MOORE’S RURAL NEW-YORKER: AN AGRICULTURAL AND FAMILY NEWSFAFER. 
APRIL 11. 
iatois’ 
CONDUCTED BY AZILK. 
For .Mooroa Rural New-Yorker. 
MY HAPPIEST HOURS. 
Tis not in gay, and festive hulls, 
Where mirth lights up each eye ; 
Where jovial lips, the wine cup press, 
And merry hearts beat high ; 
Where pleasure revels all the day, 
Nor pauses for the night, 
Oh I there my heart could never rest, 
Or tlnd its chid delight. 
Oh no t ’tis not among the gay 
And thoughtless crowds o( earth, 
Where dazzling pleasure fills each breast, 
ADd all is joy and mirth. 
My beai t would ever flutter there, 
Aud long to be away, 
Their transient jpj a I would not share. 
Or with them, wish to say. 
Nor is it yet in foreign lauds, 
’Neath sunny southern skies, 
Where choicest fruits of earth are found, 
Aud flowers ot richest dyes. 
Such lands may boast of treasured wealth, 
And beauties rich and rare. 
Yet Oh I my heart could never find, 
Its sweet enjoyment there. 
But Oh! ‘tis with the friends I love, 
Those to my heart so dear. 
Whose tender words, and actions prove, 
Their friendship is sincere. 
To them, with silken cords of love 
My heart is strongly bound, 
With them, my happiest hour? are spent, 
My sweetest joys are found. 
Victor, N. Y., 1857. Makv Carrie. 
-- 
For Moore's Rural New-Yorker. 
BE TRUTHFUL AND CANDID. 
What is more beautiful, more lovely, more en¬ 
nobling than truth, simplicity, candor? What 
greater ornaments can adorn the face than the 
constant expression of a soul above base, unworthy 
deceit and falsehood? But these graces can be 
counterfeited, and often are, successfully. How, 
then, shall we know ia whom to trust? 
Often, at our very hearth, sits the friend, loDg 
believed, long trusted, yet whose heart is full ol 
deception, aud whose cunning would deceive the 
very elect. In society we meet with the Battering, 
fawning, whose words flow as smoothly aud grace¬ 
fully—wbose ideas are so expanded, bo generous, 
so excellent, with such a line appreciation of all 
grace, beauty, purity—we almost imagine we have 
met with a being descended from the heavenly 
realms. Certainly inch a person can be believed, 
and must be the real impersonifleation of good¬ 
ness. Alas! an insight into the daily life of that 
exalted refinement too often shows us that human 
nature is capable of sustaining a variety of phases, 
and the practiced deceiver has a costume for all 
occasions. 
But why dissemble—why seem what, one is not? 
The moment there ia a necessity for a continued 
course of deception, there is something wrong, 
which eventually brings its own consequences Is 
it so very hard to be frank, honest, truthful, if we 
mean no wrong to any? Why put on an airofin- 
noeence and purity, unless the heart is really all it 
seems? Surely if t.rath and purity are such ex¬ 
cellent virtues that they are constantly counter¬ 
feited, how ioli and to be envied must those be 
who posses in their hearts the real gems, the pure 
gold, waieh no contact can alloy or diminish!— 
Then let us carry an honest lace through the world, 
and a noble soul beneath it; let ns wrong no onr, 
speak the truth, andoc< it, and then we can eat our ^ille properly belongs to you?} I think no one will 
dinner in peace, look every man in the face, and doubt alter perusing your communication, as to 
sleep with a clear conscience. Elise. the truth of your opeuiug paragraph, or that you 
_ 4 ^,_ really are a much-abused person. Just think of 
For Moore's Rural Now-Yorker. these gentleman-husbands-farmers, for instance. 
A STRAY LEAF. coar8e they have nothing to do the livelong 
_ day but to auy in the house and demurely wait 
Oh, husbands, husbands! how truly indispensa- upon their deary’s, keep tires, rock the cradle, jtare 
b!e they are! How much of the brightness of life potatoes, brush up the hearth occasionally, and 
may we not trace to their agency. As I stand, sol- make themselves generally useful. No our-door 
itary and alone, upon the balcony, gaziDg upon the work to do, in the hay or harvest field, sweating in 
throDgiDg crowd below, I see one selecting some a duly’8 8UQ from morning to night. Oh yes! they 
choice fruit How quick my heart tells me it is ^ ve eas y enough—nothing to make them look 
for the wife, of whom he is fondly thinking, at prematurely old or careworn, 
home. And another—how carefully he carries I dare say these men, (so polite, publicly,) would 
that small parcel. That, too, is for wife. I don't be perfectly willing td “change work” occasion- 
know that? Likely I don’t! See how elastic his ally—that is, if the abused wife would just take a 
step, is; and his face, though careworn, lights up turn in the field for a few hours with ihe plow or 
with a sruile Of real salisfaction. scythe (you know that ain’t nothing)—that lie 
In imagination I follow him to his home. It would be willing to do housework just as long, 
is a wet Digbt, but the lights gleam brightly out and in this way lighten each other’s burdens as 
through the shrubbery. How cheering! And commanded. “Mr.” Ultra. 
wife comes out to meet him at the porch, in a fresh Salisbury, Conn., 1857. 
muslin, with dewy ringlets; and little arms reach ' - 
up to clasp his neck, and cherub lips exclaim, 
“Papa, ’turn home!” 
Ob, yes, there are holy shrines in this wicked 
world of ours, and fragrant flowers cluster round 
them. Aud the more we mingle in the busy mart 
of life, and feel its vauity, the more do we desire 
and appreciate “Home, sweet home.” But more, 
oh how much more, shall we who are wives ap¬ 
preciate it when he who made it bright is gone— 
when we listen in vain for the familiar step, the 
kind word, and find no rest for our aching, burst¬ 
ing hearts. God pity the widow! Viola. 
Honeoye Falls, N. Y., 1857. 
-- 
Mutual Forbearance.—T he house will be kept 
in turmoil where there is no toleration of each 
other’s errors, no lenity shown to failings, no meek 
submission to inquiries, no soft answer to turn 
away wrath. If you lay a single stick of wood in 
the grate and apply fire to it, it will go ont; put 
on another stick, and they will burn; and half a 
For Moore's Rural New-Yorker. 
THE RUINS OF TIME. 
I saw a venerable oak, whose majestic head, 
towering high, seemed to touch the bright azure 
of the arched canopy, which hung in unmeasured 
space ove,r the beautiful world on which I stood. 
Its wide-spreadiug branches were covered with 
thick verdant foliage, and its deep-rooted trunk 
stood firmly erect, birds twittered joyously among 
the green leaves, and the waving grass grew in 
luxuriousness at its foot. Beneath its ample shade 
I saw a playful child laughingly chase the yellow 
butterflies, or with a look of happy innocence lis¬ 
ten to the warblers of the tree. His fair and open 
brow betokened the hidden intellect, and the rud¬ 
dy cheeks and sparkling eyes, showed a picture of 
health. His flaxen ringlets glistening in the sun¬ 
beams, looked as threads of gold, and as 1 watched 
the lithe and agile form, methought when man 
hood’s stage he'd reach, how strong and beautitul 
he’d be. I journeyed on, yet looking back to the 
tree that would stand for ages, to the little boy, 
who would enjoy the pleasures of three-score years 
and ten. 
Time with swift pinion sped onward, and I re¬ 
turned again. A decayed aud worm-eaten tree lay 
before me half covered with the soil. No singing 
birds rested in its leafless boughs, aud the withered 
grass waved above the mound of the dead child, 1 
turned away with a tear, and the moaning wind 
with a low,sad wail, whispered "The ruins of Time.” 
Hartlaad, N. Y., 1857. M. C. 
--♦—»- 
For Moore's Rural New-Yorker. 
ANTI-TOBACCO AND SPIRITS ALSO. 
In perusing a late number of the Rural I ob¬ 
served a “Call” to the young Ladies on the subject 
of getting up an Anti-Tobacco Society. Now, I 
think it all well enough, but I do not agree with 
the writer in one respect.—that is, she thinks it no 
more barm to sip the rich juice of grapes, or even 
the waters of distilled grains, than to use tobacco. 
I think differently. It cannot he that she lives in 
a city, or else she must be blind to the degradation 
and poverty which is caused by Intemperance, She 
says she wants a man that she can kiss occasion¬ 
ally without inhaling the horrid odor of tobacco .— 
I think T should as lief kiss a man that uses tobacco 
as one that uses intoxicating drinks—but, for my 
part, I should rather kiss neither. She thinks that 
the abuse she would receive from her husband 
when partially bereft of his reason could not be 
compared to that she would receive every day from 
the effects of tobacco. Jf she thinks so, I think 
she had better try it for a time; I am afraid it 
would not be long before be would be bereft of his 
reason entirely. 
Now, I do not wish you to think that I uphold 
the use of tobacco, for I am as much opposed to 
it as the lady herself. But I would ask, what are 
the young men coming to? Go into cities or vil¬ 
lages and you will hardly find oue who do s not 
make use of ardent spirits or frequent the halls of 
dissipation. Are these what they call gentlemen? 
Yes, these constitute our Gents, but not so in my 
estimation. Therefore, 1 think there ought to be 
something done to eradicate both these evils, for 
I thiuk there is not much difference. n. 
--—--♦-*- 
For Moore's Rural New-Yorker.* 
A CHAPTER FOR WIVES. 
The Rural of the 14th ult. contains an article 
headed “A Chapter lor Husbands,” which 1 do 
think should not be suffered to p iss without a re¬ 
joinder, as 1 am satisfied the writer has told only 
one side of the story, and justice demands both. 
Sjuiice fpiscflliiiiy. 
For Moore's Rural New-Yorker. 
FRIENDSHIP. 
IT O. H JOHNSTON. 
Nat, tell me not that Friendship's chain, 
Is lasting in this world of ours ; 
Have I not felt the spirit’s pain 
Dissolve in tears, as dew on flowers ; 
Nay, change is endless, and it brings, 
Forgetfulness upon Its wings. 
There is no heart that like our own, 
Will throb the Ritine, from .year to year, 
But loses much o( that loved tone. 
And feeling, which was oooe so dear, 
Till coldness comes with icy hand, 
And quenches the expiring brand. 
There may be joyous throngs to greet 
Us sometimes on our pathway here, 
But soon they find some voice more sweet, 
Whose times, than ours more fondly cheer ; 
And leave our pining hearts a prey 
To thirsi for htieams that (lit away. 
And thus they leave me one by one, 
As dead leaves quit a withered bough ; 
No faithfulness of mine has won 
The gem, that crowns the steadfast brow, 
We ne'er can have kind constant Iriends 
While aDy heart, to falsehood bends. 
Cortlanitviile, N. Y., 1S57- 
For Moore’s Rural New-Yorker. 
STERNNESS. 
BY TO. O. STODDARD, 
ThkRB is a glory on the stern, calm brow, 
Where God looks out. through the unshrinking face, 
Owning bis image in the speaking soul. 
There may be meekuess there, there may be love,— 
Christ woig both these, when he rehuked the scribes, 
And when he spoke the woes front Olivet— 
But he who Jooketb this world in the face 
Meeting it eye to eye, must needs be stern. 
And in our hearts we feel this—even a child 
Looks up with trust upon the kind, st rn face. 
Stern men led on the armies of the Lord ; 
In the same mould were the old prophets cast; 
And the reformers on their broad, firm brows 
Bore the same sigoet of a warrior's soul. 
There is a certain agony ol strife, 
In meeting mighty thoughts, aud mighty men, 
That mil cooipiess tbelips and Unit the brows. 
Even though they smile with love, or glow with hope. 
Rochester, N. Y., 1857. 
For Moore's Rural New-Yorker. 
RURAL MEMORIES. 
“ The heart hath many passages, 
Through which pure feelings roam; 
But the middle aisle is sacred. 
To the thoughts of the old, old home.” 
The old homo! The homo of our childhood. 
That dear spot, rendered doubly dear by the thou¬ 
sand tender recollections that cluster around it— 
by the remembrance of the evening hymn and 
morning prayer—the sacred arm chair, and the 
time-worn family bible. 
Reader, did you ever sec skies as blue as those 
which you remember gazing upon in your child¬ 
hood? Was there ever a streuruiet whose pure 
waters danced to so gladsome a measure as the 
one which wound through the meadow lot and on 
past the maple grove, mirroriog in its placid sur¬ 
face as it sped on the branches of the grand old 
trees and the more ephemeral beauties of the 
blue-eyed roiget-me-uois? Was there ever straw¬ 
berries so sweet as those which grew in the west 
meadow? or cream so lusciouB as that which 
For Moore’s Kural New-Yorker. 
SPRING THOUGHTS. 
The earth looks desolate — there is no summer 
glory on the trees or ground, aud Winter has taken 
away his snowy mantle. Everything stands as the 
destroying frosts and desolating winds left them 
long ago. Earth looks desolate—but the iris bow 
of hope spaas the cloudlets that drift along the 
clear blue sky, catching warm sunbeams and en¬ 
listing troops of raindrops which shall do valiant 
service under the banner of Spring by and by. 
Yes, the pleasant Spring is coming. She is here 
in name, but we are looking and waiting for her 
warm breath, her musical birds, her graceful, 
bright-eyed, fragrant flowers, that nestle iu the 
moss upon the hillside, or peep forth from the 
quiet meadows. The brave little violets are al¬ 
ready out, looking pinched with the cold, but vio¬ 
lets nevertheless, with rich purple and golden 
petals; and the lilacs are seudiug forth their tlowei 
buds, clothed iu vestments of tender green, but 
unless we look closely, we shall not notice even 
these faint signs of returning life. 
But by aud by we shall see the millions of buds 
that, tip the bare, brown trees swelling and expand 
iug into beautiful leaves or tassels ot flowers—lor 
many of our sturdy trees send forth their blossoms 
iu the changeful airs of the early spring, ere their 
prudent leaves venture from their hardy coverings 
—and robins and bluebirds will vie, one with an¬ 
other, in pouring forth their sweetest songs, in¬ 
stead of contenting themselves with solitary chirps 
and snatches of song. The blackbirds will hold 
their noisy consultations as heretofore, and “the 
voice of the turtle he heard iu the land.” 
And so the Spring is coming — loosing fettered 
streams and prisoned buds — wooing back the 
homesick birds from their more gorgeous, but not 
lovelier Southern homes; and calling from their 
hiding-places the insect tribes, to revel in the sun¬ 
beams, and fill the air, even as the earth is filled' 
with life. 
It seems wonderful to me always—this waking 
into beauty, fragrance aud fruitfulness, iu the sun¬ 
shine and showers of the millions of tiny, tender 
germs that sleep in the ground or are safe-folded 
in the buds of trees, through the long, cold winter. 
It speaks ever to me of Gun's iufiuUe wisdom and 
power, and that, “his tender mercies arc over all 
his works,” and reminds mo of his blessed promise 
that we shall wake from the deep sleep of death 
into “newness ol life,” and if we love and obey 
our Savior, he will tase us to the mansion prepared 
for his followers, in “ the city not made with 
hands, eternal iu the heavens,” and give us drink 
from “the pure river of the water of life,” and 
“ fruit from the trees that border its crystal stream.” 
East Hampton, Muss., 1857. II. E. C. 
For Moore's Kara! New-Yorker. 
MUSIC. 
There are moments in our lives when we are 
unfit for its sterner realities. Meditation at such 
times removes all desire for the more active pur¬ 
suits of life. A kind of dreamy quiet steals over 
the mind. We seem lost iu our own thoughts, 
which arc* apt. to center upon frivolities. This is 
more apparent at the hour of twilight If left, 
alone, surrounded by slumbering nature, ft kind of 
inertness possesses the mind which is almost a 
comfort. Then it is that music conveys a soft 
melody. It murmurs in unison with nature—in 
harmony with the universe.. Then it is that the 
god of song plays upon the heart-strings. Instru¬ 
mental music at such times has a peculiar charm. 
As the tone of the harp varies—as the air changes 
Irani the sombre to the gay, our feelings seem to be 
—-1 " j o- y -- — 
up to clasp his neck, and cherub lips exclaim, THE MARRIAGE RELATION. 
“Papa, ’turn home!” - 
Ob, yes, there are holy shrines in this wicked The great secret is to learn to bear with each 
world of onrs, and fragrant flowers cluster round other’s failings; not to be blind to them—that is 
them. Aud the more we mingle in the busy mart either an impossibility or a lolly; we must see and 
of life, aud feel its vanity, the more do we desire feel them; if we do neither, they are not evils to 
and appreciate “Home, sweet home.” But rnorp, U8 » and there is obviously no need of forbearance; 
oh how much more, shall we who are wives ap- but to throw the mantle of affection round them, 
predate it when he who made it bright is gone— concealing them from each other’s eyes; to deter* 
wben we listen in vain for the familiar step, the mine not to let them chill ihe affections; to re¬ 
kind word, and find no rest for our aching, burst- solve to cultivate good - tempered forbearance 
iog hearts. God pity the widow! Viola. because it is the only way of mitigating the pres- 
Honeoye Falls, N. Y., 1857. ent evil, always with a view to ultimate amend* 
-4~*-- ment. Surely it is not the perfection, but the 
Mutual Forbearance. —The house will be kept imperfection, of human character that makes the 
in turmoil where there is no toleration of each strongest claim in love. All the world must ap. 
other’s errors, no lenity shown to failings, no meek prove, even enemies must admire the good aud 
submission to inquiries, no soft answer to turn the estimable in human nature. If husband and 
away wrath. If you lay a single stick of wood in wife estimate only that in each which ail must be 
the grate and apply fire to it, it will go out; put constrained to value, what do they more than 
on another stick, and they will burn; and half a others ? It is infirmities of character, impcrfec- 
dozen, and you will have a blaze. There are other tlons of nature, that call for the pitying sympathy, 
Now Mrs. Ultra (for who doubts but what, this Mother skimmed from theruorning’smilk? or sugar swayed by its magic influence. We are led captive 
fires subject to the same condition. If one mem¬ 
ber of the family gets into a passion and is let 
alone, be will cool down, aud possibly be ashamed 
and repent But oppose temper to temper; pile 
on the fuel; draw in others of the group, aud let 
one harsh answer be followed by another, and there 
will soon be a blaze which will enwrap all ia its 
burning beat 
---4^*--- 
Plenty of warmth, plenty of substantial food 
and ripe fruits, plenty of sleep, and plenty of joy¬ 
ous out door exercise, would save millions of chil¬ 
dren annually. 
the tender compassion that makes each the com¬ 
forter, the monitor of the other. Forbearance 
helps each to attain command over themselves.— 
Few are the creatures so utterly evil ms to abuse a 
generous confidence; a calm forbearance. Mar¬ 
ried persons should be pre-eminently friends, and 
fidelity is tbe groat privilege of friendship. The 
forbearance here contended for is not weak and 
wicked indulgence of each other’s faults, but such 
a calm, tender observance of them us excludes nil 
harshness and anger, and takes the best aud gent¬ 
lest methods of pointing them out in the full con¬ 
fidence of affection.— Whisper to a Bride. 
that, tasted half so good as the finely shaved maple 
which she emptied from the brown sugar bowl?— 
Laugh if you will, tliesj country memories, like 
country cooking, are first cut.” And don’t yon 
remember how you gambolled with the lambs and 
played with the calves and hunted hen's eggs way 
up iu the hay loft; and peeped intu the robin’s 
nest, and then coaxed little Charley uot to tell 
"Jack Truant” where it was, for fear the parent 
birds should be robbed of their treasures? 
You have not forgotten the old brown school 
house. You remember the first day you seated 
yourself on the hard bench and cast sly glances at 
the f.ice of the teacher aud answered so low when 
asked the uniform question—“What is your name?” 
that you were not understood; and the big hoy 
who lived next door to you and whosuton the 
back seat had to auswer for you. Ob, bow that 
first lesson troubled you. How you wished all the 
letters were round O's aud crooked S's, and how 
you did wuut to rob your dinner pail of a part of 
its contents before recess came; and when at last 
the magic words "School's dismissed” fell on the 
ear, how you hastened home to relate your day's 
adventures, and convert every pane of glass into a 
miniature black-board, making certain hiero¬ 
glyphics which you fancied resembled those the 
large boys made ut school. 
I remember well, friend Rural, my first day at 
school. In the village of Honeoye, which is pleas 
antly situated near a lake of the Bame name, was I 
first initiated into the mysteries of A. B. C. And 
what kind hund think you was the first to guide 
mein the mazy labyi inths of knowledge? None 
other than that of your own gifted contributor, 
Mrs. M. J. H-. Oh, I remember well in what 
kind accents she addressed me; how patiently she 
listened to my repetitions of her instructions, and 
how gently she smoothed my faults. Further than 
this memory falls, but through the Rural I have 
gleaned from the past many diamonds of remem¬ 
brance to reset once more in the gold of affection. 
And if the eye of her to whom a world has loved 
to listen should rest upon this page, she will for¬ 
give this stray waif of recollection for the sake of 
the tender memories that cluster round those early 
school days. 
Oh, rural memories! When wearied with the 
tread-mill cares of the present, when ideal pleas¬ 
ures vauish 'neulb the practical touch of reality, a 
blessed solace have they who can take up, one by 
one, the links of remembrance until they form one 
bright chain of happiness. Then launch thy bark, 
world weary, on the rippling tide of Memory, and 
while Faith shall bold the helm and Hope guide 
thee safely over the quicksands of to day with 
Imagination, may’st thou rest at last on the flower¬ 
decked shores of hallowed Childhood. 
Gorham, N. V,, 1867. B. A. 8 aviu.ii. 
by jts many variations; we seem entranced by its 
glowing accents, and enraptured by its pleasing 
harmony. 
Mixsio has its throne in tbe bosom of nature.— 
As its plaintive notes swell out on the soft air of 
evening, it seems to awaken a sense of the sub¬ 
lime in nature. As tbe twilight hour grows dim, 
and nature seems in a trance, then it is that music 
ia beautiful. The heart is buried in the fulness of 
its joy. The tender chords of our being rever¬ 
berate to its accents. It is an antidote for the 
afflicted, and herein it possesses an absolute merit, 
Wc hear its distant echoes in the deep recesses of 
tbe forest; aud we safely say that it is a part of 
nature. It add6 to nature a kind of spell which 
alone ceases with itself. The rippling of the lit¬ 
tle rill is music; the joyous song of birds is the 
sweetest of melody—even the cold autumnal wind 
bears with it a kind of mournful music—it is tbe 
funereal dirge of summer. 
But to sit at eve and listen to tbe busy hum of 
closing day bus a thrilling charm. All nature 
seems to renderup a hymn in united praise. Music, 
while it delights, never vitiates. We rise from its 
enjoyment purer and more holy*. Scribe. 
Ctmrdon, Ohio, 1867. 
- 4 - 
Woman's Power. — Lamartine, the gifted poet- 
statesman of France, pays a sublime tribute t.o 
Woman’s power, when he says: — “Woman with 
weaker passions than man ia superior to man by 
the souk The Gauls attributed to her an addition¬ 
al sense. They were right. Nature has given 
woman two painful but heavenly gifts which dis¬ 
tinguish them above human nature; compassion 
and enthusiasm. By compassion they devote 
themselves; by enthusiasm they exalt them¬ 
selves. What more does heroism require? They 
have more imagination than man. Enthusiasm 
springs from the imagination, and self-sacrifice 
from the heart. Woman are, therefore, more 
naturally heroic than ruen. All nations have in 
their annals some of these miracles of patriotism 
of which woman is the instrument in the baud of 
God. When all is desperate in a national cause, 
we need not yet despair while there remains a 
spark of resistance in a woman’s heart.” 
-- 
Admiration and Aspiration. — It is a good 
thing to believe; it is a good thing to admire.— 
By continually looking upwards, our minds will 
themselves grow upwards, and as a man, by in¬ 
dulging in the habits of scorn and contempt fur 
others, is sure to descend to the level of what be 
despises, so the opposite habits of admiration and 
enthusiastic reverence for excellence impart to 
ourselves a portion of the qualities we admire.— 
Here, as in everything else, humility is the surest 
path to exaltation.— Arnold. 
THE BETTER-AND WORSE. 
“ There’s no such word.” 
“There is.” 
“Want to bet on it?” 
Again— 
“ You can’t do it.” 
“ What’ll you bet?” 
How many such phrases are uttered daily:— 
What’ll you bet? Want to bet on it? Bet you 
five dollars, bet you a “bottle o’ wine.” Bet you 
a hat. A “ bet” is the regular proceeding at horse¬ 
races, and in the sweet circles of “the fancy” and 
"sporting men;” it is a very common practice in 
politics find business. But that’s riot all. With a 
large number of silly or mistaken people a “ bet” 
is a final argument even io ordinary conversation 
or discussion. They have more money than brains, 
, and so they look to their money to do their reason¬ 
ing. They think that if they are only ready to 
“hack their opinion,” they are pretty Runs to bo 
right. We have in mind a wealthy gentleman who 
used to discuss horticultural questions, and clinch 
his argument by offering to deposit five hundred 
or a thousand dollars, if his opponents would do 
as much, the total stakes to go to the one decided 
to be right. This was usually unanswerable, if not 
conclusive; foi few writers on gardening have 
such a “little amount” by them to risk on the name 
of a pear or the sex of a strawberry. 
How idiotic! As if a man’s money made any 
difference about his being right! It does, however, 
by the betting argument, for that takes it for grant¬ 
ed that no man will decline to gamble on his opin¬ 
ion unless he is conscious of being wrong. Or the 
only alternative is a confession — supposed to be 
humiliating—of poverty. 
Aside from the ridiculous folly of pretending 
to prove a point by such an appeal to the dollar, 
there is a broader and more important principle 
involved. You bet and win. You did not earn 
the money. It will do you no good. You lust’—-you 
feil that the amount is to be taken from you with¬ 
out an equivalent, and you are instinctively irrita¬ 
ted by the unfairness of thetransactiou. In either 
event you are a gambler; you have so far eui oiled 
yourself iu the ranks of perhaps the most perni¬ 
cious army of scoundrels that was ever let loose 
on earth. It is a small amount, doubtless, but the 
principle is involved. Risking money on puro 
chances is always wrong and foolish; it is always 
gambling; always contrary to expediency and 
social truth and the universal law of Right. 
Argue if you please. If you don't know enough 
to argne, hold your tongue. If yoa are wrong, 
confess it like a man. But don’t bet like a fool!— 
Life Illustrated. 
-♦-*-♦■- 
NAPOLEON AND THE LADIES. 
TnE following anecdote told by Dr. Baird in a 
recent lecture, will bear repeating: 
Shorty after Bonaparte was made First Consul 
and had installed himself in the Palace of the 
Tuilleries, he held a grand reception and ball.— 
But he experienced at that early day of his career 
no little difficulty in organizing bis court and mak¬ 
ing matters go smoothly'. 
When the supper was ready, the ladies were 
summoned first, the gentlemen being under the 
necessity of waiting until their “betters” were 
served. Two thousand lades, showily, if not 
tastefully dressed, rushed forward to the doors of 
the great dining hall, one of the largest and most 
splendid dining rooms io Europe. The great fold¬ 
ing doors were closed, and the officers of the 
palace found it impossible to get them open, for the 
ladies pressed agaiust them, and were engaged in 
high dispute among themselves as to who of them 
bad the entre or right to go first Oue lady said 
the right was hers, for her husband was a great 
General; but she Boon found that others maintain¬ 
ed, on one ground or another, that their claims 
were greater. 
Meanwhile the officers could not get doors open, 
and in consternation one of them hastened to the 
First Consul and asked him how they should settle 
the question of precedence. “0,” said Bonaparte, 
'• nothing is easier; tell them that the eldest is to 
go first,!” The officer reported to the ladies the 
First Consul’s decision and instantly they all fell 
hack! This gave the officers an opportunity to 
get the doors open, when to tlieir astonishment 
none of the ladies were willing to go first. After 
standing in that ridiculous position for a moment, 
they began to laugh heartily at their own folly, 
and all marched into the dining-hall without fur¬ 
ther delay. 
(JRINOLIANA IN RHYME. 
BY THE OLD MAN. 
“A lady with a crinoline was walking down the 
street—her feathers fluttered in the air—her hoops 
stuck out ft feet. She walked the earth as if she 
felt of it she was no part, and proudly did she step 
along, ior pride was in her heart. She did not see 
a curly dog which walkod close by her side, all 
save the bushy tail of which her crinoline did hide. 
His tail the dog with pleasure shook—it. fluttered 
in the wind, and from the lady's crinoline stuck 
out a foot behind. A crowd the tail soon did espy, 
as it waved to and fro, and like a rudder seemed to 
point which way' the maid should go. The curly 
dog right pleased was he such quarters he had got* 
and walked beside the lady In a kind of doggish 
t ot Each step the lady now did take, served to 
increase her train, while those who followed in 
her wake, roared out with might and main.— 
Some held iheir sides they laughed so hard, and 
many fairly cried, and many even still confess that 
day they ‘ like to died.’ But still tbe lady sailed 
along, in crinoline and pride, unmindful of the 
croud Lehind, or dog close by her side. But soon 
another dog espied the tall which fluttered free— 
it so provoked his doggish ire, lie could not let it 
be—but with ft deep, lerocions growl, for battle 
straight he went, and ’neatli the lady’s crinoline 
both dogs were quickly pent. The fought, ’tis said, 
one hour or more—the lady nothing knew—but 
with her head erect sailed on, arid did her way 
pursue. Some say she never would have known at 
all about, the fight, had not, ore dog mistook, and 
gave her ‘ limb’ au awful bite. But since that day 
I’ve beard it said, that lady ne’er was seen upon 
the street, with so much pride—and such a crin¬ 
oline.” 
--» ■-» - — 
Economy, joined to industry and sobriety, is a 
better outfit for business than a dowry. 
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