slashing away at some ponderous trunk. As 
soon as he finds himself in a profuse perspira¬ 
tion he gets into bed, wraps himself in Limer¬ 
ick blankets, falls into a sound slumber, and 
gets up buoyant .”—Life of Whately. 
THE PERPETUAL DAYLIGHT IN NORWAY, 
THE LITTLE BOY’S DREAM, 
The farther north you go in voyaging along 
the Norwegian coast during the months of June 
and July, the brighter and longer becomes the 
daylight, until at last you arrive at the regions 
of perpetual day. The exquisite charm of this 
novel state of things is utterly beyond the com¬ 
prehension of those who have not experienced 
it. Apurt altogether from the gladdening influ¬ 
ence of sunshine, there is something delight¬ 
fully reckless in the feeling that there is no 
necessity whatever for taking note of the flight 
of time—no fear lest we should, while wander¬ 
ing together, or perchance alone, among the 
mountains, be overtaken by night. During 
several weeks we lived in the blaze of a long 
nightless day. 
I do not use hypei’boiical language when 
speaking of this perpetual daylight. During 
several weeks, after we had crossed the arctic 
circle, the sun descended little more than its 
own diameter below the horizon each night, so 
that It had scarcely set when it rose again, and 
the diminution of light was quite insignificant; 
it did not approach in the slightest degree to 
twilight. If I had been sudd -n’y awakened 
during any of the twenty-four hours, in the 
cabin of the yacht, or in any place from which 
it was impossible to observe the position of the 
sun, I could not have told whether it was day 
or night! Having said that, it is almost super¬ 
fluous to add that we could, even in the cabin, 
read the smallest print at midnight as easily as 
at noon-day. Moreover, a clear midnight was 
absolutely brighter than a cloudy forenoon. 
Nevertheless, there was a distinct difference 
between uigbt and day—a difference with which 
light had nothing to do. 1 am inclined to think 
that the incalculable myriads of minute and in¬ 
visible ercaturc-s with which. God has tilled the 
solitudes of this world, even more largely than 
its inhabited parts, exercise a much more pow¬ 
erful inlluenee on our senses than we suppose. 
During the day-time these teeming millions, 
bustling about in the activity of their tiny 
spheres, create an actual though unrecognizable 
noise. I do not refer to gnats and flies so much 
as to those atomic bisects whose little persons 
are never seen, and whose individual voices are 
never heard, but whose collective hum is a fact 
that is best proved by tlie silence that follows 
its cessation. In the evening these all retire to 
rest, and night is marked by a deep, impressive 
stillness, which wc are apt erroneously to sup¬ 
pose is altogether the result of that noisy giant 
man having betaken himself to his lair. Yet 
this difference between night and day was only 
noticeable when we were alone or very quiet; 
the preponderating noises resulting from con¬ 
versation or walking were mere than enough to 
dispel the sweet influence. 
We were often very far wrong in our ideas of 
time. Once or twice, on landing and going into 
a hamlet on the coast, we have been much sur¬ 
prised to find the deepest silence reigning every¬ 
where, and on peeping in at a window, to ob¬ 
serve that the inhabitants were all abed, while 
the sun was blazing high in the heavens. Some¬ 
times, too, on returning from a shooting or fish¬ 
ing expedition, I have seen a bush or tree full 
of small bird?, each standing on one leg, with 
its head thrust under its wing and its round 
little body puffed up to nearly twice its usual 
size, and having thus bceu reminded that the 
hours for rest had returned. Of course a little 
observation and reflection would at any time 
have cleared up our minds as to whether day or 
night was on the wing —nevertheless. I state 
the simple truth when 1 say that we were often 
much perplexed, and sometimes ludicrously de¬ 
ceived, by the conversion of night into day.— 
Yacht Voyage to Korway. 
Last right - , when I was in bed, 
Such fan it seemed to me; 
I dreampt that I was grandpapa, 
And grandpapa was me. 
I thought I wore a powdered wig, 
Drab shorts and gaiters huff, 
And took, without a single sneeze, 
A double pinch of snuff . 
But be was such a tiny boy, 
And dressed in baby clothes; 
And I thought I smacked his face, because 
He wooldn t blow his nose. 
And I went walking up the street, 
And he ran by my side; 
And because I walked too fast for him, 
My goodness, how he cried! 
And after tea I washed his face, 
And when his prayers were said, 
I blew the candle out, and left 
Poor grandpapa in bed. 
THE POWER OF IMAGINATION 
Mr. Charles Babbage, in his second book 
of reminiscences under the title of “Passages 
in the Life of a Philosopher,” relates the fol¬ 
lowing anecdote of the poet Rogers and him¬ 
self:—“Once at a large dinner party, Mr. Rogers 
was speaking of an inconvenience arising from 
the custom, then commenting, of having win¬ 
dows formed of one large sheet of plate-glass. 
He said that a short time ago he sat at dinner 
with his back to one of these single panes of 
plate-glass; it appeared to him that the window 
was wide open, and such was the force of imag¬ 
ination that ho actually caught cold. It so hap¬ 
pened that I was sitting just opposite to the 
poet. Hearing this remark. I immediately said, 
‘Dear me, how odd it i-. Mr. Rogers, that you 
and I should make such a very different use of 
the faculty of imagination. When I go to the 
house of a friend in the country, and unex¬ 
pectedly remain for the night, having no night¬ 
cap I should naturally catch cold. But by tying 
a bit of pack-thread tightly round my head, I 
go to sleop imagining that I have a night*eap on, 
consequently I catch no cold at all.' This sally 
produced much amusement in all around, who 
supposed I had improvised it; but odd as it may 
appear, it Is a practice I have often resorted to. 
Mr. Rogers, who knew full well the respect and 
regard 1 had for him, saw at once that I was 
relating a simple fact, and joined cordially in 
the merriment it excited.” 
NIAGARA FALLS, 
Niagara Falls have become classic ! They 
will hereafter remain so! Has not “Colorado 
Jewett,” the messenger of the Ministers of 
Peace, contributed to this result? And does 
not the “Correspondence” which pa«sed be¬ 
tween “H. G." and -John Hay, of the first 
part, and Messrs. Holcombe and Clay, of the 
second part, forever determine the classic char¬ 
acter of this great fall ? And what a fall is there, 
O countrymen! Did not B longin', and is not 
Farlni piling up its classical fame? Has not 
Vallandigh am and Sanders, and hosts of 
other notabilities — not to say notorieties — 
contributed to this elas-ic pillar which news¬ 
mongers and penny-a-liners, “special corre¬ 
spondents” aud “special dispatches” have been 
rearing ? The Falls, abstractly, were once 
the theme of monographists; but now events 
have carved a place for Niagara Falls in Ameri¬ 
can History that shall be as enduring as the 
walls of rock over which the waters of the 
lakes flow. 
Because of the added classic importance and 
interest which just now attaches to them, and 
because of the probability that many of our 
readers are either too short, (of funds,) or too 
sensible to follow the sweltering crowd of 
fashion thither, we have determined to illus¬ 
trate this page of the Rural with the two 
great features of Nature and Art to be seen 
there — the world-renowned Falls of Niagara 
and the celebrated Niagara Suspension Bridge. 
SUCCESS IN LIFE 
Benjamin Franklin attributed liis success 
as a public man, not to his talents or his powers 
of speaking—for these were but moderate—but 
to his known integrity of character. “ Hence 
it was that I had so much weight with my 
fellow citizens. I was but a bad speaker, sub¬ 
ject to much hesitation in my choice of words, 
hardly correct in language, yet I generally car¬ 
ried my point.” 
Character creates confidence in men in high 
stations as well as in humble life. It is said of 
the first Emperor Alexander of Russia, that 
his personal character was equivalent to a con¬ 
stitution. During the wars of the Fronde, 
Montaigne was the only man among the French 
gentry who kept his castle gate unbarred: and 
it was said of him that his personal character 
was worth more to him than a regiment of 
horse. 
That character is power, is true in a much 
higher sense than that knoweledge is power. 
Mind without heart, intelligence without con¬ 
duct, cleverness without goodness, are powers 
in their way, but they may be powers only for 
mischief. We may be instructed or amused by 
them; but it is sometimes as difficult to admire 
them as it would be to admire the dexterity of 
of a pickpocket, or the horsemanship of a high¬ 
wayman. Truthfulness, integrity and goodness 
—qualities that hang not on any man's breath— 
form the essen ee of manly character, or, as one 
of the old writers has it, “that inbred loyalty 
unto Virtue that can serve her without a livery.” 
When Stephen, of Coionna, fell into the hands 
of base assailants and the}* asked him in deris¬ 
ion "Where* now is your fortress?”—“ Here,” 
was his bold reply, placing his hand upon his 
heart. It is in misfortune that the .character of 
' the upright man shines forth with the greatest 
I luster; and wheu all else fails, he takes a stand 
j upon his integrity and courage. 
Virtue is a power for good in itself. On the 
; other hand knowledge is power for good only as 
j it is allied to virtue. Uusanctified knowledge is 
i often a dangerous instrumentality, while unlet¬ 
tered virtue is a tower of strength to society. 
A character in its nearest perfection, combines 
the two,—virtue — religion — and knowledge. 
These form th'e safeguard of a nation, and are 
objects of the highest importance in the State. 
Young men should early lay the foundations 
of a good character—lay them deep in integrity 
and truth—so deep that the storms of life shall 
not prevail to overthrow them. Thus 
they find favor in the eyes of their fellow 
Old Bachelors.— In antiquity it was con¬ 
sidered unpatriotic in a citizen to remain a bach¬ 
elor all his days. By the Spartan laws, those 
citizeus who remained bachelors after middle 
age were excluded from all ofllces, civic or mili¬ 
tary. At certain feasts they were exposed to 
public derision, and led round the market place. 
Although generally speaking age was deeply 
respected, yet this feeling was not manifested to 
old bachelors. “ Why should I make way for 
you,” said a Spartan youth to a grey-headed old 
bachelor, “who will never have a sou to do me 
the same honor when I am old ?” The Romans 
pumued the same policy toward bachelors. 
They had to pay extra aud special taxes, and 
under Augustus a law was enacted by which 
bachelors were made incapable of acquiring 
legacies and devises of i*eal estate by will, ex¬ 
cept from their near relatives. 
SUSPENSION BRIDGE —NIAGARA FALLS. 
A Deserter. 
A correspondent sends the Rural the 
following written for the home circle of which 
he was a member, by a soldier who is now a 
prisoner in the hands of the rebels, “ la mem¬ 
ory of one remembered by few:" 
lx a crave, in the hillside, scooped in clay. 
Far from his home aud friends away, 
They placed his body one wintry day— 
No one who loved him, standing by— 
No one to niter a wailing cry 
Or e'en o'er his stark corse breathe a sigh. 
Never a word of fond regret— 
Never a tear, his cold cheeks wet— 
Never a kiss his cold lips met. 
Stem and silent they laid him there. > 
Without a coffln, without a prayer, 
While the snow fell thick through the frosty air. 
God of Mercy! "Why, O' why 
Should a creature, formed in thine image high. 
Be left alone, unloved, to die? 
Alas! the reason is soon, soon told 
Weary of marching, of hunger aud cold, 
He had deserted—the story is old. 
What cherished memories homeward drew, 
Or Lore’s endearments, tender aud true. 
No one cared, or no one knew. 
“ Died in the guard-house*'—true 'twas a shame, 
A lasting stigma upon his name; 
Yet I can pity—enough will blame. 
men, 
CHILDREN'S PLAYTHINGS. 
Little children, don't lose your playthings. 
Let them not be scattered to the winds, or bro¬ 
ken by careless hands, or crushed by burned 
feet. They may become, in your man and 
womanhood, most precious “water-marks” of 
your childhood. You will love to look at them, 
to handle them, and to caress them softly, for 
they shall be precious letters to you from a far 
country, and sweet voices from out the silent 
past. So put them away—the books and the 
toys—when they have done their services, 
whether of instruction or diversion: cover them 
up carefully, and bestow them in some safe and 
sacred nook to go and look at sometimes when 
the eyes you bend over them will be a little 
sadder, and the heart beneath a little—nay, it is 
likely a great deal, heavier than it is now—pray 
God a great deal riper aud better. 
BISHOP WHATELY’S BRAIN TONIC 
"Here's your Mule.” 
In the battle of Stone River a raw Hoosier 
recruit in one of Groose’s regiments got inter¬ 
ested in the tight. It was the first time he had 
smelled tire. He had been long enough in the 
army to learn its slang; and he used it zealously. 
The fellow fought like a tiger. He loaded in a 
good deal less time, than “ uine times," and fired 
whenever he could see a head. His whole soul 
was in it. Even time he leveled and fired, he 
shouted: 
“ Here's your mule." snap. bang. •* here's your 
mule!" 
About the twentieth round a rebel sharp, 
shooter struck him in the left arm. He looked 
at the wound with amazement, and with a short 
spasm, ejaculated: 
“They’ve shot me!" 
Then laying down his musket carefully and 
stripping otT his accoutrements, he also laid 
them down deliberately and ran to the rear with 
frantic energy. It was evident that “ here's 
your mule.” had stampeded. The officer who 
described the affair said that it was the most lu¬ 
dicrous incident he had ever witnessed on a bat¬ 
tle field. “Iiosey ” laughed at it until tears 
rolled down his cheeks. 
the brain; it weakens under continued pro¬ 
tracted labor, particularly at night. Sleep re¬ 
stores it to strength and fresh inclination and 
capacity for work. If sleep fail to do this, or if 
sufficient sleep be not allowed for the repose 
and invigorating of the brain, its powers decay, 
and even insanity may supervene through over¬ 
work, especially at uuduo times. No oue knew 
this better than Whately, who may be said 
to have slept as fast as he could. Idle people 
are not to take this as a justification of their 
sluggardism. When Whately felt fatigue from 
overtaxing the brain iu the day-time, ho would 
close his books, aud a quarter of an hour after 
you might have seen the following instructive 
spectacle; 
The first occasion on which I ever saw Dr. 
Whately (observes a correspondent) was under 
curious circumstances. I accompanied my late 
friend Dr. Field to visit professionally some 
members of the archbishop's household at Red- 
esdule, Stillorgau. The ground was covered by 
two feet of snow, and the thermometer was 
down almost to zero. Knowing the arch¬ 
bishop's character for humanity, I expressed 
much surprise to see an old laboring man in his 
shirt-sleeves felling a tree “ after hours ” in the 
demesne, while a heavy shower of sleet drifted 
pitilessly on his wrinkled face. “ That laborer,” 
replied Dr. Field, “ whom you think the victim 
of prelatical despotism, is no other than the 
archbishop curing himself of a headache. 
Wheu his grace has been reading and writing 
more than ordinarily, and finds any pain or eou- 
fusion about the cerebral organization, he puts 
both to llight by rushing out Nvith an axe, and 
HOURS of Sadness —Though youth he a 
season of jollity, yet it is in hours of sadness 
that the mau is most strongly reminded of the 
days of yore. The deep feeling of melancholy 
is the only one that extends like a clue through 
life; that blends present, past and future, into 
oue, and places our identity palpably before us. 
It is the point at which we all feet at home: 
and when, after intervals of apathy and distrac¬ 
tion, we return to it, it seems as if life like time, 
were but a series of revolutions, and at certain 
periods found itself at the very goal from whence 
it first started. 
About Gen. WeitzeL 
After the glorious exhibition of the fight¬ 
ing qualities of the negro last week, be was 
heal’d to say:—“ This war is as good as settled, 
the negroes will fight, and Baldly $mith says so." 
Up to that time General Smith was supposed to 
distrust negro soldiers. During one of the en¬ 
gagements on this front a soldier cried out to 
General Weitzel, “General, a Johnny has got 
me prisoner! Come out here and save me.” 
The General sprang out, presented his pistols, 
released the man. aud brought in the rebel, who 
begged him not to shoot, aud was astonished 
beyond measure when he learned the rank of 
his captor. 
A Bird Story.—A Boston paper tells this 
little .bird story;—" A pair of robius whose 
twitter enlivens me groves of Xevvburyport. 
have manifested their love for * the laud of their 
birth' and their loyalty to the Uuiou by weav¬ 
ing into the fabric of their nest for this season a 
paper copy of the American flag, 1 red, white 
and blue,' and inserting beneath it a brass thim¬ 
ble, mouth upward like a mortar, doubtless to 
serve for its defence. The nest, we are sorry to 
say, was robbed of four eggs and kuoeked from 
its perch by some mischievous boys." 
; is tired, aud the lull in the battle Two officers, wounded in the battle of the 
eel. Adventurous spirits on both '20th, before Petersburg, vvei*e goiug home last 
ly raise their heads above the earth- Friday by the Erie route. When the train 
>vv are you. Johnny?" "How neared Ovvego, a well dressed lady, accompanied 
k ?" are questions usually bandied, bv a child and a gentleman, entered the ear and 
i shoot?" says one. “No,” says took the seat in front of them. As the officers 
"Well, “we won’t,” chime in all, talked over the recent engagements at Peters- 
tely the parapets are swarmed with burg, informing each other of various acquaint- 
vvere concealed aud protected be- anees who had fallen, one remarked “there 
was Capt. Warwick, of the lbOth New York, 
d the fellows from the rifle-pits, as bravo a fellow* as ever lived: he was shot 
down their guns j stretched their I through the head and instantly killed." The 
I 
l 
