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MOORE’S RURAL NEW-YORKER: AN AGRICULTURAL, LITERARY AN1) FAMILY NEWSPAPER. 
CONDUCTED BY AZILE. 
BUILDING ON THE SAND. 
BY ELIZA COOK. 
’Tis well to woo, ’tis good to well, 
For so the world has done 
Since myrtles grew, and roses blew, 
And morning brought the sun. 
But have a care, je young and fair,— 
Be sure ye pledge with truth ; 
Be certain that your love will wear 
Beyond the days of youth ; 
For if ye give not heart for heart, 
As well as hind for hand, 
You’ll find you’ve played the “ unwise” part, 
And “ built upon the sand.” 
’Tis well to save, ’tis well to have 
A goodly store of gold, 
And hold enough of shining stuff— 
For charity is cold. 
But place not all your hopes and trust 
In what the deep mine brings; 
We cannot live cn yellow- dust 
Unmixed with purer things. 
And he who piles up wealth alone, 
Will often have to stand 
Beside his coffer chest and own 
’Tis “ built upon the sand.” 
’Tis good to speak in kindly guise, 
And soothe where’er we can ; 
Fair speech should bind the human mind 
And love link man to man. 
But stay not at the gentle words, 
Let deeds with language dwell; 
The one who pities starving birds 
Should scatter crumbs as well. 
The Mercy that is warm and true 
Must lend a helping hand, 
For those who talk, yet fail to do, 
But “ build upon the sand.” 
“ FOE MOTHER’S Si RE.” 
A father and son were fishing near Ne v York 
city recently. The boat was suddenly capsized, 
and they were thrown into the water. The 
father, who was not an expert swimmer, while 
his son could not swim at all, at once com¬ 
menced to aid the lad. He, seeing that his 
father was becoming exhausted, calmly said 
to him, “ Never mind me ; save yourself for 
mother’s sake.” God bless that boy, and God 
be thanked that both his father and himself 
were rescued from the peril in which they 
were involved. 
“ For Mother’s sake.” There spoke a true 
son and a true hero. He knew that his ten¬ 
der years illy fitted him to support and sus¬ 
tain her who bore him—that if his father per¬ 
ished she might be reduced to want as well as 
steeped in sorrow—that if the oak fell the ivy 
would fade and die. So he bid bis soul be | 
quiet amid the troubled waters, amid the ex¬ 
citement and apprehension that such a scene 
must engender, and resolved to die for his 
mother, unless, indeed some hand was stretch¬ 
ed forth for his safety and the safety of his 
father. It was all right, because it was done 
“ for mother’s sake.” 
Would we say the same thing under the 
same circumstances ? Would you, boy ? you, 
youDg man ? you, man of years and sorrows ? 
While yon admire the young hero for hi3 in¬ 
trepidity and affection, do you feel that you 
would imitate his example if occasion requir¬ 
ed ? Do you love, do you prize your Mother ? 
He who propounds these is motherless.— 
Years twain have passed since the wxinlded, 
gray-haired matron, who called him son, laid 
off the dusty vestments of earthly travel and 
was clothed in the garments of the saints. He 
tells you—and his words are wrung from suf¬ 
fering experience—that if you love not your 
Mother, do not prize your Mother now, you 
will hereafter. Death opens the fountains of 
surviving hearts, and loss shows us how little 
we esteem possession. 
It is well to hold up an example like the 
one we have quoted to the public gaze, for, by 
so doing, some hard heart may be softened, 
some vacillating heart confirmed, some warm 
heart made warmer. A man is safe who in¬ 
scribes this motto upon his phylactery—“ For 
Mother's Sake.”— Buffalo Express. 
A LOW VOICE IN WOMAN. 
Yet, we agree with that old poet who said 
that a low, soft voice was an “ excellent thing 
in woman.” Indeed, we feel inclined to go 
much further than he has on the subject, and 
call it one of her crowing charms. No mat 
ter what other attractions she may have ; she 
may be as fair as the Trojan Helen, and as 
learned as the famous Hypatia of ancient 
times ; she may have all the accomplishments 
considered requisite at the present day, and 
every advantage that wealth can procure, and 
yet if she lacks a low, sweet voice, she can 
never be really fascinating. 
How often the spell of beauty is rudely 
broken by coarse, loud talking. How often 
you are irresistibly drawn to a plain, unassum- 
woman, whose soft, silver tones render her 
possitively attractive. Besides, we fancy we 
can judge of the character by the voice; the 
bland, smooth, fawning tone seems to us to 
betoken deceit and hypocricy, as invariably as 
the musical, subdued voice indicates genuine 
refinement. 
In the social circle, how pleasant it is to 
hear our sex talk in that low key, which al¬ 
ways characterizes the true lady. In the 
sanctuary of home, how such a voice soothes 
the fretful child and cheers the weary husband. 
How sweetly its cadence floats through the 
sick chamber; and around the dying bed, 
with what solemn melody do they breathe a 
prayer for the departing soul. Ah, yes, a 
low, soft voice is certainly “ an excellent thieg 
in woman.” 
Hope paves the golden way to bliss, and 
cheerfulness is the lamp that lights the beaute¬ 
ous walk. 
THE LOVELY FLOWERS. 
There are no more beautiful objects in the 
vo'ume of Nature, which a kind Providence 
has so prodigally spread open to us, than 
flowers. Emblematic as they are, with their 
never ending variety of fUrm and color, of all 
beauty, yet in the frail tenure by which they 
hold r-xister.ee. they are typical of our own 
lives, and crnvey a le sun that shou d deeply 
impress every heart. Many of the fairest and 
most beautiful of them seem to seek the bank 
.of some seclude! rivulet, or, beneath the 
pleasant foliage, hide their loveliness from 
view, as 
> The lily. whO-e sweet beauties seem 
As if they must be sought.” 
So in life, the greatest goodness and purity 
are in the humblest spheres of life ; and these 
carry to the wretched that priceless blessing 
of humanity—true sympathy with their mis¬ 
fortunes 
The birds, too, those sweet messengers of 
song, love to hover over the place where the 
flowers are blooming in fu 'test perfection, of¬ 
ten stooping in their giddy flight to dip from 
the tiny flower cups the sweet drops of dew, 
and then to fly away towards Heaven with 
their joyous carol. Then 
“ The bee draws forth from fruit aud flower 
Sweet dews that swell his golden dower ; 
But never injures, by his kiss, 
Those who have made him rich in bliss.” 
As flowers are ever associated with loveli¬ 
ness and purity, so the love of them is a fine 
trait in the character of any one; and we need 
not fear trusting in that heart which loves 
them truly. Such a heart, though hidden by 
the roughest exterior, will ever display a sen¬ 
sibility to the finer emotions of our nature, 
and give forth tokens of gentleness and kind¬ 
ness. 
Tenderly then, let ns care for the beauteous 
flower; and as the fabled Eastern plant which, 
when withered and dying, gives lorth so rich 
a fragrance that its presence is deemed a bless¬ 
ing, so shall we learn to look upon them as 
among the choicest gifts of the Creator.— 
Christian Inquirer. 
HAPPY HOMES OE THE PEOPIE. 
Tiie homes of a people are the landmarks 
of civilization. They are a standard by which 
we may measure their moral and social great¬ 
ness. What is a nation but a large family, 
possessing rights and privileges? The influ¬ 
ence of each member of that family for good 
or evil is reciprocal. As the shock of elec¬ 
tricity vibrates and expands, so the influence 
of human action is diffused from the centre to 
the circumference of human society. The 
moral power of a people is just in proportion 
to the combined virtuous influences which ex¬ 
ist in the homes of that people. Hence it 
may be truly said, that our homes are the nur¬ 
series of the nation’s greatness. Home!— 
how cold that heart must be which dees not 
beat more quickly at the bare mention of the 
word ! What delightful associations and re¬ 
collections are connected with that sacred 
spot! A happy home gives the mind a fore¬ 
taste of the immortal state. It is here that 
the virtues and charities, the blessings and 
realities of human life, are enjoyed. Here the 
sympathi es of the heart and the affections of 
the mind are nourished and developed and all 
that is good and great in our nature is bro’t 
to maturity. 
But what constitutes a happy home ? The 
pleasures of literature are essential to the 
happiness of both masters, servants, and chil¬ 
dren. No table should be without periodicals 
suitable for children as well as adults. A 
good and substantial library is equally essen¬ 
tial, if, indeed, it be not more so. How grat¬ 
ifying it is to see a neat book-case in a poor 
man’s house, containing the works of the 
world’s greatest thinkers There are many 
homes in cur country which do not contain 
this ; but their happiness would be much more 
complete if they did. An assortment of truly 
valuable books contains more sterling wealth 
than the gold mines of California. Then let 
it be the ambition of all that are solicitous to 
have happy homes, to possess a goed library 
and a collection of useful periodicals. The 
“ feast of reason and the flow of soul ” may 
then be enjoyed after the toil and bustle of 
the day is over. 
Jet, and Jet Ornaments.— It would ex¬ 
cite surprise in the mind of many a lady 
adorned with what are known as “jet orna¬ 
ments,” were she told that she is wearing only 
a species of coal, and that the sparkling mate¬ 
rial made by the hand of an artistic workman 
into a “ thing of beauty,” once formed the 
branch of a stately tree, whereon the birds of 
the air rested, and unfier which the beasts of 
the field reposed ; yet geologists assure us 
that such is really the fact. They describe it 
as a variety of coal which occurs sometimes 
in elongated uniform masses, and sometimes 
in the form of branches with a woody struc¬ 
ture. It is, in its natural state, soft and 
brittle, of a velvet black color and lustrous. 
It is found in large quantities in SaxoDy, and 
also iu Prussian amber mines in detached 
fragments, and, beirg exceedingly resinous, 
the coarser kinds are tnere used for fuel, burn¬ 
ing with a greenish flame, and a strong bitu¬ 
minous smell, leaving an ash, aEo of a green¬ 
ish color. Jet is likewise found in England, 
on the Yorkshire coast. 
Hopefulness.— True hope is based on en¬ 
ergy of chars cter. A strong mind always 
hopes, and has always cause to hope, because 
it knows the mutability of human affairs, and 
how slight a circumstance may change the 
whole course of events. Such a spirit, too, 
rests upon itself; it is not confined to par¬ 
tial views, or to one particular object. And 
if at last all should be lost, it has saved itself 
—it 3 own integrity aud worth. 
The spirit of politeness consists in giving 
such attention to our manners and language, 
that those around us are left content with us 
and with themselves. 
Written for Moorc-s Rural Now-Yoxtor 
1. IFE . 
“ Lifk ” shouted joyous Childhood, 
“ Life is a bubble bright ; 
Now purpling iu the sunbeam, 
Now shining in the light. 
L fe’s pathway lies before me, 
Its sky is biight and fair , 
Its nights are dreams of pleasure, 
Its d iys wi'hout a care.” 
“ Life,” gaily sang a maiden, 
•< Life is a path of flowers, 
Oe’rhnng with richest foliage, 
Or set with wild-wood bowers : 
Truth watches at the entrance, 
Love points the rosy way, 
And Faith and Hope lead onward 
To realms of endless day.” 
“Life,” said maturer manhood, 
*• Life is a field of toil, 
Ungenial is its climate 
Aud sterile is its soil ; 
Yet labor, constant labor, 
Toil of the hand and head, 
Will bring abundant harvest, 
And give the starving bread.” 
“Life,” sighed an aged Pilgrim, 
“ Life is a little day, 
A vapor of the morning, 
That vanishetli away— 
Its morn, its noon, its evening, 
Is but a passing sigh ; 
I’ve seen its glories fading 
And lay me down to die.” 
“Life,” sang a floating Angel, 
And tuned his harp anew, 
“ Life is a day of trial, 
The gift of God to you ; 
Improve its precious moments, 
Nor use its hours amiss, 
And it shall lead to glory, 
The gate of endless bliss.” 
Newark. N. Y., September, 1855. Lucy. 
SUMME R IS ENDED. 
Summer is ended ; the sun in his annual 
pathway has crossed the equatorial line once 
more, and left our Northern Po’e in another 
six months’ night. His noontide rays fall 
more and more aslant across our own fields, 
and grow weaker and weaker in their powers 
to warm and enlighten. The shadows length¬ 
en even at midday, and point in the direction 
whence comes chilliness and frost. Tne ene¬ 
my of vegetable life has scarcely yet touched 
leaf cr flower with his destroying finger, but it 
is evident to the observant eye, that the period 
of vigorous growth has passed away, and that 
the season is about to fall into the “ sear and 
yellow leaf.” As the grey of approaching age 
manifests itself here and there amid the raven 
locks of manhood even in its prime, a3 a 
tiDge of br-ghter color lights up the youthful 
cheek of the consumptive with a premonitory 
symptom of impending doom, so does the 
charging green of the summer foliage indicate 
its approachirg fall. 
But amid these indications of a comiDg 
change, there is mingled an infinite amount of 
present enjoyment and future hope ; the gath¬ 
ered harvest, the mellowing fruit, the ripening 
nut, the prospect of a respite from summer 
toils, and the approach of winter enjoyments, 
the scattering of epidemic diseases before the 
health-bearing breath of a polar atmosphere, 
the new lease of existence which will be given 
to thousands of our suffering fellow men, whose 
only hope is in a return of a cooler and a 
purer air, the quicker pulsations of young and 
lusty life, which bounds responsive to the 
breath of winter, and drives back hi3 icy ap¬ 
proaches by a more vigorous activity of the 
vital powers, all unite to render the prospect 
of the coming death-like sleep of all vegetable 
life, pleasing as well as melancholy. 
Seed time and harvest has come and gone ; 
it Las been a seed time of evils and a harvest 
of death in many respects, as well as one of 
good, and a harvest of life. Seed time and 
harvest will come and go again and again to 
the end of time. It has been promised by 
One potent to redeem the pledge, and who 
never changes his purposes ; but they will not 
always come and go to us, for each succeeding 
season finds the ranks of the sowers and reap¬ 
ers gradually made up of new recruits. How 
speedily docs an entire char ge take place in all 
the laborers in life’s great field ! Here a vet¬ 
eran retires and one of middle age fills bis 
place, to grow old in turn ; there a middle 
aged reaper faints and fills out of the ranks, 
but the gap is suddenly closed up by a new 
comer ; in another part of the field a youthful 
laborer, full of activity and hope, is stricken 
down, but his place is speedily made good, and 
the work of time goes bravely on. 
And yet, we have each an individual destiny 
to fulfill, and an individual duty to perform, 
whether we sow with a broader or a narrower 
cast; whether we cut the harvest with a wide- 
sweeping and lusty stroke or fill the place of 
humble gleaners in the great field ; it is the 
manner in which we perform our part, that 
will tell upon our future well being. It is not 
the man of the greatest intellect, nor he who 
occupies the highest place, that will receive 
the greatest reward at the Harvest Home; 
but he who does his whole duty to the best cf 
his abilty, whether his station be lofty or low. 
It becomes us then to strive in the summer of 
life to garner up a harvest of good deeds, such 
a 3 will support us in our wintry years, iu 
time, and tell in our behalf in the unchanging 
duration of eternity. 
LIFE AS IT IS. 
Let ns make an excursion down the street, 
and see what we cm learn. Yonder is the 
wreck of a rich man’s son. He was permitted 
to grow up without employment, went and 
came as he pleased, and speut his time in the 
gratification cf spontaneous passions, desires 
and inclinations, with no one to check him 
when his course was evil, or encourage him 
in the way of wisdom. IDs father was rich, 
and for that reason the son thought he had 
nothing to do, no part in honest labor to per¬ 
form. 
*► Well, the father died, and the son inherited 
a portion of bis abundant wealth, and having 
Eever earned’ money by honest toil, he knew 
not the value of it, and having no knowledge 
of business, he knew not how to use it, so be 
gave loose reins to his appetites and passions, 
and ran at a rapid pace down the broad road 
to dissipation Now behold him— a broken 
down man, bowed with infirmity, a mere 
wreck of what he was, both phys’cally and 
mentally. Ilis money is gone, and he lives on 
the charity cf those whose hearts are open 
with pity. Such is the fate of hundreds and 
thousands that are born to fortune. 
And there, on the opposite side, in that 
comfortable mansion, lives the son of a poor 
cobbler. Fifteen years ego he left the hum¬ 
ble roof of his parents, and went forth into 
the broad world alone to seek his fortune.— 
All his treasures consisted of his chest of 
tools, a good knowledge of his trade, honest 
principles, industrious habits, and twenty-five 
coppers. Now he is the o vn?r of that elegant 
mansion, is doing a thriving business, possess¬ 
es an unbroken constitution, and bids fair to 
live to a good old age. Such is the lot of 
hundreds and thousands who never boasted of 
wealthy parentage. 
Go into the city, and you will almost inva¬ 
riably find that the most enterprising men are 
of poor parentage—men who have had to row 
against wind and tide; while, on the other 
hand, a majority of the descendants of medi¬ 
ocrity in talents, live a short time like drones, 
on the labor of others, and then go down to 
untimely graves. 
What a lesson should this be to those who 
are by all means, either fair or foul, accumu¬ 
lating treasures for their children. 
If the rich would train up their children to 
regular habits of industry, very many cf them 
would be saved from in emperance, misery, 
and an untimely end. 
TALKING AND DOING. 
It i3 easy to talk— it is hard to do. We 
can all of us talk, bat can we all do ? 
There is a difference, vary wide and signifi 
cant, between the two. He or she who talks 
the most, as the world goes, does the least.— 
Either is exhausting—and as contrastive in 
nature as iu position. The man who starts 
off slap-dash, and puts his hands and head 
square upon the shoulders and hips of things, 
is the doer. It is he who rules the world, 
whether its circle be the neighborhood of his 
locality, the city, state or nation. He who 
dallies — talks — and talks and dallies—never 
does else of consequence. His hands have no 
power of grasp; his brains no pluck and en¬ 
ergy. He is the talker. 
We like the doer. lie is the man or she the 
woman for us. Talk may have its place, but 
it never yet of itself made a pin, lift a brick, 
weaved a fabric, or germed a useful, solid 
thought. There is as much difference between 
the two as between a gingerbread horse at the 
baker’s and a bold pacer at the race-course. 
ART OF BEING AGREEABLE. 
The true art of being agreeable, is to ap¬ 
pear well pleased with all the company, aud 
rather to seem well entertained with them, 
than to bring entertainment to them. A man 
thus disposed, perhaps, may not have much 
learning, nor any wit, but if he has common 
sense, and something friendly in his behavior, 
it conciliates men’s minds more than the 
brightest parts without this diposition; and 
when a man of such a turn comes to old age, 
he is almost sure to be treated with respect. 
It is true, indeed, that we should not dissem¬ 
ble when in company ; but a man may be 
very agreeable, strictly consistent with truth 
and sincerity, by a prudent silence where he 
cannot concur, and a pleasing assent where he 
can. Now and then you meet with a person 
so exactly formed to please, that he will gain 
upon every one that hears or beholds him; 
this disposition is not merely the gift of na¬ 
ture, but frequently the effect of much knowl¬ 
edge of the world, and a command over the 
passions. , 
Live for a Purpose. —The secret of all 
success in life, of all greatness, nay, of all 
happiness, is to live for a purpose. There are 
many persons always busy, who yet have no 
great purpose in view. They fritter away 
their energies on a hundred things, never ac 
complishing anything, because never giving 
their undivided attention to any one thing.— 
They are like buttei flies, that flit from spot to 
spot, never gaining wealth ; while the ant, 
who strictly keeps to a certain circuit around 
her hole, gradually lays up stores for winter 
comfcrt. Such persons are doomed to be dis¬ 
satisfied in the end, if they are not sooner ; 
for they will find in the race of life, they have 
been passed by all who had a purpose. It is 
not only the positive drones, therefore, but the 
busy idle, that make a blunder of life for 
want of a purpose. 
Judgment.— The most necessary talent iu 
a man of conversation, which is what we or¬ 
dinarily intend by a gentleman, is good judg¬ 
ment. He who has this iu perfection is' mas¬ 
ter of his companion, without letting him see 
it; and has the same advantage over men of 
any other qualifications whatsoever, as one 
that can see would have over a blind man of 
ten times his strength.— Steele. 
ANECDOTE OF SHELLEY, 
Shelley took great pleasure in making 
paper boats and floating them on the water. 
So long as his paper lasted he remained riv¬ 
eted to the spot, fascinated by this peculiar 
amusement. All waste paper was rapidly 
consumed ; then the covers of letters ; next, 
letters of little value. The most precious 
contributions of the most esteemed corres¬ 
pondents, although eved wistfully many 
times and often returned to his pocket, were 
sureto be sent at last in pursuit of the former 
squadrons. Of this portable volumes which 1 
were the companions of his rambles—and he ! 
seldom went wi’hout a b >ok—the fly leaves 
were commonly wanting. He had applied 
them as our ancestor IN oah applied gopher 
wood. But learning was so sacred in his 
eyes that he never trespassed further upon the 
integrity of the copy. The work itself was 
always respected. It has been said that he 
once found himself on the north bank of the 
Serpentine River without the materials for 
indulging those inclinations which the sight 
of water invariably inspired, for he had ex¬ 
hausted his supplies on the round pond of 
Kensington Gardens. Not a single scrap of 
paper could be found, save only a bank note 
for £50. He hesitated long, but yielded at 
last. He twisted it into a boat with the ex¬ 
treme fineness of his skill and committed it 
with the utmost dexterity to fortune, watch- 
iug its progress, if possible, with a still more 
intense anxiety than usual. Fortune often 
favors those who fully and frankly trust her. 
The north east wind gently wafted the costly 
skiff to the south bank, where during the lat¬ 
ter part of the voyage the venturous owner 
waited its arrival with patient solicitude. 
OUR OWN FIRESIDE, 
Is there a mas who does not love his own 
fireside, his hearthstone, his wife, and his old 
family Bible? The fireside, hearthstone, the 
wife and the Bible, brighten the fire ou the 
hearth ; and without his wife and the Bible, 
we should be miserable, the most miserable 
of men ! Our heart teaches us that the fire¬ 
side is the most sacred spot on earth. No 
rash intruder can touch it. We love it so 
reverently, with the old Bible, that we could 
do any desperute deed to protect both 1 It is 
both happily and tr jly said, that, “ The mu¬ 
sic of happy voices encircling our firesides 
and our tables—the smile of greeting—the 
sympathy of sorrow—the nameless little kind¬ 
nesses that sparkle off from the altar of fami- 
ily affection—the unwearied watching of the 
sick chamber—the soft arm of latest devotion, 
whicn soothes and sustains us, and aids us to 
lean securely upon the tod and the staff, 
which now alone can comfort us through the 
shadow ; all these are but the responsive 
blessings to that love, and care, and gentle¬ 
ness, which we have shown iu our households 
—the natural reward of a true, domestic 
morality.” 
True, every word ! The smile, and sympa¬ 
thy, and kindness cheer our heart at the fire¬ 
side. The bright fire iu mid-winter, the soft 
whisperiags of love in mid-summer, the deli¬ 
cious music of all things in Nature—'Combine 
harmoniously to make our own fireside a 
happy home.— Fireside Journal.. 
Do Good. —Thousands of men breathe, 
move, and live—pas3 off the stage of life, and 
are heard of no more. Why ? They did not 
a particle of good in the world ; and none 
were blessed by them, none could point to 
them as the instruments of tneir redemption ; 
not a word they spoke could be recalled, and 
so they perished ; their light went out in 
darkness, and they were not remembered more 
than the insects of yesterday. Will you thus 
live and die, 0 man immortal? Live for 
something. Do good, and leave behind you 
a monument of virtue that the storm of time 
cm never destroy. Write your came in kind¬ 
ness, love and mercy, on the hearts of thou¬ 
sands you come in contact with year by year, 
and you will never be forgotten. No, your 
name, your deeds, will be as legible ou the 
hearts you leave behind, as the stars on the 
brow of evening Good deeds wi;l shine as 
the stars of Heaven.— Dr. Chalmers. 
Manliness. —Learn from the earliest days 
to insure your principles against the peril of 
ridicule. You can no more exercise jour 
reason if you live in constant dread of laugh¬ 
ter, than you cau enjoy your life if your are 
iu the constant terror of death. If you think 
it right to differ from the times, and make a 
point of morals, do it however rustic, howev¬ 
er antiquated, however pedantic it may ap¬ 
pear ; do it, not for insolence, but seriously 
and grandly, as a man who wore a soul of his 
own in his bosom, aud did not wait till it was 
breathed into him by the breath of fashion. 
Friendship— There is nothing more be¬ 
coming any wise man, than to make choice of 
friends, for by them thou shalt be judged 
what thou art; let them therefore be wise and 
virtuous, and none of those that follow thee 
for gain ; but make election rather of thy bet¬ 
ters, than thy inferiors, shunning always such 
as are needy ; for if thou givest twenty gifts, 
and refuse to do the like but once, all that 
thou hast done will be lost aud such men will 
become thy mortal enemies.— Sir Walter 
Raleigh. 
The Victories of the Press. —Much has 
already been accomplished in more than peo¬ 
ple are aware, so gradual and silent has been 
the advance. How noiselees is the growth 
of corn ! Watch it night and day for a week 
and you will never see it growing; but le- 
turn after two months aud you will fiud it all 
whitening for the harvest. Such, and so im¬ 
perceptible in the stages of their motion, are 
the victories of the pre33.— De Quincy. 
Without deliberation and prudence, the 
faster we go the further we may go astray, j •„ 
