MOORE’S RURAL NEW-YORKER; AN AGRICULTURAL, LITERARY AND FAMILY NEWSPAPER. 
Jite’ |]ort-Julio. 
CONDUCTED BY AZILE. 
Written for Moore's Rural New-Yorker. 
TO AN ABSENT SISTER. 
Sister, thou hast bade our home farewell, 
Far away ’mid other scenes to dwell, 
Where thy smiles of love and tones of mirth 
Will gladden another household hearth,— 
But, sister, dear sister, wherever you roam 
Oh I do not forget our own dear home. 
We’ve tenderly cherished each budding flower 
You loved so well in our garden bower, 
In the waving.branches, all the day long, 
Ihe wild-bird warbles hi3 sweetest song ; 
But we miS3 your voice, with its merry tone, 
Oh ! sister, we miss thee, all miss theo at home. 
At eve, when the sun i3 sinking to rest, 
And tinting with geld the gates of the west, 
When we gather around the shrine of prayer, 
’Mid the clustering group, is one vacant chair, 
And when our loved ones their voices raise 
In singing the vesper hymn of praise, 
We listen in vain for thy softer tone, 
For, sister, we miss thee, all miss thee at home. 
And yet, when the summer days “ are told,” 
And autumn has tinted the leaves with gold— 
When your birds have flown from their sylvan nest, 
And are seeking another “ ark of rest.” 
When the summer roses are faded and gone, 
You will return to the dear old home. 
Then the household band, with their tones of glee,^ 
Will cluster around the old “ roof-tree,” ’ 
And from each glad heart will gush the words 
That thrill the soul like the song of birds, 
Oh ! happy we’ll be when you cease to roam,’ 
And come back again to the dear old home. 
Yet, sister, perchance the dark death-wing 
May over our hearth its shadows fling, 
The breath of the “ Spoiler” may wither one flower 
That blossoms now in our garden-bower, 
One link may be severed in Love’s bright chain, 
No more on earth to be joined again. 
And Oh 1 let us pray the Father above 
To spare each link in our chain of Love, 
Beside “ the still waters” our feet to guide, 
And bear us safe o’er Life’s billowy tide— 
To shield us well from earth’s chilling blast, 
And gather the lambs in His “ fold” at last. 
But, Oh 1 if the storm in its wrath should come, 
And darkly sweep o’er our own loved home, 
’Twill but loosen the clasp that so fondly clings 
To earth, with its frail and perishing things, 
And more closely we'll twine the tendrils of love 
That bind our souls to the home above; 
For sister, when earthly links are riven, 
Love’s shortened chain brings us nearer Heaven. 
Attica Centre, June, 1855. Myrta Mat. 
THE FRETFUL MOTHER. 
We find the following in the Presbyterian 
Banner, without credit to any source. The 
writer has touched upon a subject of vital im¬ 
portance, and presented his points in a inasi 
nor clear and impressive : 
A few days since, as I seated myself in a 
car, my attention was attracted to a group 
who occupied a seat opposite to me. It co i- 
sisted of a lady aud two children, one a be»j- 
tiful little boy of three or four years, the ot!i t 
a pule, puuy bubo of eight or ton mouths.- - 
They hud evidently been traveling for some 
time, for they seemed very weary, aud the lady 
looked sad and care worn. My sympathies 
are always excited at the sight of a delicate 
woman, traveling alone with two or three chil¬ 
dren depending upon her care, and 1 hud begun 
to fool considerable pity for the weary moluer, 
when she manifested such a spirit of impatience 
that I turned my sympathy towards the poor 
little children upon ’whom she wreaked her 
petulance. 
“ Henry! keep your feet off my dress 1” said 
the mother, contracting her features into a 
mass of wrinkles, and striking at the intrud¬ 
ing morocco, “ sit still 1” vociferated the same 
shrill tones. “ Ma, are we close to Ohio ?” 
said the child, in a languid, drawling tone.— 
“ Sit still, and quit asking questions 1” was the 
ungentle reply. At this moment the infant 
who bad been sleeping upon the reserved seat, 
awoke with a plaintive erv—a orv that went 
to nay heart, and 1 longea to soothe the poor 
helpless babe, weary from its long journey, 
peevish, of course—what child is not when ta¬ 
ken from its quiet home, its soft cradle, and 
familiar amusements ; toted about over the 
country—rocked in the steamer cabin—jolted 
over the railroad, and fed on hap-hazard fare, 
at irregular hours of the day or night. 44 Oh 
dear!” sighed the mother, catching it up and 
shaking it angrily. The child screamed—spat, 
spat, came the maternal hand upon its delicate 
limbs. I could scarcely retain my seat; my 
heart bled for the poor little defenceless thing 
thus committed to the care of such a mother. 
“ Ma, I want to look out of the window.”— 
“ Henry 1” and the ejaculation could not have 
been more emphatic if he had hung ove- a 
threatening precipice that moment. 44 Oh 
dear,” sobbed tho little fellow, 44 1 want to get 
to Ohio.” “ Let the baby alone 1” exclaimed 
the mother, as little Ilenry smilingly offered it 
a toy, and for a moment forgot his grief on 
the pleasure ol the infant, who gazed with ba¬ 
by wonder upon the little earthen dog, aud 
stretched forth his hands to grasp it. “ You 
want to get him into a tease, I s’pose—keep 
your playthings to yourself, or I’ll take them 
all away from you, and give them to him,” 
said the amiable mamma. Great way to teach 
children to love one another, thought I. “ Ask 
your mother if you may come over and sit with 
me,” said I to the little boy. 44 May 1 g 0 , 
ma?” “Yes! go along if you wish to_I 
never did see such an uneasy child.” I drew 
a long breath when the mother’s consent was 
obtained j she seemed so desirous to make the 
child miserable, that I feared she would not 
deign to grant his request. 
I took the little fellow upou my lap, aud 
fortunately my dress was not too nice to come 
in contact with his feet I gave him part of 
my boquet, aud asked him if he loved flowers. 
“ 0 yes, pretty tlowers,” said he. 
We goon became very good friouda Jfo 
could took out of the windows now, aud his 
enthusiastic shouts at the sight of a drove of 
cattle or a flock of sheep, proved quite a con¬ 
trast to the whiniDg one of a few minutes be¬ 
fore. I directed his attention to the beautiful 
Cuyahoga, the green wood”, the meadows 
from which we could hear the music of the 
sharpening scythes, the bright winged birds 
aud every other object which I thought would 
interest him. I am sure that child was hap¬ 
pier during the few moments that we sat to¬ 
gether, than he had been for many a day.— 
I know he would have preferred going with 
me when the cars arrived at the depot; but I 
had no claim upon him, and so consigned him 
to the rightful owner, wishing with Fanny 
Fern, that I was the mother of all the little 
sorrowing ones. 
The page of “ Human Nature” has too 
many counterparts. Many a feeble, fretful 
woman, wears the maternal mantle unworthily. 
Oh! who but a mother shall smooth the thorny 
path of the little child. I know that there are 
many flowers therein ; but childhood hath its 
griefs, and they are as great in proportion to 
the baby shoulder, as the crosses of manhood 
to the athletic arm of the middle age. Who 
but a mother can bear with infantile faults 
and waywardness, and who can be expected to 
be patient, and kind, and affectionate, if a 
mother is not ? 
I shudder when I look forward through the 
life of little Henry and his brother. Will 
they love each other ? who will teach them ? 
Will they respect aud honor their mother ?— 
what is she doing now to build for herself a 
throne in their young hearts ? will they search ? 
Will they love'the beauties of nature, and de¬ 
light in scientific research ? Will her silent or 
petulant replies to their innocent inquiries fos¬ 
ter the inquisitiveness of their expanding 
souls ? Who will be to blame if they grow up 
idle, quarrelsome boys, and to bring her grey 
hairs with sorrow to the grave ? Will they 
be so very ungrateful, if, weary of the quar¬ 
rels, and frowns, and bitterness of such a house 
as that mother will make for them, they seek 
pleasure elsewhere, and leave the lone widow 
by her solitary, desolate hearth, to reflect on 
the past sown thickly with thorns by her own 
careless hand. 
Oh! the wine cup, the gaming table, the 
haunt of vice, the dungeon, the gallows—how 
many of their victims are driven into their 
jaws by the hand that should lead them into 
the ways of pleasantness, and with its magic 
touch throw such allurements around home as 
to stay the wandering feet, and keep the gem 
of virtue pure in the fireside casket. 
Oh, mothers ! if you wish to live in the fond 
memory of your children, be gentle and patient 
towards them in their early years. Do not 
alienate them from you by moroseness or im¬ 
patience. Answer all their childish queries, 
arouse curiosity, and stimulate investigation 
in their own minds. Let them know that you 
desire nothing so much as their happiness aud 
welfare. Be thou to them the fond, faithful, 
judicious mother, whose kind forbearance and 
gentle guidance the stern man will have to 
look back upon with tears of affection and 
emotions of respect. Make the hearth of home 
a place of repose and enjoyment. Let your 
smile lighten, but never your feverish frown 
darken the sky of that home. Never—never 
lower yourself in the estimation of your chil¬ 
dren, by exhibiting petulance before them. In 
short, so discharge the maternal duties as to 
make yourself worthy of the beautiful and holy 
ties of mother. 
SEARCH FOR WIVES 
Where do men usually discover the women 
who afterwards becomes their wives? is a 
question we have occasionally heard discussed, 
and the custom has invariably become of 
value to young lady readers. Chance has 
much to do in the affair ; but then there are 
important governing circumstances. It is 
certain that few men make a selection from 
bali-rooms, or any other place of public gaiety; 
and nearly as few are influenced by what may 
b called showing off in the streets, or by any 
allurements of dress. Our conviction is, that 
ninety-nine hundredths of all the finery with 
which women decorate or load their persons 
goe- for nothing as far as husband-catching is 
concerned. Where and how, then, do men 
find their wives ? In the quiet home3 of their 
parents or guardians — at the fireside, where 
the domestic graces and feelings are alone 
demonstrated. These are the charms which 
most surely attract the high as well as the 
humble. Against these, all the finery and 
airs in the world sink into insignificance. We 
shall illustrate this by an anecdote, which, 
though not new, will not be the worse for be¬ 
ing again told :—In the year 1773, Peter 
Burrell, Esq., of Beckenham, in Kent, whose 
health was rapidly declining, was advised by 
his physicians to go to Spa for the benefit of 
his health. His daughters feared that those 
who had only motives entirely mercenary 
would not pay him that attention which he 
might expect from those who, from duty and 
affection united, would feel the greatest plea¬ 
sure in ministeriDg to his ease and comfort; 
they therefore resolved to accompany him. 
They proved that it was not a spirit of dissi¬ 
pation and gaiety that led them to Spa, for 
they were not to be seen in any of the gay 
and fashionable circles—they were never out 
of their father’s company, and never stirred 
from home except to attend him either to take 
the air or drink the waters— in a word, they 
lived a most recluse life in the midst of a town 
then the resort of the most illustrious and 
fashionable personages of Europe. This ex¬ 
emplary attention to their father procured 
these three amiable sisters the admiration of 
all the English at Spa, and was the cause of 
their elevation to that rank in life to which 
their merits gave them so just a title. They 
were all married to noblemen—one to the 
Earl of Beverley—another to the Duke of 
Hamilton, and afterwards to the Marquis of 
Exeter—and a third to the Duke of North¬ 
umberland ; and it is justice to them to say 
that they reflected honor on their rank, rather 
than derived any from it. 
RICH, THOUGH POOR. 
BT AIJCB CARET. 
Red in tlio east the morniDg broke, 
And in three chambers three men woke ; 
One through curtains wove that night 
In the loom of the spider, saw the light, 
And spying the rafters hlaok and old, 
Sighed for the genii to make them gold. 
One in a chamber high and fair, 
With panelled coiling enamelled rare, 
On the purple canopy of his bed 
Saw the light with a sluggard’s dread, 
And languid, buried his sickly face 
Deep in hi3 pillow fringed with lace. 
One in a cabin with roof so low, 
Through chinks of clapboards beheld the glow ; 
No ornaments had he to wear, 
But his curling heard and his crow-black hair— 
His wealth was his acres, and oxen twain, 
And health was his cheerful chamberlain. 
Night fell stormy a3 night could be— 
“ ’Tis weary and dreary,” sighed two of the three— 
“ The corn I planted to-day will sprout,” 
Said one, “ and the roses be blushing out 
And his heart with joy, like his eaves, o’er ran— 
Think you he was the poorest man ? 
Written for Moore’s Rural New-Yorker. 
“OUT WEST.” 
Reader, is there a chord in your heart 
which vibrates at the sound of the words 
“ Out West ?” Though your heart and mine, 
and our neighbors, may each thrill with emo¬ 
tion at the same words, yet how varied the 
emotions ? While ours may be hope and joy, 
theirs may be disappointment and sorrow.— 
While one is laying out, and gazing with de¬ 
light on his mental perspective, his many 
broad, fertile and well-watered acres, his lux¬ 
urious groves and beautiful villa, another 
whose picture, though once as fair, is now 
tarnished and blotted, is turning from it in 
disgust, aud seeking in the East the village of 
his nativity. One who is worn with toil and 
the prey of disease, is seeking release from care 
and invigoration of health in the West, while 
another who went strong and vigorous, with 
unclouded prospect, is prostrated with disease, 
and with loDgiDg is contemplating those plea¬ 
sures once despised, or perchance with wasted 
and trembling form is seeking the paternal 
homestead that he may spend the remains of 
his days among his kindred, die in peace, and 
sleep with his fathers. 
“Out West!” It is the all of life, the sun 
of existence to how many ! And with what 
consequences is it fraught to the present and 
the future generations! How little reck we 
what momentous results attend our every ac¬ 
tion ! With what wanton heedlessness we 
rush on, intent only on the gratification of our 
momentary fancies. With minds of a certain 
class, “ Out West” seems to be the only panacea. 
Are you avaricious? Do you disdain to 
slowly fill your pockets with yellow dust? 
Go West, where you can count your acres by 
hundreds and thousands. If golden ore is all 
your aim, then get a lease of your life, and go 
where you may get it by handfuls, buy and 
sell and get gaiD, till your avarice is sated. 
Are you ambitious, and do you seek to be rid 
of the restraints of old established society, 
and to mark for yourself a path unknown 
to your ancestors'? If you have unfailing 
courage and an unbending will, then go West, 
and surely there you may find sufficient elbow 
room. Are you straitened, and are landhold¬ 
ers’ prices so far above your means that you 
cannot hope here to claim a spot of Mother 
Earth on which you may build a home for 
yourself and those dependent on you ? Then 
westward start, and find a prairie home all in 
its native richness, where landlord shall not 
oppress you, aud you may dwell unmolested 
under your own vine and fig-tree, and may 
fortune smile on you, for your motive is 
praiseworthy. 
Do you long to aid in building up free and 
holy institutions to benefit posterity, and thus 
aid in saving the country from the influence 
of encroaching evils, then set your face west¬ 
ward, aud relying on His promise who has 
said, “ As thy day is so shall thy strength be,” 
fight manfully in the struggle that is before 
you, aud may Heaven help you. Do you 
seek that sphere in which your influence shall 
be felt in moulding the minds of the future as 
well as the p resent generation, and teaching 
them to be faithful in their duties to them¬ 
selves, to the world, and to their Creator, then 
we bid you God-speed, for the West needs 
you. Willie Watson. 
Revolutionary Anecdote. —“ It was once 
in my power to have shot General Washing¬ 
ton !” said a British soldier to an American, 
as they were discussing the event of the great 
struggle at concluding of peace. “ Why did 
you not shoot him then ?” asked the Ameri¬ 
can ,—“ you ought to have done so for the 
benefit of your countrymen.” “ The death of 
Washington would not have been for their 
benefit,"replied the Englishman, “ for we de¬ 
pended upon him to treat our prisoners kind¬ 
ly ; and by Heaven ! we’d sooner have shot an 
officer of our own!” 
To be influenced by passion for the same 
pursuits and to have similar dislikes, is the 
rational ground work of lasting friendship.— 
Sallust. 
EMBLEMATIC COLORS. 
In very early art, we find colors used in a 
symbolical or mystic sense, and until the an¬ 
cient principles and traditions were wholly 
worn out of memory, or set aside by the later 
painters, certain colors were appropriate to 
certain subjects and personages, and could not 
arbitrarily be applied or misapplied. In the 
old specimens of stained glass, we find these 
significations scrupulously attended to. Thus: 
White, represented by the diamond or silver, 
was the emblem of light, religious purity, in¬ 
nocence, virginity, faith, joy, and life. Our 
Savior wears white after His resurrection.— 
In the judge, it indicates integrity ; in the sick 
man, humility; in the woman chastity. It 
was the color consecrated to the Virgin, who, 
however, never wears white, except in pictures 
of the Assumption. 
Red, the ruby, signified fire, divine love, the 
Holy Spirit, heat, or the creative, power, and 
royalty. White and red roses express love 
aud innocence, or love and wisdom, as in the 
garland with which the angels crowned Saint 
Cecillia. In a bad sense, red signifies blood, 
war, hatred, and punishment. Red and black 
combined were the colors of purgatory and 
the devil. 
Blue, or the sapphire, expressed heaveu,the 
firmament, truth, constancy, fidelity. Christ 
and the Virgin wear the red tunic and the 
blue mantle as signifying the heavenly love 
and heavenly truth. The same colors were 
given to St. John the Evangelist, with this 
difference, that he wore the blue tunic and the 
red mantle ; in later pictures, the colors ore 
sometimes red and green. 
Yellow, or gold, was the symbol of the sun; 
of the goodness of God, initiation, or mar¬ 
riage, faith, or faithfulness. In pictures of 
the apostles, St. Deter wears a yellow mantle 
over a blue tunie. In a bad sense, yellow sig¬ 
nifies inconstancy, jealousy, deceit; in this 
sense it is given to the traitor Judas, who is 
generally habited in dirty yellow. 
Green, the emerald, is the color of spring ; 
of hope, particularly hope in immortality ; 
aud of victory, as the color of the palm and 
laurel. 
Violet, the amethyst, signified love and 
truth, or passion and suffering. Hence it is 
the color often worn by the martyrs. In 
some instances our Savior, after His resurrec¬ 
tion, is habited in a violet instead of a blue 
mantle. The Virgin Magdalene, who as a 
patron saint wears the red robe, as penitent 
wears violet and blue, the colors of sorrow 
and constancy. In the devotional representa¬ 
tion of her by Timoteo della Vita, she wears 
red and green, the colors of love and hope. 
Black, expressed the earth — darkness, 
mourniDg, wickedness, negation, death—and 
was appropriate to the Prince of Darkless.— 
In some old illuminated MSS., Jesus, in the 
temptation, wears a black robe. YVhite and 
black together, signify purity of life, and 
mourning or humiliation ; hence adopted by 
the Dominicans and the Camelites.— Literary 
Casket. 
NEWSPAPER WRITING. 
The New York Evangelist, some time 
since, had an excellent article on this topic. 
Some of its hints are of universal application. 
“ Some think,” the writer says, “ that they 
cannot make an effective article without am¬ 
ple space. They must have room to spread 
themselves. But small bullets often do great 
execution. A paragraph, pithily expressed, 
is often quoted from one end of the land to 
the other, and becomes a by-word for millions. 
In a few piquant sentences a keen writer may 
hit off' a folly of the day, or rebuke a vice, or 
repel a sneer of infidelity, or put into a porta¬ 
ble form an argument for religion. Such an 
article is not light and frivolous because it is 
brief. In that small compass may be packed 
a tremendous thought and power of expres¬ 
sion. It may be solid as a cannon-ball, and 
cut down everything before it.” 
True enough. And how much trouble 
might writers save us, miserable drudges of 
the editorial profession, if they would take a 
little pains “ to pack their thoughts close to¬ 
gether.” 
“ Ye who write for this busy age,” he adds, 
“ speak quick ; use short sentences ; never 
stop the reader with a long or ambiguous 
word ; let the stream of thoughts flow right 
on, and men will drink it in like water.” 
Happiness not in Station Alone. —There 
is one experience, gentlemen, to which the his¬ 
tory of my various changes in life has peculi¬ 
arly, and I will even say, has painfully expos¬ 
ed me—how little a mau gains, or rather, in¬ 
deed, how much he loses in the happiness of 
natural and healthful enjoyment, in passing 
from a narrower to a wider, and what some 
may call a more elevated sphere. There is 
not room in the heart of man for more 
than a certain number of objects; and he 
is therefore placed far more favorably for the 
development of all that pleasure which lies in 
the kind and friendly affections of our nature, 
when the intimacy of his regards is permitted 
to rest on a few, than when, bustled through 
an interminable variety of persons and things, 
each individual can have hut a slender hold 
upon the memory, and a hold as slender upon 
the emotions.— Dr. Chalmers. 
A Golden Thought.— Nature will be re¬ 
ported. All things are engaged in writing 
her history. The plant goes attended by its 
shadow. The rolling rock leaves its scratches 
on the mountain, the river its channel in the 
soil, and the animal its bones in the stratum ; 
the fern and leaf their modest epitaph in the 
coal. The falling drop makes its sculpture in 
sand or stone ; not a footstep in the snow or 
along the ground but prints in characters 
more or less lasting, a map of its march ; every 
act of the man inscribes itself on the memo¬ 
ries of its fellows, and its face. The air is full 
of sounds, the sky of tokens ; the ground is all 
memoranda and signatures, and every object is 
covered over with hints which speak to the 
intelligent 
THOUGHTS FOR YOUNG MEN. 
When a young man enters the arena of the 
world in search of a wife, he should ask three 
questions before entering into courtship : first, 
is she intelligent ? second, is she kind and be¬ 
nevolent? and thirdly, did she ever get up 
before breakfast in the morniug? If all 
these interrogatories be answered in the af¬ 
firmative, no other qualification is indispensa¬ 
bly necessary; for with such a wife fortune 
and fame can easily be acquired. Such is the 
wife for the laboring man, such should be the 
companion of one fortunately possessed of 
wealth, and such should be the wife of him 
who aspires to the highest station tnat society 
can bestow. All this information can be 
easily obtained from the girl 5011 have in 
view ; for many boast of their indolence, and 
think no higher compliment could be paid 
than by calling them delicate in health aud 
feeble in mind. If she is weighed in the bal¬ 
ances aud found wanting, pass her with con¬ 
tempt, aud look to other resources for future 
happiness. But marry, let the risk be what 
it may—it gives dignity to your profession, it 
inspires confidence, and commands respect. 
With a wife the lawyers are more trusty, the 
doctor more esteemed, the merchant gets a 
bigger credit, and the mechanic throws the 
hammer with increased power, and shoves the 
plane with a more dextrous hand—in short, a 
man who has no wife, is no man at all. She 
nurses him while sick, she watches for him 
when absent, and loves and cherishes him 
when in health. Gentlemen, get a wife—a 
pretty one, if you like them best—a good one 
if she is to be found—and a rich one if you 
can get her. Then youth will pass in vision¬ 
ary pleasures, as if on a bed of flowers, middle 
age will be enjoyed in the bosom of a happy 
family, and w T hen your head is silvered o’er 
with the frests of many winters, you cau re¬ 
flect back with the happy consolation that you 
have spent your life in usefulness to yourself, 
and to the benefit of your fellow man. 
ARISTOCRACY OF ENGLAND. 
The London Leader speaks of the Emperor 
Napoleon as “ this tenant-at-will of a throne 
on which no ruler has died duriug a century.” 
The same paper in an article looking to the 
passing away of England’s nobility and En¬ 
gland’s monarchy, pays this tribute to En- 
glaud’s titled classes of the past: 
The English aristocracy has been great in 
history. It has been, on the whole, the man¬ 
liest, bravest, most moral, most friendly to 
law and freedom, of all aristocracies that the 
world ever saw. It ha 3 spoken and fought 
for liberty when the Commons were powerless 
and dumb. Half its members took part in 
the Rebellion ; three-fourths took part in the 
Revolution. Magna Charta and the Bill of 
Rights will forever bear its name. Has it 
now gone the common way of all medieval in¬ 
stitutions ? Has it, through the general dif¬ 
fusion of these political aptitudes which it 
once monopolized, become effete for good pur¬ 
poses, aud powerful only for evil? If this is 
so, there is still time—though but little time 
—to gather up its ashes into an honored urn, 
and to inscribe upon that urn the names 
of Runnymede and the Convention- And 
what good mau, whether noble or plebeian, 
can doubt the justice and expediency of doing 
so ? 
HOARDING AND ENJOYING. 
An old man was toiling through the burden 
and heat of the day, in cultivating his field with 
his own hand, and depositing the promising 
seed into the fruitful lap of the yielding earth. 
Suddenly there stood before him under the 
shade of a huge linden tree, a divine vision.— 
The old man was struck with amazement. 
“ I am Solomon,” spoke the phantom, in a 
friendly voice. “ What are you doing here, 
old man ?” 
“ If you are Solomon,” replied the venera¬ 
ble laborer, “how can you ask this? In my 
youth you sent me to the ant; I saw its occu¬ 
pation, and learned from that insect to be in¬ 
dustrious and gather. I have followed it out 
to this hour.” “ You have only learned half 
your lesson,” resumed the spirit. “ Go again 
to the ant, and learn from that insect to rest 
in the winter of your life, and enjoy what you 
have gathered up .”—German Allegory. 
The Root of Evil.— We clip the following 
sensible paragraph from the Newark Daily 
Advertiser : 
“ One thing is as clear as the sun, that the 
absorbing ambition to seize the glittering 
prize of gold was never before so prolific a 
root of evil as it is now. We do not know 
which is working the greater mischief among 
us, the lust for political power or the lust for 
pelf. Wlieu you come to add to this burning 
appetite in so many men the powerful, almost 
supernatural energy communicated to it by 
the viscious tastes aud demands of families for 
luxury, show, and extravagance, to rival other 
families and win an absurd distinction, found¬ 
ed upon nothing better than money, it iB not 
difficult to account for many of those astound- 
eng falls from virtue and high moral position, 
and their accompanying defalcations, which 
occasionally convulse society.” 
Economy in having a small Wife.— A 
Paris writer on fashions says :—“ Small wo¬ 
men are alone to be admired and loved.”— 
The reason he assigns is that a small woman 
cannot possibly cover her little person with as 
many yards of silk, and other costly fabrics, 
as a large woman. As women display a lux¬ 
ury in toilette which daily increases in ex¬ 
travagance, we do not wonder that unfortu¬ 
nate bachelors seek a diminutive wife. 
Echo in the Skies. —In the recent balloon 
excursion of M. Godard, it is stated by the 
passengers that at the height of 14,000 feet 
from the earth everything said or spoken out 
distinctly by them was returned iu about a 
minute in an echo, and this echo was clear and 
distinct as the words uttered by tho voice. 
