MOORE’S RURAL NEW-YORKER: AN AGRICULTURAL AND FAMILY NEWSPAPER, 
fUiscdhnufliBL 
[Written for Moore’s Rural New-Yorker.] 
WE MISS TIIEE AT HOME. 
A REPLY TO POPULAR AlR, “Do THEY MISS ME AT HOME?’ 
BY J. W. BARKER. 
Yes, we miss thee at home, 0 ! we miss thee, 
Thy image is still in our hearts; 
And we linger with fond recollection, 
While the warm tear of sympathy starts. 
We are thinking how sweet was that moment. 
When you stood at the head of our band, 
How dear were the words that were spoken, 
And how warm was tiie clasp of the hand. 
But now when the shadows of evening 
Are settling on valley and hill, 
And the soft tones of melody, falling. 
Like dew on our spirits distill: 
There’s a note in that rapturous measure, 
That beareth its sadness to me, 
For it tells us of vanished pleasure, 
And mournfully whispers of thee. 
This moment wo tearfully miss thee, 
While round the old family hearth, 
With fondest remembrance we gather, 
And join in the fireside mirth; 
But 0 there’s a seat that is vacant, 
It covers our spirits with gloom,— 
This wearisome moment, we miss thee, 
We iniss thee, we miss thee at home. 
served for cases of more extreme non-conform¬ 
ity, for those souls of superior veracity, who 
cannot lead second-hand lives, but must give a 
faithful report of what has been revealed to 
themselves personally. The man who rejects 
such forms and observances as to him have not 
only no significance, but are positively false, as 
utterances of his individual perception of the 
spiritual meanings of things, receives as he 
willingly hears a name conveying, though often 
blindly, the fact of such casting off. Eccen¬ 
tricity, then, rightly considered, is but the 
“ limbs and outward flourishes” of an individ¬ 
uality too strong to be repressed, too self-re¬ 
specting to be moulded into a soft compliance 
by the smoothing plane of conventionalism; 
and in its highest, serenest condition affording 
the example, worthy of imitation by less lite¬ 
ral natures, of a cheerful accordance to others 
of all the freedom it demands for itself, a. 
South Livonia, Dec., 1853. 
SPECULATIONS. 
A CHAPTER ON TIIE BEARD. 
) And join in the fireside mirth; The manner of trimming the beard and 
> But O there’s a seat that is vacant, i,, • ; , __ e ' . . „ , . 
,, . ., . . , hair, is a mattei ol mere taste and fashion_ 
> It covers our spirits with gloom,— , . , “wmuii. 
This wearisome moment, we miss thee, There is nothing intrinsically distasteful in suf- 
| We miss thee, we miss thee at home. fering the beard and moustache to grow in 
0! where dost thou wearily wander, untrimmed luxuriance; nor is there anything 
For many a long weary day ? shocking to natural propriety in allowing the 
Say, why from the friends that now love thee, i . . 1 . ° 
So long, thro’the world, dost thou stray ? iaa even, to flow in uncurtailod profusion. — 
Nay, our bosoms can never forget thee, But, on the other hand, it requires long famil- 
Where’er thou mayst thoughtlessly roam, iarity with the opposite custom in either of 
And 0, wilt thou ever remember, f i 
We miss theo, we miss thee at home. 1CSC CdSCS, o rCildtel tllG IDfiSCulinC COUntcn- 
Kendall Mills, n. Y., 1854. ance at all prepossessing to the eye. The na- 
k°d head of the painted savage, robbed of its 
[For the Rural New-Yorker.] natural covering except the scalp lock, the sin- 
ECCENTRICITY. fflc pig-tail of the Chinese head, or even the 
shaven crown, saving the narrow rino- of hair 
There are some strange people in the world around the base of the brain, which is charac- 
—yes, a great many—something like twenty- (eristic of the Roman Catholic Friar, are any- 
lour millions in the United fetutes nlono I tiling but ornumontul 
think; though I am not certain whether even Neither the Jew nor the Turk is stigmatized 
that estimate covers the entire whimsical pop- as a dandy because he wears a beard; the 
illation of all colors or not; by the way, do moustache of a Tartar does not brand him as 
you happen to be acquainted with an individ- a fopj an(1 why shou ld it indicate such a char- 
ual who does not appear to you possessed of acter among civilized men? The God-fearitm 
some eccentricities?. Of course, you have none Puritans who landed upon Plymouth rock, and 
you are conscious ol moving in the exact their immediate successors, sported moustaches 
sphere Nature assigned you but others seem and imperials which would put to shame the 
to have a comet-like tendency; a disposition to most contemptible puppy of Broadway. The 
phiy vagrant to wander beyond limits. You portrait of Governor Winthrop, one of the 
are sometimes fortunate enough to meet a per- earliest and best Governors of Massachusetts, 
son who seems to you remarkably sensible— looks down from the walls of the State 
free from those odd conceits, fantastic notions, House in Boston in all the luxuriance of 
extravagances ol opinion or disposition which, an unshaven face; and one of his immediate 
in some degree, distinguish all your former ac- successors, whose picture is beside the former, 
quaintances, and to which you have such an is adorned with an imperial, the like of which 
aversion that you are thereby repelled from all has never been seen in this city, 
close intimacy with the subjects of them; but The reason why an idea of dandyism is con- 
bye and bye you detect in this new friend ccr- nected with :: profusion of beard is undoubt- 
tain mental angularities sharp points of char- edly because it is the custom of grave and in- 
actcr, which experience teaches you are very teliigent men to shave the face, or at least to 
likely to wound whatever comes*in too sudden dress down the beard to a moderate and well- 
or violent contact with them. Perhaps it is trimmed whisker. It is the delight of fools 
only a slight determination to egotism, unof- and fop 3 to appear the antipodes of men of 
fending enough, but that your own—no? ego- sense; and if it were the criterion of reverend 
tisrn, but self-respect whispers you not to ad- and grave men to retain a natural flow of 
mit his rather too complacent assumption of beard, the dandy would undoubtedly appear 
superiority; or, may be, it is a mere outward immediately with a clean shaven face. He 
fancy ol his that first strikes you as peculiar, would invade the natural sphere of woman, by 
a preference for some particular color or fash- imitating as closely as possible her smooth and 
ion in diess, to the constant exclusion ol all beardless cheek, instead of leaving such an ig- 
olhci hues and modes, and it the perception of noble contest to gentlemen and scholars, 
this strange regard to trifles comes upon you The time has been when a clergyman with a 
in an ungenial mood, and especially with the whisker would stand in peril of arraignment 
aggravating circumstance of dislike on your part, before an ecclesiastical tribunal; but now it is 
to the favorite style, it annoys you; you really neither undignified nor unclerical to wear a 
think lie might be less capricious; you do not 
deny that you have a pretty decided choice in 
whisker of very respectable dimensions; and 
the tendency in the community is at present 
such things yourself; but then with you it is undoubtedly in the right direction, viz_to al- 
matter of taste, while with him it must be low nature a little more latitude and longitude 
purely whimsical. 
What is, then, this eccentricity? One never 
action iu a capillary way. It is shocking 
ood taste to make an instantaneous and 
’ -’--"V ’ ” . - —"— 
hears it used as a term of seriems reproach; it! S rea ^ change in dress or anything which else, 
is never employed in reference to such marked ! Labits and association have made familiar; and 
unamiabilities as selfishness, ingratitude or the ! 83 ;L consequence, a revolution even in wearing 
like, though the manner in which it is some-! beards is n^essarily slow. Every one will now 
times applied indicates that those exhibitions i a ckno\vledgc that three-quarters of masculine 
of singularity made by the individual charac-1 humanity looks better with whiskers, 
terized as fanciful or eccentric, are regarded “Oh! uncle,” said a young lady to a friend 
rather as freaks of a cynical waywardness than ours > "'ho shaved off his whiskers last spring, 
as honest, hearty utterances of a truthful na- “ let them grow again. I cannot bear to look 
ture. And yet it is not difficult to discriminate at )’ ou now > you are so lantern-jawed!” It 
here between what is natural and what is as- was a remark more true than complimentary, 
sumed. Those studied variances from ordinary but had the desired effect. If a man was not 
usage which make up all there is distinctive in ! designed to wear a beard, why was one given 
the characters of certain artificial people, rare- to ^‘ ln A a ll- i> It it was intended like a weed in 
lv pass themselves off as expressions of genu- j ^ 1C as 1111 incentive to labor only, why 
ine, common sense, radical dissent from the w ‘*l n °t l° n g end painful cutting and cropping 
ideas involved in such usage, but are most com- an( ^ "'inter ns well as summer fallowing, effect 
monly, as most truly, known for counterfeits or its eradication ? The throat and nostrils, the 
affectations. True diversity, in effort as in natural gateways to the lungs and stomach, re- 
manner, is explained by the fact that the opin- f l u ’ re protection; and that living protection 
ions of an individual never fully coincide either birnished by nature is far preferable to the 
with the aggregate sense of the community in l ^ oat L shroud of a crawling worm. The testi- 
wliich lie lives, or with the views of any other niony ot the medical faculty and the political 
individual. The elements of character are economist, as well as common sense, stand up 
never mixed in precisely the same proportions ' !1 ^ ie defence ot home production. 
for two; and in whatever respects one differs ,, *-~- 
from all others, those circumstances constitute ,“ EN ' n< " K has been to the spirit Tappings.— 
l- i- i- , .... ,, His first question was whether he would be 
Ins peculiar! its *s eccentricities; they are any better looking in the next world than in 
the points seized on by historians to give pi- this—which, much to his gratification, was an- 
quancy to biographic narrative. The unlike- swered iu the affirmative, 
ness is in thousands of cases so slight, or so-*-— 
lessened by a weak fear of standing alone, as Happiness is not in a cottage nor a palace, 
to be overlooked; and the epithet which, in nm j n iiches, nor in poverty, nor in learning, 
Prentice has been to the spirit rappings.— 
His first question was whether he would be 
any better looking in the next world than in 
this—which, much to his gratification, was an- 
... , , , . . ,, . uui hi iMuui mice, norm pass! 
truth, it applicable to any, is so to all, is re- I ing ri ght from right motives. 
Happiness is not in a cottage nor a palace, 
nor in riches, nor in poverty, nor in learning, 
nor in ignorance, nor in passive life; but iu do- 
a Making money by speculation, without re- 
gard to the established laws of trade, is a mat¬ 
ter that can be compared to nothing so well, as 
Is to the dealing in lottery tickets, or some other 
ot species of gambling where no sagacity is re¬ 
ax quh-ed. There may be one chance in a thou- 
ie sand, or one in ten thousand, for success, but 
the odds stand too fearfully against one to en- 
10 courage the practice. There are apparent 
5,1 speculations which are based upon the closest 
n- calculations of demand and supply. Let a 
ie merchant ascertain just how much of" any giv- 
q_ en article there is in the market, and also just 
how large the demand will be, and he may safe- 
c ~ ly purchase the whole with the certainty of 
" e realizing a profit. If one of the earliest ad- 
15 venturers to California could have foreseen the 
i or population of San Francisco, and thereupon 
° purchased the whole tract of land upon which 
the city now stands, his profits would have been 
13 beyond calculation. Such as these must be 
considered truly legitimate operations. But 
the tolly of rushing blindly into risks which 
may be managed by skillful operators, is too 
absurd for anything more than a passing allu¬ 
sion. Such was the tulip mania in Holland.— 
q While this raged, men were known to give 
_ their whole, possessions, amounting to thou- 
sands of florins, for a single favorite buttle.— 
The Mississippi was another, in which reckless 
n gamblers succeeded in fascinating a whole na- 
g tion. The South Sea bubble is not forgotten. 
e The hundreds of companies incorporated for 
all sorts of imaginable purposes have all been 
described in full, but the ruin and misery by 
L the final explosions have been terrific beyond 
•f description. Yet men will seldom learn wis- 
t . dom from their own experience. The same 
L _ reckless scenes are enacted every year. The 
land speculations in the State of Maine nearly 
s beggared the State. Men left their ware-hous- 
l " es, counting rooms, and stores, and rushed off 
e to townships, village-lots and mill privileges.— 
r So crowded were the mushroom cities, that 
barns, sheds, and the privileges to lean against 
the gate posts, were in requisition for lodging 
places. This affair did not end in a mere bub¬ 
ble, it ended in the ruin of more than nine- 
1 tenths of all who caught the contagion. For 
3 many years after, the question was invariably 
asked by the prudent Boston merchants of 
* applicants for credit, “Have you had any¬ 
thing to do with the eastern land specula- 
i tions?” 
1 Some fifteen years ago, more or less, there 
3 was an effort made to build a city at the junc- 
, tiou of the Ohio and Mississippi rivers, which 
w r as to be called Cairo. Streets were graded, 
house and store lots were laid out for miles up 
! the banks of both rivers. Elegant colored 
maps w 7 ere exhibited in the eastern cities, most 
minutely particular in design. There was to 
, be a bank here, a custom house there, a church 
iu another place, and fine brick and stone 
: dwelling’s in every direction. A hundred 
steamers were lying at the wharves “ painted 
like life,” and merchandise was piled about in 
perfect looseness of confusion. Brays were in¬ 
dustriously engaged in removing the merchan¬ 
dise back into populated streets. Men, women 
and children were thronging the squares and 
■ side-walks. Indeed, from the picturesque de¬ 
scription, one w’ould suppose that both Cincin- 
. nati and New Orleans were to be removed and 
combined to make Cairo. Such was what 
, Cairo was to be, according to the representa¬ 
tions of the speculators. No wonder that 
many shrewd men who have never seen the lo¬ 
cation were taken iu by the purchase of shares 
and lots. On the map and on the plan, a more 
desirable location for a city could not be found. 
However, after all the rage for speculation, the 
city of Cairo remains to be built. A dilapidat¬ 
ed old wharf boat, a long portico with a shan¬ 
ty behind it, called the United States Hotel, a 
lean pig, and a donkey—these make up what 
Cairo now really is. The location of Cairo is 
everything that could be desired for a city; but 
unfortunately, there is one disadvantage not 
mentioned; the water overflows the place for 
fifteen miles back, every spring freshet. Large 
operations were really commenced one dry 
season, but the first freshet carried all the build¬ 
ings down stream, except the aforementioned 
portico wharf boat.— Hunt's .Magazine. 
A GLORIOUS TRIO. 
The Home Journal gives this little bit of 
gossip: 
Oliver Wendell Holmes and John G. Saxe 
came near meeting the other day. No sooner 
had Holmes vanished from Broadway, than 
Saxe appeared in it. What if they had met? 
Would they have neutralized or stimulated one 
another? Apart, they are the funniest of men, 
and wittiest of poets; together, we fear, they 
would prove too much for any spectator to sur¬ 
vive to tell the tale. \\ e had Saxe to ourselves 
the other day, and he said more good things than 
we can recount; but he said nothing better 
I than this, which is recorded in the Boston 
l’ost:—Saxe, in a recent lecture, speaking of 
the artistic imperfections of our female poets, 
notwithstanding all their wealth of fancy and 
sentiment, says, “ It seems impossible for Pe¬ 
gasus to trot handsomely under a side-saddle.” 
Saxe has gone home to Burlington again.— 
j We may as well finish the Comic Three, and 
j say something of Prentice. Well, Prentice 
| has been exulting over the twenty-third birth- 
| day ot the Louisville Journal. How many 
j men, besides Prentice, can use such language 
i on such an occasion, as the following? “The 
i thought of the twenty-three years we have 
j passed here is so pleasant to us, that we should 
I love to live them over again. If permitted to 
| do this, we would ardently pray Heaven for 
I the privilege of correcting many errors which 
time and reflection have pointed out to our 
mind; but if that blessed privilege were not 
vouchsafed to us, we should thank C od for the 
privilege of once more living those years just 
us we have lived them. Our youth has passed 
and our manhood-s prime is passing, but we 
are as happy now as when we first entered 
i Louisville in lboO, with, high hopes and buoi/- 
\ ant spirits .” Prentice should tell the world 
his secret. 
[Written for Moore’s Rural New-Yorker.] 
TIIE DYING WIFE. 
Come still nearer to my pillow, 
Place thine hand upon my brow; 
Cold the damps of death are creeping 
O’er its marble surface now. 
0, that touch so soft and dear I 
Would that I might linger here! 
Dear one, I had hushed my yearnings, 
Still on earth to dwell with thee; 
But thine accents bid me hover, 
Trembling o’er life’s ebbing sea; 
Death alone can break the spell. 
Death will force a last farewell. 
Fold me closer to thy bosom, 
Shield me from the death-king’s power; 
0, I cannot, must not leave thee 1 
Dark the shadows o’er me lower; 
’Tis not that I fear the tomb, 
But thou can’st not share its gloom. 
All is hushed; my weary spirit 
Waits that last and solemn call; 
Husband, dearest, on thy bosom, 
Sweetly to my sleep I’ll fall. 
Then in Heaven forever rest, 
Gently on my Savior’s breast. 
Do not weep 1 thy tears are falling,— 
Drops of fire upon my heait; 
Do not sigh for her thou lovest, 
God has called her to depart; 
Thou wilt meet me in yon Heaven, 
He will join what death has riven. 
Yet another wish is rising, 
Wildly from my parting soul; 
I have rested on thy bosom, 
I have felt its life-tide roll. 
Sacred be that hour to me. 
As mine own would be to thee. 
Do not let another pillow 
On that breast a cherished head; 
’Tis my place and will be ever, 
E’en when I am cold and dead. 
Casting off this robe of life. 
Does not make me less thy wife. 
Raise me in thine arms still higher; 
Press those lips unto mine own, 
Leave them there till death shall call me 
To my Maker’s mighty throne; 
Earth is failing from my sight, 
Dear one, ’tis my last good night. 
AN ENCOURAGING SALUTATION. 
Wish you a Happy New Year, Mr. Moore. 
We hope you had a good visit with “ Uncle 
A PEEP INTO TIIE IIAREM. jg , r <v/|> . ♦ 
Mrs. Mackenzie gives us an insight into (^j 0-i I u l ♦ 
- the state of things in a Mohammedan’s “fami- ,, ^ ^ u _ 
i ly,” in the following extract from her Eastern ' V’ ‘ 
• journal:—“From ray frequent visits to Hasan [W ten for Moore ’ s Rural New-Yorker.] 
• Khan’s family, where I can go when it is cool, THE DAING WIFE. 
■ I see, as you may suppose, a good deal of - 
; ‘Life in the Harem,’ and would undertake to Comb still nearer to my pillow 
■ refute authoritatively, as I always felt inclined Place thine hand upon my brow; 
to do On prima facie grounds, the fine theo- Cold the damps of death are creeping 
■ lies of Mr. Urquhart regarding the superior O’er its marble surface now. 
happiness of Mohammedan women. What o, that touch so soft and dear! 
can a man know of the matter? Bid he go Would that I might linger here! 
about visiting in the form of an old woman?— Dear one, I had hushed my yearnings, 
; Had he friends and acquaintances in half a still on earth to dwell with thee; 
dozen Zenanas? Would any Musalmani wo- But thine accents bid me hover, 
man speak freely to a Feringhi, even if he did Trembling o’er life’s ebbing sea; 
obtain speech with her? or are the Turks to be I)eath alono can bieak thc s P e,, » 
taken as competent and impartial witnesses as Death Wl11 force a last fare,vo11 - 
to thc relative happiness of their wives? It is Fold me closer to thy bosom, 
presumption for him ever to talk of a Musal- Shield me from (he death-king's power; 
mam’s feelings: I will flap him out of the field 1 cannot > must not Ieave thee i 
With the end of a purdah. I do not think Dark thdshadows o’er me lower; 
their secluded life makes them objects of pity. T) ls , n j >t 1 * at ] fear t,ie t01nb ’ 
They are hardly more devoid of excitement u t ou can si not share its gloom, 
than I am myself; they see their female friends A11 is hushed; my weary spirit 
and their dearest male relations, and the tie Waits that last and solemn call; 
between brother and sister seems to be vert’ Husband, dearest, on thy bosom, 
strongly felt by them; but it is not inhuman Sweetly to my s'.eep in fall. 
nature to be content with being onlv the fourth r u ‘ lve " oie y e ^ rest > 
part ot a mans wife. I hey are far from view¬ 
ing tiie matter as we do, and I should suppose Do not ' reep! th - y tears are falling,— 
Hasan Khan’s Zenana a favorable specimen, Drops of fire upon my heait; 
as both Leila Bibi and Bibi Ji seem very Do not sigh for her thou invest, 
good-tempered, and very friendly to one anoth- ° T |*' s ^ -T. ier 0<e i ,ait > 
b cu-ii J i J , ““ell'll Thou wilt meet me m yon Heaven, 
er. Still, as no man can love two or more He will join what death has riven 
equally, and as no woman can bear that anoth- j 
er should share her husband’s affections, I Yet ann!ber wlsh 1S nsin £> 
plainly see there are heart-burnings inmimera, T , W y T my T iag souI; 
ble, even m this family. Leila Bibi is the fa- 1 have felt itR life . t;dc ro ’ 
vorite; she is a very pretty, merry, clever little Sacred be that hour t() me> 
creature, who laughs and talks with Hasan As mine own would be to thee. 
Khan much as an English wife would do. He ., . 
is evidently very fond of her*but he takes not onthin ZUl Lrilhed head; 
the smallest notice of poor Bibi Ji, who says . Tis my place and will be ever, 
nothing, but has an expression sometimes in E’en when I am cold and dead, 
her face which pains me to see. Luckily for Casting oir this robe of life, 
her, she does not seem at all a sensible person; Does not make me less thy wife, 
she is a good warm hearted creature who is Raise me in thine arms still higher- 
very much obliged for any little kindness, but Press those lips unto mine own, 
not very bright. But then she has a little Leave them there till death shall call me 
girl, and Leila Bibi, who has been married four To my Maker’s mighty throne; 
years, hits none. It is the old story of Han- Earth is failing from my sight, 
nah and Peninnah over again: the one is so Dear one,’tis my last good night. 
anxious for children, and the other Indirectly _ _ ^ Jessy. 
boasts of hers, by always talking of children, 
and pitying- people who have none, driven a AN ENCOURAGING SALITATION. 
very slight knowledge of human nature, and : - 
we may penetrate the closely veiled walls of Wish vou a Happy New Year Mr Moore. 
seraglios, and economically save our curiositv A . ., . , , 
e i ,, tti x n in Vvre nope you had a s'ood visit with “Une^ 
the expense ot a journey to the East, Selfish- 1 J 
ness and tyranny, disguise them as polished o m anc ” ie cousins an< ^ hope you left all 
Orientals or crude Welsh Mormons may, will your cares and labors behind, had a Merry 
have the same result.” Christmas, pleasant holidays, good cheer, warm 
- fires, (for it was very cold last week,) and ar- 
TIIE CITY OF LAWRENCE. rived safely home with abudget of knick-knacks 
for the “ editorials,” found all well and a long 
The young city of Lawrence is a prodigy, list of new subscribers on your desk for the 
Twenty-six miles on the Boston and Maine Rail- i r ur u 
road—a road of immense business, by the way. I Tr . , 
and oi admirable arrangements—brings von to How we missed that .same Rural last week. 
Merrimac. Here is the monster dam, forming a ^ e ( '° indeed feel as though we could hardly 
young Niagara; and here is the mushroom “keep house” without it, for verily it hath a 
city. Such factories! The new one, the Pa- “ pleasant countenance.” It has ever “ a word 
e,6c, tat receiving its Icon* is full 500 feet fitly spoken ;, for , he fa ,. mer mechanic a „ d 
long; the rooms are of this length. I paced . , ’ „ x , ’ u 
200 steps in marching through these industrial ^ eac ier ’ an< a so ^ or ^ !ie Louse-wife, which is 
halls. Is not this a room “with a witness?”_ LL' e “apples of gold in pictures of silver.” 
And the neatness and perfection of all the ad- Many a pleasant hour have we spent with it 
jacent building's, dye houses, &c., are very re- ,1 i • „ 
markable. The dual, or raceway, extends on al,<1 mf “ rma ? on bave *• « athered f«»» 
the north side of the river, a mile below the ^ W11C1 we “°P e Las made us wiser and bet- 
dam, and is about 100 feet wide. It leaves a ter - However, we were willing to forego the 
space between itself and the river of 400 feet pleasure of it for a season, that you might 
and tms is tiie area for the mills. seek that recreation for mind and body which 
A similar canal will, at some time, be made , , , . . \ ; 
on tiie south side. The power is estimated to ’ ° U mu ' jt 1,0IY nnu 'L Laie needed, and which 
equal eighty good mill privileges. The dam a ^ et Lt°rs of good papers should have occa- 
cost $250,000, and the canal, with its appur- sionally. 
tenances, about $200,000. The Bay State Mills We shall hail your Rural again this week 
anil the Atlantic Mills are immense establish- vrith renewed pleasure, and shall, no doubt, in 
ments. 1 he Lawrence Machine Shop employs r .»rL * , „ u ... ’ 
750 hands. The population of Lawrence is t ie - i ladies Lepartment, (to which we always 
somewhat more than 13,000. It is not a * ura a "d in which we always find some- 
crowded place, but spreads out finely, and all | thing good,) receive a new year present in 
the municipal regulations have been well stud- j something timely and interesting. For while 
ied. It is likely to be a very healthy place.- j our «l ords ” are receiving a full share of bene- 
Everything is on a liberal scale, and promises I m „ ... „ . 
comfort as well as occupation.— Correspond- ^ 10m * 0ur P a o es 111 the way of inventions, 
ence JV Y. Mirror. : experiments, patents, manuring, draining, pru- 
-- . ^ . ,- i ning, planting reaping building and all 
A HirrmYfi MFUFYTO that sort of thing, ice are by no means for- 
’ gotten; and, thanks to you, sir, we have stored 
Mr. Prentice, of the Louisville Journal. man y good hints, gathered from the Rural, 
thus touchingly alludes to the death of his as- with our stock of useful information, — and 
soeiate, Mr. Shreve: more than one nice dish have we placed upon 
“ We, the surviving editor of the Journal, the table, which has been playfully dubbed 
feel that the prime of life is scarcely yet gone; « Rural ~y ew . Y orker” 
yet, as we look back upon our long career m 
this city, we seem to behold, near and far, only : And now, we wish for you and your Rural, 
the graves ot the prized and lost. All the nu- long life; and may your children’s children en- 
merous journeymen and apprentices, that were | j 0 y all of the pleasures and benefits arising 
iu our employ when we farst commenced pub- e _ ,.. ^ 
lishing our paper, are dead; our first partner, j . the ennobling pursuits of Agriculture and - 
our second partner, and our third partner are Horticulture, in which your Rural has been 
dead; our first assistant and our last assistant i 30 great a stimulus to improvement Again, 
are also dead. A\ hen these memories come sir, Happv New Year, from a 
over us, we feel like one alone at midnight, in " Wti>r , 
the midst i of a church-yard, with the winds v Q 
sighing- mournfully around him through the 
broken tombs, and the voices of the ghosts of ~ ^ * * ~ ~ 
departed joys sounding dolefully in his ears. Flowers.—F lowers in all ages have been 
Our prayer to Cod is that such memories may mat ^ e the representatives of innocence and pu- 
luive a chastening and purify n,r and elevating : r ^}'- NVe decorate the bride, and strew her 
influence upon us, and fit us to discharge, bet I )at ^ "’LL flowers; we present the undefiled 
ter than we have ever yet done, our duties to Llossoms as a similitude of her beauty and un¬ 
earth and to heaven.” * j tainted mind, trusting that her destiny through 
_, m , _ _i life will be like theirs, grateful and pleasing to 
T . .. , .... , ! all. We scatter them over the coffin, the bier, 
Love is the key of the human heart Once and the earth, when we consign our mortal 
ge 1 in, and \ou may soon open the door. blossoms to the dust, as emblems of transient 
>ne will use gold, silver, kind words and win- j joy, fading pleasures, withered hopes; vet rest 
nmg deeds, and thus get access to the heart, hi sure and certain trust that each in due sea- 
tlut was locked against truth and against Cod.! soa will be renewed again, 
ence A*. Y. Mirror. 
A TOUCHING MEMENTO. 
Farmer’s Wife. 
Farmer, Senaca Co., X. Y., Jan. 3, 1853. 
Flowers. —Flowers in all ages have been 
made the representatives of innocence and pu¬ 
rity. We decorate the bride, and strew her 
A gentleman praising the generosity of his ; A Hint.— If the girls would spend as much 
friend, observed:—“ He spends his money like ; time with encyclopedias as they do with 
water.” Then of course he liquidates his j milliners, they would soon find their heads as 
debts,” rejoined a wag. attractive as their hats. 
