408 
MOORE’S RURAL NEW-YORKER: AN AGRICULTURAL AND FAMILY NEWSPAPER. 
DEC. 19. 
fate’ lorl-Jte. 
CONDUCTED BY AZILE. 
A. 
For Moore b Rural New-former 
SKETCH. 
for Moore's Rnral New-Yorker. 
MORNING. 
BT CAROLINE A. HOWARD. 
Dear mother, is it morning yet? 
The night has seemed so long, 
I cannot sleep, my eyelids ache 
With watching for the dawn. 
I long to see the bright sun riBe, 
And kiss the meadow flowers. 
Where brother Will and 1 have played, 
Through many happy hours. 
I long to see my sweet pet lamb, 
My kitten, and my dove; 
Tell brother Wjj.l to kindly care 
For all these things I love. 
For they will all be his, you know, 
When in the ground I’m lain, 
And 'twill be soon; l shall not see 
The morning come again. 
But it is well that thus it is, 
For should I live to see 
The things 1 love by morning light, 
They are so dear to me, 
That I might sigh to leave them all, 
When well I know, how far 
Above all these, my earthly joys. 
The joys of He&Ten are. 
But, mother dear, you weep, 1 feel 
Your tears upon my cheek, 
Although I cannot s e your face, 
And cannot hear your speak. 
Harkl oh! mother, do you hear? 
It is a low, sweet hum 
Of voices. Kiss me, mother dear— 
'Tjs morn! The light is cornel 
She slept. 
All still and calm our darling lay, 
While darkness veiled these lower skies. 
We wept; 
But in that bright world far away, 
The morn had dawned on angel eyes. 
Dedham, Mass., 1857. 
For Moore's Rural New-Yorker 
THE DISTINCTIONS OP SOCIETY. 
It was a bright afternoon in Jane, that our 
family group had assembled, in our little parlor. 
All nature seemed to rejoice with her ever varied 
beauties, but Bad hearts, and tearful eyes were in 
that room, for an elder brother, one we had looked 
to for counsel, was to leave ns, and in that sad 
hoar we were to exchange the farewell hand, per¬ 
haps forever. He was to bid adieu to fond parents 
who had watched over his youthful steps, and to 
brothers and sisters who were as dear to him as 
life itself, and embark upon the boundless deep, 
for a foreign shore. 
He bad in early life given his heart to the 
Savior, and had lived a life of devotedness to His 
cause. He bad labored for the good of others 
within the narrow circle of his home, but his 
sympathies extended to those who bad never felt 
the blessed influences of our holy Christianity, 
those who worshiped idols made with their own 
hands. It was hard to part with one we loved so 
well. one that aged parents had looked to for Bap- 
port and comfort, one that had cheered them with 
kind words when day’s of trial were their’s to en¬ 
dure. But when we remembered “that Christ 
had died that we through Him might have life 
everlasting,” we would not have him sacrifice an 
objeot so pure, an ambition so holy, to gratify the 
feelings of our nature. 
We heard from him after he left our embrace.— 
He was laboring with zeal and success among those 
dark-minded ones, “pointing them to the Lamb 
of God that taketh away the &ins of the world,” 
and many were bowing at Ihe foot of the Cross. 
Three years had passed away, another missive 
finds its way to our lonely dwelling, a stranger’s 
hand had penned those lines. How different the 
contents. Disease had fastened itself upon onr 
brother, and death had claimed him as its own.— 
Although no mother’s hand was there to wipe the 
dews of death from that brow, there was an arm 
all powerful that sustained him in that hour, and 
that safely conducted him through the “Valley 
and Shadow of Death.” We would not wish him 
back, he has escaped the turmoils of life, and his 
spirit rests with God. Lydia Mbkwin. 
Stafford, N. Y., 1857. 
STICK TOGETHER: 
A RHYME POR THE TIMES. 
When rnidBt the wreck of fire aud etnoke, 
When cannons rend the skici asunder, 
And fierce dragoons with quickening stroke, 
Upon the reeling regiment thunder, 
The ranks close up to sharp command, 
Till helmet's feather touches leather; 
Compact, the furious shock they stand 
And oonquer, while they stick together. 
When now 'mid clouds of woe and want 
Oar comrade's wails rise fast and taster, 
Aud charging madly on our front 
Come the black legions of Disaster, 
Shall we present them a wavering band. 
And fly like leaves before wild weather? 
Noi side by Bide, and band in hand 
We'U stand our ground and stick togetberl 
God gave us hands—one left, one right; 
The first to help ourselves, the other 
To stretch abroad in kindiy might 
And help along our failing brother. 
Then when you see a brother fall 
And bow his head beneath the weather, 
If you he not a dastard all, 
You’ll help him up, and stick together. 
-*- 
For Moore's Rnral New-Yorker 
WINTER. 
AN ANCIENT TOAST. 
Wb call ourselves Republicans and boast of our 
land of free and equal rights, and yet in no coun¬ 
try on the face of the gLobe are persons more 
slaves to public opinion and to that "monster 
god,” money, who rales the world with an iron 
sway. We estimate acquaintances in proportion 
to the splendor of their dress, aud the length of 
their purses. Do you doubt this? Pause and 
think, reader, if you have not some friend, gifted, 
perchance, hut poor, whom you blush to recognize 
in his Bbabby apparel, and would even disclaim 
all knowledge of him rather than introduce him 
to some fashionable acquaintance. And suppose 
thiB same person Bhould fall heir to a handsome 
fortune, would you not be the first to call upon 
him, to plead old friendship, or even some near¬ 
ness of kin? What makes the difference? Is he 
any better—any more talented than before? Not 
at all. Money, money makes the difference. The 
man who commits every crime but marder—who 
takes advantage of the failing senses of the dying 
to bring property into liia own clutches—who 
ruins innocence—and unblashingly blasphemes 
the name of God— he, without one worthy deed to 
recommend him, is eagerry welcomed in sooiety 
while all Beem happy to even touch the tip of his 
perfumed glove—aud why? Money, money makes 
the distinction. And is not an unreasonable one? 
That there should be distinctions in society is 
right The wise, and virtuous cannot find pleasure 
in the company of the ignorant, and vicious. And 
yet we are to consider all as merely parts of a 
great whole, and treat them as such. We are not 
to despise those who are not like us, or to look 
with scorn upon those who have not the same en¬ 
dowments as ourselves. It is thus ordered by our 
Creator who sees not as man sees. In his eyes the 
poor Lazarus who wanders in our streets may be 
thought far more woitby than the Divks who is 
clothed “in purple and fine linen everyday.”— 
Oh, that we all had more moral courage — that 
ours could be an aristocracy of mind instead of 
money! The lady of onr day will scarce allow her 
servant to step across the threshold of the Bitting 
room, and yet in all that psrtuins to true woman¬ 
hood the servant may be far anperior to her mis¬ 
tress—for what can be more hollow-hearted than 
fashionable friendship? And until the day comes 
that pereons are respected according to their mer¬ 
it, how trae it is that we are Republicans but in 
name. Amelia. 
Cayuga, N. Y., 1867. 
It was a grand day in the old chivalric time; 
the wine circling around the board in a noble 
hall, and the sculptured walls rang with senliment 
and Bong. The lady of a knightly heart was 
pledged aloud by name, and many a syllable gig. 
nifleant of loveliness had been uttered, until it 
came St. Leon’s turn, when, lifting the sparkling 
cup on high— 
“ I drink to one," he said, 
“ Whose image never may depart. 
Deep graven on this grateful heart, 
'Till memory is dead. 
“ To one whose lovo for me shall last, 
When lighter pasrions long have passed, 
To holy 'tis and true; 
So one whose love hath longer dwelt, 
More deeply fixed, moro keenly felt. 
Than any pledged hy you.” 
Each guest upstarted at the word, 
And laid hia hand upon Lis sword. 
With fury Cashing eyes; 
And Stanley said—“ We crave the name, 
Proud k i.igbt, of this most peerless dame, 
WuoBe love you count eo high." 
St. Leon paused, a* if he would 
Not breathe her name in careless mood, 
Thus lightly to another; 
Then bent his noble head as though 
To give that word the reverence dne, 
And gently said— “ My Mother.” 
FRIENDSHIP. 
In the matter of friendship, I have observed 
that disappointment here arises chiefly, not from 
liking onr friends too well, or thinking of them 
too highly, bat rather from aD over estimate of 
their liking for and opinion of us; and that if we 
gnard ourselves with sufficient scrupulousness of 
care from error in this direction, and can be con¬ 
tent, and even liappy to give more affection than 
we receive—can make jost comparison of ciroum 
stances, and be severely accurate in drawing in 
ferences thence, and never let self-love blind our 
eyes—I think we may manage to get through life 
with consistency aud constancy, unembittered by 
that mieanthrophy which springs from revulsions 
of feeling. All this sounds a little metaphysical, 
hut it iB good sense if you consider iL The moral 
of it is, that if we would build on a sure foundation 
in friendship, we most love our friends for their 
sakes rather than for our oxen, we must look at 
their truth to themselves, full as much as their truth 
to us.— Charlotte Bronte. 
For Moore's Rnral New-Yorker. 
BEAUTY. 
Beauty consists not in the rosy cheek, the co¬ 
ral lip, or the brilliant eye, hut in the richness, 
purity and undying love of the sonL Beauty of 
contour and a graceful mien, may yield & momen¬ 
tary charm, bnt like the lightning’s flash they only 
dazzle and bewilder for the moment and are for¬ 
ever past; but Ihe beauty of the soul —like the 
rough diamond — although scarce perceived at 
first by ns, grows the more beautiful as gradually, 
each lovely, glowing ray springs forth to meet our 
admiring g/.ze, thus illuminating the dark recesses 
of the soul with a heavenly radiance. The sweet 
Berenity of a true Christian —the soul at peace 
with its maker—has u fount of light and joy which 
irradiates every lineament of the face with a celes¬ 
tial beauty that fadeth not away. It maketh the 
aged face lovely and the deformed to glow with 
beauty—beauty which time aud death shall ne’er 
erase.—J. 0. L., Hartford, Wis., 1857. 
--- 
“ A»yicx,” Hays Coleridge, «is like snow—the 
softer it falls, the longer it dwells upon, and the 
deeper it sinks into the mind.” 
Ihe sun is like God, sending abroad life, beauty 
aud happiness; aud the stars like human souls, for 
all their glory comeB from the Bun. 
Neither men nor women become what they 
were intended to be by carpeting their progress 
with velvet; real strength 1 b tested by difficulties. 
Many complain of neglect who never tried to 
attain regard. 
A Wife in a Handkerchief. —The following 
carious manner in. which some Chinese merchants 
serve up their wives to distinguished visitors, is 
related by the Singapore correspondent of the 
London Times:—" In the midle of the visit, a silk¬ 
en package with a sort of thatch over it, was 
brought in by two bearers, 8nd put down on the 
floor. It looked an exaggerated handkerchief 
gathered up at the corners, and covered by a 
wicker dish cover. The guests thought it was 
probably a dish of meat or a new course of pre¬ 
serves, when the thatch waB removed, and at the 
bottom of this bundle was Been a small human 
figure squatted upon its haunches. The little 
thing gradually picked itself up, came out of its 
bundle, and fell upon its knees before the master 
of the house, putting up her Irand in the posture 
of a snpplicant. The Chinaman rose from biB 
seat, and waved biB hand with dignity, and the lit¬ 
tle lady arose. As she did bo, he said to his Eu¬ 
ropean gnestB, 'My wife,’ 'My wife,’ made a slight 
Balntatiou around, and then retiring to her hand- 
kerchiel again, was covered up, and was borne 
from the room as she entered.” 
4 • ■¥■ 
How many sickly oneB wish they were healthy; 
how many beggarmen wish they were wealthy; 
how many ngly ones wish they were pretty; how 
many Btupid ones wish they were witty; how many 
bachelors wish they were married; how many 
Benedicts wish they had tarried I Single or doable 
life’s full of trouble—riches are Btubble, pleasure's 
a bubble. 
The first blast* of Winter’s wind-trumpets call 
all our human dread of discomfort, with memories 
of chllblaius and nipped ears, into a shivering 
army, bntsomehow when his forces begin to gather, 
ours retreat, for what reason we know not, unless 
it be shame at meeting with frowns from such a 
silent, white-robed band. 
We bave always found life more practical than 
romantic, and are quite sure that the mastication 
oi solid bread and butter is more necessary for the 
sustaining of life, than “feeding the bouI with sen¬ 
timent;” but nevertheless we do like, in the duBky 
twilights of early winter, to sit down by the favor¬ 
ite window—outside of which the snow weaves 
slowly earth’s white mantle,—fold the hands, “ease 
up” on the brain machinery, torn all "oarking 
cares” ont. of the heart, and dream,— sometimes of 
the world whose 11 ways” we are but just beginning 
to learn, sometimes of the past, and anon of the 
mysterious workings within, the wonderings, yearn¬ 
ings and hopings, that knock so fruitlessly on the 
"gates of the 'To Come.’” 
And there are plans laid, too often framed of 
"if’fl” and " inaybeV,” with foundations of thin air, 
bnt still with a certain sort of tangible pleasure 
growing out of their unstable beauty. We confess 
that “creature comforts” form a pretty largo 
‘'beam” in said frame work; that red apples ond 
white pop-corn throw as wondrous a charm round 
winter evenings in onr eyes as in most other peo 
pie’s, hut there are other needs, the mind calls for 
nourishment as well as the body, and we couldn't 
endure the long, ledlone winters which are Na¬ 
ture’s late fashion, — without books, magazines 
and papers, more especially the latter. Books 
come to us like angel's visits—“ few and far be¬ 
tween,” and we do them right loyal reverence 
when they do come, but magazines and papers, real, 
bonaflde” «ru>r-papci &, art 1 ike onr earthly friend?, 
dropping in with familiar faces, chatty, amusing, 
instructive, and withal having rather more influ 
ence over us than mOBt friends In the flesh, in that 
they incite a stricter adherence to moral law, and 
refresh the memory as to axioms of duty which 
may have escaped it in the world’s turmoils, by 
hints which would be received from no other 
source without a flashing up of temper-fire; for it 
is a notable fact that however well aware of our 
failings we may he, our natures are not proof to 
blunt accusations of the same from those whom 
we consider like "weak vessels” with ourselves, 
and the secret of the influence of newspaper hints 
as to the points mentioned, liesintlie fact that they 
may be taken and used without another’s knowledge 
that they are needed. 
"Scattering seed broadcast” are the hands, 
heads and hearts, that guide the pen and press, and 
knowing that to hungry souls this seed gives bread, 
that to thirsting minds it is the power which opens 
exhaustless fountains, we bid them “God-speed,” 
asking that for the life and labor 6pent in sowing 
they may reap the hundred fold harvest of crowned 
hopes, satisfied hearts, and God's "well done.” 
Charlotte Centre, N. Y., 1857. Ellen C. Lakh. 
A HAPPY HOME. 
In a happy home there will be no fault-finding, 
no over-bearing spirit—there will be no peevish 
uees, no fretfalness. UiikindnesB will not dwell in 
the heart or be on the longue. Oh, the tears, the 
sighs, the wasting of life, and health, and strength, 
and time; of all that, is most, to be desired in a hap 
py home, occasioned by mere nuklnd words. The 
celebrated Mr. Wesley remarked to this effect, viz.: 
that fretting and scolding seemed like tearing the 
flesh from the bones, and that wo have no more 
right to be guilty of this than wo have to enrse, or 
swear, or steal. In a perfectly happy home all sel¬ 
fishness will he removed. Even ai ‘ Christ pleased 
not himself,” so the members of a happy home will 
not seek first to please themselves, but to pleas l' 
each other. 
Cheorfalne88 is another ingredient in a happy 
home. How much docs a sweetness emanating 
from a heart fraught with love and kindness, con¬ 
tribute to render a home happy. How attracting, 
how soothing is that cheerfulness that is born on 
the countenance of a wife and mother. How the 
parent aud child, the brother and sister, the mis¬ 
tress and servant, dwell with delight on those 
cheerful looks, those confiding smiles that beam 
from the eye, and burst from the inmost soul of 
those who are near and dear. 
How it hastens the return of the lather — lig. t- 
ens the care of the mother, renders it more easy 
for youth to resist temptation! and drawn by the 
cords of affection, how it Induces them with living 
hearts to return to the paternal roof. 
O, that parents would lay this subject to hoart, 
that by untixiDg efforts they would so far render 
home happy, that their children and domestics 
shall not seek for happiness in forbidden paths.— 
Selected. 
4 <» --- 
As the eun to the snn-flower, so is friend to friend 
—attracting and attracted .—Jean Paul. 
8 ENECA LAKE 
For Moore'* Rural New-Yorker 
AND ITS SUBBOTJNDING8. 
Eds. Rural: —Will jon indulge me in a short 
letter concerning my lake-land home? It is on 
the bank of the Seneca, the Queen of American 
Lakes. The waters of this lake are remarkably 
clear and pare; their temperature is very even— 
seldom becoming very warm in summer or fra zing 
in winter. The country around is a most beauti¬ 
ful and productive farming region. It has been 
brought to tbiB high state oi cultivalion within 
a comparatively short period, the time being with 
in the memory of men when its banks were cov 
ered with forests, iD a primeval state. The earth 
is still fresh on the grave of the man who plowed 
the first farrow on its banks. Had Pekcival, 
whose pen has rendered the subject of my letter 
classical, visited the Beene of his beautiful lyric at 
this early day, he would probably not bave sung: 
“ On thy fair bosom, silver lake, 
0,1 could ever sweep the oar. 
Where early birds at morning wake 
And evening tells us toll is o’er." 
His emotions of Bublimity would have vanished 
and his imagination Bagged before tboEe stern real¬ 
ities—tomahawks and scalping knives. The sigh¬ 
ing of the bieezc, the roar of the waves, or tho 
Tuahing of the water-fall would not have impreised 
him so very poetically, had he been listening for 
the war-whoop of enraged savages. Its waters 
would not have appeared to him bo silvery beautl 
ful had he mistrusted a scene of barbarous dlsas 
ter—his goodB plundered, hia dwelling in flames 
or hia children slaughtered. Instead of well- 
conducted farms aud smiling homes, he would 
have lound—once In five miles—a log hut, scarcely 
out of the way of falUng tie a; and Instead of 
peace and plenty within, a company »»f iqualid 
suffeiers. He would have found husbands, to bhvc 
their wives and children from starvation, diggiug 
up their potatoes which, but a week before they 
had planted among oaken stumps. He would have 
found a community without the ''culture 1 jojs of 
ripe socle’,y.” 
But a greit part of the foteffs have dlsappc uel. 
This wilderrcj? of beauty Inis become a scene of 
cheerful industry. Thrift and enterprise have 
made their legible impress on the brow of every 
hill. Its waters, ole»r as crystal, which then 
echoed only the Hcreum ot the water-fowl, the 
shont of the sporting savage, or the paddle of the 
light cance, have become vocal with the glad song 
of enlightened freedom; the names of La Payette, 
aud Patrick Henry, and Washington, have rung 
their electric chorus; Christianity has lent her 
hallowed melody, and to-day, all that can minister 
to a people's happiness joins in the rejoicing 
song which, from hill, and valley, and foieat, and 
lake, arises over it, as mists of morning ironi its 
bosom. 
Near the head ot Seneca Lake is the village of 
Havana, the locality of the "People’s College,” 
which has been founded recently. At the foot lies 
Geneva—beautiful for situation—unscathed by the 
finger of Bloth—the seat of a well conducted Col¬ 
lege—in this respect a fittiDg representative of the 
Alpine town whose name it bears. On the ridge 
between this lake and Its twin sister Cayuga, aud 
overlooking both, is the village of Ovid. The 
Seneca Collegiate Institute is located here. Be¬ 
tween it and the lake ia the "State Agricultural 
College” a new enterprise, the design of which is 
to combine theory with practice in the ar of 
farming. From this village, hills may be seen on 
the west at a distance of thirty or forty miles. A 
large portion of lake and a broad extent of country 
beyond are in fall view. 
Although this lake is not the resort of the anti 
quary, and does not embosom the shadow of Mf. 
Blanc, yet the extent of the view, the surpassing 
luxuriance of vegetation, the moderate though 
majestic swell of the hills aud the gleaming wuter, 
stretching before you as a sea of molten silver, 
make the prospect one of thrilling beauty; and, 
when are added to these, the endearing associa¬ 
tions of nativity and childhood, the scene becomes 
of scarcely lesB interest than that which has been 
the theme of poets and painters for ages. 
New Brunswick, Nov. 26, 1857. A. J. S. 
DECEMBER. 
December to-day! And it is only a rose and a 
she.if ago, that we said ii before: December to¬ 
day! The month seemed always peculiarly rich 
to ua in childhood, and we do not think, if we 
could bavfe traded witli Time, that we would ex¬ 
change one December for a May as fall of daisies 
as an old pasture, unless he were willing to give 
us the first week of Jane in the bargain. It has, 
or used to have, its buow; it has, and it ever will 
have its Christmas; and Christinas and snow are 
portion enough for one poor month, that like Ha- 
gar, was sent away into the wilderness, where there 
is neither harvest, nor seed-time. 
November is “well off,” too, with its Thanks¬ 
giving, and we are soriy November is dead. It 
wept Snnday, and now upon the withered leaves 
is written— 
DIED 
Last night, in the thirtieth day of its age, the month 
of November. 
But about these Decembers—how often we come 
to them! How they flkktr like the leaves of an 
imprinted book, turned ispidly over. The truth 
is, very few of us live on, we just live around; we 
begin in January and go muitcring along through 
February and March; beguiled ly blue eyed 
April of a Bmile; perhaps, won by sweet May to 
be merry; we part the clustering leaves of Jnne, 
keep on the shady side in July, and come shiver¬ 
ing at last to December; but it is the same De¬ 
cember, while we are somebody else. And so it is, 
that the oftener we travel over the road, the brief¬ 
er It becomes. But we cannot tarry; we cannot 
return; there is no pleasant way-side inr, its trel- 
lised portal looking toward the east, beside lite’s 
way. Ah, 
"To return or tarry, both are rain. 
Whither return? What flower yet ever might 
In days of gloom, and cold, and Etormy rain, 
lactose itsrif in its green bud again, 
Hiding from wrath of tempeBt, out of sight?" 
[Chicago Journal. 
-♦—*-- 
WHAT FAKMKB8 BHOULD LIVE FOR. 
THE FUTURE. 
What a land of promise is the Future! In it 
we have rich possessions, the coming enjoyment 
of which alone makes life endurable. The past 
has proved a weary way; the present is full of 
thorns, but the bright Fatnre has recompense for 
all who would sell bis birth right iu the Future!— 
Who would give up the chances and changes it 
oouoeals in its misty depths? We may be poor, 
and sick, broken down and deserted, without 
friends and without home, but so long us hope re¬ 
mains we will not despair of the Future. The 
poor debtor wbf quite ready to swear that ho had 
not five dollars in the world, but hesitated when 
asked to say he should never posse bu that amount. 
He might die a mlllionoire—who knowB? Aye, 
who knows, for who baa ever found the fair land 
of tho Future, with all its rich possessions and its 
heavenly peace ? And yet tho entrance to it opens 
in the Present. We hold tho clue in our bauds, 
and need no Ariadne to reveal its lftbyrittthiun 
streets. What the present forms the Future will 
reveal. If we would leap rich harvests in tho 
coming time we must sow the seed to-day. It is 
madnesB to continue in our old courses of pro¬ 
crastination, of idleness and vice, and still hope 
for happiness in the Fature. That which we sow 
we shall reap. The Fature is the product of the 
Present—to a great extent we may make it what 
we will. 
The True Ambition.— There is a loftier stiuc- 
ture, let me say to the young aspirant embarking 
on the rough waters of strife, than the one faintly 
imagined in yonder oloods. There Is a temple of 
God, adorned with moral bouuty and grandeur, 
such as pearls, and gems, and rainbow tints can 
bnt faintly symbolize. Let thy ambition fix on 
this bright abode! Let all thy energies bo enlist¬ 
ed In reaching it. There is a field of enterprise, 
too, here below, wheie the highest Intellect may 
find scope, and the purest benevolence exercise. 
It iB found in turning men to righteousness. They 
who labor successfully in this field, shall not only 
have a cairn satisfaction in the work, but shall 
shine at last " as the stars, forever and ever.”— 
Voyage of Life . 
There is something worth living for besides 
money. That is very uood, but it is not all. With 
the reBt, let us raise a crop of good ideas. While 
you are farmers, remember also that you are men, 
with duties aud iesponstbilities. Live down the 
old brutal notion that a farmer must be uncouth, 
uneducated and unthinking—a mere ploddrapps. 
Yon are brought into immediate contact with the 
great heart of civilization. You cannot get out of 
the reach of the buzz of the toiling world. The 
thrill of the wonder-working wires, aud the rum¬ 
ble of the locomotive, (the thunder tread of na¬ 
tions, )come to your once secluded hill side. Move 
toward a better life. Do not keep your boys corn 
shelling all the long winter evenings. Make yonr 
farms a place that yonr sons and daughters can¬ 
not help loving. Cultivate the trees—they are 
God's messengers. 
Care much for books and pictures. Don’t keep 
solemn parlor into which yon go but once a 
month with the parson, or the gogsips of the sew¬ 
ing society. Hang around your walls pictures 
which shall tell stories of mercy, hope, courage, 
faith and charity. Make your living room the 
largest and moat cheerful in the house. Let the 
place be such that when your boy has goue to dis¬ 
tant lande, or even when, perhaps, he dings to a 
single plank in the lonely waters of the wide 
ocean, the thought of the old homestead shall 
come across tho waders of desolation, bringing al¬ 
ways light, hope and love. 
Have no dnngeons about your house—no rooms 
yon never open—no blinds that are always shut.— 
Don’t teach your daughters Frenoh before they 
can weed a flower bed or cling to a side-saddle; 
and, daughters, do not be ashamed of the trowel 
or the pruning knife; bring to your doors the 
richest flowers from the woods; cultivate the 
friendship of birds—study botany, learn to love 
nature, and &eek a higher cultivation than the 
fashionable world can give yon.— D. G. Mitchell. 
Our Thoughts.— On the whole, it ia of sb great 
importance for a man to take heed what thoughts 
he entertains, as what company be keeps; for they 
have the same effect on his mind. Bad thoughts 
arc as infectious as had company; and good 
thoughts solace, Instruct and entertain tbc mind, 
like good company. And this ia one great advan¬ 
tage of retirement, that a man may choose what 
company be pleases from within himself. As in 
the world we oftener light in bad company than 
good, so in solitndo we are oftener troubled with 
impertinent aud unprofitable thoughts, thau enter 
taiued with agreeable and useful ones; and a roan 
that hath so far lost tho command of himself, as 
to lie at the mercy of every foolish and vexing 
thought, is much iu the same situation as a host 
whose door is open to all comers; whom, though 
ever so noisy, rude, or troublesome, he cannot get 
rid of; but with this difference, that the latter 
hath 6ome recompense for his trouble, the former 
none at all, but is robbed of his peace ami quiet 
for nothing.— J. Mason. 
- 4-4 - 
What the Agb Wants —The age does not want 
mere manualists and functionaries bat whole-soaled 
lovers oi their kind. It does not want embalmers 
with their spices, but planters and Promethean 
lungs; not ideas plastered iu pyramids and mau¬ 
soleums, but moving in murtB and throbbing with 
the pulsations of joy and love. And if these hap¬ 
pen to bo a little unlike the old fashions, have no 
fear of being called visionaries—so long as you see 
what you say—whether your neighbors see it or 
blink it Bee visions; it is thothinker's vocation; 
and turn them into facts; that is the workman’s 
business Dream dreamt*, and bring them to pars- 
He hospitable to every faint, uncertain beam that 
straggles to your wiudow. Who knows bnt it may 
travel from tho skies, aud have a sun on its track? 
Rev. I'. O. Huntington. 
-*-•» 
Man Unfinished.— The capability of improve¬ 
ment, intellectually aud morally, is a proof that a 
man is an nntlniihed being; he la incomplete; he 
ia iu the infancy of existence. He iB in a Btate of 
pupilage aud progress; and the different degrees 
of intellectual endowment which characterize dif¬ 
ferent men, impart variety to the Commonwealth, 
and teach that difference of opinion must bo ex¬ 
pected, and that liberty to express opinion is the 
birthright of every man. 
