MOORE’S RURAL NEW-YORKER: AN AGRICULTURAL AND FAMILY NEWSPAPER, 
385 
isttllaiufliis. 
TWILIGHT. 
BT FITZ GRKHNF. HAI.UXCK. 
Thkrk is an evening twilight of the Heart, 
When its wild passion-waves are lulled to rest. 
And the eye sees life’s fairy scenes depart, 
As fades the day-beam in the rosy west. 
'Tis with a nameless feeling of regret, 
We gaze upon them as they melt away, 
And fondly would we hid them linger yet, 
But Hope is round us with her angel lay, 
Hailing afar some happier moonlight hour; 
Dear are her wispers still, though lost their earthly power. 
iu youth, the cheek was crimsou’d with her glow. 
Her smile was loveliest then ; her matin-song 
Was heaven’s own music, and the note of woe 
Was all unheard her sunny bowers among. 
Life’s little world of bliss was newly born; 
We knew not, cared not, it was born to die. 
Flushed with the cold breeze and the dews of morn, 
With dancing heart sve gazed on the pure sky, 
And mock’d the passing clouds that dimm'd its blue, 
Like our own sorrows then—as fleeting and as few. 
And manhood felt her sway too—on the eye 
Half realized, her earthly dreams most bright. 
Her promised bower of happiness seem d nigh, 
Its days of joy, its vigils of delight; 
And though at times might lower the thunder-storm, 
And the red lightnings threaten, still the air 
Was balmy with her breath, and her loved form, 
The rainbow of the heart was hovering there. 
’Tis in life’s noontide she is nearest seen, 
Her wreath the summer flower, her robe of summer green. 
But though less dazzling in her twilight dress 
There’s more of heaven’s pnre beam about her now ; 
The angel smile of tranquil loveliness. 
Which the heart worships, glowing on her brow. 
Tire smile shall brighten the dim evening star, 
That points our destined tomb, nor e’er depart 
Till the faint light of life is fled afar, 
And hush’d the last deep beating of her heart: 
The meteor bearer of our parting breath, 
A moonbeam in the midnight-cloud of death. 
THANKSGIVING. 
Thanksgiting has come and gone once more 
the swift year has made another revolution 
since the previous anniversary, and the whole 
human family has taken one more step for¬ 
ward toward the end of life’s swift journey. 
The services at church were of the usual sol¬ 
emn and interesting character; the clear, ring¬ 
ing voice of the venerable clergyman was au- 
^ dible iu every corner of the sacred edifice, but 
we fancied it had acquired a deeper tone, and 
at times was a little more tremulous than it 
was last year. It might be a fancy merely, or 
it might be that the recollection of domestic 
afliictions moved him; it might be that one 
^ more year has begun the work ol weighing him 
down. The congregation were attentive, and 
seemed to respond to the sentiments uttered 
by the speaker. Sorrows have visited many 
of them during the year, but the immeasurable 
preponderance of blessings over afliictions 
seemed to be very generally acknowledged.— 
Even those who have had the greatest cause 
to mourn over the events of the past year ap¬ 
peared to submit to the chastening hand of 
the Almighty, with a strong faith that 
“ Behind a frowning providence, 
He hides a smiling face, 
Returning home after the public exercises 
of the day, each citizen sat down to a bounte¬ 
ous board, spread as an exponent of the 
abuudance showered upon us. Age, venera- 
bio with its weight of duties nearly done; 
manhood with tho full responsibilities^ot life 
pressing upon it; youth buoyant with hope and 
anticipation; infancy helpless and dependant in 
the first buddings of life’s young spring, are 
congregated together iu some households 
in some households, but not in all! the 
grandfather in many, many instances has gone 
to his rest during the past year. 1 he lather 
has now and then been called away fiom his 
place at the head of the family, the mother has 
bidden adieu to her helpless little ones, or the 
infant has closed in death the buddings of its 
early promise. These changes are constantly 
taking place around us, conveying to our 
minds the solemn admonition, that no age or 
condition is exempt from a summons from tho 
dread messenger. 
Time speeds onward with a noiseless and 
swift footstep, but lie leaves behind him abun¬ 
dant traces of his passage. The old grow more 
infirm and tremulous, tho middle aged begin to 
show slight indications that life with them 
has reached its culminating point, the youth 
develops his energies, both physical and men 
tai, each illustrating humanity iu one of its 
phases of growth, maturity, and decay. 
Thanksgiving is well worthy to be kept up 
as a sacred anniversary established by our 
fathers, aud it is gratifying to observe the in 
creased attention bestowed upon it throughout 
all our new and rising Western communities as 
well as in tho olderstates; but thanksgiving one 
day, will not compensate for thanklessness and 
ingratitude to God, for the balance of the year. 
M Armagh hath in it more safety than single 
life; it hath more care, it is more merry and 
more sad; is fuller of sorrow, and fuller of joys; 
it lies under more burdens, but is supported 
by all the strength of love and charity, which 
makes those burdens delightful. Marriage is 
the mother of the world, and preserves its 
kingdoms, fills its cities and churches, and 
heaven itself, and is that state of good things 
which God hath designed as the present con¬ 
stitution of the world .—Bishop Taylor. 
[Written for Moore’s Rural New-Yorker.] 
USEFUL MEN. 
Geop.gh S. Hillard eloquently says;—-“I 
confess that increasing years bring with them 
increasing respect for men who do not succeed 
in life, as those words are commonly used. 
Heaven has been said to be a place for those 
who have not succeeded upon earth; and it is 
surely true that celestial graces do not best 
thrive and bloom in the hot blaze of worldly 
prosperity. Ill-success sometimes arises from 
a superabundance of qualities in themselves 
good—from a conscience too sensitive, a taste 
too fastidious, a self-forgetfulness too romantic, 
a modesty too retiring. 1 will not go so far as 
to sav, with a living poet, 1 the world knows 
nothing of its greatest men;’ but there are 
forms of greatness, or at least of excellence, 
which ; die and make no sign;’ there are mar¬ 
tyrs that miss the palm, but not the stake; 
heroes without the laurel, and conquerors with¬ 
out the triumph.” 
True greatness is synonymous with excel¬ 
lence. Though it is not necessarily true, that 
truly great men are unsuccessful, yet it is true 
that there are circumstances in the character 
of great and good men, that are by no means 
favorable to success. “ Honesty is the best 
policy;’’ and yet it is often said of some, “they 
are too honest to be successful.” “ If I can sue 
ceed, (says one,) only by a course of doubtful 
policy, -then farewell to success.” “ I would 
rather be right, (says another,) than be Presi¬ 
dent.” 
But who are our great men? Those who do 
most good in the world while in it, and whose 
influence will continue to bless mankind long 
after they have disappeared from the stage of 
life. These are often found among those of 
whom the world knows little till after they 
have “ rested from their labors.” “ They die 
and make no sign,” but a grateful posterity 
sutlers not “ their memory to perish.” 
I once heard a father say to his son, “ you are 
too honest for this world.” Yet that father 
was truly an honest man; for he would con¬ 
scientiously do to others what he was willing 
that they should require of him. Not so with 
the son ;—he observed the former part of the 
rule, but not the latter : he would do or give 
more than he required. Here was the differ¬ 
ence; and to this difference must be added, 
that the father’s experience of the world had 
opened his eyes to its deceptiveness, and 
weakened his confidence, while the son, from 
his' ’inexperienced had not learned to suspect 
any, and his innate, honest simplicity led him 
to trust all. The father had learned to be on 
his guard, the son had not. The son teas an 
unsuccessful, though a useful, man; and if not 
what the world calls great,he was by no means 
destitute of “some of the forms of greatuess, 
or, at least, of excellence.” 
The wise and good are always great, though 
not always useful. h. . 
Out West, Xo7., 1834. 
m 
CONDUCTED 
ADDRESSED TO MY WIFE, 
ran Ninth Anniversary of our Makbiagk. 
8T RKY. J. G. FORMAN. 
’Tis just nine years ago, dear Bess, 
When in the morning of our life. 
We took onr vows of faithful love, 
And you became my trusting wife. 
'Twaa on a fair and dewy morn, 
With earnest faith, and hand in hand, 
Our life-long journey we commenced, 
Hoping to reach the heavenly land. 
A rough and thorny way it is 
We’ve journeyed these fleeting years, 
Yet flowers have bloomed along our path. 
And faith has banished all our fears; 
And in life’s trials we have'been 
Each other’s confidence and stay, 
And love has lightened every step, 
And cheered us on our destined way. 
Rich mercies have our Father sent, 
To crown and bless our earthly lot. 
And many tokens of Kis love, 
That ne’er by us shall be forgot; 
And not the least of these, dear Bess, 
Are all our precious cherubs, four. 
The innocent and happy group 
That play around our cottage door. 
How oft—returning from the world, 
To And our home, our blest retreat— 
Their merry voices greet my ear, 
And tramping sounds of little 1'eetl 
The baby lifts his tiny hands, 
And clambers up his father’s knee, 
And the glad shout that “papa’s come,” 
Fills the whole house with noise and glee ; 
Your friendly hand is clasped in mine, 
Your kiss of welcome makes me blest. 
And in the radiance of your smile 
I find my happiness, my rest. 
Oil, joyous hours! when I can sit 
With you, my gentle wife, apart. 
And feel your deep, confiding love, 
Twining its tendrils round my heart. 
How oft, beneath the spreading elm 
That casts its shade around our door, 
We’ve sat upon a summer’s eve, 
And viewed the smiling landscape o’er, 
And from the setting sun have scon 
A golden light spread o’er the weat, 
That imaged to the eye of faith 
The region ef eternal rest ’ 
When we have reached that heavenly land, 
Where all our best affections tend, 
Onr dream of life will then be past. 
Our toilsome journey at its end; 
There wo shall rise to endless youth, 
There faith itself be lost in sight. 
And guardian angels lead us through 
The realms of glory and of light. 
Fatiier! whose gracious providence 
And tender care are over all, 
Preserve us from temptation’s power • 
Nor let us into danger fall; 
Help us to keep tho holy charge 
Which in Thy mercy Thou hast given, 
And lead ua in the porfect way 
That brings us all to Thee in Hearen. 
“ Rose of Sharon” f o* - 1855. 
this we pass into a vestibule, and then into 
the Atrium, or open court, where the master 
of the house received his friends and transacted 
business. A cistern for rain water Ls often 
found in this court. Further on, at the right, 
we enter the more private part of the house, 
composed of another open court, surrounded 
by a portico, with which communicate the 
whom a small sum is paid. Each pit remains 
open for several days, and the average number 
deposited in it is five or six. A short funeral 
service is said by one of the monks who form 
part of this establishment, but there is some¬ 
thing very revolting to the feelings in the idea 
of dead bodies being thus thrown together in 
a pit, with no mourning friends to accompany 
THE BLIND GIRL. 
The following account is given by the Rev. 
L. Foote, of Delavan, Wis., and may be found 
in the October number of the Home Mission¬ 
ary: 
We have been called to follow to the grave 
one of our number who has been acting Dea¬ 
con in our church for some years. His death 
was peaceful. We had already buried his 
wife, who was also a decided Christian and a 
member of our church. Among a numerous 
family of children, they had one young daugh¬ 
ter who was blind, and who had for a time 
past been attending the blind asylum at Janes¬ 
ville. She was greatly attached to her father, 
and he to her. 1 lc died quite suddenly, while 
she was away. She was sent for, but did not 
arrive until the people were assembled at his 
funeral. The scene was most affecting. The 
services wero being commenced; she was led 
into the family group, and seated near the cof¬ 
fin ; and now, in order to satisfy herself of the 
fearful reality of what she had heard, but could 
not see, we presently saw her tiny arm extend¬ 
ed as if to find some token that she was now 
verily a blind orphan! And when her sensi¬ 
tive fingers touched the coffin, she bowed her 
head in silent grief. It was with difficulty, for 
the moment, that I could proceed in my dis¬ 
course. But the most affecting part was yet 
to coino! The services being ended, the lid 
was opened, and when friends and neighbors 
had taken their last look at this good man, 
then the family group gathered around his re¬ 
mains, and she . among the number. They 
looked and wept. Presently 1 saw her feeling 
her way along up to the head of the coffin, un¬ 
til her hand rested upon the opened lid. She 
stood a moment as if to gather strength, and 
then with her other hand she withdrew her 
glove, and her little fingers were placed over 
against tho cold forehead. They went from 
that to his ear, his cheek, his eyes, his mouth 
his nose, his chin, his neck, and his hair, as she 
had been wont to do in other days, until she 
had formed on her mind an image of the phys¬ 
iognomy of him whom unseen she had loved 
But the voice was not there; and she stood 
and sighed as if all the world was lost to her. 
It was too much! I had to turn away and 
weep! 
Guilt, though it may attain temporal splen 
dor, can never attain real happiness. The evil 
consequences of our crimes long survive their 
commission, aud, like the ghosts of the mur¬ 
dered, forever haunt the steps of the male 
factor. 
Craits-lMtair Cfistfis, 
TO COUSIN KATEY. 
Communicated th.ro' Moore’s Sural New-Yorker. 
EPISTLE FIFTEENTH. 
Pompeii —House of Sallust — The Romans, lovers of the 
open air—Excursion to Misenum—Cemeteries of Naples 
—Lazzaroni—Character of the Neapolitans anti of their 
Government. 
Dear Cousin Katey :—Vesuvius was not 
the only locality about Naples which attracted 
our pilgrim steps. We also visited Pompeii, 
passed through its streets, where the ruts worn 
in the pavement, and the stepping-stones cross¬ 
ing from one side to the other at frequent in¬ 
tervals, almost make one fancy that the tide of 
travel and business has but just deserted the 
old city, and may be expected at any moment 
to flow back into its accustomed channel. We 
entered its temples and other public edifices, 
seated ourselves in its noble amphitheatre, 
where the gladiator was “ butchered to make 
a Roman holiday,” and examined with even 
greater interest its private residences, which, 
though stripped of their ornaments, half 
crushed by the load of ashes which so long 
ested upon them, and now crumbling away 
from exposure to the elements, still tell the 
story of the domestic life and habits of the 
ancients, with a vividness and power which 
the written page does not possess. The gen¬ 
eral arrangement of the city is absolutely 
ideutical with that of its modern neighbors. 
Double walls, with towers rising at intervals, 
strong gates aud a sentry box in which an 
armed skeleton was found, inns without the walls 
and within, suburban villas and city mansions, 
custom house, markets aud sh«ps of every 
description, temples, baths, two theatres and 
an amphitheatre, all the paraphernalia which 
minister to the fectitious wants created by 
civilization, are here to be seen; and proof is 
not wanting that the vices which follow in 
their train, had here reached their fullest and 
most revolting develovment. 
But our business, Katey, is not with these 
general features of the city. Let us together 
enter one of the private houses, and see what 
we can learn of the inner, home-life of these 
famous Romans. A\ e will take the house ol 
Sallust, one of the largest and most elegant 
in the Via Domitiana, the Broadway of 
Pompeii. You observe there are no windows 
looking into the street; these are very seldom 
found here. The entrance hall in which the 
porter lived, is small and unpretending. From 
apartments of the women, the sleeping rooms, j them to the place of burial, or care for the 
the Triclinium, or dining saloon, the domestic 
chapel with its household gods, and sometimes 
a picture gallery, library, baths, Ac. This 
court, as you observe, is decorated with fresco 
paintings, tolerably well preserved. Actseon 
changed into a stag and devoured by his own 
dogs, Mars, Venus, &c. Here was found a 
beautiful group in bronze, Hercules and the 
stag, now ia Palermo. Not far from the 
house the skeleton of a woman, perhaps the 
mistress of the mansion, was discovered, with 
i jewels, money, a silver mirror, &c., and near by 
I several skeletons of slaves. Connected with 
j the establishment is a shop, from which it has 
been inferred that even the wealthy patricians 
of these ancient times did not disdain them¬ 
selves to sell the products of their estates. 
Does not the whole arrangement of this 
house, Katey, tell a story of life passed in the 
open air, not pent up in close, artificially 
heated rooms? These two courts, one ap¬ 
propriated especially to the master, the other 
to the mistress of the mansion, were the places 
in which visitors were received, iu which busi¬ 
ness was attended to, in which the day was, in 
fact spent But, connected with this freedom, 
the gift of a genial southern sky, is an absence 
of many of those comforts which we, daughters 
of the inclement North, regard as quite essen¬ 
tial. Just notice these sleeping apartments, 
small, narrow cells, with no provision for light 
and air, but the one door which opens into the 
portico. After ail, Katey, we will not envy 
these Roman dames their advantages. If we 
have not their sunny sky and balmy air, 
neither are we awakened by the roar of the 
terrible volcano, If our husbands, sons and 
brothers are not masters of the world, we at 
least, their better halves, are possessed of more 
independence, and treated with a greater con¬ 
sideration than the haughtiest of these ancient 
matrons. 
Another delightful excursion which we 
made while in Naples, was around the gulf of 
Baia to the Gape of Misenum. In this en¬ 
chanted region the wealthy Romans, in the 
times of the Caesars, located their summer 
villas, and the amount of reminiscence?, histor¬ 
ical and classic, here accumulated, is perfectly 
overwhelming. What think yon. quiet, domes¬ 
tic cousin Kathy, of seeing iu one day the 
villas, (or what remains of them, which it must 
be confessed does not always amount to very 
much.) of Caesar, Pompey, Marius, Sylla, Nero, 
Lucullus, Cicero, Ac., the tomb of Agrippina, 
the Sybil’s cave — a dismal hole in the rock, 
half filled with water, into which you are car¬ 
ried on the back of a swarthy Italian — the 
Lake of Avernus, as harmless and beautiful a 
little sheet of water as I ever beheld, notwith¬ 
standing the dark colors with which Virgil has 
painted it—the Elysian fields, almost innumer¬ 
able temples to Roman deities, and last, but 
not least, the tomb of Virgil himself? I be¬ 
gin to think there is nothing like traveling, 
and who knows but I shall come out with a 
book some day, in which all these great names 
will figure largely. In that case, I promise 
you the first reading of it, and till then we will 
let the illustrious Romans rest in peace. 
The two Campo Santos, or cemeteries of 
Naples, interested us much, as they differ in 
some respects from any which we have seen 
elsewhere. The old one is at present appro¬ 
priated exclusively to the very poor, those 
whose friends are not able or willing to pay 
even the smallest pittance for their burial. It 
contains 366 large pits, one of which is open¬ 
ed every day, and all the dead accumulated in 
the course of twenty-four hours are hurled in¬ 
to it in one indiscriminate mass, often in a state 
of nudity. It has even been said that quick 
lime is added to hasten the process of decom¬ 
position, but for the truth of this assertion I 
cuunot vouch. The pit is then closed for a 
year, and the next one iu turn taken for the 
succeeding day. In this cemetery is also the 
large pit in which the victims of cholera of all 
ranks and conditions found one common grave 
when Naples was so terribly ravaged by this 
disease some years ago. The new Campo 
Santo is a beautiful spot, emphatically a “city 
of the dead.’’ for, surrounding its entire circuit 
and interspersed throughout its grounds, are 
chapels for the dead, often of considerable 
size and architectural pretensions. These be¬ 
long to the different congregations of the city, 
or to the families of the nobility, and in them 
the bones of the wealthy and distinguished 
dead repose. A singular custom prevails here 
of placing the body in the ground until it is 
decomposed, which process is accomplished, 
we wore told, in fourteen months, then taking 
up the bones, enclosing them in a coffin, and 
depositing them in a niche in the side oLone of 
these chapels. Gonuectcd with this cemetery 
is a large court-yard containing some thirty 
pits, in which those persons are buried for 
last, sad offices which affection can render to 
the departed. Tupper, in his Proverbial 
Philosophy, allndes very effectively to this 
heartless treatment of the dead in the brilliant 
city of Naples. 
On our return from visiting the cemeteries 
we met hosts of carts, literally running over 
with the gay Neapolitans. From ten to four¬ 
teen men, women and children are no uncom¬ 
mon number to be seen perched upon one cart 
and drawn by one horse, the latter going, too, 
at full speed. 
Another characteristic feature of Naples is 
its Lazzaroni, who form no inconsiderable 
proportion of its population, and are the most 
perfect embodiments of the “Dolce far Niente” 
that it is possible to conceive. Almost naked, 
or clad iu the most miserable rags, living from 
hand to mouth, they spend most of their hours 
basking in the warm rays of the sun, vegeta¬ 
ting, as it were, and prefer this mode of exist¬ 
ence to any less independent or more laborious 
one. We sometimes saw crowds of them at 
night waiting in the open air around an im¬ 
mense kettle of maccaroni, for their portion 
to be distributed to them. This, the national 
dish of the Italian, costs but the merest trifle, 
aud with it they are perfectly content 
The Neapolitans are, in general, a lively, 
pleasure-loving people, with less dignity and 
marked character than the Romans, but pos¬ 
sessing more frankness and sociability, and 
adapting themselves more easily to circum¬ 
stances. They are not particularly friendly to 
their present government, as a mere casual 
glance at their city will show. The police 
office is w r ell garnished with cannon, their 
mouths all opening threateningly upon the 
public square which lies by its side, and com¬ 
manding several streets. They are evidently 
designed, not to protect against a foreign foe, 
but to hurl the murderous lead into the midst 
of a turbulent populace. The King posseses 
a Swiss guard, aud has already been more 
than once indebted for his personal safety to 
their fidelity. As I beheld these evidences of 
tyranny on the one hand, and of smothered 
discontent on the other, my thoughts could 
not but revert to happy, free America, and I 
felt iu my inmost soul that I would not ex¬ 
change the noble institutions of my father- 
land for all the delights of Naples, for its love¬ 
ly bay, it3 enchanting scenery, or the treas¬ 
ures of art which its galleries can boast,— 
with which very patriotic sentiment I will 
bring my letter to a close. Minnie. 
RETURN OF OLD FASHIONS- 
All who have watched the history of fash¬ 
ion in dress, must have observed that certain 
fashions, long exploded, are coming into vogue 
again. We have already noticed the gradual 
return, in Europe, to the full skirts and hoop¬ 
ed petticoats of a.former generation—and wc 
now see, amongst ourselves, the revival of a 
fashion amongst our young ladies, which have 
been iu disuse ever since their mothers were 
young ladies. We allude to the broad, stiff, 
silk ribbon belts or bands which when we were 
boys, bound every lovely waist, but which 
have long since been discarded for polka waists 
and other bewitching inventions, to conceal 
and yet define the female form divine. One of 
our largest establishments informed us yester¬ 
day, that a lot of these splendid belt ribbons, 
which had been laid aside and forgotten for 
many years, had just come to light, and wero 
now in great demand. So that each lover, as 
he sees the dainty waist of his inamorata en¬ 
circled by one of these reinstated cincture de 
Venus, may exclaim, if he remembers the 
couplet— 
t; Give me but wliat this ribbon bound, 
And take all else Uto -world goes round.” 
— Balt. Patriot. 
Thf. Spring. —It bubbles up from a soft 
soil, aud flows away through rank grasses.— 
Coming up from a’ bed of gravel, it shifts its 
mouth, and if stopped in one place, it breaks 
out in another, like the heart’s instincts, whose 
channels you may appoint, but whose flowing 
is beyond’ your control. I have often scooped 
away the soil trodden by cattle all about the 
cold boiling spring. For a moment the little 
pool was full of sand and mud; and I have 
never watched it clearing itself and coming 
back to transparency, without thinking that 
just so does life cle’anse itself. A stagnant 
heart, when deeply disturbed, is long settling; 
but a living, out-flowing heart carries away its 
sorrows down its own stream’ and deposits 
them speedily far from the fount .—Henry IV. 
Beecher. 
Good manners are the blossom of good 
sense, and it may be added, of good feeling 
too; for, it' the law of kindness be written in 
the heart, it will lead to disinterestedness in 
little as well as in great things,—that desire to 
oblige and attention to the gratification ol 
others, which is the foundation ot good man¬ 
ners. 
The foundation of domestic happiness is 
faith in the virtue of woman. 
