MOORE’S RURAL NEW-YORKER: AN AGRICULTURAL AND FAMILY NEWSPAPER 
around her, to he “ good Roys and girls,” a prom¬ 
ise, of course we always kept. Oh, yes! I have 
loved all these, and always before have parted from 
them with regret. But now, I am weary of them, 
and there has oomc over me a longing for the 
genial air of spring, for the blossoming of the 
trees, the merry voices of the brooks as they go 
dancing through the fields, the playful breezes 
that come to us from the south, bearing the fra¬ 
grance of the beautiful flowers that grow in that 
clime aud reminding us of those tve are soon to 
have, and of everything beautiful that warm 
weather brings ns. Eagerly have we watched the 
buds for the first signs of their bursting, but as 
yet, winter bolds them tight; and it gives me the 
“bines” terribly, as I write to see the linyilakes 
go flitting by the window. But I'm hoping that 
May 
“ -month of rosy beauty! 
Month when pleasure is a duty;" 
will bring ns better things. Ida Carey. 
Dream Dell, April, 1857. 
For Moore's Rural New-Yorker. 
WE’VE BEEN MAYING.” 
BE DETERMINED, 
Tnii earnest man wins a way for himself, and 
earnestness and truth go together. Never affect 
to be other than you are—either richer or wiser.— 
Never be ashamed to say, “I do not know.” Men 
will then believe you when you say, “I do not 
know.” Never be ashamed to say, whether as ap¬ 
plied to time or money, “I cannot afford, it,” “I 
cannot afford to waste nu hour in the idleness to 
which yon invite me—1 cannot afford the guinea 
you ask me to throw away.” Once establish your¬ 
self and your mode of life as what they really are, 
and your foot is on solid ground, whether for the 
gradual step onward, or for the sudden spring over 
the precipice. From these maxims let me deduce 
another—learn to say "No” with decision; “Yes” 
with caution—“No” with decision whenever it re¬ 
sists temptation; *' Yes” with caution whenever it 
implies a promise. A promise once given is a 
bond inviolable. A man is already of eonscouence 
We’vk been Maying, dear reader, and what do 
you think we found, saw, and heard? We found 
no May-dew, we saw no May-poles reared by human 
hands, we heard no joyous, exultant voices pro¬ 
claiming their Queen. Yet we enjoyed our ex¬ 
cursion much. Exercise in the fresh May air has 
done as much for us as the once famous May-dew 
could. It has given ns rosy cheeks, (and perhaps 
“freckles big as buttercups,” such as Mrs. Spar¬ 
row-grass gained in the country,) brightened our 
eyes, and enlivened our spirits wonderfully. 
We made May bushes and poles of the trees hung 
with flowers and illuminated by the sunlight by 
Ilim who made May, There were 
“The tawny elm, 
The fairest subject of the sylvan realm.” 
the tasseled maple, poplar, and birch, and the 
green-crowned pine and hemlock. We made bou¬ 
quets instead of garlands. We began them with 
cone-tipped hemlock boughs, and the willows 
which now 
“ Their delicate buds unfold 
Into downy feathers bedropped with gold,” 
and with “pendants” from the alders and birches. 
On these we laid the sweetest of spring wild-flow¬ 
ers, the Trailing Arbutus, or Mayflower. Let Mrs. 
Whitman describe it, 
“Like a pure hope nursed beneath sorrow’s wing 
Its timid buds from the cold moss spring. 
Their delicate hues like the pink sea-shell. 
Or the shaded blush of a hyacinth’s bell; 
Their breath more sweet than the faint perfume 
That breath s from the bridal orange-bloom.” 
On sunny slopes we gathered the bine-eyed, 
downy-stemmed liverwort, the wind-flower and the 
fairy-flax, nud curious gray lichens; by the brook- 
side, the delicate spring-beauty, the starry gold¬ 
thread, the white and the blue violet, and the little 
liliaceous plant that learned men call Erylliionium 
Atnericasium , and common people kuow by the sug¬ 
gestive names of adder-tongue and dog’s-tooth 
violet I wish some man “in authority” would 
give it a pleasanter common name. 
And what did we hear? We heard each other’s 
merry laugh and song, the dash of waters, the 
music that the pine’s slender, skillful fingers strike 
from the viewless winds, and at long intervals, 
bird-notes. The birds that are with us now love 
not so well the wildwood as the haunts of men, 
and sing sweetest near home. 
We found, we saw. we heard enough to lade our 
hearts with pleasant memories to weave with 
pleasant thoughts in future May-days, if such there 
be in store for us. ' h. 
East Hampton. Mass., 1857. 
For Moore « Rnral New-Yorker. 
PASSING AWAY! 
For Moore's Rural Ndw-Yorker. 
HEART-VOICES. 
Passing Awat I Passing away! 
All things bright are passing away— 
The sweetest flowers droop aud die ; 
And the song bir ds seek a fairer sky ; 
Their parting enrol seems to say— 
Passing away I 
Passing away [ Passing away ! 
Youth's glowing dreams are passing away. 
Tho* bright as the tinting of golden beams ; 
The sun shimmers over the rippling streams, 
Stili crushed hopes and sad hearts say— 
Passing away I 
Passing away I Passing away ! 
The friends we love are passing away— 
Some youthful and fair as tUc angels are ; 
Some aged but dear for their love and care, 
Yet they cannot stay, they are called away— 
Passing away I 
Passing away 1 Passing away f 
All that we cherish are passing away. 
Then let us strive lor that home above, 
Where we cannot be parted from those we love, 
And nevermore sing that sorrowing lay— 
Passing away! 
Le Roy, N. Y., 1857. 0. ! 
BY MY KTA MAY. 
The night-dew is falling 
O’er valley and lea, 
Aud a soft voice is calling 
Sweet sister, to me ; 
Will you list to its chorus 
In the calm bush of even, 
While the stars beaming o’er us 
Point brightly to Heaven f 
Sweet sister then listen, 
Though mournful the strain, 
Though the tear-drops may glisten 
In your blue eyes again. 
My own heart is swelling, 
'Neath a weight on it cast. 
For that well'd voice is telling 
Of the shadowy Past. 
Not, not of the gladness 
Of life’s early spring, 
But a deep wail of sadness, 
These memories bring, 
Oh 1 my frail bark is drifting, 
Far out on life’s sea, 
But the shadows seem lifting 
While 1 linger with thee ! 
And yet I am going 
From the hearlh-iitone- again. 
And the hot teats are flowing 
As I list to the strain 
Which memory is singing, 
Once more to my heart. 
Oh 1 wildly I'm clinging, 
Yet still must depar t I 
The moon-light is creeping 
O'er flower and tree, 
My sister, you're weeping, 
Are those tear-drops for me i 
Has my own wild heart’s aching 
Thrilled yours with pain ? 
Is that sad strain awaking 
You would not hear again ? 
Oh! hushed he thy singing 
Thou voice of the Past, 
The memories thou’rt bringing 
Will dim shadows cast, 
And I would not my sorrow 
Tby young heart should blight, 
Though l leave thee to-morrow, 
We’ll be happy to-night. 
Attica Centre, N. Y,, 1857. 
For Moore's Rural New-Yorker. 
THEY ARE GONE. 
hood,—a low murmur of regret wells up from the 
secret depths of the heart. So softly it speaks 
that, like the rustling of augels’ wings, 'tis scarcely 
heard, and yet so pensive, so sad, are those accents, 
“they are gone,-' that the fountains of the heart 
would fain gush forth in tears. 
Those innocent days of childhood— when life's 
bright roses were profusely scattered o’er the 
pathway we trod iu blissful ignorance of the sharp 
thorns which lurked among their leaves,— those 
happy days—when life but just begun, seemed, in 
childhood’s fancy, all sunshine and joy; like the 
first dawn of a summer day, when not a clond ob¬ 
scures the glorious light of the sun, or mars the 
tranquil blue of the sky; and bow often as wc 
gazed on the fair scene did we imagine it would 
never fade. Alas! where now are those innocent 
days—those fair, bright scenes? They are gone— 
like the sound ol happy voices on the still evening 
air, fled forever. Yet memory loves to linger at the 
green oases in life's •• desert waste,” and drink 
deeply ol the cooling draught. 
Where, too, ate those friends that clustered 
round us with warm affections in other days; who 
rejoiced with us in our happiness aud wept with 
us in our sorrow? Iu vain we listen for the sweet 
tones of their voices—in vain we look for their 
happy smiles in our “ merry greetings.” They, too, 
are gone; some of them have left the spot that phase of human life, 
gave them birth, ana now, far from the home of one stage of though 
childhood, iu other lauds their footsteps roam.— caD B tudy at each si 
Others, perhaps those we most, fondly loveil, have 60 us with whom he 
crossed the threshold of eternity, and entered upon the wants of the i 
another stage of existence in that, unknown, mys- honest-hearted, the 
terioua world, and we have gazed for the last time principle the eiupti: 
on all that remains of the once active and beauti- the generosity of tbt 
fal. “Those lips we have kissed are now faded the real character of 
and gone”—those hands we have pressed are now tv. There should be 
covered with mould. They are gone, aud the in his philosophy. 1 
places that once knew them know thorn no more; characters exhibited 
and as we walk the bulls where their buoyant, feet His heart goes out 
were wont to tread, we feel like rich and the poor, th 
“Those who trend alone, some banquet hall deserted, in turn been his cor 
Whoie lights axe fled, whose lamps are dead, p ar poverty in early 1 
For Moore's Rural New-Yorker 
POVERTY AND GREATNESS. 
LOVING AND FORGIVING. 
Man has an unfortunate readiness, in the evil 
hour after receiving an affront, to draw together 
all the moon-spots on the other person into an 
outline of shadow, and a night-piece, and to trans¬ 
form a single deed into a whole life; and thisonly 
in order that he may thoroughly relish the pleas¬ 
ure of being angry. In love, be haR fortunately 
the opposite faculty of crowding together alt the 
light parts and rays of its object into one focus, 
by means of the horning glass of imagination, and 
letting its sun burn without its spots; but he too 
generally does this only when the beloved, and 
often censured being is already beyond the skies. 
In order, however, that we should do this sooner 
and oftener, we ought, to act. like VVincklemann, 
but only in another way. As be, namely, set aside 
a particular half-hour of each day for the purpose 
of beholding and meditating on his too happy ex¬ 
istence in Rome, so we ought daily or weekly to 
dedicate and sanctify a solitary hour for the pur¬ 
pose of summing up the virtues of our families 
our wives, our children, and our friends—and 
viewing them iu this beautiful crowded assem¬ 
blage of their good qualities. And, indeed, we 
should do so for this reason, that we may not for¬ 
give and love too late, when the beloved beings 
are already departed hence, and are beyond our 
reach.— Richter. 
For Moore's Rural New-Yorker. 
A LITTLE CHAT. 
Dear Rural :—How nicely Old Winter deceived 
us! What a very pleasant freak came over him 
daring February, tempting me to a stroll in the 
woods, expecting, at every step, to see the blue eyes 
of the violets, or the bads of some of the wild 
flowers peeping up from the leaves. And then, 
too, I was thinking, that, soon, my datfodills and 
jonquils would be coming forth aud blossoming.— 
But, alas for the frailty of human hopes! mine 
were all to be frustrated. Old Winter was merely 
playing a farce. For, no sooner had we put on our 
pleasantest, face for the reception of Spring, and, just 
as that gentle maiden—won by bis gracious man¬ 
ner to think that be was about to yield bis scepter 
to her—came tripping to his side, than he, very 
much after the fashion of his sex, resumed his 
usual roughness, blowing such a sharp blast 
through hi, capacious nostrils as sent us all shiv¬ 
ering to the fire, warning ub to don our wrap¬ 
pings when next we ventured out; and leaving 
Spring—juror creature!—trembling by his side,_ 
looking at him so reproachfully from out her soft 
blue eyes filled with tears, that would overflow oc¬ 
casionally; and, no doubt, bearing in the moan- 
inga of the winds the plaintive sighs of the little 
flowers, who too, were won from their nestling 
places by the warm weather, expecting to be greet¬ 
ed by spring’s sunny smile, but instead, were chiUed 
by winter's cold breath. Gruff old fellow! if he 
wishes to retain his place in our hearts, he had 
better resign his seat gracefully and take himself 
off to bis summer abode in the Arctic, Not(that 
I dislike winter. Oh no! it has always been a fa¬ 
vorite season of mine, with its beautiful snow 
storms that I love so well to watch, as the flakes, 
so spirit-like, come floating down, each one filling 
its place so quietly. And then, when tho lovely 
carpet is finished, comes the sleighing. Wrapped 
in cloaks, furs and hoods until you form but a 
small portion of the awkward bundle; then tucked 
iu with the merry load under the warm buffalo, 
behind a pair of “spirited chargers” with a jolly 
driver, and away we go, 
“Gliding 'mong the hills and dells, 
Chiming with the merry bells ; 
Oh, hurrah I oh, hurrah I oh, hurrah I hurrah.” 
And as the prancing steeds go dancing along 
away go our spirits, in equal ratio, up to the boil¬ 
ing point* bubbling over in merry songs and happy 
laughter. But we booh meet with a cooler, by 
way of a toss into a snow-drift, which catastrophe 
is caused by a jolt the driver could not possibly 
avoid. A scrambling up, a catching for breath, 
such a getting on of cloaks wrong side up, and 
hoods inside out, then a general brushing down, 
and with a promise from the driver that he will 
look out—which means that he will run over the 
very next one he comes to—we are once more 
tucked cozilyin the sleigh. It is delightful! And 
even when I cannot ride myself) I love to listen to 
“The tintinabulation that bo musically swells, 
From the bells, bells, bells, bells, silver bells,” 
as the happy loads go flying by. 
Another pleasant thing of this season, are the 
long, cheerful evenings, when, with the curtains 
drawn, the loved circle gather around the bright 
fire, where, with books, papers, cheerful conversa¬ 
tion, music and (to me no Btnall item!)nuts and 
apples, the hours go fleeting by, aud we are all i 
startled to hear the old time-piece in the corner 
chime ten, eleven twelve. Particularly when a 
child did I love these evenings. When we chil¬ 
dren, banishing the older ones to the parlor, took i 
possession of the dining room, where we had am¬ 
ple room to play “blind-man’s-buff” and “puss- 
in-the-eorner” to out* heart’s content, And when ' 
weary of this, in the kitchen cracking nuts, pulling i 
taffy, or teasing old Dinah for a story—who, good 1 
old soul, would have to consent in self-defence_ i 
but first, making us all promise, as we gathered < 
For the Rural New-Yorker. 
PATIENCE AND PERSEVERANCE. 
These are qualities that “make man man.”— 
Without them no person prospers. The child ever 
remains a child; if not iu stature, in stability and 
firmness. The mind continues weak and imbecile, 
and purposes, however worthy, remain forever un¬ 
developed. Resolutions arc made but to be unexe¬ 
cuted, indeed to die at their birth. The founda¬ 
tion of many a glorious castle is laid, but at the 
least impediment it is deserted,and another begun 
in its stead, to terminate as did the liist, without 
an effort to baffle the smallest obstacle. Worthy 
projects have been formed, promising untold 
benefits to the originator as well as to the world; 
but through a want of these i i valuable traits, they 
are smothered ere they leave their source. Many, 
vastly many are the gems of earth, which, if gar¬ 
nished with patience and perseverance by their 
possessors, might shine with unequalled splendor, 
shedding their effulgenl rays upon the dark places 
of earth, and rendering the light still lighter.— 
There are tmuierous instances which might be 
cited to prove bow important, how necessary these 
qualities are in every-day life as well us on extra¬ 
ordinary occasions. The teacher, the parent, the 
brother and sister must cultivate them or they can 
never know real happiness. Without them how 
soon would the family circle be broken. Every 
intruding difficulty would sever a link trom home’s 
golden chain. It is patience and perseverance 
combined with energy that make the scholar, the 
statesman—indeed every person who reaches any 
deserved degree of eminence. Inpernsingthe biog¬ 
raphies of all great men and women, it cannot but 
be observed that these were predominant traits in 
the characters of their heroes and heroines. Would 
the names of flKRscnELL, Lawrence or Hogarth 
have been written where they are had they lacked 
these qualities? Or would those of others who 
have acted their part valiantly on the stage of life? 
Nor would we eulogise the names of great men 
alone, for the title of many a true woman adorns 
this list of distinguished persons, who have at¬ 
tained a high position in the estimation of an ad¬ 
miring world, through patient aud persevering 
efforts. e. w. 
Rochester, Mich., 1857. 
Persons may out-grow disease and become 
healthy, by proper attention to the laws of their 
physical constitutions. By moderate and daily 
exercise, men may become active and strong in 
limb and muscle. But to grow beautiful, how?— 
Age dims the lustre of the eye, and pules the roses 
on beauty’s cheek; while crow-feet and furrows, 
and wrinkles, and lost teeth, and grey hairs, and 
bald head, and tottering limbs, and limping feet, 
most sadly mar the human form divine. But dim 
as the eye is, pallid and sunken as may be the 
face of beauty, aud frail and feeble that once 
strong, erect and manly body, the immortal soul, 
just Hedging its wings for its home in heaven, may 
look ont through these faded windows, as beautiful 
as the dew-drops of a summer’s morning, as melt¬ 
ing as the tear that glistens in affection’s eye, by 
growing kindly, by cultivating sympathy with all 
human kind; by cherishing forbearance toward 
the foibles and follies of our race, and feeding day 
by day ou that love to God and man which lifts us 
from the brute, aud makes us akin to angels— 
Hall's Journal of Health. 
spurred us on to deeds of chivalry? Where are 
they now? They are gone—vanished like the 
early cloud and the morning dew; perished every 
fond ambitioD. Stem reality baa cast the beau¬ 
tiful buds of hope back on the heart’s shrine to 
wither. 
Where are affection’s pearls that we scattered 
with lavish hand? Alas! they were bestowed on 
worthless objects, and they have trampled in the 
dust those gems that might have graced a diadem. 
They are gone, and the heart weeps for its lost 
treasures. Happy moments; where ore they?— 
Gone—buried in the oblivion of the past. Golden 
hours that we have squandered—where are they? 
Can we not recall them ? Ah, no—they must stand 
accusing blanks in the great book of account. 
They are gone, and we remember them with a sigh. 
Precious words of wisdom, that were like the 
drops of crystal dew, which the wings of Seraphs 
scatter, when, on some bright Sabbath their wangs 
quiver roost with delight; they were like white- 
winged seeds of happiness wafted from the islets 
of the blessed. Where are they? Oh, they have 
fallen on unheeding ears, and the living waters 
have returned again to the fountain of Intelligence. 
They are gone; and the heart grows more sad and 
regretful as it repeats “they are gone!” and from 
out the depths of the past echoes the mournful 
response—“^owe/” Carrie C. 
Jackson, Co., MicU., 1857. 
Cato. —If Cicero had too little character, Cato 
had t.oo much. Public virtue is like gold, if it is 
to be current, it must lie alloyed. Cato left the 
alloy out, and cared little whether his coin circu¬ 
lated or not; all he knew was, that its purity must 
never be tampered with, and that whoever would 
not receive it as he tendered it, must be corrupt or 
criminal. Tie was a good orator, but his oratory 
was in vain; he was always ready with advice, but 
it was advice incapable of being put in practice; 
he was esteemed by all, but with an esteem that 
bore uo fruit. Inflexibly and almost savagely 
austere, he was one of those men whom posterity 
place in their Valhallss, hut whom nations, unless 
for example's sake, deny admittance to their coun¬ 
cils— the most irreproachable of virtuous men, 
but the most useless. — Lamartine's History of 
Ccusar. 
Our Homes.— Genius hath its triumphs, fame its 
glories, wealth its Bplcndor, success its bright re¬ 
wards, but the heart only hath its home. Home 
only! What more needeth the heart? What more 
can it gain? A true home is more than the world 
—more than honor, and pride, and fortune—more 
than all earth can give —the light, the noonday 
Bun may not yield, and yet the tiny (lame of one 
pure beam of love enkindletb, and sympathy makes 
to burn forever. 
Home! how more beautiful thou art! bow like 
an untaught religion! a golden link between the 
soul and heaven! when the presence ol a pure 
heart makes thee radiant, aud the music of its af¬ 
fection floats like the chorals of unseen cherubims 
around thy tranquil hearth. 
A Great Gift. —Sleep is the gift of God; and 
not a man would close his eyes, did not God put 
his finger ou his eyelids. True, there are some 
drugs with which men can poison themselves well- 
nigh to dea1.li, and then caLi it sleep; butthesleep 
of the healthy body is the gift of God; ho bestows 
it; be rocks the cradle for us every night.; draws 
the curtain of darkness, he bids the sun shut up 
his burning eyes, and then he comes and says, 
“Sleep, sleep, my child; I give thee sleep.” You 
have sometimes laid your head upon your pillow, 
nud tried to go to sleep, but you eouid not do it; 
but still you boo; aud there are Bounds in your 
cars, and ten thousand things drive through your 
brain. Sleep is the best physician that I know of. 
It has healed more pains titan the most eminent 
physicians on earth. It is the best medioine.— 
There is nothing like it. And what a mercy it is 
that it belongs to all. God does not give it mere¬ 
ly to the noble or the rich, so they cun keep it as 
a special luxury for themselves; but he bestows it 
upon all. Yes, if there be any difference, it is iu 
favor of the poor. “Tho sleep of the laboring 
man is sweet, whether be eat little or mucin” 
Blue Devils. —Hi an article in the Journal of 
Psychological Medicine on Baron Feuclitersleben's 
Principle of Medical Psychology, showing how the 
mind is influenced by a mechanical calling, there 
is this curious sentence:—“Resell and Esquirol 
affirm, from observation, that indigo-dyers become 
melancholy, nud those who dye scarlet, choleric. 
Their observation regarding indigo-dyers affords 
a strong confirmation of the statement of that arch 
quack Paraceelus, who declared bine to be inju¬ 
rious.” This would seem to suggest that our 
phrase, “the blue devils,” tnay derive its origin from 
a scientific fact.— Chambers' Journal. 
Good Words. — “Nobody knows wbat is slum¬ 
bering among the people—what political wisdom 
— until it is called forth. The very persons who 
say the best aud noblest things do not come forth 
without they are called forth, because those great 
aud noble things are their utmost feeling, aud 
seem to themselves too simple aud what every¬ 
body must think. Hpeak It out good friends, every¬ 
where, those simple things — fixed truths. Free¬ 
dom feeds on the universal heart and mind, and 
not on the genius here and there, one remarkable 
person or great scholar. The American statesman 
is the good, honest citizen, who does his daily 
work, and loves his wife and children, and knows 
that every other man has the same duties and 
rights as himself.” 
Knowing What One’s Arout. — “Half the 
evil in this world,” says Buskin, In his “Stones of 
Venice,” “comes from people not knowing what they 
do like — not deliberately settling themselves to 
find out what they really enjoy. All people enjoy 
giving away mouey, lor instance; they don't know 
that—they rnther think they like keeping it; and 
they do keep it, under this false impression, often 
to their great discomfort. Everybody likes to do 
good; but not one in a hundred finds this onL— 
Multitudes think they like to do evil; yet no man 
ever really enjoyed doing evil since God made tho 
world.” 
A great deal of discomfort arises from over 
sensitiveness of what, other people may say of you 
or your actions. Many unhappy persons seem to 
imagine that they are always iu an amphitheatre, 
with the assembled world as spectators; whereas 
they are playing to empty benches all the while. 
HAPrY Thought.— Remember that though the 
realm of death seems an enemy’s country to most 
men, on whose shore they are loathly driven by 
stress of weather, to the wise man it is the desir¬ 
ed port where ho moors his bark gladly, as in some 
quiet haven of the fortunate isles; it its the golden 
west into which his suu sinks, and sinking, cubIs 
back a glory on the leaden cloud-rack which had 
darkly beseiged his day.— Gospel Banner. 
The spoken word, the written poem, is said to 
be an epitoxne of the man; how much more the 
done work. Deeds are greater than words. Deeds 
have such a life, mute, but undeniable, and grow 
as living trees and fruits do; they people the va¬ 
cuity of time, and make it green and worthy. 
Truk modesty is a flower whoso grateful odor 
endures for ages. False modesty is a weed as 
poisonous us stramonium, and as deadly, in its 
ultimate effects, as the prussic acid, distilled from 
the green and pretty leaves of peach trees. 
Forbearance is a great virtue, 
