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MOORE’S RURAL NEW-YORKER: AN AGRICULTURAL AND FAMILY NEWSPAPER. 
MAY 30. 
palms’ Ifltt-Jffllifl. 
CONDUCTED BY AZIDE 
For Moore's Rural New-Yorker. 
SPRIN Gr. 
BT MRS. M. P. A- CKOZrKB- 
OUT in the greenwood bowers, 
Pointing Ibe beautitul flowers, 
With delicate, fairy fingers ; 
Out where tbe zvpbyr whispers 
Solt'y as evening vespeis, 
Spring with her warm breath Ungers. 
Out where the wild birds are singing, 
Out where the forests are ringing 
With thenerv joy that's awaking; 
Out where tbegieen buds are peeping, 
Out where the waters are leaping. 
Young Spring is her toilet malting. 
Out where the lambkins are playing, 
Out where the chil Iren are Maying, 
Thoughtless of future stiduees ; 
Out in the beautiful moon-ltght^ 
Out in the glorious sun-light, 
Wakens she life and gladness. 
Out wb«re the dew-drops are gligt’ning, 
Out where the maidens are Itat'ning 
To her melodious voices; 
Out where the insects are humming, 
Out where the partridge is drumming, 
Spring iu her bridal r»juices. 
Out where the wild-deer is bounding, 
Out where the bugle is sounding, 
Makiogthe niouutains ring; 
Out where tbe owl is hiding, 
Out where Ihe serpent is gliding, 
She’s sport'Ug. the beautiful Spring. 
Out where tbe plowman is plowing, 
Out where the sower is sowing 
Seeds in the genial soil, 
There with her sweet beguiling, 
There wi'h her joyous smiling, 
She’s blessing the sons ol toiL 
Blessings upon fAce, maiden, 
Who coraeth so heavily luden 
With gilts hum our Father above I 
Bear back to the courts Ely.-ian 
Our thanks for thy beautiful mission, 
Thanks for our Father’s love- 
Grandville, Mich, 1S57. 
- 4 ■> - 
A MOTHER’S LAST PRAYER. 
BY MRS. AN.V S- STEPHENS. 
« First out flowers die—and then 
Our hopes, and then our fears,—and when 
These are dead, tbe debt is due, 
Dust claims dust—and we die too." 
I was very young, scureely beyond tbe verge of 
infancy, the last and most helpless of tbe three 
little girls who were gathered around my poor 
mother’s death bed. When I look on the chain 
of my varied existence — that woof of gold and 
iron woven so strangely together—the remem¬ 
brance of that young being who perished so early 
and bo gently from the bosom of her family, 
forms tbe first sad link which ever gives forth a 
thrill of funeral music when my heart turns to it 
— music which Itecoraes more deep-toned and 
solemn as that chain is strengthened by thought, 
and bound together by the events of successive 
years. The first human being that I can remem¬ 
ber was my mother, moving languidly about her 
home, with the paleness of disease sitting upon 
her beautinl features, and a deep crimson spot 
burning with painful brightness on either cheek. 
I remember that her steps became unsteady, and 
lier voice fainter and more gent le day by day, till 
at last she sank to her bed, and we were called 
upon to witness her spirit go forth to the presence 
of Jehovah. They took me to her couch, and 
told me to look upon my mother before she died. 
Their words had do meaning to me then, hut the 
whisper in which they were spoken thrilled pain¬ 
fully through my iDfant heart, and 1 felt that 
something very terrible was about to happen.— 
Pale, troubled faces were around that death-pil¬ 
low— stern men, with sad, heavy eyes — women 
overwhelmed with tears and sympathy—and chil¬ 
dren, that huddled together, shuddering and weep¬ 
ing, they knew not wherefore. 
Filled with wonder and awe, I crept to my 
mother, and burying my brow in the mass of rich 
brown hair thatfloated over her pillow, heavy with 
the damp of death, but still lustrous in spite of 
disease, I trembled and 60bbed without knowing 
why, save that all around me was full of grief and 
lamentation. She murmured and placed her hand 
upon my head. My iillle heart swelled, but I lay 
motionless and filled with awe. Her lips moved, 
and a voice, tremulous and very low, cainc faintly 
over them. These words, broken and sweet as they 
were, left the first dear impression that ever re¬ 
in lined on ray memory—“Lead her not into temp¬ 
tation, bat deliver her from evil” This was my 
mother’s last prayer! In that imperfect sentence 
her gentle voice went out forever. Young as I 
was, that prayer had entered my heart with a 
solemn strength. 
I raised my head from its resting-place, and 
gazed awe stricken upon the face of my mother.— 
Ob, how an boor had changed it. The crimson 
flush was quenched on her cheeks, a moisture lay 
upon her forehead, and the gray mysterious shad¬ 
ows of death were stealing over her thin features, 
yet her lips still moved, and her deep blue eyes 
were bent on me, surcharged with spiritual bright¬ 
ness, as if they would have left one of their vivid 
unearthly rays as the seal of the death-bed cove¬ 
nant Slowly as sunbeams pale at nightfall from 
the leaves of a flower, went out the starlight fire 
of her eyeB; a mist came over them, softly as the 
dew might fall upon that flower, and she was dead I 
Even then I knew not the meaning of the solemn 
change I had witnessed; but when they bore me 
forth from my mother’s death-bed, my heart was 
filled with fear and misgiving. 
All were overwhelmed with the weight of their 
own sorrow, and 1 was premitted to wander 
around my solitary home unchecked and forgot¬ 
ten. I stood wondering by as they shrouded my 
mother, and smoothed the loDg hair over her pale 
forehead. Silently I watched them spread the 
winding-sheet, and fold those small pale hands 
over her bosom; but when they closed the blinds 
and went forth, my little heart swelled with a sense 
of unkindnesB in shutting out the sunshine, and 
the sweet summer air which had so often called a 
smile to her pale lips, when it came to her bed 
fragraut Irum die rose thickets, and tbe white clo- 
vei* field which lay beneath the windows they had 
so cruelly darkened. The gloom ol' the death- 
chamber made me very sorrowful, but I went to 
the bed, turned down the linen, and laid my hand 
caressingly on the pale face which lay so white 
and motionless in the dim light. It was cold as 
ice. I drew back afirigkted, and stealing from the 
room, sat down alone, wondering and full of dread. 
They burled her beneath a Jolty tree on the 
high bank of a river. A waterfall raises its an¬ 
them near, and the sunset flings his last golden 
shadows among the long grass that shelters her.— 
I remember it all — the grave with the newly- 
broken sod — the coffin platted on its brink—the 
clergyman with bis black surplice sweeping the 
earth, and the concourse of neighbors gathered 
around that grave, each lifting bis hat reverently 
as the solemn hymn swelled on the air, answered 
by the lofty anthems surging up from tbe water¬ 
fall, and the breeze rustling through the dense 
boughs of that gloomy tree. Then came the grat¬ 
ing of the coffin as it was lowered into its narrow 
bed, the dull, hollow sound of the falling earth, 
and those moat solemn words of “Dust to dust, 
and ashes to ashes.” With mournful distinctness 
were all these things impressed on my young 
mind; but nty mother’s last prayer is written more 
forcibly than all in characters that deepen with 
maturity. It has lingered about my heart, a bless¬ 
ing and a safeguard, pervading it with a music 
that cannot die. Many times when the heedless¬ 
ness of youth tvould have led me into error, has 
that 8« r eet voice, now hnshed forever, intermingl¬ 
ed with my thoughts, and like the rosy Jiuks of a 
fairy chain, drawn me from my purpose. 
Oft when my brow has been wreathed with 
flowers for the festival, when my cheek has been 
flushed, and my eyes have sparkled with anticipat¬ 
ed pleasure, have I caught the reflection of those 
eyes in tbe mirror, and thought of the look which 
rested upon me when my mother died—that brok¬ 
en BupplicatlOb to Heaven has come back to my 
memory; the clustering roses have been torn from 
my bead; sad and gentle memories have drank 
the unnatural glow from my cheeks, and my 
thoughts have been carried back to my lost pa¬ 
rent, and from her up to the heaven she inhabits. 
The festival, with all of its attractions, has been 
lost in geittle reflections, and I have been “ deliver¬ 
ed from temptation.” Again, when the sparkling 
wine cup has almost bathed my lips, amid merri¬ 
ment and smiles and music, has the last sad prayer 
of my mother seemed to bo mingled with its ruby 
contents, and I have put away the goblet that “1 
might not be led into temptation.” When rny 
baud has rested in that of the dishonorable, and 
trembled at the touch ot bim who says in bis heart 
there is no God, as that voice seemed to flow from 
his luring accents. I have listened to it and fled as 
from the serpent of my native forests. 
Again and again, when the thrubbings of ambi¬ 
tion have almost filled nty soul, and the praises of 
my tellowmen have become a precious incense, 
tbe still voice ot my mother's prayer has trembled 
over each heart-suing, and kindled it to a more 
healthy music. In infancy, youth, and womanhood, 
that prayer has been to me a holy remembrance— 
a sweet thought full of melody, not the less beau¬ 
tiful that there is sadness in it. 
For Moore's Rnral New-Yorker 
THE SPIRIT OF WINTER. 
Long ago cane the chilling frosts and checked 
the life-current in the last lovely flowers, and gave 
the forests their iris lines of glory. Later came 
tbe Winter Spirit sweeping these rustling autumn 
garments from the trees, and covering every trace 
of grass and flowerets with its robe of ice and 
snow. It walked upon the mountains and drew 
down the clouds upon their crests. It looked out 
upon the earth, and wherever Its glance rested the 
streams stopped their coursing, the lakes hid be¬ 
neath tbeir icy coverings, and hushed were tbe 
myriad glad voices of nature. The chill Spirit 
turned irs eyes up to the sky; the fleecy clouds 
gathered in dark, heavy masses and swept athwart 
tbe portentous heavens. But ah! when it had set 
its frost seal on nature it sped not back to its covert 
abode, but crossed tbe very thresh hold of Poverty, 
and sat within. How sadly the iumates of that 
dwelling strove to smile back to its freezing glan¬ 
ces. Poor once, there waB enough to endure with¬ 
out this. The fingers that before were weary with 
toil, now stiffened with cold. The food that was 
dearly earned before, could no longer be bought, 
for there was no money to buy. Starvation came. 
Many days we bsw the rivulets bound, and the 
branches drooping with their burthen ot snow.— 
Many nights we heard the fierce winds soaring 
around ns, Bot caught we there the pleading cry 
for food? stood we beside the suffering, dying 
ones with kindly bands ministering to tbern? Or, 
if we could not be near them, did we pity them? 
did we weep for them? If so the Good Angel 
hath written it; God hath told it to the weary and 
they have blessed ua for our sympathy. It it is 
not thus, and never has been given to them a 
thought of ours, ib it well? Is it well that a soul 
should have suff- rcu without the blessing of our 
pity? 0, no! and many of us could do more, we 
could ourselves enter the lowly dwellings or send 
kind messengers before whose gentle smiles the 
Winter Spirit would pass away, and only sit 
without. 
There are two chill, wintry SpiritB— one has just 
passed from earth, the other still lingers over 
souls. Long ago—even on the first mornings alter 
creation, came autumn shadows; young flowers of 
truth withered; mournfully died out the melodies 
of tuneful hearts, and lowering clouds hung above. 
Still darker grew tbe Bkies, drearer the blasts, and 
sin cast its icy fetters upon tbe soul of mun. Yea, 
it even entered in and shut out good. 
But as in autumn, or iu winter, often comes a 
glorious day with glowing Bunitet—so came a time 
to fallen mortals, and a Holy One walked the earth 
with men. Buffering ones were healed, peace was 
given to the weary. The day of his pilgrimage 
was beautiful, and the glory of ita sunset hugers 
yet.- But we know there have been wild storms 
since that time of beauty. Guilt has been with us 
and polluted the sacred altars of the heart, conse¬ 
crated by the impress of the Divine image. It has 
draped all things iu darkness till the sinful think 
there Is no light. It, has frozen up life’s gushing 
fountains, and hnshed the words of mercy. Now 
souls are startling. Is this welt? 0, no! Spirit 
put on thy mantle of faith—go laden with kind 
thoughts and spotless deeds—give to the needy— 
closely fold thy robe of love about them, that they 
may not perish. For as passes the Winter Spirit 
from the earth at the coming of gladsome son- 
Bhine, so will pass the Winter Bpirit from the 
heart where enttrelh the Angel of Truth. 
Stoat's Grove, Ill., 1867. E. E. 
©{miff fttisttllaiiy. 
For Moore's Rural New-Yorker 
GrEOItGrIEL 
BY IDA FAIRFIELD. 
Carolling with every bright bird, 
Which a moment lmvered nigh, 
Blooming with tbe opening Ouwers, 
Glancing with the tmtteifly, 
la its wandering patli of beauty, 
Through the long bright summer days, 
Little Utioitom livid in sunshine, 
Happy with Ills btitmless ptays 
But a sudden chill crept o'er him, 
Winter’s breath, at Summer’s noon, 
Stilling nil file’s gushing waters, 
Frozen at their fount so soon ; 
Hushed the tireless song ol gtadaess, 
Hushed the foot tall on the floor, 
And his laugh ot ringing music 
FtU upon the ear no more. 
In the church-yard on the hill-side, 
Where his kiudrnl dust was laid, 
There the sod is freshly parted, 
And a little grave ts made ; 
With his small hands Folded softly, 
With the desth-darops on liia brow, 
'Mid the violets and the roses, 
Sweetly sleeps onr Georgib now. 
Sloops he there ? Ah I no 1 hut waking, 
For tbe first, to glorious life. 
Freed front mortal sin nnd sorrow, 
Freed from earthly euro and strife. 
Where no cloud tho sunlight dimmeth, 
Far above the flowery sod, 
Soars acd sing* his siuletts spirit. 
In the Paradise of God. 
Independence, N. Y., May, 1857. 
For Moore's Rnral New-Y'orkor 
THE MAN OF THOUGHT. 
Tije mission of the Man of Thought is truly a 
mighty one, lor he teaches the lesson of Progres¬ 
sion. Such is tbe arrangement of things that im¬ 
mobility is impossible,— that is, tbe world must 
either progress or retrograde. But primeval prin¬ 
ciples war continually with retrogression and 
impel to progress; hence we come to regard the 
life of the Man of Thought as a part of Nature 
itself,—for what is life but a continued effort to at¬ 
tain a positiou beyond that which he momentarily 
occupies? It is a continued evolution and utter¬ 
ance of newly discovered Truths,— of Original 
Ideas,—Dot original in essence, but in combination. 
It is a continued climbiDg of the “topless pinnacle 
of Thought” 
Man, it is said, is the creatnTe of circumstances; 
but, however true it may be of the many, the few 
the Men of Thought, are exceptions. Though 
their life should be one continued struggle with 
an adverse destiny, they will, M seas like, crush 
every opposing obstacle hack into nothingness, 
and like him, finally hail with joy the shores of 
their Latiura. Indeed, those circumstances with 
which oonten’ion is declared useless, may be re¬ 
quisite to the development of their power. As the 
flint evolves the spark only by collision with tbe 
steel, so it may be that the adversities of the Man 
of Thought may be requisite to the success of Ilia 
mission. We know not how far we are indebted 
to the mendicity of Homer for the Iliad; to Burns’ 
obscurity for the genius of his writings; or to the 
misfortunes of Lord Bacon for the Novum Orga - 
man. Wherever adversily arrays its mightiest 
forces, there we behold the Genius of Thought 
illuminating the intellectual and moral world with 
itsbrightestBcintillations. In the Man of Thought 
then, he in whose life and actions are seen, 
« The baby flgnreg of the giant mass 
Ol things to come at large,” 
we discover a power which is alone invincible, 
which is alone the mightiest of the mighty.— 
He is mighty, because Thought, which is the 
essence and spirit of all Heroisms, — even of 
such Heroisms as those of Mahomet, Luther, 
Napoleon and of Washington,— is with him 
an etherial, all-pervading principle, overcoming 
his sensual, and acting in unison with his spiritual 
nature. Other Heroisms have failed their devo¬ 
tees, because this great principle was counterpois¬ 
ed “by others less worthy, and are now numbered 
with the relics of barbarous ages. But while his¬ 
tory tells only of mutations among these, on every 
wayside pillar are inscribed the victories and tri¬ 
umphs of Thought. 
The influence of tbe Mud of Thought is of a kind 
that " fadeth not away,” for it is the foundation of 
government. Laws and principles are of none ef¬ 
fect in government, except as they are preceded 
by the influence of Knowledge and Truth on the 
mind. Bring the ruind in contact with correct 
ideas, with Truths, and ithas a law; not one chan¬ 
geable and mutable, but as uuclianging as Eternity. 
Thus it ever has been and ever will be. The life 
of the man who thinks and gives utterance to his 
thought, ends not with bis physical existence, but 
goeth on, increasing and yet expanding iu power 
aud influence through unmeasured time. He in 
whom lives and acta the power to 
“Read creation, read He mighty law*, 
Tbe plan and executtou-to collate” — 
he it is who in the past, the present and the future 
sways the sceptre of sovereignty over the genera¬ 
tions of earth; he, only, is the mightiest of the 
mighty. T. D. Tookek. 
Adrian, Mich., 1857. 
The Law of the Finger-Ring. — If a gentle¬ 
man wants a wife, he wears a ring on the first 
finger of the left hand; if he is engaged, he wears 
it on tbe second finger; if married, on the third; 
and on the fourth, if he never intends to get mar¬ 
ried. When a lady is not engaged, she wears a 
diamond ring on her first finger; if engaged, on 
the second; if married, on the third; and on the 
fourth if she intends to bo a maid. When a gentle¬ 
man presents a fan, a flower, or trinkets to a lady 
with tbe left hand, this, on his part, is an overture 
of regard; should she receive with the left hand, 
it is considered as an acceptance of his esteem; 
but if with the right hand, it is a refusal of the 
offer. Thus by a few simple tokens, explained by 
rule, the passion of love is expressed. 
■ ■ ■ -■ -4 -» 
Unbounded modesty is nothing more than un¬ 
avowed vanity; tho too humble obeisance is some, 
times a disguised impertinence. 
WHAT PEOPLE LIVE LONGEST. physical education.—athletic exercises 
There appears to be a wide difference of opin¬ 
ion between some of our cootemporimesin regard 
to this subject. We copy some of their remarks: 
The Americans are the longest lived people, not¬ 
withstanding ill the humbug about the great age 
to which the English live, their superior stamina, 
&o. Aud the longest lived of Americans are to 
be found here, in this very New England, although 
such a mesa of stuff is said about the Yankees 
working themselves to death, being half starved, 
and depriving themselves ol the enjoyments of 
life, thus tendiog to abbreviate it; and despite the 
arguments which arc based upon the changeabili¬ 
ties of the climate, the east wind, and all that.— 
These are but wimly arguments. Statistics tell a 
different story.— Dutton Daily Ledgtr. 
Americans are not the longest lived people, and 
we much mistake if we are destined to be a long 
lived nation, even! The Irish, of whom the writer 
of this article claims to be a descendant, are the 
longest lived; but we don’t know whether to at¬ 
tribute it to their climate or the simple diet to 
which their general poverty confines them.— 
Charleston f S. C) Mercury, 
You should have confined yourself, Mr. Mercury, 
before you delivered that sapient opinion. Hum¬ 
boldt has placed it beyond a doubt that the moun¬ 
taineers of I’eru can contest the palm with death 
longer than anybody else.— N. O. Picayune . 
That’s a lie. Humboldt says no such thing any¬ 
where.— New York Evangelist. 
Keep cool, gentlemen, or none of yon will be 
long lived. We believe the greatest age of man to 
be contained by the Hindostanees, nnd refer the 
curious iu such matters to Bufibn's i uteres ting ac¬ 
count of the people.— N. Y. Herald. 
Our American Iriends are having a dispute as to 
what pm pie present the most numerous instances 
of advanced age in man. Cold regions we believe 
to be the most favorable to the prolongation ol 
life, but we have nothing to disprove that the 
Dutch live longer than any other lace—too long 
for their own good, perhaps. —London 'Junes. 
The London Times has been having a fliDg at 
the Dutch, referring to the great age to which 
some of the Mynheers attain, though nothing is 
mentioned about old Rip Van Winkle. The Times 
is famous for wholesale slurs upon nations, though 
just now it has not a word to say ..gaiust its dear 
neighbor, France. If we were asked tho lived 
the “longest” of all people, we should say the Pat¬ 
agonians, for numbers of them stand full eight 
feet high.— Boston Post. 
The Boston Post thinks the Patagonians live the 
longest of nil mankind. That may be; but it is 
certain the inhabitants of the Himmaleb Moun¬ 
tains live the highest.— Boston Herald. 
That may be, too, neighbor; but a still surer 
thing is, whether the Yankees live the longest or 
not, they are destined to live the broadest, for 
eventually their institutions will spread through¬ 
out the earth.— Parlor Casket. 
CHINESE MARRIAGE LAWS. 
The Celestial regulations concerning marriage 
are very strict. It is forbidden to marry during 
“the period set for mourning” tbe death of nfuih- 
er or mother. It is forbidden to marry a person 
bearing the same name, or one guilty of crime, or 
a musician, or an actor, or a widow whose former 
hnsband has distinguished himself. The inevita¬ 
ble bamboo is the punishment for transgressions 
of these laws. Purties safely married, who can¬ 
not agree together, may separate. Divorces are 
also gianted for the following causes;—sterility 
immorality, contempt of the husband’s father or 
mother, propensity to Blander or theft, a jealous 
temper, or habitual ill health. A man is allowed 
to have but one wife by law, and the law punishes 
him with eighty blows of the bamboo for every 
additional wife he brings borne. Tbe secondary 
wives—of whom there are a great plenty—have no 
rights whatever. The children of tbe legitimate 
wife wear no mourning for them at their death.— 
But if they should omit the mourning dress upon 
the demise of their own mother, the inevitable 
bamboo would be administered. The Chinaman 
takes care to use all the liberty left him by the in¬ 
numerable laws. His legitimate wife he dare not 
put away except for causes specified above. His 
additional wivets the law does not recognize, and 
he therefore treats them as he pleases. 
-- 
Happiness of Working Men. —The situation or 
social position of the poor—and by that word we 
mean the laboring population—is by no means so 
deficient in the means of happiness and comfort 
as many are led to believe. “The mechanics,” 
says Lord Byron, “and working olasscs who can 
maintain their families, are, in my opinion, the 
happiest body of men. Poverty is wretchedness; 
but it is, perhaps, to be preferred to the heartless, 
unmeaning dissipation of the higher orders.” A 
popular author says, “ I have no propensity to envy 
any one, least of all the rich and great; but if I 
were disposed to this weakness, the subject of my 
envy would be a healthy young man, in full pos¬ 
session of his health and faculties, going forth in 
a morning to work for his wife and children, or 
bringing them home his wages at night.” — Law 
Magazine. 
Truk Greatness. —It is by what we ourselvcB 
have done, and not by what others have done for 
us, that we shall be remembered by after ages. It 
is thought that has aroused tbe Intellect from its 
slumbers, which has “given lustre to virtne, and 
dignity to truth,” or by those examples which 
have inflamed the soul with the love of goodness, 
and not by means of sculptured marble, that we 
hold communion with Shakspeare and Milton, 
with Johnson and Burke, with Howard and Wilber- 
force.— Dr. Wayland. 
♦ - 
Genius and the Domestic Ties.— Moore laid 
it down as a rule that genius and domestic happi¬ 
ness were incompatible with, and excluded, each 
other. One day, when he asked in Wadsworth’s 
presence, if such was not necessarily tho ease, tbe 
grave Poet of the Lakes, replied,—” Men do not 
make their homes uuliappy because they have 
genius, but because they have not enough genius; 
a mind and sentiments of a higher order would 
render them capable ot seeing and feeling all the 
beauty of domestic ties.” 
Wk arc glad to see the youths of Harvard be¬ 
ginning again tbeir rowing matches. The smooth 
surface of tho silver winding river Charles is now 
frequently dotted with their long, light clippers, 
crawling over the water with their six oars, like 
so many six-legged caterpillars. Hardly any out- 
of door exercise is mote attractive and beneficial 
to men than this. .The fresh exhilaration of the 
free air and pleasant scenes through which the 
towers on a river glide, are worth a cart load of 
health “ Panaceas.” It would he well it the youth 
Of our city took more advantage of onr water 
facilities for pleasant exercise. The 4t.h of July 
regattas have turned tbe attention of some to it, 
and if it could bo much increased, the i iver Charles 
might become a fountain of life, giving vigor to 
our worn, hard-thinkiug bruins. 
In England, the Thames is dotted with the “four 
oars,” and "six oars” aud the “pair of oars,” as on 
fine evenings they skim the stream, chet red by 
the smile of beauty and hurrahs of the interested 
spectators. 
But rowing js only one of tbe means of physi¬ 
cal education at the disposal of Bostonians. Our 
glorious park of forty acres — that undulating 
"Common,” those towering trees, through whose 
tracery you catch frequent, beams from that west¬ 
ern horizon which “opes t,o the sunset a gateway 
of gold”—this broad surface invites the early 
morning game of ball, or the twilight game of 
ball, or the twilight game of cricket Football 
used to be, when we were boys together, a grand 
stimulant to all the powers of masculine develop¬ 
ment; and if blackened shins and bruised heads 
sometimes broke the harmony of the sport., 'twaa 
but u moment, and the glorious game rolled on. 
Mr. Webster once said of an eminent Bostoni¬ 
an, who is still living, that “it was a prodigious 
pity he hud no siuglo taste, whose gratification 
would take him out of his hot-air library into the 
open air.” Webster’s own massive mental ware 
could never have been manufactured except by a 
sound mind in a sound body, “mens sana in cor¬ 
pora sano.” There has beon some discussion late¬ 
ly about his using tobacco. He used it, but only 
for a very short season. Bat what he did use per¬ 
manently, as is well known, was out-of-door exer¬ 
cise in every form. Even horseback riding, which 
was not peculiarly favorable to his habit of body, 
was nevertheless quite a favorite exercise with 
him, even till an advanced period of life. Another 
of our Massachusetts great men, John Quincy 
Adams, used to take very long walks before break¬ 
fast, when ho was in Congress, and in the dead of 
winter would have the fee of the Potomac cut to 
enjoy his daily river bath. 
Frederick the Great, used to declare that “na¬ 
ture evidently intended mankind for postillions,” 
because she bad made exercise so indispensable 
to the race, but her only mistake was, that she 
had not arranged to have men born on horseback. 
It was doubtless one very great cauese of the 
intellectual nnd martial supremacy of the classic 
republics, that they were composed of physically 
vigorous citizens. Everybody was athletic; every¬ 
body wrestled, or ran, or boxed. The Olympic 
stadium, and the Campus Martius fed the life- 
springs of their respective States. There was no 
beauty which was not well Uov-jloped nnd vigor¬ 
ous. It was as much a part of the daily routine 
for the youth to put their mtscles into mimic 
battle, as it is with us to put our teeth in play at 
dinner. 
We, as a people, are said to be degenerating in 
physique. There is still, however, much differ¬ 
ence in bodily proportions and development in 
favor of Bostonians, as against New Yorkers.— 
We trust the diilerence may be increased, and 
that the Athens of America may be Athenian in 
tho ragged and healthy statue of its children, no 
less than in the careful culture of their minds.— 
Boston Traveller. 
- 
MORAL COURAGE. 
Sidney Smith, in his work on Moral Philosophy, 
Bpeaks in this wise of what man loses for want of 
a little moral courage, or independence of mind: 
—“ A great deal of talent is lost iu the world for 
want of a little courage. Every day sends to the 
grave a number of obscure meD, who have remain¬ 
ed in obscurity because their timidity has prevent¬ 
ed them from making the first effort, and who, if 
they could bo induced to begin, would, iu all 
probability, have gone great lengths in the career 
of fame. The fact is, that to do anything in this 
world worth doing, we must not stand back shiv¬ 
ering, and thinking of the cold and the danger, 
but jump iu and scramble through us well as you 
can. It will not do to he perpetually calculating 
takes, and adjusting nice chances; it did very well 
before the flood, whero a man could consult his 
friends upon an intended publication for a hundred 
and fifty years, and then live to see its success af¬ 
terwards; but at present a man waits and doubts, 
and hesitateB, and consults bis brother, and bis 
uncle, and particular friends, till one fino day he 
finds that he is sixty years of age—that he has lost 
so much time in consulting his first cousin and 
particular friends that lie has no more time to fol¬ 
low their advice.” 
- 
Tiib Universe. —Suppose the earth to be a ball 
of one foot in diameter. On that Beale of propor¬ 
tion tbe sun would be one hundred feet in diame¬ 
ter, and moon three inches. The snn would be 
two miles from ns, the moon thirty feet — Jupiter 
ten miles from the sun, and Herschel forty. The 
highest mountains on the face of the earth would 
be one-eighteenth of an inch iu height Man 
would be an imperceptible atom. 
---- 
Emulation.— The principle of emulation is car¬ 
ried much too far in modern education. Many 
men are absolutely killed by it at tbe universities, 
and many more injure their constitutions irrepara¬ 
bly. The habit to be encouraged is that of placid 
diligenco. What is thus healthily acquired is re¬ 
tained, whereas the cramming system hurts tho 
d i gestion.— Southey's Letters. 
-- 
Beauty. —The standards of beauty in woman 
vary with those of taste. Socrates called beauty 
a short-lived tyranny; Plato, a privilege of nature; 
Theophrastus, a silent cheat; Theocritus, a de¬ 
lightful prejudice; Curneudes, a solitary kingdom; 
and Aristotle affirmed that it was better than all 
the letters of recommendation in the world. 
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