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MOORE’S RURAL NEW-YORKER: AN AGRICULTURAL AND FAMILY NEWSPAPER. 
ffUscdlatuints. 
[Written for the Rural New-Yorker.] 
AUTUMN. 
BY J. W. BARKKR. 
Autumn' again ift here, 
Upon the lurid sky, tier form 
Is painted mid the gathering storm, 
And the revolving year, 
Its rich Autumnal offering brings. 
The harvest of the genial Spring. 
The bright and joyous Spring, 
Danced o’er the eaith, with fairy foot, 
Kissed the geen sod, and the glad root 
The gentle whispering, 
With joy received,—the balmy air 
Caught the rich fragrance everywhere. 
The Summer’s golden blase. 
Athwart the landscape darting now 
From valley to the mountain’s brow, 
Its life inspiring rays, 
Thro’ nature wanders,—hill and plain, 
Are rich in living green again. 
’Tis vanished now and gone. 
In sable folds around the sky, 
The clouds in heavy columns lie; 
As round some cherished form, 
A group of weeping mourners stand. 
And point you to the spirit land. 
The silver-tongued rill, 
That thro' the suAiy day 
Refused the woods its gushing lay, 
Now rushes down the hill, 
And sings, in measures wild and clear. 
The requiem of the dying year. 
Along the skirting shore, 
Withered and pale the (lowers lie, 
Of late so charming to the eye, 
Their days of beauty o’er; 
Like the fair forms of life in bloom, 
They sleep upon their peaceful tomb. 
Amid the forest deep. 
Where the bright leaves have woven a screen 
Thro’ which the sunbeams slide between, 
I hear a fairy step 
Upon tire tree-tops,—all around, 
The leaves are sailing to the ground. 
Autumn again is here, 
1 know her many voices well: 
Nigh thirty times her songs have fell 
Upon my listening ear; 
Each leaf, each song, each faded dower, 
Reminds me of life's transient hour. 
Brockport, N Y., 1854. 
[Communicated for Moore’s Rural,] 
LEAVES FRO31 A TRAVELER’S NOTE-BOOK. 
NO. II.—THE MILAN CATHEDRAL. 
But thou, of temples obi, or altars new, 
Stur.dest alone—with nothing like to thee.— Byron. 
Tuk Cathedral, or Duomo, of Milan, enjoys 
great celebrity, and the Milanese, who may 
well be proud of the crowning glory of their 
beautiful city, have named it the eighth won¬ 
der of the world. This superb structure has 
often been minutely described, yet no descrip¬ 
tion lias, or ever will be given, that can convey 
the least idea of its beauty and magnificence. 
Let any one that has never gazed upon the 
beautiful proportions of‘11 Duomo,’ picture 
to himself the most fanciful and most entranc¬ 
ing beauties of Gothic architecture he hasever 
seen or imagined, and he will fall far short of 
the splendor of this temple, that its talented 
projector has left behind him as a monument 
to commemorate forever his genius and his 
talent. This superb fabric, so unique in char¬ 
acter and elaborate in execution, is without a 
parallel, and has been compared to a river of 
marble shot into the air and petrified while 
falling. Everywhere is a lavish profusion of 
ornament; every foot of the surface of its im¬ 
mense fagade is decorated with statues and 
bas reliefs in endless variety, and a thousand 
spires and needles, covered with beautiful fret¬ 
work and delicate tracery, rise above it like a 
marble forest, each pinnacle surmounted with a 
statue that stands out boldly upon the soft 
Italian sky. A flight of steps leading to five 
doors, in the Roman style, corresponding to the 
five naves within, offers entrance to the temple. 
Entering, the mind at once becomes bewilder¬ 
ed iu contemplating the new beauties that burst 
so suddenly upon the view; no matter how 
lofty one's ideas have been raised by descrip¬ 
tion,—no matter how brilliant and how beau¬ 
tiful, how gorgeous and sublime, his fancy has 
painted its internal splendors, he will be over¬ 
whelmed with astonishment, and stand spell¬ 
bound beneath its high-arching roof, enrap¬ 
tured with its airy magnificence,—and as he 
stands there in the “dim, religious light” that 
plays so softly through the stained and painted 
glass of its enormous windows, a feeling of ex¬ 
quisite enjoyment and calm repose, mingled 
with a sombre and reverential awe, will steal 
gently upon him. Within, ns well as without, 
everything is elaborated iu the highest degree; 
exquisite productions of the sculptor’s chisel, 
beautiful pictures, so astonishingly life-like and 
natural that you can only wonder at the 
painter’s skill,—lofty columns, with caps ami 
bases most artistically carved, and every other 
conceivable kind of ornamental devices in mar¬ 
ble, are scattered profusely throughout the vast 
interior. In an underground chapel is depos¬ 
ited the remains of San Carlo, the Patron 
Saint of the Cathedral; they are iu a glass 
coflin, through whose transparent sides his 
shrivelled, mummy-like body may be plainly 
seen, clothed iu ecclesiastical robes; on his 
bony fingers are placed a number of cosLly 
glittering gems. 
Ascending to the roof, or rather succession 
of roofs,—for there is more than one,—by a 
winding inclined plane, a beautiful spectacle 
delights the eye, and as you wander through 
the grove of marble pinnacles, you become 
amazed, and can but wonder at the patience 
that must necessarily have been exercised in 
their design and execution. Two hundred 
pinnacles, and over fifteen thousand, other 
points, are reared high up above the roofs, 
embellished with more than five thousand 
statues of the human form, each different iu 
design. On one of the roofs is the Botanic 
Garden, as it is called— a garden slocked with 
marble jiowers. Here are to be seen plants 
of every kind, with flowers, leaves and buds, 
together with fruits of every clime and coun¬ 
try that have sprouted from the sculptor’s 
chisel, to flourish perpetually in this elevated, 
soilless garden, without the care and attention 
that a natural one requires. j. nr. h. 
Rahway, Sept. 20, 1854. 
A ROMANTIC TALE. 
There is a memory of the old church in 
which we worshiped yesterday, connected with 
the old man who will be burried to-morrow, 
that seemed to me very touching when I heard 
it related last night. Sixty years ago, there 
was a voice in the choir that thrilled his heart 
every Sunday moruiug, so that he listened to 
it more than the words of the song. He was 
a stout strong man, and yet was a child in the 
presence ot that country maiden, and he loved 
her with exceeding joy. He served her father 
not so long as Jacob lor Leah, yet with no less 
devotion, and for a while with no more success. 
One day the farmer’s family had goue to visit a 
friend some ten miles distant, and not having 
room in their wagon, they had returned, leav¬ 
ing Lucy to be sent for. And toward evening, 
the old man, the young man 1 should say—how 
strange this tale of his youth seems to me, who 
have always known him so old—the young 
man was sent for her, aud, having taken her 
into the wagon with him, started to return. 
Live miles of the road were accomplished 
when the gloom of a tempest surrounded them, 
and a storm burst on them with terrible fury. 
1 here was no better shelter for a mile, save the 
old church that stood alone upon the hill, and 
thither he urged his horse with difficulty and 
no small danger. 
ihey reached the door, which was never 
closed for the house of God, in those days 
was always open—aud the girl found shelter, 
while he secured the horse in safety under the 
shed, and returned to her. 
He had never told her of his love, and now 
was a fair opportunity. In the wild flashes of 
the lightning, the little church gleamed out on 
the valleys that it overlooked, like a silent mon¬ 
itor, to keep ail safe in the war of the elements. 
No one who caught sight of it that night, 
dreamed that it was occupied; but there were 
two hearts in it that commenced to beat in uni¬ 
son that night at the altar where they pledged 
their love to each other. They were not afraid, 
not terrified, though the tempest was fearful 
and though every window gleamed luridly in 
the constant flashes of the lightning; with arms 
folded around each other," they knelt there 
still. It was a holy night, to which in after 
years their souls recurred with never ceasing 
joy-, 
\ es,—sneer—laugh—blaspheme that holy 
love, poor miserable dogs of the world’s whip¬ 
ping, who have never felt the blessedness of 
warm, pure, woman love, but know that man 
worshipped God at the same altar, he never 
forgot that night, nor failed to thank God for 
that tempest. And to-morrow when they car¬ 
ry him into the church again and lay him down 
prone at the altar foot whereby he knelt with 
the maiden he loved so long ago, if his old 
bones revive not at the blessed touch, if his old 
heart thrill not with the remembered love, if 
his old cheek grow not warm with the balmy 
breath, if his old eyes smile not with the old 
love, it he be there still, calm, dead, now I tell 
you there is an altar, a church, a land, where 
they two will be kneeling together to-morrow, 
where their eyes will be radiant with love, 
where their lips will be eloquent with raptur¬ 
ous song! “ Again, and yet again,” saith Joe 
Willis, looking over my shoulders as I write— 
“ I thank God for the immortality of our love.” 
W. iu Journal of Commerce. 
Self-Reliance.— There is a time iu every 
man’s education when he arrives at the convic¬ 
tion that envy is ignorance; that imitation is 
suicide; that he must take himself for better, 
for worse, as his portion; that though the wide 
universe is full of good, no kernel of nourishing 
corn can come to him but through his toil be¬ 
stowed on that plot of ground which is given 
him to till. The power which resides in him 
is new in nature and none but he knows what 
that is which he can do, nor does he know un¬ 
til he has tried. Not for nothing one face, one 
character, one fact makes much impression on 
him, another none.— R. }V. Emerson. 
Be Peaceable. —“ If it be possible, as much 
as lieth in you, live peaceably with all men,” 
is a command of high authority, aud of all men 
iu the world, the fanner generally, has most to 
lose and the smallest prospects of gain, in petty 
lav suits with his neighbor. It is an old saying 
—“ when a man wishes to beat a dog he has 
no difficulty in finding a stick.” So, if he is 
disposed to quarrel with his neighbors, he 
lias no trouble in finding, or making fit occa¬ 
sions, and finding all the instruments for his 
purpose.— A. Thomas's Address. 
The Newspaper. —How lonesome is the 
fireside where there is no newspaper! Ask the 
man who has a family paper to read, with the 
latest news, the good stories, the useful lessons, 
and witty sayings of the newspaper—ask him its 
value. Let him be deprived of it for a few 
weeks, aud then ask him to put an estimate 
upon it It will have risen above all price. 
leprtnurf. 
CONDUCTED BY A-E. 
THE LIGHT AT HOME, 
The light at homa ! how bright it beams 
When evening shades around us fall; 
And from the lattice far it gleams; 
To love, and rest, and comfort call. 
When wearied with the toils of day, 
The strife for glory, gold, or fame, 
How sweet to seek the quiet way. 
Where loving lips will lisp our name 
Around the light at home 1 
When through the dark and stormy night 
The wayward wand’rer homeward hies. 
How cheering is that twinkling light, 
vVhich through the forest gloom he spies I 
It is the light at home; he feels 
That loving hearts will greet him there, 
And softly through his bosom steals 
That joy and love that banish care, 
Around the light at home. 
The light at home, whene’er at last 
It greets the seaman through the storm; 
He feels no more the chilling blast 
That beats upon his manly form. 
Long years upon the sea have fled 
Since Mary gave her parting kiss, 
But the sad tears which then she shed, 
W ill now be paid with rapturous bliss. 
Around the light at home. 
The light at home! how still and sweet 
It peeps from yonder cottage door— 
The weary laborer to greet— 
When the rough toils of day are o’er; 
Sad is the soul that does not know 
The blessings that the beams impart, 
The cheerful hopes and joys that flow, 
And lighten up the heaviest heart. 
Around the light at home. 
Craits-^ttottr Cjistles, 
TO COUSIN KATEY. 
Communicated thro’ Moore’s Rural New-Yorker. 
EPISTLE TWELFUI. 
Roman Mosaic, ancient and modern—Mosaic ornaments, 
process by which they are made—Florentine Mosaic, 
materials used, mode of manufacture—Mosaic tables— 
Medicean Chapel—Shell Cameos, how made—Coral, Lava 
aud Shell work—Italian jewelry. 
Dear Katey :—You have seen, or at least 
heard, of Roman .Mosaic. It is no modern 
invention, for it was extensively used in the 
floors of the baths and other edifices construct 
ed by the luxurious old Emperors, and large 
portions of these antique pavements remain to 
the present day. Of modern mosaic, Rome is 
full. The interior of the dome at St. Peter’s 
is entirely composed of it, and most of the 
pictures which adorn the altars of this Church 
are also in mosaic. This kind of work seems 
to have partially superseded fresco-painting 
for the decoration of churches, and it certainly 
possesses one advantage over it, that of being 
exceedingly durable. The modern mosiac is not 
precisely similar to the ancient. This was 
formed of pieces of marble about half an inch 
square, united to each other, and to the foun¬ 
dation upon which they were placed, by a 
thick layer of cement. The variety of colors 
was, from the nature of the material, quite 
limited, and, accordingly, in the antique mosaics 
we usually find the ground-work white, and the 
design quite simple, the figures being arranged, 
not in groups, but simjily in different compart¬ 
ments. Modem mosaic is made of a kind of 
composition called smalto, hard enough, when 
cold, to be susceptible of a fine polish, but 
easily softened by exposure to heat This is 
made of all possible varieties of color, no less 
than 20,000 different shades being kept iu the 
manufactory of the Vatican. The workmen, 
having this almost inexhaustible range of col¬ 
ors to resort to, are not obliged to limit them¬ 
selves to the simple combinations of the 
ancients, but can copy the finest oil paintings, 
in a manner so perfect that oue is obliged to 
approach near enough to put his hand upon 
the work, before he can be convinced that the 
soft shades and delicate outlines before him, 
are really produced by a conglomeration of 
bits of smalto, and not by the skillful touch of 
the artist’s pencil. The effect is very similar 
to a handsome piece of worsted embroidery, 
such as you, Katey, used to be continually 
employed upon. You know, that to judge of 
its appearance, you would hold it at a little 
distance, and then the tiny squares formed by 
each stitch were uo longer visible, but dissolved 
themselves into smooth, flowing lines aud 
shades. Just so with the mosaic, which is 
only worsted-work on a large scale, done by 
men, with a little different material from that 
which ladies use. The finer the work, the 
longer the time necessary to complete a piece, 
aud the more valuable when finished. A 
Madonna, now in progress at the manufactory 
of the Vatican, will require nine years of labor. 
The medallion portraits of the Popes, a series 
of which are now being made for the new 
Church of St. Paul, require one year each. 
But there is another point of view in which 
Roman mosaic is particularly interesting to the 
fair sex. From it are formed broaches, brace¬ 
lets, ear-rings, ornaments of every kind for their 
particular use. The desigus upon these are 
more simple, as the space is so circumscribed. 
There are three different styles in vogue, ani¬ 
mals, flowers, and the monuments of Rome, the 
latter of which are much the prettier to my 
taste, being souvenirs of the famous places 
which one has visited, as well as ornaments.— 
In my shopping excursions in search of these 
articles, I frequently saw workmen busy in their 
manufacture. Each has a spirit-lamp burning 
by his side, and the smalto prepared by being 
drawn into long, narrow strips, varying in size 
according to the fineness of the work. His 
pattern lies before him, and the foundation "of 
the article which he is to make. This foun¬ 
dation or ground-work is also of smalto, black 
or a golden brown, run into the proper form, 
and a depression sunk into the middle, which 
is covered with a coat of cement to receive 
the mosaic figure. The workman cuts the 
smalto into small bits, seizes each with a pair 
of nippers, and after applying one end to the 
flame of the spirit-lamp until it becomes soft, 
sets it upright in its destined place upon the 
bed of cement. As it hardens, it becomes 
solidly attached, and in this manner he proceeds, 
forming first the principal outlines, and after¬ 
wards filling up and completing the figures. 
Then the ends of smalto which project too far, 
are removed, the mosaic i3 brought to a uni¬ 
form surface, polished, and the ornament is 
ready for the first fair stranger whose taste and 
whose purse are pleased with it. 
We afterwards saw the Florentine mosaic, 
manufactured, as its name implies, at Florence, 
and differing entirely from the Roman mosaic, 
both in material and in process of construction. 
The substances employed in this mosaic consist 
solely of choice marbles and precious stones, 
and the colors are all natural. The materials 
are prepared by being sawed into very thin 
slabs, or rather slices, and for the ground¬ 
work a kind of fine black marble, called touch¬ 
stone, is used. This is cut into the required 
shape, the design is sketched upon it, and then 
the workman proceeds to cut out all of the 
ground-work which is covered by the figure, 
replacing each part by minute fragments select¬ 
ed from his store of materials, and correspond¬ 
ing in color to the object which his pattern 
represents. For example, the forget-me-not, 
a flower which one often sees in these mosaics, 
is formed of turquoise — the white lily, of a 
semi-transparent marble, with delicate, pearly 
shades. Much taste and judgment are needed 
in the selection of the pieces which are to be 
inserted, not only that the colors may be ap¬ 
propriate, but that every shade and vein iu the 
stone may find its proper place, and aid in 
giving beauty and correctness to the figure.— 
The number of pieces used in making up a 
design is very great, an ordinary sized broach 
containing from 40 to 100, and each bit is 
fitted to its place with the utmost nicety, so 
that the joints are quite imperceptible, and at 
first glance one would pronounce the work a 
painting, rather than a mosaic. This kind of 
mosaic is employed not only in ornaments for 
the toilette, but in landscapes, in tables and 
other articles of furniture, and, in one instance, 
at least, the decoration of a chapel. In the 
manufactory which we visited, we saw several 
small round tables destined for American gen¬ 
tlemen, and in the Museums at Florence are 
many magnificent specimens of this mosaic. 
At the Uffizi palace is a table which employed 
twenty-two artists twenty-five years, and cost 
nearly $100,000. In the Fitti palace are sev¬ 
eral tables, less costly, with designs less com¬ 
plicated, but to my taste more graceful and 
pleasing. The pattern of oue represents strings 
of pearls, coral, shells, and other marine pro¬ 
ductions. The pearls are genuine pearls set 
into the stone; the coral is also veritable, and 
the shells are made so perfect, by a skillful se¬ 
lection of materials and blending of shades, 
that one almost fancies he can take them up in 
his hand. Another table displays different 
fruits, the grapes of purple amethysts, looking 
luscious and tempting enough to make one’s 
mouth water. Still another represents aserviee 
of china, the graceful, antique forms of the dif¬ 
ferent vases, and the delicate texture and hues 
of the porcelain, with the light faintly stealing 
through it, being depicted to the very life. 
The famous, modern Medicean Chapel in 
the Church of San Lorenzo, at Florence, ex¬ 
hibits this mosaic on a large scale. The high 
walls, to the very ceiling, are cased with pre¬ 
cious marbles, fancifully wrought in patterns, 
while a series of armorial bearings, around the 
lower part, are finely executed, but I was dis¬ 
appointed iu the general effect. There is much 
magnificence aud richness about it, but little 
grace or beauty, aud the old Chapel interested 
me much more, decorated, as it is, with statues 
by Michael Angelo, one of which, the figure 
of Lorenzo di Medicis, is so transfused with 
soul and character that it has been named 
“ The Thought of Michael Angelo.” 
Shell cameos are beautifully cut at Rome. 
The manufacture of these, of ornaments iu 
Roman mosaic, aud of other articles of jewelry, 
seem to be the ouly kinds of business which 
thrive here, and the number of workmen en¬ 
gaged in these branches is very great. A 
cameo-cutter must possess, to a certain extent, 
the same qualifications as a sculptor, for his 
art is, in reality, bas-relief, a species of sculp¬ 
ture, and the examination of a skilfully exe¬ 
cuted cameo affords me almost the same 
amount of pleasure as that of a fine piece of 
statuary. The designs consist chiefly of heads, 
representing some character of Grecian my¬ 
thology, and often copies from a famous an¬ 
tique or modern statue. At present cameos 
with a dark brown ground-work, and having 
the figures in high relief, are most fashionable. 
To make camoes, the proper shells are first 
selected, and cut into pieces of the required 
size and shape. One of these pieces is then 
solidly attached, by means of a kind of gum, to 
a short, wooden handle. This the workman 
holds in one hand, and with the other uses 
his instruments, which are quite similar to 
those employed in making plates for steel en¬ 
graving. His model lies before him, and from 
this he first sketches the outline of his figure, 
and then proceeds, with careful strokes, to 
finish it up. The figure is cut entirely from 
the opaque white substance which forms the 
outer layer of the shell. The semi-transparent 
inner coating is the ground-work, and after the 
design is completed, all the white surface is 
cut away from this, and it receives a fine pol¬ 
ish. I his leaves the head or other figure 
standing out like a white marble bas-relief 
from a ground-work of light or dark brown, 
according to the inner surface of the shell. 
Sometimes patches of the brown color occur 
in the white portion of the shell, and, in this 
case, a design is selected, such that the dark 
spots can be cut away where they would mar 
the effect, and allowed to remain where they 
add to the beauty ot the work. Stone cameos 
are also made in Rome, by a process similar 
to that which I have described, from the half¬ 
precious stones, such as onyx, jasper, &c. The 
greater value of the material and the difficulty 
of working it make this latter kiud of cameo 
very expensive, but beautiful shell cameos can 
be purchased quite reasonably. 
In Naples and in Leghorn, coral ornaments 
are extensively manufactured. Much of the 
shaping of this material is done with the grind¬ 
stone. We visited a manufactory where scores 
of females were seated, each with her little 
grindstone before her, and the whirr of the in¬ 
struments was like that of a dozen spinning- 
jennies. Where heads are cut upon the coral 
for broaches, ear-rings, &c., after the manner of 
cameos, this part of the business must of course 
be done by hand, but it is quite difficult, on 
account of the hardness of the material, and for 
this reason, works of this kind fall far behind 
the shell cameos in delicacy and beauty of ex¬ 
ecution. 
Lava-work abounds in Italy, or rather what 
is called lava-work, there being very little gen¬ 
uine lava about it, but instead a kind of com¬ 
position made of various colors, with heads and 
other figures moulded upon it. Genoa is 
famous for its filagree work, and Venice pro¬ 
duces very pretty ornaments, made of small, 
pearly shells, strung together and variously ar¬ 
ranged. So you see, cousin Katey, there 
is no lack of opportunity for laying in a stock 
of jewelry in Italy, and I fancy few ladies visit 
this country without bringing away more or 
less of these costly toys, either as aceessories to 
their own toilette, or remembrances to far-off 
friends. I am no exception to the ordinary 
rule, and Passure you, Katey, you were not 
forgotten in my selection of trinkets, but a 
beautiful cameo head, a copy from the Apollo 
di Belvidere, lies stored away in one of my 
boxes for “ Cousin Katey.” Minnie. 
Faithful Forever.— It is a dear delight 
for the soul to have trust in the faith of an¬ 
other. It makes a pillow of softness for the 
cheek which is burning with tears and touch 
of pain. It is an uudeferred seclusion into 
which the mind when weary of sadness may 
retreat for a caress of constant love—a warmth 
in the clasp of friendship, forever lingering on 
the hand—a consoling voice that dwells with 
an eternal echo on the ear—a dew of mercy 
falling on the troubled hearts of this world — 
Bereavements aud wishes long withheld, de¬ 
scend sometimes as chastening griefs upon our 
nature, but there is no solace to the bitterness 
of broken faith. 
The Better Land. —Our relatives in eterni¬ 
ty outnumber our relatives iu time. The cata¬ 
logue of the living we love becomes less, and 
in anticipation we see the perpetually length- 
eningtraiu of the departed; and by their flight 
oqr affections grow gradually less glued to 
earth, aud more allied to heaveu. It is not in 
vain that the images of our departed children, 
and near and dear ones, are laid up in memory, 
as iu a picture gallery, from which the cease¬ 
less surge of this world’s cares caunot oblite¬ 
rate them: they wait there for the light of the 
resurrection day, to stand forth holy, beautiful 
and happy—our fellow-worshipers for ever. 
Happiness is a swift-winged fairy whom 
human nature has been endeavoring to entrap 
for ages, but in vain. Youth think that a 
short time only will elapse ere it will be within 
their grasp; but, as year after year rolls on 
without the attainment of the object, hope 
sinks within the breast. It does nut die, but 
remains dormant, ready to be kindled into new 
life by the slightest glimpse of the fairy who 
once appeared so near. 
Strive, strive my soul, to be innocent; yes! 
beneficent. Does any man wound thee, not on¬ 
ly forgive, but work iuto thy thought intelli¬ 
gence of the kind of pain, that thou mayest 
never inflict it ou another spirit. Then its 
work is done; it will never search thy whole 
nature again. O, love much, and be forgiven! 
I —Margaret Fuller. 
