... 
MOORE’S RURAL NEW-YORKER: AN AGRICULTURAL AND FAMILY NEWSPAPER. 
JUNE 6. 
ftato’ Itet-fulk 
CONDUCTED Bi AZILE. 
For Moore's Rural New-Yorkei. 
A PEEP AT HOME. 
BY ANNA M. fBLIOS. 
" Bb it ever 80 lowly, there's no plaoe like Home." 
“Pitt the kettle on the stove, Kate, 
Heat the water for the tea, 
Let us have all things in order, 
Order should our motto be.” 
Thus the mother said, and smiling, 
Rocked the baby to and fro, 
Pressed a kiss upon its forehead, 
Stroked the little locks of tow. 
Katjk put the kettle over, 
Swept the nicely painted floor, 
Made the chairs look <« inviting, 
Hang the broom behind the door- 
Drew the table to the centre, 
Whitest linen on It spread, 
With her own, her little fingers. 
Neatly sliced the snowy biead. 
Father conies, all white with snow-flakes, 
Cheek* as red os damask rose, 
Rubs his hands eo brisk together, 
Says he b’lieves lie’s almost fror.e. 
Soon as warm he takes the baby, 
Rubs his whiskers on its cheek, 
Gives his hair to little fingers. 
Pockets gives to little feet. 
Says 41 there never was a baby 
Half so pretty, half so smart,” 
Wife unequalled. Katjk loving, 
O, what sunshine io the heart 1 
Reader, will you not believe me r 
'Tis a truth and you must know, 
Angels stoop, and love to linger 
’Round that hallowed home below. 
La Grange, N. T., 1857. 
--— 
For Moore's Rural New-Yorker. 
SIGHTS AND SCENE S IN EUROPE. 
BY MRS. L. W. BROWN. 
No. II. — From Paris to Florence. 
We left Paris, Nov. 21st, in the first Express for 
Lyons, which is 216 miles S. E. from the capitaL— 
It was very agreeable to meet a fine company of 
English people in the cars, going to spend the 
winter in Nice—alittle town on the Mediterranean, 
much resorted to by invalids on account of its 
mild, equable climate. The day was fair, and we 
had a fine view of the scenery as we passed along* 
Thirty miles from Paris is Fontulnbleau. This 
noted town of 8,000 inhabitants is three miles from 
the station, and entirely concealed by dense for¬ 
ests. While so near, one could not help wishing 
to get a view of its Royal Palace, where, as history 
recordB, many distinguished personages were born, 
died, banished, imprisoned, or married, from the 
days of Louis VII. to the present Emperor. Here 
Napoleon took leave of the last of the Old Guard 
before going to Elba. His bedroom, it is said, re¬ 
mains nearly as be left it. 
There are over fifty way stations between Paris 
and Lyons. We stopped only at few of them, ar¬ 
riving at Lyons about seven in the evening. The 
towns along the way look as if they indeed belong¬ 
ed to past generations. The natural scenery is more 
cheerful and attractive. The roads are fine; a 
canal extends some distance parallel with the 
Railroad. Mountains rose high in Ihe distance, 
mostly on our right, while between were green 
fields, vineyards, and groves of various fruit treeB 
—the only trees that are numerous in any part of 
that, country. 
Lyons presented a fine appearance as we ap¬ 
proached it by a clear moonlight. It i» situated 
at the junction of the rivers Rhone and Saone.— 
The Rhone ia crossed by eight bridges, the Sbodc 
by nine. The population of Lyons is 275,000. It 
is the chief manufacturing town of France. The 
sound of mills and water-works is heard in every 
part of the city. Its manufactures are silks, wool¬ 
ens, shawls, crape, silver laoe, Ac. There are 7,009 
establishments for silk, and 28,000 looms in opera¬ 
tion. The largest library in France ia also found 
here, containing 100,000 volumes. Scientific and 
benevolent institutions are numerous. The streets 
are narrow; the houses arc made of solid stone 
seven or eight stories high. In a clear day the 
Alps and Mont Blanc can be plainly seen by as¬ 
cending a high hill that partly surrounds the city. 
As we descended the Rhone, the scenery was 
more delightful. Large olive orchards were seen, 
their spreading branches bendingwith fruit,which 
the peasants were gathering. The trees and fruit 
in the distance much resemble our dark plums f 
though the leaves looklike our willows. The trunks 
of the trees are split asunder near the roots to pre¬ 
vent the snow from lodging. 
The principle stopping place between Lyons 
and Marseilles is Avignon, the center ol the culti¬ 
vation of Madder in the south of France. For 
some distance before we reached the city, on either 
side there was paraded a line ol peasants from the 
hills and valleys in eager expectation of some 
great event. At Avignon the various orders of 
military were out in grand procession; banners 
and tapestry floated from the principal buildings; 
the bells toiled, and cannon were fired, while the 
streets were crowded with people to pay honor to 
the King of Sardinia as he passed on his way to 
visit Queen Victoria. He went so swiftly by that 
only a glimpse could be had of the glittering tin¬ 
sel that adorned bis royal dress and carriage; but 
it was a king, aud the people paid due reverence 
at the sound of his approach. 
Avignon is on the right, extending from the val¬ 
ley over the craggy hills. The buildings appear 
as old and shattered as the rock around them. The 
old palace of the Popes stands on an eminence, 
an extensive mass of ruins, or used only as bar¬ 
racks. The house where Petrarch lived is still 
shown, but the tomb of his Laura whom he first 
met in this city, is now destroyed. 
It. was toward evening when we came in sight of 
the Mediterranean. The warm sunshine of the 
day suddenly disappeared, and a violent raiD, with 
a hurricane, succeeded. The green sea before ub 
seemed furious and forbidding,—far less inviting 
its treacherous surface, than the broad ocean. At 
“Hotel Bristol” we ascertained that no French 
mail steamers sailed lor Leghorn under several 
days. This delay afforded an opportunity to learn 
something of the oldest city and seaport ot i ranee. 
Marseilles was founded by tbe Phomecians 600 
years before Christ, Its population is now 185,000. 
It i3 composed of the old and new towns; the new 
is extending itself over the hills on the east. The 
buildings are modern and elegant. This part of 
the city presents a fine appearance from the har¬ 
bor. Many streets in the city, and on every side 
leading into it, are lined with trees. The markets 
are extensive; vegetables, and all kinds of fruit 
are luxuriant and delicious. The flower markets 
are the most attractive. Scores of women were 
seated iu the public squares, making and selling 
bouquets from a great variety of delicate and 
beautiful fresh fiowerB. Simple white and black 
wreathes are used for the dead. Such a display of 
flowers on the 25 th of November makes one quite 
forget approaching winter. 
Sunday seemed more like a national fair than a 
day of religious worship. An hour perhaps is 
scrupulously devoted by each person to the ob¬ 
servance of the established forms of religion; the 
rest of the day is spent in the street, in various 
amusements, or in trade. In returning from the 
English Church we bad to pass through crowds of 
armed solders and noisy pleasure seekers, who were 
thronging the brilliant shops. Ladies and children 
were arrayed in gay summer dress, enjoying the 
warm Bnnshine upon their bare heads; beggars at 
every corner held out their lean hands for a penny; 
while musio and sounds of mirth greeted the ear 
in every street 
My passport, different from my expectations, was 
not once called for till I reached Marseilles. Here, 
before going to Italy, the visa of the Papal or 
Austrian. Consular is strictly demanded. This is 
attended to by the hotel commisBionairi at a fee of 
three francs. On embarking, our passports are 
required by a Police on board, and not returned 
till signed officially at the place of landing. This 
makes it a tedious matter to land in a foreign city, 
but there is no help for it, except by writing before¬ 
hand to some reliable friend to whom the Cnstom 
may grant a permit to come on board and invite 
the favored person ashore. 
Nov, 26, wo Joft Marseilles for Leghorn. The 
little French steamer was crowded with passen¬ 
gers. The berths were all taken days previous 
to leaving, aud some of as, not knowing the de¬ 
mand in season, were obliged to take rest in the 
open air as best we could. It was a mild afternoon 
as we sailed out of the great port from which, for 
more than two thousand years, vessels have been 
sent to the mOBt noted places on the globe. Before 
sunset we had a Bovere gale, and all night the 
storm raged with more fury than at any time while 
we were on the Atlantic. In the morning all was 
calm again; the sun rose bright and warm, and it 
was fine sailing along the bold shore, in sight of 
snow-topped mountains aud clustering towns at 
their base. We reached the bay and town of 
Genoa, just before dark. This native city of 
Columbus is built in the side of a mountain which 
circles around the bay some distance. The clear 
moon was almost directly overhead; the sea was 
glassy and still, and pleasure parties in gondoiaB 
came around our vessel, cheering us by strains of 
soft music with lute and voice. 
The next day at noon we were in the crowded 
part of Leghorn, (Italian, Livorne,) a most uncom¬ 
fortable place to land, as passengers and lading 
are always conveyed in small boats, besides wait¬ 
ing many hours for papers of permit The cars 
leave Leghorn for Florence several times a day.— 
It is a fine ride of four hours through a rich and 
finely cultivated part of northern Italy. 
-- 
Lifx’s Duties. — It must, undoubtedly, be tbe 
design of our gracious God, tnat all this toil for 
the supply of onr physical necessities—this inces¬ 
sant occupation amid the things that perish—shall 
be no obstruction, but rather a help, to our spirit¬ 
ual life. The weight of a clock seems a heavy 
drag on the delicate movements of its machinery; 
but, so far from arresting or impeding those move¬ 
ments, it is indispensable to their steadiness, bal¬ 
ance, accuracy. There must be Borne analogous 
action of wbat seems tbe clog and drag-weight of 
worldly work on the finer movements of man’s 
spiritual being. The planets in the heavens have 
a twofold motion — in their orbits and on their 
axis; tbe one motion not interfering, but carried 
ou simultaneously, and in perfect harmony with 
the other: so must it be that man’s twofold activi¬ 
ties round the heavenly and the earthly oentre 
disturb not, nor jar with each, other. He who, 
diligently discharges the duties of the earthly, may 
not Iobs sedulously — nay, at the Bame moment— 
fulfill those of the heavenly sphere; at once “dili¬ 
gent in business,” and “fervent in spirit, serving 
the Lord.”— Caird. 
A Beautiful Idea. —Away among the Allegha- 
nies there is a spring, so small that a single ox, in 
a summer’s day, could drain it dry. It steals its 
unobtrusive way among the bills, till it spreads out 
in the beautiful Ohio. Thence it stretches away a 
thousand miles, leaving on its hanks more than a 
hundred villages and cities, and many thousand 
cultivated farms, and bearing on its bosom more 
than half a thousand BteamboatB. Then joining 
the Mississippi, it stretches away and away some 
twelve hundred miles more, till it falls into the 
great emblem of eternity. It is one of the great 
tributaries of the ocean, which, obedient only to 
God, shall roll and roar till the angel, with one foot 
on the sea and the other on the land, shall lift up 
his hand to heaven, and swear that time shall be 
no longer. So with moral influence. It is a rill— 
a rivulet—a river — an ocean, boundless and fath¬ 
omless as eternity. 
- 4—4 - 
A good conscience is better than two witnesses; 
it will consume your grief as the sun dissolves ice. 
It is a spring when you are thirsty — a staff when 
you are weary— a screen when the Bun burnB—and 
a pillow in death, 
“Life is short; and that portion of it which one 
human being devotes to injuring, punishing and 
destroying another, we are inclined to think will 
pay but a poor dividend on the final settlement of 
differences.” 
If we could read the secret history of our ene¬ 
mies, we should find in each man's lile Borrow aud 
suffering enough to disarm all hostility. 
The trials of life are like the tests which ascer¬ 
tain how much gold there is in us. 
©jfflic* fjtaltag. 
For Moore's Rural New-Yorker. 
’TIS SWEET TO BE REMEMBERED. 
When gathers o'er earth's bosom, 
The shadows of the nigln, 
And from out tbe yeti of Heaven, 
The stars shine clear and bright; 
Amid the solemn stillness 
That reigns at close of day, 
’Tis sweet to be remembered 
By those who kneel to pray. 
When absent from the circle 
Where friends are wont to meet, 
To spend the passing hour 
In social converse sweet; 
In other lands, in other dime*, 
Where’er our footsteps roam, 
'Tis sweet to be remembered 
By those we love at home. 
When from out tbe clayey tenement, 
The freed soul takes Its flight, 
Beyond the boundB of time 
To yonder realms of light; 
If in life's last conflict 
The living should deplore— 
How sweet to be remembered 
When the heart throbs no more. 
When oft onr wayward feet 
From paths of duty stray, 
And tempted oft, we leave 
The “ straight and narrow way 
When, with sin o’erladen 
We kneel to he forgiven, 
'Tis Bwect to be remembered 
By our Father in Heaven. Linda. 
-- 
For Moore's Rural New-Yorker. 
THE WORLD. 
The world we live in, is an ever curious theme 
for study and observation. Its interests daily in¬ 
creasing, its problem growing daily more intricate. 
An ever changing, inconsistent world, and strange 
that we, a part and parcel of its very self, should 
yet be so Ignorant of its mysteries. Strange too, 
that while we add to its my series, uucouscJoua we 
are an enigma to others. It is an intricate Btudy, 
requiring our close and careful attention. The 
veteran ol four-score, 8 b heavily leaning on his 
staff he slowly descends life's declivity, is but a 
student in the primary department with the little 
embryo sentient who asks for the moon, and 
mourns that his request is not complied with.— 
Geographically, Civilly or Morally this is a curious, 
unstable, vain, proud world. 
Contemplate the threatening clouds so darkly 
painted by our statesmen urtiBts, even now cast¬ 
ing their ominous shadows on our political hori¬ 
zon. Consider the terrible angaries of the pom¬ 
pous ministers of science. Calmly if yon can — 
with prejudice if you will—contemplate the result 
aud then say — what? That man is idiotic — that 
mind ia unreliable—that man’s boasted wisdom is 
but, pompons pretence—or that change is the ever 
repeated entry in the day book of human existence. 
Tbe signs that so truthfully augured the tempest 
of last season, are no certain indication of tbo 
same result iu the present. The air that erst was 
laden with desolation and pestilence may now wait 
only breezes of health and vigor from the same 
point of compass. Aye, man’s prophetic wisdom 
is but a feeble reliance, and former signs are no 
certain criterion to judge of like results in the 
present. 
With eager interest, we turn the book of human 
experience, and find that in times past, eminence 
was acquired in the superiority of warlike attain¬ 
ments, then, abstruse science, occult, arts, and mys¬ 
tic symbols in turn gave way to philosophic argu¬ 
ment and scholastic lore. 
“ Ami now Is seen the passion for utility, when all things 
are accounted by the price, 
And tbe wisdom of the wise is busied in hatching golden 
eggs.” 
We tread this life in cycles, returning again to 
the point of starting. Dust from dust—infancy— 
dotage—dust to dust again, and the decree is satis¬ 
fied. How long before the world will turn again 
to the orgies of the l’antheon, or the competition 
of sword and lance, for honor and distinction.— 
Inflated with vanity, with mock reverence, we are 
thankful that our existence ia appointed in an age 
of progression, enlightenment and knowledge, 
boasting that mind maketh man divinity— 
“ Can make matter, and yet Hub would-be God 
T hinbeih to make mind and form original Idea.” 
Souk One. 
-- 
For Moore's Rural New-Yorker 
“A PUZZLING GAZETEER 
OR, dickens behind the times. 
In the Rural of the 16th ult., you have, from 
Dickens' Household Words, a list of names and 
numbers of certain u towns in North America.”— 
This, I presume, includes the British Provinces. I 
do not know from what source he obtained bis 
statistics, but they are lull of error, and in scarcely 
a Bingle instance can be relied upon. Thus, be 
sets it down that there are 71 towns by the name of 
Washington. From official sources we learn that 
iu I860 there were 137 towns of that name in the U. 
States. How many have been bom since J have 
have not the means of knowing. However, they 
probably come along faster than Qneen Victoria's 
children, so that by this time the number Is some¬ 
what larger. Of these 137 towns of Washington, 
39 were iu Indiana, 44 in Ohio, and 19 In Pennsyl¬ 
vania. Of Franklins, it is put down at G5; there 
are 85 towns of that name in Uncle Sam's inclo- 
sure, and 68 Jeffersons; there were iu i860, 74 
towns named after the author of the Declaration 
of Independence. For Madison, it is put down at 
37—ten below the mark, there being 47, Monroe, 
Dickens puts at 38—seven years ago there was 59. 
We do not know why Dickens skipped over the 
“ Old Roman.” Perhaps some reminiscences con¬ 
nected with the 8th of January, 1816, may have in¬ 
fluenced him; but be that as it may, as long ago as 
1849 there were 113 towns bearing the name of 
Jackson, 39 of them in Indiana and 38 iu Ohio; 
22 Bentons; 11 named Cass, probably in honor of 
the present Secretary of State. There were 32 towns 
named in honor of “ Harry of the West,” besides 
a dozen or so of Claytons and C'lay villes; 34 Clin¬ 
tons; 57 for Harrison, the hero of Tippecanoe; 57 for 
Perry; 41 Springfields; 103 towns by the name of 
Union; 23 of them in Indiana, and 29 in Ohio. It 
is a myslery how a letter can ever go correctly per 
mail, where there are such Utters of towns by the 
same name in the same State,—28 Van Burens; 53 
towns by the name of Wayne—probably all named 
in honor of “Mad Anthony.” The list might be 
greatly extended; but it is long enough to Bhow 
that Republics are not ungrateful, at least, in hold¬ 
ing up to memory the names of their " statesmen 
and Heroes,” and also to prove that some of tbe 
wri lers “ oyer the waters” are not particularly well 
posted up in American statistics, as well as other 
of our affairs. Levi Bartlett. 
Warner, N- H, May, 1857 
-- 
“ONE AND TWENTY.” 
With youth no period is looked forward to with 
so much impatience, as the hour which shall end 
our minority— with manhood, none is looked back 
to with so much regret Freedom appears to a 
young man as the brightest star in the firmament 
of his existence, and is never lost Bight of until the 
goal for which he has been so iong traveling, is 
reached. When the mind and the spirit are young, 
the season of manhood is reflected with ft bright¬ 
ness from tbe future, which nothing can dim but 
its own cold reality. The busy world is stretched 
out before our boyhood like the exhibition ol me¬ 
chanical automata—we behold the merchant accu¬ 
mulating wealth, tbe scholar planting his foot 
upon the summit of the temple of fame, the warrior 
twining his brow with the laurel wreath, and we 
yearn to struggle with them for supremacy. Iu 
the distance we see nothing but the most promi¬ 
nent part of the picture, which is success— the an¬ 
guish of disappointment and defeat ia hidden from 
our view; we see not the pale cheek of neglected 
merit, or the broken spirit of unfortunate genius, 
or the sufferings of worth. But wc gaze not long, 
for tho season of youth passes away like a moon's 
beam from the still water, or like a dew-drop from 
a rose in June, or an boor iu the circle of friend¬ 
ship. Youth passes away, and we find ourselves 
in the midst of that great theatre upon which we 
have so long gazed with interest—the paternal 
bonds which iu binding have upheld us, are bro. 
ken, and we step into the crowd with no guide but 
our conscience to carry ns through the intricate 
windings of the path of human life. The beauties 
of the perspective have vanished—the merchant’s 
wealth has furrowed his cheek, the acquirements 
of the scholar were purchased at the price of his 
health; and the garland of the conqueror is fas¬ 
tened upon his brow with a thorn, the rankling of 
which shall give him no rest on this side of the 
grave. Disappointment changes the ardor of onr 
first setting out, and misfortunes follow closely in 
onr path to finish the work and close onr career. 
How often amid the cares and troubles of manhood 
do we look back to tbe sunny spot on our memory, 
the season of our youth; and how often does a 
wish recall its escape from the bosom of those who 
once prayed it away. From this feeling I do not 
believe that living man was ever exempt. It is 
twined around the very soul; it is incorporated in 
our very nature, and will cling to us, even when 
reason itself has passed away. And although the 
period when parental enthralment is broken, and 
when the law acknowledges the intellect to be fall 
grown, may at the time be considered one of rejoic¬ 
ing, yet after-life will hang around it the emblems 
of sorrow, while it is hallowed ss the last bright 
hour of happy youth.— &'elected. 
--*- 
A 8TRING OF PEARLS. 
One to-day is worth two to-morrows. 
He that hath no money needeth no purse. 
Few things are impossible to industry and skill. 
The best mode of revenge, is not to imitate the 
injury. 
Without friends, the world would be but a wil¬ 
derness. 
Laziness travels so slow that poverty soon over¬ 
takes her. 
If there be no faith in our words, of what use 
are they? 
Past events are as clear as a mirror; the future 
as obscure as varnish. 
Brave actions are the subBtance of life, and 
good sayings the ornament of it 
The trials of life are the tests which ascertain 
how much gold there is in us. 
Most men employ their first years so as to make 
their last miserable. 
A bitter jest is tbe poison of friendship. 
The weakest spot in any man is where he thinks 
himself the wisest 
Among the base, merits begets envy; among the 
noble, emulation. 
Pride breakfasted with Plenty, dined with Pov¬ 
erty, and supped with Infamy. 
Woman —the morning star of infancy, the day 
star of manhood, the evening star of old age. 
A man had better have all the afflictions of all 
the afflicted, than he given up to a repining grum¬ 
bling heart 
Keep your store of smiles and your kindest 
thoughts for home, give to the world only those 
which are to spare. 
Ignorance and conceit are two of the worst 
qualities to combat. It is easier to dispute with a 
statesman than with a blockhead. 
The comfort of a Christian lieth not in his own 
fulness, but in Christ’s. 
Decency is a matter of latitude. In Turkey a 
man with tight pants on is considered so great a 
vulgarian that he ia not tolerated in respectable 
society. To epit in the presence of an Arab is to 
make the acquaintance of a chccso knife. In Rus¬ 
sia that man iB considered low who refuses a warm 
breakfast of fried candles. In this country vnlgar 
people are such as keep good hours and live with¬ 
in their income. 
-«.- 
Love akin in Castle and in Cottage.— The 
game of love is the same, whether the lovers be 
clad in velvet or in holddeu grey. Beneath the 
gilded ceiling of a palace, or the lofty rafters of a 
cabin, there are the same hopes and fours, the 
same jealousies, und distrusts, and despondings; 
the wiles and stratagems nre all alike; for, after 
all, the stake is human happiness, whether he who 
risks it be a peer or a peasant. 
CLERKS. 
Tub song of the Clerk is yet unsung. Wc hear 
a sad murmur—work! work! work! rising feebly 
from counters and shelves and heavy spring stock, 
from high desks in dark places, where a ray of 
sunlight never enters, it blends with the sharp 
cry of trade, with the ceaseless strokes of ham¬ 
mers, with the clatter of knives and forks in un¬ 
derground holes, where confused messeB nre de¬ 
voured against time, in the restless days of “ busy 
season.” It stands out on the pages of ponderous 
ledgers—and sometimesit becomes painfully start¬ 
ling in police reports, when we read that “ a young 
clerk was charged with embezzling the funds of 
his employer.” 
The motto which is held up to young Americans 
in every nursery and schoolroom is:— “Be rich, or 
be nothing!” They see it. in the superficial char¬ 
acter of our institutions—ia paved streets, brown 
stone honscs, silks and gems, vases and mirrors.— 
Country boys see the glitter from afar. Dull to 
them become the songs of birds, and the wheat, 
nodding to the light breeze, and all the simple de¬ 
lights of nature. With a mother’s kiss, and a 
father’s choking “God bless you,” tbe boy starts 
for bis Arcadia with a light heart He hears the 
customary twaddle of merchants that industry and 
perseverance will be rewarded. He learns that 
poetry is weakness—that he must cease to adore 
the beautiful till he can pay for it He bows down 
to the golden God, and lays his young nerve and 
his young spirit at his feet Y'eara go by—the 
mother’s whispered prayer is forgotten—the music 
is dead—he is a child of simplicity no more. The 
fond dream of his youth baa been dispelled; he 
begins to feel that perseverance is sometimes use¬ 
less. He becomes one of two classes we know.— 
lie delivers himself up to braody aud water, his 
cheeks lose all tokens of their former fj'eshness j 
and his eyes are bleared; he frequents the lowest 
haunts of his low companions, he figures iu police 
reports, and one day we miss him entirely. Or his 
spirit is crushed, and he becomes resigned to his 
destiny, clerk for life. His shoulders are stooped. 
He wears one suit a long while. You see him ou 
bright Sundays walking with his wife and children. 
He is known at the great house as the “Old Clerk.” 
The younger scions affeot fuhniness with him, aud 
have a standing joke that he is going “into tho 
firm.” But he becomes infirm sooner than even 
they expect A dry cough is beard from his high 
stool. His princely employers wonder why he is 
always sick, and begin to bint at somebody else.— 
They aie juBt in time—they have sucked the last 
drop of his iife-blood—he dies, and his seat is va¬ 
cant.. His little ones become charity’s ohildren, 
and his wife, forever singing the same old ditty, 
work! work! work! soon follows him.— Philadel¬ 
phia North American. 
A BEAUTIFUL PICTURE. 
The man who stands upon his own soil, who 
feels that by tbe laws of the land in which be lives 
— by the laws of civilized nations — he is the 
rightful and exclusive owner of the land which 
he tills, is, by tbe constitution of our nature, under 
a wholesome influence not easily imbibed from 
any other source. He feels—other things being 
equal—more strongly than another, the character 
of a man as lord of an animated world. Of this 
great and wonderful sphere, which, fashioned by 
the hand of God, and upheld by bis power, is roll¬ 
ing through the heavens, a part is his — his from 
centre to the sky. It is the space on which the 
generation before moved in its round of duties, 
and he feels himself connected by a visible link 
with those who follow him, and to whom he is to 
transmit a home. Peril spa his farm has come 
down to him from his fathers. They have gone to 
their last home; but he can trace their footsteps 
over the scenes of his daily labors. Tbe roof 
which shelters him was reared by those to whom 
he owes his being. Some interesting domestic 
tradition is connected with every enclosure. The 
favorite frnit tree was planted by his father's hand. 
He sported in boyhood beside the brook which 
winds through the meadow. Through tho field 
lies the path to the village school of earlier days. 
He still hears from the window tho voice of the 
Sabbath hell which called his father to the house 
of God; and near at hand is the spot where his 
parents laid down to rest, and where, when his 
time has come, he shall be laid by his children.— 
These are the feelings of the owners of the soil.— 
Words cannot, paint them—gold cannot buy them; 
they flow out of the deepest fountains of the 
heart; they nre the life-springs of a fresh, healthy 
and generous national character.— Everett. 
EVERY WORD TRUE. 
A lady, formerly of New England, bnt now 
residing in Iowa, writes as follows concerning the 
alleged wrongs of “down-trodden woman,” and 
although a few may not concede tbe justice of her 
strictures, we imagine there will be but few who 
will not heartily endorse the captiou we have seen 
fit to place at the head of this article: 
“ Believe me that we (women) are not so much 
slaves to the tyranny of husbauds, dinners, chil¬ 
dren and servants, as to ourselves and false social 
customs. We are afraid of each other. We don’t 
live in reference to comfort or to our own means, 
but to what people Bay of us or think of us, and to 
overtop this one or the other. I have seen and 
known women fitted to adoru any society in this 
country, or any other, that did their own work, 
took care of their own children, kept bright 
hearthstones and bad happy husbands, and found 
time to keep up with the current literature, write 
memorandums aud copy poetry. It is not neces¬ 
sary but artificial labor that inakeB our women 
drudgeB. Eternal house-cleaning, beginning in 
March and lasting rill May —again in September 
and lasting till Thanksgiving. It is a pride of ap¬ 
pearance, of being thought good livers and crack 
housekeepers—for, let women say what they will, 
they are as jealous of this as poets (or politicians) 
of each other.” 
An apt use of initials, in the expression of an 
idea, appears in the following couplet, written on 
the alleged intended marriage of the old Duke oi 
Wellington with Angelina Burdett Ccutts, the rich 
heiress: 
The date mast in his second childhood be, 
Since in his doting age he tarns to A B C. 
