giving will rise from a nation heartier anil 
holier, because freer and truer than ever before. 
Wo. should wring from our failures all the 
sap and sustenance in them. Those old scaffold¬ 
ings, reared under the very eaves of success, arc 
not useless. Tear them down, collect them, and 
dove-tail them together into one grand, lorty 
structure, and, in the blazing light of the burn¬ 
ing debris, 170 up higher. Tt. is not the person 
with the longest ladder who reaches the highest 
summit. No matter if your ladder is short, it 
is good so far as it goes; and when you have 
reached the top of it, there make your stand ,— 
“all hands, ahoy!” plant it firmly, and up it 
again! Wo sometimes think that those lofty 
stations which some attain, are inaccessible to 
us. We compare our own stature to theirgiddy 
height, and out eotn&t pencil and paper and 
down goes the proportion: as a perpendicular 
line is parallel to a horizontal line, so is our sta¬ 
tion to theirs. Geometry is true—arithmetic is 
not false, and figures will not lie. We stand 
confounded, and with reluctant submission bow 
to cruel Fate. It is not Fate. It is our own 
blindness and apathy. We have a proportion 
in which the very theorem itself is a reductio ad 
al>surdum. "Rather it is not a theorem, but a 
postulate. We forget that from every one of 
t hese platforms there descends a cord which we 
may all ascend. These hang not only in at the 
windows of the rich and prosperous, but thoy 
dangle, at your door-knobs, no mutter how 
bumble your domicile. All the requirements 
necessary are sinewy arms, a determined will, 
indomitable energy, and then climb. 
Lima, N. Y., Feb. 186-1. H. Thaportts M. 
Remarks. — There is spine in the above 
article. We like its Saxon. It makes one’s 
teeth close closer with mental resolution. Let 
the farmer’s son, who thinks his a hard, dreary, 
monotonous life, read it again and take courage. 
We hope to hear from THADDEU8 again. 
Written for Moore’s Rural New-Yorker. 
JUSTICE. 
ONE SWEETLY SOLEMN THOUGHT. 
Written for Moore’s Rural New-Yorker. 
ALONE. 
One eweetl.v solemn (bought 
Comes to me o'er nnd o'er; 
I’m nearer my homo to-day 
Than 1 over was beforcl 
Nearer my Father’s house, 
Where the many mansions be; 
Nearer the groat white throne, 
Nearer the crystal sea! 
Nearer the hound of life, 
Where we lay our burdens down; 
Nearer leaving the cross, 
Nearer wearing the irownl 
But lying darkty between, 
Winding down t hrough the night. 
Is the dark and shadowy stream 
That bursts at last, iuto light! 
Father, perfect my love; 
Strengthen the might of my faith; 
Let tne feel as I would when I stand 
On the rock of the shore of doath- 
l-'cel as I would when my feet 
Aro slipping over the brink; 
For it may be I'm nearer home, 
Nenror now than I think! 
r.Y A. O. QAUYAKD. 
Alone, ’mid the dark cheerless niglit, 
’Neath the pall of the leaden sky, 
1 peer through the shadows—no gleam of light. 
Not a single ray to beam on my sight, 
And whisper, '< The dawning Is nigh!” 
No sound but the pattering rain. 
As drop after drop strikes the ground; 
Till my temples throb with a heavy pain, 
And I strive to shut from my eavs, in vain, 
The weary, monotonous sound. 
I remember 0 grass-grown mound, 
Where one iu a long dreamless rest, 
Ileedelh never the dark night coming down— 
Nor the rain that fills with a sobbing sound, 
On the turf that covers his breast. 
O, my heart with its perished joys 
I had lain in that narrow bed, 
Deeminu not that Time could one pang destroy 
Or from its ashes create a new joy— 
Since my lamb, my darling was dead. 
Nou, I know, though bitter the cup, 
A parent more tender than I 
To my lips presented the chalice,—Enough! 
Submissively, meekly, I now yield him up, 
My lamb, to the “ Shepherd” on high! 
I know on that emerald shore, 
Just laved by the dark flowing tide, 
Where strains of t he ransomed are heard evermore 
I shall meet with the loved and lost gone before, 
My beautiful darling that died! 
Lizzie D. 
’Twas eve; and the moonlight and starlight 
Came down on the wavelets asleep, 
As soft as the breath of an angel 
On the sad hearts of mourners who weep 
The light breeze, whieh scare seemed in motion 
O’er valleys and hills, in repose, 
Went burdened with nightingale music 
And the odors of locust nnd rose. 
When, down where the lake’s gentle pulses 
To the breeze-bymn beat time on the shore, 
A young pair of whispering lovers 
Made vows to ho trim evermore. 
’Twas late when they parted, with blessings; 
And low beat each sorrowing heart; 
And a stray moon beam flashed on his sword, 
As the weeping youth turned to depart. 
Since then, the cold storm breath of winter 
Has tho forest robe tom and laid low; 
And the apple Lou houghs in the orchard, 
Have gloried in purple and snow. 
And, far off in green Cutolina, 
There’s a grave with nb monument o’er; 
And another is down by the lake side, 
Where the wave pulses beat on the shore. 
ne was plain hy the sword of a traitor,- 
When the sun, in the heavens, shone low ; 
And she, hy the words in the message 
Whieh told of the murderous blow. 
And the angel who weighed out the glory 
To each one, for sacrifice duo, 
Let the quantities balance each other, 
And equally smiled on the two. 
Rochester, N. Y., Feb., 1864. 
Written for Moore’s Rural New-Yorker. 
SCRAPS OF SINGED SENSE. 
WHISKERS, BEAKD. MOUSTACHES, tMPEHXAIiS. 
GOATEE3. &c. 
I amtio Angelina Seraphina; neither am 
I a moonstruck maiden or tlic Object of devotion 
to some bewhiskered dandy. Rut I am an ex¬ 
travagant admirer of whiskers —black, brown, 
gray, sandy, red or maltee color. They are 
never too long, or too heavy, too straight or too 
curly for my taste. They make an ugly man 
handsome—a feminine man manlv-looking, and 
give an ordinary man an air distingue. They 
are better for the health of the throat than all 
the tippets, furs, collars or neckties that can be 
mustered into service. Indeed, I am not sure 
but a man’s soul maybe measured bv his beard. 
What is more ridiculous than to see a man being 
shaved? The razor may be dull, and the tears 
will start and his features will twitch this way 
and that, and when the operation is performed, 
he looks more like a singed monkey than a 
higher type of the orang-outang nice. Another 
item in their favor is, they keep a man in better 
humor, and that is worth a fortune; for a cross 
man is worse than a stung bear any day. We 
think we must respect a man, while a bear 
doesn’t elicit any, and so w*e can go at bruin 
with hammer and tongs, and with no compunc¬ 
tions of conscience. ' 
A man sits and strokes his beard with much 
tho same effect as stroking the fur of a cat the 
right way. If he finds himself puzzled, hasn’t 
he his beard to resort to? And if he doesn’t 
know what to do with his bauds, eau’t he caress 
his moustache? But deliver me from goat-ecs! 
be, lie Mb :?o*ik.tS' ,\SW. 
to wax a»d twist up into a cnrlyoue. If a man 
has a place left for his eyes and nose, that is 
sufficient. It is a physiological truth that his 
eyes will be the stronger for it, and a smacking 
truth, his lips the more desirable. 
Minnie Mintwood. 
Columbns, Ohio, February, 1804. 
COMPENSATION. 
JIuman lot is, on the whole, well averaged. 
A man does not possess great gifts of person 
aud of mind, without drawbacks somewhere. 
Either great duties arc imposed, or great bur¬ 
dens are put upon his shoulders, orgri at tempta¬ 
tions assail and harass him. Something in his 
life, at sometime in his life, takes it upon bin - 
self to reduce his advantages to the average 
standard. Nature gave Byron clubbed feet, but 
with those feet she gave him a genius whose 
numbers charmed the world — a genius which 
multitudes of common-place or weak men 
would have been glad to purchase at the 
price of almost any humiliating eccentricity of 
person. But. they were obliged to content 
themselves with excellent feet, and brains of 
tho common kind and calibre. Providence bad 
withered tho little boy’s leg, but the loudest 
song I have heard from a boy in a twelve-month 
came from his lips, as he limped along in the 
open street. The cheerful heart in his bosom 
was a great compensation for the withered leg; 
and beyond this, the boy had reason for singing 
over the fact that he was forever released from 
military duty and fireman’s duty, and all raging 
about in tho service of other people. There are 
individual cases of misfortune in which, it is 
hard to detect the compensating good, hut these 
we must call the “exceptions,” which “prove 
the ride.”— Dr. Holland. 
Written for Moore’s Rural New-Yorker. 
SOMETHING FOR YOUNG WOMEN. 
We dislike to say anything that may seem to 
reflect upon the character of any soldier in ajiy 
of our armies. But the fact cannot be doubted 
that there are many men in the army, young 
and old, whose only claim upon our regard or 
respect is, that they are soldiers—that they arc 
willing to tight the battles of the Union. No 
matter what the animating motive may be, this 
work of theirs, abstractly, is meritorious. But 
there is a species of advertising practiced hy 
soldiers, to which we wish to call the attention 
of our young lady readers, accompanied with a 
warning. We refer to advertisements asking 
their correspondence. This seems a harmless 
amusement in itself, but alas! it is too often a 
fatal one. There are many noble, brave, true¬ 
hearted boys in the army. But as a rule, few of 
this class advertise for the cartes de visites of 
young ladies, and ask them to perform the in¬ 
delicate task of writing a first letter. And few 
respectable men would have much respect for 
the young lady who responded to such an ad¬ 
vertisement. There are doubtless some young 
ments lroiu a mere iove*oi tolivufare’ai/a 
romance, in a spirit of sport, with no ulterior 
nor improper objects, and there are many young 
^ladies who respond in a similar spirit. But in 
Wifi majority of cases, it is safe to say that no 
good object is the foundation of these requests; 
and that indulgence in such romantic ventures 
on the part of young ladies, is very dangerous 
indeed. We know several instances, and have 
read of more, where it lias resulted iu ruin, and 
the loss of happiness to young women. Start¬ 
ing in an innocent (perhaps) love of fun, and 
curiosity, these ventures have led the maiden 
into relations so intricate that she has become 
entangled in the net set for her, and sacrificed 
home and its loves, virtue and its peace, hope 
and its promises, and won only sorrow, shame 
and remorse. 
Young women, confide in and trust your 
parents. Barents, will aud claim, and retain, the 
confidence of your children. And mothers, and 
daughters, be on your guard against another in¬ 
fernal scheme, which has been disclosed through 
the agency of the public press. It is the estab¬ 
lishment of What is called a “Photograph 
Union” at New York, for the collection of the 
photographs of young women, to be accom¬ 
panied with information concerning their resi¬ 
dence, pecuniary circumstances, disposition, hab¬ 
its and other particulars of interest. To stimu¬ 
late activity in helping on with tins enterprise, 
six prizes, ranging from $20 down to a set of 
jewelry, arc to bo given to those who shall 
bring the largest, number of pictures and 
“biographical notices.’’ After a goodly num¬ 
ber of photographs have been collected, the 
proprietor of the “ Union” proposes to open a 
private gallery, and will allow young men to 
examine the pictures and documents “for a 
consideration,” and select some one whose per¬ 
sonal acquaintance they wish to make. Com¬ 
ment. upon such a proposition is needless. There 
is nothing honorable or pure about it, and still 
Written for Moore’s Rural New-Yorker. 
STAMINA. 
HOW AGE CHANGES US. 
There is a vast, difference between a perpen¬ 
dicular and a horizontal—between lying down 
and standing up. Gate-posts are always more dig¬ 
nified than bide-walks, ami naked walls than bare 
floors. It requires an effort to staud up, hut 
lying down is a relaxation of self,—wrapping 
tip one’s self in one’s self,—complacently sitting 
down on our owu laps and enjoying a quiet 
snooze. I think it is “Timothy Titoomb” 
who declares that “men are constitutionally 
lazy.” This assertion, if true, may serve to 
explain why legs are such useless appendages 
to many, hut does not palliate the crime. Stam¬ 
ina is as necessary to a man as starch to a linen 
collar. The freezing point is what gives back¬ 
bone to water, and in no less degree is it stamina 
which gives back-bone to men. Wbat we all 
need is more life, energy, vim. It is much 
easier to find hands than to find brains,—trained 
V K* t*- r,,', Ikoa. Hr 
Anderson said, “ 1 Ijf'worla wants men, nnd 
God knows it.” Clear-eyed, stout-hearted, 
strong-limbed, cool-brained, self-possessed men 
are always in demand. Aye! live men,—men 
Those who have approached nearest a ma¬ 
ture age, and have seen much of the world, will 
attest the truthfulness of the following para¬ 
graph wnitten by Sir E. Bulwer Lyttox. It 
occurs in one of his essays; 
“There was one period of my life when I 
considered every hour spent out of capitals, as 
lime wasted—when with exhilarated spirits, I 
would return from my truant loiterings, under 
summer trees, to the smoke and din of London 
thoroughfares. 1 loved to hear the ring of my 
own tread on the hard pavement. The desire 
to compete and combat—the thirst for excite¬ 
ments opening one upon the other in the up¬ 
ward march of an opposed career—the study of 
man in his thickest haunts—the heart’s warm 
share in tho passions which tho mind, clear 
from inebriety, paused to analyze—these gave 
td I tie. as they give to most active men in the 
I • I L! 1 ; . 1 
vista of gas-lamps and the hubbub of the great 
man for the interchange of ideas. But now J 
love the country as I did when a little child, 
before I had admitted into my heart that ambi¬ 
tion which is the first fierce lesson we learn at 
school. Is it, partly, that those trues never 
remind us that we are 'growing old? Older 
than we arc, their hollow stems tire covered 
with rejoicing leaves. The birds build amid 
their bowerlng branches rather than in the 
lighter shade of tho sapling. Nature has no 
voice that wounds the self-love; her coldest 
wind nips no credulous affection. She alone 
baa the same face in our age as in our youth. 
The friend with whom we once took sweet 
counsel, wc have left in the crowd* a stranger— 
perhaps a foe! The woman in whose eyes, 
Heaven and Home.—I was reading the 
otlipx (Uv that on .the shores of the Adriatic 
00 ft the wives of fishermen, wheifee husbands 
have gone off upon the deep, are in the 
habit of going down to the seashore and 
singing, as female voices only can, the first 
stanza of a beautiful hymn; after they have 
sung it they listen till they hear, borne by the 
wind across the desert sea, the second stanza, 
sung by their gallant husbands as they are 
tossed by the gale upon t he waves, and both are 
happy. Perhaps.if we could listen, vm might 
hear on this desert world of ours, some sound 
whisper borne from afar, to remind us that 
there is a heaven, aud when wo sing the hymn 
upon the shores of earth, perhaps wc shall hear 
its sweet echo breaking in music upon the sands 
of time, and cheering the hearts of (hem that 
are pilgrims and look for a city that hath founda¬ 
tions. 
Love is the master passion of life, but its 
sweets must be gathered witli a gentle hand. 
The kindly laws of nature set woman to man, 
“Like perfect music unto noble deeds.” 
But the harmony, to be preserved, must touch 
the heart and purify the senses. Therefore the 
6 acred institution of marriage has been ordained 
to strengthen and dignify the union. The use 3 
and duties of this holy state have ever been a 
subject of interest to mankind at large; and, in 
almost every age, marriage has been regarded as 
om> of the great agents in the improvement and 
cultivation of the human family. Morally and 
physically, its influence for the benefit of man¬ 
kind has been enormous; for, independently of 
its leading purpose, the perpetuation of our 
species, it has those high claims to our regard 
wfilch are born out of the noblest and loftiest 
emotions of the soul. It is the foundation of all 
love and friendship, and creates a sentiment in 
the mind out of which spring the elements that 
foster and promote civilization. 
To quote the words of one of the most eloquent 
of our prose writers, Jeremy Taylor:—“Mar¬ 
riage, like the useful bee, builds a house, and 
gathers sweetness from every flow er, and sends 
out colonies, and feeds the world, and obeys 
kings and keeps order, and exercises many vir¬ 
tues, and promotes llic interest of mankind, and 
is that state of good things to which God bath 
designed the present constitution of the world.” 
The learned bishop might have gone further and 
staled that marriage was the author cud encour- 
ager of almost every virtue wo possess; and 
that as it was the first engagement into whieh 
man entered, so it has ever since remained the 
grand leading event of his life, and one Inti¬ 
mately associated with his temporal and eternal 
welfare.— Selected. 
The Bower of Christianity.—A mechanic 
in Loudon, who rented a room very near the 
Orphan Working School, was unhappily a deter¬ 
mined infidel—a disciple of the notorious 
Carlyle, aud one who could confound many a 
thoughtless Christian with his sophistries on 
religion. This man said to an individual one day, 
“ I did this morning what 1 have not dono for a 
long time before—I wept.” “ Wept,” said liis 
friend, “whatoceasloued you to weep ?” “Why,“ 
replied the infidel mechanic, “I wept on seeing 
the children of the Orphan Working School pass; 
and it occurred to me, that If religion liad dono 
nothing more for mankind, it had at least pro¬ 
vided for the introduction of those ninety-four 
orphans iuto respectable and honorable situations 
iu life.” 
A MISER’S IRON WILL, 
As two travelers were passing on foot through 
a sequestered valley, the way led them through 
a lonely little cliurch-yard, upon one of the 
tombstones of which they deciphered the fol¬ 
lowing singular Inscription: “Here lies the 
soul of one whose name shall perish.” “What 
a queer old epitaph!” exclaimed one of the trav¬ 
elers; “the soul of one, forsooth! ■ how could the 
soul of a man be imprisoned in a sepulchre?’* 
“ Ridiculous ! ” rejoined the other, who was a 
man of few words but much sagacity, aud they 
proceeded on their journey in silence to the next 
town. 
But the sagacious man thought that he dis¬ 
cerned in the words chiseled on the old marble 
slab something more than their first sense ex¬ 
pressed. Returning quietly to the lonely church¬ 
yard, lie removed the slab front its place, and 
found hurled underneath it a heavy iron casket, 
which, on being opened* proved to be full of 
gold pieces. On the inside of the lid of the 
casket were inscribed the following words:— 
“To hint who has wit enough to interpret the 
true moaning of the words graven upon the 
tombstone, 1 bequeath this treasure. May he 
make a better use of it. than 1 did! ” “ Ha, ha,” 
laughed the sagacious traveler, “if not your sou, 
I am at least your heir. Never mind the name, 
old hoy. Lot it perish.” And he went on his 
way rejoicing. 
ing garland of flowers, and now mantled with 
the 
“ Beantifnl snow from licavua above, 
Parc ns an angel, gentle us love” 
Stamina is the condition of success,—stamina 
that is akin to struggling. We must not expect 
success to wedge into‘every opening we make 
with our intellectual pick-axes. It is the cud 
sought, not the means. It is not that we arc 
walled out, but it is SUOce.-s that is walled in. 
neuce we are the ones to lie on the offensive, 
and must bore through instead of supinely wait¬ 
ing for success to tunnel its way out to US. it is 
far nobler to try great things and fail than small 
things aud succeed. Better to hump our heads 
against the stars above than the earth beneath. 
It is not dishonorable to fall. Our “glorious 
boys in blue” do not take a battery every time 
they make a charge; and must, therefore, the 
life-blood poured out in these fierce onsets be 
congealed by the chilling indignation of a 
mourning land? Must the tears of loving 
mothers stain tho swords of their sous? No! 
never! Immeasurably dearer is our own native 
land now in the agony of her bloody sweat than 
in the high noon of her proud prosperity; and 
when the scenes amid which we wail and labor 
shall pass iuto the grand eternity of the historic 
page, defeat will be lost in victory,—weeping 
will be hushed in rejoicing, soldierly daring aud 
the warm heart’s approval will he blended 
together, and one grand acclamation of thauks- 
A thin Yeu. over the Word. — Lord, 
this morning I read a chapter iu the Bible, and 
therein observed a memorable passage, whereof 
1 never took notice before. Why now, and no 
sooner, did I see it ? Formerly my eyes were 
as open, and the letters as legible. Is there not 
a thin veil laid over thy Won!, which is more 
ratified by reading, and at last worn wholly 
away ? Or was it because I came with more 
appetite than before? The. milk was always 
there in tho breast, but the child was not hungry 
enough, until now, to find out tho teat.. I see 
the oil of thy Word will never leave increasing 
whilst any bring an empty barrel. The Old 
Tcstamotit will still be a New Testament to 
him who comes with a fresh desire of informa¬ 
tion. 
Written for Moore’s Rural New-Yorker. 
THE YOUTHFUL DEAB. 
A Test of Woman’s Bower of Will.— 
lion. Ezra Cornell, of Ithaeu, having conceived 
the idea that the ladies of the Hospital Aid So¬ 
ciety of that village could progress faster in 
their noble work of sewing for the benefit of the 
soldiers if they would talk less, accordingly of¬ 
fered to contribute fifty dollars to trie Society if 
twelve italics could be found who would sew all 
day without speaking. The task was entered 
upon by fifteen self-sacrificing women of that 
village, and fourteen of them actually accom¬ 
plished this very difficult feat of self-denial, al¬ 
though tempted in various ways by a large num¬ 
ber of visitors and interlopers. One of the 
number failed in the undertaking, having been 
tempted, like Eve of old, by the offer of an apple, 
iuto a slip of thu tongue. 
Sigh we sadly, when, with folded wing the 
death angel broods in silence o’er ottr household 
band; sadly, when we know that the last ties 
are being broken that bind us to one we love so 
well; sadly, when wo wildly kiss the cold lips 
and meet no response; sadly, indeed, sadly, 
when we behold the brown clods close forever 
over the little coffin that contains our earthly 
casket. Seemingly, upon those little faces, the 
great seal of death should never be placed, and 
shadows dark and lonely lie within the deep re¬ 
cesses of our hearts, as “the loved, the good, 
the beautiful, pass away.” 
Yet should we not rejoice to think that those 
beautiful eyes will never be dimmed with tears, 
that those little lips will never quiver with 
The Humble Heart.— Those showers of 
grace that slide off from the lofty mountains 
rest on trie valleys and make them fruitful, llo 
giveth grace to the lowly. He loves to bostow 
it where there is most room to vocoivo it, and 
Dust, by its own nature,’can rise only so fur most return of ingenuous aud entire praises upou 
above the road; and birds which fly higher the receipt. Such is the humble heart; aud, 
never have it upon the wings. So. the heart truly, as much humility gains mueli grace, so it 
that knows how to fly high [enough, escapes grows by it 
those little cares and vexations which brood 
upon the earth, but cannot rise above it into 
that purer air. 
BORROW turns the stars into mourners, and 
and every wind of heaven into a dirge. 
