o 
the bridge of old age or sorrow. Then, too, 
there 1 b a brown lock that belonged to Jennie, 
who is married now,— Walter's hair was hand¬ 
somer than all, but ho lies beneath the restless 
sea, with all his shining carls still clinging 
around his noble brow, and the lonely mother 
con- 
[ Written for Moore's Rural New-Yorker.] 
MERIDIAN VIEW. 
standard of excellence, as to be the only excep* 
tion to this universal rule of goodness? But 
while we cannot help knowing that there is much 
of vice among mankind, we know also that there 
is much of good; and shall not the effort of our 
lives be to diminish the evil and the good increase, 
Holley, Mich., I860, Mas. K. 17. ltArsn. 
Full often, from these glowing heights, 
My weary eyes will wander down 
The western hillside, where the peaks 
Of distant mountains seem to frown. 
Adown the slope I seem to see 
A shadowy pathway, dim and drear, 
Where faded flowers and mournful songs 
Alone the weary traveler cheer. 
With tottering footsteps, human forms 
Are inarching downward, still and slow, 
And Utful lights, 'raid faded groves, 
Seem darting ever to an fro. 
Up from the vale the sullen wind 
U sweeping withered leaves and flowers, 
And dismal notes, from depths below, 
Seem stirring through the autumn hours. 
O’er eastern mountains gleams of light 
Are shooting up the azure sky, 
And there are cherished, spectral forms, 
That bloomed a moment but to die. 
I hear the echo of those streams 
That used to charm my youthful ear, 
I see the wreck of faded dreams 
Upon Ambition’s gilded bier. 
But as I turn again to view 
The pathway down life's mystic hill, 
A prospect of far brighter hue 
My weary Spirit seems to thrill 
Upon the frowning cloud there lives 
Some stirring words in lines of gold, 
And drooping Hope again reviews, 
Again her heavenward wing unfolds. 
“ Beyond the dark and sombre vale 
Are climes where pleasures never fade, 
Nor sorrow, with her mournful tale, 
The blest retreats of bliss invades.” 
Then I can thread the narrow way. 
And find some golden fruitage there, 
And welcome each returning day, 
Though laden with life’s weary care. 
Buffalo, N. Y., 18(10. 
ha« out even the consolation of hair-love to 
Bole her in her great Borrow. 
The soldier, dying upon some blood-stained 
battle-field, sends with liia last breath a piece of 
his hair to his aged parents, and who can tell 
how dear It is to the mourning family,—how 
reverently viewed by the fair young sisters, and 
how precious to the goodman and his wife! Oh, 
how many such sorrowful remembrances have 
found their way from the sunny plains of Mexico, 
or from shady, quiet places by the Alma river,— 
from the dreamy vales of Spain, and from bloody 
Indian fortresses, where many a true heart has 
been stilled forever,—from the golden-gated city, 
opening its portals to thousands, only to usher 
them to the grave,—and from snowy Russian 
valleys—have found their way to desolate homes, 
to be caressed by pale lips, and pressed to aching 
bosoms, and then locked up forever in the locket 
of the heart! A blessing on hair-love, say we. 
It has comforted lonely heurta in absence and 
affliction,— brought dreams of youthful days and 
happiness to aged breasts, and served as a strong, 
abiding link between friends and lovers, when 
stormy oceans rolled between. 
Cohocton, N. Y., 1880. 
[Written for Moore's Rural New-Yorker.] 
TRUE FRIENDSHIP. 
[Written for Moore's Rural New-Yorker.] 
“ho ivr i-c.” 
rWritten for Moore’s Rural New-Yorker.] 
GARDEN OF THE HEART. 
BV ELLEN C. L. KIMDKL, 
“Oh, Friendship! Gob's best gift 
To man,—if not for thee, our life 
At best, would be bnt dismal blanks,— 
And living breasts but sepulchers 
For morbid hearts! " 
Some writer has said, “ What is Friendship but 
a name?” Methinks that one did not realize all 
its meaning, or his were the Summer friends 
which arc easily borne away by the blasts of ad¬ 
versity. But I wish to speak of trun Friendship,_ 
that pnre and holy principle which misfortune 
only strengthens. True Friendship needs not 
glittering Wealth to sustain it,—asks not Fame's 
laurels, or the adoration of men. It clings to its 
| object more for gems of mind and sou!,—the 
priceless beauty of the heart! It is when misfor- 
'une comes that fidelity is fully proven unto us. 
There are many who were living in affluence, and 
had hut to command to see immediate fulfillment. 
There were friends, too, nnmberless,— wealth-led 
friends.—who could be scarcely thought of as 
beiDg moved by self-interest, so eager were they 
to sacrifice for the noble possessor. Misfortune's 
hour came ,—Poverty was admitted, and the strick¬ 
en ones could only turn confidingly to these 
friends who had ever been so sympathetic. But 
they were nameless then, and It was through such 
trial alone that the treacherous hearts were known 
bt gbo. a. Hamilton. 
Oh, many and sweet the aongz have been 
That held in music this holy word; 
Solemn and sacred in heart-nung hymn 
The depths of roem'ry it* tone hath stirred. 
Weary and faioting, the lout have crept, 
In tea™ repentant, back to ita door; 
There, in thanksgiving, strong hearts have wept 
Over the erring who sin no more. 
Oat from it* poital young life hath gone, 
And over it* heni th-atoue death hath paused; 
Dirge for the dying and bridal song 
Blend in the working of mortal laws, 
Tender and true the hearts that have kept 
Their watche* of love within ita walla; 
Crimson and rare the sunbeams that crept 
In at its windows nnd through its balls; 
Making such pictures of love and light, 
To be woven in memory’s dream, 
As live for the wanderer, far from sight 
Of the home-light's hallowed gleam. 
Going forever from under the roof 
Held in the keeping of childhood's love. 
To weave life's threads in another woof, 
Till liviDg and loving are called above. 
Blessings, unnumbered, the soul must leave 
On hillside, homestead, and hearts within; 
One sigh for the “ pa*t and gone" must breathe 
Kre the new portals it enters in. 
Then, with the hopeful pnlses of youth, 
Strong to encounter the calm or strife, 
Pledging forever its love and truth, 
It meets untrembUng the unknown life. 
Charlotte Center, N. Y., I860. 
Thk Heart to a Garden compare,— 
Let culture be thorough—indeed,— 
Plant none but the choicest things there,- 
The purest and very best seed. 
Dig deep through the soil. Yes, dig deep,- 
Turn up to the troth and the light, 
Then yon at the harvest may reap 
The reward of the faithful and right. 
Be thorough in culture,—be true,— 
Remove all the weeds as they start, 
Then cherish the rsio and the dew, 
So that you develop the heart. 
Be early in cultnre, begin 
At the very first promise of spring; 
Delay not. nor idle,—put in 
The purest, best thoughts you can bring. 
Dig deep through tbe soil,—very deep,— 
Turn the heart to the truth and the light: 
Be earnest in cultnre, and keep 
All the faculties polished and bright. 
Be thorough in culture, in deed,— 
Remove all the weeds ns they start; 
Plant always tbe Heavenly Seed, 
And this shall develop the heart. 
South Butler, N. Y, 1860. 
Laura E. W, 
WOMAN SYMPATHY IN MEN MATTERS. 
A very important subject is touched by a cor¬ 
respondent of the “Country Gentleman,’’ who 
thus writes: 
Did it over occur to the ladies how much aid 
and comfort they might furnish their husbands 
and brother* by taking an interest in their labors, 
inquiring ua to tbe success of experiments, and 
(Written for Moore’s Rural New-Yorker.] 
“ALMOST THERE.” 
“Almost there,” Joyfully shouted Cora, as 
she caught a glimpse of the neat cottage nestling 
among the lofty maples surrounding her father’s 
bouse, from which she had been absent but a few 
days. As the joy-beaming countenance of my 
little friend glided like a sunbeam past me, I 
need of? Nothing sweetens toil like sympathy. 
I he reward of the farmer’s labor is not bread 
alone; it is the approbation of Heaven, bis own 
self-respect, and lastly, tbe approval of hia fellow- 
men, and especially the better half of creation. 
Ihe tournament is not the only place where wo¬ 
men can incite to action, and reward the victor. 
Would that they felt their power and exerted it 
on the farmer as well as they do on the orator 
and warrior. Farming can never take its true 
rank among the occupations of our country till 
the women properly appreciate it, and are as 
ieady to lend a hand and heart to the farmer as to 
the merchant and professional man. The con- 
[Written for Moore’s Rural New-Yorker.] 
HAIR LOVE. 
thought of that other home under the shadow of 
the trees ol life. Tes, earth-weary one, over 
whose unprotected head sorrow’s angry billows 
have most nnpityingly rolled, you. too, are “al¬ 
most there.” Even now, the waves of the turbid 
river may be surging just at your feet, and the 
boatman pale” may be waiting to carry von 
across to “ tbe shining shore on the other side.” 
There, though the world may have rudely jostled 
you on life's busy thoroughfare, and fortune,— 
fickle queen, failed to deal bountifully with you, 
you will find that your Heavenly Father has not 
been unmindful, but all this time has been fitting 
up a mansion for yon, and every act of self-denial 
and patience on your part will be so many stars 
in the “crown of rejoicing” which you will 
receive when you enter the portals of your 
heavenly home. Go on your way rejoicing, then, 
heeding not the trials and perplexities which are 
closely inwoven in the “ web of life.” 
You on whom fortune has always smiled,—in 
the sky of whose life dark clouds have never 
lowered,—think perhaps it will be a long time 
“ There seems a life in bair, though it be dead; 
It is the gentlest, yet the strongest, thread 
Of our frail plant—a blossom from the tree 
Surviving it." 
“Wait a moment, Maggie; you know I prom¬ 
ised to show you that little gold pin given to me 
years ago;” and Cousin Kate threw herself into 
the crimson depths of a grout rocking chair, and 
began to toss over with her duinty little fingers 
the contents or her “jewel box,” as she called 
the ivory casket filled with such treasures as 
every school-girl stores away, to become inex¬ 
pressibly precious in after years, when there are 
pleasant or painful memories dinging to each of 
tbe little gifts and tokens thus enshrined. 
“Oh, 1 think it’s in this,”—unfolding apiece 
of tissue paper, wrapped together with peculiar 
ca rt\—hut instead of the ornament she was seek¬ 
ing, there fell from it a little tress of hair, a 
Jias almost lost its sense,—yet on the ear 
Of him who thought to die unmourned, 
’T will full like 6 woo test music." 
True Friendship has no selfish motive; but when 
storm-clouds gather, 
found tbe depths of woe,- 
[Written for Moore's Rural New-Yorker.] 
TEACHINGS OF NATURE. 
This our life exempt from public haunt, 
1 indg tongues in trees, hooks in the running brooks, 
Sermons in stones, and s-oocl Ira everrthini* 
•when the stricken soul has 
■then may we realize its 
. beauty, its strength. 
Pleasant memories have I of one true friend. 
Two years of frequent, association bound ns with 
ties which are indissoluble ! Our paths now 
widely separate ! Years have fled, and many 
changes been written, since I bade her “Good¬ 
bye.” Now, “new ties are round our hearts,”_ 
yet firm as long ago is the old affection. Gems 
of thought and talent are the letters which Come 
to me. iiften when the flow of ardent joyousness 
is checked, amt I have felt weary of the heartless- 
marvel for blackness and beauty,—a wonder of 
silky glossiness and airy grace. 8nch a change 
as came over my cousin’s bright, Bunny face, at 
the sight of that little ringlet! The sweet red 
mouth quivered, tears came into her eyes of 
living sapphire, and her cheek was as white as 
the. blossoms heaped like snow among the fea¬ 
thery foliage of the vine peeping in at the case¬ 
ment She sat very calm and quiet for a moment, 
theo, as if stung by a sudden and bitter remem¬ 
brance, she flung the trembling little tress iuto 
the glowing fire, and burying her face in the 
cushion, she sobbed with a vehement passion 
which shook her whole frame. I well remember 
the surprise and dismay which kept me silent 
and motionless, and liow, recovering myself, I 
tnougms seem to incorporate with my own ex¬ 
istence, and my heart is warmed, und filled with 
deeper love and larger charity. As we sat or 
roamed at eve, when ail Earth was glad with 
beauty, I saw a Bilent language sparkle in her soul- 
lit eye, and oft wondered, as the sacred thoughts 
sometimes gave utterance, if there were not a 
talent that w ould speak to the world, as Poets 
*peak beautiful words of thought and fancy.— 
Time has perfected that talent, and now I very 
eagerly search the columns of “our Rural” for 
the signature “Mart A. B.” Aye, I love the poet 
soul; and for such friends, unto the One who gives 
us all blessings, 1 render thankfulness. May she 
long 
“ Sti i‘ the soul With the majesty of noble thoughts, 
Fling o'er captive banis the spell of sweetest words. 
And charm the ear with songs that are immortal." 
Bel Rural. 
and to gaiu our admiration they contract here and 
expand there, till the “human form divine” is 
lost in the multiplicity of folds and adornments. 
Thijr (.ill upon us to admire the chef-d'oeuvre of 
their tiny hands, “the love of a bonnet,” nnd we 
never fail to pronounce it beautiful, charming, 
perfectly bewitching; but when we ask them in 
icturn to look at a sleek Suffolk, or a fiuely de¬ 
veloped Short horu, they turn up their noses as 
though these things were vulgar and beneath 
tlicii attention. We can never expect our sons 
to grow up with a love of agriculture till its meriis 
are better appreciated by the mothers and 
sisters, 
TRUE HEARTS. 
Procrastination.— “Going to do it,” never 
made a fortune, built a house, or won a name 
“Going to do it,” has been the bane of more peo¬ 
ple than would fill the census of a dozen New 
The man who is always “ going to do it,” 
The only thing he does do, 
Hearts are of several kinds and of widely dif¬ 
ferent natures. First, there are walled-up hearts; 
and these are of two kinds: about one kind the 
wall is high and strong, and lo surmount it is a 
work of extreme difficulty but if you get inside 
yon have entered Eden. Fragrant, and sweet, 
and fair, as tbe visions seen iu dreams, is that 
inclosed garden; and it is worth hard labor to 
gain admission there. The other has a wail as 
high and strong, and fail as hard to get over; and 
when at last, with torn flesh and dislocated 
cousin iv a r k introduced me to her young 
husband, a gallant officer in the cavalry service. 
A glance assured me that he was not the hero of 
the mysterious lock, for the bright curls that 
peeped from the undress cap, were of a sunny 
brown, instead of the ebODy hue so fresh in my 
memory. Two months later, my fair, golden- 
haired cousin had reached "the bounds of life, 
and laid her burden down," and fallen asleep, 
while the worn, weary look which had lately 
rested on her sweet young lace, had faded away, 
leaving the peace that passeth knowledge. Her 
sad secret died with her, and the consuming care 
that chased the brightness from her eye and the 
bloom from her cheek, 
Yorks, 
rarely, if ever does it. 
is to go out of the world without doing it If he 
has a task which mast be done, be 
nonnees, with a deal of boasting and a great waste 
of words, time and breath, that he 
do it” And while he is thus 
somebody else who is not suspected of 
do it, does it, and reaps the reward, 
who is always “ going to do it,” is a friend of Pro¬ 
crastination. He is ever just on the eve of doing 
it when some trivial obstacle interferes and he 
gives up in despair, or puts off the “ going to do 
it” until another time,—until that eternal to-mor¬ 
row. “Going to do it” is astyle of doing business 
which never did pay and never will nav its wav. 
Religious Scolding, 
■There is truth in the 
following extract which is worthy of considera- 
at once an | tion: 
No man was ever scolded ont of his sins, 
is “going to The heart, as corrupt as it is, and because it is 
going to do if’ s °. grows angry if it be not treated with 
“ going to management and good manners, and scolds 
The man 
some 
again 
I A surly mastiff' will bear, perhaps, to be stroked, 
though he will growl even under the operation; 
but if you touch him roughly, he will bite. There 
i9 no grace that the spirit of self can counterfeit 
with more success than a religious zeaL A man 
thinkB he is fighting fur Christ but is fighting 
for his own notions. He thinks he is skillfully 
searching the hearts of others, when he is only 
gratifying the malignity of his own, aud charita 
bly supposes his hearers destitute of all grace, 
that he may shine the more in his own eyes by 
the comparison. One thing, in the meantime, is 
certain; the folly and feudsof the professed dis¬ 
ciples of the gospel, have been more dangerous 
to its interests, than ull the avowed hostilities of 
its adversaries.” 
-* ■» »- 
“Come unto me.” —"Lord, unto whom shall we 
go,” exclaimed the apostie, “Thou hast the words 
of eternal life.” Those who find nothing sure may 
come to Christ,—their hiding-place, and rest in 
-joints, 
you have scaled it, you wish you hadu’i, for there 
is nothing inside l»at rocks and eeld water. The 
trouble with these two descriptions of hearts is 
that tis impossible to distinguish the one from 
the other until you have almost worn yourself 
out in climbing the walls. Another kind of heart 
is that which, having nothing to fence it in, lies 
open to the passage of all men and cattle; a waste 
unfruitful field, of no use to anybody, and less to 
its owner. But there is another kind of heart— 
a rare creation, but a real—one whoso wall is low 
and almost hid by flowers. Tbe birds make their 
nests in it, and sing as they swing upon its sway¬ 
ing twigs and festooning vines. Beyond the 
wall, itself athing of fragrance, beauty and joy, lie 
—the bitter heart-break 
that, like an early frost, stripped life of blushing 
blossom and fresh green leaf, and brought her to 
the grave ill life’s sweet spring,—must ever re¬ 
main a mystery; lmt many a sad aud truthful 
reminiscence, heard and experienced years agone, 
comes back at thought of that ebony curl which 
thus had power to break up the still surface of 
the fountain of memory. 
There is many a romance attached to locks of 
hair treasured away like a precious pearl by 
stern, practical persons, who would little be sus¬ 
pected of such a weakness. Many a hardened 
man of the world, whose heart is crusted with 
pride and selfishness, has yet, somewhere in his 
house, a little drawer, “ the opening of which is 
like opening a grave,” aud there, among other 
treasures, you will find a long and sunny ringlet, 
the sign and seal of a long buried love of which 
it is the only visible token. 
That aged mother yonder, can show you locks 
of all her children's hair, preserved with sacred 
care. 
This tiny tress was sheared from Tommy’s head, 
when it was scarcely higher than the graceful 
scarlet lilies he loved to wander among, down in 
the home meadow. 
The sun was created with me, with you; and by- 
and-by, when we had got over the morning of in¬ 
fancy, wesat oil a wall, in a field, on a hill, at our 
own little bedroom window, and our childish eves 
being by that time opened, wc saw the suu'go 
down for the first time. Nor are these pleasures 
and advantages confined to the external world, to 
the sensations it inspires, or the influence it ex¬ 
erts upon U8. No human passion, no emotion, 
the fiercest or the tenderest, comes to us at sec¬ 
ond-hand. The experience and observation of a 
thousand years, all the metaphysical and poetical 
and dramatic bookB that ever were written, can¬ 
not add a jot to the duration or intensity of any 
emotion of oars. They may exercise it, but they 
cannot form it, nor instruct it; nor, were they 
filty times as many and as profound, could they 
dwarf it It lies in our hearts in original crea¬ 
tion, complete, alone; like my life and yours._ 
Oomhill Magazine. 
cneer, supporc, anu save. t,et Christ be ours in 
life, and we shall have something sure in death 
and heaven. 
\ov had better be a poor man and a rich 
Christian, than a rich man and a poor Christian. 
1 ou had better do anything, hear anything, and 
he anything, rather than be a dwarf in grace. 
This other gleaming curl 
matches exactly those which sported over Eddie's 
baby brow,—that darling Eddie whom the Great 
Shepherd clasped so lovingly in his arms, and 
carried into the silent land without passing over 
“It is a deplorable condition,” says Bishop 
Sherlock, “to be always doing what we are al¬ 
ways condemning.” The reproaches of others 
are painful enough; but when the lash is laid on 
by your own hand, the anguish is intolerable. 
