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MOORE’S RURAL NEW-YORKER: AN AGRICULTURAL AND FAMILY NEWSPAPER. 
give glance met her eye. She who had health and 
strength, and everything to add to her happiness, 
to indulge such a repining spirit, while here was 
one deprived ol life’s greatest blessing, so content¬ 
ed and thankful that her very presence seemed a 
reproof. As they slowly wendod their way home¬ 
ward many thoughts presented themselves to her 
mind which had rarely before fonud a resting 
place there. They arrived home just in time for 
supper, which over, they adjourned to the old- 
fashioned parlor, where Bell sat gazing earnestly 
up into the deep, blue sky, which wav so brilliantly 
resplendent, with the “infinite host,” until the 
voice of grandfather announcing prayer-time 
aroused her from her meditations. As she bent to 
give her grandmother her usual good-night’s kiss, 
she whispered in her ear: 
“ I was wrong this morning, deav grandma, I am 
sorry; do you think it will he pleasant to-morrow ?” 
“1 hope so, that is, if it is right,” was grand¬ 
mother’s smiling answer. 
As she laid her head on her pillow, Bell felt a 
consciousness of peaceful right, which she had 
never fully experienced before,—and thinking over 
an old saying which she had heard grandmother 
often repeat—“a bad hegiuniug may make a good 
ending,” Bhe soon fell asleep. 
The next moruing dawned bright and clear, and 
an early hour saw a merry group on their way to 
Elm-wood Grove, where it is to be hoped they 
spent a pleasant day. But of this it matters not, 
provided, dear reader,you fiud hid within my little 
story the lesson intended by the writer; which is 
simply this—that whatever weather pleases the 
Creator, should likewise please His creatures.— 
They who can hear patiently with weather-Btorms, 
will he prepared to meet manfully life-tempests, 
and such are truly weather-wise. 
Rochester, N. Y., 1857. 
For Moore’s Rural New-Yorker 
HINTS ON CONVERSATION. 
A MOTHER’S HOVE 
For Moore's Rural New-Yorker. 
A RHYME FOR THE TIME. 
For Moore’s Rural New-Yorker. 
THE SNOW-DROP. 
Prithkk, VPjntkr I why so long 
Stay the flow’rete Wowing ? 
Stay the spring-bird's cheerful song, 
From the wild-wood flowing? 
We would crown fair Spring to-day, 
Pritbee, Winter I haste away. 
See the blue-bird on the wing, 
To our vales returning ; 
Know'st thou not for satiny Spring, 
Every heart iB yearning ? 
Come, old Winter, haBte away— 
Yield our Fairy Queen the sway. 
Scarcely doeB the brooklet dance, 
Spring's sweet smiles a-wooing, 
Ere, with Btern and cruel glance, 
Thou art seen pursuing ; 
AdiI with icy hand so chill. 
Thou dost Kei7.e the laughing rill. 
Speed thee to thy native home, 
On thy snowy pinions ; 
Boreaa beckons thee to come 
To his wild dominions. 
Prithee, Winter 1 haste away, 
We would crown fair Spring to-day. 
Middleport, N. Y., April, 1857. 
BY CORNELIA A. TERRILL. 
lowing “ Hints on Conversation,” The writer very 
properly asks—why should not ladies have a read¬ 
ing room in which to inform themselves of the 
current events of the day instead of being obliged 
to listen to gossiping prut tie of "airy nothings?” 
It is our wish to see the conversation of well- 
bred women rescued Irom vapid, common-placed 
talk, — from uninteresting tattle, from trite and 
hackneyed communications, from frivolous earn- 
estuess, from false sensibility, from a warm inter¬ 
est about things of no moment, and an indifference 
to topics the most important—and from all the 
factitious manners of artificial intercourse. We 
do wish to see the time passed iu polished and in¬ 
telligent society considered among the beneficial 
as well as the pleasant portions of our existence, 
and not consigned over, as it too frequently is, to 
premeditated trilling. 
It is too well known how much the dread of im¬ 
puted pedantry keeps off anything that verges 
towards learned, and the terror of imputed enthu¬ 
siasm staves off anything that approaches to seri¬ 
ous conversation, so that the two topics which 
peculiarly distinguish us, as rational and immortal 
beings, are by a general custom in a good degree 
banished from the society of rational and immor¬ 
tal creatures. 
Ladies commonly bring into company minds 
already too much relaxed by petty pursuits, rather 
than overstraiued by intense application; the em¬ 
ployments in which they are usually engaged, do 
not so exhaust their spirits as to make them stand 
in need of that relaxation from company which 
severe application makes requisite. 
It is a disadvantage even to those women who 
keep the best of company, that it is unhappily al¬ 
most established into a system, by the other sex, 
to postpone everything like instructive discourse 
till the ladies are withdrawn; their retreat serving 
as a kind of signal for the exercise of intellect.— 
Strong truths, whenever such happen to he ad¬ 
dressed to them, are either diluted with flattery or 
kept hack in part, or softened to their taste; if the 
ladies express a wish for information on any point, 
they are put off with a compliment, instead of a 
reason; and are considered as beings who are not 
expected to see aud to judge of things as they 
really exist. 
It is safe to infer that when a correct standard 
of conversation is established, that begets intel¬ 
lectual food. Hotel managers will cater for the 
intellectual appetites of ladies as well as of gen¬ 
tlemen. ir. h. 
Turk Hill, April, 1857. 
Waste are all the garden borders, 
All the flowers are slumbering deep ; 
Slender, silver blossom tell me, 
Who called time iroin thy winter’s sleep ? 
Still the snow and ice are lingering. 
And the air in chill and cold ; 
But thy snow white cup is swinging 
In the rough wind, bright and bold. 
Voiceless seems thy breath to answer— 
« He who made me called me forth. 
When my day of use is ended, 
I shall sleep again iu earth." 
Egypt, N. Y., 1857. 
CHILDREN IN HEAVEN. 
We do not know when we have met with a more beauti¬ 
ful piece of poetry than the following : 
Who are they whose, little feet, 
Pacing life’s durkjourney through, 
Now- huve reached that heavenly seat 
They had ever kept in view r 
«I from Greenland’s Iroaien land 
“I from India’s sultry plain ;’’ 
“ 1 from Afiic’s barren sand;" 
“1 from Islands on the main." 
All our earthly j juruey past, 
Every tear and pain gone by. 
Here together meet at last. 
At the portalB of the sky. 
Each the welcome ** Come ’’ awaits, 
Conqueror o’er death and sin ! 
Lift your heads, ye golden gates, 
Let the little travelers in. 
Emma. 
For Mooro’B Rural New-Yorkor. 
THE WORLD WE LIVE IN. 
For Moore's Rural New-Yorker. 
MORNING NOTES. 
For Moore’s Rural New-Yorker. 
BY WINNIE WILLIAN. 
“Dear me, how provoking,” sighed Bell Har¬ 
vey, as she stood ai a wiuduw of the old farm-house, 
and watched the large raio-drops as they pattered 
down, putting au end to pll her out-door pleasures 
that day; for apic-nic party had been planned to 
start for Elm-wood Grove that very morning, aud 
Bell was one of the number, and now the untime¬ 
ly rain had prevented their going. “It is too bad, 
I declare,” exclaimed she, turning away from the 
window and sauntering to the book-case in search 
of something readable. But nothing hut the well- 
worn volumes of “Pilgrim’s Progress,” several of 
Hannah Moore's works, and others of the same 
cast met her eye; so different from the fashionable 
novels she was accustomed to feast her mind upon 
when at home. Bell was spending a few weeks 
with her grandmother, one of those good old ladieB 
everybody loves, and no one knows how to get 
along without. “Come here, Bell,” said grand¬ 
mother, “and hold tills silk for me while I wind it. 
I am afraid my dear,” continued she, “thatyou do 
not possess much of that happy and contented 
state of mind, which was so 1 eautifully displayed 
in a remark once made by an humble shepherd 
concerning the weather our Father sees fit. to 
send us.” 
Bell made no reply, and the silk being wound, 
grandmother left her to attend to her household 
duties. B ll, (to use grandma’s word?,) was a 
“spoiled child.” Humored in every whim when 
young, although now arrived at the age of seven¬ 
teen, she was by no means disposed to give up her 
own will when she oould conveniently help it.— 
She was very pretty, and with all her laults, her 
lively', winning manner, made her many friends. 
She passed a miserable morning. Nothing went 
right, and of course everything went wrong; and 
she appeared at the dinner table in no very pleas¬ 
ant mood, as was showii by the cloud which rested 
upon her usually happy brow. 
“Glorious weather this for the crops,” said 
grandfather, sb be took his seat; “this rain is just 
CONSCIENCE.—A MAXIM OF WASHINGTON. 
For Moore’s Rural New-Yorker 
THE TEACHINGS OF niSTORY. 
History delights in deeds of strange and excit¬ 
ing interest. Her pages teem with their record, 
and each one is, in some degree, a living example, 
or warning to all posterity. None among them 
possess a more wondrous interest, than the story of 
Josephine, Empress of France. Once the daugh¬ 
ter of au humble West Indian planter, then the 
wife of a country nobleman, afterwards a widow, 
aud then again a wife, the spouse of Bonaparte, 
Bhe was elevated by degrees from the ranks of 
comparative obscurity, to those of French glory 
and nobility. 
But. happiness and grandeur, arising merely 
from the human affairs of earth, are of short dura¬ 
tion; and that of Josephine soon took flight, leav¬ 
ing her heart an urn wherein lay moundering her 
once ambitions hopes and brilliant anticipations. 
She became divorced, aud retired to an humbler 
position. Another soon was exalted to her abdi¬ 
cated place; and from that hour her peace of heart 
and mind vanished, as had her brilliant prospects 
of a high career. But love, however, still remain¬ 
ed, faintly warming her heart with its saddening 
sunshine; aud though at this hitter time surround¬ 
ed with ardent friends, she keenly felt her utter 
desolation of spirit. 
But at last, the great tower fell— Bonaparte was 
compelled to abdicate, and forsake his regal gran¬ 
deur and influential power, in exchange for a lone 
isle of the oeeau with its dreary monotony of se¬ 
cluded life. ’Iwus too much, and the name of 
Josephine was soon written “ gone before.” How¬ 
ever, such is life, teaching that the shortness of 
earthly happiness is a truth too obvious to he 
gloBBed over, or slighted. This we all know; it is 
shown iu the life ot nearly every person, great, or 
humble; and we shall, indeed, be fool-hardy if it 
prove not to us a source of benefit, both earthly 
and spiritual. Rolantuk. 
Owegq, N. Y., April, 1857. 
Toe Enmjbino 19 of Blow Growth.— Arch¬ 
bishop Whately, in his Annotations upon Bacon’s 
Essays, truthfully says: —We hear of volcanic 
islands thrown up in a few days to a formidable 
size, and in a few weeks or months, sinking down 
again or washed away; while otherislands,which are 
the summits of banks covered with weed and drift- 
sand, continue slowly increasing year after year, 
century after century. The man that is in a hurry 
to see the full effect of his own tillage, should cul¬ 
tivate annuals, not forest trees. The clear-headed 
lover of truth is content to wait for the result of 
his. If he is wrong in the doctrines he maintains, 
or the measures he proposes, at least it is not for 
the sake of immediate popularity. If he is right, 
it will be found out in time, though, perhaps, not 
in his time. The preparers of the mummies were 
(Herodotus says) driven out of the house by the 
family who had engaged their services, with exe¬ 
crations and stones; but their work remains sound 
after three thousand years. 
tide is continually acting on particle,—planet is 
ever influencing planet,—everything is increasing 
or diminishing, advancing or retrograding, begin¬ 
ning or ending its existence. 
Sometimes the processes of nature are so grand 
that we can but gaze and contemplate* with silent 
awe. Thus it is when the Storm King is raging on 
the boundless ocean, when the thunder is breaking 
iu crashing peals from cloud to cloud or trom sky 
to earth, aud the lightning but for an instant glares 
to reveal the chaotic confusion of the scene, or 
when Mother Earth, in her mighty throes, opens 
wide her mouth aud swallows living cities, or from 
the depths of the sea heaves np with gigantic 
might a sky-piercing volcano from whose summit 
pours a cataract of tiro. 
Again she carries on her work on a scale so mi¬ 
nute that the closest inspection will scarcely dis¬ 
cover it. The crystal so small that it is hardly 
visible, presents a formation of perfect regularity 
and precision.. The tiny floweret that just peeps 
from the sod is yet found to want nothing of the 
most delicate finish In all its parts. The millions 
ofanimalcnlm that everywhere surround us, have 
each a complete, individual existence, as complete 
as the larger animals of the land or sea. These 
are the extremes, but all the intermediate degrees 
and every form of actiou, give the same occasion 
for wonder and admiration. In the growth of a 
plant, the sprouting of the germ, the shooting of 
the stalk, the unfolding of the leaf, in t he formation 
of the fruit,— there is something inexpressibly 
beautiful and wonderful. In the rising vapors and 
their precipitation in enow, hail aud rain,— in the 
growth of the lordly oak, who draws his nourish¬ 
ment from the soil for centuries and then falls, 
and is resolved to earth for the nourishment of 
other trees,—in everything, in all animal and veg¬ 
etable existences, and in all material 
Nature’s Song in the Night.— Night hath its 
songs. Have you never stood by the sea-side at 
night, and heard the pebbles sing, and the waves 
chant God’s glories? Or have you never risen 
from your couch, and thrown up the window of 
your chamber, aud listened there? Listened to 
what? Silence—save now and then a murmuring 
sound, which seemed sweet music then. And have 
yon not fancied that you heard the harp of God 
playing iu heaven? Did you not coneeive that 
yon stars, that those eyes of God, looking down on 
you, were also mouths of song—that every star 
was singing God's glory, singing, as it shone, its 
mighty Maker, and his lawful, well-deserved praise? 
Night hath its songs. We need not much poetry 
in our spirit to catch the song of night, and hear 
the spheres as they chant praises which are loud 
to the heart, though they ho silent to the ear—the 
praises of the mighty God, who bears np the un¬ 
pillared arch of heaven, aud moves the stars in 
their courses.— Spurgeon. 
That little word of five letters—honor—has 
caused more happiness and unhappiness in the 
world than any other abstract noun. False notions 
of it have brought about misery upon misery, while 
a true observance of its rigid requirements in the 
end ever benefits him to whom it is a guiding 
star. Ilonor signifies good and entire faith to man 
or woman,—allegiance to the spoken word,—re¬ 
spect for the promising look. They err who speak 
of honor as a blood-stained god,—it is a peaceful 
deity, and should sit amongst the Penates of each 
man's household. Its insignia are not the pistol 
aud the bowie knife, but the sealed lips aud the 
open hand. To speak of a man or a woman as 
honorable conveys a higher compliment than 
wealth and beauty can cull forth. What though 
honor lead us for the time into poverty aud de¬ 
prive ns of temporizing smiles? Its reward may 
ho late, but it is sure to come, if not here, here¬ 
after. It is one of those possessions which most 
truly benefit the possessor. There may he honesty 
without honor, hut us Colnmn truly tells us, 
-“Honor’s real prop is honesty.” 
Honesty is bind and surly, oftimes, but honor 
is ever dignified. Your gentleman may be honest, 
but your man is honorable.— Sat. Eve. Gazette. 
The Years. —They do not go from us, but we 
from them, stepping from th» old into the new, 
and always leaving behind ns some baggage, no 
longer serviceable on the march. Look hack along 
the way we have trodden, there they stand, every 
one in his place, holding fast all that was left in 
trust with them. Some keep our childhood, some 
our youth, and all have something of ours which 
they will give up for neither bribe nor prayer,— 
the opinions cast away, the hopes that went with 
us no farther, the cares ibat have had successors, 
and the follies outgrown to be reviewed by memo¬ 
ry aud called up for evidence some day. 
processes 
there is the same unmistakable indications of the 
God of power and wisdom, who directs aud con¬ 
trols all action so as to tend to his own glory.— 
Thus the world is Indeed beautiful and glorious, 
and instead of murmuring continually about lot, 
our lives should be a hymn of praise to the Creator 
for his kindness in giving us such a home. a. z. 
Little acts of kindness, gentle words, loving 
smiles—they strew the path of life with flowers, 
they make the sunshine brighter and the green 
earth greener; and He who bade ua "love one an¬ 
other,” lookB with favor upon the gentle and kind- 
hearted, and He pronounced the meek blessed. 
Genius. —A cotemporary, in dilating on genius, 
thus sagely remarks:—The talents granted to as in¬ 
gle individual do not benefit himself alone, butare 
gifts to the world; every one shares them, for 
every one mi flora or benefits by his actions. Genius 
is a light-house, meant to give light from afar; the 
man who bears it is but the rock upon which tho 
the light-house is built. 
ALockofHair from ME Dead Babe.— It is 
not often that wo pick up a brighter gem than 
these three lines of Gerald Massey’s, from a poem 
entitled “The Mother’s Idol Broken." They will 
open many a secret, spring of tears, and turn 
dimmed eyes heavenward: 
“ This Ig a curl or our poor ‘ Splendid's’ halrl 
A sunny hurst of rare and ripe young gold— 
A ring of sinless gold that weds tiro worlds!” 
Divine Promises. —The promises of the Bible 
shine as freely in at the windows of the poor man’s 
cottage as the rich man’s palace. A mountain of 
gold, heaped as high as heaven, would he no such 
treasure as one promise of God. 
The spirit of politeness consists in our giving 
such an attention to our maimers and language 
that those around us are left content with us and 
with themselves.— La Bruy ere. 
GRATiTunK is tho music of the heart when its 
chords arc swept by the gentle breeze of kindness. 
Keep your temper in dispute. The coolhammer 
fashions the red hot iron. 
