240 
MOORE’S RURAL NEW-YORKER: AN AGRICULTURAL AND FAMILY NEWSPAPER. 
<£ & ft c a i i on a I. 
[Written for Moore’s Rural New-Yorker.] 
“COMMON SCHOOLS.” — WHY NOT J 
GENERALLY APPRECIATED ? 
In reading an article on the subject of Com¬ 
mon Schools, in No. 21, Vol. V., of the Rural. 
the above inquiry presented itself to my mind. 
It cannot, I think, be denied, that there are 
some who, from early life, possess a kind ot 
natural taste, love, or fondness for study. Ex¬ 
amples are not unfrequent, of young men who 
rise to e icuce in the literary and scientific 
world, notwithstanding the greatest difficulties. 
Such will appreciate every school, common or 
higher, that offers them an opportunity of in¬ 
dulging in a favorite pursuit 
There are many, however, whose talents and 
tastes appear for a time to lie dormant, and 
who do not themselves appear to know the 
bent or tendency of their own minds, until cir¬ 
cumstances make it known, '1 he common 
school, if what it ought to be, could hardly 
fail to develop this trait of character. 
“ If what it ought to be ’’—“ The tree is 
known by its fruit” A school that does no 
awaken in the young mind a love for knowl¬ 
edge, is not what it ought to be. I do not 
say that such should be the effect on ever) 
one. A long experience in teaching, and an 
observation extending through many years, 
have satisfied me, that all have not naturally 
the same tastes, talents, and capacities, and 
hence the best school cannot be expected to 
excite in all the same thirst for knowledge, the 
same love for the same pursuits, &c. But 
what I mean to say, is, that those are the 
best schools which awaken the most general 
and extensive desire for improvement of every 
kind, mental, social, moral,—that best cultivate 
all the faculties of our nature, and do most 
towards training the young for respectability 
and usefulness in the world. 
Since coming into this State, I have had 
some opportunity of judging of the character 
of the common schools, and my knowledge of 
the same has satisfied me of the reason why so 
few appreciate them, or any other opportunity 
of receiving instruction. The children are 
taught according to the mechanical principle. 
Almost everything is made a matter of memo¬ 
ry. The mental powers are rarely called into 
exercise; and the consequence is, that educa¬ 
tion consists in the acquisition of w T ords and 
names, not of ideas. Few that I have seen, 
appear to know in what learning consists.— 
They have not yet learned how to learn; and 
those that have advanced a little in the right 
way, seem satisfied with a kind of “jumping 
process,” by which they may arrive at the re 
suit without the labor of investigation. Hence 
their operations are wn-systematic, and they 
themselves are unable to explain their own 
works, thus showing a want of mental culture 
—one of the principal objects of education. 
We have here, then, a reason why so few 
comparatively appreciate the common school 
It does not awaken their minds to investiga 
tion. It does not call out their intellectual 
energies—it does not teach them to think .— 
Hence, one of the most difficult and laborioui 
tasks of the intelligent teacher is, to convince 
them of their error; yet this must be done be 
fore he can accomplish anything in the way ol 
improvement. 
Out West, June, 1854. 
TEACHERS’ INSTITUTES. 
Among the many agencies designed to en¬ 
large the teacher’s qualifications, and to elevate 
his profession, teachers’ institutes stand quite 
prominent. They serve to create a communi¬ 
ty of interest among teachers; to difiuse 
among all the experience and improvements ot 
a few” to awaken the slumbering; to encourage 
the desponding; to inform the inexperienced; 
;Sin(l to establish those who are in the right 
-way. . 
They also benefit the patrons ol schools 
andithe community in general, by showing the 
wants of schools, and the importance of giving 
a generous support to those who are deputized 
to mould the minds and characters of the ris¬ 
ing generation. It has been proved by expe¬ 
rience that the holding of a successful institute 
in a community results in an increased interest 
in educational progress.— JY. Y. Tribune 
5 
THE AMERICAN LOCOMOTIVE. 
PHILOSOPHICAL LECTURE. 
In onr last lecture to you, boys, on the use 
of steam as a motive power, we promised to 
explain its application to that important ma¬ 
chine, the locomotive ; a cut of which is here 
presented to your view. It differs slightly in 
construction from the ordinary locomotive as 
now used, but the principle is the same. All 
the wheels in the above cut arc drivers, that is, 
they are all united, as you see, by connecting 
■ods, on crank pins in each wheel, so that the 
Self-Education. —We all of us have two 
educations, one of which we receive from oth 
ers ; another, and the most valuable, we give 
ourselves. It .is this last which fixes our grade 
i a society, and eventually our actual value in 
this life, and perhaps the color ot our late 
hereafter. All the professors and teachers in 
the world would not make you a wise and good 
man without your own -co-operation , and it 
such you are determined to be, the want ol 
them will not prevent it.— Randolph to his 
JYephe r. 
« Take eire, 5 recommended a father to his 
ekUdreu, “ when you find yourself in t he pres- 
caee of persons who see you for the first time, 
to display outy the best qualities of heart ami 
mind. Tt«,y win always judge you under this 
first impression.” That father knew the world. 
Good qualities, like great abilities, are in¬ 
comprehensible and inconceivable to such as 
are deprived of them. 
steam power which is applied directly to the 
.ast wheel, is by those connecting rods trans¬ 
mitted to the other two, and therefore all of 
them must turn simultaneously. '1 his gives 
more bite upon the rail, and enables the en¬ 
gine to drag heavier loads and surmount steep¬ 
er grades ; but there are disadvantages also in 
this construction. The engine now most used 
has two driving wheels on each side, both set 
further back tliau in the cut, while the fore 
end of the boiler is held up by a truck with 
two small wheels on each side, like those un¬ 
der an ordinary passenger car. 
You see the steam cylinder, or, as we have 
called it heretofore in illustrating the churn, on 
the forward end. It is inclined or slanted 
downward, so that the piston rod, or chum 
dasher, when straight, would point exactly to 
the center of the hind wheel. The piston rod 
is fastened to the crank pin in that wheel, in¬ 
side of the rod which connects it with the oth¬ 
er wheels. The wheels are now a quarter of 
the way around from the point where the pis¬ 
ton rod would be in a straight line ; and 
the piston head, or dash head, is about in the 
centre of the cylinder. 
Suppose while the engine is standing in this 
position, the engineer, by means of a hand 
lever attached to the engine, lets the steam in¬ 
to the upper end of the cylinder. It would of 
course push the piston head down to the bot¬ 
tom, which would in its descent revolve the 
wheel until the crank pin stands exactly oppo¬ 
site the centre of the shaft. Now, alter it 
has passed the last named point, if the steam 
be let in below the piston head, it will push it 
up to the top of the cylinder, which, as a ne¬ 
cessary consequence, by drawing in the piston 
rod, will give the wheel half a revolution.— 
Then again, letting in the steam above will 
push out the rod once more, giving the wheel 
another half revolution, and so on, ad infinitum. 
Now if the wheel bites upon the rail, so as 
not to slip, any one can see that the whole en¬ 
gine must move forward just as much as the 
wheel turns; and in doing so, it will drag 
along a train of cars attached to the rear. 
I)o you understand it boys ? I am anxious 
that you should ; and if you have failed fairly 
to master the explanation, go over it carefully 
again, looking at the plate as you do so ; and 
if it is not sufficiently plain, ask your father or 
older brother to explain it to you in his own 
language and way, and do not abandon it un¬ 
til you see through it as plainly as you see that 
two and two make four. 
If at the time of starting, the steam should 
be let into the lower end of the cylinder first, 
while the wheels are in the position represent 
ed in the cut, or into the upper end, in case 
the wheels were standing with the crank pins 
above the shaft, it is plain to lie seen that the 
engine would commence backing, instead of 
running forward ; so that it is just as easy lor 
the engineer to give the machine a reverse as 
a direct motion. There are two points in the 
revolution, called the dead points, where the 
steam can exert no power to revolve the wheels. 
One is when the crunk pin is exactly behind 
and in range with the piston rod and the centre 
of the shaft, and the other is when it isbefor 
and exactly opposite the first named dead 
point These two points occur when the pis¬ 
ton head is at the top or at the bottom of the 
cylinder, and the steam is about to change its 
direction. Suppose the engine to come to resi ; 
upon one of these points, how is it to bi 
started again ? On ihe other end of the ax¬ 
les, are llnee other wheels, the exact counter¬ 
parts of the three in sight They are fastenec 
upon the axles so that the crank pins are om 
quarter of a revolution further forward than 
i he three in sight, and are worked by anothei 
steam apparatus like the one in view. When 
one set of wheels, therefore, is at a dead point, 
the other is doing its greatest work, and vice 
versa. When the one set gains one quarter ol 
its full power, the other has lost one quarter ; 
when one gains one-half, the other has lost an 
equal amount ; and so on through at any point 
of a whole revolution. The sum of both 
working powers is a constant quantity equal to 
the greatest power of one cylinder, and may 
be represented by unity. Thus, one set at the 
dead point, the other at full power, makes the 
formula 0 plus 1 equals 1. One of them hav¬ 
ing gained one quarter, and the other having 
lost the same amount, makes the formula 
stand £ plus g equals 1. Again, in the same 
wav, J plus J equals 1, and so on through the 
entire revolution. 
Of 0001-80 1116 steam valves and all the ap¬ 
paratus are connected with and worked by the 
engine itself, after it is once set in motion. 
THE NEW TERRITORIES. 
MAN’S FOOH. 
Wiiat do men really live upon? The an¬ 
swers will be various enough. The Guaeho, 
who iu the wild pampas of Buenos Ayres, 
managing his half-wild horse wijli incredible 
dexterity, throws the lasso, or bolas, to catch 
the ostrich, the guanaco, or the wild bull, con¬ 
sumes daily from 10 to 12 pounds of meat, and 
regards it as a high feast clay when in any ha¬ 
cienda he gains a variety in the shape of a inor- 
sel of pumpkin. The word bread does not ex¬ 
ist in his vocabulury. The Irishman, on the 
other hand, regales himselfin careless mirth on 
his “potatoes and point,” after a day of painful 
labor, he who cannot help making a joke even 
of the name he gives to his scanty meal. Meat 
is a strange idea to him, and he is happy indeed 
if, four times a year, he can add a herring to 
season the mealy tubers. The hunter of the 
prairies lays low the buffalo with sure bullet; 
and its juicy, fat-streaked hump, roasted between 
two hot stones, is to him the greatest of delica¬ 
cies. Meanwhile, the industrious Chinese car¬ 
ries to market his carefully fattened rats, deli¬ 
cately arranged upon white sticks, certain to 
find a good customer among the epicures of 
Pekin; and in his hot, smoky but, fast buried 
beneath the snow and ice, the Greenlander 
consumes his fat, which he has just carved, re¬ 
joicing over the costly, prize, from a stranded 
whale. Here the black slave sucks the sugar 
cane, and eats his banana; there the African 
merchant fills his wallet with sweet, dates, his 
sole sustenance in the long desert journey; and 
there the Siamese crams himself with a quanti¬ 
ty of rice from which an European would shrink 
spalled. And wheuesover over the whole in- 
habitated earth we approach and demand hos¬ 
pitality, in almost every little spot a different 
kind of food is set before us, and the “daily 
bread” offered in another form. 
Kansas. —This territory comprises all that 
district of country west of Missouri and East 
of New Mexico and Utah, lying between the 
37th and 40th degrees of north latitude. It is 
180 miles in breadth, and extends west about 
800 miles. Its southern boundary is on a line 
parallel with the mouth of the Ohio river, or 
about fifty miles south of the southern part of 
Indiana. The line of the 40th degree of north 
latitude, which is the north line of the Terri- 
ory, is’about ten miles north of Indianapolis. 
It crosses the Missouri river about 30 miles 
north-west of St. Josephs, near the mouth of 
the Great Nemcha. The eastern part of the 
Territory is unsurpassed in beauty and fertility. 
Timber at some points is scarce. The country 
is dry, and the soil rich and productive. The 
Missouri washes the eastern boundary for ISO 
miles. The Kansas, a noble river, navigable 
for steam-boats for about two hundred miles, 
flows through the centre of the '1 territory. The 
southern portion is watered by the Neosha, a 
branch of the Arkansas, and the head waters 
of the Osage. 'The Arkansas river rises in this 
Territory, but flows into the Cherokee countrj, 
about 150 miles west of the Missouri line— 
'The country is well watered by never-tailing 
streams. Lime stone rock and stone coal is 
found in abundance at different points. 1 be 
following tribes of Indians now reside in this 
Territory:—Ottoes, Missouries, lowus, Sacs, 
Foxes, Kiekapoos, Delawares, Shawnees, Mia- 
mis, Weas Piaukeshaws, Pottawotamies, Wy- 
andots, Kanzas and Osages. The Pawnee, 
Camanclie, and other wild tribes reside in the 
western portion of the 'Territory. 
Neisraska. —'ThisTerritory comprises all that 
country Iving north of the 30th parallel ot lat¬ 
itude, up to the British Possessions, and be¬ 
tween the Missouri river and the Rocky Moun¬ 
tains. 'The Nebraska or Great Platte is the 
principal river. 'The Missouri washes the east¬ 
ern boundary. Much of the country is a vast 
1 plain covered with grass; but wholly destitute 
| of timber. The south-western portion of the 
; 'Territory is a very desirable country, especial- 
; ]y that part in the vicinity of Council Bluffs, 
! which has recently been acquired by purchase 
i from the Omahoe Indians. Council Bluffs 
will soon become an important point for the 
trade and commerce of the Upper Missouri, 
and Western Iowa. 
A DIRGE FOR THE BEAUTIFUL. 
nr r>. em.kn goodman. 
Softly, peacefully, 
Lay her to rest; 
Place the turf lightly 
On her young breast, 
Gently, solemnly, 
Bend o’er the bed 
Where ye have pillowed 
Tlius early her head. 
Plant a young willow 
Close by her grave; 
I,et its long branches 
Smoothly wave; 
Twine a sweet rose treo 
Over the tomb; 
Sprinkle fresh lmds there— 
Beauty and bloom. 
Let a bright fountain, 
Limpid and dear, 
Murmur its music, 
Smile through a tear— 
Scatter its diamonds 
Where the loved lies, 
Brilliant and starry, 
Like angels’ eyes. 
Then shall the bright bridfl 
On golden wing 
Lingering ever 
Murmuring singing; 
Then shall the soft breeze 
Pensively sigh, 
Bearing rich fragrance 
And melody by. 
Lay tlie sod lightly 
Over her bi east; 
Calm are her slumbers, 
Peactfnl her rest. 
Beautiful, lovely, 
She has but given, 
A fair bud to earth, 
To blossom in heaven. 
[Written for Moore’s Rural New-Yorker".} 
THE GARDEN. 
KEEP YOUR PROMISES. 
The setting of a great hope is like the set¬ 
ting of the sun. The brightness of our life is 
(rone. Shadows of evening fall around us, and 
the world seems but a dull reflection—itself a 
broader shade. We look forward into the 
coming lonely night. The soul withdraws in¬ 
to itself. 'The stars arise, and the night is holy. 
The ordinary employment of avarice, is the 
mark of a petty mind; and it almost always 
happens that he who uses it to cover himselfin 
one place, uncovers himself in another. Ta 
Rochefoucauld. 
We have often been shocked by the reck¬ 
less disregard which many persons manifest for 
the fulfilment of their promises. They are ev¬ 
er ready to make engagements for the future, 
but when the time arrives for their fulfillment, 
they seem to have forgotten it entirely—or at 
least treat them as though they involve no ob¬ 
ligations whatever. 
Such conduct is highly injurious in its influ¬ 
ence on society, inasmuch as it necessarily 
tends to destroy the confidence of man in man, 
which is so essential to the happiness of the 
community. It. is especially detrimental to 
the interest of the individual himself, who is 
guilty of it, as he thereby forfeits the respect 
and confidence of his fellows. Ilis word, ac¬ 
cordingly, is not relied upon, and he is obliged 
to suffer all the unhappy consequences. 'This 
singular and injurious habit is one of the most 
inexcusable of which any man can be guilty.— 
l In ninety cases out of one hundred there is no 
absolute necessity whatever, lor any one to 
break his word. 
No one should ever make a promise unless 
he looks well into the circumstances before 
hand, and has every reason to believe that it 
will be in his power to fulfil his promise. And 
whenever a promise has been made, it should 
be his fixed determination to keep it, and with 
a peculiar reference to this, his subsequent con¬ 
duct should be shaped. 
Were this course faithfully pursued, not only 
would the serious evil resulting from a disre¬ 
gard of one’s word be avoided, but also the 
confidence of those around speedily gained 
and enjoyed, and a character thereby establish¬ 
ed that will he of more value than “ ermine, 
gold or princely diadem.” 
All nature is hushed, and in quiet reposing. 
The chill dews are upon the open fields, and 
the shining orbs adorn the sky. A little com¬ 
pany, led by their Divine Master, seek the se 
elusion of the Garden of Gethsemene, a hal¬ 
lowed spot, rendered sacred by the voice of 
prayer. The disciples, weary with the toils of 
the day, seek repose in sleep. They are all 
unconscious of the dreadful burden that their 
Saviour is about to bear. To Him it is an 
hour of trial, of agonizing prayer, and extreme 
anguish. 
A load of guilt, not Ilis own, presses with 
overwhelming weight upon His soul. Now, 
surely is the cup of Ilis sorrow full. Human 
ity is ready to sink, and ask release from this 
I bitter cup. lie pleads, and pleads again; yet 
with holy resignation He exclaims, “Not as I 
will, but as Thou wilt.” Can it be that Ills 
Father, who is all love, will disregard this 
earnest entreaty? Yes, for it is appointed for 
the Son to bear the load of human guilt, and 
secure a ransom from impending woe. Who 
can measure the depth of that love, which 
prompts to pay such a price for the salvation 
of dying man? But the scene has not yet 
ended. Behold an armed band coining to this 
secluded spot! What purpose has brought 
them hither at this midnight hour? Have 
they come to share in the holy meditations of 
the hour, or to hear words of peace from a 
Saviour’s lips? No; they come with fiendish 
purpose, to seize the suffering Son of God.— 
Without resistance, he is led away to the pal¬ 
ace of the high priest 
Thus ends this last visit to that consecrated 
and oft-frequented garden. It has been the 
scene of holy meditation and of ardent prayer. 
Here have the disciples received many a word 
of comfort from the lips of their Divine Mas¬ 
ter. Here have they enjoyed the refreshing 
breeze, and the still more refreshing presence 
of their Lord and Redeemer. But now how 
changed the scene. The quiet of the hour is 
broken, and sorrow fills every heart. Their 
fondest hopes seem blighted, and despair is 
seen in every face. But there is a hand by 
them unseen, controlling every act, oringin 
light out of darkness, and joy out of extreme 
anguish. This night of the world’s blackest 
crime, is an important epoch in the history of 
human redemption. This hour of the Saviours 
grief, is the dawn of a new life, even salvation 
forevermore. a. d. w. 
University of Rochester, July 11, 1854. 
The Church Bell.— Among the many inci¬ 
dents which cause the mind to revert to the 
scenes of “ long, long ago,” none make more 
pleasing recollections, or tell more ol “ Auld 
Lang Syne,” than the sound of the old churc 
bell, whether in the city or country. Swinging 
in its tower, the sounds are always eloquent to 
ihe reflective mind. In childhood, its mysteri¬ 
ous vet touching tones are the first source ot 
wonder, and in after years are sweet, sacred 
music lo the soul. It has rung the funeral 
dirge for father, mother, brother and sister, and 
yet it still rings on, its sounds no less tlniliiug 
than when for the first time it broke upon ihe 
perfect stillness which has so often echoed its 
well-known voice Wonders have ceased to 
be wonders in thy hearing, old bell, and thou 
hast rung until thv voice is as familiar as that 
of an old and dear friend. How many of them 
will think of this, and pause for a moment’s re- 
11 •ction, when the old church hell shall again 
ring from its tower.— Albany Transcript. 
Nothing 
punctuality 
begets confidence sooner than 
Nothing so well becomes true 
feminine beauty as simplicity. 
Let you be ever so pure, you cannot associ¬ 
ate with bad companions without falling into 
bad odor. Evil company is like tobacco 
smoke—you cannot be long in its presence 
without carrying away taint of it. 
