SEPT. 19. 
MOORE’S RURAL NEW-YORKER: AN AGRICULTURAL AND FAMILY NEWSPAPER. 
For Moore’s Rural Now-Yorker. 
PUBLIC SCHOOL LIB BABIES. 
Among the numerous appliances of education 
with which our country ia blessed, we recognize 
the Public School Li brary as by no means the least. 
Oar schools and the press, placing the means of 
education within the reach of all, create a demand 
for reading matter which could or would be met 
by but few individuals for themselves. To meet 
this demand, to supply the masses—the young 
especially—an abundance of select reading matter, 
which shall allord instruction in the multifarious 
departments of knowledge, and which shall be at 
the same time entertaining and attractive, this is 
the purpose for which the library waB incorporated 
into our public sohool systems and well indeed 
does it fulfill its purpose. It Btands forth promi¬ 
nent and powerful in the machinery by which in¬ 
telligence is imparted to the people, and the only 
sure foundation laid for both civil and religions 
liberty. 
But while we acknowledge its utility and recog¬ 
nize. its influence for good, a little observation will 
convince us that in many respects it falls far short 
of what it might and ought to be. Unless care 
and vigilance are exercised, every such means of 
public advantage must suffer; and that the libra¬ 
ries are suffering, is evideut At the late Annual 
Session of the Michigan State Teachers’ Associa¬ 
tion, one of the speakers remarked that on exam¬ 
ining the school library of one of the most 
flourishing and intelligent towns in Western Mich¬ 
igan, which, for its credit, shall he nameless, he 
found it to consist of 4 * about forty volumes, of 
whioh more than thirty tc ere novels .” Nor iB this 
an isolated instance. Let any one, even in the 
“Excelsior” State, examine the districts or town 
library, and if he does not And this more or less 
true there, it will be a happy exception, for which 
the neighborhood should be thankfal Now why 
is this? Is it because of a paucity of material 
from which to select? Nay, verily; for while the 
World of Literature is Jlooded with that which is 
worse than useless, the shelves of our bookstores 
are also loaded with that which is good, pure, in¬ 
structive, and at the same time to the highest de¬ 
gree entertaining. 
It is not for want of literature of the rightstamp, 
but rather from careless ease and inattention on 
the part of those on whom rests the charge of 
maintaining the character of this invaluable public 
beneficence. Every year a certain sum is appor¬ 
tioned to each public library, to be expended for 
the benefit of the same. But it would not be diffi¬ 
cult to specify instances where the charge of ex¬ 
pending it, like that of selecting teachers, is 
entrusted to persons either careless or morally or 
intellectually unqualified for the trust; and they 
are directed to expend to tkd best advantage for 
the benefit (?) of the library. It may be said that 
this is an extreme cose. If it Is, like all others of 
that ilk, it hath a great many next door neighbors. 
Or if not intellectually incompetent, they are per¬ 
haps utterly reckless as to the moral tone of the 
selections to be made, and in either case, the 
money might better have been thrown into Lake 
Erie. Sometimes, however, the error will be on 
the other extreme. In the effort to avoid the 
trashy, books are selected which are as useless, 
prosy and ponderous as a disquisition, ia twu 
quai’to volumes, on the distinction "’twixt tweedle¬ 
dum and tweedle-dee.” As the one class of read¬ 
ing will be eagerly devoured to the positive injury 
of the reader, so the other class will be utterly 
rejected; and thus it ia that but a small portion 
comparatively of the library answers the intended 
purpose. 
There is an old maxim which says:—“Train up 
a child in the way he should go, and when he is 
old he will not depart from it.” If this be true, 
and if it is desirable that the youth should grow 
up to be intelligent, progressive and useful mem¬ 
bers of society, then is it all important that that 
literature which is placed “ by authority” in their 
hands, should be moral iu its tendency, practical, 
instructive, attractive, and entertaining. 
Adrian, Mich., 1857. T. D. Tooker. 
■ ». »---— 
VISIT YOUB SCHOOLS. 
RULES FOR HOME EDUCATION. 
The following rules we commend to all onr pat¬ 
rons and friends, for their excellence, brevity, and 
practical utility. They are worthy of being print¬ 
ed in letters of gold, and of being placed in a 
conspicuous place in every household. It is 
lamentable to contemplate the mischief, misery 
and ruin which are the legitimate fruit of those 
deficiencies which are pointed out in the rules to 
which we have reference. Let every parent and 
guardian read, ponder and inwardly digest: 
L From your children’s earliest infancy, incul¬ 
cate the necessity of instant obedience. 
2. Unite firmness with gentleness. Let your 
children always understand that yon mean what 
you aay. 
3. Never promise them anything unless you are 
quite sure you can give them what you say. 
4. If you tell a child to do something, show him 
how to do it, and see that it is done. 
5. Always punish your children for wilfully dis¬ 
obeying you, hut. never punish them in anger. 
6 . Never let them perceive that they vex you or 
make you lose your self-command. 
7. If they give way to petulenee or ill-temper, 
wait, till they are calm, and then gently reason 
with them on the impropriety of their conduct. 
8 . Remember that a little present punishment, 
when occasion arises, is much more effectual than 
the threatening of a greater punishment should 
the fault be renewed. 
9. Never give your children anything because 
they cry for it. 
10. On no account allow them to do at one time 
what you have forbidden, under the same circum¬ 
stances, at another. 
11 . Teach them that the only sure and easy way 
to appear good is to be good. 
12. Accustom them to make their little recitals 
with perfect truth, 
13. Never allow of tale-bearing. 
14 Teach them self-denial, not self-indulgence, 
of an angry and resentful Bpirit 
If these rules are reduced to practice—daily 
practice—by parents and guardians, how much 
misery would be prevented, how many in danger 
of ruin would be saved, how largely would the 
happiness of a thousand domestic circles, be aug¬ 
mented. It is lamentable to see how extensive is 
paternal neglect, and to witness the bad and dread¬ 
ful consequences in the ruin of thousands. 
-«■» 
X 3irCATIOJr.AIi INFLUENCE OF A NEWSPAPER. 
A school teacher who has been engaged a 
long time in bis profession, and witnessed the in¬ 
fluence of a newspaper on the minds of a family of 
children, writes in the Ogdensburg Sentinel, as 
follows: 
I have found it to be the universal fact, without 
exception, that those scholars of both sexes and 
all ages who have had access to newspapers at 
home, when compared with those who have 
not, are 
1. Better readers, excelling in pronunciation, 
and consequently reading more understanding^. 
2. They are better spellers, and define words 
! with ease and accuracy. 
3. They obtain a practical knowledge of geogra¬ 
phy in almost half the time it requires others, as 
the newspapers has made them familiar with the 
location of the most important places, nations, 
their governments, and their doings on the globe. 
l. Th*y are better grammarians, for having be¬ 
come so familiar with every variety in tne news 
paper, from the common-place advertisement to 
the finished and classical oration ot statesmen, 
they more readily comprehend the meaning of the 
text, and consequently analyze its construction 
with accuracy. 
- 4 .»- 
EDUCATION. 
If I were to reduce to a single maxim the con¬ 
centrated wisdom of the world, on the subject of 
practical education, I should but enunciate a prop¬ 
osition which, I fear, is not incorporated as it 
should be, into the practice of schools and fami¬ 
lies. That principle is, that in educating the 
young, yon serve them most effectually, not by 
what you do for them, but what you teach them to 
do for themselves. The popular opinion seems to 
be, that education is putting something into the 
Kiflpaplg —fa. 8. 
the idea that yon care scarcely more than a fig’s 
value about his progress there: your girl thinks 
you are too busy about more important matters 
than to worry about her recitations. Grammar is 
dry as dust to them. Geography is tedious, Arith¬ 
metic ia a bore, Reading is horrid, Writing is their 
special abomination. You talk of Btocks and 
Senatorsliips, of the war and free trade. The 
young ones learn to think their studies very small 
matters in comparison with yours. 
But visit your school to-day. Hear a lesson or 
two recited. Learn from their teachers what their 
standing is, in what they oftenest fail, in whatthoy 
excel See who sits next to them in the school 
room. 8ee how they compare in personal appear¬ 
ance—whether they look happy and at home. If 
acquainted with their school habits, you cauuot 
possibly avoid talking of them. Making their 
matters subjects of home conversation will cer¬ 
tainly stimulate them to better efforts—make better 
scholars of them. By all means, then, visit your 
schools, Go alone, if no one will go with you.— 
You will always be welcomed by the teacher. 
-4-*-4»- 
Packing Thought.—Do not assume that, be¬ 
cause you have something important to communi¬ 
cate, it is necessary to write a long article. A 
tremendous thought may ho packed into a small 
compass—made as solid as a cannon ball, and, like 
the projectile, cut down all before it. Short arti¬ 
cles are generally more effective, find more read¬ 
ers, and are more widely copied than long ones. 
Park your thoughts close together, and though your 
article may be brief, it will have weight, and be 
more likely to make an Impression. 
" Ye who writo for tills busy age,” says a late 
writer, “speak quick, use short sentences, never 
stop the reader with a long or ambiguous word, 
but let the stream of thought flow right on, and 
men will drink It like water.” 
Soi*ui8tuy ia like u window curtain; it pleases 
as an ornament, bnt its use is to keep out the light. | 
| 5| ;p 
Am 
FISHER AMES 
- mind of a child, by exercising merely its power of 
You could not do a better thing. Your boy has receptivity, its memory. I say nay, nay, nay.— 
The great principle on which a child should be 
educated, is not that of reception, but rather that 
of action, aud It will ever remain uneducated, iu 
the highest sense, so long as its higher mental 
powers remain inert. It was well said by the emi¬ 
nent Dr. Mason, “ Let the aim of education be to 
convert the mind Into a living fountain, and not a 
reservoir:' That which is filled by merely pump¬ 
ing in, will be emptied by pumping out.— Selected. 
Education. —Everything is education—the train 
of thought you are indulging this hour; the so¬ 
ciety in which you will spend the evening; the 
conversations, walks and incidents of to-morrow. 
And so it ought to be. We may thank the world 
for its infinite means of impression and excitement 
which keep our faculties awake and in action, 
while it is onr important office to preside over that 
action, and guide it to some divine result — John 
Foster. 
-- ■ 
They who read about everything, are thought to 
understand everything, too, but it is not always so. 
Reading furnishes the mind ouly with the materi¬ 
als of knowledge; it is thinking that makes what 
we read ours. Wo are of the ruminating kind, 
and It is not enough to cram ourselves with a great 
load of collections — we must chew them over 
again.— Charming. 
-♦- 
A luuuT education is not merely the reading of 
many books, but the ability of making knowledge 
useful to ourselves and others. It is not simply to 
acquire influence over our fellow creatures, but to 
make that Influence subservient to moral excel¬ 
lence and piety. 
-4—4- 
Antiquities. —To confine our studies to mere 
antiquities, is like reading by candle-light, with 
our shutters closed, after the sun has risen. 
Tub wise man blushes at his faults, but is not 
ashamed to amend them. 
Fisher Ames, bo widely known as an eloquent i 
orator and distinguished statesman, was horn in l 
Dedham, Massachusetts, on the 9th of April, 1758. < 
He sprung from one of the oldest and most re- : 
spectable families in the jncient commonwealth. • 
His father was a physician of some celebrity in 
Dedham. In 1774 he was graduated at Harvard I 
College, Cambridge, Massachusetts. Having com- i 
pleted bis academic course with much credit to i 
himself, he determined on the study of law, and i 
opened an office in his native village in the au- '■ 
tumn of 178L 
Although young Ames took a deep interest the i 
stirring scenes of the Revolution, and sympathized, i 
with his whole heart, with the patriots, he was too i 
young to take any active part in them. When he 
came to man's estate, he retained his interest in 
the growth and progress of the young States, and . 
was early called by his fellow-citizens to take part 
in the councils of hiB native town and State, as 
well as of those of the nation. Besides the publi¬ 
cation of many striking articles in the journals of 
the day, in which the affairs of the nation were so 
skillfully discussed &b to give evidence ot a very 
thorough knowledge of the science of govern¬ 
ment and politics, an opportunity was afforded in 
the convention called in his native state, “for the 
consideration and ratification of the Federal Con¬ 
stitution,” and of which he was chosen a member, 
for a more striking display of his oratorical 
powers, and the brilliancy of his genius. The 
xpecoUse h« delivered ia this convention took his 
friends and the world by surprise, and at once es¬ 
tablished his reputation as one of the ablest and 
most eloquent debaters of that day. 
When at length, in 1783, the general government 
of the United States went into operation under 
the Federal Constitution, Mr. Ames was elected a 
member of Congress from his native district, re¬ 
taining his seat through the whole of Washing¬ 
ton’s administration, of which he was an able and 
efficient supporter. Daring the whole time Mr. 
Ames was in Congress, he was one of the most 
efficient debators of the important questions which 
came before that body. With a comprehensive 
SKETCH OF MIBABEAU. 
If oratory is to be judged of by the substantial 
powers it confers, we do not know where, in all 
history, a greater orator is to be found than Mira- 
beam In him, the manifestation of a powerful 
mind and of an indomitable will, took the form of 
eloquence—so that it was not with him an art. 
His voice and figure were in keeping with his ora¬ 
tory—stern and terrible. The control which Mira- 
beau held over all factions and parties in the 
stormy period of his meteor-like career is attested 
by facta which form the history of the time. The 
court aud the assembly, the throne and the clubs, 
were swayed by him. He ruled from the tribune. 
The fulminations of the Olympic thunderer were 
not more startling or overwhelming even in the 
descriptions of the poets, than were Mirabean’s 
resounding tones when he roused himself to the 
full mastery of bis tempestuous realm. Lamar¬ 
tine, in his history of the Girondists, narrating the 
circumstances of Mirabeau’s death, thus speaka of 
him: 
His eloquence, though popular in its style, was 
that of a patrician. His democracy was delivered 
from a lofty position, and comprised none of the 
covetousness and hate which excite the vilest pas¬ 
sions of the human heart, and which see in good 
done for the people nothing but an insult to the 
nobility. His popular seotitneuts were In some 
aort bnt the liberality of his genius. The vast ex- 
pansivenesa of his mighty soul had no resemblance 
with the paltry impulses of demagogues. In ac¬ 
quiring rights for the people he seemed as though 
he bestowed them. He was a volunteer of democ¬ 
racy. Ho recalled, by his port and his bearing, to 
those democrats bebiudhim, that from the time of 
the Gracchi to his own, tribunes who most served 
the people had sprang from the ranks of the patri¬ 
cians. His talents, unequalled for philosophy of 
thought, for depth of reflection, loftiness of expres¬ 
sion, was another kind of aristocracy, which could 
never be pardoned iu him. Nature placed him in 
> the foremost rank, and death only created a space 
i around him for secondary minds. They all en¬ 
deavored to acquire bis position, and all endea¬ 
vored in vain. The tears they shed upon his coffin 
t were hypocritical. The people only wept sn sin¬ 
cerity, because the people were too strong to be 
insight of the subject ia hand, greatly superior to 
many older and more experienced legislators, his 
eloquent reasoning made the rough places smooth, 
rafrlmtji fjfeiiigs. 
Fot Moore's Rural New-Yorker. 
INQUIRING THE WAY. 
BY KliWAKD KNOWLES. 
Anxious am I to know the way 
That leads to life, at last: 
Tell me, brother, the hour of day. 
For fear the time is past. 
I feel this heavy load of sin 
That causes all my grief, 
And groaning from the depths within, 
I wander for relief. 
God of all mercy, love and grace! 
I hear the gospel call. 
And rising in my deep disgrace, 
I come to yield my all. 
And though I come to learn Thy will, 
In sin and sorrow dumb. 
Yet penitent, and hopeful still, 
Ruined and lost, I come. 
For Moore's Rural New-Yorker. 
BLIGHTED HOPES. 
As we look abroad, the eye cannot fail to see 
withered hopes, and blasted prospects at every 
glance; hearts torn and bleeding under misfortune's 
cruel breath. 
The young start out on life’s journey with pros¬ 
pects tinted with all the glowing haesof fan%y and 
build hopes high &a heaven itself; they anticipate 
nothing in the future but prosperity and peace.— 
But often, very often, death fixes its iron grasp 
upon them, and there ia no release. The pleasures 
of the world are relinquished, those golden prom¬ 
ises are never realized, and with disappointed 
hopes they droop and die. 
How very mauy are striving with all their ener¬ 
gies to amass a large portion of this world’s goods. 
They seem willing to forego all the pleasures of 
home; the society of friends, and the comforts of 
life, aud confront dangers of every form that they 
may secure the riches of earth, but soon adversity 
and carried conviction to the heart and judgment 1 comes with its blighting influences, t eu proper y 
of those who listened to him. When, towards the aD< l triends vanish at its approach, 
close of the last session of which he was a mem- much of our time is spent in dreaming of 
her, the question relative to the appropriations bliss awaiting us here; we are constantly de- 
necessary to carry into effect the British treaty was vising plans whereby we may enhance our own 
the subject of debate before the house, Mr. Ames happiness, but reality soon comes, and with one 
although in a very feeble state of health, made stroke of her sober hand sweeps the bright treas- 
such an overwhelming argument that the opposi- nres from our view, leaving a void behind. Yet 
tion begged that the vote might, not then betaken, we are creatures of hope; we sail dream, fancy, 
as the effect of his speech was such as to unfit the an d anticipate, until we reach that point where we 
members to vote dispassionately. What a tribute read our own destiny iu language too plain to be 
to his eloquence and reasoning powers! ‘ mistaken. 
This w« the tat great effort of hie life; and, ■«“« a ®““"f *?““f 
feeling that it would be, he made each touching 36 tating as eaaen use w.e.e i.appo.n 
allusion " to bis own slender and almost broken ment never en.ers, and ■■ neung ■ as s „re 
thread of life. • that his audience was visibly af- never lelt. We mayhave all onr earthly prospects 
tlliCaU v/l Illv, LUtllJ iAia auuiuuvu TV 1*0 . , , , . 1 . , 
reeled, and he was so mnch exhaosted with the ""4 Uawamf prove alee, bnt tin. hope 
-u-a .Wot willnever fail us. Adversity, with us dark waters, 
effort, that his friends feared that it might aceel 
erate his disease. 
At the close ot the session, Mr. Ames traveled 
south, and visited several of the watering places 
in Virginia, by which, his health wa3 considerably 
benefited. About this time, the College of New 
Jersey conferred on him the title of Doctor of 
Laws. Declining to be a candidate for re-electioD, 
he retired to his paternal acres, w4iere, with the 
exception of consenting to serve a few years as a 
member of the council, he remained a private citi¬ 
zen to the close of hia life. 
A few years, before hia decease, he was chosen | 
President of the Harvard University, but declined 
the honor on account of his health. Indeed, his 
disease had so preyed on his constitution that he 
found himself compelled to give up entirely the 
duties of his profession, solacing himself with the 
may surround us, threatening to submerge our 
frail barks beneath the angry waves. Yet in 
Christ we are secure, and if faithful to our trust, 
we shall possess this treasure and be at rest 
forever. Lydia. 
Stafford, N. Y., 1S57. 
- 4—4 - 
DUTIES OF DAILY LIFE. 
Life is not entirely made up of great evils or 
heavy trials; but the perpetual recurrence of pet¬ 
ty evils and small trials, is the ordinary and ap¬ 
pointed exercise of the Christian graces. To bear 
with the tailings of those about us—with their in¬ 
fluence, their bad judgment, their ill breeding 
their perverse tempera—to endure neglect when 
we feel we deserved attention, and ingratitude 
when we expected thanks—to bear with the com- 
oversight of his farm and the pleasure of society [ ^“J^^bi^Tple whom Providence has 
and of home. Here, beloved and respected by aU, * ^ ^ 0Qr and vhom He has provided or 
sustained and cheered by an unclouded Christian | * for the trial of oar virtae-these are the 
faith, he waited for the approach of death, and ^eat axetidses of patience and self-denial, and the 
went, at last, better because not chosen by oarselves. To bear 
“ Like one who wraps the drapery of his couch with vexat ion in business, with disappointment in 
About him, and lies down to pleasant dreams.” ... . . _ ..._. . ... „ 
_ _ ___ our expectations, with interruptions of our retire¬ 
ment, with folly, intrusion, disturbance—in short, 
| jealous, and they, iar from reproaching Mirabeau ^ whatever opposes our will, contradicts our 
with his birth, loved him in that nobility as though Junior_ t his habitual acquiescence appears to he 
it were a spoil carried off from the aristocracy. more of the essence of self-denial than any little 
Moreover the nation, disturbed at seeing its insti- Qr afflictlons of our own imposing. These 
tutions crumbling away one by one. and dreading OOMtant inevitable, hut inferior evils, properly 
a total destruction, felt instinctively that the t 0Ted> fornish a good moral discipline, and 
genius of a great man was the last stronghold left M iu the daja of ignorance, have superseded 
to them. Tbts genius quenched, it saw only dark- u image and penance.- Hannah Moore. 
sustained and cheered by an unclouded Christian J 
faith, he waited for the approach of death, and 
went, at last, 
“ Like one who wraps the drapery of his couch 
About him, and lies down to pleasant dreams.” 
| jealous, and they, iar from reproaching Mirabeau 
with his birth, loved him in that nobility as though 
it were a spoil carried off from the ariatocracy.— 
Moreover the nation, disturbed at seeing its insti¬ 
tutions crumbling away one by one. and dreading 
a total destruction, felt instinctively that the 
genius of a great man was the last stronghold left 
to them. Tbts genius quenched, it saw only dark¬ 
ness and precipices before the monarchy. The 
Jacobins alone rejoiced Loudly, for it was only he 
who could outweigh them. 
It was on the Oth of April, 1791, that the Na¬ 
tional Assembly resumed its sittings. Mirabeau’s 
place, left vacant, reminded each gazer of the im¬ 
possibility of again filling it; consternation was 
impressed on every countenance in the tribunes, 
and a profound silence pervaded the meeting.— 
M. fie Talleyrand announced to the assembly a 
posthumous address to Mirabeau. They would 
hear of him though dead. The weakened echo of 
his voice seemed to retain to his country from the 
depth of the vaults of the Pantheon. The reading 
was mournful. Parties were burning to measure 
their strength free from any counterpoise. Impa¬ 
tience and anxiety were paramount, and the strug¬ 
gle was imminent. The arbitrator who controlled 
them was no more.— Maeauley. 
A Chilb’s Idea of Washington.—A short time 
since, a little boy of four summers was carefully 
examining some pictures, amoug which was one 
Of the tomb of Washington. Taking the picture 
up, he asked his mother “ what that picture was.” 
He was told that it was a picture of Washington’s 
tomb. The little follow thought a moment, and 
looking up. said, 11 Mother, I don’t see how they 
ever got so great a man us Washington in a tomb!” 
Revenge and Gratitude.— An act by which we 
' make one friend and one enemy, is a losing game; 
because revenge is a much stronger principle than 
gratitude. 
4»» 
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 
There are some moments in existence which 
comprise the power of years, as thousand of roses 
are compressed into a few drops of their essence. 
What can be more foolish than to think that all 
this rare fabric of heaven and earth could come 
together by chance, when all the skill of art is not 
able to make an oyster? To see rare effects and 
no cause, and motion without a mover, a circle 
without a centre, aud time without eternity, a 
second without a first, are things so against phi¬ 
losophy aud natural reason, that he must ngeds he 
a weakling in understanding who does not assent 
to them. The thing formed says that nothing 
formed it—that that which is made is, and that 
which made it is not. This folly is infinite.— Jere¬ 
my Taylor. 
—-- 4—4 - 
God is often lost in prayers and ordinances.— 
“ Enter into thy chamber,” said He, “ and shut thy 
door about thee.” “ Shut thy door about thee,” 
means; shut out not only frivolity, but business; not 
only the company abroad, but the company at 
home; it meats—let the poor soul have a little 
rest aud refreshment, and God have opportunity to 
speak to thee in a still smaU voice, or He will speak 
t« thunder. I am persuaded the Lord would of¬ 
ten speak more softly if we would shut the door.— 
Cecil. 
- 4 - 
Humility. —Men from deep places can see the 
stars at noonday; and from the utter depths of her 
self-abasement, she (the Syro-Phcenivian woman) 
catches the whole blessed mystery of Heaven: like 
St. Paul’s Christian, “in having nothing, she pos¬ 
sesses all things.” No humility tsperlect and pro¬ 
portioned, but that which makes os hate ouselves 
as corrupt, but respect ourselves as immortal; the 
humility that kneels in the dust, but gazeB on the 
skies.— Archer Butter. 
No man on a death-bed ever regretted any act 
of self-dental or benevolence done by himself. 
