MOORE’S RU RAL NEW-YORKER: AN AGRICULTURAL AND FAMILY NEWSPAPER. 
AUGUST 
ml'ffllUL 
CONDUCTED BY AZILE. 
THE GOLDEN WEDDING. 
[“The Golden Wedding," as oui readers know, is a 
celebration of the fiftieth anniversary of a wedding-day, by 
both bride and bridegroom. And for such a celebration by 
one of the most admired and estimable couples of Boston, 
a distinguished and gifted lady has written the following 
sweet lines:] 
When Time has spread his pinions 
O'er many fleeting years, 
And filled with earth's dominions, 
With doubts, and hopes, and fears. 
And trusting souls, embracing 
The fondeBt, purest ties 
All severed wide enlacing. 
Recall him ae he flies, 
With prayers and supplication 
For those whose race is run. 
Still feel that consolation 
Is yet beneath the sun. 
"On these a bright May morning 
Diffuses o’er and o’er 
Its balm and rosy dawning 
At one old friendly door. 
They ne’er forget the greetings 
Of far and distant days, 
The welcomes and repeatings 
Of ever pleasant lays. 
They count both oft and many 
The bright and genial smiles, 
Which well compare with any 
In grace, and channs, and wiles. 
They ponder on this kindness 
Wherever they may roam. 
And should not, without blindness, 
Pass the threshold of a home. 
Where fifty years have striven 
In vain to harden hearts. 
So well prepared by Heaven 
In all excelling parts. 
Without a word revealing, 
A prescience from above. 
Which o’er the bosom stealing. 
Gives tenderness and love. 
Then let tbem ere they enter. 
In sweet simplicity. 
The Golden Wedding's centre. 
Whisper—Benedicite. 
One of the Barclays. 
- 4 - 
For Moore's Rnral New-Yorker. 
OUT m TIIE SUNSHINE, 
A LETTER TO MY «CITY COUSIN.” 
Dear Coz:—As soon as I read your letter in the 
last week’s New-Yorker, I knew yon meant it for 
me—so of course I determined to answer. How 
did I know? Well, partly in this way, that I had 
once been a sojourner among the grinding mills 
of toil and trade,—had been jostled and crowded 
along the busy streets of your very city of 
Gotham,—had longed for cool retreats and leafy 
shadows,—and, escaping at last, had revelled with 
a newer sense of luxury in the broad green earth 
and the blessed sunshine. 
Bird songs float in through prison bars, so listen! 
Here is a simple carol sent from a glad heart to 
reach you amid your surroundings of city life, 
and maybe bring a little of the cool of the dew 
with it. 
How can I paint for you the beautiful earth 
about me, with the summer glory all upon it? Just 
now, with this golden snnset dropping down the 
hills, it seems like a rare temple, and the low-voiced 
wind murmuring through it says audibly, * Oh, 
come, come, let m pray.” And so the great earth 
hushes all her jarring voices, while the sunset 
light grows whiter and fainter, and the arching 
skieB bend purely over alL Then the night comes. 
Hark! There are a thousand soft, uncertain sounds 
of stirring, and rustling, and whispering about you 
—a sound that on such summery nights 
“ Droppeth from the leaf and bough, 
Sana wind and bird, none knowetb how,” 
Yery Boft and very soothing are these voices of 
the night, as they go through all the hearts’ cham¬ 
bers, and very wild and restless must he the spirit 
that heeds not their gentle henison. 
There is something wondrouB in the hold which 
the sweet wild thingB of nature have upon our 
hearts—a hold that is not quite Bhaken off by all 
the turmoil of dusty life and labor. Sitting by my 
shaded window in a busy college town last sum¬ 
mer, I saw a little child tripping along the walk, 
with both tiny hands filled with flowers. One of 
them, a beautiful white lily, was in some way bro¬ 
ken from its stem and fell upon the walk. There 
it lay in its white beauty, and the crowd of comers 
and goers hurried past it, some apparently without 
noticing it, yet no one crushed it. Presently came 
a dusty laborer carrying in his hard hands the im¬ 
plements of his work. He saw the lily, and in a 
moment stooped and raised it from the ground, 
and carried it away in his great brown hand, all 
the while looking into its pearly cup with a look 
of tenderness, as we look into the faces of those 
we love. He was a stranger to me, hut I know his 
heart was aB white and beautiful as the pure lily 
he held. Was I wholly wrong? 
I must tell you of a jaunt I took last week out 
from our little bustling village into the very depths 
of greenery, here in the wild woods. The kind¬ 
ness of a friend, blessings be upon him, provided 
me with a beautiful and eloquent companion, to 
make pleasant the dusty rail car, which compan¬ 
ion was a most royal boquet of rosea Who wants 
a better companion? I am Bure no young belle, 
in the triumph of her first grand entre, was ever 
prouder of her diamonds than I of the crimson 
beauty of my precious flowers. A little pale girl, 
lying wearily across her mother’s lap, half started 
up with an eager, “ Oh, look, mammal” as I entered 
the crowded car. Somebody's tired baby left off 
fretting, and sprung with dancing eyes and out 
stretched hands to grasp the bright roses, and a 
pleasant old gentleman laid down his paper to 
say, “You have Borne very fine flowers, Miss; will 
you allow me to look at them a moment.” I will 
confess to a momentary pang at parting with my 
pets, as the fear crossed my mind that the gentle¬ 
man was a botanist, and would anatomize my roses, 
or at least give me their scientific names, which I 
had no wish to know. A rose is a rose to me, and 
my vocabulary of names goes no further than the 
monarch of all roses, “ George the Fourth.’' I was 
ashamed of myself the instant he took the flowers. 
He did not hold tbem as most men do flowers and 
babies, as if he was ashamed to be seen doing it— 
not he—and that boquet placed us “ en rapport ” at 
once, and opened the way for a pleasant chat We 
talked of flowers and looked at the beautiful 
scenery from the car windows. Presently, as we 
were passing slowly into a factory village, my 
friend pointed to a little cabin perched upon a 
hill almost above us, saying, “There is what I call 
a cottage rose.” I looked at the cabin. It was 
built of logs and was almost ready to tumble 
down. There was not a tree or flower to adorn it, 
but peering out from a narrow opening meant for 
a window was a beautiful little child in a white 
nightdress. Both hands were raised to hold the 
brown hair from her eyes that looked out at us so 
full of wonder. Ah 1 thought I, as the picture just 
cam* for a moment before me and then vanished, 
a cottage rose, indeed, and half unconsciously I re¬ 
peated Mary Howitt’b beautiful lines, “God 
hleBB the poor man's children.” 
You have seen how the ivy and the wild flowers 
will creep into all the crevioes of a ruin to hide 
the unsightly gaps,—just so I thought these “ cot¬ 
tage roses” blossom out around the poor man’s 
home to hide its roughness and make it beautiful. 
Climbing roses they are, and their clinging ten¬ 
drils take fast hold upon the heart, and make Bum¬ 
mer all about the poor home, for the rosy dew 
and sunshine of heaven fall down upon the blessed 
things. 
Some of this I said to my pleasant friend—some 
of it, and much more, he said to me, all the while 
lookin g from me to the roses, and from them to 
the world without; and bo we were whirled along 
past green meadows, nodding wheat fields, and 
deep, silent woods, till my ride was at an end, and 
I left him with a feeling of gratitude towards the 
eloquent flowers that had gained me for an hour 
communion with a kindly heart and a cultivated 
mind. 
But I fear our friend Moore will opine that my 
letter exceeds the limits of cousinly epiBtles, so I 
must even bring it to a finale. 
Florence, 0., June, 1857. Emily C. Huntington. 
- 4 -—*- 
For Moore's Rnral New-Yorker. 
MORNING MUSINGS. 
“ Silence now 
Is brooding like a gentle spirit o'er 
The still and pulseless world." 
The clock just chimes the hour of two, and seat¬ 
ed by my open window, I gaze forth this silent 
morning hour upon a scene of peaceful beauty.— 
Soft, hazy clonds are gently gliding along the 
azure sky, through which the fitfol moon-beams 
mingle their silvery glances with the deep, dark 
shadows, or peep through the leafy branches of 
the green-robed trees upon the slumbering world 
beneath. The morning star—fair “ gem upon the 
brow of heaven”—is beaming brightly now; and as 
Igszeupon this tiny “diamond in the sky,”I feel an 
almost longing to fly away and seek rest within its 
golden portals. But see, the pale clouds enshroud 
it in their misty embrace, for awhile obscuring its 
charms only to render its reappearing more radi¬ 
antly beautiful. 
“ Wliat beings fill those bright abodes? 
How formed, how gifted ? what their powers, their state, 
Their happiness, their wisdom ? Do they bear 
The stamp of human nature ? Or has G d 
Peopled those purer realms with lovelier forms 
And more celestial minds.” 
Shine on in thy tranquil beauty, lovely star! many 
hearts hast thou lured from their sorrows, from 
earth to heaven—to God. 
“ How swiftly will I soar to thee, 
When this Imprisoned soul Is free!” 
Softly lades the fairy Beene, and the faoe of the 
heavens charges. Clonds upon clouds arise, in 
magnificent splendor looming up against the 
bright, blue canopy, their gorgeous rainbow tints 
defying even description. 
11 And see—the Sun himself I-on wings 
Of glory up the East he springs. 
Angel of Light! who from the time 
Those heavens began their march sublime, 
Hath first of all the starry choir, 
Trod in his Maker’s steps of fire 1” 
All hail! gentle gales, and softwinged zephyrs 
waft in thy coming; beautiful flowers dispense 
their fragrance at thy rosy dawn; bright-winged 
birds warble thy welcome; man goes forth to meet 
thee, and all Nature smiles at thy approach! Bles¬ 
sings, all blessings on thee, oh thou bright and 
beautiful Morning! Winnie Willi an. 
P.ochester, Aug, 1857. 
_ < 
A STHING OF PEARLS, 
Bacon says, justly, the best part of beauty is 
that which a picture cannot express. 
We hope to grow old, and yet we fear old age; 
that is, we are willing to live, and afraid to die. 
The faults of genius might be passed over if the 
world would promise not to imitate them. 
Oor tempera are like an opera-glass, which 
makes the object small or great, according to the 
end you look through. 
Objects are but bright and happy as the eyes of 
the mind see them, with a vision clouded or un¬ 
clouded by its secret shadow. 
The good things which belong to prosperity are 
to be wished, out the good things that belong to 
adversity are to be admired. 
There is no policy like politeness, and a good 
manner is the best thing in the world, either to 
get a good name, or to supply the want of it 
Afflictions, when accompanied with grace, 
alter their nature, as wormwood eaten with bread, 
will lose its bitterness. 
There are some moments in existence which 
comprise the power of years, aB thousands of roses 
are compressed into a few drops of their essenoe. 
The highest perfection of human reason is to 
know that there is an infinity of truth beyond its 
reach. 
Humanity is a grace that adorns and beautifies 
every other grace; without it, the most splendid 
natural and acquired acquisitions lose half their 
charm. 
With many readers, brilliancy of style passes 
for affluence of thought; they mistake butter-cops 
in the graBB for immeasurable gold mines under 
1 the ground. 
©[mitt fpKflliimj. 
For Moore's Rnral New-Yorkor. 
WE WAIT FOB THEE 
Wiikn gathering round the festal board. 
With joyous hearts and smiles so free, 
Whore once thy gentlo voice was heard, 
We wait for thee. 
When night with sable wing, has flown. 
And morning breaks upon the lea. 
Reminded of the absent one, 
We wait for thee. 
When now we tread those paths alone, 
Where once with thee wo used to stray, 
Yet there we miss thy loving tone, 
We wait for thee. 
When eve folds round her robe of jet. 
Spangled with stars, her jewelry, 
At that sweet hour we miss thee yet, 
We wait for thee. 
Sandstone, 1857. Linda. 
-4—4- 
[A fine picture is thus limned by the master baud of 
Christopher North,— now cold, alas, in death:] 
A cloud lay cradled near the setting sun, 
A gleam of crimBon tinged its braided snow; 
Long had I watched the glory moving on 
O’er the still radiance of the lake below— 
Tranquil its spirit seemed, and Boated slow; 
E'en in its very motion there was rest; 
While every breath of eve that chanced to blow. 
Waited the traveler to the beauteous West. 
Emblem, metheught, of tlio departing soul! 
To whose bright robe the gleam of bliss is given, 
And by the breath of mercy made to roll 
Eight onward to the golden gates of Heaven, 
Where, to the eye of faith, it peaceful lies, 
And tellB to man his glorious destinies. 
-♦—*- 
For Moore’s Rural New-Yorker. 
ORIGINALITY. 
At all times the worlds’ governors have been its 
profound yet liberal thinkers,—its original met. 
Although from time to time the subject of thought¬ 
less neglect, or perhaps the target for the fiercest 
shafts of satire and malignity, still has its radical 
mindsbeen the single agent of the world’s advance¬ 
ment. Mankind in general have lived and died, 
and left nothing to plead with sympathy or re¬ 
membrance for their vain strifes and unanswered 
desireB. Generations succeeding generations, have 
swept silently along the highway of busy exist¬ 
ence, leaving no trace of their common life.— 
Usually has the glory of an age centered in Borne 
single man. Of him it has justly been its highest 
pride to boast. If amid unnoticed thousands ap¬ 
pears a single dominant intellect, the record of 
their existence is not loBt, but the age is remem¬ 
bered through the one star it has contributed to 
the galaxy of greatness. Seldom indeed do these 
superior examples of greatness arise. Only to the 
exalted is it granted to guide and memorize their 
age, and 
“ Dying leave a name, 
A light, a landmark on the cliifi of fame.” 
It is not to all who ruay have momentarally en¬ 
listed the wonder and attention of the world, that 
belong its highest titles. Only to those who have 
been instrumental in luring mankind from the 
false lights of error, and in directing their atten¬ 
tion and aim to the true and the beautiful, the 
good aud the great Only those who have devel¬ 
oped new truths, and framed new schemes for hu¬ 
man good, canjuBtly claim the high privileges of 
real greatness. Often, however, are the praises of 
the multitude awarded to him who yields a free 
and fortunate translation, or who happily applies, 
the investigations of the more profound and re¬ 
condite. Not unfrequently is the real author of 
that good which has blessed humanity, never re¬ 
cognized in hiH true character until his research- 
es have been.reduced to the level of common ap¬ 
preciation; then when time has developed the 
practicability of bis schemes and demonstrated 
the riches oi his thought, is the world content to 
go back ft century and weep tears of repentant re¬ 
gard over the object of its former rude neglect 
Not always, however, does time trace to its true 
source the fountains of good. Frequently are the 
highest tributes of respect cast upon the shrine of 
him who clothes the beings of his creation in a 
more common garb, who emits only those beams, 
by whiob the world is attracted hut not dazzled. 
The world ever demands a mediator between it 
and the highest instances of greatness. The na¬ 
ture of the commoo pursuits of men, and the con¬ 
sequent extent of their attainments, call for those 
who Bhali occupy a position midway between the 
great and the little, diluting the outpourings of 
superior geniuB and moulding the common mind 
for Its fortunate reception. It is from this neces¬ 
sity that the ofliccH aud qualities of real and ap¬ 
parent superiority become distinct. Evidently 
there is required a degree of elevation to fitly and 
early appreciate the emanations of superior great¬ 
ness, and high tokens of respect we may justly 
award to him who from a lively comprehension of 
the investigations of the original may impress up¬ 
on the world, the attributes of his master. Yet 
equally evident the exceeding superiority of him 
who shall govern those whose powers are thus 
restricted. And here do we see the noblest ex¬ 
amples of greatness become those of originality. 
Thus doeB the direct mover of the common mind 
become the willing subject of the profound think- 
er. It is literally the privilege and province of the 
latter to govern rulers. He directs the intellects, 
which immediately prcaido over the worlds des¬ 
tiny. Such a criterion few have or can withstand 
through Buch an ordeal few may pass. 
Not only, as we have said, must the efforts of 
the original man he unsuccessful in obtaining im¬ 
mediate reward; so have all his schemes for hu¬ 
man good, unfailingly brought upon him opposi¬ 
tion and contumely; yet neither without an assign¬ 
able, a natural reason. It is the nature of all truth 
to primarily exiat in theory. However definite 
may have proven the developments of any syEtein 
its existence was originally indebted to a specula¬ 
tive and vacilatiug ideality. Thus does the nature 
of every Improvement doom its origin to the brain 
of some toiling aud obscure thinker. While, from 
its necessary tendency to combat admitted truths, 
time alone has possessed the power of establishing 
its empire in universal approbation. As here we 
discover those causes which have contributed to 
the subject of the independent inquirer, so also, 
appear the reasons for the opposition he has uni¬ 
versally met, and the calumny he has borne. Every 
original man ib a reformer. His functions are to 
devise new and progressive schemes for human 
good. These must inevitably usurp the place of 
long established and dearly cherished errors. It i 
thus becomes his, to combat time-honored doc- ( 
trines, and long-reverenced institutions. 
In just the degree therefore to which he fulfills 
the requirements of the office he has assumed, is 
he taking arms against the good will of that world 
for which he labors. Among earth's moral cham¬ 
pions, are instances of worth to which human ap¬ 
preciation can hardly award fit adulation; but 
who, in acquiring their world-wide and time-en¬ 
during reverence, fully impress ua with the diffi¬ 
culties which the striver for a better state of things 
must ever encounter. 
We deem that the truly original man, never ex¬ 
ists unpossessed of a degree of merit. His en¬ 
deavors for human advancement, if indeed they 
he such as comprehend man, and arise not wholly 
from his own imagined evils, indicate the pres¬ 
ence and promptings of noble desires. And Bhould 
his efforts prove unsuccessful, those condemna¬ 
tions which attend his failures should he fraught 
with mercy and admiring sympathy. His aims 
have been magnanimous, he has striven nobly, and 
his want of success may have been owing to our 
own sluggish or perverse comprehension, rather 
than any absenoe of merit. The original man 
wherever found, should be to the world an object 
of solicitude and regard. It is to such that the 
present owes its advancement over the past—from 
Buch is to arise the superiority of the fature over 
the present. Bat for him, however, the world may 
regard his effort for good, let him never despair. 
Let him be true to himself and his own high pur¬ 
poses. 
« What mean the servile Imitating orew, 
What their vain babblings, and their empty noise, 
Ne’er seek; bat still thy nobler ends pursue, 
Unconquered by the rabble s venal voice.” 
Dansville, N. Y., 1857. J. Whitney S. 
-- 4—4 - 
FAMILY LETTERS. 
Is there anything sadder than files of old family 
letters, where one seems to spell backward one’s 
own future! The frail fabric of paper is still firm, 
while the strong hand that poured over it the 
heart’s throbs of love, of hate, of hope, or of de¬ 
spair is mouldering in the grave. Letters filled 
with anxieties, blessed perhaps in their realization; 
hopes defeated in their very accomplishment, let¬ 
ters spoiled with professions of everlasting affec¬ 
tion that exhaled with a few mornings’ dews, and 
stamped with sincere loves, that seem, as the time- 
stained sheet trembles in the hand, to breath from 
heaven upon it; letters with the announcement of 
births, to be received with a family—all hail!—and 
then with fond records of opening childhood— 
and then—the black lined sheet, aud the hastily 
broken seal, and the story of sickness and death; 
letters with gay disclosures of betrothals, of illimi¬ 
table hopes, and Bweet reliances; and a little fur¬ 
ther down in the file, conjugal disaffection, bicker¬ 
ings and disappointments, and perchance the his¬ 
tory, from year to year, of ft happy married love, 
tried and make stronger by trial, cemented by 
every joy, brightened all along its course with 
cheerfulness and patience, and home loves, and 
charities; but in this there is solemnity, for it is 
past. The sheaves are gathered into the garner, 
and on earth nothing is left but the seared stubble 
field!— Mrs. C. M. Sedgwick. 
- 4—4 - 
WEEDING OUT WEAK CHILDREN. 
Domestic dosing, and the administration of 
medicine for every ailment,is another prolific 
source of the diseases of childhood. The first 
thing placed in the mouth of a new-born babe is 
a dose of medicine, as if God had made it wrong 
—made it to require medicine, immediately upon 
its advent into this world. Afterwards every 
colic requires paregoric, or Borne other anodyne 
remedy, white catnip tea, castor oil, senna tea, 
lavender and peppermint fill up the intervals.— 
I am persuaded that catnip tea is the moBt fre¬ 
quent cause of “ sprue,” and it is to me a stand¬ 
ing wonder that so many children survive, and 
sometimes even thrive despite all this dosing.— 
I am inclined to think only the healthy do sur¬ 
vive, as a general rule, while the feeble are de¬ 
stroyed. 
Children in health should be accustomed to 
considerable light, except in the cases of the 
newly-born; and after recovery from irruptive 
diseases, children should be kept in a well-lighted 
apartment It is a bad practice to have the break- 
fuBt-room dark, but better to permit the eye to be¬ 
come gradually accustomed to the intense light 
of the noon-day. Like plants, children require 
the open air and sunlight In order to accomplish 
their fullest development and to secure immunity 
from disease. No organ of the body bo soon as 
the eyes exhibits lack of attention to the precau¬ 
tions or the consequences above alluded to.— Dr. 
Clark. 
4»4 - 
Be Kind to thk Old. — There is too little re¬ 
spect and love shown towards old people nowa¬ 
days. They are too generally treated as out of 
date, and useless “ back numbers ” of the great 
gazette of humanity, and only fit to be cast aside 
to perish in neglect while fresher issues monopo¬ 
lize our regard. ThiB should not be. The old 
have claims on the young, and strong and hopeful, 
which cannot be dishonored with impunity. He 
who does not respect and cherish them, for their 
own Bake, Bhali uot he respected and cherished 
when, in his turn, he totters with feeble Bteps 
’ adown the steep aud rugged declivity which leads 
from the summit of the hill of life to the grave, 
over which chill winds so constantly sweep, and 
upon which onty feeble, setting rays ever shine.— 
It Is on that bleak and forbidding stretch of the 
life-journey that one most mostneeds the cheering 
influences of affection and gratitude; and from 
him who withholds them from others, Bhali they 
be withheld in return. 
S 4 »4 - 
i How ardent would he the desire of young peo- 
. pie for knowledge and virtue, if they only found 
some to Instigate them and fire them with the im- 
; pulse. Blame is attached to teachers who incul- 
i cate contest rather than conduct; aDd oh the part 
i of the pupils, who are inclined to oultivate their 
spirit rather than their understanding.— Seneca. 
THE UPRIGHT CLERK. 
A SKETCH FOR YOUNG MEN. 
Fifty years ago there waa a flourishing store in 
Groton, Massachusetts, kept by James Brazer.— 
Groton is thirty miles from Boston. Mr. Brazer 
did a large business with all the country round, 
for his stock waa composed of almost everything 
one could want, cotton and woolen goods, hard¬ 
ware, wooden ware, silks, thread, crockery, kegB of 
tobacco, and great quantities of rum and brandy; 
giving plenty of employment to five clerks. 
In Mr. Brazer’s store in those days there waa 
a custom which is generally done away with now, 
the cust om of drinking at 11 o’clock. Every fore¬ 
noon a drink was mixed up, made of rum, raisins, 
sugar and nutmeg, with biscuit, and handed round 
to the master, clerks, and customers; all partook 
of it, and relished it, and I dare say smacked their 
lips and wanted more. At last one of the clerks 
refused his glass. He had “ made a resolution not 
to take any more for a week,” he said. It looked 
very odd. His companions wanted to know why. 
“The habit is growing on me,” answered Amos, 
for that was his name, “ and I'm afraid of it; that’s 
why.” The other clerkB called him foolish, and a 
coward. They thought that no good reason at all, 
for everybody drank. They laughed at him, but 
they did not laugh it out of him. He made his 
first resolution for a week, then for % month, then 
for a year, and finally for the five years of his ap¬ 
prenticeship; aud thus alone and for himself, he 
took the ground of total abatinehce when spirit- 
drinking was the universal fashion; and for the 
whole time he never took a spoonfal, though he 
mixed gallons and gallons for hia master. Amos 
made the same resolution in regard to the use of 
tobacco; he never smoked a cigar, or chewed but 
one quid, and that before he was fifteen. A great 
many years afterward he thus wrote to a young 
student at college: 
“ In the first place, take this for your motto at 
the beginning of your journey, that the difference 
of going just right and a little wroDg will be the 
difference of finding yonrself in good quarters, or 
in a miserable bog or sloogh at the end of it. Of 
the whole number educated in the Groton stores, 
for some years before and after myself, no one else, 
to my knowledge, escaped the bog or slough; and 
my escape I trace to the single fact of my having 
put a restraint upon my appetite. After leaving 
school and going into a store, not a mouth passed 
before I was impressed with the opinion that re¬ 
straint upon appetite waa necessary to prevent the 
slavery I saw destroying numbers around me.— 
Many and many of the farmers, mechanics, and 
apprentices of that day have filled drunkard’s 
graves, and left destitute families and friends.” 
Let every clerk and apprentice who reads this, 
and I hope there will be m«Dy, stop and note this 
point, the difference of going just right or a little 
wrong, in your Betting out in life is the difference 
between integrity and dishonesty, success or dis¬ 
appointment, happiness or ruin. 
At twenty-one, in 1807, Amos went to Boston 
with twenty dollars in his pocket. He soon re¬ 
ceived an offer of a clerkship in a respectable firm. 
Here he staid but a few months. His employer 
failed, and he hired a small store in Cornbill, and 
furnished it with goods upon the strength of the 
confidence with which he had inspired merchants 
who had become acquainted with him. Integrity, 
industry, and system, were the foundations upon 
which his business life was built. He practised 
rigid economy, never allowing himself to spend a 
fourpence upon unnecessary objects until he had 
earned it During his first Beven years in the 
city, he never let a bill stand against him unsettled 
over tho Sabbath. If the purchase of goods had 
been made at auotion on Saturday, he always ex¬ 
amined and Bottled the bill by crediting it, bo that 
in case he wus not on duty on Monday, thore would 
be no trouble for the clerks, thus keeping business 
before him, instead of allowing it to drive him.— 
At the close of that seven years he was worth fifty 
thousand dollars. 
On his first coming to the city he took lodgings 
with a widow, who had just opened a boarding¬ 
house. Amos asked for one rule to be made for 
the boarders, and that was, that the boarders in 
the publio sitting-room might keep quiet for one 
hour after supper, in order to give those who wish¬ 
ed it an opportunity for Btudy or reading. “ The 
consequence wsh,” said he in after years, “ that we 
had the moat quiet and improving set of young 
men in town. The few who did not wish to com¬ 
ply with the regulation went abroad after tea, some¬ 
times to the the theatre, sometimes to other places, 
but, to a man, became bankrupt in after life, not 
only in fortune, but in reputation; while tho ma¬ 
jority of the other clerks sustained a good charac¬ 
ter, and some are now living who are ornaments to 
society, and fill important BtationB. The influence 
of this small number will perhaps be felt through¬ 
out generations. It was not less favorable on my¬ 
self than on others. 
Buch were the principles on which was reared a 
young man who afterwards became one of the 
princely merchants of Boston, princely in wealth, 
virtues, and benevolence, AmoB Lawrence, who 
gave in charity more than six hundred thousand 
dollars, and the legacy of whose life is a part of 
the world's true riches. Such principles never fail 
a man. Young men, study them well.— Selected. 
4»4 — 
Bbauty.—T here is something in beauty, whether 
it dwells in the human face, in the pencilled leaves 
of flowers, the sparkling surface of a fountain, or 
the aspect which genius breathes over its statue f 
that makes us mourn its ruin. We should not envy 
that man his feelings who could see a leaf wither, 
a flower fall, without some sentiment of regret— 
This tender interest in the beaty uud frailty of 
things aroimd us is only a slight tribnto of becom¬ 
ing grief and affection; for nature, in our adver¬ 
sities. never deserts ua She even comes more 
nearly to us in our sorrows, and leading us away 
from the paths of disappointment and pain into 
her soothing recess-aUays the anguish of bleed¬ 
ing hearts, binds up the wounds that have been in¬ 
flicted, whispers the meek pledges of abetter hope, 
and iu harmony with a Bpirlt of still holier birth, 
points to that home where decay and death can 
never come. 
—- <♦«»-- 
Advice is like snow, the softer it falls the longer 
it dwells upon, and the deeper it sinks into the 
mind.— Coleridge. 
