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MOORE’S RURAL NEW-YORKER: AN AGRICULTURAL AND FAMILY NEWSPAPER. 
MARCH 7. 
iabiis’ fiflil-ffllifl. 
CONDUCTED BY AZILE. 
For Moore's Rural New-Yorker. 
HER HEART. 
Her heart was a flower, 
And hopes on it shone, 
Like dew on the blossoms 
Ere morning hath flown. 
Down deep with the nectar, 
The pearly drops lay, 
And up on the petals 
In love with the day. 
And glad in the sunshine, 
And fearing the breeze, 
They sparkled and trembled 
In beauty’s unease. 
But zephyr coquetting 
On pinion so gay, 
Was charmed with the flower, 
And kissed them away. 
And gone tvaB its sparkling. 
Its rainbows were fled, 
And ou it the hot sun 
Its hottest beams shed. 
But a noble young tree, 
In a sweet green arrayed, 
On the witlieting heart 
Its cool shadows laid, 
And grateful for friendship. 
Forgetting its pain, 
It grow into freshness 
And gladness again, 
Till slowly its fragrance 
Was wafted above; 
To the tree it had yielded 
Its beautilul love. 
Mexico, N. Y., 1857. Emma. 
For Mooro's Rural New-Yorker. 
THE RICH LADY AND POOR GIRL. 
BY WALTER A. BISHOP. 
A short wiater day was drawing to a dose as a 
For Moore's Rural New-Yorker. 
HONOR TO THE MAIDEN LADIES. 
Much as is said in contempt of “old maids,” I 
think I may safely remark that no members of a 
: community make themselves so generally useful, 
so universally beloved, and often solongand grate¬ 
fully remembered, by the whole civilized world,as 
those same old maids. The friend of the old, the 
confidant of the young, ever ready and willing in 
the hour of need, the old maid fills a largerephere, 
exercises a greater influence, than we are apt to give 
her credit for. Our best and most aclf-sauiHieing 
philanthropists Lave been single women. Without 
the ties of her married sister circumscribing her 
sphere of action, her mind conceives the most no¬ 
ble ideas, her vigorous, and ofteu-times almost 
unaided efforts accomplish the most beneficial re¬ 
sults. 
Go to our Lnuatic Asylums, and while the mem¬ 
ory of battles lougbt and victories won—of every 
remarkable or interesting event — aye, of even 
friends and Lome, has fled forever from the recol¬ 
lections of the poor inmates, the name of Miss 
Dix strikes an answering chord in almost every 
heart, awakening the sincefest gratitude of those 
for whom she has so long and faithfully labored. 
Who will ever forget the name of Florence 
NionriNGAi.E —once unknown, but now, through 
her self-devotion, “ familiar in our mouths as 
household words?” Believe me, mauy years from 
now, when the memory of other, it may be, more 
brilliant achievements shall have passed away, the 
recollection of her noble and unifying sea) will be 
still green in the hearts of the children and grand¬ 
children, aye even unto "the third and fourth gen¬ 
eration" of the poor soldiers, whose wounds she 
bound, whose pains she eased, on the far-offshores 
of the Crimea. Had these women been married 
—had their minds and time been occupied by fam¬ 
ily cares and duties, they would iu all prob, bility 
have sat quietly by their fire-sides all their life¬ 
time, and the world would never have been any 
the better or wiser for them. 
Then let the old rnaidtake courage, and although 
to "her sons and daughters rise not up and call her 
©jiflice Jpjsullauy. 
For Moore's Rural New-Yorker. 
OF ONE LOVED. 
BY W. K. KNOWI.KS. 
I am counting up the treasures 
Which the past has left to me, 
Count, and Bing the soleruu measures 
Of a sad, sweet hymn to thee. 
Sing the bright remembrances 
Of that mutual love of ours, 
When the gathered gladnesses 
Charmed tho rapid flow of hours. 
As I read the failed transcripts 
01 that love nf yours and mine, 
Hope, awakened, climbs again. 
Like a crushed and bleeding vine. 
In the dim, uncertain distance, 
Dimmer still with grief and tears, 
I am looking, longing, loving 
» Still the vision that appears. 
0, my love, I count the treasures 
That the past has left to me, 
Count, and sing tho solemn measures 
Of this sad, sweet hymn to thee. 
And my heart is still, and stronger, 
In that love of yours and mine, 
And a hope again climbs upward, 
Like a crushed and bleeding vine. 
Life is golden yet with sanshine, 
As that hope still climbs above, 
Climbs, till angels hear my prayer, 
To be taken to my love. 
--- 
For Moore's Rural New-Yorker. 
WINTER IN THE COUNTRY. 
It has just occurred to me to wonder why a 
residence in the country is accounted by ruralists 
less desirable in Winter than in Summer. The 
fondness shown for fresh verdure and cool breezes 
by city people during the hot mouths, satisfies all 
satisfaction ou the sunny side of the barn; the 
snow-birds flitting about; the winter-king and 
cbick-u-dec telling by titcir cheerful, dearly-prized 
note, that through all the. cold weather, they do not 
lose heart, and the score of other objects adding 
interest and attraction to the picture, it will be 
difficult to imagine anything more beautiful.— 
Even there, on the tree just outside the window, is 
a gem which, hut for Winter, we had never seen. 
A pair of tiuy yellow-birds were often noticed last 
Summer hopping about there, and curious eyes 
peered anxiously up into the tree; but the leaves 
faithfully kept the secret until late autumn, and 
now, standing fully revealed to the gaze, filled 
brimful of newly-fallen snow, which it holds with 
infinite grace, the costliest jewel does not display 
so rare skill, nor give so great delight as that 
dainty affair the birds have brought ns. 
Finally, in Winter or Summer, the dweller inthe 
country cannot afford to despise what are termed 
simple pleasures. Not here, as in the town, does 
the chief enjoyment of a season consist , in the 
brief visit of some musical or theatrical .celebrity 
Nature distributes her charms with an even hand 
throughout the year. And if to the artificial sense 
they seem tame and spiritless, the natural soul, to 
which they are all akin, recognizes their worth; 
and iu the singing of birds and their beautiful 
plumage, iu the trees and their draping of white 
or green, in the flowers and the stars, iu the varied 
tones of tho wind, whether they be fierce or gentle, 
in the musical patter of rain-drops on the roof or 
agatnsf the window, in the ferial dance of snow¬ 
flakes, (the most exquisite enjoyment of a rain¬ 
storm is experienced through the ear; the highest 
pleasure of a snow-storm, addresses itself to the 
eye;) iu these and the thousand other phenomena 
of the natural world, it Buds no mean compensa¬ 
tion for the Crisis, the Rachels, the Greek Slaves and 
the picture galleries of the city. a. 
So. Livonia, N. Y., Feb., 1857. 
For Moore's Rural New-Yorker. 
TIME-AND HOW WE SPEND IT. 
BY THE RAGGED I'ltll.OSOl'HER. 
PRACTICAL GOOD SENSE. 
It is related that an Athenian, who was hesita- 
A short winter day was drawing to a close as a "her sons and daughters rise not upaud caliber parties where the superiority lies in Summer: but ting whether to give bis daughter in marriage to 
young and poorly clad girl reached the door of a blessed,” stl11 ma Y her life he happily aud useful- whether the flight town-ward ou the approach of a man of worth with a small fortune or to a°rieh 
splendid mansion in Bleecker street, New York— V spent and her name perhaps enrolled among cold weather, convinces the rural population that man, who had no other recommendation went to 
The servant ushered her into a large and elegant the benefactors of the human race. Fannie. the country is no longer habitable, except as a consult Themistocle ou the subject. The pl.iloso- 
apartrnent, where sat Mrs. B., the mistress of so ' -— matter of necessity, or whether they are willing pher in the spirit of true wisdom, said, " I would 
much wealth aud grandeur, in conversation with THE DEAD WIPE. to reciprocate the amiability of thinking others bestow my daughter upon a man without money 
a friend. The young girl stood a moment, then - circumstances and surroundings preferable to their rather than upon money without a man” Mir’ 
curtesied ami presented to Mrs. B. a small bundle 1ES - the wife you loved so fondly, cherished own, the impression prevails, quite generally, that Wage for money seldom conduce to social comfort 
saying-"I hope the work will suit you ma’am.” so tcbiderly, is dead. She lies in the shady little now the city has the whole advantage. If this and happiness, and olten results in the utter dcs- 
"The work is well enough,” said Mrs. B. exam- room she loved 80 wel, j lj ut she heeds not now j J ea were founded wholly on the supposed greater truction of domestic peace, in crimination cold- 
iuing it carefully; "but why did you not bring it. ’ ere they place her. You go in aud look on the intellectual advantages of city life, we might say ! ness, and estrangement. And vot the love nf 
splendid mansion in Bleecker street, New York._ 
The servant ushered her into a large and elegant 
apartment, where sat Mrs. B., the mistress of so 
much wealth and grandeur, in conversation with 
a friend. The young girl stood a moment, theii 
curtesied and presented to Mrs. B. a small bundle 
saying—“I hope the work will suit you ma’am.” 
“The work is well enough,” said Mrs. B. exam¬ 
ining it carefully; "but why did you not bring it. 
before. It is at least a week past the time, it was 
promised. Unless you are more punctual and 
keep your word better, I cannot let you have any 
more work.” 
It was growing dark, and the room was not yet 
lighted, so that the tears that gathered in the girls 
eyes could not he seen, but her voice was very 
tremulous as she answered: 
"I did not mean to break my word ma’am, but 
my mother has been much worse, and my little 
brother in chopping wood, cut his foot, so I had 
to”—here her voice became inarticulate, and she 
hastened out of the room. 
“ That is always the way with these people,” said 
Mrs. B., "a 6iok mother, or a sick aunt, or a cut 
foot—any thiug for an excuse.” 
Meanwhile Mary reached the humble dwelling 
she called home. Whether her feelings were la¬ 
boring under the wound so thoughtlessly inflicted 
or her mother's illness distressed her, or her heart 
sickened at the thought of helpless poverty, or it 
might have been the contrast between the room 
she had left, and the one she had just entered, 
which forced itself upon her, whatever was the 
calm sweet face —marble-like Iu its repose —no that the press places town and country on an 
smile beams there on your approach. The warm equality in that respect; for no new thought of 
blood mounts no longer to the soft cheek. You any worth is offered by preacher or lecturer to a 
press your lips wildly to hers, that for the first city audience, but the newspaper strait way cat-lie* 
time give back no answering pre.-sure, \ r ou take "P and reports the same to its country readers.— 
the little pale hand in yours, but the slender fin- And though to the worshiping multitude, it affords 
gers clasp around your own no longer. You a Iovcl y satisfaction to know how their heroes 
breath the name that has ever been the dearest to l°olf, t0 observe the gestures they make, and to 
you in the wide world, but she hears your voice nt -’te their peculiarities ot voice, and though the 
no more; she is dead/ They robe her in a snowy consciousness that so many other eyes aud ears 
shroud and lay her in tho narrow coffin. Oh! can are being delighted, along with his own creates in 
you live while she is prisoned there, you wildly tbe Dllui1 °f the hearer an enthusiasm that en- 
ask. The minister of God says a few solemn hances tho pleasure of the entertainment; yet, 
wodrs— weeping friends gather round to take a considering public lectures as a resource for ac- 
last. faiewell, and when they turn away, yon stand 'pJiring instruction, it nm** be even more profita- 
by hre ,but for the last time. Can it be, you must bio to reafl them than to hear them; from the fact 
now part with her forever ; that you look lor the that tl m necessarily rapid manner in which a sub¬ 
last time on that dear face —press the last kiss to J ect is presented to the consideration of an audi- 
her cold lips; but no tears come to your relief, cnee, precludes the possibility of their bestowing 
and friends draw you away; but you watch as the u P on jt thit serious reflection, and calm criticism 
undertaker folds the muslin over that face, and which au important topic requires, aud without 
turns the coffin-lid closely down. You feel us if which, only a superficial knowledge of it can be 
you would suffocate. He does not heed, but puts gained. 
money is seldom manifest in greater strength than 
in the formation of those life long alliances where 
the parties bind themselves to " take each other 
for better or for worse,” and give their mutual 
pledge to stand by and aid each other amid all tho 
And though to the worshiping multitude, it affords storms and privations aud perils of life. Those 
a lovely satisfaction to know bow their heroes 
look, to observe the gestures they make, and to 
note their peculiarities ot voice, and though the 
consciousness that so many oilier eyes aud ears 
are being delighted, along with his own creates in 
the ndud of tbc hearer an enthusiasm that en¬ 
hances the pleasure of the entertainment; yet, 
considering public lectures as a resource for ac- 
pareuts who arc chiefly anxious to have their 
daughters to marry a fortune, who value money 
more than character, integrity, enterprise and cor¬ 
rect habits, will, in most cases, lament their short¬ 
sightedness, infatuation and folly. There is hap¬ 
piness in a cottage where virtue, intelligence and 
kindness dwell. A palace will not yield it in tlio 
absence of these. It. is not those families where 
the screws in quickly, tightly, aud yon follow her 
cause, contrary, to her usual serenity and care to t0 tbe G rave that yawns to receive the form cl its; 
appear a3 cheerful as possible before her mother, 
she covered her face with her bands, and leaning 
upon the rude table before her, burst into a pas¬ 
sion of tears. It was but for a moment before a 
faint voice from the bed called, “Mary!” She 
started from her posture of grief, and went to her 
ed so many times to your heart. Y'ou see them 
lower her slowly in, and hear the clods fall with a 
dull, hollow sound on her coffin. Oh! metbinks 
there is no sound ou earth that brings such feel¬ 
ings to the heart, as the sound of the earth as it 
falls coveri ng the forms of those we love. You seek 
ijuiring instruction, It raus* be oven more profita- there is the greatest profusion of wealth, who are 
ble to read them than to hear them; from the fact most envied. In many a splendid mansion there 
that the necessarily rapid manner in which a sub- are aching hearts, disappointed hopes, corroding 
ject is presented to the consideration of an audi- cares aud scalding tears. Let us not be misunder- 
ence, precludes the possibility of their bestowing stood. We are uot depreciating or decrying 
upon it that serious h flection, and calm criticism w ealth. It confers and secures many advantages, 
which au important topic requires, aud without It gives to its possessor influence, position, and 
which, only a superficial knowledge of it can be power. "Castaris paribus,” as we were taught in 
gained. our 8C hoolboy days to say, other things being 
But. this notion of the dreariness and monotony equal, it is desirable, highly beneficial, and erni- 
of country life in Winter, is probably owing, in nently comfortable. But it is not worth saerifi- 
great part, to the broad contrast between the deep cing domestic peace to possess it—it is not worth 
repose, reigning there at that season, and the bus- enduring the strife of tunguea—it is uot worth the 
tie and excitement of the town. Many an ardent life-long reproach, you married me for my money, 
admirer of pastoral life in Summer, capable of --— 4 .»--- 
thoroughly enjoying the peculiar emotions raised 
by the sight of expanding and ripening vegeta- 
raothcr’s bedside. "Mary, dear, wipe your eyes Y our darkened home, bnt no white arms are clasp- tion, and by the exercise of agricultural power 
and sit down by me here, and read the thirty-fourth ed roun d Y our neck; no sweet voice bids you wd- directed to turning the forces of Nature to man’s 
Psalm. It will do us both good.” come; no blue eyes look into yours, speaking the use, finds, when thp glory of waving fields run- 
. . _ 1 _ J V. .3 . _ _ ■ 1 , « _ . _ . 
and sit down by me here, and read the thirty-fourth 
Psalm. It will do us both good.” 
Mart reached down Horn the shelf the well- 
worn bible, and seated at the foot of her mother’s Here is v vt3Cre ahe used to eit close by your side; beautiful fioweis has departed, no compensation in perfidious,” adds the following extremely just and U . K * UL ' livc ’ 8olf '‘ com I l,aucut mass of Im¬ 
bed, in a subdued voice read aloud. She had just here the books she read, there her piano stands the country for the business activity and social timely reflections: inanity ? A senseless monitor to an unheeding 
finished reading the verse. "Mauy are the afflio- open with your favorite song spread out; but she amusements of the city. The gay panorama of “ We never heard that such men as Lowndes, " 0llt1, _ __ 
tions of the righteous, but the Lord delivered will sit by your side, read for you; play for you the crowded street, possesses greater interest than King, Sherman, Calhoun, Crawford, Everett, and ttttmat'J tvrmvrwwrr’T m vt 
him out of them all,” when a gentle tap was heard no more forever. You Btand by the window and a landscape made up ol leafless trees, frozen the like-minded, demeuned themselves in’this UMAN NOMENCLATURE, 
atthedoor. A little girl, some years younger than look out in the garden; the flowers site planted streams, bars or snow-covered fields, all enveloped ’perfidious’style. They were dignified, direct, *• What’8 in a Name?” Everythin" Oluirle 
Mary, opened it, and a lady entered. are blossoming as brightly as if her hand had in tje general hush and stillness of steeping Na- concise, patriotic without boasting, and free with- p amb understood this matter when sneukimr of 
” Is this where Mary Morris lives?” trained them up this very morning, hut off beyond turG ' If Winter has not added greatly to the at- out falsifying. They were models of morals, not giving children ugly Christian names he said 
Mauy started up from the bed. “That is my the garden you see the quaint church spire rising, tractions of the city, it has drawn immensely from only in private but in public life. We will not «Don't Xicodcmus a man into nothing”’ V boy's 
name, ma’am.” and there close by, she slumbers. You turn away those of tlie country. even listen to those whisperings which ascribe name has more to do with his happiness and pros- 
“ All > yes. you are the one I just saw at Mrs. B.’s aud sit down with all this agony at your heart, and Winter scenery has not been fortunate in the " llu:h of tlie ' amlom speaking in Congress to ani- perity than we are apt to imagine. A diminutive 
I inquired you out, and have come to see if I could Memory takes you back to tbo long ago, to the number or zeal of its eulogists. Dwellers in ibe J iriaL excitement of the animal spirits. But this ill-sounding cognomen has kept many n poor Mow 
be of any service to you, how is your mother?” first hours of your acquaintance with her, and you country have too generally distrusted their own we wiI1 8a > r ’ tlmt t,J our apprehension the ideal of in tho background all bis days. Aud au unlucky 
The last tallow candle was dimly burning beside f cel you loved her then and love her now better senses, and depended on city litterateurs to point il Patriot legislator and true statesman includes nick-name, applied to the wearer by the oapriceor 
the bed where Mary had been reading. The lady thau ^ ou can Iove a,, y one on earttl - And you arc out to them during the few weeks they anuually siu: h noblc elements as few possess, but more might ma lice of his fellows, not unfrequently affects his 
went towards it, aud took the hand of the emacia- ri ® ht > B,ie wil1 ever be neapes * an d dearest. Yon absent themselves from town, such natural beauties atta,n t0 ! a clear head, reposing on a pure habit peace and respectability through life. We once 
ted sufferer. remember talking with her long ago of death, and aB are m0Bt worthy of admiration; and,not uufre- of bo ' 1 ^ and informed by various knowledge; love knew a man whose real bonafidename was»Stuffie 
“Have you auy physician?” of her saying she would wish to go first, for she fluently, the fn-Bt intelligence of the existence of a ol truth, and hatred of all forms of chicanery; Sickle.” He was called "Stuff Fickle,” for short. 
“No,ma’am. My poor husband’s lastsickness cost could never part with yon on earth and live, and remarkable feature in their own neighborhood, has a patriotism above party; a merit of office, rather Well—what of him? Nothing. He was a “no- 
me so much, that I have now n Abing to pay one. Bbe has gonQ but ca " 'J u live without her ? been gained from some tourists account in a nows- thaD tlie pursuit, of office; a comprehensive tip- body,” of course, and his whole history “ nix.”— 
I hope I shall get better in a few days, and then ^ ou rcad tbe Inters she penned to you in ab- P a P®r. Unhappily for the fame of winter scenery, preciatiou of the interests aud relations of the Reader! if you are young (as we hope you are), 
all will go on well; but now it is very bard for senc e—you look on a tress of sunny linir severed tbe vacations of the literary class fall in the sum- Uopubliej and hist, but uot least, an abiding and married (as you ought to be), and should have 
poor Mart." a f ter death, with a grief at your heart that will not mer lime; it is not fashionable to seek heaeth and * eftr °* God. Such virtues it were more worthy to sons and daughters (and may you bo blessed with 
“But you have a high fever and should be at- be hushed. relaxation in the country in the Winter. Besides, Possess than tho highest official position. With a half-dozen of such sort), remember that much 
tended to; my husband is a physician- he will Years pass on, and another may brighten your disagreeable circumstance of cold exerts a them a man i stands before L is peers a man indeed, depends on naming them properly. Beware of top- 
love the lips do not always utter. 
THE MORALS OF OUR PUBLIC MEN. 
In an able article ou this subject, the New York 
Journal of Commerce, after quoting the pertinent 
remark of Bacon that " there is no vice that, doth 
riing brooks, singing birds, graceful foliage aud -so cover us with shame as to be found false and 
| peril lions,” adds the following extremely just aud 
timely reflections: 
“We never heard that such men as Lowndes, 
King, Sherman, Cullioun, Crawford, Everett, and 
tho like-minded, demeuned themselves in this 
•perfidious’style. They were dignified, direct, 
concise, patriotic without boasting, and free with¬ 
out falsifying. They were models of morals, not 
How is life spent? Moralists, philosophers and 
^ commentators on human life, since time was, have 
dwell, on tbc subject with all the force and urgency 
13 of reason and persuasion. Our earliest philoso- 
'' pher and economist says, “ Time U tl le staff that life 
■ is mode off and alas! how true. Every tick of tbo 
clock, each a pulsation of the brain of time, is an 
" era in human lile, a little cycle—a land-mark in 
the sea ol (ime, marking the stations of the silent 
j march to the sleep that knows no waking. How 
1 little, do any note the warning voice of the gentle 
' tide, tack of the persevering monitor. Yea, how 
1 is our time spent? A day, an hoar at the close of 
life is thought so valuable that fortunes would be 
(1 freely given to prolong a helpless existence for a 
lew short moments, and yet how is this stuff —the 
B web and woof of our short being—used by tlie 
G thinking and philosophic? The doings of an hour, 
^ a minute, may he written on tlie tablets of Eterni- 
’ 'y for weal or woe to us, and, for aught we know, 
have its action on tiie whole human race. 
I am, Mr. Editor, ft Septuagenarian, and have 
• lived the allotted time of man—three score and 
ten. I have been looking i,vet the doclod of mem¬ 
ory, and the ways and means by which a large 
portion of the more than fifty years vouchsafed to 
’ me, since the period of adolesceuse, has been ab¬ 
sorbed ana swallowed np by acts, that, if uotumong 
the absolute conditions of life, are many^of them 
^ conventional ami the more necessities of habitude. 
During those fifty years, I probably have spent in 
buttoning and unbuttoning dressing and undress¬ 
ing, washing and coinin' tig, half an hour each day, 
| amounting to more than a year’s time. In shav¬ 
ing, always t wice a week, ami sometimes oftener 
fifteen minutes cadi time, which.would use up 
some six months. In early maubuod I acquired 
tho habit of the use of the filthy meed, both in 
chewing and smoking— in thu various phases of 
which at least twenty minutes each day has been 
exacted, making over eight months. In the first 
twenty of these years I was in the habit, as were 
all persons, of using ardent spirits and wine, now 
happily obsolete as a family necessary. I estimate 
that I have used COO pounds of tobacco and drank 
over 100 gallons of spirits, or one hogshead, and 
yet never was intoxicated; which must have used 
up, with its concomitant effects, perhaps another 
year. At least one year has been used up iu the 
“pomp and circumstance of glorious war,” r.xhib- 
ited in militia parades and fooleries, as’uscless an 
expenditure as attending horse races ami shooting 
matches, to which I cannot plead—ignoramus. In 
other sights, shows, plays, concerts, and]uuy quan¬ 
tity of dancing, more than another year has pro¬ 
bably gone to the tomb of the capulets. In hunt¬ 
ing, fishing, and games of chance, sailing and 
riding, a year or two more have been blotted out 
of the tablets of usefulness. In small talk, gossip- 
ings, political meetings and discussions, and in 
inquiries and answers to questions about that 
ubiquitous element, the weather, 1 set down in grosB 
at least two entire years. Thus much of mostly 
unwise waste of the precious material of existence, 
the parings of many lost minutes, 1 acknowledge 
with -orrow and contrition. 
Hero is over eight years, or one-fourth of the 
average period of human existence, some of tho 
items worse than lost and without any consistent 
motive lo benefit myself or any other person— 
neither spent iu acts of charity or benevolence, in 
improving the mind, nor in profit iu a pecuniary 
sense for the benefit of self or family. 
What a mortifying, harrowing reflection to one 
whose sands have nearly run—one who is now ex¬ 
isting on borrowed time, over and above the three 
score and ton—that so many precious moments 
have been squandered, which to have added to my 
life about to close; 1 would freely and with eager¬ 
ness suffer the pain of flaying, yea give all that I 
possess, and mortgage all future expectations, to' 
recover the lost treasure. Y r outh, think and reflect 
on the vast importance of uot wasting Time —the 
life-blood of existence—the chain cable of Eter¬ 
nity. But what is the uso of a raggedhud unknown 
denizen of this uncertain, unstable age, preaching 
to the busy, active, self-complacent mass of hu¬ 
manity? A senseless monitor to an unheeding 
world. 
HUMAN NOMENCLATURE. 
"What’s in a Name?” Everything. Charles 
Lamb understood this matter when, speaking of 
giving children ugly Christian names, lie said, 
“Don't /Vicodc’itvs a man into nothing.” A hoy's 
name has more to do with his happiness and pros¬ 
perity than we are apt to imagine. A diminutive, 
ill-sounding cognomen has kept many a poor fellow 
in tho background all his days. Ami au unlucky 
call aud prescribe for you, and here are some pro¬ 
visions for the children; and, Mary, jnst open the 
door—my servant has brought you a wheelbarrow 
load of wood ready split; give all your attention 
to your mother, you shall he provided for.” 
Their hearts were too full for expression of 
thanks, hut the lady needed them not to convince 
home, but as you listen to her merry words and cei ta i n repelling influence; the winter traveler I jroud ly eminent. Without them, no station oouJd 
iovons lantrh. when Lfr dnrlr hvm Lint- in cannot reach and maintain a hi eh t.itr-L nf nn«i,n exalt him into a true man.” 
your side. Sometimes you see a lace, or furm that j" n ''uey, than online points of scenery and so it P°P u hu’ heart and bear a plentiful crop of genuine 
resembles hers, nr hear a voice low aud Boft as happens that we all fall into the habit of looking 8 h‘h ,8,Ile n und patriots, the future of our country 
hers used to be, and you find the young heart on ’y for the bleak and desolate in a winter land- we ^ ear wi ** be tlar ' i and terrible indeed.” 
, ... . uuo uolu uc, auu yuu uuu uiu YOlliJlT UParT 
61 1 a Th Jtie was . n0 B *7’. 7 ,hat doing mouldering in the grave is as dear as ever, though 8ca I’ e - 
good. There were tears shed in that humble room another fills her place by your side, aud you Buti 
n t _ l mL i V«A V. .1 - e Ltli . 4 .4 0-1_i’ At..11 . ? 1 .. 
that night, but not of bitterness, and there were 
thanksgivings that would put to shame the feeble 
gratitude of thousands that are “increasing in 
goods that have need of nothing.” 
Mrs. B. went that night to witness the perform¬ 
ance of a popular tragedy, and was so overcome 
by the distresses of the hero and heroine, as to be 
unable to attend to anything else for several days. 
thought for a time you liad given her up. But no, 
she often comes to you as you sit by your cheer¬ 
ful fireside; you feel the arms circling round your 
neck, the soft lips pressed to your brow; see the 
eyes so mild and loving, looking down through 
yours into your soul; you hear the low tones tel¬ 
ling you again how dear yon are, hut you start up 
nervously, and look round on those gathered about 
yon, trying to shake off the illusion as yon remem¬ 
ber how long she has been sleeping. Ah, the first 
true loie ol the heart never wil), never can die 
out. It may be fcilent fur a time, but, it will rise 
But if wc cannot go out, with so much comfort, 
we may look out with scarcely less pleasure in 
Winter than in Summer. There is no spot be¬ 
tween earth and sky, on which a house can stand, 
where the open, friendly eye may not find, even 
on the dreariest day, many objects for its gratifica¬ 
tion. But, taking as tlie standard of winter beauty 
a scene made tip of ground, trees, shrubs, fences 
unauie 10 aueuu 10 any in mg else ior several days, ber how long she has been sleeping. Ah, tho first a “d roofs covered with snow; perhaps tossed by 
. . true love ol the heart never will never can die the wind into an infinite variety of fantastic shapes 
A smile is ever the most bright and beautiful ou k D* ma >’ he silent i<>r a tune, but it will rixe • ,> . . 1 , , . 
with a tear npon it Witt i. the a.™ win,™tiu "" Hte “ <• »'« U.'.ur. th.t „,i e M «'»» the dark, straight 
dew? The tear is rendered bv the smile ? therwlso he happy. Tho heart, thank God, is bolea of tbe lrees standing up majestically, aud 
, lf J precious locked away from all human eyes. — Philadelphia the branches shootingproadly.and gracefully from 
above the smile it,sett. Dollar Newspaper. the pareut Blem . the caUle gr0U ped in sleepy 
statesmen und patriots, the future of our country 
we fear will he dark and terrible indeed.” 
Birds. —Here is a little gem from Stoddard’s 
recent volume of poems. There are many besides 
the poet who have bud luck in catching the 
thoughts which sing about them: 
Birds are singing round my window, 
Tunes the sweetest ever heard, 
And I hang my nuge there dayly, 
But I never catch a bird. 
So with thoughts my bruin is peopled, 
And they sing there all day long; 
But they will not told their pinions 
la the little cago of song ! 
A noble heart, like the sun, shows its brightest 
countenance in its lowest estate. 
heavy names—such as Byron and Washington and 
Shakspeare—which only serve to belittle the 
wearer. Better by half call them all John and 
Mary, and then number them, us they do steumboats 
in the West. Give them good, plain, manly,spell¬ 
ing-book titles, and then if any man “nick-names” 
your child, prosecute him for slander. — Selected. 
CONSCIENTIOUS DISCHARGE OF DUTY. 
Ykt nerve thy spirit to the proof, 
And blanch not at thy chosen lot ; 
The timid good may stand aloof 
Tho sage may frown—yet taint thou not, 
Nor heed the shall, too surely cast. 
The foul oud hissing bolt of scorn ; 
For by thy side shall dwell at last 
Tho victory, ot endurance horn. 
Truth crushed to earth, shall rise again ; 
The eternal years ol Uod are her’s ; 
But Error, wounded, writhes with pain, 
Aud dies amoug her worshipers. 
[ Bryant. 
- -— 
Neither wealth nor birth, but mind only, should 
be the aristocracy of a free people. 
— .*..... . . . ..... . . . ....-...-...*.-.^..... .....^......... L 
