Written lbr Moore’s Rural New-Yorker 
THE TRUE SCHOLAR, 
Written tor Moore’s Rural New-Yorker. 
SUMMER DAYS, 
A well developed and truly educated mind 
is one of the noblest works of God. The 
thouglit-hero is the pride of heaven and the 
glory of earth. With an oyo brighter than 
gorgeous Spica—a soul larger than the realms 
of space —a mental wing more radiant than 
Aurora’s folds, man crowned with intellect 
stands forth. Can the brow of heaveu show a 
loftier majesty than the original Hanker? 
It was the design of Providence that all 
minds should be educated; but not that all 
should be scholars. It is of the mission of this 
latter class that wc are to speak. Oh, thou 
destined scholar, standing at tho gateway of 
life, what boundless lields~ivelcomu"t,Iiy _ foot- 
steps—what thought can measure the greetings 
of thy God! Geology traveling indi'vjne foot- 
prints, kneels loaded at thy feet. With heroic 
delight thou mayVt build great coral reefs in 
thy mind's Pacific, and shout with joy as the 
rushing glacier proudly sweeps them down. 
Thou may'st read the very first thoughts of 
God in the depths of the old Azoic granite, and 
trace his finger-prints in the fossils of the old 
red sandstone. If thou would’st crown thvself 
with garlands. Botany bares her breast to thee. 
Flowers are one of God’s best, purest agen¬ 
cies ,—read them well. Can the tongue speak 
the mystics of Astronomy f —yet thou boldest 
in thy hand the key which shall unlock its verv 
soul. Would’st thou know Nature'!’—the queen 
banquets in every open heart. With messages 
from out the great Infinite, she sits upon the 
throne of truth. Search for it, as the great 
Alpha and Omega of thy life. And abovo all, 
thou may’st walk Into the rich storehouse of the 
mind, and boldly, yet tremblingly, read thyself. 
In thy soul’s nursery shall be boru great origi¬ 
nal thoughts; for God is a true scholar ,"and 
well He kuovvs what knowledge is for man. 
Thy inventive genius shall chain the lightnings 
and thy converse reach to the farthest stars. 
Yea, enthusiasm shall he a secret of success to 
thee. All this is thine, Oh, student Yet art 
thou, with these alone, a most imperfect being. 
God is not satisfied with a half-soul life. Better 
far to drown thy senses in Lethe’s dark sea, 
thau to pervert them iu the chimera of an aim¬ 
less existence. Dwarfed and aimless is tby 
miad, undeveloped by the principles of true 
Christianity. Grand and lofty may be the struc¬ 
ture thou bulkiest* yet it is void of all sublimity, 
if based upon no rock of truth. The student 
fills his cup and drinks bitter draughts. The 
true scholar sees the chord which holds his 
soul-cup to his God, and with meek lips and a 
brow all radiant with wisdom, he cries to the 
great Teacher, « Hero are my talents,—what 
wilt thou have me to do ?” Like the soul-seulp- 
tor th*t ho is. lit. works for tha !nve of RU 
work. All nature, science and analogy are 
passive to his power. To him life’s syllogism 
has no disputed premise. Its major is no clearer 
to his view thau its minor. He is a student on 
the great, normal plan of heaven. His search- 
r \V*‘ onr yonn S ^dera will be interested in 
reading the fo.lowmg, which comes to us from Miss 
Olive, who says she ib only fourteen years old. We 
think it worthy a place in the Yonth’3 Column :j 
Soft and balmy is the air around us-bright 
and blue the sky above Os-green and grassy is 
the earth beneath our feet. Oh! golden 
slimmer days, how well I love thee! 
How I love to sit where I can see the 
’ sun-hght glimmer through the branches, 
and dream of the many happy hours I 
k spent in the leafy shade of the old trees 
at my own dear home ! How we 
played iu the sunshine-little sister and 
I—with the tiny pebbles on the old 
walk, listening to the wind as it made 
“sweet leaf music’-’ in the tall pine 
tree-top—or chased each other round 
and round the house through the grassy 
path ways—or searched beneath the old 
pines, for bite of china and little cones- 
or ran to meet dear father returning 
5 *^ irom his labor. Oh! we were merry, 
guileless, little children then, and, as 
we pressed our rosy lips to the sun- 
browned cheek, we thought not of the 
bitter tears we in the future might 
shed. Lut those days have passed into the 
dark shades of oblivion, never more to re¬ 
turn. Father and mother ale sleeping, one 
in the quiet church-yard at home, and one 
where the broad Potomac rolls its blue wa¬ 
ters to the ocean, and we are left, orphaned, 
alone; yet uot alone—for He who careth even 
for the sparrows, careth for ns. But the tear 
drops will fall thick and fast, when we think of 
dear forms lying beneath the grassy sod—heed¬ 
less of the tears their children shed. And so 
we sit and dream, but we can only dream ; for 
those bright days are numbered with the past. 
But there are—still in the future—manv happy 
ones for us ; and as we live we learn, that, 
though our afflictions may seem heavy, and the 
blows of grief cause bitter pain,"still our 
Heavenly Father “doeth alt things well.’’ 
East Clarkson, N. Y., 1S84. Ouvr 
children are than adults. They say what they 
mean in plain, brief, terse, Anglo Saxon words 
of one syllable. All but thirteen of the words 
in the above letter are of one syllable only. I 
hope that the soldier who gets the letter will 
not forget the plucky little Green Mountain girl 
who goes to the bottom of this struggle, by 
wanting all the rebs disposed of very soon. 
And I also hope that the young ladies and little 
girls who have so kindly remembered the sol¬ 
diers in the past will not forget, them now, but 
that they will send out at once several thousand 
bags, filled with the little things, which, though 
of trifling value, are highly prized by the sol¬ 
diers. The Christian Commission will dis¬ 
tribute them. Besides, there is the element of 
patriotism not to be forgotten. It keeps the 
fire burning. Fair ones at home who keep in 
remembrance the brave ones in the .field may 
rest assured that they in turn will not be forgot¬ 
ten in the hour of trial. How can a soldier, 
possessed of a spark of manliness, be a coward 
or remiss in duty after reading a patriotic, soul¬ 
stirring letter from a young lady ? Every time 
he opens his comfort bag to sew on a missing 
button, or take a stitch in his coat, he will be re¬ 
minded of friends at home who will expect him 
to do his duty. 
hands are large to his assistance. In true pat¬ 
riotism, in the holiest and highest motives of 
human lire, in all the soul’s beSt interests, he 
cultivates and claims humanity. However com¬ 
prehensive his ideas, he docs not forget to clas¬ 
sify himself in the scale ot being—he acknowl¬ 
edges relations to the creature, as well as the 
Creator, thought is his solo capital, and while 
he is in duty bound to use it sparingly upon the 
unworthy, it is poured like a great ocean cur¬ 
rent upon the great and good wherever found. 
The true scholar is a patient being, ne is act¬ 
ing under sealed order.-—sealed and dated at the 
dawn of life, but which can be delivered only 
at certain periods and stations. Mysterious 
packages of commissions fill up his life baggage: 
yet they belong not all at the same station 
Muuy weary, patient steps must be taken, ere 
their contents can be read. He receives the I 
Written for Moore’s Rural New-Yorker. 
THE MOTHER’S FAREWELL 
BY MBS. M. P. A. CEOZIKR. 
Good bye, goofi-bje, my Johnny boy, 
Yoa’re all the one I've got— 
The lighter these old eyes of mine, 
The blessing of my cot! 
Good-bye, my brave—I’m sixty-sis, 
That’s pretty old I know— 
Bat I can take in washing yet, 
And I can knit and sew. 
Don’t fear for me. I’ll get along; 
I’m glad you’re going, John! 
No mother’s gent a better lad, 
Not since the war began. 
I knew you’d want to go my boy— 
To think that rebel crew 
Should trample on the Stripes and Stars! 
It stirs my own blood too! 
Were I a man I’d go! Eighteen! 
That’s young—but trust in Heaven! 
Mother will pray for you at home 
In the momiug and at even. 
I know yoa’re not afraid to die— 
Don’t mind these foolish tears! 
A woman cries so easily. 
And conjures up-pitch fears. 
These socks—boy, these were father's sock: 
Poor Nelly knit them, too— 
I've kept them sacred, but now, jVniN, 
They’re none too good for yon. 
This Bible, John, I give you, to 
Remember mother by; 
You’ll not forget your God, my boy, 
Beneath the Southern sky ? 
Good bye, John!— when you were a child, 
And I was going away, 
You’d wuut a good-bye kiss, and then 
You was content to stay. 
Now, boy, it. is the other way; 
You go, I stay alone; 
This kiss of yours will be to me 
A treasure while you’re gone. 
It only seems the other day 
You sat upon my knee, 
A little curty-headed boy— 
How noisy in your glee! 
Yon were a pretty baby, John— 
Your father loved you more, 
I think, than any little babe 
He over had before;— 
Because you was the youngest, John, 
And only son he had,— 
You look, my boy, as father did 
When he was such a lad! 
Nigh on to fifty years ago, 
We went, one August day, 
A berrying-I’m hindering you, 
I must uot make you stay! 
Good bye, good bye, my boy! Fear God, 
And know no other fear! 
Just one more kiss, dear John— there—go! 
God bless my volunteer! 
A group of girls were looking over some 
drawings which lay on the teacher's desk. 
They were dll members of the drawing-class, 
and they were very impartial in their criticisms. 
Miss Stanley, the instructress, would have been 
surprised had she heard how near right some 
of the girls’ comments were. 
•’Here, ’ cried Fannie Lee, holding up a small 
crayon sketch ot a child asleep, “here is Cor¬ 
nelia Ames’ pref<>rmanee. It is sure to be well 
done, for she is never in a hurry.’’ 
The sketch was indeed well done, and it sub¬ 
sequently took the prize. The lights and shad¬ 
ows were managed with wonderful effect, and 
the curls upon the pure brow were of the most 
beautiful golden hue. O, Cornelia Ames! All 
this because you were •• never in a hurry.” 
Inscribing 
His Own Head-board. 
A very singular occurrence was noticed in 
j the Tenth Massachusetts on Monday. A ser- 
! geant bad been engaged in the Second Division 
Hospital the day previous in placing upon a 
number of bead-boards the names of members 
of his regiment who had been killed in the late 
fight or had died in battle, which were to mark 
their last resting place. There was one board 
in excess, and, in a sportive vein, he placed 
with a lead pencil his own name upon it, and 
the date of his demise, 20th of June, as his 
term of service had then expired and he was 
about to leave ior home. Yesterday morning, 
while near the front bidding his companions in 
other regiments a farewell, he was struck in 
the breast by a twenty-four pounder Parrott 
and instantly killed. His remains were inter- 
red to-day. and the very head-board he had un¬ 
thinkingly inscribed with his own name, was 
placed over bis grave, and, with date, correctly 
marks for a time his resting place. War blasts 
hopes at the moment of fruition—shifts life's 
plans and expectations in a mysterious manner. 
It is marked by a thousand incidents quite as 
strange and mournful as the above. 
The Defects of our Education.—Out 
education has this radical defect, that it does 
not teach us to make the senses the instruments 
of our higher faculties; to study nature, to re¬ 
vere everything that God makes; that it fails 
to form us to the highest exercises of which we 
are capable, and leaves us ignorant of some of 
the most interesting and important objects of 
knowledge—God, His word, Ilis works and our¬ 
selves. The universal perfection of nature re¬ 
sults from the constancy and uniformity of its 
laws. But it is not toil much to go beyond 
those and behold a Divine mind, which loves 
beauty for its own sake, aud delights to sow it 
broadcast throughout creation. Though there 
be no human eye to buhohl and to admire, it 
will not therefore be unbeheld. It is not true 
that 
- Fait many a llower Is bom to blush unseen 
Ami least- its swet-timss on the desert air " 
NO ROOM For pride 
reply. 
“Those were the days,” said the brushwood 
again, “ when we were so gay and green. You 
gave a fine shade th 8 n, tmd as for us, myfzlends 
the thorns, black and white, made the hedges 
like a garden, and the bright gold blossom of us 
furze bushes was something to see. Ah! those 
were the days; but we must make the best of it. 
They have had us in our summer pride, and 
now they have got to admire us in a blaze as 
they sit round their fires.” 
More and more the leaves of the tree-tops 
quivered, and an ash, in pity to both parties, 
thus tried first to silence tire low-born loqua- 
" 1,1 • 1 i -1 ‘-r-A dkia.n 1 gave me rollowing ex¬ 
cellent advice to a young man who offered him 
au article for the Evening Eosl:~ “My young 
friend, I observe that you have used several 
French expression.-* in your article, i think, if 
you will study the English language, that you 
will find it capable of expressing all the ideas 
that you may have. I have always found it so, 
and iu all that I have written 1 do uot recall an 
Instance when I was tempted to use a foreign 
woid, but that, on searching. I found a belli r 
one in my own language.” 
cions furze : 
“ Friends, our union in fate should make 
one iu sympathy. You, like ourselves, have 
rejoice in life aud freedom—like us you are ec 
| detuned to the flames; but as our beauty a: 
dignity in life differed, so will differ the Is 
scenes of our existence. You will but crackle u 
der a pot. while wc shall sustaiu a clear ai 
stocking yarn, small pocket handkerchiefs, and 
small towels. Pieces of muslin hemmed are as 
good as anything else for handkerchiefs. E nvel- 
opes. with postage stamps ou them, little pa¬ 
pers of tea, lark spur seed, and a jine comb, are 
gieat comforts. In one of the bags given out 
to-day was the following letter from the donor, 
which is so simple and direct in its language 
that I am sure it will be read with interest; 
Dear goldier —I am a little girl nine years old. 
My name is Laura Ella, and I live among the 
Greeu Mountains. 1 ha\ e made the comfort 
bag tor you, and put some things in that will be 
good for you if you are sick. But I hope you 
w ill not get sick, nor get shot or taken prisoner. 
I hope you will kill all the rebels very soou. I 
will put in au envelope all ready for you to send 
to me, to lot mo know who gets the bag, aud 
if the things are what soldiers need. 
Yours, very truly. Laura Ella. 
A model letter. How much more direct' 
Soldiers' Camp Life. 
Hard tack, roast beef, sweet potatoes, (two 
hundred bushels were found buried iu a garden 
where a family pretending to be destitute were 
receiving army rations,), and good coffee, the 
soldiers vadt weum, make not a bail dinner, 
aud are relished spite of the fact that yester¬ 
day. on this ground, crockery and tin ware, had 
scarcely been removed from the rubber blan¬ 
kets whichsuffltes for both table and table-cloth, 
when ashell plunged through it into the ground. 
A percussion shell, too. only it did uot happen 
to "percuss,”—I use an army slang. 
An old artilleryman once explained to me 
the distinction between a shell and a soldier 
the one”percusses,” and the other "cusses.” 
Rule for Spellers.— Many otherwise ac¬ 
curate spellers are frequently puzzled iu deter¬ 
mining the relative positiou of e aud i iu words 
ending iu eive. Such will be greatly assisted by 
remembering the Invariable rule that when the 
preceding cousouant is a letter which comes af¬ 
ter < iu the alphabet, e comes after i in the word, 
as believe, reprieve; but when the preceding 
cousouant comes before i in the alphabet, e comes 
before i in the word, as receive. 
This world is not made for a tomb, but a gar- 
deu. You are to be a seed, not a death. Plant 
yourself, and you will sprout Bury yourself, 
and you can only decay. For a dead opportunity 
there is no resurrection. The only enjoymeut, 
the only use to he at mined in this world, must 
be attained on the wing. Each day brings its 
own happiness, its own benefit: but it has none 
to spare. What escapes 1 . 0 -day is escaped for¬ 
ever. To-morrow has no overflow to atone for 
the lost yesterdays .—Gail Hamiltoyi. 
We Like to divine others, but we do not like 
to be divined ourselves.—Z.a Eochefoucald. 
