study another, French, forinatance, yon will waDtwith 
which to commence, “French Without a Master; 1 ' 
Fasquelle's French Course; Fasquelle's T616maque; 
“Corinne on l'ltalie” is also very good, and a dic¬ 
tionary. The expense will be but little, and in a few 
months you can learn to read French if you do not 
speak it; but it will be somewhat difficult, and you 
must not be easily discouraged. All this can be 
accomplished without auy assistance, as T know by 
experience. The language is very different from our 
own. and the reading of it will be a delightful recrea¬ 
tion. You will then understand all French words 
and phrases.—and they are many,—besides acquir¬ 
ing a greater command of words with which to 
enrich your sentences in writing or conversation. In 
the same manner take np any language you choose, 
Spanish, German or Latin, or all if you have time 
and opportunity. 
You shonld commence writing early upon the vari¬ 
ous subjects with which you are acquainted, and 
practice until yon can write an article on almost any 
subject in a graceful style. The mind, by not suffer¬ 
ing it to remain idle, becomes disciplined to deep 
and constant thought, so that yon can express your¬ 
self concisely and forcibly whenever required. This 
alone is of sufficient value to repay you for all the 
labor and painstaking required for its acquisition. 
In this manner yon will lay a foundation for life-long 
usefulness, and your enjoyment will be heightened, as 
it was through your individual efforts that your 
knowledge was obtained. Never fear that you will 
I was always Sinsear to you and will you thus Dash 
all my rising hopes and ad to my misfortunes the worst 
That Could befall me, hut I hope you will consider 
me, from that fountain of pietty and Good natuer you 
poses, one that prises your hapenes Equil to my own, 
why Could you not wait till I sea yon again, pray 
Send me an answer ns you will have an opertunetyby 
the barer of this. I have sent you a Small present 
and when I sea you again wich I want to more 
than Ever, if you are so fickel as I hear I will Quit and 
with you all that was worth Living for, but I hope 
t»An will hiivfi Rome Comnashion on your Sorrowful 
[Written for Moore's Rural New-Yorker. J 
THE VOICE OF THE "WEAKY. 
[Written for Moore's Rural New-Yorker ] 
AN ODE TO MAY. 
BT ANNIE M. BBAOH 
Mrs. Jcdbon’h tribute to the memory of her departed huA 
band closes with these exquisite stanzas: 
And ns I leaned my weary head 
Upon his proffered breast, 
And scanned the peril-haunted wild 
From out my place of rest, 
I wondered if the shining ones 
Of Eden were more blest. 
For there wa» light within my Boul, 
Light on my peaceful way, 
And all around the blue above, 
The clustering starlight lay; 
And easterly 1 saw upreared 
The pearly gates of day. 
So, hand in hand, we trod the wild, 
My angel love and I, 
His lifted wing all quivering 
With tokens from the sky. 
Strange my dull thought could not divine 
’Twm lifted—hut to fly. 
Again down life’s dim labyrinth 
I grope my way alone, 
While mildly through the midnight sky 
Black, hui .-ying clouds are blown, 
And thickly, In my tangled path, 
The sharp, bare thorns are sown. 
Yet Arm my foot, for well I know 
The goal cannot he Car, 
And ever through the rifted clouds 
Shines out one steady star— 
For when my guide went np he left 
The pearly gates ajar. 
BT KATE CAMERON 
Fold me, oh. Sleep, in thy strong arms. 
Wrap thy black mantle ’round my breast, 
And from the world, with all its harms, 
Bush me to rest. 
Call Fancy in from wandering 
Upon the shadowy shore of dreams, 
Where every wave’s low murmuring 
A mystery seems. 
Where the still past and present meet, 
And mingle with the future far, 
And voices harsh and voices sweet, 
Discordant jar. 
Low music of the long ago, 
From lips that speak to us no more, 
Mingles among the winds that blow 
Along the shore. 
We wander with the kind and dear,— 
They call us by some name well known,— 
We turn to speak—they disappear,— 
Wo stand alone. 
Then wearily I come to thee,— 
Wrap thy black mantle 'round my breast, 
Call Fancy from the mystic sea, 
And bid her rest 
Cambria, N. Y., 1861. 
Tiior art here in all thy beauty, 
Gem of the carding year; 
Thongh June may seem more lovely, 
It cannot be more dear. 
Thou art linked with thoughts so tender 
Of by-gone, sunny hours, 
And weaTCiit the gift of Nature, 
A coronal of flowers. 
Upon thy balmy breezes 
The richest perfume floats, 
And the sweetest of all music, 
The woodland songsters' notes. 
And whether we look earthward, 
Or upward to the skies, 
There's much to fill the spirit 
With thoughts of Paradise. 
Though Life may lose its sunshine, 
And friend* all pass away, 
Yet still our hearts must cherish 
Their love for thee, sweet Mayl 
And in that world of beauty, 
Where we hope at last to be., 
There surely will be something 
To remind our souls of thee. 
Rochester, N. Y.. 1861. 
I have Bent yon a Letter I Bote Some time ago 
but had no opertunety to Bend it. 
Whatever misunderstanding there may have been, 
must have been speedily and amicably adjusted, for 
in an old family Clironiole I find the marriage set 
down as having taken place in 1776. 
It’s all nonsense, Lizzie, for a girl ot your age io 
be talking about marriage. How old do I think you 
are? Oh, sixteen or seventeen. 
“ Twenty.” 
Is it possible? No matter; wbat I was going to 
say will apply as well at twenty as at sixteen. ^ on 
are dreaming, no doubt, of having a “ noble looking 
man, with hair the color of the ravcn'B wing, and eyes 
dark as midnight,” for a husband, and a beautiful 
little white cottage in the snburhH of some large city 
for a residence. 
“Why, Aunt Pattik, how you do talk. I thought 
you knew me better than that. 1 am not romantic, 
and furthermore, I am already engaged to as nice a 
young man as there is in the country. My husband 
to be is a farmer.” 
AIready engaged? Rless me!—yon had better stay 
at home and take care of your old father than to go 
off ami marry a man that you know nothing about, 
and, — 
“Why, Pve known him ever since we were chil¬ 
dren, and as /or father, he will live with us. 1 
“Known him ever since you were both children; 1 ' 
why you’r nothing but a child now,— and so you are 
to be a farmer's wife. I advise you, Ljzzus, to break 
that engagement at once. You are no more fit for a 
farmer's wife than / am. What will you do with the 
accomplishments you have spent bo much time on, 
your French, music, painting, Ac.? 
“Use them to beautify my home and make my 
husband happier.” 
All nonsense; you’ll find by the time the honey¬ 
moon is over, if not before, that your husband caios 
a great deal more for your proficiency in housekeeping 
than in music, painting, Ac. To tell the truth, now. 
can you make a good loaf of bread, get a decent meal 
[Written for Moore s Rural New-Yorker.] 
DO SOMETHING. —TO YOUNG MEN 
The land of silence surely extends no further than 
to the gates of the heavenly city. All is life and 
activity within; but from that world, so populous 
with thoughts, and words, and songs, no revelation 
penetrates through the dark, silent land which lies 
between os and them. Our friends are there. Stars 
so distant from us that their light which began its 
travel ages since, has not reached ns, are none the 
less worlds, performing their revolutions, and occu¬ 
pied by their busy population of intelligent spirits, 
whose history is full of wonders. Yet the first ray 
denoting the existence of those worlds has never met 
the eye of the astronomer in his incessant vigils. 
The silence of the departed will, for each of us, 
soon, very soou, be interrupted. Entering, among 
breaking shadows and softly unfolding light, the 
border land, we shall gradually awake to the opening 
vision of things unseen and eternal, all so kindly 
revealing themselves to our unaccustomed senses as 
to make ns say, “How beautiful!" and, instead of 
exciting fear, leading us almost to hasten the hand 
which is removing the vail. Borne well known voice, 
so long silent, may be first to utter our name; we are 
recognized, we are safe. A face — a dear, dear face 
Young men, do something to some purpose, i on 
are juBt entering upon the duties and responsibilities 
incident to life,—the years are fleeting, and, at most, 
your time here will be short, so do something, UDd 
keep doing something that will be of permanent 
value. Do you ask what? First, yon have many 
duties to perform to your parents, brothers, sisters, 
friends, to society,'ami to the Government; and the 
better these duties can be discharged, yon will in the 
same proportion better fill your appointed place and 
station in society. 
To your parents you will ever owe filial obedience 
and the greatest respect, and, as far as may be, 
smooth the remaining part of their pilgrimage. 
They have done more for you than you can well repay, 
and you should always endeavor to promote their 
happiness and comfort. I have seen young men who, 
among their particular friends, took pride apparently 
in calling their father “the boy,” or “the old man,” 
and similar phrases, which they should have blushed 
to use in speaking of any person. No young man 
[Written for Moore's Rural New-Yorker ] 
LOVE LETTERS OF THE 1STH CENTURY 
BY CAROLINE A. HOWARD. 
That love letters have become an institution, a 
sort of way-mark in almost every life since time 
immemorial, no one will deny, yet comparatively 
few have an opportunity to test its antiquity by a 
sight of the actual and original documents. Almost 
every family bus its heir-looms and time-honored 
curiosities, hut family love-letters are generally voted 
of little value, save to the parties immediately con¬ 
cerned. They occasionally serve to help out a knotty 
law case, or to call up the smile and blush to faces 
young and fair, half a century or more after the band 
that wrote, and the throbbing heart that prompted 
the thoughts, are alike dust. 
I wish I could give you a just idea of the coarse, 
yellowish paper, quaint Jolding, still hand-writing, 
and ceremonious expression, (all considered ele¬ 
gant in their day.) of a package of a dozen letters 
or more, which have come down through many gene¬ 
rations since the times of the Revolution, Home ot 
them to he embalmed in print by the hand of this 
unworthy recipient. Some of them are not love- 
letters, though tlmy are letters of love which passed 
between two young lady cousins, discoursing of the 
“times which tried men's sonls,” and women’s, too, 
and knitting closer the bonds which the rod band of 
war severed day by day. 
I give yon two letters, both from the American 
camp at Hoxbury in 1775, and addressed to a younger 
Bister of one of the above mentioned cousins. All 
these letters were sent by private conveyance, the 
distance being about twenty miles, but there were no 
mails in those days. The usual style of superscrip¬ 
tion was, 
THE MONTH OF JANUARY 
OUR ACCUSERS 
hova s’’ c » ov*ry sort of winged creature lor iuy 
pleasure. The water says, I hove oopplled thy table 
with my countless luxuries. The earth Bays, I have 
furnished thee bread and wine; but yet thou hast 
abused all these blessings, and perverted them to a 
contempt of their Creator. Therefore, ail our bene¬ 
fits cry out against me. The fire sayB, Let him he 
burned in me. The water says. Let him be drowned 
in me. The air says, Let him be shaken by a tem¬ 
pest. The earth cries, Let him be buried in me. 
The holy angels, whom God has sent for ministers of 
love, and who are to be our joyful companions in the 
future, accuse me. By my sins I have deprived 
myself of their holy ministries in this life, and the 
nf their fellowship in the future. The voice of 
Anne 
With care. 
The prefixes Mrs. and Miss were used indiscrimi¬ 
nately for omarrled ladies. The letters are written 
on the two inside pages of a sheet about Bath size, 
and the two outside pages are sealed and addressed 
“A HEALTHY WOMAN.” 
“What is that? 1 ’ says the reader, “and where 
may she be found?” Yet healthy women are not like 
the Dodo, an extinct species, though, like the abo¬ 
rigines, they have long disappeared from a great 
portion of our country. “ Down East,” in Maine, 
specimens are not uncommon; rarely in New Hamp¬ 
shire, and more frequently in Vermont one may by 
chance be encountered in some out of the way 
locality; but in the rest of New England, New York, 
and the great northwest, they practically exist, no 
longer. I n Boston, the oldest inhabitant can recall 
the memory of few, indeed, if auy, native horn speci¬ 
mens, and we are not entirely sure that one exists or 
has existed among us for twenty years. To one 
accustomed to the sight of the buxom and bright- 
eyed beauties of Kentucky and Tennessee, il he 
walks on Washington street on a fine day, it seems 
When the angel 
No Unnecessary Miracles, 
brought St Peter out of prison, the iron gate opened 
of its own accord; hut coming to the house of Mary, 
the mother of John Mark, he was fain to stand before 
the door and knock! When iron gave entrance, how 
can wood make opposition? The answer ia easy. 
There was nojrnan to open the iron gate; but a por¬ 
tress was provided, of course, to unlock the door. 
God would not, therefore, show his finger when 
men’s hands are appointed to do the work. Heaven 
will not substitute a miracle, where ordinary mean, 
were formerly in peaceable possession. But if they 
either depart or resign, (ingeniously confessing their 
insufficiency,) then miracles succeed in their vacancy. 
— Fuller. 
— -- 
The Decrees of Cod.— For men to judge of their 
condition by the decrees of God, which are concealed 
from us, and not by His Word whioh is near us and 
in our hearts, is as a man wandering in a wide sea, 
in a dark night, when the heaven is all clouded 
about him, who should yet resolve to steer his course 
bv the stars which he cannot see, and neglect the 
Second. To yourselves I would propose yet another 
duty more valuable, perhaps, so iar as you are con¬ 
cerned, than any of those previously mentioned — 
self-culture. That it may be fully understood, I will 
endeavor, in an imperfect manner, to point out some 
of the methods by which it may be accomplished. 
We are naturally inclined to evil; this should be Con¬ 
quered as far as possible by giving it particular 
attention, and the more beneficent teelings and 
promptings of the heart cultivated. It will be diffi¬ 
cult, without doubt, but it is absolutely necessary to 
restrain the passions, and the nearer you come to 
obtaining entire command of yourselves, the greater 
with any of thees Changes pray be so bind as to Let ( 
mo hear from you by a Letter or in Borne plesent | 
Dream F.qnaint me with your pain or plesure for I , 
am Denied the plesure of Seaing you anil if you will 
not write to me our acquaintance must CeaBe at pres¬ 
ent wich woold he very unfortainanto for me, for 
while I have your friend Bhyp I think 1 have my 
shear of this world's Trisuers, but if you are Lost 
this world is not worth Living for ameidst other mis¬ 
fortunes Let not me like the turtel Dove morne for an 
unfaithful Lover. I have seen one of my unkels and 
three of my 'Cosines in the army—at Cambridge 
wich is the l'urst of my relations I have seen these two 
years. I have sent two Shirts and a pair of trowsers 
wich yon must tell ant Grase to wash, and Send the 
trowsers and one of the Shirts and if 1 have another 
pair of trowsers at your hows pray send them Down 
by the furst opertunety, if you Can Get me Some 
Linen Cloth that will Do for jacets and briches I will 
pay tbe money for it, Send me word where you Can 
Get it or if not and how Soon aud you will Grately 
oblige yon Loving Friend. 
I have taken the liberty to punctuate a little, to 
make this letter rather more coherent, otherwise it is 
verbatim. It would seem that the lady was somewhat 
of a coquette, for in November he writes, 
Roxberey Camps November 9th 1775 
Unconstant woman 
When Storms and tempests and 
forked Liteniug and thunder Bend the Skyes and put 
all natuer into Confushion, and melislious fiends 
Disturbe all pease thereof, it woold not Strike that 
Damp on my Spirits as the news of yonr being so 
unsteady in yonr mind, if it had been for one that was 
Superer to me, it woold raise your fame hut fatal you 
have Disgrased your Self and me. I beard of your 
fiekelnes before I heard how it is t'als, how Can it he 
for the man you have often Disptsed to me, but I have 
Some Small Ray of hope that all is [ala. I want to 
see you once more but am so Engaged hi biseness I 
Canot before the 23d of this month when T hope to 
hear from you what I have Done to offend that you 
l)n thus Revenue vcurself on me, lieven witness that 
reminded of Iheir noble deeds. The young grew up 
to reverence the worthies whose statues they daily- 
saw, and to emulate the virtues which gave their 
ancestors such lasting fame. We can easily conceive 
how the sight of these images, as the young went out 
and came in, day after day, and week alter week, 
would impress their hearts for good. The impression 
of a single day therefrom, though very small in itself, 
yet oft repeated, could not fail to he deep. 
In these days we have no busts of honored ances¬ 
tors in the porches of our dwellings, but we have 
something more impressive. The characters ot liv¬ 
ing parents are constantly presented tor the imitation 
of children. Their example is continually sending 
Our Earthly Life.— My life is a frail lile; a me 
which, the more it increasefli, the more it decreaseth; 
the further it goeth, the nearer it cometh to death; a 
deceitful life, and like a shadow; full of the snares 
of death. Now I rejoice, and now I languish; now I 
flourish, and now I fade; now I live, and now 1 die: 
now I laugh, and now I weep. Oh joy above all joy, 
without which there is no joy, when shall I enter 
into thee, that I may see my God?— Augustine. 
associations, a taste may have been lormea ioi uomm 
eyes and chests, for hectic bloom or yellow pallor, 
and these things be voted interesting, but such a 
depravation is hardly conceivable. 
Ill health is so much a normal condition of femi¬ 
nine existence here, that many women who never 
had a well day in their lives, actually declare and 
believe themselves healthy. Let them apply to them¬ 
selves the test of a celebrated physician. “A 
healthy woman,” says Dr. Meigs, “has no experi¬ 
mental knowledge of hack, sides, head, lungs, 
stomach, liver, or any other orgau; she is conscious 
of herself only as one perfect, elastic, aud life enjoy¬ 
ing whole.” Oh, ye poor victims of aches, pains, 
and langors, — of neuralgia, aud headache, and dys¬ 
pepsia,—ye patrons of pathies, ye deathly mothers of 
dying babes,—ye coughing, groaning, sleepless, com¬ 
plaining creatures, old at twenty-five, and quite 
broken down at thirty,— how near can you come to 
the old doctor's simple standard of health?— Boston 
excuse ourselves tor any neglect, umioaiuu, uj indi¬ 
gence. 
Of course you understand all the branches taught 
in our common schools.— what next.’ several ol the 
States have libraries in every school district, in most 
of which you will he able to procure some valuable 
works. Read the best ancient and modern histo¬ 
ries you can obtain, — D'Aubigue’s History of 
the Reformation; American History especially, and 
the lives of our distinguished men; works on 
Natural History, Botany, Geology, and many oth¬ 
ers will suggest themselves in due time. Music, 
if you have a taste for it, is well worthy of study 
aud cultivation, as it will prove a solace when 
weary and dispirited. Then if you are acquainted 
with no language but the English, and would like to 
Men who see into their neighbors, are apt to 
contemptuous; but men who see through them, I' 
something lying behind every hnman soul which n 
not for them to sit in judgment on or to attempt 
sneer out of the order of God's mauifold univeise. 
Tlmes of general calamity and contusion nave e\ ci 
been productive of the greatest minds. The purest 
ore is produced from the hottest furnace, and the 
brightest thunderbolt is elicited from the darkest 
storm. __ 
A stream driving a mill is an emblem of man s 
life; he flows on in his own channel toward the ocean 
of immensity, yet helps to keep in motion the ma¬ 
chinery of the world. 
In this world, full often, our joys are 
tender shadows which our sorrows cast. 
Life is like a flower garden in which new blossoms 
are ever opening as fast as others fade. 
