[Written for Moore's Rural New-Yorker.] 
WORK. 
Rural New-Yorker.] 
[Written for Moore's 
ELATION AND DEPRESSION 
“ Six days shall thou labor/' 
Tue wickedness we are especially warned against 
committing on the Sabbath is work; as, according 
to the above command, the particnlar sin of secular 
dayB is idleness. Other commands to do or forbear 
certain acts are absolute and without reference to 
times or seasons: we are not to suppose it is more 
unlawful to speak falsely or profanely, to take wliat 
isnot our own, or to deprive another of lift on the 
Sabbath than on any other day of the seven. What¬ 
ever is in itself right, is always right; as, whatever 
is in itself wrong, is always wrong. “Virtue is its 
own reward.*' But work is not its own reward. We 
work, not for the sake of work, but for the sake of 
something else; and we rest that we may be able to 
work again. Thus, neither work nor rest is in itself 
right or wrong; only becomes so by (Ion’s special 
command, to labor on certain days and refrain from 
[Written for Moore's Rural New-Yorker.] 
PEACE LIKE A RIVER.” 
What a different expression the world wears to us 
at different timeB, according to the state of our 
minds. When the blessing of perfect health is ours, 
and every thing goes well with us, how at seasons 
our spirits will rise and our pulses bound with 
pleasure. How bright and beautiful the world seems 
then; the very air seems exhilarating, the flowers 
seem to nod and smile at us. and the birds express 
in their 6weet notes the happiness we feel. Care sits 
lightly then; we think it will never more weigh ns 
down to the earth. But the brief delightful hour 
passes, and attention to our every day affairs suc¬ 
ceeds, but at no distant day we have emotions of a 
different kind. A rainy day perhaps, ill health, care 
ot unkindoesa, depresses onr spirits until in contem¬ 
plating the dark side of life we cease to remember 
the great blessings of our lot. How gloomy the 
world looks at such an lionr. It is then a vale of 
suffering and tears. The will seems to lose its power 
of control over the imagination, and for a time we 
are overwhelmed by the sad plctnrea it conjures up. 
But this despondency soon gives place to other feel¬ 
ings, and we look back at that time with wonder 
what could have effected os so much. 
There are some whose lives seem so staid and calm 
that they never vary from the same even tone of ieel- 
ing; sometimes incapacity, for deeper feeling pro¬ 
duces this, and sometimes it is the result of a happy 
combination of qualities, or an uncommonly well 
disciplined mind; but we think the majority of peo¬ 
ple have their bright and dark hoars; that the world 
does not always present the same appearance, bnt 
varies somewhat according to the condition of the 
mind. »• c ’ D ’ 
Genera, Wig , Augunt, 1R«1- 
[Written for Moore's Rural New-Yorker.] 
LOVE’S TRICOLOR. 
Child of the grand old Autumn! 
October floateth by, 
A regal grace on her sun-kissed face 
And light in her beamiog eye; 
Over her polished shoulders, 
To the dull and fading grass, 
The golden brown of her hair flows down, 
As her springing footsteps pass. 
She will breathe on the dim old forest, 
And staining* of crimson light, 
Like the blushes that speak 
On her own bright cheek, 
Will fall on the leaves to-night; 
And the mellow light of the dawning. 
When the first faint sunbeams play, 
And the Hushes that rest 
On the sunset's breast, 
She will leave on the trees to-day. 
She will Up at the cottage window, 
One tap with her Oogers cold, 
And the fire will he bright 
In the hearth to night, 
As it was Ip the nights of old; 
And hearts will draw close together, 
In the light of the cherry flame. 
While fend lips will bless 
For their hsppiDess 
The sound of October’s name. 
Then she'll touch the tree tops softly, 
And a carpet all fresh and sweet. 
In colors as bright 
As the rainbow’* light, 
Will fall at her fairy feet; 
Sometimes she woos the Summer 
By the light of her magic smile, 
Sometimes she call* 
At the frost-king's halls, 
And bids him reign awhile. 
Then when the hills are woven 
With many a tinted strand, 
When a vail of romance 
(Like the bright cloud’s dance,) 
Is wrapped over sea and land, 
Like a dream that Is wild with splendor, 
Like the sun at the close of day, 
Like the vision* that rest 
In a maiden's breast, 
October will float nwavI 
BY ADM. A! I>K STOUT 
Comk and walk at the twilight hour 
Adowu by yon quiet stream; 
Tby weary spirit fain would know 
Wliat th' words of Our Father mean. 
“ Peace like a river ” I will impart, 
Ilis word hath said to the “ troubled ” heart. 
Come and rest by the riveT marge, 
And see how its waters glide; 
So clear, the snow of the lily gleams 
Adown In the crystal tide. 
A beautiful type in purity 
Of pence, 0, Father, that flows from Thee. 
Come and list at the quiet hour 
To the river's undertone; 
Deep in its channel it ever rolls 
With still voice all its own. 
Ceaseless and deep as that, river’s flow, 
The 11 peace ” thy children, 0, God, shall know! 
That peace is a u river of life,” 
And it flnweth ever “free." 
Wilt thou faint In a “ weary land” 
While the “Spirit” cries to thee, 
That “those who come to the river shore 
And drink of its waters, shall thirst no more?” 
Buffalo, N. Y , 18(51. 
Flow lens in their sweet array! 
A gift of blossoms for the soldier boy, 
The proud, the young, the ever full of joy, 
Who»aya “Good-by” to-day! 
“ To day I” Oh, words of dread! 
The shining blue that roofs us seems to me 
All cold and dim—a bad voice hath the sea— 
Beauty and song are dead! 
Hark! how the bugles ring! 
“ To horse!" fa chiming through that fiery call. 
Mount, and away from pleasant hearth and hall, 
No time for faltering! 
Flowers in their sweet array, 
Red, White, and Blue, I give to thee, my own, 
To wake fair thoughts of roe when thou art gone 
Far from my smi es away. 
Lilies, as sex-foam white, 
The crimson blushes of the reguant rose, 
The small, sweet vio'ot, whose blue flame glows 
With much of heavenly light. 
The red rose proudly tells 
Of knightly prowess and of guerdon meet; 
Of endless love whisper* *h« violet sweet; 
Woe for the lily-bells! 
Glory, and Love, and Death! 
The Red, the Blue, the White! Oh, love of mine, 
Following the Flag, whose spotless fame is thine, 
Bo Strong In hope and faith! 
The violet blooms for thee; 
Go win thy red rose ’mid the battle smoke; 
Brave traitors steel with steadfart heart of oak, 
The Right is Victory! 
If for the common weal— 
Ah, woe for me!—it be thy hap to die, 
Drifts of white lilies o’er tby head shall lie, 
Tltou warrior true and leal. 
Cohocton, N. Y-, 1861. Taura E. 
fWritten for Moore's Rural New-Yorker.] 
SONG OF REDEEMING LOVE IN PROSPERITY. 
HOME-WORK AND OFFICE-WORK. 
The end of education, says the Saturday Review, 
is to fit its subjects for that station and those duties 
in which the chances are that their future life vril! be 
spent. As things are, it Is likely, while the sexeR 
retain their present equality, that our girls, whom it 
is sought to put down to the desk and counter, will 
have to abandon them when they become wives and 
mothers. In other words, their, future life is to be 
wives, and not book-keepers and accountants. All 
the time, therefore, that they employ in the counting- 
house. is so much time lost; it not only does not fit 
them, hut positively unfits them for their future duties. 
We all know that factory-girls make the worst wives; 
and if the ideal of the udvocates of women’s work 
were carried out* all classes of society would but le- 
pcat, under modifications, the type of a factory-wife. 
Given ft factory-girl and a domestic servant, and 
wbieb does the working-man choose? This single 
circumstance disposes of all the fantastic claims 
which are urged for introducing unmarried females 
to business. We utterly deny that a girl in a respect- 
able family docB not earn the honorable title of a 
worker, though she only be employed in assisting in 
■ housekeeping and at the family work-table, Just as 
fairly and as completely as if she walked to a solid- 
[Written for Moore'* Rural New-Yorker.] 
MUSIC. 
It inspires, 
Reai. music always affects the heart, 
cheers, or subdues the feelings, never leaving them 
in a state of indifference. We bear a bird at Bum¬ 
mer’s sunset and stop unconsciously until its gushing 
song is ended. From the woodland where the 
shadows sleep corne the spirit voices of the winds, 
and we tniRh our every breath to listen to the mys¬ 
terious mununrs, that bear tbe thoughts away in wild 
and pensive wandering*. The tempest winging its 
black way over the arch of heaven, holdB tbe soul in 
awful waiting, while the thunder, rain, and winds 
unite in sublime harmony to elevate tire soul. When 
nature sings, she touches the heart, whether her 
cadences are heard in the little blue bells, shook by 
the minstrel winds, or in the majestic measures of 
the midnight storm. 
The power of swaying the feelings of men by music 
is the gift of nature. By patient drilling and long- 
continued application, the mere theory of music may 
ho learned; but, after all, nature is the best teacher. 
Men may puzzle thdf brains to invent unusual and 
unnatural strains; they may be able to accomplish 
astonishing feats in mechanical execution, and yet 
leave those who listen to their performances wholly 
unmoved. Many seem to believe they can counter¬ 
feit true feeling, and they make desperate efforts to 
move others; but while their auditors should weep, 
laugh, or become inspired with deep feeling, they 
either coldly criticise, or affectedly applaud. Miss 
Fanny Flare, at a crowded evening party, is invited 
to entertain the company with mnsic. $l)c is con¬ 
sidered a connoisseur, and hai been invited with a 
special eye to her acquirements in this direction. 
With an air of condescension she seats herself at the 
wliieb, by the way, has been selected more 
[Written for Moore's Rural New-Yorker.] 
HONEST ISAAC, THE OLD SINGER. 
It was a pleasant July morning when two of ns 
(F. 0. and the writer) started homeward. A dozen 
long miles were stretched before ub, and a broiling 
sun was stooping over us. We gave the stage coach 
and the plank road a broad margin, and “struck” 
into the woods, where we easily found the old road, 
now so seldom used it is overgrown with wild grass 
ami embroidered with flowers. A little stream that 
tumbles down a shelving bank has made a channel 
in the middle of the forsaken highway, and looks 
like a naked artery pulsing with vitality. Berries 
ripe and red hung like rubies Ret in emerald upon 
the bushes. We halted under the silent shade of the 
spreading trees, and fared sumptuously on fruit 
sweeter than ambrosia. We tftld stories, quoted 
poetry, related experiences, moving along slowly 
through the quiet woodH. On the verge of the 
forest, in a settlement dotted with a few farm liousep, 
we noticed the bowt * .figure of an old man coming 
Uiwanl n n with a firm, heavy step. He was in his 
career of usettiinesB is peiure lucid, huu 
life becomes! how glad they are to live 
South Livonia, N. Y., 1861. 
Ran&omvillo, N. Y., 1861 
the desire of perfection. Toil is the school of these 
high principles; and we have a strong presumption 
that, in other respects, it does not necessarily blight 
the soul. Next, we have seen that the most fruitful 
sources of truth and wisdom are not books, precious 
iih they are, but experience and observation; aiul 
that these belong to all conditions. It is another 
important consideration, that almost all labor de¬ 
mands intellectual activity, and is best carried on by 
those wbo invigorate their minds; so that the two 
interests, toil and self-culture, are friends to each 
other. It is mind, after all, which does the work of 
the world; so that the more there is of mind, the 
more work will be accomplished. A man, in pro¬ 
portion as he is intelligent, makes a given force 
accomplish a greater task, makes skill take the place 
of muscles, and with less labor gives a better pro¬ 
duct. Make men intelligent, and they become inven¬ 
tive; they find shorter processes. Their knowledge 
of nature helps them to turn its laws to account, t.o 
understand the substances on which they work, and 
to seize on useful hints, which experience continually 
furnishes. It is among workmen that the most use¬ 
ful machines have been contrived. Spread education, 
Some men only think of religion as something 
which gives them a title to heaven—as if the devil 
were some sneaking thing going about to snatch from 
man his title to ft property. Or as if a man had an 
estate to which another claimant arose. The case is 
contested, and the man who holds the estate is 
adjudged to have it rightfully. He goos back home 
is the estate improved? are the fences repaired? aie 
the fields more fruitful? No, it is the same thistle- 
grown estate that it was; but the man rejoices and 
says, “Now I know it is mine; for I have got a 
title.” 
Other men look on religion as a provision for the 
future; like a little estate laid by snugly for them, to 
which, if anything should happen, they may retire 
by and-by, and enjoy themselves. 
Still other men’s religion bears about the same rela¬ 
tion to their whole life and character that a farmer’s 
garden does to his whole farm. Here he has finer 
vegetables and fruits, and if anywhere, flowers, while 
all the fields are full of marketable commodities. A 
great many persons have gardens of piety, while the 
large fields of their character are without a flower or 
fruit. 
A man cannot parcel off a little place and say, 
OUR JESSIE. 
uniform. He wore laced shoes that showed a closer j 
acquaintance with oil than blacking. His calm, 
earliest, thoughtful face, lit up with a pair of gray 
eyes that looked out, from an embankment of bushy 
brows, marked him as a “ character.” Let the reader 
picture to himself such a figure walking over the 
grass-covered path,— green fields on either hand, 
a musical brook flowing within sight, and hills 
rising in weird and wonderful beauty in the distance, 
the blue arch and bright sun overhead,—and he will 
reproduce the picture we saw framed in with hill and 
vale, and wood and wandering stream. 
It was not the form, nor the gait, nor the dress, 
nor the position of the old man, that attracted our 
notice. Meeting a farmer in the country on a sum¬ 
mer morning, is not a rare occurrence, but this man 
is an original, striking, peculiar character. 11c is 
known for leagues and leagues about as an honest, 
faithful preacher. He has not been ordained by tbe 
laying on of hands,—he docs not belong to any 
religious party; that if* he is not a member of a 
church. He preaches, levertbeless, and speaks with 
considerable unction; tut he is not remarkable for 
bis eloquence, or his logic, or Ills philosophy; bis 
piano, 
for its costly material than the quality of its sound,— I 
and starts off most, terrifically, as If to test the pow¬ 
ers of etidurancc possessed by the instrument, and 
causing one to feel some alarm for its safety. Then 
something very pathetic is introduced. That it is so 
we judge from the various motions and wry faces 
visible tO.the eye, and the long tremulous whines 
that greet the ear. The while, bejeweled fingers 
almost Ity up and down the octaves. Some of the 
keys squawk, some rattle, and others bellow. We 
are. reminded of the musician spoken of in “Salma¬ 
gundi ” who broke eight, pianos in learning to per¬ 
form a single piece. When Miss Fanny Fi.ark rises 
from the instrument, wliat arc the feelings of her lis¬ 
teners? Those who are easily caught by pretension 
and glitter will call it “very superior,” “divine,” 
“ exquisite;” bnt tbe better judging part of the com¬ 
pany will, in their own minds, deem it affected and 
absurd. Her personal appearance is freely discussed, 
and all aro ready to acknowledge that time and 
expense could not have been regarded in her musi¬ 
cal education. 
Let now a master hand touch those keys, and the 
simplest strain will seem to be invested with new 
power to charm. How softly and sweetly the voice 
harmonizes with the instrument, and yet how full and 
rich is it in compass. The singer has the feelings of 
the company at perfect command. They do not 
think of the performer, bnt of the music. It sounds 
as though any one might sing or play it, so simple is 
it in construction, and so devoid of intricate and far¬ 
fetched combinations. Who 1ms not been charmed 
with the singing of children? One traveler tells of 
hearing in Europe several thousand children all sing¬ 
ing together, and he observed that the effect was 
wonderful. The artless, unaffected melody of their 
voices tonched every heart, for they sang as nature 
taught them. Not that, cultivation is unnecessary. 
The science of music should be studied carefully and 
well; but if there is a false standard of excellence to 
which people slavishly bow, that standard should be 
pulled down and a better one erected in its place. 
Butler. tVfa.. 1861. MiNkkva OSBORNK. 
The School in tiie House.— Every family is a 
school. All its members are teachers, all are 
scholars. Without text-books, all study, and by 
instinct all learn. Looks, smiles, frowns, caresses, 
reproaches, shrugs, words, deeds, make up daily 
household lessons, from which each learner derives 
first impressions, next convictions, and then charac¬ 
ter. What the school in the house should he, may 
oftentimes be best known by noticing what it is not. 
If domestic courtesy, and family politeness, and 
mutual forbearance, and considerate patience, and 
benefiting love are not in the house, there will he, in 
their stead, rudeness and selfishness, Bod impatience 
and strife. These last are scorpions whose deadly 
venom is sure destruction of domestic peace, con¬ 
cord, and happiness. Christian parents, you are t0 ] je geen by us no more, 
teachers at home! Let your children learn what that comes after ns i 
practical piety iB irom the benignity of your tempers lrac k our way 
and the blamelessness of your examples, 
No Backward Movement.— Man is constantly 
advancing to the eternal world, lie cannot go back 
to improve privileges that have been wasted. Life 
cannot be traveled again, and each foot-print is made 
—-j. Onward we must go. lie 
may profit by our follies, and 
nearer and nearer to the beach where 
the ocean of eternity rolls,—he may see step after 
step in the sand till he comes to the last print, half 
washed away by the tide, where we plunged into tbe 
vast ocean and disappeared forever; but backward 
we cannot go, to pick up the golden gems which we 
once passed with indifference as they lay sparkling 
at our feet. Onward we are moving, and onward we 
must continue to move. How solemn, then, does 
life seem in its progress! And how loud the admoni¬ 
tion to imDrove the golden moments as they fly, for 
The Smile. — There are few persons capable of 
smiling gracefully. A really graceful smile, ema¬ 
nating from the heart, playing lightly and in beauty 
around the lips, casting an expression of pure be¬ 
nevolence over the countenance, and bearing—as 
such a smile will—the mark of intelligence and a 
frank, open disposition, is a rare gift indeed, and 
proclaims the possessor a member of the aristocracy 
of Nature. Without the stars and ribbons, the marks 
of her royal favor, he may stand perhaps on a higher 
pedestal than many who bear such brilliant decora¬ 
tions. Never take the trouble of asking a bond from 
a person who can really smile; and dread no decep¬ 
tion, for no ordinary observer will ever be imposed 
or distortion of the lips.— 
cares of State, the fatigues of sport or the moors oi 
professional duties, to every man there is given work 
for the day; to woman it. is left to offer him a pleas¬ 
ant home in the evening, or to chase him into dan¬ 
gerous scenes abroad. It is not enough that the easy 
chair, the warm fireside, the good meal, are prepared 
for the master of the house; bright faces and cheer¬ 
ful words, agreeable amusement and a community of 
feeling, can alone make the parlor more attractive 
than the club-room or the theatre. To this end, for¬ 
bearance and love are the necessary agents. With¬ 
out these, no home can be happy, and the bondB of 
conjugal happiness are wanting. In a true wife 
will center all those sweet and tender affections 
which hind a man to the love of his companion 
and his home—“the only bliss that has survived 
the fall.” 
--- ■ ♦ ■ « - 
We hear a great deal about the duty of filial obedi¬ 
ence, but who says anything about paternal obliga¬ 
tion? Neglect of children is ft common sin in these 
times, and not so much amougpoor people as among 
the rich. It is not enough to bequeath money to 
children. Give them counsel, example, discipline 
that is, give them a share of your time. 
■ » • ^ i ♦ 
Love is of such superlative worth that it is more 
honorable to he its victim than its conqueror. 
made a deep impression upon my mind, and win 
long be remembered with emotions of pleasure. It 
had a refining, elevating, exhilerating influence. 
No lover of sweet sounds could fail to be charmed 
by the purity and suavity of his voice. He is evi¬ 
dently a man of one idea, and that idea is “religious 
music;” bnt his music is not mechanical, ‘ like the 
tune played on a barrel or^an.” If a farmer talfcs 
about his crops, a speculator about his trade, a 
physician about his patients, a woman about her 
children, an author about himself, it is what we 
expect, yet we are willing to have them change the 
subject; but when a man breaks up the monotony of 
common occurrences by singing naturally, as the 
lark sings, we are not in baste to have him fold his 
wings, drop down to the earth, and become earthy 
in his talk. Singing is a part of honest Isaac’b 
nature. If he meets you in the field, he Bings; if he 
accosts you at his owu door step, he Bings; if he 
overtakes you on the road to town, he singB; if he 
attends a religious meeting, he Bings; if he calls on 
yon to pay a visit, he sings; if he overhears men in a 
quarrel, he sings them into harmony of feeling; if 
one neighbor attempts to slander another, he drowns 
the black speech in song. He sings because this 
one idea has got into his heart as well as his head. 
Gkobgb W. Bungay. 
Scolding. —If laughter begets fat, it is no less 
true that scolding is the parent of meagreness. Who 
ever saw a plump termagant? The virago is scraggy 
—scragginess is the badge of all her tribe. It would 
seem that the attrition of a fierce exacting temper 
gives sharpness to the human frame as inevitably us 
a gritty grindstone puts a wiry edge on a broadax. 
Artists understand this fact, and guide their pencils 
accordingly. They invariably represent ladies sup¬ 
posed to be given to “t.iie rampage ” as remarkably 
high in bone. Shrews are thus depicted in comio 
valentines, and all the illustrators of “Curtain Lec¬ 
tures” have presented the “rib” of Mr. Caudle with¬ 
out a particle of fat. J/ivater, referring to female 
firebrands, says flatly to their faces that their imses 
are sharp. We have a dim idea that he mentions 
some exceptional cases of ladies with snub noses, 
who are given to snnbbing their husbands; but these 
form a mild variety, and only a small proportion of 
the genus scold. 
upon by a sneer, grimace, 
Home Journal. 
The weakest living creature, by concentrating his 
powers on a single object, can accomplish some¬ 
thing; the strongest, by dispersing bis over many, 
may fail to accomplish anything. The drop, by 
continual falling, bores a passage through the 
hardest rock; the hasty torrent rushes over it with 
hideous uproar, and leaves no trace behind. 
Do good for thine own satisfaction and care not 
what follows. Cause no gray hairs to any one; 
nevertheless, for the truth even gray hairs are to be 
disregarded. 
