ilay, wa» accosted by the priest, “ Good morn* 
in#?, daughter of the devil," aud meekly replied, 
” Good morning, father,’’ Two friends meeting 
one remarked. “I have just met a man who 
told me 1 looked exactly like you." “ Tell me 
who it was, that 1 may knock him down!” 
“ Don’t trouble yourself,” he said. “ I did that 
myself once.” 
The celebrated David (.'rocket, on visiting 
a menagerie, was comparing the countenance of 
a monkey to that of one of his fellow-members 
of Congress. Turning, he saw the gentleman 
had overheard his remarks so, to make matters 
pleusaut. he said, “I do not know which to 
apologize to, you or the monkey.” Two dea¬ 
cons were once disputing about the proposed 
site lor the new grave-yard, when the first re¬ 
marked, “Ill never be buried in that ground as 
long as 1 live.” “What an obstinate mail,” 
said the second; “if my life is spared I will.” 
—Monitor'. 
Written for Moore's Rural New-Yorker. 
OLLA PODKID&, 
For Moore’s Rural New-Yorker. 
that there are & great many women who lack this 
essential qualification for the duties of a mother, 
for there are a vast number of young and older 
ladies who habitually indulge iu such expres¬ 
sion. It grows out of a selfish, aimless life—out 
of (he selfish, aimless life which so many Amer¬ 
ican women are leading—out of the every-day 
life of thousands about us who do not seem to 
know what a glorious, and, at the same time, 
responsible heritage they have in this privilege 
of living. 
No, no, good woman, no woman is qualified 
for a mother’s work, who does not see in each 
little life the gem by which she is to perpetu¬ 
ate her o\yn life. The child is the regenerate 
part of herself. It is common for people to 
wish that they could live their lives over again. 
Why ? Because they would avoid errors, ac¬ 
quire wisdom, direct their footsteps differently. 
If such people are honest, and are parents, they 
have, in a degree, the opportunity of moulding 
a life as they would live one, were they to begin 
again. It is true such wishes are often express¬ 
ed thoughtlessly; and yet they are undoubtedly 
natural expressions. 
And how grave are the duties of the mother! 
She looks back upon the errors of her own life; 
she sees the foibles in the character of those 
with whom she has been .associated; she has 
wonderful perceptive powers, and more wonder¬ 
ful womanly instincts—I can call them nothing 
else—which enable her to discriminate wisely, 
if her own heart has been rightly cultivated. 
An impressible nature is given her to mold. 
She brings to tbe work of shaping this nature 
and giving the projectile force in its direction, 
the marvel lou6 love of a mother for her child, 
the mother’s sheltering, protecting instincts, her 
perception-., her experiences, and the knowledge 
she has inherited, from her own parents, and 
acquired. She is to reproduce her own or her 
ideal life in that of her child. This is her work. 
She mu -1 appreciate the magni tude of her work 
and its responsibility. She must devote herself 
to it from a love of it and of her offspring. 
There is no cork wore important for her to do. 
Then she requres all the Christian virtues and 
accomplishments that her nature permits her 
to acquire, for she will have use for them alL 
The real child will depend very much upon the 
mother's ideal, anl upon the means she uses, 
and their adaptation to the child’s nature, to 
bring the child up to her standard or ideal. : 
The mothers are the educators of the chil¬ 
dren of this country. This is the general rule; 
of course there are exceptions. But if I know < 
the character and every-oiy life of the mother, i 
I can form a pretty eorreet estimate of the ulti- i 
mate direction and animus o: the child's life. 
Be it known. Lead Pencil is not vain 
enough to set himself up as an instructor of 1 
mothers. He has simply givea here what he ( 
has thought should govern their every-day life. 1 
No doubt some will take exceptions to what he 
has written. They have a right todo so. Will * 
thev state them? a 
Written for Moose's Rural New-Yorker. 
HOURS GONE, 
“ Who are yon. Minnie? Are yon a myth, or a real 
person? Me judice, you are a beautiful woman. I 
would really like to know who and what you are,” &c. 
p-, Illinois, 1S6A. A. J. M-. 
Who am I?—an easy matter to ask. 
But to answer truly a difficult task; 
For I’m neither a myth, a ghoul nor human, 
Am neither a child, a man nor woman, 
I am neither rich nor poor nor old. 
I'm neither to sell, nor have I been sold. 
I’m made up of odds, ends, chips and blocks, 
All welded logo!her by various knocks. 
So that to the lminun eye I appear 
Like a creature no doabt from some ot her sphere. 
THE POET. 
I scatter beauty’s pearly seeds 
Along the highway of the years; 
They grow and blossom there, with smiles. 
And sympathetic tears. 
VIRTUE. 
Fair Nature, never boasting, tells 
Of triumphs in the garden won; 
’Tis by their odor that we know 
They’re blushing In the sun 
RIFE. 
We stoop not at t he doors of Life 
With snoing heart and reaching palms; 
’Tis by the friendly gate of Death 
We bow, aud hope for alms 
Wyoming, N. Y , 1864. J. Me] 
Hours that were lair as the beautiful dawn, 
Ye, from my heart in its sadness, have gone, 
Ye have but left me a vision half flown 
Of the treasure of yore that my spirit hath known. 
Hours that were stars to my wearisome way— 
Ye like the root have all faded away. 
Tlours I have numbered, and christened with tears, 
Rest rocked to sleep In the heart, of the years— 
Wake not to haunt me with hopes that are fled, 
■With joya that were fleeting, with friends that are dead, 
Honrs that were seals in the hook ot my doom— 
Rest In your darkness and sadness and gloom. 
Hours that were laden with voices of love— 
Ye are safe moored in the haven above 
Drifting before me—on life’s cruel sea— 
I, in my sadness, am mourning for thee. 
Beautiful hoursf yo have crossed the tide, 
And are waiting for me on the fnrther side 
I’m a married woman of forty and lour. 
With a dozen or so ol' children, or more; 
My husband, a man who is well to-do, 
Who values old friends instead of the new. 
By trade lie’s a blacksmith —by profession a preacher, 
Per force he's a printer, per force he’s a teacher,— 
In short, like his wife, of all things he shades, 
A wonderful genius—“Jack-of-all-trados.” 
He thinks—I’ll whisper it softly to yon— 
That his wife is on excellent type of a shrew! 
I was still in my teens, when “ for better or worse,” 
I married this man, whom I honor in verse, 
Although of the latter, ii has proven to be, 
’Tis the same that most women iu after life see. 
1 have tended the youngters, and mended hie hose, 
Sewed his shirt buttons and repaired his old clothes, 
Cooked ids dinners, while he, as a good husband 
should, 
Has kept me well shod—cut plenty of wood, 
And those who have known us thro’ our married life 
Call him a good husband and me a good wife. 
Now this, A. J. M., doesn't, seem like a myth? 
For, to tell you the truth, I am—Mrs. John Smith. 
A STORY WITH A LESSON. 
PERSONAL GOSSIP. 
THE CHRISTIAN SABBATH. 
— Once a Week says:—The appearance of Co¬ 
lumbus was not a bad index of bis character. 
His general air expressed the authority wkieb 
be knew so well bow to exercise. His light 
grey eyes kindled easily at subjects of interest. 
He was tall and well formed. His complexion 
was fair and freckled, and inclined to ruddy. 
Trouble soon turned his light hair grey, and at 
thirty years of age it was quite white. Moder¬ 
ate in food and simple in dress, temperate in 
lauguage, bearing himself with courteous and 
gentle gravity, religious without being a formal¬ 
ist. repressing his irritable temper with a lofty 
piety, he was the model of a Christian gentle¬ 
man. The devout reverence of his successes 
to the Divine favor, with which he concludes 
the report of his first voyage to the sovereigns 
man. 
lory is told of Washing- 
It is the day when you may sit down to the 
Bible, without fear of disturbance. It is the 
day when, alongside of Enoch, you may feed 
the llame of devotion, and try to divine the 
wonders and Imbibe the ardor of a walk with 
God. It is a day when, according to your vari¬ 
ous mood, you may mourn with Abraham at 
Macbpelah; or meditate with Isaac In the field 
of Mamre: or go down into Egypt to view Jo¬ 
seph in all his glory. It is the day when you 
may bid Jacob’s Star twinkle anew, Zacha- 
riah’s fountain flow amain. It is the day when, 
in the upper chamber, you may listen to a ser¬ 
mon of Paul, or, a pilgrim to Patinos, along 
with the beloved disciple, see Jesus. And it is 
the day for prayer—the Sabbath itself one closet, 
and your quiet chamber another—a closet with¬ 
in a closet, when you may surely shut out the 
world, and get very near to God— the day for 
looking back, for confession, for eyeing the 
Lamb that was slain—the day for looking for¬ 
ward, for self-dedication, for holy resolutions, 
for obedience begun. And it is the day forpub- 
lic worship, when the glad bells say, “Go ye 
up to the house of the Lord,’’ and the artless 
worshippers answer, “Thy face, Lord, will 
we seek.’-' And it Is the day for Christian con¬ 
verse, when, coming from the house of God in 
Again, I’m a spinster of an uncertain age, 
Too old to bo pleasing, too young for a sage, 
Too short to be graceful, too lean to be plump, 
I resemble in person a sycamore stump. 
My eyes of that cast not commonly seen, 
A mixture somewhere between orange and green; 
My nose is my prominent feature—a calf 
Would think I had robbed his mother of half 
What belonged unto her, while my delicate mouth 
Reminds one of tbe earth in a season of drouth. 
I’m an object of terror for miles around 
And people quake at the very sound 
Of my mentioned name, while mothers hug 
Their children, as though some Cyclop-Bag 
Would swallow them whole—and even men, 
Great with the sword and great with the pen, 
Tremble and shiver before me as though 
I were some wild tiger escaped from a enow. 
And people stare where'er I appear, 
Whispering low, ''how wonderful queer!” 
But to add to these charms of peson I can 
Boast of riches as great as a Sultan or Khan, 
I have money and lauds and palaces grand, 
(But where is the man who has asked for my hand?) 
In knowledge scarce equaled by Parker or Nott, 
Far more than usually falls to one’s lot. 
I’ve tbe Latin and Hebrew, the Greek and the Danish, 
An adept in the Freneh, Italian and Spanish, 
In sciences skilled, and in dry mat hematics 
Am rarely excelled, so in classics and ethics. 
So you see what I am, and ir you are human, 
Can you still think Unit. I am a beautiful woman? 
My name—I forget—yon wanted that too— 
It is easily written—Miss Abbtgael Drew. 
of Castile, is highily characteristic of the 
1 — Tun following 
ton Irving: — On his return from Saratoga 
] I accompanied him a portion of his way home- 
1 ward. We were seated together, and directly 
in front of us sat an anxious mother with three 
children—one an infant, in her arms, and the 
, other two, a boy aud a girl of some two aud 
> three years of age, giving the mother great 
> trouble, and waking the infant by striving to 
clamber over her to look out at the window. 
; Mr. Irving at once interposed, and lifting each 
j alternately over to his lap, and looking at his 
watch, said:—“Now three minutes for each to 
, look out of my window,” and began lifting 
; them over and replacing them, each in turn, 
• accordingly, till they were tired of it, though 
much gratified. “Ah, sir,” said the relieved 
mother, “ any one can see that you are the kind 
father of a big family.” This amused him 
greatly, and amply rewarded him for his inter¬ 
position. He would not spoil a good joke by 
refutation or controversy. 
— Thomas Jefferson tells the following 
story of Benjamin Franklin:— “Doctor 
Franklin had a party to dine with him at 
l’assy, of whom one-half were Americans, the 
other half French, and among the last was the 
Abbe Raynal. During the dinner he got on 
his favorite theory of the degeneracy of animals, 
and even of men In America, and urged it with 
his usual eloquence. The Doctor, at length, 
noticing the accidental stature and position of 
his guests at table, * Come,’ says he, * M. l’Abbe, 
let us try this question by tbe fact before us. 
We are here one-half Americans and one-half 
French, and it happens that the Americans 
have placed themselves on one side of the table, 
and our French friends are on the other. Let 
both parties rise, and we will see on which side 
nature has degenerated.’ It happened that his 
Americana guests were Carmichael,Harmkr, 
Humphreys, and others of the finest stature 
and form: those on the other side were remarka¬ 
bly diminutive, and the Abbe himself particu¬ 
larly, was a mere shrimp. He parried the ap¬ 
peal by a complimentary admission of excep¬ 
tions, among which the Doctor himself was a 
conspicuous one.” 
—Of GARABALDi'slife at his home in Capre- 
ra, and of his visitors, a correspondent of a Lon 
don paper writes:—“ An amusing book might 
certainly be written under the title 11 Visitors to 
Caprera.’ Distinguished, lowly, celebrated, un¬ 
known, generals, deputies, journalists, artists, 
scientific men, literary women, inventors, schem¬ 
ers, humbugs, fools, and of every country, creed 
and condition-a motley crew of sterling char¬ 
acters, shallow malcontents, unprincipled spec¬ 
ulators, honest enthusiasts, lion hunters, and 
autograph collectors innumerable. I wonder 
that such a book has not yet been written. It 
would fetch a good price, und would show the 
sort of ‘ solitude ’ which Garabaldi enjoys in 
Caprera; while, at the same time, it would he, < 
if well written, a literary memorial of his great 1 
heart, good nature, and inexhaustnble kindli- 1 
ness. The fact is, that it were better for his * 
peace of mind and body, aud even for his finances, * 
to live in the busy world than In that island, ’ 
Solitude. 
GOSSIPPY PARAGRAPHS 
RESPECT THE BURDEN 
I am neither married, nor a spinster old, 
I have neither houses nor lands nor gold, 
I am neither short nor ugly nor rude. 
Am not a bat bleu nor a horrible prude, 
I seldom smile and am rarely sad, 
Am neither good—am neither bad, 
I'm neither the eldest nor youngest child, 
I am neither amiable nor mild, 
I never was young, except so in years, 
I never saw sunshine only thro’ tears. 
On dit, I am haughty and willful and proud, 
With a heart encased in a marble shroud, 
Thoughtless alike of the good or hurt, 
And withal a most unmerciful flirt. 
I am strangely odd-so odd that one, 
Whether in earnest or whether in fun, 
Could scarcely tell. And if you should mix 
Up all the bad that tbe famous Styx 
Claims as its own, with all that UeaveD 
Of good to earing man has given, 
With all the beauty of a poet’s thought, 
That God has made, or farcy wronght, 
With all that Is ngly »ej unfair, 
This well Hhaken up with care 
Would irmkp, l think, with a proper view 
A very good specimen of “ IFao are you ?” 
My soubriquet—&h yes, I’m fain 
To tell you:—'tis Bveon's favorite name. 
Napoleon 
at St. Helena, was once walking 
with a lady, when a man came up with a load 
on his back. The lady kept her side of the 
path, aud was ready to assert her precedence of 
sex; but NapOLEON gently waved heron one 
side, saying, “ Respect the burden, madam.” 
You constantly see men and women behave to 
each other in a way which shows that they do 
not “ respect the burden,” whatever the burden 
is. Sometimes the burden is an actual visible 
load, sometimes it is cold and raggedness, some¬ 
times it is hunger, sometimes it is grief or ill¬ 
ness. If I get into a little contllct (suppose I 
jostle or am jostled) with a half-elad, hungry- 
looking fellow in the street on a winter morn¬ 
ing, I am surely bound to he lenient iu my con¬ 
struction-,. I expect him to be harsh, rude, loud, 
unforgiving; and his burden (Of privation) en¬ 
titles him to my indulgence. Again a man with 
a bad headache is almost an irresponsible agent 
so far as common amenities go; I am a bruio if I 
quarrel with him for a wry word, or au ungra¬ 
cious act. And how far, pray , arc we to push 
the kind of chivalry which “ respects the bur¬ 
den ?” As far as the love of God will go with 
us. A great distance—it Is a long way to the 
foot of the rainbow .—(food Words. 
remembrance of, for Many a month. He died 
a wealthy bachelor, leafing his whole estate to 
his sister. As soon as the old lady came into 
possession of her property, she adopted Ferine 
for her daughter and heire*«, and placed her in 
one of the best boarding-schoai 6 m i» ar i„ ( that 
she might receive an education suited to her 
position, and many as well as the heiress of 
several thousand francs a year might hope 
to do. 
goods calculated above. T ie6c three sums to¬ 
gether make up a tribute ’f three hundred and 
ninety millions of franc? or about one-fifth of 
the State Budget, paid ear, J ,t o a ridiculous aud 
inconvenient fashion 
— After the <*inpaigii which ended with 
the battle of C'bi^biauga, our soldiers used to 
get up cotillion <artie.s, which were attended by 
both Union a*d Secesh ladles. The following 
story is told illustrating the extreme delicacy of 
expression employed by the latter, who were 
careful to use language that might not offend 
the “ boys in]/lue.” One of them stepped up to 
the “artist”,ifiddler) and said very politely:- 
“Will you he so kind as to play the Federal 
Doodlef 
Somb persons seeni to have an electric current 
of wit which flashes the moment it meets an 
opposing one; and it is our purpose here to give 
from memory a few specimens of this sort of 
wit, for which we could give the proper credit 
if we knew their names, beginning with two of 
Lamb’s, which cannot be left out, of such a cata¬ 
logue, familiar as they. are. First, his reply 
when he was rebuked for coming into business 
at the India house so very late ip the morning. 
“ You know 1 always go away very early in the 
afternoon,” anil the still older one to the anxious 
passenger’s query on entering a crowded omni¬ 
bus: “All full inside?” “ I don’t know how it 
is with the rest of the passengers, but that last 
piece of oyster pie did the business for me.” It 
is related of some friends of Campbell, the author 
of Uohenllnden, on leaving his room after u gay 
supper, that one of the number had the misfor¬ 
tune to fall down a long flight of stairs. The 
pbet, alarmed, openod the door and asked, 
“ WJiat Is that ?” “ It’s I, sir, rolling rapidly,” 
was the immediate reply of his fallen friend. 
Sheridan is said to have remarked, on entering 
a crowded committee room, in Parliamentary 
language, “ Will some member move that I may 
take the chair ?” 
A poor poet, desiring a compliment, asked 
Curran — referring to his recently published 
poem of that name—” Have you read my Descent 
into Hell?” “No; I should like to see it,” re¬ 
plied the wit. A prosy member of Parliament 
having asked him, “Have you read my last 
speech?” he replied, “I hope 1 have.” Two 
Now wonderful, curious A. J. M-, 
Do you know at last who. what I am? 
Or am I like to that riddle of old 
That in childhood, at nigh., you so oft were told ? 
Ah! yes, “I remember it,” now you say, 
“ It ended, T tho’t, in a curious way, 
‘ I’ve told you my name three times In a row,’ 
And still you're so queer—I guees l don’t know.” 
Minnie Mintwuod. 
Hilldale Farm, near Ludlowviile, N. Y., 1864 . 
INWARD PEACE, 
/he evidently thought “ Yankee” an 
ofcnoxiousyterm, 
— A prbTTY sharp retort is that, m&de recently 
by a yojtog, pretty girl at Oshkosh, Wia., who 
attended a ball dressed in short skirts and pacts. 
She avis the only one present in the mode. The 
otheg ladies were shocked—very much shocked! 
Tlgy regarded her short skirts as immodest; but 
ske quietly remarked that if they would pull up 
fheir dresses about their necks as high as they 
ought to be, their skirts would be as short 
as hers. 
— A Liverpool magistrate lately giving an 
opinion about some matrimoniul difficulty, said: 
“It is always a bad arrangement for married 
people, whether high or low, rich or poor, to 
have a wife’s sister, or brother, or other rela¬ 
tive, living in the same house with them.” 
— In Iowa a girl of seventeen, who wanted 
to get married, placed a strip of paper with the 
number eighteen written on it in her shoes, 
swore she was “ over eighteeu,” and thus got 
her license and a husband. 
Written for Moore’s Rural New-Yorker. 
EVERY-DAY LIFE. 
BY' LEAD PENCIL, 
“What are the qualities you deem m<st 
essential in a woman, in order that she sb^d 
bring up her child in the way he should g>?” 
tto asked a woman mad mother of j»«, Hie 
other day, in a letter I received from h f . And 
I’ve been thinking upon the subject omewhat. 
I want the reader to read the quc*«>n again;— 
“Whatare the qualities you de f ‘h &c„”—not 
what are tbe most essential qualities. If the 
question was put in the latto form, 1 Mhould 
hesitate to write a word, Tut it Is a personal 
question put to this pencf'5 this pencil is 
alone responsible for the cply. 
There should be nr effort to destroy the 
maternal or instinctiveiove for the child. Fash¬ 
ion should not be alhwed to remove the mother 
from the child—to jlvcrfc the mother’s love and 
care from their true sphere. Intelligent love of 
!, where he can’t help receiving the 
swarm of visitors lauded by every successive 
boat, with a cargo of petty grievances, one-sided 
information, tearing reports, accusations, jeal¬ 
ousies, calumnies, hatreds, and such other amen¬ 
ities dished up in so many courses for his partic¬ 
ular digestion.” 
There is no way under heaven to bo inter¬ 
ested in Christ, but by believing. lie that be- 
lieveth shall be saved, let his sins be ever so 
great; and he that believeth not shall he 
damned, let his sins be ever so little. 
