence, and only secon¬ 
darily, agents. Now, how different is the 
value of ore, dead in its silent waiting-places, 
from the wrought blade, the all but living en¬ 
gine, and the carved and curious utensil! 
Of how little value is a ship standing helpless 
on the stocks—but half-built, and yet building 
—to one who has no knowledge of the ocean, 
or of what that helpless hulk will become the 
moment she slides into her element, and rises 
and falls upon the flood with joyous greeting ! 
The value of an acorn is not what it is, but 
what it shall be when nature has brooded it, 
and brought it up, and a hundred years have 
sang through its branches and left their strength 
there! 
He, then, that judges man by what lie can 
do, judges him in the seed. YVe must see him 
through some lenses—we must prefigure his 
immortality. YVliile, then, his industrial value 
in life must depend on what he can do, we have 
here the beginning of a moral value which bears 
no relation to his power, but to his future des¬ 
tiny.— Henry Ward Beecher. 
ONE HAPPY MAN. 
The happiest man I have ever known is 
gone far enough from being rich in money, 
and who will never be very much nearer to it. 
His calling fits him, and he likes it, rejoices in 
its process as much as iu its results. He has 
an active mind, well filled. He reads and he 
thinks. He tends his garden before sunrise 
every morning—then rides sundry miles by 
the rail—dues ten hours work in town— 
whence he returns, happy and cheerful. With 
his own smile he catches the earliest smile of 
■ the morning, plucks the first rose of his gar- 
- den, and goes to his work with the little 
. flower in his hand and a great one blossoming 
3 out of his heart. He runs with charity, as a 
( cloud with rain ; and it is with him as with 
the cloud—what coming from the cloud is 
• rain to the meadows, is a rainbow of glories 
2 to the cloud that pours it out. The happiness 
- of the affections fills the good man, aud he 
runs over with friendship and love—connubial, 
parental, filial, friendly, too, and philanthropic 
besides. His life is a perpetual “ trap to 
s catch a sunbeam,” and it always “ springs” 
'• and takes it in. I know no man who gets 
i more out of life ; aud the secret of it is that 
y he does his duty to himself, to his brother and 
.1 to his God. I know rich men. and learned 
11 men — men of great social position ; and if 
there is genius in America I kuow that—but 
e a happier man I have never known.— Theo~ 
u dore Parker. 
Truth in Conversation. —The love of truth 
is the stimulus of all noble conversation. This 
is the root of all the charities. The tree which 
springs from it may have a thousand branches, 
but they will all bear a goldeu and generous 
fruitage. It is the loftiest impulse to inquire 
—willing to communicate, and more willing 
to receive — contemptuous of petty curiosity, 
but passionate 'or glorious knowledge. Speech 
without it is but a babble ; rhetoric is more 
noisy bnt less useful than the tinman’s trade. 
YVhen the love of truth fires up the passions, 
puts its lightning into the brain, then men may 
know that a prophet is among them. This is 
the spring of all heroism, and clothes the mar¬ 
tyr with a flame that outshines the flame that 
kills him. Compared with this, the emula¬ 
tions of argument, the puugencies of scarcasm, 
the pride of logic, the pomp of declamation, 
are as the sounds of automata to the voice of 
It is better to fear, and not sin, than to sin 
and then fear. 
