MOORE’S RURAL NEW-YORKER: AN AGRICULTURAL AND FAMILY NEWSPAPER. 
145 
LIFE AND DEATH. 
[ Written for Moore’s Rural Now-Yorker.] 
THE CITY OF ALL NATIONS. 
“Waxr is Lifts, father ?” 
“ A battle, ray child, 
Where the strongest lance may fail— 
Where the wariest eyes may be beguilod. 
And the stoutest heart may quail; 
Where the foes are gathered on every hand. 
And rest not, day nor night, 
And the feeble little ones must stand 
In the thickest of the light.” 
“What is Death, father J" 
“ The rest, my chiki, 
When the toil and strife are o'er, 
And the angel of God, who, calm and mild. 
Says that we need fight no more; 
Who driveth away the demon band, 
Rids the din of battle cease; 
Takes the spear from our failing hand, 
And proclaims an eternal peace.” 
“ Let me die, father; t tremble, I fear, 
To yield in that terrible strife!" 
“ The crown must be won, for Heaven, dear, 
In the battle-field of life. 
My child, tlio’ thy foes are strong and tried, 
He Icveth the weak and small; 
Angels of Heaven are on thy side, 
And God is over all I 
Dickens' Household Words. 
I Written for the Rural New-Yorker.] 
MAY,—AND MAY-DAY PLEASURES. 
“ It is the choice time of the year, 
For the violets now appear; 
Now the rose receives its birth. 
And pretty primrose decks the earth. 
Then to the May-pole come away, 
For it is now a holiday.” 
May, the last spring month, is so called from 
the Latin Mains. The French is Mai ; the 
Batch, Mory; the Saxon, Moj. These are 
terms denoting what is beautiful, sweet, and 
gay: for all hail with pleasure the advent of 
this lovely mouth. Life flows afresh, and a new, 
a quicker impulse animates every living thing. 
It is many-colored, and the hues daily brighten 
into greener life. The vivid verdure springs 
up in the moist meadow, and flowers deck the 
withered hill-side. Ihe hawthorn blossoms in¬ 
to snowy whiteness, and the lilac bursts its 
buds into purple beauty. The flowering al¬ 
mond glows in rich coloring, and beautiful are 
the pale-red blossoms of the peach. The busy 
bee hums from flower to flower, sipping pure 
nectar, its liquid, golden store. The birds are 
heard in the sylvan nooks, trilling the sweetest 
notes of nature. r Ihe showers, so soft and 
mild, speak in the streams on a hundred hills. 
The shepherd leads out bis snowy flock into 
fresh pastures. The lowing herd roam the ex¬ 
tended lea, and crop the tender herbage. The 
plowman yokes his steers, and cheering them 
on with a simple song, turns up with a shilling 
share the rich loam. All earth is smiling and 
exulting in the tone of gladness. And the 
heavens, too, are full of loveliness, and by their 
mildness and deep serenity, add a charm to the 
witching beauty of earth. The fleecy clouds, 
high above, floating in their stillness, seem whiter 
than snow. Thus, all things tend to render 
May the sweetest and gayest month of the 
year; and with joy and gladness its coining is 
hailed. 
It once was the favorite custom in England 
and Scotland, and even in some parts of our 
own country, to celebrate with gay festivity 
ihe fust ol May. May-day was joyfully wel¬ 
comed, by old and young. A May pole was 
erected on the village green, and adorned with 
wreaths of flowers, rosy garlands, ribbons, and 
streamers. YV hen May-day came, the old and 
young, rich and poor, with glad hearts and 
merry countenances, assembled to celebrate the 
! '» sports of this most glorious holiday. > A Queen 
of May was chosen, the fairest of the village 
maidens. Often a bower was erected for her, 
of green branches and flowers. Iler brow was 
trimmed with a roseate garland, the insignia of 
honor. All became deeply interested in the 
sports ot the day. V arious were the games 
and contests entered into for amusement; as 
wrestling, running, leaping, and all such as are 
common in rural districts. The Queen of May 
bestowed upon the victor a crown, twining it 
around his brow with her own fair hands. The 
festive board was jfleuteously furnished with 
good cheer. The song was heard. The witty 
story went the rounds, then peals of laughter 
broke upon the air. At evening, to close the 
halcyon festive scene, the young united in the 
dance on the green, around the May-pole. This 
simple custom has now become nearly extinct 
The dance on the green, and all the other in¬ 
nocent amusements, entered into on May-day, 
have gradually disappeared, as the people have 
become expensive and artificial in their pleas¬ 
ures, and too proud or fastidious for simple 
enjoyment. 
Another custom practiced on May-day, in 
some of the rural districts of Scotland, was for 
the young to go out at early morning and 
bathe their faces with the flowery dew-drop.— 
They believed this would preserve their beauty, 
and add a freshness to the rosy cheek. Simple 
v '!> and innocent custom, aud well worthy of prac¬ 
tice in our own day! 4 ^ 
Wk had now reached our destination,—the 
City of Cities—the Metropolis of all Nations. 
With considerable precision we had, as we 
thought, pictured te ourselves its grave! prom- 
| enades, its marble towers, its costly palaces; 
but we soon found “the half had not been told 
us, and that the city suffered nothing from 
actual survey, tho’ perhaps our correctness of 
imagination did. 
I he first thing which attracted our notice was 
an ancient Gothic archway—the principal en¬ 
trance to the city. Mas.rive in proportions, load¬ 
ed with wreaths and flowers, which still budded 
in imperishable bloom,—indeed, almost prodi¬ 
gal in variety of sculptural design.—there it 
stood, gray with the dust and duration of cen¬ 
turies, fit specimen of the patient, yet daring 
genius ot a by-gone age. But this gateway, 
fine as it was, wus only a kind of venerable in 
troduction to still greater wealth of architec 
tural display. Above, around, everywhere 
were the richest specimens of ancient and mod¬ 
em art. We were struck with the abundance 
of monumental buildings. Here a pillar, there 
an obelisk; here a cupola, there a minaret 
sculptured group here, solitary bust there,— 
columns and cenotaphs everywhere. While 
surveying these commemorative edifices we cod : 
not repress the thought that, unless the citizens 
here erect monuments to their great men, before 
they are dead, this must be a solemn place to 
live in! Yes, notwithstanding this profusion 
of elegance. 
Everything was so finished, and beyond the 
range of ordinary city-scenery, that for a time 
we felt as if all criticism were disarmed. How. 
ever, after a somewhat lengthy survey—when, 
perhaps the plenitude of surrounding magnifi¬ 
cence had begun to create feelings of satiety 
we felt as if there were somehow an incongrui¬ 
ty somewhere, in something. The houses, for 
instance, tho’ for the most part of polished 
granite, marble and costly specimens of Aala- 
baster, were, nevertheless, dwarfish rather, and 
irregularly built,—out of keeping, as our poor 
taste would suggest, with a city of such pre¬ 
tensions to varied, choice, and well-sustained 
eminence. Instead also of huge blocks display¬ 
ing an ample front, these dwellings were to 
Esteem cannot be where there is no confi¬ 
dence; and there can be no confidence where 
there is no respect. 
a great extent, of dimensions less imposing than 
we have often witnessed in other great towns. 
We wondered if, in this vast aristocracy of 
magnificence, there were no large families re¬ 
quiring capacious and lordly mansions. We 
marvelled, why, what was seemingly a palace 
in otVer respe-ts, should have ita equal in a 
one-story house; and a question as to the ex¬ 
istence of window-glass in that part of the 
world often occurred to our mind, as we wit¬ 
nessed an evident antipathy to that precious 
material, and indeed a studied aversion to the 
use of it. Never so emphatically did the cus¬ 
toms of a people evince that they “ loved dark¬ 
ness rather than light” Our own imperfect 
notions as to what the model of “Eastern’’ 
taste should be, scarcely curbed our audacity 
to reflect on an arrangement so manifestly in¬ 
congruous. Such lavish display of unbounded 
resources did not, to us at least, seem compatible 
with this frequent diminutiveness and obscurity 
in the dwellings themselves; and it is easy to 
imagine our disappointment at this sacrifice of 
accommodation to ornament, aud our surprise 
on being informed, that instead of two or three 
individuals, large households had ample ac¬ 
commodation in these Liliputian domiciles.— 
Built however, of such precious material, and 
in a style so prodigally rich, we must confess 
they looked more like the mansions of another 
world, than the habitations on our own °reou 
Planet 
The streets, too, attracted our notice. Home 
of ease, and sinecure retirement as the citv 
seemed to be, we were not amazed to find these 
streets and promenades more for ornament thau 
use. At least they seemed not intended for 
the tear and wear of commerce; for they were 
principally of gravel, and fringed olF with green¬ 
sward; nor did they present the basined aud 
rutted appoarauce of the wheel of traffic. The 
gardens aud pleasure-grounds were numerous 
and attractive; though iudeed many would pro • 
nounce them rather small and confined_the 
ordinary necessity where they are attempted in 
the heart of any large city. There seemed no 
want of space simply, but the fashion was to 
have fine tilings on the “ inch” scale; and with 
hall-sympathy and half-indignant inquiry we 
had to ask why ivy, roses,.jasmine, and many 
choice specimens of flowers should be cooped 
up within a bronzed railing not many feet square. 
We trust we had charity to believe, however, 
that they had not perverted their own taste, 
though, we must confess they not a little shock¬ 
ed ours. 
Moving along, temple after temple, pillar al¬ 
ter pillar, mansion utter mansion, we passed in 
their labored magnificence. We had made an 
early visit to the city, and hitherto had seen no 
signs of early stir, common to other great towns. 
But as they seemed to be done with “ the bread 
of carefulness,” it was no miracle to find them 
" fulfilling the desires” of a luxury and ease. “ Up 
up early,” was not their motto, so far as 
.we could learn. Time sped swiftly on as the 
charming sight met our eyes in endless succes¬ 
sion and unabating excellence. But in spite of 
our eager interest in these, the thought that 
men and women lay hushed in slumber, sense¬ 
less to the splendor of a now almost meridian 
sun, was unpleasant. We were retiring for 
dinner, still they slept Is this the way they 
en joy their gardens—their landscapes—their 
promenades? N ot yet a symptom of returning 
activity! What! Had they made a compact 
with Morpheus? Or had the destroying Angel 
shaken his wings over the devoted city?— 
Strange indeed! The city we left, had been 
up and active hours ago, but here! Not a 
store open—not a “ blind” unclosed—no morn¬ 
ing hammers—no early chimney—peal of no 
morning boll—rush of no busy foot—nor voice, 
nor whisper, to greet the visitor’s ear. 
Marvelous city, thou city of all nations!— 
May we ask thee thy proper name? How 
earnest thou by thy wealth, thy magnificence, 
thy fame? thou city of repose! Were thy 
pillars and palaces dreamed into this slumber¬ 
ing calm ot existence? Are they the handi¬ 
work of men whose business is to sleep? 
Reader! this city is not on the maps. It 
has no place in the Gazetteers. It is not a place 
ot manufactures; it is not a seaport; it is not 
an emporium of commerce. What business is 
transacted comes not to the public; what suc¬ 
cesses or failures the Gazette does not record. 
It any distress is here, the light sees it not; if 
any accident, it appears not in the Journals; if 
any achievement, the winds carry not the ti¬ 
dings. Whether they buy, or sell, or speculate, 
or go errands—it is all done within doors.— 
1 bis city is populous; yet no census has been 
taken ot it It is daily increasing, yet no colo¬ 
nization thins its teeming millions. There are 
thousands of poor, as well a 3 rich, yet no list 
of paupers; there are thousands of rich as well 
as poor, yet they cannot grasp their gold.— 
Corruption revels night and day, yet is there no 
catalogue of crime. Jewels are here, but not 
for show. Adornment is here, but it courts 
not eyes. Here is a strong arm, but its strength 
is weakness. Here is a clever “head,” but 
there s a “ napkin” round it. Here i 3 a spark¬ 
ling eye, if it could only open. Here is an 
acute ear, if sound could reach it Here is a 
nimble foot, but there is pressure upon it— 
Here is a flippant tongue, but it must conform. 
City I Silent city! We bid thee farewell!— 
For how long, we know not Not for ever, we 
know. Ours be thy motto (till all that is ours 
be thine)—Whatsoever thy hand fiudeth to do, 
do it with thy might; for there is neither work, 
nor device, uor knowledge, nor wGdom in the 
Crate— whither thou goest r. a. p. 
University of Rochester, 1S54. 
fprtmmt. 
CONDUCTED BY A_ K. 
LITTLE LUCY, AND TIIE SONG SHE SUNG. 
A little child, six summers old. 
So thoughtful and so fair. 
There seemed about her pleasant ways 
A more than childish air, 
Was sitting on a summer ere 
Beneath a spreading tree. 
Intent upon an ancient book, 
Which lay upon her knee. 
She turned each page with careful hand. 
And strained her sight to see, 
Until the drowsy shadows slept 
Upon the grassy lea; 
Then closed the book, and upward looked. 
And straight began to sing 
A simple verse of hopeful love— 
This very childish thing: 
“ While here below, how sweet to know 
His wondrous love and story, 
And then, through grace, to see his face, 
And live with him in glory I” 
ir. 
That little child, one dreary night 
Of winter wind and storm, 
Was tossing on a weary couch 
Her weak and wasted form ; 
And in her pain, and in its pause, 
But clasped her hands in prayer— 
(Strange that we had no thoughts of heaven. 
While hers were only there)— 
Until she said, “ 0 mother dear, 
How sad you seem to be 1 
Have you forgotten that He said, 
* Lot children come to me ?’ 
Dear mother, bring the blessed Book, 
Come, mother, let us sing.” 
And then again, with faltering tongue, 
She sung that childish thing: 
“ While here below, how sweet to know 
His wondrous love and story, 
And then, through grace, to see his face, 
And live with him in glory 1” 
HI. 
Underneath a spreading tree 
A narrow mound is seen, 
Which first was covered by the snow, 
Then blossomed into green; 
Here first I heard that childish voice 
That sings on earth no more; 
In heaven it hath a richer tone, 
Aud sweeter than before: 
For those who know his love below— 
So run3 the wondrous story_ 
In heaven, through grace, shall see his face 
And dwell with him in glory I 
I Protestant Churchman. 
[For Moore’s Rural New-Yorker.] 
THE HEROINES OF EVERY-DAY LIFE. 
BY MRS. M. W. IL 
days of prosperity, denying her children, with 
firmness and gentleness, the indulgences of for 
mer days; then is she richly entitled to the rank 
of a heroine in every-day life. There are to be 
met with occasionally, such wives, and if they 
are rare, it only increases the merit of the few. 
There was heroism in the heart of the little 
beggar-girl, who came to the door and asked 
lor cold victuals, for the father who was too 
infirm to labor. Heroism, inasmuch as she re¬ 
fused good food and clothing, and a comfort¬ 
able home, because her “father would have no 
one to get food and take care of him.” 
There was heroism in the life of that daugh- 
j ter who was reared in all the luxuries of the 
j richest southern home, with slaves to do her 
slightest bidding. Her father became reduced 
in circumstances, and emigrated to a free State 
with less property than would supply, for any 
length of time, the imperious wants of the 
family. J he father became ill, and while the 
mother nursed him, this delicately nurtured 
daughter overcame the obstacles opposed by 
her former life, entered a paper-mill, and by 
superior tact and activity in ruling paper, earn¬ 
ed a support for the distressed family. Ro¬ 
mance would have given her to some rich pro¬ 
fessional character,^merchant-prince, or gentle¬ 
man millionaire, but reality effected what was 
tar better—it destined her to preside at the 
home and hearth of a worthy American me¬ 
chanic, who bids fair to be one of the pillars of 
American society. 
In yonder humble tenement, may be found a 
widow oppressed with sorrow, her cheek 
blanched and brow prematurely wrinkled, her 
eyes dimmed by incessant toil, to acquire the 
little necessary comforts for an invalid husband, 
whose life was spun out to the longest period 
j ever granted by that inexorable destroyer, con- 
1 sumption—her life, tin example of virtue to 
those children whom she is striving to rear to 
usefulness and honor. YU ho that has visited her 
can say he has not seen a living, acting heroine ? 
That girl who relinquished the love of her 
youth, and resolved never to marry while her 
aged parents needed her care, keeping in the 
straight-forward path of her duty, wliile the 
lover took another to his heart and home, un¬ 
formed an act of heroism from which a com¬ 
mon mind would instinctively shrink. 
I know a lady whose affections were sought 
and won, by a gentleman of varied and exten¬ 
sive attainments—she was the sole dependence 
of parents in declining life, as far as their com¬ 
fort depended on the kind care of one who 
GENIUS, TALENT ANfl CLEVERNESS. 
Genius rushes like a whirlwind — Talent 
marches like a cavalcade of heavy men and 
heavy horses—Cleverness skims like a swallow 
iu the Summer evening, with a sharp shrill note, 
aud a sudden turning. The man of genius 
dwells with men and with nature; the man of 
talent iu his study; but the clever man dances 
here, there and everywhere, like a butterfly in 
a hurricane, striking everything and eujovin" 
nothing, but too light to be dashed to pieces. 
L he man ot talent will attack theories, the 
clever man will assail the individual, and slan¬ 
der private character. But the man of genius 
despises both; lie heeds none, he fears none, he 
lives in himself) shrouded in the consciousness 
ol his own strength: lie interferes with none, 
and walks forth an example that “ eagles fly 
alone—they are but sheep that herd together.” 
It is true, that should a poisonous worm cross 
his path, he may tread it under his foot; should 
a cur snarl at him, he may chastise it; but he 
will not, cannot, attack the privacy of another. 
Clever men write verses, men of talent write 
prose, but the man of genius writes poetry .— 
HazlitL 3 
The Heroines who have from time to time 
borne a part in the stirring scenes of civil and 
political Revolutions, have had biographers and J could sympathize with them, and appreciate 
historians, who have handed down their names j their feelings. After mature deliberation, she 
to posterity encircled by a halo that will re- j resolved to relinquish the lover, rather than 
mam undimmed, till civilization shall cease to j leave those parents to the care of strangers.- 
embalm the remembrance of worthy deeds. If) He yielded with much reluctance to a decision 
late” 
CAVES IN THE ARCTIC REGIONS. 
Dr. Kank, the American voyager, relates 
the following concerning the caves of the Arc¬ 
tic regions. Some of the bergs were worn in 
deep, vault-like chasms, to which a way was 
practicable to broader caverns within. In the 
crystal solitudes the echoes were startling.— 
“A whistle — your own whistle—you could 
haidly recognize for the length and clearness 
of the ring; the clang of a ramrod was heard 
running down the whole length of an army in 
review; and when you spoke, your words were 
repeated through the motionless atmosphere 
almost as long as your breath could hold out 
to make them. 1 tried a hexameter we used to 
quote at home, and it came back to me in slow 
and distinct, utterance, word for word. There 
is a certain cousin of mine, whom I remember 
annoying in our school days, for the dispatch 
with which he could say his prayers of a frosty 
night before jumping into becl My cousin’s 
entire ration of whiter prayer, I thought would 
have been repeated to him by a single effort of 
these echoes.” 
He who, early in life, makes up his mind to 
succeed, and goes to work, throws off his coat, 
rolls up his sleeves, drives ahead iu earnest, and 
labors right on, through sunshine and storm, in 
summer and in winter, that man will succeed. 
There is no such word as fail for him. Re¬ 
verses only stimulate to effort; success does 
uot intoxicate, ouly encourages directness aud 
labor. 
is not of these I would speak, nor is it of those 
females who are demanding equal political 
rights with men. These efforts, if successful, 
would rob the sex of much that constitutes 
the sweet and holy associations of that place, 
around which all should delight to wreath their 
happiest memories— Home. 
I shall sketch no fancy portraits, in alluding 
to those females who are engaged in the stern 
realities ot life, nor shall I draw on imagination 
for characters of those whose lives are a series 
of “ plots and counter-plots,” to circumvent the 
adversaries that beset their paths—those whose 
individual acts are registered by the “ record- 
ing angel” alone. Foremost in rank, is that 
woman who “ does battle” against the demon. 
Intemperance, that has entered her sanctuary 
which only increased his admiration of her 
character. A ears passed on—the lover marri¬ 
ed, his children grew to manhood—his wife died, 
and he was alone. He again sought his first 
love—the aged parents were still alive, their 
span of life having been lengthened to over 
ninety years—the patient daughter still watch¬ 
ing over them and guiding their footsteps as if 
they were indeed little children. Already did 
the silver threads begin to fleck the brown 
locks of that devoted daughter, whom I can 
almost see, even now, with the same sweet 
smile and quiet manner as in days gone by._ 
A few years ago the village paper recorded 
the death of the aged mother; a few months 
passed, and the father followed, to rest by the 
side of the bride of his youth, who had glad- 
and enrolled under his banner the idol of her ' t home aad ^th f ? r near, Y t ^ ree - 
, , , . uc 1UUI uer : score and ten years. Yet a little while and tLa 
young heart, and is ruthlessly dragging him 
down to misery and death. Her weapons are 
Good qualities, like great abilities, are in¬ 
comprehensible and inconceivable to such as 
are deprived of them. 
Faith, Love, Hope, and Charity. YVith these 
she strives to reclaim the erring one, fortifying 
the minds of her children by Christian example 
and precept, leading them in the paths of vir¬ 
tue, iu spite of adversity,—tins woman, I say, 
is no less a heroine than she who buckles on 
the armor of her country and leads armies on 
the ensanguined battle-field. The former has 
none of the incitements that constitute the sur. 
roundings of the latter. Many think it would 
be an easy matter for such a woman to sever 
the ties that bind her to the man whom she 
took for “ better or for worse,” in the devotion 
of her heart, never thinking the bitter “ worse” 
would be her lot That man became the cor¬ 
ner-stone of her little temple, the father of her 
children, and degraded though he may be, 
many considerations forbid the severing of the 
marriage tie, totally unappreciated by those 
who have never realized the delicate and en¬ 
dearing relationship of wife and mother. Ef¬ 
forts that require less heroic virtue than such a 
wife exercises, frequently entitle the performer 
to a niche in the temple of Fame. 
That wife and mother who finds in the vicis¬ 
situdes of life, that her husband, by unavoida¬ 
ble misfortunes, has been reduced from afflu¬ 
ence to poverty, instead of sitting down aud 
pining inactively, encourages and stimulates 
her husband, by her own cheerful efforts, to al- j 
leviate the necessities of the moment, and 
strives to assume the habits proper to reduced j 
means—bears with equanimity the cold shoul 
der of the associates of prosperous day 
same paper brought a record of the lomr delay¬ 
ed marriage of the daughter, to'her early and 
only love. May her declining years be soothed 
by hands as gentle as her own! 
Before closing these sketches, I cannot for¬ 
bear mentioning another heroine, whose efforts 
I hope will meet with suitable encouragement 
aud reward. A young lady iu A-,%hose 
heart bled for the destitute and neglected child¬ 
ren of her city, conceived the idea of devoting 
her time aud the very limited means at her 
command, to the care and improvement of this 
class of children. After much opposition from 
her friends, and in spite of many obstacles, she 
has opened a kind of industrial school, into 
which she receives any children who will come, 
giving them, better habits, teaching them as 
well as .she is able, to become competent to 
earn a living in a reputable way. She never 
has solicited aid for her enterprise, excepting 
to pay for the house in which she lives, which 
is placed in the hands of trustees. Her school 
is as yet . small in numbers, and is made up in 
part of little children, whose mothers are out 
at labor through the day—these share her sim¬ 
ple dinner. As many as she can accommodate, 
she keeps all the time—having them around 
her, sleeping and eating with them, as if they 
were her own, imitating the example of the 
Saviour, who laid his hands on little children, 
when he blessed them. Since her object and 
efforts have become known, she has received 
some donations of food and clothing, appro¬ 
priating the latter to the children, and sharing 
the former with them. A young lacy, with 
capacities for obtaining a comfortable and re¬ 
spectable living, who can relinquish these and 
1 spend herlife and means in striving to lift these 
poor creatures from the filth and mire of city 
beggary, must, I think, possess heroism of the 
highest order.. May she be assisted in her no¬ 
ble efforts, by those who are blessed with over- 
■ if! ft° w ing stores, and her little industrial school 
she can do all this, and retain the same man- 1 ^ ec< Y mt a n ucleus that will attract and benefit 
. ,, , . , . , , hundreds who would otherwise grow up m ig- 
ners and selt-respoct tnat characterized her norance and vicel ^ 
