vw lAivwwy 
344 
MOORE’S RURAL NEW-YORKER: AN AGRICULTURAL AND FAMILY NEWSPAPER. 
OCT. 24 
its’ Bfltl-tffllifl. 
CONDUC i KD BY A2ILK. 
For Moore's Rural New-Yorker. 
THE LOVER. 
BY JULIA M. SADLER. 
A tiny Btep is on the stair, 
A singing roice upon the air, 
A cutty head within the door, 
A tired form upon the floor; 
And two lustrous eyes oi blue, 
Speaking volumes all so true, 
Fix their wondering gaze on me, 
As the sweet voice saith, with glee, 
“ You have got a lover." 
He is very fair to see, 
And each night he blesses me— 
Sometimes drives away my fear, 
Don’t you love him, mother dear? 
Once a glistening blood-stained tear 
Fell upon my cheek, right there, 
Yes, I kept awake to tell. 
And 1 saw it as it fell. 
For he loveeyou, mother. 
And I wondered why be cried, 
Why he looked on yon and (sighed, 
Why he was so strangely fair, 
Why he bowed his head in prayer, 
And I wondered why he died. 
For he had a wounded side— 
Tell me, mother, did you know 
(And the voice grew soft and low,) 
Jesus was your lover? 
Brockport, N. Y. 1857. 
For Moore's Rural New-Yorker. 
WOMAN.—HEK INFLUENCE AND MISSION. 
Woman!— woman’s influence, dignity, aim, and 
mission, and woman’s rights and wrongs—what are 
these? Are they mere words with no meaning or 
application? Does woman possess no identity in 
the created universe that her interests should he 
thus lightly regarded? Nay! woman is the work¬ 
manship of the same Great Architect as her brother 
man—who was first formed to rei,:n over vast 
creation supreme with iron will and lordly mien; 
and then she, a gentler being, with like faculties 
and equal power. A power consisting not in her 
physical strength, but in an in/lutnce so compli- lonely.” 
.'k.. * •_ _ . ( « _ 
for her brother man and truly a blessing upon the 
earth. Then the iron grates of our prison houses 
would fall from their holdings and the gallows rot 
in idleness. The victims of 6in and oppression 
would cease to cry in vain, and the graves of the 
broken-iiej.rted never again fill our land. But not 
until the females of our own age fulfill their desti¬ 
ny, will the high and noble mission they are sent 
to perform be seen, felt, acknowledged, and com¬ 
pleted. And now, I ask, are we faithful in our 
part? Shall we still content ourselves with know¬ 
ing what woman has done, and not endeavor to 
show what she can yet do? Nora C. Papdock. 
Gainesville Female Seminary, 1S57. 
For Moore’s Rural New-Yorker 
“ I’M LONELY.” 
It was night. Alone a weather-beaten sailor 
paced the deck, gazing on the calm, moon-lit 
waters; but his thoughts were far away, with 
friends on the other side of the great ocean. A 
warm heart dwells beneath that rough exterior, 
and, as he thinks, a tear-drop trickles o’er the sun¬ 
burnt cheek, and he sighs—“I’m lonely.” 
A wanderer from home, traveling in foreign 
lauds, and feasting his eyes on their beauties, turns 
from them with a longing heart, thinking of his 
own quiet fireside, and mnrmurs—“I’m lonely.” 
An orphan stands by the grave of his mother.— 
She had been the only friend he had on earth for 
a long time. Now she is gone, and he has none 
left to love or care for him. It is no wonder then 
that the bright bine eyes fill with tears, and he re¬ 
peats to himself, half unconsciously— 1 >• I’m lonely, 
Oh! so lonely.” 
A husband returns from the newiy-made grave 
of his wife to his home. How changed it seems 
as he wanders from room to room. Here his eye 
rests upon her harp, from which her hand was 
wont to draw torth tones that sweetly blended 
with her voice as she sang some favorite air of his. 
Now the hand is cold in death, and never again 
will it sweep those strings. There in the library 
lay a hook which they had been reading together. 
He seats himself upon a chair, and takes up the 
volume. Here and there are traces of her pencil 
where Bho had marked some favorite passage. He 
lays it down again, and burying his face in his 
hands, exclaims, with a groan of anguish,—“I’m 
fjJwBllauy. 
For Moore’s Rural New-Yorker 
CAUTION. 
Deem not thy hopes 
Unfailing and sure, 
For the light of to-morrow 
Clouds may obscure; 
Think not all noble, 
For guilt will olt wear 
The semblance of goodness, 
Its aspect all fair. 
If tried friends surround thee 
With affection's warm smile, 
Bask in its sunlight, 
For 'tis without guile; 
But of the Binile of the stranger 
’Tig well to beware, 
It hath lur'd others to sorrow, 
And thine may be there. 
Think not earth's bitter waters 
Have no chalice for thee, 
There’s a draught for all lips, 
And thine are not froo; 
The flower thou hast nurtur’d 
May fade in its bower, 
And the tone that wakes gladness 
May be hushed in an hour. 
For the hand of affection 
That strokes fondly thy brow, 
Death may be commission’d 
To Bpeed the shaft now. 
And the voice that like music 
Wakes gladness and cheer, 
May be hush'd into silence, 
Or fall cold on tliine ear. 
Then think not earthly hopes 
Unfailiug and sure, 
For the light of to-morrow 
Clouds may obscure; 
But beyond Death’s dominion 
Dawns a bright day, 
Where the spirit uncumber’d 
Will soar from his sway. 
Stockbridge, N. Y., 1857. C. G. S. 
For Moore's Rural New-Yorker. 
NOTES OF ODB “PAIR.” 
doors, and were soon watching premium-badgeg 
tossed in the air by their proud owners, who 
stamped and snorted to the last extreme of high¬ 
bred horse-and-cattle-romance; It was said that 
this part of the exhibition was better than at any 
previous time. 
After this was an Indian race, in which the 
“dark-browed” performers acquitted themselves 
OCTOBER. 
We think October the pleasantest month of all 
the year. There is such a jolly mellowness about 
it that, were we to attempt to embody it we should 
draw a fat comfortable man of fifty, or thereabouts, 
with a basket of pears on bis arm, bound for the 
Gazette office, perhaps, with a wreath of vines, 
_s < • . . . . 
bravely, but we couldn’t help wondering if their and S rn P es around his bead, his face very ruddy, 
“squaws ” wouldn't have rather a hard time before an< * ft Bm ^ e around his lips betokening content,— 
their heel cords grew elastic again. There are those who call October sad, and sigh 
Then came the riding of the ladies, and we are ° ver tbe chang, f b ringB wfih lugubrious 
for “Woman’s Rights” far enough to say they had aceB ’ Tbe S ,or * ous ripeness of Nature has few 
a right to ride there if they wished, while it is our c arras t0 Bncbi They read mortality in the 
right to think a woman should never run a horse “ IjCftres tllnt Dio night-wind bears 
on a slippery track, if she values her neck. T " enrtli ' fi cold bo * om "' ith a s >gh," 
As we attended but one day, we missed a part of a . nri m0, ' ,rn in ira nginaiy sackcloth over the levity 
the proceedings—the Address, Plowing Match, &o., t bn * btj treeB display in waving 
but we saw and heard enough t,o keep us in r,biuk- " ^ lie ‘ r Blinn 7' c °l &r < !( l foliage in the breeze." 
ing material for some time, and from our experi- D i 3 best month in all the year in which to 
rience would say to all, attend your County Pair, viai* the country. “The valleys sick with heat” 
choosing a time when rain is not the “ order of the are scm ' cooled down into bearable temperature, 
day,” if possible—see all you can, profit by it, talk “ Th® rivulet, late unseen 
and write about it if you will, and the time thus Where bickering through the shrubs its waters run, 
spent will stand among the “ white days ” of your Skines with thf ' ima « e of its » olden Rcreen » 
life, for you will gain a stronger love for our earth- , An<1 g1injmerillgB oi lJie sun " 
mother, and a deeper reverence for Creative rbe wa ' n groans with its rich freight of sheaves, 
Power, feeling, as you must, that " God speaks in an< * tbe S°lden maize lends its amazed ears to the 
Nature;” while you grow also more familiar with a PP Pad ot sickle; the heart is made fruitful of 
the crafty handiwork of those who hold different ; ( ’ 00d emot ’ l)D8 b Y tbe fruitage of the Beason, real- 
“spokes” from yours on the ever-revolving wheel ' z ‘ ng 8ttl ^ Bacb BCeues > if rightly at- 
of earth-labor. Ellen C. Lake. tuned, the bounty of the good Father and tbe 
Charlotte Centre, N. Y., 1857. tenderness or bis care, and the sonl feels a strong- 
cated, so wily in its origin, that she alone can 
touch the secret spring of action whioh will ele¬ 
vate, strengthen and quicken a career so wayward 
as that of man. 
Woman’s influence was coeval with her existence. 
When our first parents roamed sinless amid the 
fragrant bowers of Eden, the tempter availed him¬ 
self of that influence to bring misery and wo into 
tbe world, and thus it has left its impress for ill 
upon every nation in every clime. But not alone 
for ill has this influence been felt. On the fertile 
banka of the Nile it moved a regal heart, to mercy, 
and the scarcely perceptible mins of Carthage 
still bear the traces ol its power. It ie seen in the 
frozen regions of the North, and on the sunny 
plains of the South. We read it on Iceland’s 
rock-bound coast, by the light of her burning 
Hecla, where devotion’s flame is kindled by the 
hearth stone through the influence of woman._ 
’Tis this that warms the heart of the poor fisher¬ 
man and glows in the bosom of him wbo threads 
the dizzy paths among the beetling cliffB of the 
mountain’s brow, for his mother has taught him 
“ to feel that he hangs on the Almighty’s arm.”— 
The ocean waves which lash old Plymouth Rock 
forever sound her name. And thousands of heath¬ 
en voices, from every isle in the great deep, raised 
in prayer and praise to God, speak a language 
more emphatic in her favor than oocld the most 
splendid mausoleums of human art. 
Yea, woman has power to mold the elements of 
society and make them mingle in harmony, or she 
may scatter far and wide the germs of discord and 
strife. She may cause virtue and religion to be 
respected, or vice and immorality to rule the 
hearts of meu, She may encourage honesty, in¬ 
dustry and temperance, or swell the tide of im¬ 
mortal bouIs taBt sinking to an ignominious grave. 
The daughter and the sister have their influence, 
but ’tU the mother who weaves the garlands that 
flourish in eternity. She stamps the lines so in¬ 
delibly upon that young soul that all the water¬ 
floods of Time erase them not, nor stern Death, as 
ho peruses them when he seals up the scroll of 
life for the Judgment Bar. What moves the heart 
oi yon ocean boy in his lone watches? Wbat is 
called up from memory’s store-house when the 
billows are dashing high—when the storm-spirit 
rides o’er the face of the deep, and there’s but a 
plank between him and eternity? The hours ot 
childhood, the evening prayer,—taught, perhaps 
by a sainted mother ,—ato again in his ears, and he 
calls upon that mother’s God in penitence and 
tears. 
In yonder high-walled prison there is a stern- 
visaged man; crime has blackened his heart and 1 
steeled it to suffering and ein. The love of a Re- ] 
deenaer, the joys of Heaven, and the terrors* of 
remorse are heard unheeded, but the name of 
“tnother-' moves the adamant and conquers vice i 
and pride. Then does not woman’s mission most ■ 
sarely commence at home, where around the fireside 1 
circle are clustered loved and cherished ones?— I 
i Beside a lifeless form a woman kneels. ’Tis the 
corpse of him she had loved better t’nun her own 
life. He had been her all, and his unchanging 
affection had sweetened each bitter cup of sorrow. 
But tho hours of bliss are ended. She knows that 
it is so. And, as she thinks there is none left to 
cheer her heart in time of trouble, with sympathy, 
—no one to smooth life’s rough path, and shield 
her from harm,—no strong arm on which to lean 
when trials come—the tears flow slresh trom her 
eyes, and in the bitterness of her grief she sobs— 
" I’m so lonely, to lonely.” 
’Tis midnight; and in an upper room a maiden 
sits, leaning her bead against the window sasb, und 
gazing with longing, wishful eyes at the starry 
heavens. Her face wears an expression of sad¬ 
ness, and could you read her heart, you’d find that 
she is sighing for sympathy this cold world does 
not afford, and saying, in her inmost sou!_“I’m 
lonely.” 
How often we hear this expression—” I’m lone¬ 
ly.” As we look back over memory’s record of 
the past, we find many pages which would be en¬ 
tirely blank were it not for these words, traced 
there in times of sorrow, when we lacked language 
to express the heart’s anguish, save in this short 
sentence. There are times in the lives of all when 
the sun seems darkened, and all around appears 
gloomy and desolate. Tnenwelookfor sympathy, 
and finding it not, cry—"I'm lonely.” 
But there is a land which sorrow never enters, 
where tbe snn never ceaBes to shine, and flowera 
ever bloom. There no storm-cionds ever rise, no 
tempests darkly lower. Beauties It hath that 
tongue can never tell, and pen can never portray. 
The inhabitants of that celestial land know no 
sickness, pain, or anguish. There “the wicked 
cease from troubling, and the weary are at rest” 
There none Bigh for sympathy, or feel that they 
are lonely. All is peace, joy, and love. It is 
Heaven. Willie Wentworth. 
Gorham, N. Y. f 1857. 
-- 
The Mothers. —It has been truly said—“The 
first being who rnahes to the recollection of a sol¬ 
dier or a sailor, in his heart’s difficulty, is his 
mother. She cliDgs to his memory and affection 
in the midst of all the forgetfulness sad hardihood 
induced by a roving life. The last message he 
leaves is for her; bia last whisper breathes her, 
name. The mother, as she instils the lessons of 
piety and filial obligation into the heart of her in¬ 
fant son, should always feel that her labor ia not in 
vain. She may drop into the grave—but. she has 
left behind her an influence that will work for her. 
The bow is broken, but the arrow is good and will 
perform its office.’’ 
There iB nothing innocent or good, that dies 
and is forgotten. Let us hold that faith, or none. 
An infant, a prattling child, dying in its cradle, 
will live again in the better thoughts of those who 
loved it; and play its part, through them, In the 
Dreary and dismal in the darkness of this 
stormy October night, and a band of five Senses 
was going slowly toward the land of dreams, 
when one of tbe number, named Sight, caught a 
glimpse of an article in the last Rural— that “good 
angel ” of the farmers,—which brought the whole 
flock back, while Thought dissected the article 
aforesaid. “Shall be glad to receive brief and 
definite reports—noting tho prominent features, 
Ao.,—of all Fairs in this and other States where 
the Rural circulates." 
Now our Fair ought to be “reported,” and tho’ 
wiser heads than this one, can, and perhaps will 
give their ideas of ir, they may be so very wise as 
to write of nothing but fast homes and large cattle, 
plows, and agricultural implements, saying noth¬ 
ing of other items which tend to make a Fair not 
only a farmert\ but a people's exhibition, and for- 
gelling tbe laudable efforts of a certain class of 
“genuine Rura.'.’jts,” done up iu calicoes, ging¬ 
hams, or silks—often formiogpackages of extreme 
“circumbendibus,”—and ticketed the “weaker 
sex.” 
“Woman ” and “ Young America ” were included 
with those who should attend, and as the “gift ofga/i” 
has found a restiDg-pl ace on woman’s tongue and pen 
from time immemorial, I suppose it is intended 
for we; when it is the only “gift,” so with a frown 
for that specimen of tbe •• genus homo ” who dares 
to wonder how “ brief and definite ” the report of a 
feminine can be, we proceed to give our “ impres¬ 
sions.” 
Rain, wind and nmd sadly belied the name given 
the three days of oar County Exhibition, and thfir 
“ degrees of quality ” were appropriately expressed 
by appending to greetings and introductions, “a 
rainy day,” “very unpleasant,” “shocking weather,” 
etc. 
“Shocking weather” was tbe quality we tried, 
and found verified the old proverb reversed,— 
some sweet with all bitter; for notwithstanding the 
dripping, draggled appearance of dresses, and the 
profusion of drooping hats and bonnets, we saw 
but one or two faces that had lost their smiles, and 
perhaps their owners hadn’t read the advice in the 
Rural, and forgot to bring them. 
“ God speed the plow,” was the motto which met 
our eyes as we turned our feet tent-ward, and the 
heart, echoed it maDy timoB before the long array 
of “ things pleasant to the sight ” was hidden from 
view. Words to describe fnlly all that we saw, 
will not come at our bidding, but our estimation 
of the talent, ingenuity, patience and perseverance 
manifested through things inanimate yet speaking, 
was far from low. There were “shadows ” which 
we were almost ready to greet as living, speaking 
substance; gleaming “ magt.icat.oiis” before which 
our nerves gave a slight tremor, and our thoughts 
compared art with nature rather unlavorably to the 
latter,—our dental machinery is of the “Young 
American”class;—“high-heeled boots” so shining 
and mirror-like that, they might serve an econom¬ 
ical purpose for moneyless “swells,” could they 
but lower their heads enough to catch the reflec¬ 
tion on their polished surfaces; a tea-service, gold. 
For Moore’s Rural New-Yorker. 
AUTUMN MUSING8. 
Are you a dreamer? Are you a castle-builder? 
Have you sat for hours, at your open window, and 
watched tbe voiceless, yet eloquent denizenH of 
yon cloudless heaven, and, forgetful of sublunary 
things, sent your fall heart forth on unlimited 
wiugs, beariDg a mission of failing, yet bright aud 
beautiful hopes, into the dim future, rending the im¬ 
penetrable veil, that would hide from mortal vision 
its hoars of grief and pleasure, its dec da of good and 
evil, and shaping for yourself a name and pathway 
through the dim vista of routing yen ra? Ib nature in 
all its phases, a bright and beautiful thing to you? 
Then fair friends ot trine, don your seven-league 
boots, like the fatal' us hero of fairy memory, and 
speed you to my side. Come sit here upon this 
mossy bank beneath the shadow of these broad 
trees, and almost hold your breath, while you listen 
to the murmur of yon running brook, as it mingles 
its fairy music with the mellow notes of the feath¬ 
ered songsters, flitting so lightly from tree to tree, 
and pausing at times, almost at our feet, in their 
spor ivt and fearless pastime. See how the broad 
leaves of the wild grape twine lovingly from bough 
to bough, forming a natural arbor, through whose 
interstices the softened rays of an October sun 
peep ever and anon, flooding lip, nnd cheek, and 
brow with a gentle radiance, and casting a halo 
about our heads purer and fairer than the orown 
of any earthly monarch. Do you not love to gaze 
upon the wild majesty of these rural scenes? Is not 
your heart purer sad better for its voiceless con¬ 
verse with the beauties of nature? What though 
the many-colored leaves float noiselessly to our 
feet, seeming to our excited imaginations to whis¬ 
per of the coming cloud and storm, is not the same 
liueB written upon all things earthly, “passing 
away?” 
“ Oh, give me hack my early days, 
The fresh springs and the bright 
That made the course of childhood's ways, 
A jonrney of delight. 
I would give all that tears have bought, 
Of wisdom, wealth or love, 
For owe sweet hour of early thought, 
This sordid world above." 
Oh, give me back the holy trust, and truth, that 
m8de life seem hut a summer day replete with the 
melody of birds, and the fragrance of flowers, and 
the coming years, like to the pleasant moments 
spent here by tbe brook-side, on this sun-lit autumn 
day. They will come no more. Ah, well for us, 
if we have learned the lesson God Intended, and 
turned from the fading hopes of earthly dreams, 
to the world of which all beautiful things in nature 
are but a dim fore-Bhadowing. One by one, like 
the countless sands upon tbe sea-Bhore, the tide of 
Time’s unwaveringstream carries beyond our grasp 
our fairest hopes, our sunuiest dreams; ruthlessly 
it grasps our idols, levels our towering “ castles” 
with their kindred dust, aud leaves as with open 
eyes, and bleeding hearts, gazing hopelessly upon 
the still smokiug and beautiful ruins. One by one 
we watch the shadows gather on the white fore¬ 
head of the well-beloved, fold the dear hands meekly 
above the pulseless heart, and lay them away to 
Blumber in the “ city of tbe dead." “ Not lost but 
gone before,—bright hopes, sweet dreams, and 
loving hearts, only parted for a season, to meet 
where those true hearts aro doubly purified, by 
tbeir passage over the dark river, those hopes re¬ 
alized, those dreams a pure and beautiful reality. 
Alden, N. Y., 1857. Clara. 
-- 
THE ELEVENTH HOUR. 
Thbrk is a class of people wbo aro always late. 
They are inevitably late to tbe cars, aud they invii- 
e and a Binile around his lips betokeuing content._ 
There are those who call October sad, and sigh 
0 °ver the changes that it. brings with lugubrious 
j faces. The glorious ripeness of Nature has few 
r charms to such. They read mortality in tbe 
0 “ Leaves that the night-wind bears 
To earth's cold bosom with a sigh," 
f nod mourn in imnginaiy sackcloth over the levity 
the bright trees display in waving 
“ Their sunny-colored foliage m the breeze." 
. It i3 the best month in all the year in which to 
■ t visit the country, “The valleys sick with heat” 
j are now cooled down Into bearable temperature. 
C “ The rivulet, late unseen 
. Where bickering through the shrubs its waters run, 
r Shines with the image of its golden Bcreen, 
Aud glimmerings oi tho sun." 
3 The wain groans with its rich freight of sheaves, 
j an fi the golden maize lends its amazed ears to the 
3 appeal of the Bickle; tho heart is made fruitful of 
. good emotions by the fruitage of the Beason, real- 
j izlng as it must amid Buch scenes, if rightly at¬ 
tuned, the bounty of the good Father and the 
tenderness or his care, and the soul feels a strong¬ 
er reliance on the hand that has guided it. 
“ There is a beautiful spirit breathing now 
Its mellow richness on the clustered trees, 
And from a beaker full of richest dyes, 
Pouring new glory on tbe autumn woods, 
And dipping in warm light the pillared clouds. 
Morn on the mountain, like a summer bird, 
Lift* up her purple wing, aad in the rales 
The gentle wind, a sweet .\nd passionate wooer, 
Kisses thu blushing leal', and stirs up life 
Within the solemn woods of ash deep-crimsoned, 
And silver beech, and maple yellow leaved— 
Where Autumn, like a faint old mau, site down 
By the way aide a-weary." 
HoW actively the Spirit of Beauty is engaged in 
October, with a “ sweet and cunning hand ” and a 
lavish pallette, in adorning tbe landscape. What 
rare taste she displays in her touches! 
“ Athwart the varied landscape circling far, 
What gorgeousness, what blazonry, what pomp 
Of colors burst upoD the ravished sight." 
The dilating eye is rapt with the beauty everywhere 
disclosed when 
“ The woods of Autumn, all around our vale 
Have put their glory on.” 
Bryant, with a pensive and melancholy joy, gives 
it expression in the lines— 
“ Ah, ’twere a lot too blest 
Forever in thy colored shades to stray; 
Amidst the kisses of tho soft south-west 
To rove and dream for nye. 
And leave the vain, low strife 
That makes men mad—the tug for wealth and power, 
The passions and the wires that wither life, 
And waste its tittle hour.” 
Whittier’s song of the Hnskers is fa Triliar to all, 
who have enjoyed like scenes: 
*» Swung o'er the heapnd-up harvest, 
From pitchforks in a mow, 
Shone dimly down the lanterns 
On the pleasant scene below; 
The growing piles of husks behind, 
The golden ears before, 
And laughing eyes aud busy hands 
And browu cheeks glimmering o'er.” 
The husking is a great social institution, and par¬ 
ticipants acknowledge few joys superior to the 
satisfaction it affords. The delicious recompense 
for red ears, the kisses from the “corn-fed girls,” 
bewitch one iuto a confession of delight that is 
good for momenta when the old reaper Time shall 
wait to gather him in, in the October of his life, 
and he shall look back, recalling the past with a 
sigh.— Boston Olivette, 
A PICTURE OF A CORN-FIELD. 
We have seen aVmies to-day; with silken plume 
and tassel, uniformed in green they stood, rank 
after rank, as far as we could see. For these nine 
miles have we been flying aloug the lengthened 
line, and to the wind, if not to ns, ten thousand 
glittering blades were waved in grand salute.— 
Most glorious guard for Ceres’ golden court is In¬ 
dian Corn; roost beautiful in the tender blade, and 
graceful in the full aDd ripened ear. What would 
old Joel Barlow, who sang the sweets of Hasty 
Pudding, say to such a scene as we beheld just j 
now! Here indeed It is, that 
“ Like a column of Corinthian mould, 
The stalk struts upward and the leaves unfold; 
The bushy brunches all the ridges (ill, 
Entwine their arms, and kl*s from hill to hill.” 
Like armies deploying on a plain, the corn-fields 
seem, ob wc dash swiftly by; now closing up atthe 
word of some “ voice wc hear,” and now wheeling 
by sections, and marching swiftly and silently 
away. Wo meet detachments a hundred thousand 
strong, hastening to the rendezvous; wo sec them 
afar off. moving by companies along tho Bky line, 
parallel with the rushing train; they approach us 
by regiments; they open upon ub by platoons.— 
Well officered are they all, for the field is full of 
’li3 hers to cheer the drooping spirit there und redeeming actions of the world, though its body en end white as sun-tinged Buintuer clouds; chairs riably have to jump for it. if they aie going upon kernels. They rise upon us, ns if from ambuah, as 
drive away the look of anxious care. ’Tia hers to be burnt to ashes or drowned in the deepest sea. and ottomans in the highest style of frailty and a steamboat jaunt Everything with those people wo come; they shorten like the morning shadows, 
soften all the little woes of life and make of home There iB not an Angel added to the host of Heaven beauty; and such piles of flannel, carpeting, cover- put off until the last moment, and then. If the rs we go. They are the Standing Armies of Egypt 
(that angel place) a heaven of rest—a paradise. but does ita blessed work on Earth in those that lets, and quiitB that one’s eyes were fairly dazzled plank is removed, they stand a capital ohanco of —let them conquer forever .—Chicago Journal. 
Woman’s native place is not upon the stage of loved it here. by their wealth of fancy stripes, and lost in be- jumping overboard, in attempting to leap upon -_ 
public life in legislative halls or ministerial ranks, -■*—•>-— wilderinent among stars, roses, birds and vineB — the deck after the paddle wheels have commenced Little Thinos.— SpringB are little thin"- but 
nor in many of the numerous positions bo univer- Leisure Hours.— It was a beatifni observation Then there was embroidery, crochet work,netting, revolving. If the boat started an hoar later, it they are sources of large streams—a helm is a lit- 
sally allotted to man. Not because she possesses of William Hazlitt, that “ there is room enough in and “ ever so many fandangoes ”—a* tho " mc-n- would be all the same to them, for they would Just tie thing but it governs the course of a ship—a 
a steamboat jaunt Everything with these people 
is put off until the last moment, and then. If the 
plank is removed, they stand a capital ohanco of 
jumping overboard, in attempting to leap upon 
the deck after tho paddle wheela have commenced 
revolving. If the boat started on hoar later, it 
would be all the same to them, for they would Just 
wo come; they shorten like the morning shadows, 
as we go. They are the Standing Armies of Egypt 
—let them conquer forever .—Chicago Journal. 
Little Things.— SpringB are little things, but 
they are sources of large streams—a helm is a lit¬ 
tle thing, but it governs the course of a ship—a 
• - • i i. 11 A « 4 W v wv nuiup) won IV ^VTVIUD LAI U L'JUl DV v/i a DUIU (1 
an interior intellect, as ha? been maintained by human life, to crowd almost every art and science folks” expressed it—whioh needed to be seen in as inevitably be behind time, and come up or bridle bit is a little thinu- but see its nse and 
QATYIA .. _ __ _i m J A V T s /i ^A.- __Ill._x _ i! Aa It. L __it.- .1 _v f _ v n ILtln 4 aa a. I. . *.1.1_ 1 « 
some sordid competitors for paltry power, who 
flourished not many ages since, and even now peo¬ 
ple this world, but because her field is large enough 
aside from those stations. Let her fill her own 
sphere, and then, when naught else remains for her 
to do, Bhe may juBtly turn Her thoughts to the ora¬ 
torical world. But let her first he found among the 
sick—comforting sorrow and alleviating want — 
with gentle words reclaiming the fallen, and with 
true moral courage walking fearlessly amidst fiery 
trials in the path of virtue and rectitude; thus be¬ 
coming a silent but impressive teacher. If every 
female oi the present age would cultivate in her 
heart that germ of what she should be instead of 
encouragiug the tares of «d n and folly to rankle 
there, then, indeed, would she be a meet companion 
in it.” It we pass “no day without a line,” vj'bR no 
place without the compauy of a book, we may with 
ease fill libraries, or empty them of their con¬ 
tents. The more we do, the more we can do: the 
more busy we are, tbe more leisure we have. 
—-•-*-*- 
Gentility is neither in birth, wealth, manner 
nor fashion—but in mind. A high sense of honor, 
adeterminationnever to take advantage of another, 
an adherence to truth, delicacy and politeness to¬ 
ward those with whom we have dealing, are ita 
essential characteristics. 
---a---*- 
The good things which belong to prosperity are 
to be wished, but the good things that belong to 
adversity are to bo admired. 
order to appreciate their beuutk--,and which we 
give you a cordial invitation, country cousins, 
to view t.o your heart’s content at. our next Fair. 
There were paintings, colleotiouB ol flowers, and 
a number of other articles which we could only 
see from a distance, so we omit pissing judgment 
on their beauties or blemishes. 
Lastly came the vegetables and fruit,—enormous 
squashes, plethoric aud lengthy pumpkins, onions 
—glorying, doubtless, in their strength —long 
braids of corn, clusters of crimson tomatoes, bas¬ 
kets of golden apples, and great, downy, red-cheek¬ 
ed peaches,—so significant of inward sweetness that 
for a moment, we were a true daughter of Eve, 
temptation and all,—but turning from them we 
saw that the “live Block” was on parade out of 
down a little too late to take things cool aud com¬ 
fortable. These people have to stir their Btumps 
or he left behind, wh n they have steamboats or 
railroad cars to deal with; but they are the bane 
of the existence of punctual persons with whom 
they have dealings, and who have no resource in 
the way of tapping a big boll or blowing upon a 
steam whistle, to hurry up the delinquent eleventh 
hour meu. One procrastinating man will derange 
tho best laid plans of hundreds, by falling to come 
np to time, and ho wastes hours for others in his 
disregard for minuteB. 
-- 
One rose upon a bush, though but a little one, 
and though not yet blown, proves that which bears 
it to be a true rose tree. 
power; nails and pegs are little things, but they 
hold the large purls of a large building together; 
a word, a look, a frown—all are little things, but 
powerful for good or evil. Think of this, and 
mind tho little thingB, Pay that little debt—it’s 
promised, redeem it—if it’s a shilling, hand it over 
—you know not what important event hangs upon 
it. Keep your word sacredly—keep it to the 
children, they will mark it sooner than any one 
else, and the effect will probably be as lasting as 
life. Mind tbe little things. 
Dean Swift has said with much truth, “it is 
useless to attempt to reason a man out of a thing 
he haB never reasoned into. The best argument 
will be thrown away upon a fool” 
5BEBB 
