MOORE’S RURAL NEW-YORKER: AN AGRICULTURAL AND FAMILY NEWSPAPER. 
ivies’ gepr tnuut. 
CONDUCTED BY A-£. 
[Written for llooro’e Rural New-Yorker.] 
TO MY HUSBAND, 
On TKK TWKNTY-FIYTIJ ANJUVHRSAKY OF ocr Marriage. 
BY MRS. M. W. H. 
At early morn whon *liios were bright, 
Upon tho sparkling wave 
We launched our bark. Affection’s light 
Illumed our track; we feared no night, 
Prepared the storms to brare. 
Since then e’er faithful at they side 
I’ve stood, a trusting wife—• 
Five times five years, with rapid stride, 
Have borne us on Time’s surging tide. 
And taught us what is lAfe. 
Our darling first-born, angel child, 
Lisped “ father” at my knee, 
And when that name in accents mild, 
She dying spake, and sweetly smiled, 
I closer clung to thee. 
Now other$ claim of love a share, 
Our hearts can hold them all— 
O God of Love I hear l'hou my prayeri 
Their youthful feet, from every snare 
Deliver, lest they fall. 
Though skies have oft-times been o’ercast, 
And Fortune’s smiles withdrawn 
We’ll ne’er ‘‘look mournful on the past," 
Or bend beneath a wintry blast, 
B ut press with courage on. 
Though care-worn is my matron face, 
And silver-flecked my hair, 
My heart still young, feels not a trace 
Of frost-work that will e’er eraso 
Thine image treasured there. 
The noon of life with us is o’er. 
Yet we will labor still, 
While side by side we near that shore 
Where,disappointmcnts never more 
Can faithful bosoms thrill. 
DARLING LOTTY: 
OR, THE PERILS OF HOUSEKEEPING. 
Miss Charlotte Jones was the daughter of 
a worthy and enterprising carpenter, who, set¬ 
tling in a thriving village, became, in due time, 
a bujlder, a contractor, and a fore-handed man. 
Ilia wife was as industrious as himself, and 
more ambitious; and among their other bless¬ 
ings, they had one fair daughter, Miss Char¬ 
lotte, who was as pretty, as charming, indeed, 
as was necessary to make the smartest and 
cleverest young man in the place fall in love 
with her—which he did. 
Certainly he did. He was a medical stu¬ 
dent, in the doctor’s office right opposite. As 
ho sat there studying anatomy or making pills, 
he could see Miss Charlotte in the parlor or 
the garden. He could hear her play on the 
piano-forte, and sing; he could see her doing 
all sorts of wonderful worsted and crotchet 
work; and he came to think that parlor one of 
the most delightful places in the world. 
Well—it was a love affair, all mutual nnri 
pleasant; calls and moonshine, music, billets, 
blushes, boqnets, long Sunday evenings, and 
finally, ‘Ask Pa!’—and then a wedding—but 
of course the diploma came first, and the pet¬ 
ted child of the successful carpenter, became 
Mrs. Doctor Simmous. 
And Dr. Simmons, who had received the 
honors of a medical college, rather young; and 
who thought it needful to raise all the whisk¬ 
ers he could by industrious shaving, and a 
course of Macassar, and to mount a pair of 
spectacles beside, to make him look old 
enough, had decided to commence business in 
a small but growing village, in a neighboring 
county ; where, as it happened, Mr. Jones 
owned a neat cottage, of which, with its acre 
garden lot, he made his daughter a marriage 
present; and there, on the termination of the 
wedding tour, they took up their residence. 
Tho good Mrs. Jones had put everything ‘ to 
rights.’ It was in the most exquisite ‘ apple 
pie order;’ and no young couple, just beginning 
housekeeping, was ever any better fixed. 
Mrs. Jones, good soul, had always done her 
own work. Help was a dreadful bother.— 
Charlotte had been carefully educated. She 
could do everything; that is, everything that 
is ever taught to young ladies. She knew all 
sciences and nearly all languages; that is, a 
little. She could do all kinds of fancy work. 
Her worsted cats and wax flowers were won¬ 
derful; so were her water color drawings, and 
her mono-chromatic sketches were * high art.’ 
Everybody said so. 
But, somehow, Mrs. Jones, from the habit 
of doing everything herself, had not given Miss 
Charlotte a fair chance in kitchen and laundry 
and in other housekeeping accomplishments; 
while Charlotte had a vague idea that all 
those common things were perfectly easy, and 
as they were not taught at school, she con¬ 
cluded that they camo by nature. So she 
commenced her housekeeping in a dream of 
blissful anticipations. 
They took possession of their fine little 
house ono fine summer’s evening. Mrs. Jones 
saw them all properly fixed, and had gone 
home. 
They Wakened with the early birds. Dr. 
Simmons dreamed that somebody was thun¬ 
dering on the door, to call him up to see a 
patient It was his horse pawing to be fed. 
“ Well, Dotty dear,” said the grave Doctor, 
who was in his twenty-third year, to his wife 
of seventeen; “shall we make a beginning 
now, rise early, and attend to business?” 
“ Oh, by all means. I’ll jump up and get 
breakfast” 
“ And I’ll feed Pomp, and weed the garden.” 
So the Doctor watered and fed his horse, 
and hoed his potatoes a little, and then took a 
peep into the neat little kitchen, to see how 
tho “Darling Dotty” was getting on with 
breakfast Her faco was very red, and her 
hands very black; her hair was powdered with 
ashes. It was plain that she had trouble; but 
she spoke pleasantly, for all that, when she 
said— 
“ Do go away, Charles, that’s a dear, till you 
hear the bell ring. Breakfast will soon be 
ready.” 
Well, he waited. He read, then he whistled, 
then he fidgeted, then he wound up the clock, 
then he looked at his new case of instruments, 
and wondered how soon he should cut off his 
first leg; then he got very hungry, and at last 
the bell did ring, and he went to breakfast. 
The Darling Dotty was looking a little bet¬ 
ter, but still rather anxious. 
“ Have you had a hard time, darling?” in¬ 
quired the Doctor, cautiously. 
“ Oh, not very. The fire did not kindle well 
at first, and tlie stove smoked.” 
“ Did you open the damper?” 
“ Damper I why no. Has it got a damper? 
Well, I’ll remember next time. Now have 
some coffee.” 
The Doctor took his cup, stirred it about, 
looked rather hard at it; and then at darling 
Dotty. 
“Well, what is it! I’m sure I don’t know 
what makes it full of those specks, I boiled, 
and boiled it.” 
“ Yet it don’t seem to be settled. Did you 
put in any fish skin?” 
“No, I forgot.” 
“No matter. It will do very well. Now 
darling Dotty, I’ll take an egg. Why! It’s 
as hard as a brickbat.” 
“Hard! Now how can they be hard, when 
they were boiling all the time I was making 
the coffee and the toast!” 
“Ah! toast; let us try that A little burnt, 
but very good; there, don’t cry, darling; it’ll 
be all right next time.” 
After showers come sunshine, and this one 
cleared off. The Doctor laid aside his dignity 
and helped wash the dishes; and then put his 
horse in the sulky, took the new saddle-bags, 
and drove off furiously, to see some imaginary 
patients, till dinner time, while darling Dotty 
blocked out a worsted parroquet, that bid fair 
to be the wonder of her next winter’s parties. 
But this, like all pleasures, came to an end, for 
there was dinner to get, and that dinner was 
to make up for the breakfast. The Doctor 
liked a nice dish of boiled victuals—so she 
made a fire, and peeled the potatoes, beets, 
carrots, turnips, parsnips, and put them, with 
a nice spare-rib of fresh pork into the kettle, 
and set them to boiling. There was a rousing 
fire; the water boiled furiously, and she went 
up stairs to put a few stitches into the parro¬ 
quet Pretty soon she became conscious of 
an unpleasant odor; she snuffed and wondered, 
and then put in the eye of the parroquet. But 
the unpleasaut odor became stronger, and at 
last she thought proper to go in the direction 
it seemed to come from; and that happened 
to be the kitchen. The stove was red hot; so 
was the kettle of boiled victuals; and a nice 
smother was rising from it. The Darling Dotty 
dashed a dipper of water into the kettle— 
bang!—and such a cloud of steam! The ket¬ 
tle was cracked, but the Doctor had just come 
home hungry, the table was set and the dinner 
was soon dished. 
The Darling Dotty took her place at the 
head of the table. She was flushed, and ner¬ 
vous, and ready for a fit of hysterics; but the 
Doctor w£ls okc^orful, uaU tcuUcr, iluit she 
Degun 10 feel quite happy. But the poor din¬ 
ner. It did not smell exactly right; it seem¬ 
ed to have caught on the bottom of the kettle, 
the Doctor said; then the potatoes were boil¬ 
ed into a pulp, while the beets and turnips 
were quite hard. The fresh pork rather want¬ 
ed salting. 
“Charles, dear !” said Dotty very sadly. 
“ Well, Dotty, darling, what is it?” 
“ I’m afraid the dinner is not very nice.” 
“Well, it is a little scorched: and not ex¬ 
actly managed all regular and all that sort of 
thing, you know; but what signifies? We’il 
try the dessert.” 
“Oh I” 
“Well, darling, what’s the trouble?” 
Dotty ran into the kitchen, and there wa3 
her poor, forgotten plum-pudding in the stove 
oven just burnt to a cinder. 1 It was black as 
coal—a fine carbonaceous specimen, as the 
Doctor learnedly remarked, as he finished, or 
rather made his dinuer, on some bread and 
butter. 
The darling Dotty mourned over her disas¬ 
ters, but took comfort in the brilliant plumage 
of her parroquet, which Dr. Simmons could 
not sufficiently admire. She was also com¬ 
forted with the thought that the next meal 
was tea, which she felt sure she could accom¬ 
plish. And when tho hour drew nigh she 
made up a fire; and by this time she had 
learned how to manage that Then she took 
some flour and milk aud. butter, with plenty of 
saleratus, to make them light, and mixed up 
some nice biscuits and put them in the oven, 
uud then she made tea; and when ali was 
ready, she rang the bell with great emphasis. 
And, truth to say, the table was very richly 
arranged, and the tea service of gold and chi¬ 
na was beautiful. 
Dr. Simmons smacked his lips with great 
gusto. Ho took a cake, and tried to break it, 
but it did not seem to break readily. Then 
he tried his knife. It cut like cheese; also, it 
was very yellow, and smelt and tasted rather 
strongly, the Doctor said, of free alkali. So 
it did, in fact, for there had been no acid to 
neutralize the saleratus, and set free its cur- 
bonic acid, and of course nothing to make the 
cakes rise. The Doctor explained it all very 
learnedly; and then, as he felt thirsty, took a 
sip of his tea, of vhich he was very fond.— 
But he made a wry face. 
Dotty was in consternation. “ la not the 
tea right? It must be ! I put in a great deal 
and boiled it ever so long. I’m sure if it 
has’nt got the strength it soon will have.” 
“My darling Do.ty, tea is a delicate and 
odoriferous plant; aid should be prepared as 
an infusion, and net as a decoction. Bring 
me a little tea, darlibg, and some hot water, 
and I will soon make a good cup of tea;” and 
he did. 
The poor darling Dotty. It took all the 
endearments of a teider husband in the honey 
moon, to keep her from downright despair. But 
the day’s lesson hud not been lost, and she had 
determined to have such a nice breakfast as 
should make up for all. 
Morning came; and our young Doctor gal¬ 
lantly offered to assist in getting the morning 
repast; bat no; Dotty was determined to do 
her own work. She mixed her cakes accord¬ 
ing to the learned suggestions of the evening 
previous. She boiled the eggs three minutes 
by the clock. The coffee was clear—greatest 
comfort of all. She rang the bell, and sat 
down in triumph. 
The Doctor broke a biscuit—it was capital. 
The egg was just right. Then he tasted the 
coffee—and it came ont of his mouth as soon 
as it was in. And such a face I Doctors are 
not squeamish; young doctors particularly.— 
They know what bad tastes and bad smells 
are; but this— 
“ Why, Charley !” cried the darling Dotty, 
“ what is the matter with the coffee? ” 
“ That is what I would like to know. Dot¬ 
ty, darling, I know you do your best, and the 
biscuits aud eggs are beautiful; but whut did 
you put in the coffee?” 
“ Why, Charley, you said it must have some 
fish skin to settle it; and the only fish in the 
house is some herrings, so I skinned two of 
them, and put the skin in the coffee!” and 
poor Dotty burst into a paroxysm of tears. 
But there came sunshine soon, that made it 
all pleasant weather. Dotty had invited an 
old school friend to visit her. She came soon 
after breakfast, and, as it happened, her house- 
keepimr education had not been neglected.— 
She absolutely knew everything. Mrs. Hale, 
Miss Deslie, even Mrs. Class or Mrs. Rundell 
could not excel her. She was a walking cook 
book, and a lively littl; treatise on domestic 
economy. 
Never was a visitor more welcome, and now 
the darling Dotty learnt every possible thing 
—to wash and mend, and bake, and cook eve¬ 
rything; and became the nicest little house¬ 
keeper extant, while the Doctor, by the aid of 
his venerable appearance, and rapid driving in 
the sulky, rode into an extensive practice, and 
was never tired of boasting of the excellent 
cookery of his Darling Dotty. 
Uarietii.—(Snrie anti (Sag. 
Winter is Coming.—T he following beauti¬ 
ful extract seems to be appropriate for the 
present weather : 
Comkth lh9 vrinfar— 
Alas 1 for the yoor; 
For they can but feebly 
Hi* cold reign endure. 
Would lhat tho Spring-time 
For them wa* eternal; 
And the green trees, for their Bakes, 
Forever were vernal I 
Cometh the winter— 
O, ye rich lend an ear: 
Remember the poor, 
In this cold time of year ;— 
For flie wind as it whistles, 
But echoes the cry 
Of tho poor and the wretched 
Who languishing die. 
By a law of our beneficent Creator, or- 
dainpfl hy the perfection or Divine wisdom, 
man is the most helpless and dependent of the 
animate creation. In infancy this peculiarity 
is exhibited in a remarkable degree. Other 
creatures soon arrive at perfection, and being 
fully developed in all their parts, are able to 
provide for their own wants and safety; while 
many years must elapse before the infant can 
safely be released from a state of pupilage 
and dependence. 
John Bunyan, while in Bedford jail, was 
called upon by a Quaker desirous of making a 
convert of him. “ Friend John, I have come 
to thee with a message from the Dord, and afrer 
having searched for thee in all the prisons in 
England, I am glad that I have found thee 
out at last” “ If the Dord had sent you,” re¬ 
turned Bunyan. “ you need not bave taken so 
much pains to find me out, tor the Dord kuows 
l have been here twelve years.” 
“ I am glad,” said the Rev. Dr. Y., to the 
Chief of the Little Oltowas, “ that you do not 
drink whiskey, but it grieves me to find that 
your people use so much of it.” “Ah! yes,” 
replied the chief, and he fixed a penetrating 
and expressive eye upon the doctor, which 
communicated the reproof before he uttered it, 
“we Indians use. a great deal of whiskey, but 
we do not make it” 
The art of living easily as to money, is to 
pitch your scale of living one degree below 
your means. Comfort and eujoyment are more 
dependent upon easiness in the detail of expen¬ 
diture than upon one degree’s differenco in 
the scale. 
When wo record our angry feelings, let it 
be on the guow, that the first boam of sunshine 
may obliterate them for ever. 
A generous mind does not feel as be¬ 
longing to itself aloue, but to the whole hu¬ 
man race. 
The parent who would train up a child in 
the way he should go, must go the way he 
would train up his child in. 
Truk prayer is not human, but a celestial 
gift; the fruit of tho Holy Spirit praying in us 
and with us. < 
Men often blush to hear of what they were 
not ashamed to act. 
If folly were a pain there would be groan¬ 
ing iu every house. 
Truk eloquence consists in saying all that is 
necessary, and nothing more. 
If thou art master, be sometimes blind; if a 
servant, be sometimes doaf. 
Small faults indulged, are little thieves that 
let iu greater. 
Reason governs the wise man, aud cudgels 
the fool. 
The foundation of political happiness, is 
confidence in the integrity of man. 
Prosi’Krity is no just scale; adversity is the 
only balance to weigh friends in.— Plutarch. 
To owe an obligation to a worthy friend, is 
a happiness, and can be no disparagement. 
Mistdlaiuflis. 
THE TWENTY-SECOND OF DECEMBER. 
BT WM. 0. BRYANT. 
Wii.d waa tho day; tli@ wintry sea 
Moaned aadly on New England’s strand, 
When first the thoughtful and the free, 
Our fathers, trod the desert land. 
They little thought how pure a light. 
With yearn, should gather round that day; 
How love should keep their memories bright. 
How wide a realm their sous should sway. 
Green are their bays; but greener still 
Shall round their spreading fame be wreathed, 
And regions, now untrod, shall thrill 
With reverence when their names are breathed. 
Till where tho sun, with softer fires, 
Looks on the vast Pacific’s sleep, 
The children of the pilgrim sires 
This hallowed day like us shall keep. 
-- - - --- 
[Written for the Rural New-Yorker.] 
“OUT WEST.” 
Out West! Who has not some ludicrous 
visions of a pioneer’s life and some wild dream- 
ings of the broad prairie or beautiful wood¬ 
land, where he seeks the rich produce of the 
virgin carrh? Who has not seen, in imagina¬ 
tion, the limitless plain, with its tall grass wav¬ 
ing iu the breeze or bending helplessly before 
the giant-stride of the Storm-King as he rushes 
on unchecked by friendly hills or sheltering 
forests? Who has not rested there beneath 
the welcome shade of the picturesque openings, 
or gazed in admiration at the fragrant tapes¬ 
try of gay flowers wantonly stretched at his 
feet? | 
But alas, how dim are our visions, how pale 
are our fancies, when with the natural eye we 
perceive the pictured vaatness of the bound- 
leas prairie, and the fabled romance of <he 
tangled wild-wood dispelled by the thousand 
details of civilization and innovation, which 
meet our view. Among these are the pleasant 
dwellings, scattered here and there, — the 
clamorous machinery of the clanging faw-mill 
—the stout farmer turning the green turf from 
our sight, and above all, the agonizing shriek 
of the time-bound cars, as they vainly strive to 
out-speed the flying moments. How many of 
us remaining quietly in our retired homes, 
would be astonished to find the wilderness 
blossoming as the rose and the wild places 
blooming as a fruitful field I Out West, outre 
and outlandish as we have deemed it, is strong 
in the past, great at the present, and full of 
promise for the future. The active New- 
Englander, with true Yankee enterprise, has 
banished for many vast acres, every tree of the 
magnificent forest, whose lofty occupants were 
a teeming volume upon the fruitfulness of their 
mother Earth. The scheming New-Yorker— 
the plodding Jerseyman—the working Penn¬ 
sylvanian, and the jolly Kentuckian have min¬ 
gled in the advancing current bearing west¬ 
ward until they have proved the goodly land, 
a genial home and a mine of wealth which ha3 
counted to them again and again their once 
doubtful investment. 
We see the population of our eastern shore 
gradually tending toward the heart of our 
great country, on, even to the fertile boundary 
of the mighty Pacific. Europe is also pouring 
its millions unchecked into the uncouth mix¬ 
ture which serves to form the body-politic of 
“Out West” The industrious German rears 
the vine tree, and flavors the “ sparkling Ca¬ 
tawba,”—the sober-minded English here till 
the soil, and grow pompous in their increasing 
prosperity,—the cordial French with their ru¬ 
ral tastes and active habits, create a flourish¬ 
ing garden beneath the sunny skies—the fru¬ 
gal Swiss and honest Scotchman finds them a 
hill-side home, while the republican, un-Mitch- 
ellized Irish, lay the foundation for that Colos¬ 
sus of modern ingenuity—the Railroad. It 
is well known that these are not altogether 
above ground. 
The “ Queen City ” stands proudly, as a bea¬ 
con at the extremity of the great chain of lakes 
and has many rivals upon their prosperous 
shores. From the undergrowth of a mighty 
wood, villages spring, as if by magic, mirror¬ 
ed in the swift current of swollen river, or gen¬ 
tle stream; or, perchance, they wake to life un¬ 
der the civilizing tread of the Iron Horse as 
he madly tramps through unsettled wilds.— 
Church-spires are daily rising towards the 
heavens, and many proud domes predict tho 
future scholar and sage. Innovation, change 
and progress do not startle the rising fears of 
the public mind, as in many an obscure east¬ 
ern hamlet They are but a varying necessity of 
every-day existence. Such a variety of ele¬ 
ments with their numerous combinations can¬ 
not fail to bave a leveling, democratic tenden¬ 
cy. There are no changeless bulwarks of Pop¬ 
ular Opinion, built upon the prestige of wealth 
and time-honored custom, to check the progress 
of truth or stifle the embryo of geuius and- 
greatness. 
The professions have their meagre represen¬ 
tatives, who will anon, give place to those who 
shall have expended more of the “ midnight 
oil.” Skilful artisans and ingenious mechanics 
will ere long find a home in the growing west¬ 
ern cities, while the contented farmer, who 
lives a true life, will form the chief support 
and steady out-post of every organization, he 
alone constituting the genuine stamina to 
which the floating surface of society is attach¬ 
ed. The Great Architect has left but little of 
Earth’s material beyond the reach of man in 
the shape of barren rocks, fruitless hills and pes¬ 
tilent swamps. Thus, in Agriculture, lies 
western wealth, and in its pursuit the willing 
soil and genial climate lend their ready aid.— 
Wild, uncultivated, untaught nature, is more 
easily subdued the farther west we recede from 
the Atlantic shore, and how manifestly do we 
recognize an over-ruling Providence in the ear¬ 
lier settlement of hardy and barren New Eng¬ 
land ! 
What colony that had first landed upon the 
rich and fertile shores of the Pacific, or upon 
the banks of the Mississippi, would have emi¬ 
grated to Maine or New Jersey? We can 
easily divine that all will be inhabited, and in a 
term of years, “ Out West,” as we now call it, 
will become the central and powerful region 
of a great and flourishing Republic. Who 
can say that iu less than half a century, our no¬ 
ble Capitol will not look down upon the “ Fath¬ 
er of Waters?” Who can say that wc shall 
find henceforth, the eternal snows and rushing 
avaianches of the Rocky Mountains, a barrier 
to prevent our sweeping onward, at the rate of 
nearly two-score miles an hour, from our pres¬ 
ent sea-board emporium, to the El Dorado of 
the Pacific? Such are the childhood and 
youth of onr country, and what may we not 
hope for its maturity,—and with this thought 
we may regard “ Out West ” as the pride and 
hope of the most sanguine and enthusiastic 
patriot L. a. t. 
North Falr"etd, O., Not , 1851. 
OUR WORLD. 
This is a sinful world—a very evil world I 
This is a delightful world ! This world is 
strewed with thorns and brambles, to such ex¬ 
tent that no son of Adam can pass through 
it without mighty risk of damage to his nether 
and upper garments. At the same time this 
world is one bed of violets—a whole field of 
buttercups and daisies, whereupon bees hover 
and hum their content—whereupon dews sleep 
and awake to kiss dusty anthers ! Other good 
things and things naughty are said, and have 
been said, of this world, down to a recent dec¬ 
laration of a well known savant, to the effect 
that our world is soft within and crusty with¬ 
out, and that the upheaving of a continent is 
only such an effect as the blowing up of a 
kettle-lid by enraged steam. If any one doubts 
our word, he has only to refer to a recent pa¬ 
per read before the Academic des Sciences of 
Paris. The fact is, that we look upon this 
world of ours through tears or laughter_ 
through innocence or remorse— through tinted 
spectacles or Braziliau pebble eye-glasses_ 
There is no sunrise to a sinner; and the saint 
can witness a gorgeous sunset, predictive of 
everlasting repose, through the most opaque 
clouds of evening. Respecting this world of 
ours, praised and abused as it is and has been, 
one thing is very certain, that we learn its les¬ 
sons in spite of ourselves. We revolt like 
school boys, aud endeavor to lock out the 
teacher. By legitimate door or battened 
window the school-master enters, and tingling 
palms and aching knuckles bear witness^hat 
he has vindicated his authority. We have 
dragged through the syntax of life in spite of 
ourselves, and have knowledge of more de¬ 
clensions and conjugations at the age, say, of 
forty, than the Eaton Grammar takes notice 
of. All this we say in the presence of biog¬ 
raphies, of men and women, of greater or less 
note, which have passed and continue to pass 
under our notice. We read alike the lives of 
saints and sinners; and from both we have the 
confession — the world teaches. And the 
world, we modestly presume to say, will con¬ 
tinue to be a great teacher, reminding the vain 
and the idle and the lazy, with lusty adminis¬ 
tration of pedagogic birch aud ferule, that 
tinsel will never pass for gold—that wishing 
to do will never supply the place of doing— 
and that the most angelic contemplation may 
be dead beaten by a poverty-stricken action; 
in confirmation of which we might quote St 
Anthony and the lowly cobbler of Alexandria. 
—London Literary Journal. 
THE GOOD TIME COMING. 
The love for others and for the race is as 
much a part of human nature as the love of 
self; it is a common instinct that man is re¬ 
sponsible for man. The heart has its oracles 
not less than the reason, and this i 3 one of them. 
No practicable system of social equality has 
been brought forward, or it should, and it 
would, have been adopted. It does not follow 
that none con be devised. There is no neces¬ 
sary opposition between labor and intelligence. 
To elevate the masses, they themselves must 
have culture to know their rights, courage to 
assert them, and self-respect to take nothing 
else. The good time is coming wheu the spir¬ 
its of humanity will recognize all members of 
its family, as more equally entitled to its care; 
when the heartless jargon of over-production 
in the midst of want will end in a better sci¬ 
ence of distribution; when man will dwell with 
man as with his brother; when political insti¬ 
tutions will rest on the basis of equality aud 
freedom. But this result must come from the 
development of internal life by universal cul¬ 
ture; it can not be created by the force of ex¬ 
terior philanthropy, aud still less by the reck¬ 
less violence of men.— Bancroft’s Oration. 
The last society spoken of in California is 
tho “ Pay Nothing.” It is said to be alarming¬ 
ly prosperous. The password is, “ Bend me a 
dollar,” the response, “ Broke.” We hear there 
is a branch about to be located in this city. 
