Head, and a raspberry moustache, with six hairs 
in it; paint pot on its cheek, and a little dot of a 
goatee on its chin; with pretty blinking little studs 
in its shirt bosom, and a neck-tie that looks as if 
it would faint were it tumbled. I’d as lieve look at a 
poodle. I always feel a desire to nip it up with a 
pair of sugar tongs, drop it gently into a bowl of 
cream, and strew pink rose leaves over its little 
remains. 
Finally, my readers, when soul magnetizes soul, 
the question of beauty is a dead letter. Whom one 
loves is always handsome, the world’s arbitrary rules 
notwithstanding; therefore, when you say. “what 
can the handsome Mr. Bmith see to admire in that 
stick of a Miss Jones?” or “what can the pretty Miss 
T. sec to like in that homely Mr. Jones?” yon simply 
talk nonsense — as you generally do on such subjects. 
Still the parson gets his fcea and the census goes on 
all the same .—Fanny Fern. 
[Written for Moore's Rural New-Yorker ] 
A CHAPTER FOR THE MEN. 
[Written for Moore’s Rural New Yorker.] 
THE UPPER SABBATH. 
[Written for Moore's Rural New-Yorker.] 
MY FAVORITE SONG. 
[Written for Moore's Rural New-Yorker.] 
VOICES. 
BV JOHN WARD ALLEN 
My favorite song do bard hath sung 
Of all the deathless choir; 
Tvras never lisped by living tongue. 
Nor struck from harp or lyre. 
I hear it oft, but ne’er the same 
As when I heard it last, 
It has no form,—it has no name,— 
Tin heard,—'Us loved,—Us past. 
’Tie heard in every passing breeze, 
And in the tempest's roar.— 
It echoes from the surging seas 
Rebounding from the shore. 
The thunder’s loud and deafening crash 
Hath music for roy ear; 
Nor does the lightning’s viWJ flash 
Appal my heart with fear. 
The gentle showers that, pattering, fall 
(Jo shrub, and plant, and tree. 
On lowly cot and stately hill, 
Are a lullaby to me. 
For Nature’s tones are sweeter far, 
And dearer to my heart, 
Than harp, or lute, or ligit guitar, 
Though touched with Ot-phean art. 
Then list, my heart, tho* magic lays 
Resounding through tljfi air, 
Are Nature’s minstrel*’ sing of praise— 
Their hymn of thanks and prayer. 
Pillar Point, N. Y.. 1861. P. 1 
BY MAKOARKT ELLIOTT 
Walking up the golden stairway 
Which the angels oft have trod, 
Formed in all its mystic splendor 
By the plastic hand of God, 
To that beauteous upper Sabbath 
Where the sinless worship God. 
Entering through the heavenly portals, 
Breathing then the perfumed air 
Of that healthful upper region, 
See wc loved one? gathered there,— 
Loved ones from our saddened hearth-stones, 
Who have gone to worship there. 
On their brows are living garlands, 
Made of love’s undying bloom, 
In those bowers of fadeless flowers, 
In their home beyond the tomb— 
0, what countless Sabbath glories 
In that home beyond the tomb! 
Though they left u», God bereft ns, 
And they’ve only gone before. 
And they beckon us to meet them 
Where are partings nevermore, 
In that endless upper Sabbath 
Where are sorrows nevermore. 
Hidden Vale, 1861. 
A DISCORD of sweet voices fills the air, 
Like silvery bells struck by an untaught hand, 
All musical and sweet. butblendiDg not, 
As rise arid fall the.y on the slumb’rous air. 
So ever and anon one voice 
Rises above the other*, and the sound 
Is borne by breezes soft, and zephyrs sweet, 
And greets thy ear One full of laughter, 
Whoso rippling peals of music smite the air, 
Till bird, and lice, and Howto gushing with glee, 
Echo the glad refrain. Then one 
With utterance subdued, hut full of bliss, 
Telling the gladness of a heart at rest, 
Husbes the noisy din but for the nonce, 
And then, as in reprisal of the loss, 
It rises high, and higher, till the air 
Is filled with mirthful melody. 
’Tis hushed again. A low voice, passing sweet, 
But tremulous in its sweetness, Btills the rest, 
And over all there falls a shade of grief,— 
A tender yearning for some joy that’s gone. 
Oh, heart of mine! thou hast not learned as yet 
All the sad lessons Life doth bring to thee; 
For the glad voices met no full response, 
And that which soothed all others soothed not thee. 
Thy bitter longing and thy sad unrest 
Fled not before the joyous tones that fell 
In gleeful cadences upon thy ear. 
Gainesville, N. Y., 1861. 
FOR WHAT CHILDREN ARE GRATEFUL. 
Parents upend a life of toil in order to leave their 
children wealth, to secure them social position and 
other worldly advantages. 1 do not underrate the 
worth of these things. Had they not been valuable, 
there would not have been so many providential ar¬ 
rangements impelling men to seek them. I would 
only show that there is something of infinitely greater 
value, not only to the parent, but to be transmitted to 
the child. What does the child most love to remem¬ 
ber? T never heard a child express any gratification 
or pride that a parent bad been too fond of accumu¬ 
lating money, though the child at that moment was 
enjoying that accumulation. But I have heard chil¬ 
dren, though their inheritance had been crippled and 
cut down by it, say, with a glow of satisfaction on 
their features, that a parent had been too kind-hearted, 
too hospitable, too liberal, and public-spirited, to be 
a very prosperous man. A parent who leaves nothing 
but wealth, or similar social advantages, to bis chil¬ 
dren, is apt to be speedily forgotten. 
However it ought to be, parents are not particularly 
held in honor by children because of the worldly ad¬ 
vantages they leave them. These are received as a 
matter of course. There is comparatively little 
gratitude for this. The heir of an empire hardly 
thanks him who bequeathed it. He more often en¬ 
deavors before his time to thrust him from bis throne. 
But let a child be able to say, my father was a just 
man, he was affectionate in his home, he was tender¬ 
hearted, he was useful in the community and loved to 
do good iu society, be was a helper to the young, the 
poor, tbc unfortunate, he was a man of principle, 
liberal, upright, 'devout —and the child’s memory 
cleaves to that parent. He honors him, treasures his 
name and his memory, thinks himself blest in having 
had such a parent, and the older he grows, instead of 
forgetting, only reveres and honors and remembers 
him the more. Here is experience and affection sit¬ 
ting in judgment on human attainment. It shows 
what is most worth the seeking .—Ephraim Peabody. 
[Written for Moore's Rnral New-Yorker.] 
THE PILLAR OF FIRE. 
The idea of a whole nation being led in all their 
movements by the visible presence of Jehovah, is 
one of the most sublime and awe-inspiring ideas of 
which the mind can form a conception. Regarded 
simply as a natural phenomenon, the pillar of cloud 
and fire is one of the most remarkable that the world 
has ever known. Of its nature we are entirely igno 
rant; but it must have been wonderful in extent and 
brilliancy to be seen at once by the journeying mil¬ 
lions of Israel. Probably, duringthe day, it extended 
as a cloud over the Israelitish host, protecting them 
from the severe heat of the climate in which they 
were journeying. “ He spread His cloud for a cover¬ 
ing.” We cannot wonder that Moses exclaimed, 
“ What nation is there so great, that hath Gon so 
nigh unto them.” 
In view of God’s special providence over the Jews, 
and the wonderful manner in which He delivered 
them from bondage, and led them out of Egypt, 
keeping ever near them in a pillar of cloud by 
day and a pillar of lire by night, we would natu¬ 
rally expect that their acts would be character¬ 
ized by implicit confidence in God, and obedience 
to His will. Especially would we expect this after 
the summary manner in which He manifested His 
hatred of sin in the punishment of Nadab and 
Afinni, and the rebels Kobatt, Datham, and Aim- 
ram. That they were not obedient, even after the 
special and wonderful manifestations of God’s provi¬ 
dence of love and wrath, is an illustration of the 
weakness of human nature, which remains the same 
through all time. There is, in the conduct of men at 
the present time, a counterpart to the conduct of the 
Jews. God is as really by every member of the 
human family as though lie were f’l A ; ’ " 
pillar of ciono ny usty ana ol fire by night. How- 
ever much guilt may be kept from the view of imi, 
it cannot be hid from the Omniscient Eye. “ For 
the ways of man are before the Lord, and He pon- 
dereth all his goings,” Tilts thought, so terrible to 
the enemieB of Gon, is full of consolation for the 
Christian. The world may slander ns, and misrepre¬ 
sent actions put forth with the best intentions; but 
God looks upon the heart, and understands the 
motives by which we are actuated. Resentment can 
never sway His love. Even though our weary Ice'. 
[Written for Moore's Rural New-Yorker.] 
! “HARD TRUTHS,” ONCE MORE 
[Written for Moore's Rural New-Yorker.] 
A WORD ABOUT POETRY. 
It seems that an article headed “Hard Truths” 
has occasioned some little stir in the columns of the 
Ritrai.. I never should have thought of saying a 
word in defence of the subject, bad not an article 
appeared in a late number, written by one “C(l)oven 
Hovon,” or Cloven Foot ,— which was it? My in¬ 
dignation was instantly aroused. That “ Farmer’s 
Wife” lias just cause of complaint, there are many 
in the circle of my acquaintance ready to acknowl¬ 
edge. Perhaps it is the truth of her statements which 
makes them so cutting. I saw nothing in her com¬ 
munication calculated to draw forth such a volley of 
invectives as has been showered upon her. I am a 
farmer’s wife, too; and know how to sympathize, to 
a certain extent, with those similarly situated. I 
know what it is to have the bread burned as black as 
the “ace of spades,” piesfour inches thick, crockery 
smashed, a stream pouring out faster than a farmer 
in moderate circumstances can pour in. I disclaim 
the epithet of being a hard mistress, neither is my 
temper bad at present, although I would not guarantee 
what it might be, were it subjected to a thorough 
course of hired help treatment in doors. 
“ A Hired Girl ” comes out, and excuses her class 
on the ground of the low wages paid them. I always 
thought that girls did not receive a sufficient remu¬ 
neration for their labor, in comparison with the 
“ Lords of Creation,” but that is not the fault, of the 
mistress,—the failure lies in custom. Again, “he 
that is faithful in a little is faithful also in much,” 
consequently it follows if they will not do well with 
their present wages, would they do any better with 
greater. 
Next a “School Teacher” takes it up, and says, 
that an experience of four years teaching, and hoard¬ 
ing around, has convinced her that, as a general 
rule, good mistresses have good help. Now, let us 
reverse the matter, and say that good help makes 
good mistresses. The last will probably hold as 
good as the first. 
Now. what says C(l)oveu Hovon, begging Madam 
Fanner’s pardou. to start with. “Do you perceive 
what a furore you have stirred up among the labor¬ 
ing population?” What does the man mean? Who 
labors harder than a farmer's wile? Then he accuses 
her of driving her girls around with a broom-stick: 
cudgeling them with a pudding-slick,—just as if sbo 
were not better employed. And, to cap the climax, 
he compares her to “Old Blue Beard,” dragging 
them around by the hair of their heads, Ac. W Imt 
an insult to a lady of intelligence, who ventured to 
make known her grievances. He acknowledges 
Carlyle says, “If a man find himself called upon 
to speak, let him speak manfully some words of truth 
and sobriety; and, in general, leave the singing and 
verse making part till the last extremity of some out¬ 
ward or inward impulse drive him irresistibly 
thither.” The above advice, coming from such a 
source, contains great consolation for those of us 
who, denied the poetic faculty, find ourselveR unable 
by kicks, blows, or 
[Written for Moore’s Rural New-Yorker.] 
THE NEGLECTED WIFE. 
0, is there anything, in the whole wide world, so 
sad, so despairing, so desolate, as the heart of an un¬ 
loved, neglected wile? Life in a blank to ber, and 
the doors of hope arc closed this side ol eternity. If 
she has done all that kindness, gentleness, patience, 
can do, to win back the departed love, what more 
lcinaineth for her tint the long, monotonous days, 
and endless, wakeful nights, when hopeless, nselcBs 
tears bedew her sleepless pillow? She may try to he 
cheerful,—she does try to hide her wretchedness 
from the outside, misjudging world. She Iovcb her 
children, and tries to he content in the respect of the 
few friends she may chance to have; for, is she not 
almost excluded from scoiety? She has no right, 
and no desire, to seek the protection and society of 
other gentlemen, and what woman, however worthy, 
is not, by nearly all, considered of little value it her 
husband depreciate her? He may go forth into 
the world and find amusement and pleasure, without 
censure, but for her there are only the same duties 
repeated, day after day, and year after year, with a 
weight of loneliness crushing every joy. 
Sorrowing mourner! If there arc angels whose 
mission is to cheer the stricken ones of earth, may 
they come near, and save you from the black dark¬ 
ness that broods in the heart of the questioner Of 
Goo’s mercy and justice. Forget not other blessings 
that may till your cup, though the richest, dearest, 
sweetest boon that can bo given to woman,—a hus¬ 
band’s love,—is denied to you. Harriet. 
persuasion, to prevail on the 
winged courser to advance a single step with ns up 
the Parnassian hill. The eminent Scotch critic 
wholly disbelieves in poetry; he even thinks Hhak- 
spkake would have written better in prose. IJe does 
not seem to consider that men speak best in the 
language natural to them; that they whose sweet 
nature it is to sing, find their happiest expression in 
smooth flowing numbers, while the scolding, fault¬ 
finding genus seek relief in liarsb, vituperative 
words, Impossible to reduce to rythmical measure. 
The poet has this advantage over the prose writer, 
that his words make a quicker, stronger impression, 
and so are longer remembered, lait the same senti¬ 
ment be expressed in poetical and in prose language, 
and note bow much sooner it attracts the reader’s 
or hearer’s attention, and how much more easily 
it is committed to memory in the first named form 
than in the last. The metrical language, the succes¬ 
sion of long and short syllables, the regular cadence, 
all seem to give the thought they convey increased 
meaning and importance, and help fix it in the 
memory. Rot render* of both prose and 
poetry must have noticed, also, how much gieatei is 
the tendency of an idea or sentiment to expand into 
many words,—to drag itself out to a wearisome 
length,—in the hands of an ordinary writer of the 
latter than of the former species of composition. 
Poetic license permits not only the lengthening a 
syllable to suit the measure, but also allows the 
drawing out a thought to fill a space that the writer 
does not know what else to do with, or larger than 
could be properly accorded it in prose. Thus we 
often meet with a passable piece of poetry containing 
fewer important ideas or striking sentiments than 
would suffice for the foundation of a respectable. 
THE PLEASANT WORLD 
Tt is somewhere related, that a poor soldier, hav¬ 
ing had his skull fractured, was told by the Doctor 
that, his brains were visible. “Do write and tell 
futbdr of it, for be always said I had no brains,” he 
replied. How many fathers and mothers tell their 
children this, and how often does such a remark con¬ 
tribute not a little to prevent any development of the 
brain? A grown-up person tolls a child he is brain¬ 
less, foolish, or a blockhead, or that he is deficient 
in some mental or moral faculty, and in nine cases 
out of ten, the statement is believed, or if not fully 
believed, the thought it may he partially so, acts like 
an incubus to repress the confidence and energies of 
Ibat child. Let any person look back to childhood’s 
days, and he can doubtless recall many words aud 
expressions which exerted such a discouraging or 
encouraging influence over him, as to tell upon his 
tion of poetical pieces by a professed prose writer 
docs not detract somewhat from his fame in 
the kind of writing he usually practices, aud on 
which he depends for his living and his literary 
name. Examples might be mentioned among Ameri¬ 
can authors, of persons who, perhaps, have spent 
years in writing prose for every hour they have 
devoted to poetry, and yet they have gained far more 
celebrity by their poetic efforts than their prose com¬ 
positions. And when we remember that poetry, 
from the earliest ages, has been the favorite literature 
of all nations, that poets, ancient and modern, are 
the especially loved and honored ol mankind, we are 
the dullest and worst of hoys, and while none of his i ed to distrust the Scotchman’s taste and judgment, 
good qualities or capabilities had been mentioned, an d to think that poetry cannot be the poor, idle 
and he believed he had none, a single word of praise he would have us believe. a. 
arid appreciation, carelessly dropped in liis hearing, South Livonia, N. Y., 1861. 
changed his whole course of thought. We have 
often heard him say, “that word saved him.” The 
moment lie thought he could do well, he resolved 
that he would—and he lias done well. Parents, these 
are important considerations.— Selected. 
Children’s Rights.— Why should not a child’s 
fancy in the way of food,—wo refer to their intense 
dislike of certain things,—be regarded, as well us 
the repugnance of an adult. We oousider it a great 
piece of cruelty to force a child to eat things that are 
repulsive to it, because somebody ouce wrote a wise 
saw to the effect, “ that children should eat whatever 
is set before them.” We have often seen the poor 
little victims shudder and choke at sight of a bit of 
fat meat, or a little scum of cream on boiled milk; 
toothsome enough to those who like them, but in 
their case a purgatorial infliction. Whenever there 
is this decided antipathy, nature should be respected, 
even in the person of the smallest child; and be who 
would act otherwise, is himself smaller than the 
child over whom he would so unjustifiably tyrannize. 
Earnestness.— The moment tnat men oeuni* 
thoroughly in earnest, all those things about which 
Christians quarrel, become dwarfed down indeed. 
And why so? Because then we feel that life is the 
thing that is needed—life iB the thing that is impor¬ 
tant; aud whether you be Church or Dissent, Wesley¬ 
an, Independent or Baptist, you may have your P« f 
erences: but they will all sink into comparative to 
significance: Christ and Him crucified will be all and 
RIGHT STYLE OF MEN 
One of Dean Trench’s sermons on the subject 
“ What we can and what we cannot carry away when 
we die,” commences thus appositely “ Alexan¬ 
der the Great, being upon bis death bed, command** 
that when he was carried forth to the grave, >■ 
hands should not be wrapped, as was usual, m ' e 
cerecloths, but should be left outside the bier, so that 
all men might see them, and might see that they 
Well, in the first place, there must i>e enougu oi 
him; or failing in that,—but, come to think of it, he 
musn't fail in that, because there can be no beauty 
without health, or, at least, according to my way of 
thinking. In the second place, he must have a beard; 
whiskers — as the gods please, but a beard I insist 
upon, else one might as well look at a girl. Let his 
voice have a dash of Niagara, with the music of a 
baby’s laugh in it. Let his smile be like the breaking 
forth of the sunshine of a spring morning. As to his 
figure, it should be strong enough to contend with a 
man, alight enough to tremble in the presence of the 
woman lie loves. Of course, if he is a well made 
man, it follows that he must he graceful, on the prin- 
I ciple that perfect machinery always moves harmoni- 
and himself, and the milk 
PARADISE OF HIGH-MINDED WOMEN 
The adventurous African explorer, Dr. Liviug- 
stone, states, in a recent letter, that he has found 
nothing more remarkable among the highly intelli¬ 
gent tribes of the Upper Sambesi than the respect 
universally accorded to women by them. Many of 
the tribes are governed by a female chief. “ If you 
demand anything of a man,” remarks the intrepid 
explorer, he replies, “ I will talk to my wife about it.” 
If the woman consents, your demand is granted; if 
she refuse, you will receive a negative reply. Women 
talk in all the public assemblies. Among the Beclie- 
nas and Kaffirs, the men swear by their father, but 
among the veritable Africans, occupying the center 
of the continent, they always swear by their mother. 
If a young man falls in love with a maiden of another 
village, be leaves bis own and takes up his dwelling 
in her’s. He is obliged to provide in part for the 
THE LITTLE ONES 
Do you ever think how much work a little child 
does in a day? How from sunrise to snnset, the dear 
little feet patter around, to ns, so aimlessly? Climb¬ 
ing up here, kneeling down there, ruuniug to another 
place, but never still. Twisting and turning, rolling, 
reaching aud doubling, as if testing every bone and 
muscle for their future uses. It is very curious to 
watch it. One. who does so may well understand the 
deep breathing of the little sleeper, as, with one arm 
tossed over its curly head, it prepares for the next 
day’s gymnastics. Tireless through the day ’till that 
time comes, as the maternal love that so patiently 
accommodates itself, hour after hour, to its thousand 
wants and caprices, real or fancied. 
A busy creature is a little child,— to be looked 
npon with awe as well as with delight, as its clear 
eye looks trustingly in faces that to God and man 
have essayed to wear a mask, —as it sits down in its 
chair to ponder, precociously, over the white lie you 
thought it " funny ” to tell it,—as rising and leaning 
on your knees, it says thoughtfully, in a tone that 
fihnnlrl vrovnke a tear, not a smile— “ I don't believe 
ously; therefore you, 
pitcher, are safe elbow neighbors at the table. This 
style of handsome man would no more think of carry¬ 
ing a cane than he would use a parasol to keep the 
sun out of his eyes. He can wear gloves or warm his 
hands in his breast pockets, as he pleases. He can 
even commit the suicidal beauty act of taming his 
outside coat collar up over his ears of stormy days, 
with perfect impunity; the tailor didn’t make hitn, 
and as to his hatter, if he depends on tiiis handsome 
man’s patronage of the “latest spring style,” I fear 
he would die of hope deferred: and yet —by Apollo! 
what a bow he makes, and what an expressive adieu 
he can wave with his hand. For all this he is not 
conceited —for he hath brains. 
But your conventional “handsome man” of the 
barber’s-window-wax-figure-head-pattern; with a pet 
lock in the middle of its forehead, an apple-sized 
Many professing Christians are like railroad. 
houses, and the wicked are whirled indifferer 
them, and go on their way forgetting them; w 
they should he like switches, taking sinnera * 
track, and putting them on another. 
* — -* • ♦ 
Many - men want wealth—not a competence 
but a Jive story competence. Everything su 
this; and religion they would like as a sort o 
ning rod to their bouses, to ward off, by-and-i 
bolts of divine wrath. ^ __ 
“ It is not the stubborn letter,” said Milton, 
must govern us, but the divine and softening 
of charity, which turns and winds the i dicta i . 
positive commandment, and shapes it o - 
If the secrets of every guest at a jete were toiu, 
would any be found unnrixedly happy? Would there 
be one devoid of cares of their own or other people’s, 
undisturbed by the absence of the right individual 
or the presence of the wrong one, by mishaps of 
deportment, difficulties of dress, or want ol notice? 
Perhaps, after all, it may be best to have some one 
abiding anxiety, strong enough to destroy tedium, 
distresses; and most whole- 
and exclude the pettier 
some is it that this should be an interest entirely 
external.__ _ 
To cite the examples of history, in order to animate 
us to virtue or to arm us with fortitude, is to call up 
the illustrious dead to inspire and to improve the 
The first of all virtues is innocence; the second is 
modesty: and neither departs without being quickly 
followed by the other. 
