.. 
MOORE’S RURAL NEW-YORKER: AN AGRICULTURAL AND FAMILY NEWSPAPER. 
MARCH 28. 
JaMfS’ Ifllt-ffllifl. 
CONDUCTED BY AZIDE. 
THE HOUSEHOLD BABY. 
BY GRACE GRKEXWOOI). 
[Grace, alias Mrs. Lippencott, has lately had a baby, 
and she is now able to write some practical rhymes from 
real experience. They ate very pretty, and we srive them 
a place for the eyes of those who cannot versify their 
thoughts.] 
What a.joy to human eyes, 
"When it laughs or when it cries, 
What a treasure, what a prize, 
Is the household baby I 
Be its temper rising, falling, 
Is it cooing, crowiog, calling, 
'Tis the same dear precious darling, 
Is the household baby I 
If the sc nes without be dreary, 
If the hearts within grow weary, 
Baby wakes, and all is cheery — 
What a rush for baby ! 
Mama’s eyes grow bright wiih joy— 
Grandpa laughs, and grandpa’s boy 
Gladly leaves his last new toy 
To play bo-peep with baby I 
Sisters from their music run, 
Maud has caught “ the sweet one,” 
Grace bends clown in girlish fun 
To make a horse for baby I 
Dp to everything we know, 
Hands and feet “ upon the go,” 
What a funu.v creature though, 
Is the household baby t 
Bring the puppy and the cat, 
Let him pnll, and pinch, and pat, 
Puss and pup were made ior that, 
Made to please the baby 1 
Bring those China vases, mama, 
Get “ the mirror and the hammer I” 
Anything to make a clamor, 
And delight the baby I 
Let it clang and clash away, 
Let it laugh, and shout, end play, 
And be happy while it may. 
Dear, mischievous baby t 
What a joy to human eyes, 
What an angel in disguise, 
What a treasure, what a prize. 
Is the household baby I 
For Moore’s Knral New-Yorkor. 
MY LITERARY EXPERIENCE. 
One pleasant afternoon, as I sat in my cozy room 
at friend Mabel’s, I heard the pattering of dainty 
feet upon the stairs, a bonnd along the hall, then 
my door opened, and in peeped the golden-head 
of Jessie Hazleton, the pet of Mabel's house¬ 
hold—and a sweet voioe queried, "May I come 
in?—I want to talk with you a little while.” “Cer¬ 
tainly,” said I, laying aside my book. “O, thank 
you!” and hounding in, she seated her petite self 
on the stool at my feet; then looking up in my 
face, she very seriously said, “ Ida, I want you to 
give me your literary experience.” My “ literary 
experience!” 
Me, who never dreamed of being anything hut 
a simple country girl, asked, and so seriously too, 
such a question. Oh! I had to laugh, in spite of 
the serious faoe before me. “Well! tow, I would 
like to know what you are laughing at?” 6aid 
Jessie, seemingly provoked at ray merriment— 
“Why! at your question to he sure! One might 
think you tuought me a Stowe or a Southwokth 
or some other great literary character, to hear it” 
“Ah!”—quite relieved—“don’t flatter yourself— 
nothing was further from my thoughts!”—(for 
which piece of imperiinence she got her ear 
pinched.) “Isimply meant this: you write for the 
papers occasionally and of course, must have 
written your first piece, and that is what I want to 
know about” “ Very well! Now yon have defined 
your position, I will comply with your request— 
But, first please remember there is a great differ¬ 
ence between literary productions, and such scrib- 
lings as mine; and next why do yon want to 
know?” "Because I have been thinking of w-riting 
myself Not that I care much about it, but I 
thought perhaps it would”—(blushing up to the 
roots of her golden ringlets,)—“please Hahry.” 
“Oh! foolish woman! What would we not all 
do, to please Hakry? Well, my friend Kate 
Tracy— a genius herself—was always coaxing me 
to write; so, one day—just to get rid of her coax¬ 
ing, daring her summer visit to Dream Dell—I sat 
me down to write. 1 wrote various pieces, on va¬ 
rious subjects, read them aloud to Kate, and then, 
much to her chagrin—tore them into fragments.— 
But I was determined not to give up in that way_ 
so, seating myself again, I wrote an incident in iny 
life, read it aloud to Kate, who, of course, was 
perfectly delighted—folded, directed it, and sent 
it a * kiting,’ without the slightest idea of ever 
seeing it in print. 
“Well, we idled away the time until mail-day, 
and then we posted ‘ Buck’ off to town for the pa¬ 
pers, watching eagerly at the' parlor window for 
his return. At last tho white face of old Jock 
(our family home) appeared above the hill, and 
away we flew to the gate, caught the mail bag, 
emptied it’s contents on the grass in our eagerness) 
and Kate, with her usual good luck, got the paper, 
tearing it open as we wentinto the house. Eagerly 
her eye wandered over it At last, her face bright¬ 
ened and she exclaimed ‘ Here it is,’ and waving 
the paper over her head, she cried, ‘ Three cheers 
for the young authoress!’ Then tossing it to me, 
Bhe said, ‘Mias Modesty you may correct bad 
printing, while I look over the other things.’ Sure 
enough, there in a corner was my first piece. I 
read it several times, when my eye espied this 
paragraph just below it—‘We wish Lucy— that 
was my 6iguature—would resume her natural hand 
and not try to write like a genius.’ ” 
“This poor writing, that Kate and I had tried 
so hard for the last week to improve; Kate, a 
graceful penman, writing all the quotations from 
great books, she could think offer copies,—which 
I tried to imitate, bnt all to no purpose, so we gave 
up in despair. And now to be accused of trying 
4 to write like a genius 1 —Oh! it was too much for 
my ‘centre of gravity,’ so, giving the paper a toaa, 
I gave vent to my feelings in a hearty scream of 
laughter, which brought Kate to my side with 
‘What’s the matter?’ I caught up the paper, 
pointed to the paragraph, which her quick eye 
soon took iu. and ( ben, such penis of laughter as 
rang through our little parlor, was enough to have 
brought any other household to the spot immedi¬ 
ately, hut our's was too used to it, so we were left 
alone to our fun. Well! that was my first piece; 
since then I have written whenever the ‘spirit 
moved me,’ bnt always in the same hand, which, I 
trust, by this time, the editor thinks is perfectly 
natural. And this, J essie, is the great literary expe¬ 
rience of your friend.” Ida Cakey. 
Dream Dell, Ohio, 1857. 
- 4 - >- 
For Moore’s Rural New-Yorker. 
A “CALL” AND PLATFORM. 
Girls, why not get up an Anti-Tobacco Society? 
You form Temperance Clubs, and publish your 
intentions not to marry young men who indulge 
in the "social glass,” and are down, in toto, on the 
unfortunate chap who soils his lips with touch of 
the wine cup. How is it about tobacco? How 
does he look stuffing in a black, nauseous, poison¬ 
ous weed, and rolling it as a choice morsel in his 
teeth, or going about with a roll of it depending 
from his lips? Does he look street? How would 
you like to taste the nectar from those lips?— 
Doubtless he would condescendingly and grace¬ 
fully, with the air of a man of the world and of 
fashion, put aside the delicious roll, and give you 
an opportunity to try. 
I'll tell you what it is, girls, / won't marry a man 
who uses tobacco. 1 am not going to have a fil¬ 
thy spittoon standing iu the middle of every floor, 
fqr myself, my children and friends to stumble 
over, and which every morning I may have the 
exquisite pleasure of carrying out and cleaning for 
him; nor have my stoves bespattered with tobacco 
juice! Do you suppose I would do as Mrs. Neff 
and lots of ladies I know of—clean after tobacco 
spit? I care not how immaculate his broadcloth, 
or how unincumbered his estates, or how supreme¬ 
ly graceful, or self possessed, Ac., Ac., the moment 
I see him hang around a spittoon, as a moth hovers 
near a candle, 1 am ready to say “good bye” to 
him, for neither myself nor servants shall ever 
be degraded into the task of taking care of his 
neadless, inexcusable, tin pardonable filth! 
Besides—I will own it—I want a husband 1 can 
kiss occasionally, and without inhaling the horrid 
odor of tobacco. I could forgive him for sipping 
now and then the rich juice of the grape, or even 
the waters of the distilled grains — he might do 
that, and still he a gentleman, and have some re¬ 
spect for me, for awhile at least, and if he abused 
me, it would be when he was partially bereft of 
reason; but to submit to abuse every day, from a 
man with his eyes open, and in the possession of his 
natural senses! Witt I? Will you? And if ho 
deceives me with his perfumery, and nostrums, 
into the idea that I am getting a gentleman ior a 
husband, and afterwards 1 iearn that he is a slave 
to a vile habit, if any circumstances compel me to 
to lire in the same house, I cau at least despise hint, 
for I will not be the wife of a slave! It. is had 
enough every where I go — especially in the rail¬ 
road cars, to he compelled to wipe the pools and 
quids with my dress, and be squirted on, without 
ceremony. When I have a house of my own, it 
shall he too sacred and decent for such abomina¬ 
tions! 
So now, girls, what do you say? Here’s my 
flag!—how many will enroll under my banner? 
ETERNAL ENMITY TO TOBACCO! 
Say the word, and I’ll draw up a Constitution 
and pledge, and put my name at the top, at the 
risk of being an “old maid,” and very likely I shall; 
but when I am translated, I’ll leave all my property 
to your anti-tobacco-fund, and if I ever get to be 
President of the United States, I’ll extinguish the 
nuisance! Wo, in these days, to all w/ankind.— 
Hurrah, girls! Let us u-ork, as well as pray for 
the millennium! Miss Dido. 
- 4—4 - 
For Moore's Rural New-Yorker. 
CHILDHOOD MEMORIES. 
How many endearing associations cluster around 
the memory of our early childhood. In life’s 
whole journey it is the brightest spot. No joy so 
pure, no happiness so unclouded, as that of child¬ 
hood days. The anxious cares of later years dis¬ 
turb not its trauquility. Innocence and Peace are 
its guardian angels, and uo sorrow exists that a 
mother’s love may not dispel. The hoary-headed 
sire, whose palsied limbs refuse to carry him much 
further in his pathway of life, dwells with pleasure 
upon the memory of his early days—the happiest 
in a lifetime. Imagination draws for him the 
scenes of bis childhood years. He sees once 
more the peaceful cot with its ivied walls, where 
he was wont to dwell. He enters again its vine- 
clad portals, and a mother’s form greets his eyoB, 
and brothers and sisters ave there just as they were 
in days gone by. He thinks he is a child again. 
Flis mother’s baud is on his head, and be hears 
the gentle tones of her low. sweet voice, as she 
was wont, when he was a child, to teach him from 
the Holy Book, or guide aright his infant prayers. 
He has read these stories many a time since then 
but they never seemed half so beautiful as, when 
seated by his mother’s kuee, they fell in gentle 
accents from her tongue, The noble old elm be¬ 
neath whose friendly branches he oft had reclined, 
still stands by the roadside. The murmuring rill 
before the door — the music of its waters seemed 
far Bweeter than those of any other—keeps on its 
winding way, as of old. The little garden—scene 
of many a merry game—the orchard, and the old 
school-house a few rods down the road, all are 
fiere. But stem reality calls him from the pleas¬ 
ing dream, and with a sigh he leaves the contem¬ 
plation of his early days. 
Childhood! fairest oasis in life’s great desert; 
many are thy pleasing remembrances, and never 
to be forgotten thy hallowed influences. 
Rochester, N. Y., 1857. Winnie Willian. 
©jmee fjjjsulldiig. 
What is beauty ? Not the show 
Of shapely limbs and features. No. 
These are but flowers. 
That have their dutud hours 
To breathe their momentary sweets, then go. 
‘Tis the stainless soul within 
That outshines the fairest skiu. 
[ Sir A. Hunt. 
- 4-4 - 
It is with ideas as with pieces of money, those 
of the least value generally circulate the most. 
For Moore’s Rural New-Yorker. 
TWILIGHT HOURS. 
BY MRS. A. X. BURTON. 
Sweetest hours are hours of twilight, 
When tho slow departing day 
Stops to gather in her quiver, 
One by one eiir.fi golden ray ; 
Drawing soil and close behind her, 
Night’s own curtaiuings of gray. 
One by one each tiny sparkler, 
On the azure robe ol night, 
Softly smih tli down upon us 
With its old familiar light;— 
Gome to keep their silent watching, 
Gathering thus in clusters bright. 
Then the dreamy shadows gather, 
And a holy calm doth close 
All above, around, wilhin us, 
Welcome calm ol sweet repose, 
Till a shade almost of sadness, 
O'er each softened spirit grows. 
Then, oh then, will thoughts unfettered, 
Str..y in bright entrancing dreams, 
Until fancy gilds the distance 
With her rosy-tinted beams, 
And the past or future hours, 
With unworded pleasure teems. 
Hastings, Mich., 1857. 
—-- 4.4 - 
For Moore’s Knral New-Yorktr. 
EARLY SCENES AND ASSOCIATIONS. 
There are certain chords of the poet's lyre 
which, whenever swept, draw an involuntary re¬ 
sponse from every heart: so there are certain 
scenes in nature, connected with former associa¬ 
tions, which never fail to awaken emotions of the 
most tender and thrilling character. Such are the 
scenes of early life. No spot in the wide world is 
so replete with varied memories. A thousand 
hallowed associations cling around every valley 
and little mound, every rock, and tree, and shady 
grot—all, in short, is tairy ground. The spirit of 
enchantment reigns there with atalismanic power, 
aud closely binds the homestead to our heart,— 
With those who live a rural life, it is ever thus, 
“There wns not around my birth-place 
A thicket or a flower, 
But childish game or friendly face. 
Has given it the power 
To haunt me in my after life, 
And be with rnn again, 
A sweet and blessed memory 
Of mingled joy and pain.” 
It is so. Our reminiscences of life’s green 
spring are not all sunny. While we delight to re¬ 
call departed joys, wc sigh that they are departed. 
Every step we take among the haunts of juvenile 
pastimes, reminds ns that wo are trending upon 
the sepulchred remains of past delights. A deep 
solemnity comes over ns. We are iu the charnel- 
house of departed years. Imagination teems with 
superstitious visions, .and catches at times the 
wavering forms of the real. Beautiful in inno¬ 
cence, tho shades of u long train of cherished as¬ 
sociations rise up before us. Memory comes with 
her Alladin lamp to light our way along the 
vaulted avenues of the past. We live our lives 
over again. Starting lYmn the point of our earliest 
recollection, we puss along down the aisles of in¬ 
fancy and youth, surveying the vernal spots which 
thickly skirt our path, and the mountains of an¬ 
ticipated greatness (hat rose in the dim perspec¬ 
tive of the future, until, perchance, the present, 
standing in stern reality before us, startles the 
imagination from her bewildering reverie. Oh 
that we had known, when actually treading those, 
that we were spending the fairest month in life’s 
brief year! We might have prized it more and 
spent it better. Perhaps a sigh of regret for 
wasted hours escapes us. 
But if anything is bitter as we drink in the 
memories and survey in reality the scenes of 
childhood, it springs from the changes which we 
see on every side, iu everything around. The dis¬ 
covery of the alteration, or the disappearance of 
the most trilling matter, often destroys the buoy¬ 
ancy of our feelings, and for a moment casts a 
shadow of gloom over the mind. The removal of 
some large and favorite rock or tree, some conse¬ 
crated shrubbery, or the changing of the course 
of a little endeared stream, is instantly perceived 
on visiting our youthful home after the lapse of 
years, and gives our thoughts for a season a sad¬ 
dened hue. They were each a nucleus around 
which clustered a host of sweet remembrances— 
early and valued associates, dearly prized l'or the 
happiness they had yielded. Iu after years as we 
were wont to revisit them, we ever found them full 
of tongues, aud pleasaut were the tones in which 
they addressed us. They reminded us of the times 
so rife with 
••- Lively cheer, of vigor horn; 
The thoughtlt-sB day, the easy night. 
The spirit* pure, the slumbers light, 
That fly the approach of morn." 
Such was their power of language; and Bhould we 
not Bigh that they were gone? It is not the fall of 
man alone that gives us sorrow; we weep at the 
loss of anything, whether animate or inanimate, 
that is tenderly loved. Every haunt of youth has 
a mystic charm about it, and any alteration wbioh 
tends to destroy this charrn, gives us deep regret 
“ Chnuges ‘odd scenes that we so much have loved, 
Are death-bells to the soull" 
The loss of aught that is knitted to the heart 
leads us to serious meditation, and to feel how un¬ 
stable are all things of mortal nature. Tho de¬ 
parture of friends especially reminds us of our 
own fragility, and of the certainty that we too must 
ere long be hid from the gaze of the living and 
the loved, who may linger for a season behind.— 
How many cherished forms, once animate with 
beauty, and vigor, and joy, whose names were early 
registered in om calendar Of life, are seen no more! 
Their voices may come surging upon the waves of 
past time, and their images may be “pictured iu 
memory's mellowing glass,” but they are iu the 
same bed with the 
“ Fair forms and hoary seer# ol ages past.” 
It is saddening, sometimes, to think that, we 
shall meet them no more; but mingled with our 
sorrows is the anodyne of Hope. If there is one 
thought that is strengthening to the spirit, as we 
survey the ravages of decay, it is, that wc are not 
all mortal—that what is truly vital, lives on when 
our bodily form Inis lost its beauty and its mould. 
Friends we have whom, though we sec not here, 
the eye of faith beholds in heaven. We hope to 
meet, them there. Death may be gathering in his 
harvest around us; we may feel that our own 
“ Life is fleeting, 
And our hearts, thou stout, urn! brave. 
Still like muffled drums are healing 
Funeral marches to the a rare;" 
yet with Christ as our hope of salvation, we 
march on, fearless of the "insatiate archer,” feeling 
assured that he can at the most, only emancipate 
our spirit, and trusting that we shall soon join our 
early departed friends, amid scenes that know no 
change, and with them spend an eternal youth. 
Attica, N. Y., 1S57. Walter R. JBtsnor. 
- 4*4 - 
For Moore's Rural New-Yorkor 
MORAL COURAGE. 
Courage is of two kinds, physical and moral.— 
By physical courage is meant that bravery in dan¬ 
ger and seeming disregard of self, even when life 
is endangered, which lots characterized so many in 
all ages of the world. 
If we turn to the pages of History, how frequent¬ 
ly do we find those whose lives, spent in the bat¬ 
tle-field, were one series of daring exploits, ever 
turning toward the polar star, Fame. Thus was 
Caisar, he who viewed death with calmness if met 
while engaged in carnage and bloodshed — his was 
a character fitted to excite our admiration. As a 
man, he combined many noble qualities—us a war¬ 
rior, posterity will ever bind laurels about his name. 
But far different is moral courage. This daring 
to do right which has puzzled, even some of the 
wisest philosophers,—for, as reason is superior to 
instinct, so is this to mere fortitude in peril. The 
one pertaining to earth, is low and groveling: the 
other, rising upward, expands the heart of its pos¬ 
sessor, aud enables him grasp at heavenly things. 
It may he right that, such characters as Alexan¬ 
der and Bonaparte should bo covered with re¬ 
nown obtained by the sword, and cruelty, and that 
every sigh heaved by them for other worlds to con¬ 
quer, should he waited along by the beezes of the 
future, as emblematic of great minds; but have 
not lions and tigers fought as bravely and achiev¬ 
ed as glorious a conquest ns did ever these? And 
how dues our admiration change to pity, and they 
sink into insignificance, when compared even with 
that little band who left friends and home, to seek 
beyond ocean’s vast expanse, new friends, new 
homes, hut, more than all, “Freedom to worship 
God.” Those were men, guided by principle and 
duty, men of noble souls, men morally brave. 
That moral courage tends to increase happiness, 
cannot be doubted “Wisdoms ways are ways of 
pleasantness, and nil her paths are peace.” The 
man, however humble, who, inthepath of duty dares 
to do right regardless of what people may say, is far 
more courageous than he, who, by mere force of 
arms, made Europe tremble. 
We should ever remember that to he great, we 
must be good, to be happy, greatly good; and in 
our glance for some polar star io guide us on to 
the haven of rest, let us seek rather wisdom than 
ambition, then though our names may never be in¬ 
scribed upon tho records of renown, they may he 
enrolled upon the armorial ensign of the King of 
Kings. Amelia. 
Cayuga, March, 1857. 
PRACTICAL GOOD SENSE. 
It is related that an Athenian, who was hesita¬ 
ting whether to give his daughter in marriage to a 
man of worth with a small fortune, or to a rich 
man who had no other recommendation, went to 
consult Themistocles oil the subject. The philos¬ 
opher, iu a spirit of true wisdom, said, “I would 
bestow my daughter upon a mun without money, 
rather than upon money without a man.” Mar¬ 
riages for money seldom conduce to Bocial com¬ 
fort aud happiness, aud often result in the ntter 
destruction of domestic peace, in crimination, 
coldness, and estrangement. And yet the love of 
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 nnitnal 
pledge to stand by and aid each other amid all the 
storms and privations and perils of life. 
Those parents who are chiefly anxious to have 
their daughters marry a fortune, who value money 
more than character, integrity, enterprise and cor¬ 
rect habits, will, in most case3, lament their short¬ 
sightedness, infatuation and folly. There is hap¬ 
piness iu a cottage where virtue, intelligence and 
kindness dwell. A palace will not yield it in the 
absence of these. It is not those families where 
there is the greatest profusion of wealth, who are 
most to he envied. In many a splendid mansion 
there are aching hearts, disappointed hopes, cor¬ 
roding cares and scalding tears. Let us not be 
misunderstood. We arc not depreciating or de- 
cryiug wealth. It confers and secures many ad¬ 
vantages. It gives to its possessor influence, po¬ 
sition und power. “ Castaris paribus as we 
were taught in our school-boy dayB to say, other 
things being equal, it is desirable, highly benefi¬ 
cial, and eminently comfortable. But it is not 
worth sacrificing domestic peace to possess, it is 
not worth enduring the strife of tongues, it is not 
worth the lifelong reproach, “ you married me for 
my money.”— Selected. 
---- 4-4 - 
“ The Prairie in Spring,” by G. W. Bungay, con¬ 
tains some exquisite lines: 
This is the priirte broad, and wild, and free, 
Ocean of emerald hue and moving light. 
When the meek grass with its green linger points 
To Him who leads it, aud the myriad flowers 
Of many hues—gniwi uestliug flowers! strange budBl 
Offer, what large rewards of sinless halm t 
While showers of Insects float in the pure air 
On glittering wiuga, so variously dyed. 
They scorn the offspring of the gorgeous flowers. 
Gay birds, like winged flowers Inspired with song, 
Pour forth the 1 1 roundelays from morn to eve: 
The robin, bard of birds, whose ardent hymn 
Shines out upon it* sunlit breast of flame, 
Builds here its cabin-nest, amt rears its brood. 
That jewel of the air, Hie oriole, 
Bright drop of sky and sunshine turned to song, 
Hangs its moss-cradle on the lonely tree, 
And there God rocks It with his mighty hand. 
And watches it with all the stars of heaven. 
-- 
A generous man will place the benefits he con¬ 
fers beneath his feet—those he receives, nearest his 
heart. 
WIVES ARE FOR THE FEW. 
A German writer on America—(Kirsten)—calls 
it a country of old maids, lint', how to “ preserve 
and pickle” the vast masses of unemploj'ed affec¬ 
tions, seems at present to be the question in our 
country. So fewer aud fewer the men who can 
afford to marry, (with the still increasing expen¬ 
siveness of the luxury,) that the amount of warm 
hearts on hand amounts to a “ glut of tho market” 
The ladies themselves, however, fortunately, seem 
to he apprehensive of its growing to an incon¬ 
venience. Thus writes oi e of them, “out. West,” 
where they usually are the quickest ro speak their 
mind. She addresses the Editor of the Sandusky 
Register: 
" It is a mournful fact that this world is full of 
young inon who want to marry, and dare not,— 
Deny this, as some will, it. is, nevertheless, true, as 
we can easily show. In this town, for instance, 
there are some thirty or forty young men, well-tc- 
do in the way of salaries and business, yet whore- 
fuse to take the step which they alt, want to 
Take, but do not; and why? The large majority 
of them have salaries ranging from five hundred 
to seven hundred dollars per year, and a few have 
eight hundred and a thousand dollars per year.— 
Now, the first question to be asked by any sane 
man is, can T properly support a wife if I take one? 
Then he counts the cost of living as tho woman of 
his preference would wish, and lo! he finds, to his 
amazement, that his income is vastly too small io 
support even a modest modem establishment; and 
somewhat saddened by the reflection, he plunges 
into labor, and courts business with an assiduity 
that takes away his health eventually, iu hope of 
attaining an income tbntsball enable him to marry 
and have a. home of his own. And this is the se¬ 
cret of all the hard, unending toil of the young 
men of to-day who are fast approaching thirty years 
of age—this is the reasouof so many disappointed 
men and waiting women, deny it or hide it ns you 
may. 
“ Bnt, says some good woman, you do us injus¬ 
tice; for any woman who truly loves a man will 
adapt herself to his circumstances with the great¬ 
est pleasure. But what man of any sensitiveness, 
or bigh sense of honor, would take a woman from 
easy circumstances, and a pleasant and well-fur¬ 
nished home, to adorn his little four rooms and do 
his house work, as the first priueiples’of economy 
wound demand of him? Few will do it; for 
though the woman signifies her willingness to take 
up with such experience, we are all such creatures 
of circumstance that there would he complainings 
on her part, eventually, and sickness of over-cx- 
ertion, and unhappiness from many cares — all of 
which would render marriage anything else than 
pleasant. And so the young men very wisely think 
—preferring a few years more of single loneliness, 
iu order to obtain money enough to support a 
modest house of between twelve or fifteen hun¬ 
dred dollars a year expense, rather than to place 
a modernly educated woman into the house of six 
hundred dollars a year, where she must do her own 
work. 
“Now, what is the remedy? Plainly, that wo¬ 
men must fit themselves to be such wives as the 
young men must have. Else the young men must 
Gt themselves to he such husbands as the women 
want, and spend the very choicest years of their 
life in the dismal drudgery of a ceaseless toil, 
breaking down health, happiness, energy, only to 
give themselves up to marriage when the best of 
their manhood is gone. The women must choose 
for themselves which it shall be, for the matter is 
solely in their hands. Let mothers say to their 
daughters, pnt on that calico gown, go into the 
kitchen aud prepare dinner, take charge of this 
household, and lltyouself to become a wife and a 
mother—let the young woman cheerfully consent 
to such service; aud, instead of lavishing all 
thought, aud time, and money, upon the adorn¬ 
ment of the body, seek to accustom the hand to 
propor industry, und to school the mind to proper 
tastes— then there will be no longer complaint that 
young men ‘ cannot afford to marry,' and we shall 
have beautiful, modest houses all around us, aud 
women will have loving husbands, and life shall 
once more have something of the truthfulness and 
virtue which it had in the days of our blessed 
fathers and mothers, when it was woman’s ambi¬ 
tion to become the head of the house, and the 
mother of noble children.” 
- 4-4 - 
About Personal Titles. — A New Hampshire 
paper says:—“The word Honorable is not hence¬ 
forth to bo used in this paper, in articles from the 
oditorial pen, as a title to men. It is run so deeply 
into the ground, that it had better go entirely into 
disuse.” 
— And here’s a sensibly suggestive paragraph, 
on the same topic, from the last Home Journal: 
“It is time for a chango in our American titles, 
and we see a seutenee in Gov. Geary’s message to 
tho Kansas Congress, which, it seems, to us, con¬ 
tains proper substitutes for the present meaning¬ 
less ‘Mr.’ and ‘Esq.’ He says:—‘Homesteads 
should be held sacred. Nothing so much strength¬ 
ens a government as giving Its citizens a solid 
stake la the country. I am in favor of assuring to 
every industrious citizen one hundred and sixty 
ocrcs of land.’ Now, why not prerace a simply 
honest individual’s name with L C., (‘ Industrious 
Citizen,') or, if ho has attained to the ownership of 
•one hundred and sixty acres of land,’ why not 
add S. S. C. to his name,) ‘Solid Stake iu the Coun¬ 
try?’) John Smith would theu have an ambition 
to qualitythatis, he would be industrious enough 
to acquire the one hundred and sixty acres, so that 
his letters might bo addressed ‘John Smith, S. S. 
C.,’ instead of ‘I. C. John Smith."’ 
_A good idea, but wouldn’t a less uumber of 
aares answer?—especially in this aud the Eastern 
States, where solid stakes are expensive? 
Opposition. —A man may avoid opposition, and 
strive to pass uround difficulties, in the vain hope 
of accomplishing tho ends of life without expo- 
rleuciug the jostle and clash of strife. But how 
is it with the Hint and the steel? The former cau 
be held in the hand for an ago, and the sparks lie 
as dormant as though the fingers pressed but a 
lump ol clay; but smite the flint with the oppos¬ 
ing clicks of steel, and the hand is enveloped in a 
shower of fire! 
- 4—4 - 
Levity of manners and conversation, favors al¬ 
most every vice, and repulses every virtue. 
