IHHI 
: rrrrrr. 
MOORE’S RURAL NEW-YORKER: AN AGRICULTURAL AND FAMILY NEWSPAPER. 
J 
: a 
THE LIFE-CLOCK. 
TRAN8I.ATBD KltOM THE GERMAN. 
There is a little mystic clock, 
No human eye has seen; 
That beateth on—that beateth on, 
From morning until e'en. 
And when the soul is wrapped in sleep, 
And heareth not a sound, 
It ticks and ticks the live-long night. 
And never runneth down. 
O wondrous is the work of art 
Which kuells the passing hour. 
But art ne’er formed, nor mind conceived 
The life-clock’s magic power. 
Not set in gold, nor decked with gems, 
By pride and wealth possessed; 
But rich or poor, or high or low, 
Each bears it in his breast. 
When life’s deep stream, 'mid beds of flowers, 
AIL still and softly glides, 
Like the wavelet’s step, with a gentle heat, 
It warns of passing tides. 
When passion nerves the warrior’s arm, 
For deeds of hate and wrong, 
Though heeded not the fearful sound. 
The knell is deep and strong. 
When eyes to eyes are gazing soft. 
And tender words are spoken, 
Then fast and wild it rattles on, 
As if with love ’twere broken. 
Such is the clock that measures life, 
Of flesh and spirit blended; 
And thus ’twill run within the breast. 
Till that strange life is ended. 
[Written for Moore’s Kural New-Yorker.J 
JUNE.—ITS DERIVATION. 
“ June with its roses—June! 
Brightest of summer months—those months of flowers 1 
First-born of beauty, whose swift-footed hours 
Dance to the merry tune 
Of birds, and waters, and the pleasant shout 
Of childhood on the sunny hills peal’d out.” 
June, as also the names of all the other 
months, is traced in its origin, to the old Ro¬ 
man calendar. The French, Jam; the Italian, 
gingno; the Spanish, junto; the Latin, junius, 
are all evidently, derived from the same primi¬ 
tive source. It is doubtful, however, whence 
and how it received this name, applied to it in 
the old calendar. The accounts concerning its 
origin, are various and contradictory. Ac¬ 
cording to Yassins, an eminent writer on crit¬ 
icism and philology of the seventeenth century, 
there arc three etymologies of this word. The 
derivations given by him, are a junone, a 
junioribus, a jungendo. He does not state 
for which of these he has a preference. 
These terms are more fully explained by the 
distinguished latin poet Oria, in his books call¬ 
ed the Fastii. In these books he describes the 
Roman festivals, their occasions, and the order 
iu which they occurred in the calendar. They 
are of rare merit and highly esteemed by the 
learned, for the antiquarian lore contained in 
them; the rich and copious erudition poured 
over the sterile indications of the calendar; the 
mythological worship traced to its source, and 
the explanation of the mysteries of that the¬ 
ology which peopled all nature with divinities. 
In this work, the poet represents the goddess 
J uno as appearing before him and saying, 
“ Junius a nostro nomine nomen liabet.” 
But soon Here, the goddess of youth, ap¬ 
proaches the poet with tears in her eyes and 
protests against the robbery which has been 
attempted by her queen and mother. She 
claims it as her own. In proof of her right, 
being the guardian divinity of immortal youth, 
she asserts that when Romulus divided the 
people of Rome into two parts, the elders for 
counsel; the youth for war; he assigned to the 
seniors May, a majoribus, and to the juniors 
June, a junioribus. The poet was perplexed 
at this, and his difficulty was heightened by the 
immediate appearance of another goddess, 
Concordia. She came not as was her cus¬ 
tom, to promote peace and harmony, but to 
sow an additional seed of discord. She had 
borrowed the fated apple of her vagrant sis¬ 
ter, Discordia, and threw it in their midst— 
Her statement was, that the mouth derived its 
title from the union between the Romans and 
Sabines under Romulus and Titus Tatius.— 
Her language is, 
“Hie uomen junetis junius iuquit habet.” 
Such is the poetical tradition. By others the 
name is traced to Junius Brutus, the first who 
filled the ollice of Consul. It is stated that on 
the Calends of this month, he performed a sac¬ 
rifice to the goddess, which he had vowed to 
her on account of the expulsion of the Tar- 
quins from Rome. Iu honor of this sacrificial 
rite, instituted by him aud celebrated on the 
Cuelian Hill, the month was called June. The 
Anglo-Saxons had several names for this 
month. They called it “sear-monath,” “dry 
mouth;” “ mid-suinei-iuouath,” “mid summer 
mouth;” and “aerarlitha-monath,” “the earlier 
mild month,” in contradistinction to July. 
Truly, in our northern clime, is Juue the 
mouth of flowers. The air is fragraut with 
rich odors wafted by gentle breezes from flow¬ 
ery boils. The brooklet’s flow is full of lively 
music, as the clear waters leap along, and 
sparkle in the goldeu suulight. The groves 
scud forth a joyous sound, the simple cadence, 
tire wild sweet melody of singing birds, as they 
flit front branch to branch, of the green forest 
trees. The sky above is of a lovely blue, aud 
a soft, mellow tint is painted on its overarching 
surface. The clouds, hiding the sunshine in 
their fleecy vestments, float on as if guided 
by some fairy hand to their place of rest.— 
The light breeze rustling the foliage, makes a 
wild, dreamy music. The green pastures are 
covered with snowy flocks and lowing herds.— 
The luscious strawberry peeps up through the 
grass on the warm hill-side. Here merry 
school-children gambol in playful mood, and 
crush the rich fruit beneath their feet. Or, as 
with care they pluck the laden stems, they 
stain their bright faces with crimson juice. A 
deeper blush mantles the cheek of the half- 
ripened cherry, as day after day the sun pours 
its warmth upon the trees. The robin-red¬ 
breast wings its flight among the opening 
boughs, and eyes with heart elate, the rich and 
crimson fruit. 
In the garden the Oriole builds his nest, and 
the trilling notes of the humming bird are 
heard. The truant boy stops to catch the idle 
butterfly of gaudy and ephemeral wing, as it 
rests upon the flowers by the wayside. The 
busy bee drinks in its liquid store from every 
opening rose, and the white clover top. 
At evening hour, there is a mild and charm¬ 
ing sweetness on the face of heaven. Of a 
deep blue is the arched vault, and radiant are 
the stars, as jewels in a crown. The bay of 
distant watch-dogs falls on the ear. The air is 
full of insects, whose buzzing notes are lulling 
to the ear. The water’s flow is heard afar, 
soothing and trauquilizing to the mind. The 
nightingale ushers her evening song, so full of 
tenderness and love. And now the deep, low, 
muttering sound of the thunder’s peal is heard 
rolling, as it were, to the portals of eternity.— 
Anon the lightning’s vivid glare is painted on 
the sky. Soon comes the rain, a gentle show¬ 
er, distilling sweetly, love and quietness. 
Such are the beauties of June, a soft, mild 
month; all youthfulness and love. It is the 
gay and gladsome time of childhood, when the 
flowers of love are mingled with the roses of 
beauty. a. j. e. 
University of Rochester, 1854. 
MARRYING TO SUIT. 
Marrying to suit-whom? To suit one’s 
self, to suit the old folks, to suit the younger 
and prouder members of the family, to suit the 
gossips, the old maids, the scheming mammas, 
the world in general, or “the rest of mankind?” 
It may seem a bold assertion to make, but 
it i3 true notwithstanding, that in ninety-nine 
cases out of every hundred, if a young man 
marries to suit himself, and is guided by the 
highest and purest motives in selecting his 
wife; if he chooses her on a basis of solid 
qualifications, calculated to secure both his and 
her happiness in after life, he will be sure to 
incur the censures, secretly if not openly, of a 
large part of his intimate acquaintances and 
friends. “He might have married a woman 
with twice the fortune,” says the prudent 
money-catching father; “might have obtained 
a wife moving in a much more exalted circle,” 
says the mother; “ his wife is not good looking 
enough, or refined enough,” says the sister; and 
the brother demurs to the choice, for what he 
deems some other equally substantial reason. 
Outsiders also make their comments, and vote 
the Benedict wonderfully short-sighted; but 
these grumblings, inside the family and out of 
it, soon subside after the Gordian knot is fairly 
tied; and the pair are permitted to settle 
down upon the old folks’ side of the field of 
life, much to their own ultimate satisfaction and 
enjoyment The quiet stream of domestic 
felicity flows much more smoothly as it pro¬ 
ceeds on its course, but it grows deeper and 
wider year by year. It attracts less the eyes 
of the world, but it is felt and acknowledged 
by the immediate parties with a blessing on 
the day that joined them hand and heart 
There is a sad record of domestic infelicity, 
and it is swelling momentously day by day; but 
it is the result of a violation of Heaven’s law 
in the conjugal choice, and not in its fulfillment. 
The man married for money, for beauty, posi¬ 
tion, eclat gratification of the wishes of others; 
because he was dazzled, puffed up, or for any 
other motive than to. secure a lovable and 
loving companion on life’s rough journey—and 
he obtained any one but that. “ He went a 
wool gathering and came home shorn.” In all 
cases of the judicious choice of a wife, both 
parties are benefited, and they are both hap¬ 
pier and better, and much more fitted for 
earth or heaven. 
Preventive. —A correspondent of the Lon¬ 
don Times suggests, as an antidote to the fear¬ 
ful submarine infernal machine contrived by 
J acobi, the great Russian chemist, that one or 
more small steamers, preceded by an efficient 
dredging and diving apparatus, would effectu¬ 
ally combat the evil, by first detecting the ob¬ 
stacle in any required direction, aud afterwards 
cutting the wires of communication with the 
shore. Jacobi’s invention consists of a con¬ 
trivance with a supply of gunpowder, deposit¬ 
ed at the bottom of the harbor, and connected 
with a galvanic battery on shore. As soon as 
the keel of a vessel touches this, which ap¬ 
proaches the surface, the battery explodes.— 
Cronstadt harbor is said to be full with such 
horrors. 
CHARGE OF JUDGE McCLURE. 
Judge McClure, of Pittsburg, in a charge 
to the Grand Jury lately, spoke of intemper¬ 
ance and crime in the following emphatic 
manner: 
“ The Court has been in session since Octo¬ 
ber Term, (Feb. 16.) without intermission, dis¬ 
patching the criminal business of the county. 
I have kept a docket and tabic of contents, 
time, &c., in my own way, collateral to, and in¬ 
dependent of the usual records of the Court, 
and without wearying your patience with the 
process I have gone through, I will give the 
results, which is that, had it not been for the 
use and abuse of ardent spirits in Allegany 
county, every case on the October calendar 
would have been disposed of in one week, (and 
the District Attorney confirms this statement,) 
with the utmost ease, and the cases would 
have been of a trifling nature. There would 
not have been one case in the Oyer and Ter¬ 
miner. 
“ I shall cease to prate any more to Grand 
Juries about this omnipotent parent of crime, 
•alcohol. If a century of imbecile legislation 
has not sufficed to convince reasonable men ; 
if crimes and poverty before their faces; if 
a ceaseless drain upon their charity, from desti¬ 
tution, caused by drink; if their increased tax¬ 
es; if men’s eyes and ears will not convince; if 
the evidence of our senses will not enlighten 
our understanding in this behalf, and cause in 
the community corresponding acts, prompted 
by duty and common sense, then to talk on 
this theme longer here, is time thrown away. 
If society chooses to indulge in this luxury of 
woe, aud in the causes that produce it, I have 
no more to say, for society has the power to 
select its own peculiar enjoyments, and of in¬ 
dulging therein. Its right to do so is more 
questionable.” 
BONAPARTE’S POVERTY IN EARLY LIFE. 
M. Thiers, in his history of the Consulate, 
recites some very strange and previously un¬ 
known particulars respecting the early life and 
penury of Napoleon Bonaparte. It appears 
that after he had obtained a subaltern’s com¬ 
mission in the French service, by his skill and 
daring at Toulon, he lived some time iu Paris 
in obscure lodgings, and in such extreme pov¬ 
erty that he was often without the means of 
paying 10 sous (10 cents) for his dinner, and 
often went without any at all. He was under 
the necessity of borrowing small sums, and even 
worn-out clothes, from his acquaintances. He 
and his brother Louis, afterwards King of Hol¬ 
land, had at one time, only a coat between 
them, so that the brothers could only go out 
alternately, time about. At this crisis, the 
chief benefactor of the future Emperor and 
conqueror, “at whose mighty name the world 
grew pale,” was the actor Talma, who often 
gave him food and money. Napoleon’s face, 
afterwards so famed for its classical mould, 
was during that period of starvation, sharp and 
angular in its lineaments, with projecting 
cheek bones. His meagre fare brought on an 
unpleasant and unsightly cutaneous disease, and 
of a type to virulent and malignant, that it 
took all the skill and assiduity of his accom¬ 
plished physician, Corvisart, to expel it, after a 
duration of more than ten years. 
The squalid beggar then, the splendid Em¬ 
peror afterwards—the threadbare habiliments 
and Imperial mantle—the meagre food and 
gorgeous banquet—the friendship of a poor 
actor, the homage and terror of the world—an 
exile and prisoner. Such are the ups and 
downs of this changeful life; such are the 
lights and shadows of the great and mighty. 
Give me Drink ! —Mr. M’Leod, an English 
writer, puts the following language in the 
mouths of those who visit the rumseller’s den : 
There’s my money—give me drink. There’s 
my clothing and my food—give me drink ! 
There’s the clothing, food and fire of my wife 
and children—give me drink ! There’s the ed¬ 
ucation of the family and the peace of the 
house — gave me drink ! There’s the rent I 
have robbed from my landlord, fees I have 
robbed from the schoolmaster, aud innumera¬ 
ble articles I have robbed from the shop-keep¬ 
er—give me drink ! Pour me out drink for 
more, I will yet pay for it! There’s my health 
of body, and peace of mind. There’s my 
character as a man, and my profession as 
a Christian; I give up all — give me drink! 
More yet I have to give ! There’s my heaven¬ 
ly inheritance and the eternal friendship of the 
Redeemer. There—there is all hope of salva¬ 
tion ! I give my God ! I resign all; all that 
is great, good and glorious iu the universe, I 
resign forever, that I may be— Drunk. 
Franklin and Whitefield. —The acquaint¬ 
ance commenced when the claims of the or¬ 
phan-house were pleaded in Philadelphia.— 
Franklin, though he approved of the object, 
refused to contribute to it when applied to in 
private, because he disapproved of the situa¬ 
tion. He went to hear Whitefield preach, 
resolved to give nothing. He had, however, 
in his pocket, a handful of coppers, three or 
four dollars in silver, and five pistoles in gold. 
As the sermon began to kindle, Franklin be¬ 
gan to softeu, and was willing to give the cop¬ 
pers. The next stroke won the silver, and the 
finishing one was so admirable, he says, “ that 
I emptied my pocket wholly into the collector’s 
dish, gold aud all.”— Whitejield's Lift. 
Inventive Genius. —It has beeu said that 
we are indebted for the important ivvention iu 
the steam-engine, termed hand-gear , by which 
its valves or cocks are worked by the machine 
itself to an idle boy of the name of Humphrey 
Potter, who, being employed to stop and open 
a valve, saw that he could save himself the 
trouble of attending and watching it, by fixing 
a plug upon a part of the machine which came 
to the place at the proper time, in consequeuce 
of general movement. If this anecdote be 
true, what does it prove? That Humphrey 
Potter might be very idle, but that he was, at 
the same time, very ingenious. It was a con¬ 
trivance, not the result of mere accident, but 
of some observation and successful experiment 
[Written for Moore’s Rural New-Yorker.] 
LETTER FROM A FARMER’S WIFE. 
Reply to “A Purse for the Wife,” “Purses Rightly 
Distributed,” &c., &c. 
My Dear Rural: —As my letter “About 
Wives with Separate Interests from their Hus¬ 
bands,” in the paper of March 4th, seems to 
have been misunderstood, I must send you 
something more on the subject. Your corres¬ 
pondents are contending about purses, and who 
shall carry them, of which I said nothing, for 
I care not whether there be one purse or two j 
if there is but one interest to serve. If a man 
choose that his wife attend to supplying in¬ 
door wants (as much his as hers,) by any 
special means—by any purse of her own—I 
will make no objection, though where both 
are united, one purse would surely seem as good 
as two, and the two are but one in reality. 
To “ One wno Ought to Know,” (in the 
Rural of March 25th.) I would say that such 
a man as he represents Mr. L. to be—who gets 
into “a fret” because things go wrong out-of- 
doors— and allows his “fret” to cross the 
threshhold with him and make him speak cross 
words to his wife and little Phebe; such a 
man, I should think would do well to give his 
wife “apurse of her own,” wherewith to supply 
her ever-recurring wants. It would, no doubt, 
save her from many unkind remarks and un¬ 
pleasant reflection?, and sometimes, perhaps, 
keep him from fretting—two very desirable re¬ 
sults, all must allow. 
And now his other case. Any wealthy man 
who gives .wife occasion to say, “If I could 
get a dollar and not let my husband know it, I 
would like to give it to this benevolent object,” 
should, of course, allow his wife “ a purse of 
her own,” for he would surely be too penurious 
to supply his family with the necessaries of life. 
I fully coincide with “One who Does Know” 
(in the Rural of May 20th,) in his opinion of 
Mrs. J. She is certainly a model woman for a 
fanner’s wife—she works for the general fund 
—the united interest —and that is what I have 
been contending for. It is no matter, I repeat, 
how many purses there are, if there is but one 
interest to serve. But it sounds so absurd to 
hear a woman say, “ this is my money, and I 
shall only appropriate it to such and such pur¬ 
poses,” and to make it a point to use up the 
money because she has it, whether she really 
needs what she buys or not. This, gentlemen, 
is the principle against which I combat,—this, 
aud nothing else. 
And now, Dear Rural, let me reply to one 
of my own sex, who comes out upon me and 
my letter, in Arthurs Home Gazette. “Net¬ 
ty N ettlf.” thinks there are enough to “ crush 
down woman,” without those of her own sex 
lending a hand. Now, nothing was, or could 
be, farther from my intention than this. I was 
seeking to point out some of her errors, that 
she might lift herself above them. She says, 
too, that few women will think they need my 
hints, and perhaps they will uot, yet I can but 
think, if many would watch more diligently 
over their own faults, they would find less in 
their husbands that needed their reproof.— 
For myself, I am heartily tired of hearing wo¬ 
men fiud so much fault with their husbands; 
and any true woman, instead of spreading her 
husband’s faults abroad, will rather try to hide 
them. There should always be an understand¬ 
ing between husband and wife, that they re¬ 
mind each other of their errors, and thus help 
to perfect each others characters. 
There is great complaint made, that hus¬ 
bands will uot do many little chores when their 
wives ask them; and how often do we hear the 
unpleasant remark—“My slightest wish, before 
we were married, was attended to, but now it 
makes no difference how much I want to go 
any where, or have anything done, I can have 
no help, I must stay at home, and attend to my 
wants alone, or leave them unattended to.”— 
Now, we do not say there is no cause for this, 
but we do say, that not one man in ten, if kind¬ 
ly requested to do auy thing about the house, 
or to serve his wife, will refuse, while if author¬ 
itatively commanded, not one in ten will com¬ 
ply. Woman has no right to try to rule. At 
the marriage altar, we all promise to love, 
cherish, and obey, and where you find a wife 
who does this, you will, almost always, find a 
husband, tender, provident, and affectionate as 
any woman’s heart can desire. Though man 
ought to rule, it should not be tyrannically— 
yet, I for one, would rather have a husband 
play the tyrant a little, than act as if he were 
hen-pecked, Netty’s opinion that I wear “the 
breeches,” to the contrary, notwithstanding. 
As to the cases where men are so liberal in 
every thing but supplying the wants of their 
own families, I can not too strongly express 
my indignation at such meanness; aud however 
common they may be, in Netty’s vicinity, I 
am glad to be able to say they are very rare 
here. There is one, however, and he, report 
says, will not lend his wife money to buy dress¬ 
es for his little girls, but they must wait until 
their mother can earn the money to pay for 
them herself. It is not to the wives of such 
husbands that I have been talking; but this 
letter is spun out too long already, so I will 
close by repeating the old Proverb, “ Whoever 
the coat fits, may put it on.” a. n. e. 
[Written for Moore’s Rural New-Yorker.] 
MOTHER. 
“ There is none — 
In all this cold and hollow world, no fonnt 
01 deep, unchanging, deathless love, like that 
Within a moiher’s heart.”— Hemans. 
None but those who have been deprived of 
this, the kindest of earthly friends, can ever 
fully prize the real worth of a mother’s love. 
What love can equal the fond devotion that 
burns in a mother’s heart? Earth has none; 
no tie so tender, none so strong, none so un¬ 
changing, none that glows with such intensity, 
and none so pure. Her love and influence are 
like the silent dews of Heaven,—falling gently 
upon the fruitful soil of the heart, and every 
tender germ springs up to meet it, as the droop¬ 
ing flower raises its blushing head to catch the 
genial shower, or glitters in the sparkling dew. 
It there be but one tender plant, it grows the 
greener; if but one bright flower, it takes new 
and more beautiful colors from its parent 
stem: so if there be but one loved object on 
which to bestow a mother’s care, her affections 
twine closer and closer around it, till it seems 
a part of her own being, and she watches over 
it with increasing fondness and more devoted " 
interest, as she sees her iufant blossom expand¬ 
ing into the flower of youth and vigor of age. 
Though that fond, devoted mother may long 
since have been laid away in the silent grave, 
and the cold clods of the valley lie moldering 
over her decaying form, yet her influence lives, 
and it will live forever—throwing its silent and 
almost invisible charm around the rugged scenes 
of life, elevating the soul to nobler aspirations 
and more exalted motives;—it hovers around 
the infant couch, and breathes its silent power 
o’er the child, even when his locks are silvered 
o’er with the frosts of many winters, and his 
brow wrinkled with age:—it lingers around 
him like a spirit of the dead, through all the 
rough paths of life—smoothing every difficulty, 
and sweetening every bitter draught,’ and even 
when he goes down to the silent tomb, the last 
faint whisper, perhaps, that trembles on liis 
dying lips, is—“ Mother! O, my mother!” And 
if ever a guardian angel is permitted to visit 
earth and watch over the loved ones, left be¬ 
hind, it is the sainted spirit of an affectionate 
mother,— ever hovering near them with fond 
delight and clinging love, to guide their way¬ 
ward steps iu the paths of duty, and point the 
way to Heaven. 
"Who so fondly as a mother could cherish 
her infant blossom, and watch beside our in¬ 
fant couch, by night and by day with tireless 
vigilance, and whose ear was soonest to catch 
the slightest sound of pleasure or grief ? Who 
anticipated our every want, and soothed our 
little hearts when they were sad? Who but a 
fond mother taught us to lisp the evening 
prayer, 
“ Now I lay me down to sleep ?” 
And who told us of God, of Heaven, and the 
bright angels there, and led our youthful steps 
in the ways of truth and virtue? When iu the 
land of strangers, and racked upon a bed of 
pain and languishing disease, who so well as a 
mother can soothe the aching breast and cool 
the fevered brow, or smooth the dying pillow 
aud catch the last faint whisper ere the soul 
takes its eterual flight to the spirit world? 
But ah ! how little we appreciate her kindness 
and devoted love till too late. When the 
death damps gather around her pallid brow, 
when the ardent fires of that sparkling eye 
grow dim, when the mild accents of her famil¬ 
iar voice grow fainter and fainter, as she mur¬ 
murs forth a prayer to Heaven, invoking a 
divine blessing on us—and when the last dying 
whispers fall with crushing weight, and mourn¬ 
ful interest on the listening ear, and the soul 
takes its upward flight—then the startling truth 
flashes o’er the mind, that we have never known 
the intrinsic worth of that fond and affection¬ 
ate mother—now pale and silent, and hushed 
forever in the long sleep of death. Reader, 
hast thou a mother? Love her with all the 
intensity of thy heart, cherish her with thy 
foudest affectious, heed her counsels and 
instructions, prize her as thou wouldst some 
rare jewel, and smooth her rough path¬ 
way down to the gates of death. Art thou 
bereft of her? Then canst thou truly mourn! 
Let the flowers that bloom around her grave, 
often be watered with the tears of thy affection 
aud sorrow, and ever preserve her hallowed 
memory fresh and green in thy heart: 
“’Tis only when her ips are cold 
We mourn with late regret, 
’Mid myriad memories of old. 
The days lorever set! 
And not an act—nor look—nor thought — 
Against her meek control, 
But with a sad remembrance fraught. 
Wakes anguish in the soul!” 
Southport, N. Y., May, 1S54. D. B. A. 
All the pomp, all the glitter, all the dis¬ 
tinctions of life, appear despicable as the play¬ 
things of a child, when, amid the sublimities of 
nature, we commune with God aud his works. 
rW' 
