[Written for Moore'* Rural New-Yorker. 
IDLENESS OF WOMEN. 
[Written for Moore’s Rural New-Yorker.] 
A THRILLING SOUND. 
I am tired of bearing about the idleness of 
womon. An article went the rounds of all the 
papers, last year, enlightening us concerning the 
“Idleness of American fine Ladies.” Well, admit, 
ting It to be all true,—for I do not profess to know 
much about the charmed circle,—shall everybody 
throw the Blur upon the great number of Ameri¬ 
can women, to whom the “fine ladies” bear so 
small a proportion? 
Willis says that five sixths of the people of 
this country arc farmers. Did you, reader, ever 
know a farmer's wife who wss lszy or idle? Such 
a person would be quite a curiosity. Then, look 
at the great middle class in this country,—in vil¬ 
lages and cities. How many lazy or idle women 
are there? Look at the work they perform, and 
then judge them. How many even keep no help, 
taking care of their children, doing their house¬ 
work and sewing. Could Ruch a woman be idle? 
Or, suppose she keeps one servant to look after, 
how much time has she for Idleness? 
Mr. Clifton says to me, “women don’t exorcise 
enough.” Dear me! I guess they would all be 
glad of a nice, long walk, and chance to breathe 
the free, frosh air, and look upon this old glorious 
earth, and get away from the petty annoyances of 
house affairs fur an hour; hut how many after their 
work is done, or with their work to do, desire any 
more exercise? Or, if they should try a walk 
overy day, there would bo baby to look after, three 
meals a day to get ready, wuBbing, baking, sew¬ 
ing, mending to do, and very likely she would say 
ahe hadn’t the timp, though you show her, very 
physiologically, that everybody ought to daily 
take the fresh air. 
I wish everybody who talks and writes about 
idle and lazy women would just look around and 
see how many they can find. Of course, there 
are some, but how many more are there than 
there are Idle men? Rose Clifton. 
I.ynden llsll, I own, 18(10. 
BT A. II bullock. 
With terror, IWlog men will quake 
At sound* by nature made, 
But hear no more her loudest strains 
When with their father* laid— 
The thunderbolt, with fearful voice, 
At midnight's boar of gloom 
Will startle sleepers ou a couch, 
But not within the tomb. 
The wild tornado fiercely whirls, 
And as it rashes by, 
We, from it* rude and wrathful din, 
In ghastly terror fly— 
It course* onward o'er a plaia 
Apportioned to the dead, 
Not one can bear its frightful roar 
From out hi* narrow bed. 
When ocean’* surge with angry boom 
Appal* both ship and ghore, 
We shrink in awe, as from a foe 
No kiDg can atand before; 
Yet thoutaods, in their last repose, 
Within the briuy deep. 
More quiet than an infant lie, 
All undisturbed their sleep. 
The trembling earth’s leTrifie groan*, 
When by convulsions torn, 
Awaken not the form* consigned 
Unto the silent bourn— 
The warrior’* *bril) and piercing shout 
Breaks not upon their ear— 
The charms of meric fall to rouse 
The slumber* of the bier. 
When Time—n traveler *o fleet— 
Has run bis destlued course, 
A sound will thrill the universe 
Surpassing Nature's foroe; 
The herald of Omnipotence 
His trumpet then will blow, 
And all who ever lived on earth 
That signal hear and know. 
The dead will hear it and come forth, 
Each price!*** soul divine, 
In immortality enrobed, 
Forevermore to shine, 
All will not sleep, yet all bn changed, 
Corruption reign no more, 
The mysteries unto u* he shown 
Of Ilim whom we adore. 
Burns, N. Y., 1S30. 
[Written for Moore’s Rural New-Yorker.] 
FRIENDSHIP. 
^Written for Moore's Rural New-Yorker.] 
GOD SAVE THEM ALL. 
Trust in God, who giveth us richly all things 1 
-1st Timothy, vi: 17. 
I hats a mother, wise and true, 
Whose words are good and pure— 
Who points the path I shonld pursue, 
And what I must endure— 
And bid* me on the Savior call, 
And trust in God, who giveth all. 
I have a home—around that home 
Are flower*, and trees, and vines; 
And when afar from these I roam, 
My heart oft there inclines. 
I view the roses on the wall, 
And think of God, who gave them all. 
I have one friend. Yes, I have more, 
True heart* bow much I prise— 
I hove the Bible, and It* lore 
Points me beyond the skies, 
And bid* me pray, and Him adore, 
Who grants me these, and even more. 
With these rich gifts, why should I seek 
For wealth, or joy, or fame? 
My bliss shall be, though e’er so weak, 
God's mercies oft to name, 
And often bow before His throne, 
And thank Him for these mercies shown. 
Troy, Micb., 1860. D 
Ilow many lovely thing* we find 
In earth, and air, and sea— 
The distant hells upon the wind,J 
Tho blossoms on the tree; 
But lovelier far than chime or flower, 
A valued friend in sorrow's hour. 
Sweet is the carol of the bird 
When warbling o’er the spray, 
And beautiful the moon's pale beam 
That lights ns on our way; 
But lovelier friendship’* looks and words 
Thau moonlight, or the warbling birds. 
How prised the coral and the shell, 
And valued, too, the pearl— 
Who can the hidden treasure* tell 
O’er which the blue waves roll— 
Yet dearer etill a friend to me 
Than beauty in earth, or air, or sea. 
East Hubbardton, Vt, 1860. 
STIMULANTS. 
The Louisville Journal beautifully sayB: — 
“There are times when the pulse lies low in the 
bosom and heats slow in the veins; when the 
spirit sleeps the sleep, apparently, that knows no 
waking in its house of clay, and the window 
shutters are closed, a&d the door Lung with the 
invisible crape of melancholy; when we wish the 
golden sunshine pitchy daikness, and very willing 
to fancy* cloudB where no clouds be.’ This is n 
state of sickness when physio msy be thrown to 
the dogs, for we will have uone of it What shall 
raise the sleeping Lazarus? What shall make the 
heart heat music again, and tho pulses dance to 
it through all the myriad throDged balls in our 
house of life? What shall make the bud kiss the 
Eastern hills again for us, with ail bin own awak¬ 
ing gladness, and the night overflow with ‘moon* 
light, music, love, and flowers?' Love itself is 
the great stimulant—the most intoxicating of 
all—and performs all those miracles; hut it is a 
[Written for Moore's Kur&l New-Forker.] 
"HARD TRUTHS.” 
In tho issue of the Rural for Dec. 1st, is an 
article with tho above caption, purporting to he 
from “ A Farmer’s Wife,” which is as ungenerous 
as it is “Hard.” Since a “Farmer's Wife” has 
vented her ire upon poor “ Rkihgkt,” and stands 
in mute astonishment, wondering what will he 
the next thing on the programme,” allow me to 
suggest to “ Farmer's Wife,”—if she is not “ no¬ 
tional, set, bigoted, and can't ho turned from her 
ways any more than the North Pole,” —that 
“charity covercth a multitude of sins,”—and that 
an excellent female quality is “sweetness of tem¬ 
per.” Taking it for granted that “Farmer’s 
Wife” has “years enough to give some expert 
ence and judgment,” and [that the Rural New- 
Yorker will listen to the “servant” as well as to 
the master, your correspondent will venture to 
express hi» thoughts on reading her article. 
First, by “reason of inGrmitics,” she (A Far¬ 
mer’s Wife,) is in “perpetual spasms,” and evi¬ 
dently ncodB a physician. 
Second, she has ft sufficiency of all tho neces¬ 
saries of life, but, like Oliver Twist, cries for 
more. 
Third, the advice Jn her closing paragraph, if 
considered as a display of wit, is simply lndi 
orous; but if design d for common sense, it is 
the most “uncommon” sense lever saw. How¬ 
ever you consider it, it is ill-timed, in very bud 
taste, exceedingly frivolous, resembling more the 
revelry of a Billy coquette than the production of 
a "Farmer's Wife.” 
She should he contented with her position, and 
with an honest hoart, pour out her gratitude to 
God for His munificence. When she has three 
“servants” she is in “purgatory,” when she has 
when she has 
THE RIGHT SORT OF RELIGION. 
A writer in the Congregationalist, who evi¬ 
dently believes, with the apostle James, that faith 
without works is dead, thus describes the kind of 
religion which tho times require: 
“We want a religion that goes into the family, 
and keeps the'Jmsband from being spiteful when 
the dinner is late, and keeps the dinner from 
being late—keeps the wife from fretting when 
the husband tracks the newly-washed floor with 
his muddy boots, and makes the husband mindful 
of the scraper and tho door-mat—keeps the moth¬ 
er patient when tho baby ia croBa, and keeps the 
baby pleasant—amuses the children as well ub in¬ 
structs them—wins os well as governs—projects 
the honey moon into the harvest moon, and makes 
the happy hours like the Eastern fig-tree, bearing 
in Its bosom at once the beauty of the tender 
blossom and the glory of the ripened fruit. We 
want a religion that bears heavily not only on the 
‘exceeding sinfuInesB of sin,’ hut on the exceed¬ 
ing rascality of lying and stealing—a religion 
that banishes 6mall 
LITTLE CHILDREN’S DRESSES. 
over they say. The counterfeit is in the market, 
hut tho winged god is not a money changer, we 
assure yon. 
“Men have tried many things—hut still they 
ask for stimulants. The stimulants we use, but 
require the uge of more. Men try to drown the 
floating dead of their own souls in the wine cup, 
but tho corpses will rise. We aee their faces in 
the hubbies. The intoxication of drink sets the 
world whirling again, and the pulses playing 
wildcat music, and the thoughts galloping—hut 
the fast clock runs down sooner; and the unnatu¬ 
ral stimulation only leaves the house it fills with 
wildest revelry, more silent, moro sad, more de¬ 
serted, more dead. 
“There is only one stimulant that never fails, 
and never intoxicates—Duty. Duty puts a blue 
sky over every 
A distinguished physician, who died many 
yeai-B since in the city of Paris, made this state¬ 
ment:—“I believe that during the twenty.six 
years I have practised my profession in this 
city, twenty thousand children have been car¬ 
ried to the cemeteries, a sacrifice to the absurd 
custom of exposing them to the weather with 
their arms naked.” 
I have often thought if a mother were anxious 
to show the soft, white skin of her baby, and 
would cut a round hole in the little thing’s dress, 
just over the heart, and then carry it about for 
observation by tho company, it would do very 
little harm, lint to expose tho baby’s arms, mem¬ 
bers so far removed from the heart, and with such 
feeble circulation at hGst, is a most pernicious 
practice. 
Put tho bulb cf ft thermometer in u baby’s 
month; tho mercury rises to OD degrees. Now 
carry tho name bulb to ita little hand; if the arms 
bo bare, and tho evening coo), the mercury will 
sink 40 degrees. Of course all tho blood which 
flows through these arms and hands must fall 
from 20 to 40 degrees below tho temperature of 
the heart. Need I say that when these cold cur¬ 
rents of blood flow back into the chest, the child's 
general vi (ality must be more or less compromised ? 
And need I add that wo ought not to ho surprised 
at the frequently recurring affections of tho lungs, 
throat, and stomach. 
I have have seen more than ono child with 
habitual cough and hoarseness, or choking with 
mucus, entirely and permanently relieved by sim¬ 
ply keeping its arms and hands warm. Every 
observing and progressive physician has daily 
opportunities to witness the same simple cure.— 
Lewis' “New Gymnastics." 
I Written for Moore’s Rural New-Yorker.] 
SUNSET. 
measures from the counters, 
small baskets from the stalls, pebbles from the 
cotton bags, clay from paper, chickory from 
coffee, otter from butter, beet juice from vinegar, 
alum from Bread, stiyotinlne from wine, water 
from milk-cans, and buttons from the contribution 
box. 
“The religion that iB to save the world will not 
put all the big Btrawberries at tho top, and all 
the had one3 at the bottom of the basket. It will 
not offer more baskets of foreign wines than the 
vineyards ever produced bottles, and morebur-*- 
rels of Gonesee flour than all tho wheat fields of 
New York grow, and all her mills grind. It will 
not make one-half of a pair of shoes of good 
leather, and tho other of poor loathcr, so that the 
first shall redound to the maker’s credit, and the 
EGcond to his cash. 
“ The religion that is to sanctify the world, pays 
it3 debts. It does not consider that forty cents 
returned for one hundred cents giveri, is accord¬ 
ing to Gospel, though it may he according to law. 
It looks upon a man who ha3 failed in trade, and 
who continues to live in luxury, sb a thief. It 
looks upon a man who promises to pay fifty dol¬ 
lars on demand, with interest, und who neglects 
to pay it on demand, with or without interest, as 
a liar.” 
The evening star will twinkle presently. 
Tho last small bird is silent, and the bee 
Has gone into his hive: and tho shut flowers 
Are bonding! nctf hlorjobg on tho stem; 
And all sweet living things are slumbering 
In the deep hutli of Nature's resting time. 
N. P. Willis. 
There is, perhaps, nej hour of day filled with 
so many impressive thoughts as the hour of sun¬ 
set. Then all the transactions of the day come 
up before us—then we are led to contemplate the 
beauty of Nature—then the sky is decked with 
loveliness, tho cloud is tipped with the sun's last 
rays, and all nature smiles a good-night to old 
Sol as he Lowb himself behind the western hori 
zon, and leaves ns to repose and reflection. The 
feathered songter carols ua evening song, and 
hides his bead under his wing for rest. The 
plowhoy’s whisLle and tho milkmaid's song die 
away on tho breeze, like the distant echo of some 
loved chant—the soft and halt uncertain sound 
which alone is in perfect unison with the chang¬ 
ing scenes of twilight. “With sprig and leaf,” 
the shepherd takes his seat upon some rude Btone, 
or beside some rippling stream, there, alone and 
melancholy, he pipes his horn to call his flocks 
The student’s book is 
man—up in his heart may be— 
into which the syklark, Happiness, always goes 
singing.” 
UNLUCKY PEOPLE. 
It is apart of ihe groat fact of luck—the indubi¬ 
table faetthat there are won, women, ships, horses, 
railway engines, whole railways, which arc lucky, 
and others which are unlucky. 
two she is “driven to distraction, 
one she is "hnrransed within an inch of her life.” 
It is too had! But then she mustn’t "secede.” 
Bhe need not sell her farm, or build a pig-pen to 
live in, because she must “keep three servants;” 
and as for having her “sowing to pull out” when 
“Bridget” does it, why, the remedy is easy. 
She should employ a seamstress! and let Bridget 
do her own sewing! Why don't she get Bridget, 
whose fingers are stiffened with honest toil, to 
teach her children, (if she has any,) and to play 
on the piano-forte? 
But here is tho true cause of her doleful excla¬ 
mation. “Wo bo unto tho woman in these days, 
who is compelled to keep hired-help.’’ She has 
yet to learn this old truth: We ought not to require 
things to happen as wo wish, but rather to wish 
for such things as do of necessity happen. Some 
philosophers have denied the materiality of the 
world altogether, affirming that it exists only in 
ourselves,—to the happy man it is a happy world, 
—to tho selfish man it is a selfish world,—to the 
pure man It is a pure world,—and to the inordi¬ 
nate man or woman it is an inordinate world, 
and not only turns on its axis, but turns head- 
over-heels, and in its mad career “pulls out her 
sewing,burns her bread to cinders,” tumbles 
her off her farm, and drives her into a “seven- 
by-nine” cabin, in scaroh of something Bhe will 
never find —contentment. Then, again, if she 
“ lies down in despair” on the interest of her 
money, she will he an unprofitable “servant,” and 
may he “cast” from her “tent" into "outer dark¬ 
ness.” However, if she is determined to “sell 
out,” and will insist on moving into “ close quar¬ 
ters,” I would suggest that a knot-bolo might be 
a comfortable place! A Hireling. 
I do not believe 
in tho common theory of luck, but no thoughtful 
or observant man caudeny the fact of it. Audio 
no fashion does it appear more certainly than in 
this, that in the case of some men cross-accidents 
arc always marring them and the effect they 
would fain produce. Tlio syetem of things Ib 
against them. They are not in every case unsuc¬ 
cessful, but whatever success they attain is gained 
by brave fighting against wind and tide. 
At College they carried off many honors, but no 
such luok ever befel them aa that some wealthy 
person shonld offer, during their duys, some 
special medal for essay or examination, which 
they would have gained as of course. There was 
no extra harvest for them to reap; they could do 
no more than win all that was to be won. They 
go to tho bar, and they gradually make their way; 
hut the day never comes on which their leader is 
suddenly taken ill, and they have the opportunity 
of earning a brilliant reputation by conducting, 
in hia absence, a case in which they are thorough¬ 
ly prepared. They go into the church and earn 
a fair character as preachers; hut the living 
they would like never becomes vacant, and when 
they are appointed to preach on some important 
occasion, it happens that the ground is a foot 
deep with snow. 
Great, indeed, is the task assigned to woman! 
Who can elevate its dignity? Not to make laws, 
not to lead armies, not to govern empiyes; hut to 
form those by whom laws are made, armies led, 
and empires governed; to guard against the 
slightest taint of bodily infirmity, the frail, yet 
spotless creature, whose moral, no less than phys¬ 
ical being, must be derived from her; to inspire 
those principles, to inculcate those doctrines, to 
animate those sentiments which generations yet 
unborn, aud nations yet uncivilized, will learn to 
bless; to soften firmness into mercy, and chasten 
honor into refinement; to exalt generosity into 
virtue; by a soothing cans to allay the anguish of 
the body, and the far worse anguish of the mind; 
by her tenderness to disarm passion; by her puritv 
to triumph over sense; to cheer the scholar sink¬ 
ing under his toil; to console the statesman for 
tlio ingratitude of a mistaken people; to be com¬ 
pensation for friends that are perfidious—for 
happiness that has passed away. Such is her 
from the hills around, 
closed, and he, too, enjoys a respite—he refreshes 
himself by a survey of nature’s paintings, and the 
beauties of a golden sunset 
The mechanic, till now shut in from the world, 
deafened by the hnm of machinery amid tho dust 
and bustle of manufacture, now rests from hia 
labor, and breathes the fresh, pare air of a sun¬ 
set hour—how his heart heats at tho expectation 
of a competency to enable him to quit those dark 
and gloomy rooms for a home where light and 
The hum of business ceases. 
ms talents, and the fervor of his piety; another, 
because he seeks it as a main end. Between 
these there is a wide difference. One is simple 
and solemn; the other ia magniloquent and 
affected. The one impresses by his thoughts; 
the other by his manners aud words. The one 
attracts by the solemnity and power with which 
he presents and applies divine truth; the other 
by his newspaper notice, hia quaint subjects and 
texts, hiB odd illustration. The one wins con¬ 
verts to Christ; the other, admirers to himself. 
Tho one preaches bodily the doctrines of the 
cross; the other withholds or modifies them, lest 
they should offend, and blunts every arrow, lest 
it should penetrate, emulous only of the reputa¬ 
tion of a popular preacher. 
comfort reigna 
the sound of machinery is no longer heard— 
everything grows quiet, and “the grinding at the 
mill is low.” 
All gives way to profound meditation. Motion¬ 
less is now onr peaceful lake, not a ripple disturbs 
its calm and placid surface, and, like a mirror, it 
reflects the changing scenes of heaven—the set 
ting bud’s last rays, or the twinkle of tho truant 
star that gathers brightness with the retiring day. 
How sweet now is tho tinkle of the palm-bowered 
brook, or the gentle murmuring of the rill, the 
torrent's maddening lush, or the ocean’s roar; 
each seems to teach that God alone is there. 
The face of nature wears a milder and more 
pleasant look, and cheerfulness invites to repose. 
TLere are many associations connected with 
the close of day to call forth ihe finer feelings of 
man, and inspire him with beautifal and impres¬ 
sive thoughts. Then tho pleasant recollections 
of childhood and youth rush fresh to mind; all 
seems changing as the evening sky. The com¬ 
panions that gathered with us around the old 
play grounds, and under the wide-spreading 
branches of yonder elm, will no more meet with 
ub. While the last tints of the sun’s declining 
rayB arc fading from the sky, und the mountain’s 
peak, and mellow clouds, so lately gilded by its 
hues, are lost in the shades of twilight, man, frail 
mortal, seems to realize his own sublunary end, 
lie is then led to reflect on the dark tomb before 
him, and into which he soon must enter—all will 
there he silent. Ilow natural it is for man to 
reflect—“Soon my sun will set; my day of grace 
Fraser's Magazine. 
DECLINE OF “HOME. 
Of the gradual disappearance of “love in the 
cottage,” and the disuse of the “midnight lamp,” 
“ old oaken bucket,” and other nuclei of old as¬ 
sociations, in consequence of the substitution of 
new inventions, a writer in the Philadelphia In¬ 
quirer thus discourses: 
“If we go on at this rate, all sentiment and 
simplicity will vanish from the household. Oar 
homes will be woven together into one immense 
hotel, drawing light, heat, and water, from the 
same Bource, and it may be from the same mate¬ 
rial. The whole domestic picture will have an 
air of labor-saving contrivance and elegant mech¬ 
anism, with cushioned cars, noiselessly gliding 
from cellar to attic; locomotive dumb-waiters 
circulating with stiff gravity through the table 
ritual; steam calliopes discoursing musical asth¬ 
mas in tho parlor, and nimble sewing machines 
performing miracles of fancy needle-work. The 
genius of improvement will have driven out the 
spirit of romance from its last refage and birth¬ 
place, and home itself he left disenchanted. In 
the meantime, however, let ns be consoled with 
the reflection that what we are losing in poetry, 
we are gaining in comfort and elegance; and that 
as physical conveniences are multiplied and dif¬ 
fused, the means of domestic refinement and 
social amelioration will be proportionally in¬ 
creased. Tne masses now live as luxuriously as 
their rulers of a century ago.” 
idn Province of tub Pulfit. —Christianity 
embraces all. It shows the sovereignty of its 
principles, not by destroying anything whatever, 
but by assimilating all things to itself. To 
the Christian, everything becomes Christian. 
Nothing is obsolutely foreign to the province of 
the gospel. It saves the whole of man. It saves 
the whole of life. Nothing, except sin, is pro¬ 
fane. Life is not divided. There is no point at 
which Christianity stops abruptly. As well for¬ 
bid the atmosphere of two countries to intermix 
above the mountains which form a boundary 
between them.— Rtv. T. If. Skinner * 
Happiness and Duty. —We know of nothing 
more contemptible, unmanly, or unwomanly, and 
craven, than the everlasting sighing for “liappi- 
lcbs.” Thoso who have the most of it think the 
least about it. But in the thinking about aud 
doing their duty, happiness comes —because the 
