PB 2 L 30 . 
MdOHE’i RURAL HEW-YORKER 
XX 
alu 8*89*1** 
Written for Moore's Rural New-Yorker. 
LETTERS FROM THE WEST.-NO. III. 
At Keokuk we crossed the Mississippi in a 
ferry-boat to within a hundred yards of the 
opposite shore. That distance was made on 
foot on the ioe, bv about one hundred and fifty 
passengers; and the same number of trunks 
were taken on hand-sleds to a baggage-wagon 
awaiting them. 
In a remote corner of the ladies’ cabin, look¬ 
ing listlessly out on the ice-burdened, but not 
ice-fettered waters, sat a haggard-looking* wo¬ 
man. whose pale, tallowy face seemed the more 
colorless from her large, black eyes, which in 
conversation would burn with such an intense, 
but unsteady light. She evidently belonged t.o 
the poorer class, ber garments were coarse and 
ill-made, her hair ill-kept, while her manner 
and language indicated but little native or cul¬ 
tivated refinement, ller voice was heavy, her 
frame large and robust. A woman from about 
the same rank of life sat near ber, without a 
single redeeming trait; she hugged an old bun¬ 
dle in her arms, and denounced whatever came 
in her way. Some chance remark of a by¬ 
stander, regarding the President and the war, 
called out her malice and vindictiveness. 
“Abk Lincoln's the best President we’ve 
bad sin’ Washington’s day,’’ replied the first 
woman, with a vehemence and force that told 
on the owner of the bundle.’ 
Tier gray eyes fell as she answered, “ Hangin’ 
and hurtlin' 's ’nough sight too good for him. 
Ef’t liadu’ been for him we shouldn’ had this 
awful war.” 
“ I tell ye, stranger, it’s a holy rear,” said the 
Union woman, rising, speaking with a full vol¬ 
ume of voice and gesturing with her hand,— 
“an' 1 hope it'll continuer till ev’ry rebel’s con¬ 
quered or killed.” 
“Well, guess ye haiti't got nobody in this 
awful war, or ye wouldn’t talk so.” 
“ I’ve got a husban’ and a son an’ two broth¬ 
ers in this war. an’ one that fell fightin’ for the 
old Hag, an* I’m still for the Union, the Union!” 
The eyes, hands and voice of the speaker did 
their part as she continued,—“if ye'd been 
raised in a slave State, an’ seen the horrors’t 
I’ve seen, if ye’d suffered what I have, from a 
murderous, villainous rebel band, 'fwould take 
such talk out on ye, mighty quick. A year ago 
Use a liappy woman, and had a good home in 
Lawrence, if we was poor. My old father an’ 
mother lived with me. an’ I had two bright, 
putty girls, an’ in one dreadful night, what be¬ 
came of niv little home? It was burnt to the 
ground. What became of my old. gray-headed 
parents? I found ’em mangled corpses, just as 
the mornin’ sun was red in the east. What 
become of my two girls? There they lav hid 
bet lint I sonic rails, hopin' to keep their lives, 
poor things, but the gang found them, and they 
was barbarously murdered! They knowed if 
they killed me,”— and here her brother-in-law, 
who was taking her to some relatives in Illi¬ 
nois, came forward. She had learned obe¬ 
dience, and dropping into ber seat, said, point¬ 
ing to ber antagonist, “ She went to railin’ at 
the government, an' I couldn’t let ber alone.” 
This little incident aroused the copperhead 
element outside, and various altercations filled 
up the time of our passage. 
One ha- a delightful prospect through South¬ 
ern Illinois. The far-reaching prairie fields be¬ 
speak easy tillage and wealthy owners. Quincy 
is a line, thrifty city, and has but few superiors 
in the State. Here we met three ladies who 
had come in on the same train, on their way to 
the hospital. It was a late hour at night,—too 
late for admittance. Ouo had received a letter 
from the physician who attended her son, tell¬ 
ing her to come immediately if she would see 
him alive; so she sat down on the sofa at the 
hotel, to while away the long hours till morn¬ 
ing. Another had come to see her husband, 
who bad been severely wounded; and another, 
bonding on iter stall, to visit a grandson, and 
take him home with her as soon as be should 
be able. 
We arose next morning at five o'clock, again 
to cross the Mississippi, to be in time for the 
morning train west. Hurrying aboard the cars 
ami obtaining good seats, we congratulated our¬ 
selves on being in time, notwithstanding the 
unpropltious hour, - aud our congratulations 
might have continued almost indefinitely, for 
the slender finger of my watch pointed to the 
hour of three before wc were under motion. An 
engine had gone oft' the track, broken a wheel, 
aud had to be repaired previous to its rendering 
service. But an eating-house a quarter of a 
mile away was somewhat of a palliative to 
those who could attempt to masticate dough¬ 
nuts, 
“Too big to swallow and too hard to bite,” 
Or make an onslaught into heavy, double-crusted 
pies, and large, round seed-cakes, equally for¬ 
midable. Crackers and cheese entered into the 
blit of fare, but these, like I)ou Quixote's mar¬ 
ket-woman on the ass, would be susceptible of 
improvement under the influence of an ardent 
maginatlon. 
The Hannibal and St. Joseph railroad is noted 
for its liability to accidents, owing to the uu- 
eveuuess of the track, its want of repairs, and 
incompetent managers. H. G., on his overland 
route, went by way of this road, and declared 
loudly in favor of its action on the digestive 
organs. At present it is free from rebel inter¬ 
ference, the most serious accident having been 
the burning of the bridge across the Platte, by 
which a whole train was precipitated into the 
river, aud about forty lives lost. The ears were 
fired into at another time, but no serious damage 
occurred. Thanks to a kind aud watchful 
OUE EMPIRE ST^lTE. 
Poetry by Miss Hazaed. 
Martial style. 
S-4—i 
-F-P? 
1. Hail! all hail! our Em - pire State! Let all voices, small and 
2. Thou hast fought, and nobly won : Light from freedom’s glo - rious 
great, 
Swell 
Sheds 
the cho - rus loud and aigb : Let the an - them reach the sxy. 
its hal - low’d beams o’er thee, Empire of the noble free! 
____p 
;uH* 
3. Knowledge throws her halcyon light O'er the haunts where darkest 
4. Let thy motto e - ver be Light, and love, and li - ber 
\ b m _r : ^* w *** a i_~j 
I - - gp ±2 ^ f „ *:: 
Seemed to brood in dread ar - ray O’er our fa - tilers’ barren way. 
Va - liant deeds thy co - ro - net, Bright with pearls of truth be set! 
-i 
Mr-F 
1 ' | ; _i r 
T±±s^- 
‘_ r** _r-sr -r- ~m 
thy o - live branches wave, Empire of the noble brave! 
all voi - ces, small and great, Hail! all hail! our Empire State! 
5. Clarion notes for - e - ver more Slumber on thy peace - ful 
6. Home of all that’s good and free, God shall thy pro - tec - tor 
Green 
Let 
The an - them 
The no - ble 
reach—yes! reach the 
Let the 
Empire 
no - ble 
3 EriE 3 
Our fa - tilers’ way—the 
With pearls be set — with 
j> & _ _ 
bar - ren 
truth be 
O’er our fa - thers’ 
Bright with pearls of 
barren 
truth be 
Sees 
no - ble brave— the no - ble 
Em - pire State—our Em - pire 
brave! 
State! 
Empire 
Hail! all 
noble brave! 
Empire State! 
EE£E 
Providence, our journey's end was reached in 
safety. 
Much of the surface of the country in North- 
Eastern Mb-ouri, that is the wooded land, re¬ 
sembles Western Now York, only lacking its 
care and cultivation. Fruitful orchards and 
well-built houses are frequently met. Mules, 
with their large, palm-leaf like cars, are abun¬ 
dant. Colored people of all ages, sizes, and 
shades of color, arc to be scon in this locality. 
Many of them have free papers from the Pro¬ 
vost Marshal, and those who have cun bo ob¬ 
tained as servants for but little compensation. 
Our mulatto chambermaid sat playing with her 
quadroon baby the other day, when she was 
asked whether she was free or a slave. 
“Free, sail, got me papers las New-Year’s 
day.” 
“And you thiuk a good deal of them?” 
“Guess me do, Rah; ain't gold 'nough 'n 
’Meriky to buy dern dar. sab." 
“ Where did you come from here ?” 
“ T’uddcr side de l ibber—de Missouri.” 
“ How came you to know you could hav e free 
papers ?“ 
“Guess niggers knowed,” and the reply was 
accompanied by a negro laugh, and an almost 
enviable show of ivory. 
J ane, the cook, w not so fortunate; shehad 
obtained her papers, and starting one dark 
night with her little girl of two years in her 
arms, and the sweet word liberty in her heart, 
she had come in sight of Kansas, her destina¬ 
tion. They refused to take the fugitive across 
the river, her mistress’ sou overtook aud caught 
her, destroyed her papers, and brought her 
back to slavery. It was proven that Jane’s 
mistress, a widow, was loyal to the government, 
although hur son hail been in the rebel army. 
But the negro woman has hope,—she sees in 
the east a star that is. a harbinger of the coming 
day, and though hired out to a hard and exact¬ 
ing mistress, with an eye upoti the future, she 
sings and smiles at her toil. She looks upon tho 
child at her feet, thanking God that a free life 
awaits it. M. J. c. 
The Lavender Fields of England.—I n 
THE COUNT AND THE COUSIN. 
[Concluded from page 148, present uum'oer.] 
A feeling of gratified vanity, probably, aided 
the natural good nee- of Adelaide’s temper, 
enabled her to endure, with exemplary equa¬ 
nimity, the railleries of her young friends; but 
she was not so tranquil when her father began 
seriously to remonstrate against this imprudent 
intimacy. 
“ You have bad all your wishes gratified, 
Adelaide," said he; “now you must indulge 
one of mine. Adopt as many foreign fashions 
as you please, but remember that you never, 
with my consent, marry any other than an 
American. My fortune has been made by my 
own industry—my name was transmitted to me 
uusullied by my father, who earned his patent 
of nobility when he fought for the declaration of 
independence, and no empty titled foreigner 
shall ever reap the fruits of my toil, or teach 
my daughter to be ashamed of her republican 
father.” 
The earnestness of this admonition, from a 
parent who had never before spoken except In 
the words of unbounded tenderness, first led 
Adelaide to look into the depths of her heart. 
She was almost terrified at her own researches, 
when she found she had allowed the image of 
the Count to occupy its most hidden recesses. 
Bitterly did she repent her folly. 
“ I wish he were an American,’’ sighed she; 
“ and yet, if he were, he would not be half so 
pleasing. How devoted liis manners are—how 
much feeling there is in all he says and does!” 
Poor Adelaide! she was like the fascinated 
bird—she dreaded bis power, yet she could not 
withdraw herself from its influence. She could 
not conceal from herself the fact that the man¬ 
ners of the Count, too, were greatly changed. 
From the courtly gallant, he had gradually 
come down to the impassioned lover. He treas¬ 
ured her every look, and she keenly felt that, in 
exposing her own peace of mind, she had also 
risked the loss of his. 
This state of things eouUl not long exist with¬ 
out an explanation. Six months had scarcely 
passed since Adelaide first beheld the noble 
stranger, and already her young cheek had lost 
this little island no less than about 280 acres of its glow, and her step its buoyant lightness. 
its precious land are devoted to lavender grow¬ 
ing. Each acre yields <5,200 lbs. of flowers. 
Every 100 lbs. of flowers gives up by distillation 
about 1 lb. of the otto of lavender; and thus we 
learn that there is an average production ot’7,000 
lbs. of lavender otto annually, it requires six 
ounces of this to make a gallon of lavender 
water; so that Britannia and her children—you 
know their names—Jamaica, Canada, Australia 
—together with a few visitors—America, Ger¬ 
many, and Russia—use and take home with them 
the enormous quantity of 17,000 gallons of this 
favorite spirit. The lavender gardens of Eng¬ 
land are situated at Mitcham, in Surrey, and at 
Hitehiu, in Hertfordshire. 
Had la dozen sons—each in my love alike—I 
had rather had eleven die nobly for their coun¬ 
try, than one voluptuously surfeit out of action. 
—Shakspenre. 
No liberal man would impute a charge of un¬ 
steadiness to another for having changed his 
opinion.—Cicero. 
She was sitting alone in the drawing-room one 
morning, brooding over melancholy forebod¬ 
ings, when the door opened, and the subject of 
her thoughts entered. Seating himself beside 
her, be commenced a conversation full of those 
graceful nothings which women always love to 
hoar; but Adelaide was in no mood for gaiety. 
The Count intently watched the play of her 
elegant features, and then, as if he divined the 
tumult of her feelings, suddenly changed the 
topic to one of deeper interest. He spoke of 
himself—of his various adventures—of his per¬ 
sonal feelings—and, finally, of his approaching 
departure for Europe. Adelaide’s cheek grew 
paler as he spoke, but she suppressed the cry 
which rose to her Ups. The Count gazed earn¬ 
estly upon her; then seizing her hand and 
.clasping it closely between bis own, he poured 
forth the most passionate expressions of affec-’ 
lion. Half fainting with tho excess of her emo¬ 
tions, Adelaide sat motionless as a statue, until 
aroused by the Count's entreaties for a reply. 
With bitter self-reproach, she attempted to an¬ 
swer him. Faltering, but frankly, she stated 
|~ ' r -.r-Jher father's objection 
— - ^ ■ 0 -^—ttr to her union with a for- 
H * \- &> II 1 eigner, and blamed 
herself for having per- 
reach the. sky. / mitted an intimacy 
no - ble free! whieh ^could only end 
in suffering for both. 
il I i ri “ Only tell me, Ade- 
■j— -'-j-1 laide, that your fath- 
► I* 4> I ^ II er’s prejudices are the 
sole obstacle.” said the 
s’ barren way. Count, passionately : 
truth be set. “ say but that you 
could have loved me, 
sTT"4& 7T\ rr*- and I shall be con- 
*^| tent.” 
—L ' 1 L[__. L L Adelaide blushed 
and trembled. 
noble brave ! a For the love of 
Empire fatate! , , . 
heaven , answer me but 
____ _j__ by a look!” 
_ & 9 _ i n— 
_ I j | J - f~ Timidly that down- 
-!-- —fpt cast eye was raised to 
~ his, and he was an- 
swered. 
“Adelaide,” he resumed, after a moment's 
pause, “we may yet be happy. Could you 
love the humble citizen as well as the noble 
count?” 
A slight pressure of tbe hand that lay in his, 
and a flitting smile on the tremulous lip. was a 
sufficient reply. 
“Then hear me. Adelaide,” said her lover. 
“I will return to my country—I will restore my 
honors to him that bestowed them, aud then I 
may hope to merit—” 
“ My utter contempt!” cried Adelaide, vehe¬ 
mently. “'What, resign your country, forfeit 
the uame of your fathers, desert your inherit¬ 
ance of duties! No, Count Pfeiffenhammer: if 
a love of freedom led you to become a citizen of 
our happy laud, none would so gladly welcome 
you as Adelaide Walsingham; but never would 
I receive tbe sacrifice as a tribute to transitory 
passion.” 
“ A transitory passion, Adelaide!” 
“ Could I expect stability of feeling in him 
who could so easily abandon his native land, 
and forget the claims of his country? You 
have taught me a bitter lesson. Count. No 
American would have show n such weakness of 
character as I have found iu him who I fondly 
believed to be all his lips professed. "Would 
we had never met,” added she. bursting into 
tears. 
“ Adelaide,” said the Count, “ those precious 
tears assure me that you love me. Be mine, 
sweet one; your father will not be inexorable.” 
“ And, [therefore,” said she, “ you would 
have me make him wretched for life. Count 
Pfeifl'enhammer. we must part! You do not 
understand my nature—I have been deceived in 
you!” 
“You have! you have been deceived, my 
own. my own sweet cousin!” cried tbe Count, 
as be covered her hand with passionate kisses. 
“Y'ou have rejected Count Pfeifl'enhammer; 
will you also refuse the hand of your madcap 
cousin, Charles Winstauley, whose little wife 
you were se\ en years ago ?” 
Adelaide started from her seat in wild sur¬ 
prise. “What means all this?—Charles WLll- 
stanley!—The Count!” 
The sudden reversion of feeling overpowered 
hev, and cousin Horace entered the room just iu 
time to see her siuk fainting in Charles Wiu- 
stanley’s arms. The auger of the lady, when 
she recovered and learned the trick which had 
been practiced upon ber —the merriment of 
cousin Horace —the satisfaction of the father 
and the final settlement of all differences—may 
be far better imagined than described. 
A few weeks after, a splendid party was again 
assembled in Mr. Walsingham’s drawing-rooms, 
but Adelaide w as no longer the life of the party. 
Attired in a bridal robe, and decked with rich 
jewels which once sparkled on the person of 
the false Count, sho sat in blushing beauty be¬ 
side her cousin Charles, who, now that he had 
shaven off his moustache aud reduced his whis¬ 
kers, looked like what he really was, a true 
American. 
“ But why, Charles, did you woo me iu such 
an outlandish guise," whispered she, smiling. 
“ Because you vowed to marry none but an 
outlandish wooer. Plain Charles Wiustanley 
w'ould never have been allowed the opportunity 
of winning the heart which Count Pfeiffenham- 
mer had so closely beseiged.” 
“ Aye, aye, Charles,” said the happy father, 
“if American women would only value a man 
for his brains rather than the lightness of his 
heels, and the strength of his principles rather 
than the elegance of his manners, we should 
have less of foreign foppery, and more of homely 
virtue in our country.” 
————————— ■ 
|§f Ming fm tto ffsiwg. 
Wrlttea for Moore’s Rural New-Yorker. 
STAYING ON THE FARM, 
- 2 - ■ - 
“ Farmer Boy,” in the Rural of Feb. 20th, 
gives some very good advice to those who are 
anxious to leave the farm and engage in some 
business that they fancy they will like letter; 
but I cannot agree with him in every particu¬ 
lar. He gives, as the result of his experience in 
other business, “ that he returned to the farm, 
contented to remain there.” The reason of this 
was, that farming “icos his natural vocation 
The rules which be gives for others to follow, 
may perhaps be followed with success by him, 
while it might not be advisable for all farmer 
boys to take his advice and “stick to tbe farm.” 
Men are formed by Nature for different occu¬ 
pations: one man is naturally a trader, another 
a mechanic, another a farmer. A person should 
choose that position in life for which be is fitted 
by Nature. A farmer boy who is naturally a 
mechanic, should leave the farm and learn some 
useful trade: if he does not, he will be likely to 
be unsuccessful in life. 
“FannerBoy" says. “That the business to 
which a man has been schooled, is emphatically 
his business. This does not seem to me to T’r, a 
fact. Because Ben. Franklin was schooled 
to a tallow chandler's business does not prove 
that this was his true place in life. If a man 
is better fitted to bold a pen than a plow, 
let him leave the plow and take the pen. Were 
all men to follow whatever business they hap¬ 
pened to be schooled to in their earlier years, 
the different trades would, in the course of a 
few generations, be filled with a set of block¬ 
heads, and the progress of science"would be 
greatly retarded. 
The three reasons whieh “Farmer Boy” 
gives for not leaving the farm may be sound, 
so far as our personal interest is concerned; but 
we are to look further, and choose that position 
in life where vie can do the most goc-d. If 
Abraham Lincoln had though; a lawyer's 
position worse than a rail-splitter’s,, and had 
gone back to his “ beetle and wedge,” we might 
have now stood sadly in need of a President. 
If the soldiers who are now fighting for our 
country had considered only their personal in¬ 
terests, our nation would have wanted for de¬ 
fenders. 
The farm has sent forth many statesmen and 
generals; it has furnished honest men who 
have kept the spirit of patriotism up, and who 
have infused the necessary vigor into our na¬ 
tion ; and I do not believe in having the fanner 
boy's aid withdrawn, by his remaining at home 
when he is better qualified for other spheres of 
action than those of ox-driver and cow-milker. 
Crcesus. 
GIRLS! HELP YOUR MOTHER. 
How very often do we see daughters lolling 
on their sofa while their mother is toiling in the 
household. Can we believe in affection which 
quiets itself by the remark, “that poor mamma 
is so very active ?“ Why is she so. young lady ? 
Because you, in your thoughtlessness, allow it. 
It has continued from year to year—from when 
you were too youi^ to remember: and there¬ 
fore it never strikes you that your duty should 
bid it cease. 
Your mother is as well fitted for leisure, elegant 
or otherwise, as yourself: your selfish indolence 
alone denies it her, and yet you calmly sign 
yourself her “affectionate daughter.” Is it 
right, also, that she should be meanly dressed, 
while you step out arrayed like a print iu a 
fashion book? How ealmly you appropriate 
her ornaments, plume yourself in her feathers! 
Take her place for awhile—relieve her of some 
portion of her cares; thus only can we hope 
that your weekly prayer has been heard, that 
you do “ honor your father and your mother 1 '— 
that you have been “ enabled to keep this law.” 
