MOORE’S RURAL NEW-YORKER: AN AGRICULTURAL, LITERARY ANI) FAMILY NEWSPAPER, 
Spies’ 
OOKDUCTED BY AZILE. 
For the Rural New-Yorker. 
MY LITTLE NAMESAKE. 
Frix of winsome ways and prattle 
Gushing mudc in each tone, 
Cheeks with softest rose-tint glowing, 
Mouth where mischief holds its throne,— 
Eyes whose beams of heavenly azure, 
Seem to Angel-land allied, 
As the child of one now sleeping 
Where the crystal streamlets glide. 
Such the picture, Memory’s pencil 
Hath engraven on my heart, 
Of my little namesake, Emma,— 
Nature’s tintings, free from art; 
May earth’s shadow touch thee lightly ! 
Heaven grant you ne’er may know 
Life’s Hope-blossoms chilled and faded— 
Ne’er the brittleness of woe. 
Bless, Savior, from thy throne above 
' The casket thou hast given ; 
And oh ! preserve the jewel bright 
To grace a crown in Heaven. 
Oakfleld, N. Y., 1855. 
MY HUSBAND. 
DG^. 
For Moore’s Rural Naw-Yorker. 
THE SUNBEAM—A SKETCH, 
A sunbeam stole gently through the open 
casement, into an apartment upon the floor of 
which a beautiful young child sat playing._ 
He patted his tiny bare feet in the lovely 
light; he crowed and laughed,—and vainly 
did he try to grasp itit played with his 
his curls, touched his cheek, and was gone.— 
The little birds visited the window-seat and 
tried to soothe the little one by singing their 
soft lullaby; flowers were scattered about 
him, and playthings innumerable were given 
him,—but the unknown was gone, and his 
little heart sought after it as the thirsty sand 
for water. 
My husband is a very strange man. To 
think how he should have grown so provoked 
about such a little matter as that scarlet scarf. 
Well, there’s no use trying to drive him. I’ve 
solved that on my miDd. But be can be coax 
ed—can’t he though? and from this time 
henceforth, shan’t, 1 know how to manage biin ? 
Still, there’s no denying, Mr. Adams is a very 
strange man. J 
You see, it was this morning at breakfast, 
I said to him, “ Henry, I must have one of 
these ten dollar scarfs at Stuart’s. They are 
perfectly charming, and will correspond so 
nicely with my maroon velvet c 1 oafk. I want 
to go out this morning and get one before they 
are all gone.” 
“ Ten dolla-s don’t grow on every bush, 
Adeline; and just now limes are pretty hard, 
you know,” he answered, in a dry, care'ess 
kind of tone, which irritated me greatly. Be¬ 
sides that, I knew he could afford to get me 
the scarf just as well as not, only, perhaps, my 
manner of requesting it did not quite suit his 
lordship. 
Gentlemen who can afford to buy satiu 
vests at ten dollars apiece, can have no motive 
but penuriousness for objecting to give their 
wives as much for a scarf,” T retorted, as I 
g.anced at the money which a few moments 
before he had laid by the side of my plate, re¬ 
questing me to procure one for him. He al¬ 
ways trusts my taste in these matters. I 
spoke angrily. I should have been sorry for 
it the next moment, if he had not answered_ 
“ ^ ou will then attribute it to my penu 
riousness, I suppose, when I tell you I cannot 
let you have another ten dollars to-day ! ’ 
“■ \\ eii, then, I will take this and get me the 
scarf. Y ou can do without your vest this 
fall, and I took up the bids and left the room 
for he did not answer it. 
(Llioicc 
NEITHER POVERTY NOR RICHES 
Written for Moore’s Rural New-Yorker. 
THE HEARTS INDEX. 
Thk thoughts and feeliDgs of the heart 
Are stamped upon the face_ 
The features act a tell-tale p.rt 
For all the human race. 
The low, the sensual and vile 
Can no concealment find ; 
Their daring deeds and words of guile, 
Are written by the mind. 
The noble, generous, and good, 
Their owu insignia hear ; 
Iheir heart’s indices understood 
Without their thoughts or cire. 
The base or good, the proud or meek, 
Their true impression find— 
The eye, the brow, the mantling cheek, 
Respond to heart and mind. 
Peoria, N. Y., July, 1-63. A 
Written for Moore’s Rural New-Ye: 
A PRAIRIE DRIVE. 
*• I loyh to dwell betwixt the hills and dales, 
Ne.tlier to t*e so great as to he envied, 
Nor yet so poor tbe world should pity me.” 
^ In a choice old book we found these choice 
o'd words; and iu a choicer and older book 
one sai’h, “ give me neither poverty nor rich¬ 
es.’ Riches are cumbersome ; they fetter the 
sou’s energy, change ibe nature of man, so 
that he who in poverty shared half wi:h his 
brother, to-day, when li<* hath scaled tbs 
height of his ambition and hath a plenty of 
this world’s goods, grudges a smile, even a 
pleasant look to his old poor neighbor. But 
poverty, oh ! it is a terrible ban, a harsh, con- 
temp*uous master—a frowning, ogreish mas¬ 
ter. Jt tempts faith to doubt, and hope to 
despair. 
To be chained to the plow, the anvil, the 
bench, the desk, the pen—how galling! To 
pinch one garment to add to another, and to 
see both fall like ashes from burnt wood, from 
the toiling fingers; to bear with an aching 
heart the cruel treatment of the landlord who 
measures the inclination by the inability ; to 
see the sorrow of a brother poor man, when 
told that be must *• wait a little longer,” these 
to a sensitive mind are worse than death._ 
* rjuvmjxx&BCKiCAPut.r, 
EFFICIENCY? OF NEWSPAPERS. 
Well may such an one exclaim with the great 
of apostle, “ I die daily.” 
Years have passed, and long ones too.— 
Time, in his relentless course, has borne many 
dear and noble ones into Eternity,—but do 
you see ? That streak of sunshine has again 
crept into an apartment where naught but 
comfort, taste and wealth abide. Cautiously 
it stole into the dark locks of a man in the 
prime of life, who seems to be very happy 
with his merry band, that gathers morning 
and evening ’round the altar where are kin¬ 
dled the fires of devotion. We may know 
what trouble he has seen ; affliction has visit¬ 
ed him at an hour when it was not welcome. 
But that dear, devoted one at his side was 
ever ready to assist,—she nursed him in sick¬ 
ness ; together they have stemmed the tide of 
adversity, and now their bark glides very 
smoothly over Life’s ocean, with not a ripple 
to disturb the smoothness of the scene. Sail 
on, loving ones—may the dark cloud never 
rise to mar your happiness. 
Ah ! how you complain again of Time, the 
old thief!—he changes dark locks to gray, 
youth to manhood. He bends the stately 
form, causes the blood to grow old, that but 
just now flowed joyously through young 
veins. Th 8 works of art, too, decay before 
his mouldering touch. But what have we 
here ?—tread lightly,—breathe softly,—’tis a 
death-scene. Do you not hear the rustling of 
angels’ wings ? They wait to bear the old 
man through the golden gates to the great 
city. See ! Smiles illumine his brow, that 
is already growing cold in death ; he rejoices 
that he’s so near his heavenly home. Jesus 
sustains him at this hour. Religion has been 
his staff a long time ;—it wiH support him 
safely. He has grasped the sunbeam, and re 
tains it during his last moments. l. o. 
“ 1 nee( I iU and I must haveit/’Isoliloquized 
I washed my tear swollen eyes, and adjust 
6 d my hair for a walk down Kroadwav, but 
all the while there was a still small voice in 
my heart whispering, “ Don’t do it; go and 
buy the vest for your husband,” and at last 
would you believe it?—that inner vcice tri¬ 
umphed. I went down to the tailor’s, selected 
the vest, and brought it home. 
” Here it is, Henry; I selected the color 
which. I thought would suit you the best.— 
Isn’t it ric,i ! ’ I said, as I unfolded the vest 
after dinner, for somehow my pride -was all 
gone. I bad felt so much happier ever since 
I had resolved to forego the scarf. 
He did not answer me, but there was such 
a look of tenderness filling his dark and hand¬ 
some eyes, as his lips dropped to my forehead, 
that it was as much as I could do to keep 
from crying outright. 
But I haven’t told the cream of the f-tory 
yet. To-night when he came home to supper 
he threw a little bundle into my lap. Won¬ 
dering greatly what it could be, I opened it, 
and there, would you believe it, was the scar¬ 
let scarf, the very one I had set my heart on 
at Stuart’s yesterday. 
“ Oh ! Henry,” I said, looking up and try 
ing to thank him, but my lips trembled, and 
then the tears dashed over my eyelashes, and 
he drew my head to his heart, and smoothed 
down my curls, and murmured the old loviDg 
words in my ear, while I cried a long time 
but 0, my tears were such sweet ones. 
He is a strange man, my husband, but he is 
a noble one too, and his heart is in the right 
place, after all, only it’s a little hard to find it 
sometimes, and it seems to me my heart never 
said it so deeply as it does to-night. God 
bless him ! 
Just as the sun was droppi >g down the 
western sky and preparing to “ dodge out of apostle, “ I die daily 
sight,” we took our seats in a light carriage But—neither poverty nor riches neither 
behind a noble horse taken but an hour pre- Die h’gh mountain nor deep valley—neither 
vious from the “ prairie breaking plow.” The the over full coffer nor the empty purse— 
sunlight came streaming horizontally across °®li OT J he ° Ve " 8t ° cked ? or the barren 
^ • 4 . a. j cc j* o patch of ground—neit her the princely mansion 
the prairie as we started, affording us a fine nor the tottering tenement—neither the fatee 
epportumty to witness its setting. A pra’rie fawning of the crowd nor the pitying sympa- 
sucset is quite unlike sunset at the east.— thy of the lowly, would we covet. A little 
There are bo premonitions of the day’s decline. b( . )use so that taste and el gacce preside, a few 
-no cooling of the atmosphere-no lessen derate sum for the purposes of 
, i, ° , , , , , ’ , , benevolence, a retreat far away from craven 
ing of the sun s hea ,, but it streams out hot, hollow-hearted fashionists, a few trees a few 
clear and oppressive, until tbe smooth bosom n ’ - - 
of the prairie intercepts its rays and night¬ 
fall overshadows the land. There is no grad¬ 
ual lengthening of huge mountain shadows, 
creeping slowly up from base to peak of man 
flowers and many books; these to possess, 
who could not be a 3 happy as this world al¬ 
lots? 
Alas! change would come even then; trials 
to purify, sorrows to ennoble. Other flowers 
m than those in the garden would fade—the 
or mountain, a golden division line of light strong oak of manhood, the tender sapliDg of 
marking the progress of the sun’s decline and childhood. Books with the aching head were 
proclaiming sunlight and sundown. There is wearisome, and roses, when the breath labors, 
no crimsoning peaks—no casting of shadow— bloom unheeded.^ ^Nothing stays us but the 
The efficiency of newspapers seems to de¬ 
pend mainly on two conditions, namely, a 
good character, and a wide circulation. A 
mean or worthless paper can do no good, no 
matter who makes it, or how extensively it 
circulates. There are papers whose wide dif¬ 
fusion would be a calamity. Not that they 
are positively vicious ; they are at a tolerable 
remove from the “ Satanic literature,” but 
still, so fluctuating, timid, and unenterprising, 
that they cannot safely be allowed any share 
in mou'ding the public mind. Whiffet like, 
they are always barking, but never bite. Any 
body can frighten them, and loDg before there 
is real danger, they are in full retreat. The 
misfortune of all such sheets is, that they take 
on the popular type, whatever it may be_ 
Conformity is their general law. Too poor, 
or too undiscerning, to act an independent 
part, and duly impressed with the sublime 
maxim that “ thrift follows fawning,” their 
ellorls are directed to a close observation of 
what re now public opinion, and conformity 
to this is, with them, the highest degree of 
practical wisdom. With a view to keep them- 
sc.ves m countenance, they assert that their 
vocation is to please, not to instruct the pub¬ 
lic. this class of periodicals may, perhaps, 
answer some purpose as a means of communi¬ 
cation, but they are good for nothing in the 
great bat.t:e between truth and error. One of 
the first considerations, therefore, in an en¬ 
deavor to augment the power and usefulness 
ot the periodical press, is to give it a charac- 
-, . f er worthy of diffusion. As salt that has lost 
“Tie I its flavor is good for nothing, so a newspaper 
wanting in the three great essentials of talent, 
firmness, moral elevation, independence and 
enterprise, is fit only to be trodden under foot. 
The next requisite to newspaper efficiency 
a wide circulation. It is clear that period¬ 
icals must be read in order to have influence 
and it equally clear that, in order to be read’ 
they must be circulated among the people.— 
Auburn Christian Advocate. 
bloom unheeded 
VlitUOVUlUg J-'VCViVO-A-IV/ Y/UOliUC VI OliCMIU»- 1 1 n p . ‘-J , V ~ - ~- 
no warning of approaching change until the ^ ° kSpe 
light begins to pale, the air to cool, the breeze young but the heart, and that filled with the 
freshen as the sun sinks its golden light away flowers of sweet affection may shed sweetness 
westward beneath the circle-bound of vision. a ? d beauty on any lot. Earth is only a stop- • . , , , , . .--- - 
Thus was this beautiful sunset—its last rays P lac9 > a transient depot for passengers the^ew^ v bat ou * s i de 
were seen_its daws’ duty dore and nnmHH travehn g heavenward, and what matter it we \ • the rude3t on earth ’ 
, . * . enter the car of eternity from a gothic arched f \ £ lve s _you a welcome, and you 
but. a crimson sky remained to mark its bright palace or a wayside boarded shelter, so long as ff 3 ^ 18 £ rom the lips, however choice 
we have the pass that will carry us safelv to e Ph rase - ’ ou go to make a purchase, and 
the shop woman comes to you in a manner 
French Politeness. — French politeness 
has become proverbial. I do not think, how¬ 
ever, the characteristic aimed at is well un¬ 
derstood, or such a term would not be used. 
H by politeness we mean good heartedness, 
that seek others’ pleasure, it is sadly misap- 
piled, it is the pride of one class to appear 
civil, well bred—of the tradesmen it is their 
WOMAN’S INFLUENCE. 
Woman in a paradox—perhaps the most 
positive type in nature. Her virtues are 
negative, and yet their influence is the most 
absolutely active exerted upon man. Two of 
her most glorious attributes, self-denial 
and disinterestedness, al ways in action in her 
relations with the opposite sex, are simply 
negative qualities, but their influence is irre¬ 
sistible ; inciting men to the noblest develop¬ 
ment of humanity. Clinging to man with 
most beautiful faith in his protecting power, 
she appeals to his better nature with controll¬ 
ing force, and calls forth those shining 
sparkles of divinity which testify emphatical¬ 
ly to his exalted origin, and give double as¬ 
surance of his susceptibility to all that is 
charitable and praiseworthy to human nature, 
while it destroys, and diverts into virtuous 
channels that proneness to evil engrafted on 
his nature, and intensified by corrupt commu¬ 
nication with vicious society. And, alas! 
that it should be so, she is equally potent for 
evil when she willor rather when she will 
not exert herself for the development of virtue. 
She is either man’s good genius, or her influ¬ 
ence is the most baneful that can be exerted. 
We often have tho’t that if woman only poss¬ 
essed a more general knowledge of the happy 
influence they might exert upon the rougher 
sex, their enjoyment in this life would be in¬ 
creased beyond their present comprehension, 
while the good works of men, developed by 
the quiet genius of her virtue, would occupy 
infinitely greater space in the realms of moral¬ 
ity and religion. 
_ Little Trials.— It is is the little trials of 
life, which irritate the temper, and destroy the 
equanimity of the mind ; just as the continual 
falling of water-drops, one by one wears away 
the solid rocks. Pride,—sense of wrong,— 
consciousness of the sympathy and pity of 
others, may assist us to meet great trials, 
and strengthen us to endure severe^sufferiogs; 
but the grace of God alone is sufficient for us, 
in the numberless petty annoyances which 
continually beset us in the path of daily life. 
Without it, we are indeed weak to endure suf¬ 
fering^ powerless to resist temptation. The 
daily life of the Christian may, through watch¬ 
fulness and prayer be a silent admonition to 
the unconverted, an incontrovertible proof 
to the unbelieving of the reality of his faith 
A Beautiful Thought.— Whan I gaze 
into the stars, they look down upon me with 
pity from their serene and silent spaces, like 
eyes glistening with tears over the little lot of 
man. Thousands of generations, all as noisy 
as our own, have been swallowed by time, and 
there remains no record of them any more, yet 
Arcturus and Orion, Sirius and Pleiades, are 
still shining in their courses, clear and young 
as when the shepherd first noted them from 
the plain of Shinar ? What shadows we are, 
and what shadows we pursue !— Carlyle. 
THE DEPARTED. 
departure. 
Our horse now showed himself not all the 
plow-horse as he traveled briskly on in the un¬ 
obstructed carriage path. Smoolh’y and si¬ 
lently we sped along. Silently ! for whoever 
heard such a rattling warning of a carriage 
approach at the West as we do at the East? 
Even the cars glide along almost noiselessly, 
to break a silence seemingly never disturbed. 
The steam-whistle of the locomotive is heard 
pass that will carry us safely to 
the city of “ pearly gates and streets of gold. 
— Olive Bianch 
which seems to say, “ Here is a dear friend 
—what can I do for her?” Well, after a 
deal of talk —all on one side, for you can 
scarcely get iu a word—you purchase some 
rp i article &nd take it home, to discover that vnn 
iHEjrery doc r;ne of all others, “ Stick to have been cheated most ridiculously paymo- 
- I for a worth Ipsq The propriet( f r » 
STICK TO IT, YOUNG MAN. 
it.” Who ever knew a mortal to enrol him¬ 
self under this banner, and come out the litt 
ren u^aer mis oanner, and come out the litt’e store into which I can look where T sit ia « 
end of the horn ? Nobody we’ll be bound, fair specimen of Ihis cla“s He is a swre 
owoa.Lii-rTuio.it vjl me iwtiujuuvB is ntara 3 P‘ lacl P‘~> aceaup to wuh recoitude, pur- man, with black beard. He has a ne"nehi-\l 
but a little distance,-the rumbling of the above waterand inMue^kv ^ sim If ~ not a smile-and his back is^iade 
train but little farther than the eye watches “ Stick to it.” it’s the verv h; tn™ h - Uf> of ,. Illu ^ e8 : °T have only to watch the 
its approach,-the music of the dinner-horn perience, the triumph of mind, art, literature^ Sze youTca^e— Bdl°Smilh " CU3tJmers 10 
seldom if ever greets the ear,—and the loudest evei 7 g^eat and noble work is its direct and _ 
hallooing of the strongest luDgs would cause a PP r 0 P r i a te illustration. He who would be, m tj m 
little more vibration of the air than afoot- do V) ’f aiD ’ ™ ake ’ save ’ «*jeve anything, in anniverslrvof^ne or *?^* 08 ~ A - f- ^ 
foil of Woof fpi • r i whatever department of life, trade, politics a B aiv ^ 8ar ^ one 0l ta e literary societies of 
fa.l at the EaJ. I he murmuring of a stream religion, philanthrophy, or love, must make it 1 }l Co ege ’ l >rofessor Silliman was called 
it his first and last object of solicitude_the °?V a C0 “pBmentary toast. In the course 
Alpha and Omega of aspiration and action. ^_ r f“ arks L ths Pr °fe 3 sor proceeded, for 
Tiik May sun shed an amber light 
On new leaved woods and lawns between ; 
But she who, with a smile more bright, 
Welcomod and watched the springing green, 
Is in her grave, 
Low in her grave. 
We must walk through life as through the 
Swiss mountains, where a hasty word may 
bring down an avalanche. 
Let the Heart be Beautiful.— Nothing 
great er good is achieved unless the heart is 
beautiful; and in order that the heart may be 
beautiful, we should watch over every action, 
even the smallest, and try to improve all the 
time. 
Pure benevolence is a flower of beauty rare, 
of fragrance sweet —it seldom blooms on 
earth, whose climate is too cold —in heaven, 
its native soil, it grows luxuriantly. 
The little, and the short sayings of wise 
and excellent men are of great value, like the 
dust of gold, or the least sparks of diamonds. 
is never heard, and the singing of the tiny 
fountain brooklet is a sound listened to only 
in cherished memories of an Eastern home._ 
There are no echoes here. A sound once 
heard, never returns. It finds no rock-crag to 
intercept its flight and hurl it back upon the 
listening ear. Of all silence—undisturbed by 
a single sound—the most profound is the sul¬ 
try summer-day silence of the wide prairie._ 
There is an absence of bird music — of leaf 
music—and of almost all these sounds, poetic 
and lieart-loved which salute the ear at the 
East. A deep silence—an unbroken quiet 
reigns. 
Such was the sunset—such the silence_ 
such the picture beauty cf the scene we wit¬ 
nessed during our prairie drive. Mile after 
mile we sped, talking of friends—of friends 
East and friends West—and of loved friends 
hidden ’neath the grassy mound forever. The 
beauty,—the native, natural beauty of the 
"West, was a frequent theme of remark, and 
our eyes looked upon a land which, having 
witnessed scarce a quarter century’s growth, 
bad garnered from its fertile soil a wealth al¬ 
most fabulous, and made a progress doing lit¬ 
tle discredit to the possessor of the fabled 
Aladdin’s Lamp. 
The prairie home of Dr. G reached, we 
turned our horse’s head homeward. If the 
day’s heat of the prairie is sultry and oppres¬ 
sive, the evening air is cool, pure and enjoya¬ 
ble. The evening with its lighted, golden 
lamps, displajs the meadow beauty and even¬ 
ness of the prairie in a new light, and with 
greater effect. The smoothness of the carriage 
path is appreciated, and an enjoyable feeliDg 
predominates. Home reached, sleep such as 
follows invigorating exercise refreshed us for 
the succeeding day’s search after prairie sub¬ 
limities. 
The West, compared with the East, is a 3 
barren of security—has as little of changing 
variety—as the Ocean. A sameness, weary¬ 
ing and tiresome, exists throughout. And 
although for a drive such as described, is not, 
or hardly can be, surpassed,—yet, when that is 
over, the beauties of a territory are seen, and 
a tiresome monotony and repetition is after¬ 
wards experienced. w. n. a. 
Hornby, N. Y., 1855. ‘ 
Tell us, young man, who ever did a thino- ! he fceaeht the younger brothers present, 
worth a note, that did not “stick to it.”— sa Y lfc 7 ^ that at his a o 9 years,) 
Look around arnoDg your acquaintances, and n en -’°Y, such excellent health and spirits, 
see who is, and who is not “ somethin^.” In £ 19 said that at 30 he was dyspeptic and 
him who is deservedly famous and honored , A j j 0a ^terminally all stimu- 
you will find the man who, years ago, in the an _ ' aTK * , _ U33 d uodo since. He dieted 
chev ed tobacco in every form. Every rnorn- 
What lias made great lawyers, statesmen ke US2d tk f s P on ge anfl cold water, and 
divines, artists ? What has made a Webster’ , n , OW 110 css P 0 ^ of endurance than 
a Choate, a Brougham, a Kossuth? Simnlv W f - ^ 7 a3 , a y° UQ £ man > au< 3 no abatement 
and solely,_ and truly, by choosing somethiD«- ° 1D e ’ ectua ' P°^er.— Salem Gazette. 
real and vital, and “ sticking to it.” And if 
you wish, or expect, or mean, to do or be any Clouds. — There is certainly something 
thing, you had better do likewise. Then mysterious in the clouds, and certain kinds 
choose 1 and “stick to it.” Armed with its Rave often a wonderful influence over us— 
principles and inspiration, you may rise to They march, and would take us up with their 
undreamed of heights—wanting it, you may cool shadows and bear us away; and while 
sink to unthought of depths. their forms are lovely and variegated, their 
brightness and the splendid light that then 
CHINESE AND ENGLISH FASHIONS- rei P s on the ( ff! h ’ are like a P™phecy of an 
_ unknown, ineffable glory. But there are also 
Europeans who go to China are aDt to ^ m ’ an ^ o,^ a yf’ terrible forms of clouds, 
consider the inhabitants of the Celestial Em- m wkick a11 tke terrors of the ancient night 
pire very odd and supremely ridiculous, and a r PI ?? ar to ass£ul us - lhe heaven appears as 
the provincial Chinese at Canton and Macao li ^ A°h} d ” GVer beC( l m3 < ? Iear again, the 
pay back this sentiment with interest. It is c 11 b is expunged, aad a lurid copper- 
very amusing to hear their sarcastic remarks s’ ° U a - b ack P rey £ roun( L awakes terror 
on the appearance of the devils of the “ a “ d aW ® 1U 6Tery breast 
their utter astonishment at the sight of their 
tight-lilting garments, their wonderful trow- Conscience —Conscience is the inborn me- 
sers and prodigious round hats, like chimney- diat or in every man. It is Cod’s vicegerent 
pots, the shirt collars adapted to cut off the u P on eart h» and is therefore regarded by^many 
ears, and making a frame around such gro- a8 ^ k9 highest and the last. Conscience is 
tesque faces, with long noses and blue eyes, no man ’ s most proper essence completely trans 
beard or moustache, but a handful of curly figured—the celestial, aboriginal man. It is 
hair on each cheek. 1 he shape of the dress oot that, or this, it commands in general prop- 
coat puzz.es them above everything. They ositions, it consists not of single virtues. 
try in vain to account for it, calling it a half Pil ? re j s but virtue—the pure earnest will 
gai ment because it is impossible to make it which iu moments of decision resolves, chooses 
meet over the breast, and because there is immediately. In living and peculiar indivisi- 
nothing in front to correspond with the tail bilit y inhabits and animates the delicate 
behind. They admire the judgment and ex- symbol of the body, and avails to call the 
qnisite taste of putting buttons behind the spiritual members into truest activity, 
back where they never have anything to but- 
‘on. How much haudsomer they think them-1 Eranmmra Laur—An old quaint writer 
s, bon¬ 
go ods 
seta with their narrow obliquS, black eyes, on« SYlh.t chiitoYXrasSSs to 
if, i cheek bones and little round noses, their ors, houses, lands and endowments the Hoods 
shaven crowns.andl magnificent pig-tails of nature and fortune, nay even of«£it- 
hanging almost to their heels. Add to all self, are only lent. It Kar^misfonun? to 
these natural graces a conical hat. covered fancy they are given. We start therefore 
with red Ringe, and amp e tunic, with large and are angry when the loan is called in —’ 
sleeves and black satin boots, and a white sole think oursdves masters! when we are only 
“TET t v CkneSS ’ aud 11 r st be evideut stewards i add forget that to i of us it will 
to all that a European cannot compare in per- be said, “Give an account of thv steward 
sonal appearance with a Chinese. ship, for’ thou musi^^no longer steVaS/’ 
