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MOOUE’S llURAL NEW-YORKER: AN AGRICULTURAL VND FAMILY NEWSPAPER. 
dlaitemts. 
[Written for the Rural New-Yorker.] 
MAY. 
BT ILIEABKTH J. EAME8. 
I 
Djo.tcatk and dainty daughter, 
Darling of the spring; 
Hill and valley, wood and water, 
Welcome to thee bring— 
Child of Beauty, thy sweet duty, 
Through the summer hours, 
Is to scatter buds and blossoms 
Through the earth’s green bowers. 
ii 
Welcome, fairy-footed creature— 
Child of sun and dew, 
Favorite of man and nature, 
Crowned With violets blue. 
Merry maiden, richly laden 
With all gifts of spring, 
From thy rosy-veined lingers 
Treasures dost thou fling. 
WHERE ARE THEY NOW ? 
■ It is a melancholy, although a profitable 
employment, for an individual who has reach¬ 
ed the meridian of life to take a retrospect of 
the past, and trace the career of those who set 
out with him in the beginning, upon the pro¬ 
bationary journey. Not only those who start¬ 
ed with him, but those also whom he has over¬ 
taken and passed, or who have overtaken and 
passed him upon the dusty highway, will afford 
many a lesson of instruction. If he could only 
place these lessons before the young and rising 
generation, and they would heed the admoni¬ 
tion, it would enable them to steer clear of 
rocks and shoals that have shipwrecked many 
a galiant bark, which started under favorable 
auspices upon the voyage over life’s solemn sea. 
The man who has struggled with adversity 
and made the most of his opportunites under 
the favor of Providence, will find himself far 
above innumerable acquaintances who looked 
down upon him originally, and whose positions, 
it may be, he regarded somewhat enviously in 
early life. The bright young lad so petted by 
his parents, and looked up to by his fellows; 
whose lather was wealthy and mother proud 
and indulgent; who had pocket money in abun¬ 
dance, and toys in superfluity; who was gener¬ 
ous to a fault, but at the samq time, and from 
the very nature of the case, supercilious, will¬ 
ful, and passionate; who had every possible 
facility afforded him to rise, but who neglected 
them all, in the pursuit of pleasure; what has 
become of him? He is dead! Died a drunk¬ 
ard. degraded and fallen; his wife broken¬ 
hearted, an l bis own boy a beggar. 
Where is the black-eyed and proud young 
beauty who stole the heart of the poor bashful 
lad, and then turned away from her humble 
admirer in disdain, to take up with a more 
flashy lover? She is now a faded and dispirit¬ 
ed woman, with an unkind husband and a 
family of children, just barely above the point 
of absolute want, and retained even in that po¬ 
sition more by the labors and sleepless energies 
of the mother, than of the father. lie made 
a figure for a time, and lavished more on ex¬ 
ternal show than internal comfort; without the 
means to live in fine style, but struggling to do 
so, he put on at the expense of all his income 
and more, a thin varnish of fashionable life, 
just sufficient to obtain the sneers of the 
wealthy, and the contempt of the poor. He 
was too proud to saw his own wood, hoe in his 
own garden, or go into the street with an un¬ 
gloved hand, and as his family increased, and 
sickness visited them, rents went up and pro¬ 
visions rose in the market, the struggle grew 
more intense, until it. could be kept up no long¬ 
er. The habit of false appearances, however, 
had become fixed, and the whole after life of 
that proud beauty, and her foolish and vain 
husband, has been a mockery and a lie. Does 
she ever reflect that she might have married 
the poor boy who, since that time, has strug¬ 
gled up slowly‘but surely to a position of 
wealth and respectability? 
Wlmt has become of the ragged little ur¬ 
chin who sat upon a low seat in one corner of 
the school room, and studied his lessons in the 
cast-away books of the other scholars ; who 
went to school barefooted, even in cold weath¬ 
er, ami was reproached by thoughtless boys, 
fi r his uncouth and dilapidated garments?— 
Poor boy! he had a heart to feel as well as the 
rest of us; and lie would have laid down his 
life to have been loved uud cherished ns he de¬ 
served, and he resolved to show those ungen¬ 
erous play-fellows that he was at least their 
equal in mi.id and soul, lie saved one of his 
wor>t tot mentors from a watery grave, while 
bathing in the mil'.-poiid; and he threw a little 
girl over a fence to put her out of the way of 
an infill iated bull, and then stood by her like a ! 
hero, mUii the danger was over, lie is now 
above the scorn and reproach of all his school 
fellows, and has become the envy of those very 
men who, as boys, were mean enough to des¬ 
pise him. 
That young man who lived in the family of 
a proud uncle, and did chores for his board 
wh-.le attending the academy — his cousins 
barely tolerated liis presence, because he took 
the drudgery off their shoulders, and his aunt 
kept him on sufferance because he did morning 
anil evening, the day labor of a man; what has 
become of him? He is known to fame as an 
extensive publisher and literary man, and his 
uncle’s family are now very proud to acknowl¬ 
edge the relationship. 
And so it is throughout the whole wide 
range. Some of the brightest and most prom¬ 
ising are in their graves; this one a grave of 
buried hopes and blighted prospects, and that 
one the resting place of all that was mortal of 
an angel in heaven. This one his own destroy¬ 
er, and that one called home early by the voice 
of the Good Shepherd. Some who were the 
least promising are now highest in the social 
scale; all of those surviving are scattered and 
dispersed over the broad field of life, in circum¬ 
stances as varied as the character of the indi¬ 
viduals. But the rule is universal, that those 
who have acted wisely, energetically’, and up¬ 
rightly 7 , have invariably continued to rise; while 
those who have acted foolishly and criminally, 
no matter how" bright were their original pros¬ 
pects, have lost ground on the world’s great 
stage. “ I have been young but now I am old, 
yet never have I seen the righteous forsaken, 
or his seed begging bread.” 
THE SOAP STONE. 
DESULTORY PARAGRAPHS. 
[Con nued from page 129, this rolume.} 
XXIX. 
Flickering Fancies. —We sometimes have 
strange and dreamy fancies—fancies we forget 
as soon as they come, they are so flickering. 
They are as evanescent and variable (to pursue 
the idea,) as the figures which,'in some moods 
of mind, we may trace in the blaze and coals 
of a winter’s fire. Our thoughts are busy 
with the past, they wander far into childhood, 
but ever and anon among the brightest memo¬ 
ries come up the darkest—as when gazing into 
the embers we see bright gems, golden flowers, 
and smiling faces, and also writhing serpents, 
mocking fiends, and leering demons, which 
startle us with horror, and make us look away. 
They send us back, and wisely perhaps, to what 
surrounds and concerns us now. 
XXX. 
Self-Importance. —People who are jealous 
or particularly careful of their own rights and 
dignity, always find enough of those who do 
not care for either, to keep them continually 
uncomfortable. 
XXXI. 
Qualities of a Poet. —Simplicity and com¬ 
prehensiveness are the most desirable qualities 
in a writer. “ To carry on the feelings of 
childhood into the powers' of manhood, v says 
Coleridge, “to combine the child’s sense of 
wonder and novelty with the appearauees 
which every day, for perhaps forty years, has 
rendered familiar, 
With sun and moon and stars throughout the year, 
And man and woman— 
this is the character and privilege of genius, and 
one of the marks which distinguish genius from 
talent.” Those who may keep these fresh feel¬ 
ings and unsullied/through life, have not only the 
best source of poetry, but of happiness, well¬ 
ing up in their hearts, a never fading fount of 
beauty and blessing. 
XXXII. 
The Unsuspecting Heart. —Open-hearted- 
ness may perhaps go too far—you may give 
your confidence to those who fail to appreciate 
it—yet, who would not rather be chilled some¬ 
times by the coldness of others, than ever 
spread the influence of an iceberg around 
themselves? Is not one who is ever on the 
lookout for deceit, more likely to detect unhap¬ 
pinesses which would not otherwise be en¬ 
countered—which an unsuspecting heart would 
never have imagined, much less have met with? 
Are not they the happiest who say with the 
poet— 
“I cannot upare the luxury of believing 
That all tilings beautiful are what they »ecm !" 
XXXIII. 
Prejudice seldom Acknowledged. —None 
are too wise to be mistaken, but few are so 
wisely just as to acknowledge and correct their 
mistakes—and especially the mistakes of prej¬ 
udice. 
xxxiv. 
Opinion Giving. —Though truth will serve 
our turn better than falsehood on all occasions, 
it is a hard matter oftentimes to give cue’s 
sincere opinion, especially when it cannot fail 
to wound the vanity of the questioner, whom 
you would rather conciliate. Besides, we real¬ 
ly have no opinion on many subjects thus 
brought before us, and yet would not wish 
to own that we have given them no thought or 
attention. One needs readiness of thought and 
fluency of expression to pass gracefully through 
such emergencies. 
xxxv. 
The Worth of Work. —WoYk is worth, if 
rightly directed; unwrought iron cau, by labor, 
be giveu form and value beyond its weight in 
gold. Work is beauty when genius holds the 
tool. The rough block is then sculptured into 
forms fairer than life. 
XXXVI. 
The Law settles differences, leaving enemies, 
but the true peace-maker leaves those friends 
whom he decides between.— b. 
There is a fine quarry of this singular and 
useful material at Grafton, in the vicinity of 
Bellows Fails. The mill where it is prepared 
for use, and fitted for a finishing establishment 
in Boston, is at Cambridge, Vt., a small village 
near the line of Grafton. This quarry has 
long been known, as is seen from antiquated 
chimney pieces iu the neighborhood, but was 
formerly worked upon a small scale, in part 
from the want of modern improvements in ma¬ 
chinery, but chiefly from the expense of trans¬ 
portation to the distant market. 
That obstacle is now removed by the railroad. 
The freestone, as it is here called, has the “ unc- 
tious feel ” of the mineralogist, and the cogno¬ 
men soap better describes the striking resem¬ 
blance to touch of that article, although the 
ease with which the material is cut and fitted 
for use makes the word free a proper and sig¬ 
nificant appellation. The spectator at first is 
both amused and surprised to see huge blocks 
of granite-looking stone cut into slabs by a 
saw such as he has seen in use only for wood. 
«• The teeth are not so sharp at the point, but 
with this exception, one might think the work¬ 
men had borrowed from a saw-mill the well 
known instrument for transforming logs into 
lumber. The soap stone contains no substance 
harder than itself, and it cuts under the com¬ 
mon saw easier and faster than hard wood of 
the same dimensions. This I proved by exper¬ 
iment on a cubic piece, a part of which I car¬ 
ried away as a specimen of the quarry. 
The slabs are cut into various forms by cir¬ 
cular saws, which, from their rapid motion 
seem not to perform a very hard service; and 
the facility of working ihe material is no incon¬ 
siderate item of its value. From the various 
uses to which the soap stone is adapted, it 
must soon find a greater demand. In the or¬ 
deal of heat, it seems to be cousin-german to 
asbestos, for it endures fire without warp or 
crack, even to a red or w bite heat, losing only 
now and then thin scales on the inner surface. 
It is susceptible of a moderate polish, and 
is now fashioned into chimney pieces and orna¬ 
mental work exposed to tire. Nay, more, it 
begins to take rank with household furniture, 
and is used for griddles, being found superior 
to iron, inasmuch as it needs not to be greased 
to give up the cukes, and does the work with¬ 
out the disagreeable odor arising from the same 
cooking upon iron. To what further and va¬ 
rious uses the soap stone may be desired in this 
age of progress, i know not, but even this 
brief notice of so important a quarry in its in¬ 
cipient working, may not be without interest to 
the public.— Cor. Jour. Commerce. 
KEEPING THE TEETH CLEAN. 
Microscopical examinations had been made 
of the matter deposited on the teeth and gums 
of more than forty individuals, selected from 
all classes of society, in every variety of bodily 
condition, and in nearly every case animal and 
vegetable parasites in great numbers had been 
discovered. Of the animal j^acasites there 
were three or four species, and of the vegetable, 
one or two. In fact, the only persons whose 
mouths were found to be completely free from 
them, cleansed their teeth four times daily, 
using soap once. One or two of these individ¬ 
uals also passed a thread between the teeth to 
cleanse them more effectually. In all cases 
the number of the parasites was greater in 
proportion to the neglect of cleanliness; the 
effect of the application of various agents was 
also noticed. Tobacco juice and smoke did 
not impair their vitality in the least. 'The 
same was also true of ihe chlorine tooth-wash, 
of pulverized bark, of soda, ammonia, and va¬ 
rious other popular detergents. 'The applica¬ 
tion of soap, however, appeared to destroy 
them instantly. We may hence infer that, this 
is the best and most proper specific for cleans¬ 
ing the teeth. In all cases where it has been 
fried, it receives unqualified commendation.— 
It may also be proper to add, that none but 
the purest white soap, free from all discolora¬ 
tion, should be used.— Germantown Tel. 
* 
“ Nutmegs.”— “ On our return to the ship we 
visited a nutmeg plantation. Th • trees, which 
are from twenty to thirty ft. iu heightare planted 
in rows, at intervals of about twenty feet. ’Ihe 
leaf is dark, green and glossy, resembling that 
of the laurel, and the fruit, at a little distance, 
might be taken for a small russet-colored ap¬ 
ple. When ripe, the thick husk splits in the 
centre, showing a scarlet net-work of mace, 
enveloping an inner nut, black as ebony, the 
kernel of which is ihe nutmeg of commerce.— 
The elove tree, not now in its bearing season, 
has some resemblance to the nutmeg, but the 
leaf is smaller and the foliage more loose and 
spreading. As we drove through the orchard, 
the warm air of noon was heavy with spice._ 
'The rich odors exhaled from the trees penetra¬ 
ted the frame with a sensation of languid and 
voluptuous repose. Perfume became an appe¬ 
tite, and the senses were drugged with an over¬ 
powering feeling of luxury. Had 1 continued 
to indulge in it, 1 should ere long have realized 
the Sybarite’s complaint of his crumpled rose- 
leaf.'— Bayard Taylor. 
Abbrnktiiy.—O f John Abernethy, one of the 
most eminent surgeons uud medical writers of 
the last century, several anecdotes are recorded. 
He was extra mely eccentric, or rat her extreme¬ 
ly manly. lie acted and spake always as na¬ 
ture dictated, and not as custom Ordained. To 
a rich valetudinarian gentleman he once said, 
“ Live on a sixpence a day and earn it,” and 
to a lady of the same species who offered him 
a fee, he said, “ Madame, keep your money and 
buy a skipping rope.” When he loved, he 
stiff continued to despise the forms with which 
society ever seeks to encumber the sayings and 
doings of men. He did not waste his time 
conning, nor did he prostrate himself, as is usu¬ 
ally the case, before the relatives of his Eve. 
He met her in the streets, revealed his affec¬ 
tions for iier, and offered her his hand. She 
accepted it, and he’ immediately gave her a 
j purse, with orders to furnish a house.— Giljil- 
! Ian's Gallery of Literary Portraits. 
went. 
CONDUCTED BY A-E. 
TO A BELOVED ONE. 
BY GERALD MASSEY. 
Heaves' hath its crown of stars, the earth 
Her glory-robe of flowers— 
The sea its gems—the grand old woods 
Their songs and greening showers; 
The birds have homes, where leaves and blooms 
In beauty wreathe above; 
High yearning hearts, their rainbow-dream— 
And we, sweet I we have love. 
We walk not with the jewell’d great, 
Where Love’s dear name is sold . 
Yet have we wealth we would not give 
For all their world of gold I 
We revel nrot in corn and wine, 
Yet have we from above 
Manna divine, and we'U not pine; 
Do we not live and love ? 
There’s sorrow for the toiling poor, 
On Misery’s bosom nurst: 
Rich robes for ragged souls, and crowns 
For branded brows Cain-curst 
Bat Cherubim, with clasping wings, 
Ever about us be, 
And, happiest of God’s happy thing 1 
There’s love for you and me. 
Thy lips, that kiss till death, have turn’d 
Life’s water into wine ; 
The sweet life melting thro’ thy looks, 
Hath made my life divine. 
All Love's dear promise hath been kept. 
Since thou to me wert given ; 
A ladder for ray soul to climb, 
And summer up in Heaven. 
I know, dear heart! that in our lot 
May mingle tears and sorrow; 
But, Love’s rich rainbows built from team 
To-day, with smiles to-morrow. 
The sunshine from our sky may die, 
The greenness from Life's tree, 
But ever, ’mid the warring storm, 
Thy nest shall shelter’d be. 
I see thee I Ararat of my life, 
Smiling the waves above! 
Thou hail'st me victor in the strife, 
And beacon’st me with love. 
The world may never know, dear heart 1 
What I have found in thee; 
But, tho’ nought to the world, dear heart! 
Thou’rt all the world to me. 
[ 'Vritten for the Rural New-Yorker.] 
CHARLEY FERN’S REJOINDER. 
The little paragraph which recently appeared 
in the Rural over my signature, seems to have 
excited peculiar emotions in certain quarters, 
owing perhaps to its having an unfortunate 
matrimonial squint. Pretty little missives, 
(missiles?) upon white golden-edged pinions, 
have been hurled at me by invisible hands, 
with such well directed aim, and accurately 
calculated force, that even a thorough-going 
vixen, or an incorrigible coquette, beholding 
my pitiable plight, would cry out, “Spare- 
friends, spare !” Indeed, they would fear that 
unless a short truce was granted, there would 
not be enough left for another basting. If I 
had even been an unconscionable old widower, 
or a scape-grace flirt, I should not have de¬ 
served such treatment. Why, for the first 
time in my life, I have been able to sympathize 
with Louis Napoleon’s uncle in his xetreat 
from Moscow. They fire upon me from all 
sides. Shade of Lucy Stone, protect me ! 
Just as I have turned my face to confront 
a division of Queen Victoria’s Canadian Ar- 
j cheresses, a whiz rings iu my ears, wheels me 
about to meet the attack of impetuous South¬ 
rons, in whose hearts a tropical sun has kindled 
scathing fires; and before I can reach a sala- 
mander safe, an East wind sets in, laden with 
darts, as of late with snow-flakes, which only 
shifts about to pour upon me a regular hail 
storm of epistles from the West And while I 
staud confounded, terra firms begins to shake 
and crack right under me. And before I can 
say, What now? a great, swarthy hand flings a 
cute little thing, cunning as possible, right into 
my face, labeled, “Politeness of Uncle Tom, 
manager of the Underground R. R.,—from 
Eva.” 
It must be proof of the largeness of my 
heart, and the firmness of my nerves, that of 
more than six-score darts, mercilessly flung, 
fevery one has found a lodgment and cut a 
tender cord. Saddest of all, my surgeon de¬ 
clares that he would not hazard the extraction 
of one, and leaves me to live or die transfixed, 
as Cupid may decree. Yes, and he hints, too, 
that some of them may be poisoned. 
By the way, who had the christening of the 
present generation of black eyed, true eyed, 
country lassies? Doffing my hat and bowing my 
head, I humbly asked, “ Whose servant shall I 
be?” A dozen voices cried out “Kate’s.” a 
score “Katie’s,” a dozen or two “Kittik’s.”— 
And then there was such a clamor of Nellies, 
and Minnies, and Nannies, and Jennies, and 
Jessies, that my jaws went together so tight 
that I have not been able to speak a plain 
woman’s name since. 
Now, Kate and Kittie, Jessie and Jennie, 
entre nous; what can a poor fellow do? Some 
of you black-eyed girls slash away at a man’s 
heart with your Damasc is blades, like regular 
Turks. I wish I could send off a bevy of you 
to the Sultan to fight old Nichoi-ab/ Some 
ask such questions,—“ Have you read the Gov¬ 
ernor’s veto message? Horatio says you have 
no right to make a witness criminate himself.” 
Others are inclined to play at fun-poking. I 
don’t mean “ Dame Prudence;” she has blund 
ered—taking me for an old widower, wanting 
to make the contract styled “ Marriage de 
convenance.” But one of the Kates lets at 
me more thrusts than Soule and son could 
both parry. Yet, it is “ well done.” The hem¬ 
lock hills of Old Otselic are admirably repre¬ 
sented. 
Let us come right to Court,— not court¬ 
ing yet. I advertised for a wife. The adver¬ 
tising was simply telling what I wanted. Is 
there anything out of the way about that ? I 
don’t know the man who does not, or has not 
wanted that same. Girls I conclude want hus¬ 
bands, as most of them get them. Surely no 
one will pretend that, wanting a wife, there is 
any harm in saying so. 
“Mr. Fern will please specify.” Yes, Kate 
Prudence, he would just as soon as not, if 
there were any need of it. Just take a survey 
of men and women, and see how they are 
mated; and you are not a shrewd Yankee 
girl if you cannot guess my “ personnels.” 
When I said a particular person would find a 
partner who would not fail to please, I could 
correctly be understood to refer but to one — 
or I am neither a Mohammedan nor a Mor¬ 
mon. Well now, Jessie G., I have no doubt 
there is one who would please thee. If you 
supposed that I expected to charm every 
country lass with black eyes, your wits were 
sadly at fault. There are thousands of Rural 
specimens with a dash of lamp-black in their 
“eyne,” one of whom is enough for me — 
“Enough for life's gloom, full enough for its cheer.’’ 
But it is all over with me now, and I am 
growing no better very fast. 
Y our suffering, sympathy-craving 
Waterville, April, 1854. CHARLEY FERN. 
[For Moore’s Rural New-Yorker.] 
PLRSES RIGHTLY DISTRIBUTED. 
In the few weeks past, I have noticed a di¬ 
versity of sentiments expressed in the Rural, 
in regard to having two purses in the family. I 
herewith send you a few more ideas on the 
subject of purses rightly distributed. 
I fully coincide with “ One who Ought to 
Know,” that the wife—especially the farmer's 
—should have a purse of her own, that she 
may draw from when it best suits her conven¬ 
ience. I would ask the husband, who fears 
some evil consequences will ensue from allow¬ 
ing his wife a purse of her own, if he has not 
often felt it to be a great annoyance to be ask¬ 
ed for a shilling or two, or a dollar, to purchase 
something for the use of the family, and per¬ 
haps, replied not very amiably, “You are al¬ 
ways wanting something; what now, I wonder; 
something useless, 1 dare say.” Whereas, if 
she had the control of something wherebv she 
might obtain money sufficient to procure use¬ 
ful articles, she would realize a degree of inde¬ 
pendence hitherto unknown, and he would feel 
much better contented with himself, far happier 
than when refusing his wife a few shillings for 
actual necessities, knowing that many things 
were secured in time to save, not only labor, 
but money, which had hitherto been neglected, 
for fear “ husband would scold ” if asked for 
the money. 
By way of illustration, here is a sketch of 
purses rightly distributed. Mr. and Mrs. J. 
commence business on a farm; his father gives 
him “a start in the world,” and then tells him 
to help himself, which he is very willing to do. 
Although he is considerably in debt, he feels 
no evil forebodings, knowing as he does, that 
he has selected a wife who will not make any 
unreasonable requests. To begin with, he 
gives her, for a sort of home “ tariff,” all the 
surplus butter, poultry and eggs, or whatever 
comes under her supervision, to make a purse 
for her own especial purpose. Now we shall 
see how competent she was to care for the 
trust thus given her. Mrs. J. was a school¬ 
teacher—most excellent wives they make—ac¬ 
customed to calculation. She now, iu her new 
sphere, begins to calculate how to increase the 
general fund, and also the general happiness. 
She marks well her income, (for she has a book 
containing many pencil marks,) and endeavors 
not to let her wants exceed her capabilities of 
payment; and in this way she has not only sup¬ 
plied the family with all the groceries, and 
“ Yankee notions,” but hai nearly furnished all 
the dry goods for the family out of her own 
purse, during the five years which they have 
been in business. Perhaps 1 ought here to 
state, that Mr. J. never keeps more than two 
cows,—but they are of the best kind, and Mrs. 
J. knows how to make the golden butter, of 
which during the last year she has, at eighteen 
cents a pound, sold seventy dollars worth, be¬ 
sides supplying her own family. 
No wonder Mr. J. is called a prosperous 
farmer! No wouder that he has more than 
doubled his properly in five years; no wouder 
at all, — he selected a sensible woman for his 
wife, entrusted her with a purse of her own, 
and she has shown that a woman is not only 
capable of contracting debts, but of paying 
them also. 1 would here say, that Mrs. J. has 
all the “womuu’s rights” she desires, and 
thinks if men who have wives striving to go 
to the polls to vote, would treat them \?ith the 
respect and deference which she receives from 
Mrs. J. they would have happier homes, and 
more devoted companions. 
On a who Does Know. 
