MOORE’S RURAL NEW-YORKER: AN AGRICULTURAL AND FAMILY NEWSPAPER, 
AUGUST 15. 
CONDUCTED BY A2JLE. 
For Moore's Rural New-Yorker. 
MY BABY. 
BY C. MONTGOMERY. 
Two dimpled arms thrown o'er her head, 
Her rosy mouth shut close, 
I watch about that charmed bed, 
Where rests my half-blown rose. 
One tiny foot beneath the robe 
Of softest muslin, peeps, 
Of purer hue than downy couch 
On which my darling sleeps. 
I watch the rising of those lids 
That hide sweet riolet eyes, 
I listen for the crowing laugh 
That soon will softly rise. 
No queen upon her gilded throne 
Has been more blest than I, 
The wealth of manv a sceptered dame, 
My treasure could not buy. 
Chipman’s Point, Vt, 1857, 
SILVER AND GOLDE N WEDDING. 
Littlk more than a century and a half ago, a 
certain august lady knelt bnmhly down at the feet 
of her sovereign lord, master and husband, before 
an assemblage of the notabilities of Konigsburg. 
When she rose op again she was Queen of Prussia. 
The Elector of Brandenburg thought fit to 
crown himself, and having done so, it was his 
royal pleasure to place the regal circlet on the 
brow of his wife with hisownhands. In the lowly 
and Submissive attitude of the Eastern slave she 
received the insignia of sovereign state, and was 
installed by Frederick the First, King of Prussia, 
as the partner of hiB throne, his rank, his state, his 
pomp, his rale, his title. 
Such was the commencement of royalty in 
Prussia. That coronation of its first Queen was 
less a religions ceremony than an act of arbitrary 
power in him who could both will and do. 
And now, Bince the last impression of our jour¬ 
nal, the act has been ratified which, in all human 
expectation, is to give to Prussia another Queen 
in the person of the Princess Eoyal of England. 
Human nature may he the same in ell ages, but 
certainly the processes of civilization soften its 
asperities as the tide of time Aowb on. The sov- 
.ereigns of Prussia have been men of somewhat 
arbitrary dispositions; but it might be that the 
exigencies of their day demanded the spirit which 
it engendered. We trust that the daughter of the 
Queen of England will reign in the heart of her 
husband and his people, a free wife and a free 
Queen over a free people. 
At all events she will receive inauguration into 
her nc-w greatness, or rather pass in transition 
from one high sphere into another, without the 
initiatory humility so typical of the after life of 
her first predeoessor on the throne of Prussia.— 
Times have changed since those days, both for 
women and for nations. There have always been 
brilliant women rising out of the masses to en¬ 
lighten the world with their genius; but now tbe 
whole sex is elevated by acquirements and devel¬ 
opment of mind, which places womau on a far dif¬ 
ferent vantage ground than she ever occupied in 
the days whi-b are gone. The advantage of the 
brighter light which rules our day is nowhere 
more felt than in the palace of our sovereign.— 
The personal cruelty of political marriages isal 
most disappearing, at least from the English Court 
Enforced alliances for national aggrandizement 
or national security, are giving place to the influ¬ 
ences of those natural affections which lmve here¬ 
tofore been denied to those of royal lineage. In 
olden times the prince might wel 1 envy the peasant 
the freedom of his desire, and count his gilded 
state too dearly purchased at the price of the sur¬ 
render of all his heart held dear. Happy are the 
changes ot more enlightened times. Queen Vic¬ 
toria was wooed and won. Hers was a union of 
affection and not of bartering. The same happy 
privilege descends to her daughter. The Prince 
of Prussia has had the opportunity allowed him of 
winning a heart instead of buying a hand. We 
trust that his acceptance is proof of his success. 
In Germany they cherish a few customs which 
go to the heart, because they seem to have ema¬ 
nated from tbe heart. In England, courtship is no 
more than the assumed right of trifling with the 
best, the pnrest, the most vital feelings of onr 
nature. If these are betrayed, the woman has but 
tbe shame heaped upon her eorrow and her injury 
of—what? an action for breach of promise of 
marriage, and the pointing of “the slow-moving 
finger of scorn.” In thousands of cases the court¬ 
ship iB clandestine, and the gentleman shrinks out 
of his unratified engagement with self-congratu¬ 
lation on his own clever treachery. In Germany, 
betrothal ib a ceremony public to the whole world. 
Its responsibilities may be thrown off, but not 
easily on caprice, or any light pretence. The 
withdrawal must be accounted for to relatives and 
friends. Justification must be established, or con¬ 
demnation must follow. 
Thus, after the sacred obligation has been once 
assumed, every year that passes is supposed to 
strengthen its happiness. Each anniversary is 
celebrated with a home festival—it may be mod¬ 
est but joyous. Possibly, during the first few lus¬ 
tres oi married life, its cares, its troubles, its 
responsibilities, press heavily on those who have 
agreed to tread life’s thorny road together; still 
the solid satisfaction triumphs, and the glad cele¬ 
brations are held, at which, Burrounded by their 
children and their relatives, the married pair re¬ 
ceive the congratulations of their friends. 
Following the stream of time, when the two 
who are one have counted their five and twenty 
years together, or the anniversary of the day which 
made them so, another more joyous, more marked, 
more notable, celebration takes place, and this is 
called “ the Silver Wedding.” What a happy sig¬ 
nificance there is in this expression. This long 
term of life thuB spent together has but made affec¬ 
tion stronger, purer, more precious. Industry, it 
may be, has brought opulence; the children who 
in their cradles brought with them greater need 
of thrift and toils, now strengthen and. gladden the 
domestic circle, the mother may again be courted 
in her girls, the father may go wooing in his boys. 
The dear relationships of life ate multiplied. 
Everywhere around lovlug hearts speak out of 
loving eyes. The eweet music of merry voices 
peels cheerily in mirthful laughs, waking up living 
echoes. The father and the mother are surrounded 
with an atmosphere of love. All these bonds 
unite them more closely to each other. Does not 
this happy anniversary deserve its name of the 
“Silver Wedding?” 
Again, life goes on, and in some few rare cases— 
comparatively rare, we mean—the fiftieth year of 
union is completed; and now comes “the Golden 
Wedding.” It may be that the home circle is nar¬ 
rowed; now, even if its principals have been 
spared, death may have smitten down some of tbe 
loved ones, changes may have scattered them 
hither and thither, homes may have been removed 
to other lands, friends may have been gathered 
into the earth’s bosom, but the stream that is nar¬ 
rowing only grows the stronger, and they who 
have walked side by side for half a century, rejoic¬ 
ing together in their common joys, lamenting 
together in their common griefs, may well love 
each other with that love which has now become 
a part of their very being. Do we not often see 
in proof of this that the stroke that is mortal to 
one is commonly fatal to the other, and that when 
one dies it seems as if it were only to Bbow the 
other the way to their last united resting place?— 
Surely the anniversary of the plighting of such 
faith and truth may well be called “the Golden 
Wedding.”— Ladies’’ Newspaper ( London.) 
-♦ - 
REMEMBER ME. 
BY ELIZABETH J. COLE. 
Tbksk touching words appeal to every heart, 
and find a corresponding echo in every soul. To 
be loved, to be remembered by those we hold dear 
is sweet. 0, the sad reflection that with the de¬ 
parting years our memory will fade from the hearts 
we had hoped to cherish forever. 
To feel that when the green grass shall wave 
over our lowly bed, and the white marble gleam 
coldly above to mark the spot, fond hearts will 
grow cold, and the once loving friends pass by, 
pausing not to drop a tear or breathe one sigh of 
regret for the departed. 'Tis a solemn thought, 
and one that calls up the recollections of by-gone 
days. But ’tis better for to close the weary eyes, 
and repose the aching brow in death, and lie down 
beneath pure snow or fragrant flowers, bedewed 
even for a season with tears of Borrow, than to 
know that while we live our image is effaoedfrom 
the memory of ODce fond hearts, that before the 
lamp of life is gone out forever, we are dead to a 
world of hope, love and joy. Bemember me, even 
when the grave has closed over all that remained 
of the poor frail worm of mortality; and some¬ 
times when life is all bright and joyous, give one 
passing thought to the blest sleeper, resting so 
sweetly from all life’s turmoil and cares. Remem¬ 
ber me! How sadly sweet these words reverberate 
in the heart, haunting us ever with its soft sooth¬ 
ing melody, when the tried and cherished friends 
of youth press upon the brow the farewell kiss. 
Often will these sweet words come o'er the 
heart like the echo of some soul-aubduing music, 
softening down the asperities of our natures, filling 
the soul with the long forgotten strains. 
I have seen the cherished idol of the household 
close his eyes in death, leaving the world all dark 
to me, and uow the suows of many winters have 
Iain lightly upon his loved tomb, and sweet flowers 
have lifted their meek heads above his breast, yet, 
his last words of love and counsel are ever present 
with me, and my sorrow mellowed by time as it is, 
has made hia grave a hallowed spot. 
O, : tia a pleasing memory, ’though fraught with 
much of childish grief, the memory of the dear 
light-hearted friendB of childhood, and of their 
unfeigned grief at parting yearsligo, when I was 
a merry happy child. But alas! it is all past, and 
we shall never meet again; but 
Food memory otten briDgs tbe hours, 
When life 'was radiant with youth’s flowers. 
Remember me! Yes, ’tho’ our paths in life may 
be widely separated, and sorrows may fall heavily 
upon my defenceless head, making still fainter 
the weary heart, and blightingthe budding flowers 
of hope, then, when surrounded by home and 
friends, with no clouds obscuring tbe bright 
Heavens and beautiful sunshine from life’s journey, 
sometimes remember me. 
And when the Heavens smile above me, and 
roses instead of thorns adorn my pathway, I will 
look up in thanksgiving and prayer to onr Father, 
for the constant friends he has given, and bless 
Him, that in the darkest hoar he has remembered 
me. 
- * «■» 
LITTLE KINDNESSES. 
Let us seek out opportunities; let us slight 
nothing sb too trivial or too minute, not even the 
keeping a favorite seat at the fireside for one we 
know has a fancy for it, or the most trifling ar¬ 
rangement of household matters, if it gives plea¬ 
sure to others. The desire of showing little kind¬ 
nesses proceeds often merely from an obliging 
disposition; but I think the habit of it must be 
formed on Christian motives, and on a habitual 
course of self-denial and thoughtfulness. It may 
be called a habit of preferring otherB before our¬ 
selves. Endeavor to acquire thiB habit; do not, 
becanse you can do so little for others, do nothing. 
Look around yon, first in your own family, then 
amongBt your friends and neighbors, and see 
whether there be not some one whose little burden 
you can lighten, whose little cares you may lessen, 
whose little pleasures you can promote, whose lit¬ 
tle wants and wishes yon can gratify. Giving up 
cheerfully our own occupation to attend to others, 
iB one of the little kindnesses and aclf-dcnials; 
doing little things that nobody likes to do, but 
which must be done by Borne one, is another.— 
Doing a thing, saying nothing about it, is also a 
kindness; for we all know how irksome it is to be 
told that this, that, or the other thing was got for 
ns, or done on our account; and how ungrateful 
we feel for kindnesses thus thrust upon us. 
-- 
Humble Life.—F lowers have bloomed on our 
prairies, and passed away, from age to age, un¬ 
seen by man, and multitudes of viriueB have been 
acted out in obBcure places, without note or ad¬ 
miration. The sweetness of both has gone up to 
heaven. 
SfjmtB itallmtg. 
For Moore’s Rural New-Yorker. 
A WISH FOR A FRIEND. 
Wider* feather-footed time is fleetest, 
Where ftagr.*nee e'er distils tlie sweetest, 
And all those frieuds are good thou meetest, 
There be thy lot. 
But if some grief thy heart o’ertdketh, 
And Hope v»in pictures all e’emiateth, 
If wbat should be most trne lorsaketb, 
Prepur thou not; 
For gold more pur.', from fire appesreth, 
The sun o'er clouds the landscape cheeieth, 
And lieteo, for thloo ear still heareth— 
“ Thou'rl not forgot." 
Honeoye, N. Y., 1857. M. M. M. 
-♦—*- 
For Moore’s Rural New-Yorker. 
TO LAEDI. 
BY MISS HARRIET JACQCK9 
Thk Sun, clear-eyed, with far-discerning gsre 
Saw Ocean blushing through her veil oi spray. 
But passed him quickly on; for on his rear 
With silvered feet hia lloon-Bride weeping came, 
Her shad'wy arras, outstretching, grasped her child. 
Her star-child, bnrn of him who sped before — 
Nor stayed her flight, though goal could no’er be won. 
Thus I, with trembling grasp, hug to my heart 
That pale, wan child, Den pair, whom thou hast left,— 
And hurrying years and I, speed on sod on, 
They, to the Past,—and I, to God and thee. 
Home, N. Y., 1857. 
For Moore's Rural New-Yorker. 
BUSINESS PEBSEVEBANCE. 
Men of business, men of tact, men of genius 
even, without perseverance, cannot succeed. Men 
who commence in any one business, may find it 
impossible to continue therein all their days. Ill 
health may demand a change. New elements of 
character may be developed; new and wider fields 
of enterprise may be opened to them. Men may 
have a positive distaste lor some pursuits. They 
may be illy adapted to fill properly their chosen 
calling, and success maydemand a change. None 
of these cases (all within the general rule. Men 
may have talents, but if they are fitful in their 
plans, inoonstant iu their purposes, changing as 
the winds in tbe direction of their efforts, they 
must not expect to succeed; they cannot prosper. 
No form of business is free from vexations; no 
calling, but clouds may sometimes lower in its 
sky. Each man knows the spot on which his own 
harness chafes, but he cannot know how much his 
neighbor suffers. He may imagine his the worst 
form of business, and everybodys* beside attended 
with less difficulties. He may fly from one pursuit 
to another promising less friction, but in the flight 
thousands become unfeathered and fall to earth 
again, sad and disappointed. Make your business 
a pleasure, master it in all its. details, cling to it as 
your sheet anchor. Life is not long enough to al¬ 
low you to be master of but one pursuit. The 
history of eminent men in all professions and call¬ 
ings proves this. The great Statesman and Law¬ 
yer, Daniel Webster, was mode great by his 
tenacity of purpose to adhere to his chosen call¬ 
ing. While he was a poor student, Kis father, with 
much difficulty, obtained for him a situation as 
Clerk of the Court. Rut the tempting offer of 
$1,500 per year was not sufficient to turn him from 
the mark he had set before him! The late Elijah 
Loring, of Boston, who died n few years since 
worth a million of dollars, once failed in business. 
He had acquired, and he lost by uncontrollable 
circumstances. He could not be kept down, but 
embarked again in business and signallytrinmphed. 
Our late distinguished Ambassador at tbe Court of 
St James—the Hon. Abbott Lawrence, whose 
wealth was poured out for all benevolent purpo¬ 
ses, in donations as large as the sea—could recall 
the time when he had his profession to select, and 
the first dollar of his splendid fortune to earn.— 
He chose deliberately a vocation. He pursued 
that occupation with integrity and perseverance, 
through dark days and trying seasons, and the re¬ 
sult is before the world. His case affords an apt 
illustration of the proverb of the wise man, that 
a man diligent (or persevering) in business Bhall 
stand before kings and not before mean men. The 
talented editor of tbe N. Y. Tribune, for many 
years struggled with adverse winds and counter 
currents. Sevcrat of his early enterprises were 
doomed to defeat. He breasted manfully the con¬ 
flicting gales. He persevered amid difficulties, 
and now stands a signal instance of the power of 
business endurance—the prime minister in the 
ranks of successful American Journalism. 
The late John Jacob Astor, as he lefthis native 
Germany, paused beneath a iindeu tree, not far 
from the line that separates his native land from 
another, and made three resolutions, viz.:— 
“1st. He would be honest. 2d. He would be indus¬ 
trious. 3d. He would never gamble.” He was on 
foot; his wealth was in the small bundle that 
swung from a stick laid on his shoulder. The 
world was beiore him. He was able to carry them 
out His success is the beat comment on his per¬ 
severance. Biographical notices of the late Doug¬ 
lass Jerholi) give us the fact, that his first con¬ 
nection with literature was as a printer’s appren¬ 
tice, and that his firBt writings were contributed 
anonymously to the journal for which he was set¬ 
ting type. Hi» perseverance made him distin¬ 
guished in the world of letters. Stetiikn Gihard 
at the age of forty years was in quite moderate 
circumstances, being the captain of a small coast¬ 
ing vessel on the Delaware aud part owner of tbe 
same- No trait in his characler was more marked 
than his untiring perseverance, and this gave him 
a fortune. A poor but worthy young man by the 
name of Sim r bon had been some three years em¬ 
ployed as a cleric by Stephen Gikarp, of Phila¬ 
delphia. He had resolved to prove faithful to his 
trust, and never be ungrateful for aDy favors shown 
him by hiB employers. His pay from tbe first was 
$1,000 per year. The Directors of a new Bank of¬ 
fered him twice that sum to engage for them. He 
refused. One morning be was asked by hia em¬ 
ployer why he did not accept tho tempting offer? 
“ Because,’’ said the noble hearted Simpson, “Yon 
gave me $1,000 when I could scarcely earn you half 
of it; now I deem it my duty to remain for the same, 
though I might receive twice that elsewhere.— 
Within a few days, hiB persevering fidelity waa re¬ 
warded at the hands of his employer with a deed 
of an elegant new bouse richly furnished and lot, 
valued at $30,000. 
All men who have succeeded well in life, have 
been men of high resolve and enduring persever¬ 
ance. When the famed Richard Brinsley Sheri¬ 
dan made his first speech in Parliament, it was re¬ 
garded on all hands ns a most mortifying failure. 
His friends urged him to abandon a parliamentary 
career, and enter upon some field better suited to 
his ability. “No,” said Bheridhn, “No, it is in 
me, and it shall come ont.” And it did, for he be¬ 
came one of tbe most splendid debaters in Eng¬ 
land. Dr. Franklin and the Immortal Washing¬ 
ton are instances in point, where, from compara¬ 
tive obscurity, men rise np and grapple with diffi¬ 
culties with an inherent force that conquers all 
barriers that oppose their onward progress. Such 
men scorn the threatened invasion of petty ob¬ 
structions, and tread forward in their business 
pathway, uDjostled by any external pressure. With 
iron wills and fearless hearts, they obtain the re¬ 
wards of their patient endurance and unremitted 
perseverance— success. s. b. r. 
Spring; Side, Vermont, July, 1857. 
For Moore'B Rural New-Yorker 
HOPE. 
Hope, thou Ministering Angel to cheer ns on 
oar earthly pilgrimage — thou friend to man sent 
him by his Divine Benefactor. Blessed is thy 
mission, Oh Hope, and beautiful are thy works.— 
Thou ever goeth hand in hand with Charity, thy 
much beloved Sister. Without this, what were rnan? 
Hope is ever the friend of the oppressed; she 
visits the laborer at his toil, and cheers him with 
thoughts of happier days in store. See how his 
clouded brow brightens ssshe breathes upou him, 
und he toils on contented and happy, with blessings 
on her name. She bonds over the student in his 
room as he trims the midnightlamp. See how his 
countenance lights up with joy at her approach — 
he drops his books, and a9 a dreamy unconscious¬ 
ness steals over him, visions of future greatness 
float through his brain. Hope points him to fame 
and happiness and a name upon the annals of his 
country; he starts, and ’tis but a dream; and will 
it all be a dream? She cheers the Bailor when far 
away upon the deep—tells him of a prosperous 
voyage—a safe return to his native land and a joy¬ 
ous meeting with loved ones at home. 
Hope is always to be found at the side of youth, 
gay, wild aud thoughtless youth. She whispers in 
his willing ear of long life, of happiness, and of 
pleasure; and hopefally he toils on. Does he de¬ 
spond ? One breath from the Ups of Hope and the 
gloom is dispelled. Docs he despair of gaining 
some favorite object? Hope comes again to his 
aid and he toils on with renewed ardor until the 
prize is gained. 
Hope is an inhabitant of the humble home of the 
farmer, and her presence makes it the abode of 
content, and trne happiness. Encouraged by her 
beniflcent smile he scatters the seed to the earlh 
with a liberal hand, reposing the most unlimited 
confidence in her promises. The grain springeth 
up In its season, and the dewa and rains of heaven 
fall upon it, and it maketb the heart of the farmer 
to rejoice at the prospect of an abundant harvest. 
Hope visits the prisoner in hia cell and banishes 
from his heart those gloomy thoughts that find a 
dwelling there—the thoughts of his sufferings and 
the wrongs that perchance he may have met with 
on life’s stormy sea, of hia strong ship wrecked on 
tbe rocks of crime in tho midst of a prosperous 
voyage—all these are banished from hia mind, and 
he sees only the future before him, dark it may be, 
but Hope beckons him on with the promise of bet¬ 
ter days in store for him. Many blessings hast 
thon conferred upon man, O, Hope. Tbe orphan 
blesses thee, the invalid upon the bed of sickness 
and pain, calls down blessings on thy name; and 
all mankind look unto thee as a Guardian Angel. 
Assyria, Mich., 1857. J. M. T. 
-*-.♦- 
For Moore'* Rural New-Yorker 
MOONLIGHT. 
The silver orb of night breaks from Eastern 
chambers, flooding the earth with a glorious sea 
of light, not brilliant and dazzling, but softly radi¬ 
ant How different tbe scene from that of day! 
The blue canopy of Heaven is studded with 
brighter gems than ever decked a monarch’s 
crown; the “Queen of Night” sails like a pearl 
canoe through waves of ether, betraying to our 
vision, worlds on worlds, which were, till now, hid¬ 
den by the dazzling splendor of Sol, while its gen¬ 
tle rflys lend a charm to nature's lower works, as 
they hide that which man in his “onward course” 
has deformed. 
Many and varied are the missions of the moon, 
and nobly she performs them. Not only is she a 
"light to rule by night,” but she has been the 
awakener of deep emotions within the human 
bosom. Were he, who has ever plodded the high¬ 
way of life, seeking for diamonds in the daBt, to 
look heavenward of a moonUt evening, he would 
be filled with yearnings strangely different from 
any he ever before experienced. A new idea o 
life would, for the while, at least, inspire him who 
was, until now, bonud to his earthly idols. Long¬ 
ings for something more worthy of striving for 
than gold dust, would usurp the throne which was 
heretofore devoted to mammon. And when the 
scene changed, how deep the void in the heart, 
which to attempt to supply by other than holy as¬ 
pirations, were a mockery. 
Vastly many and different are the scenes wlrioh 
our moon has beheld since she siezed the sceptre 
of night, and began her gentle sway. She has 
gazed upon many a battle field, but too high aud 
pure to be stained by the sight. Heaven suemed 
to contrast, the brightness of the celestial, with the 
darkness of the earthly, when alter tho carnage of 
Waterloo, fair Luna shed her rays over the field of 
dead and dying, with a rebuking peaoefulncsp, be¬ 
traying to the eyes of the surviving, tbe devasta¬ 
tion meu had wrought when in the heat of passion. 
Moonlight slept on the waters, when, in the days 
of old, a little bark was tossed to and fro, by the 
raging billows. A calm voice risiDg above the 
tempest, spoke “ Peace, be Btill,” and the win<j8 
and the waters obeyed. Thus, many a tale of 
peace and wo might the moon bear witneBBto, and 
vastly many a touching scone will she gaze upon, 
ere her reign of silent grandeur shall have ceased 
forever. Hklkn Hazlett. 
Rochester, Mich., 1867. 
BUBAL SCENE IN HAYING TIME. 
The following rural picture is a remarkably 
truthful one, as all who are familiar with country 
life at this season will testify. We cut it from the 
Litchfield (Conn.) Enquirer: 
The bay harvest is at hand. Scattered over the 
meadows are heaps of clover; and musical amid 
the songs of robins aud bob o-linkB, echoes from 
the vale the clear ring of the mower’s stone 
upon his scythe. With the earliest daylight, there 
comes a creak from the grind-stone, aud we hear 
the hammer fastening the blade on the snath.— 
There is a rnshing sound perceptibly borne on the 
still, hot air, the sound of keen, blades sweeping 
before them the clover and the herd’s grass—there 
ia a perfume creeping in at tbo windows — a still¬ 
ness upon nature—a desertion in the village—and 
a bright, glaring sun in the heavens. Now indeed 
has the haying commenced. Go down to the 
fields in the morning. There stands the cart near 
the shade of the maples—the basket, the water- 
jug and rakes beneath it—the cattle chained to the 
bars—the horse browsing among the winrows.— 
Go at noon. The men are at their dinner. The 
basket removed, the pork upon the trencher, the 
wheaten loaf upon the grass, and brown handB 
hard at work with spoon and fork. Go at even¬ 
ing. The cattle are yoked, the carts are on their 
way to the barn, or being loaded, where, thick and 
well-rounded, the heavy cocks are scattered over 
the meadow. The hoys follow with rakes—and in 
some fields, wives and daughters are out to hasten 
on the work. Thus will the harvest be completed, 
the barns shall be bursting ere long with the well- 
cured crop, and little children shall sport on the 
high mows, aud the old men lean ont of their doors, 
listening. 
“ To the rush at the breathless swing — 
To the whoop ot the smothered o«ll; 
Till their feet slip up on the seedy floor, 
And they care not lor the fall.” 
BISING IN THE WORLD. 
Y'oo should bear constantly in mind that nine- 
tenthaof us are, from the very nature and necessi¬ 
ties of the world, bora to gain onr livlihood by 
the sweat of the brow. What reason have we, then, 
to presume that onr children are not to do the 
same? If they be, as now and then one will be, 
endowed with extraordinary powers of mind, 
those extraordinary powers of mind may have an 
opportunity of developing themselves; and, if 
they never have that opportunity, the harm is not 
very great to us or them. Nor does it hence fol¬ 
low that the descendants of laborers are always to 
be laborers. The path upwards ia sleep and long, to 
be sure. Industry, care, skill, excellence, in the 
present parent, lay the foundation of a rise, under 
more favorable circumstances, for the children.— 
The children of these take another rise; and, by- 
and-by, the descendants of the present laborer be¬ 
come rich men. This is the natural progress.— 
It is by attempting to reach the top at asingle leap 
that so much misery ib produced in the world.— 
Society may aid in making the laborers virtuous 
and happy, by bringing children up to labor with 
steadiness, with care, and with skill; to show them 
howto do as many useful things as possible; to 
do them all in the best manner; to set them an ex¬ 
ample in industry, sobriety, cleanliness, and neat¬ 
ness; to make all these habitual to them, eo that 
they never shall be liable to fall into the oontrary; 
to let them always sec a good living proceeding 
from labor, and thus to remove from them the 
temptation to get at the goods of others by violent 
and fraudulent means, and to keep far from their 
minds all the inducements to hypocrisy and de¬ 
ceit— Cobbetl. 
8UMMEB IN NEW ENGLAND. 
Rupcs Choate, in one of his speeches, intro¬ 
duced the following unique picture of a New Eng¬ 
land Summer, to illustrate the idea that irregulari¬ 
ty is not ruin:—“Take the New England climate, 
in summer; you would think the world was com¬ 
ing to an end. Certain recent heresies on that 
subject may have had a natural origin there. Cold 
to-day; hot to-morrow; mercury at 80° in the 
morning, with wind at south-west; and in three 
hours more a sea turn, wind at east, a thick fog 
from the very bottom of the oceau, and a fall of 
40° of Fahrenheit; now, so dry os to kill all the 
beans in New Hampshire; then, floods carrying off 
the bridges of the Penobscot and Connecticut; 
snow in Portsmouth in July; and the next day a 
man and a yoke of oxen killed by lightning in 
Rhode Island. You would think the w r orid was 
twenty times coming to an end! But 1 don’t know 
how it is; we go along; tbe early and the latter 
rain falls, each in its season; seed-time and har¬ 
vest do not fail; the sixty days ot hot, corn 
weather, are pretty Bure to be measured out to us. 
The Indian Summer, with its bland south-west, and 
mitigated sunshine, brings all up; and on the 25th 
of November, or thereabouts, being Thursday, 
three millions of grateful people, iu meeting- 
hoDses, or around the family board, give thanks 
for a year of health, plenty and happiness.” 
-♦- 
Inferior Books.— Inferior books are to be re¬ 
jected, an age and time when we are courted by 
whole libraries, aud when no man’s life is long 
enough to compass even those which are good 
and great and famous. Why should we how down 
at puddles, when we can approach freely to the 
crystal spring-heads of science aud letters? Half 
the reading of most people is snatched up at ran¬ 
dom. Many stupify themselves over the dullness 
of authors who ought never to fiave escaped ob¬ 
livion. The invention of paper and printing—es¬ 
pecially the production of both by a new motive 
power—may ho said to have overdone the matter, 
and made it too easy to be born into the world of 
authorship. The race would be benefited by some 
new invention for strangling nine out of ten that 
sue for publicity. No man can do hia friend or 
child a more real service than to snatch from his 
hand the hook that relaxes and effeminates him, 
lest he destroy tho solids and make his fibre 
flaccid by the slops and hashes of a catch-penny 
press. But especially is he a benefaotor who in 
stills the principle that no composition should be 
deliberately sought, which is not good, beneficial, 
and above mediocrity.— Dr. J. It? Alexander. 
Brave actions are the substance of life, and 
good sayings the ornament of it. 
