£. 4> JU 
“that he never allowed ms cnnu ™ crj — 
posed he left all his good-nature behind him when 
he passed inside of bis own threshold, and expected 
to see little Clara slip away into the corner and stay 
until bed time. Judge, then, of my surprise, when 
I saw her run out to meet him on his coming home 
from his work, and to see how much pleasure he took 
in her play, and how much time he devoted to her 
education and amusement. My astonishment was 
increased when I saw that, familiar and playful as 
[Written for Moore's Rural New-Yorker.] 
CHANGED AND UNCHANGED. 
[Written for Moore's Rural New-Yorker.] 
THE AUTUMN OF 1861. 
[Written for Moore's Rural New-Yorker.J 
SONNET. 
BY MRS. A. I. HORTOX. 
by j. w. barker 
BY F. H. GUIW1TH 
0, ybver croak of 11 change,” and sadly moan, 
And say “ our brightest days are with the past;” 
In Goo's free sunlight dwell in deepest gloom, 
And fond, regretful glances, backward cast. 
As brightly shine the stars in yon fair dome 
Ab when our wandering, childish gaze they drew, 
While one by one they gathered round 1 night’s throne, 
Serenely shining through the midnight's blue. 
With a touch just as tender doth the Spring 
From their long Bleep waken the “ dreaming flowers;” 
Still, with unsparing hand doth Summer fling 
Her thousand charms to grace her fleeting hours; 
Still is the bird’s song at the early dawn 
O'er fields and forest ringing; drops of dew 
On flower, on bending spTay. and grassy lawn, 
Shine with imprisoned rainbows gleaming through. 
The nver’s voice hath ret its olden tone. 
Sweeping its green and flower-gemmed banks along; 
Vain now as then list’ning its string#, wild moan, 
We strive to learn the import of it® song. 
As sweetly bloom the gentle wild-wood flowers 
As when their haunts our childish footsteps knew; 
Bright is their sisters’ smile in gardes bower*; 
From the long grass gleams forth the violet blue. 
And God is still “ Our Father.” He whose eye 
Notes e’en the little sparrow in its fall. 
If not in Tain to Him the raTens cry, 
Will He not hear His children’s earnest call? 
Friends of the dear “laog syne,” ah, where are they? 
Beneath green mounds, with summer roses crowned, 
Rest some. Some true and loving still are fur away, 
And some have, saddest thought. foTgetful grown. 
For well w# know where onr lost one? are dwelling 
No change can enter—there Heath holds no sway, 
No solemn voices to the lone heart knelling 
In the still midnight whisper* ’ Haste away.” 
//‘•re all must change; deep in the rose heait lying 
Is the pale tinge that heralds its decay; 
There bife, hove, Beauty dwell, all change defying— 
No grief, no tears, no voice that calls away. 
Dundee, N. Y., 1861. 
Nkvhk wore the skies of Autumn 
Such a melancholy light; 
Never, over field and woodland. 
Fell there such a dismal blight. 
Ne’er upon the Summer foliage 
Hived there such a weary gloom; 
Ne’er so sad the fading flowers, 
Ne’er so dark their dreary tomb 
In the hours of youth and childhood, 
Well I loved the waning year, 
Loved the meadow and the wildwood, 
Loved the leaflet* pale and sere. 
How my heart, with deep devotion, 
Loved the gentle Autumn eves; 
How It stirred with warm emotion 
’Mid the rod and golden leave* 
Though the frost-wind, fierce and chilling, 
Swept across the verdant mead, 
Every fragrant blossom killing, 
Giving beauty little heed; 
Though the brooklet, sad and sullen, 
Murmured through the sombre vale, 
In ita touching measures telling 
Sorrow’s melancholy tell; 
Yet a bright and starry vision 
Rose above the Nwelling stream; 
I could sec a bright elysian 
In that golden, Autumn dream. 
Spriog, above the desolation. 
Rose in lively, fragrant bloom, 
And a new nnd fair creation 
Sprang from Winter's icy tomb 
But, alas, a heavy sadnesE 
Gathers o’er the starry sky, 
Hushed the song of mirth and gladness, 
Sad the breezes murmur by. 
O’er my loved and happy country 
Gathers now a fearful cloud, 
Now a thunder storm is swelling, 
Now it mutters long and loud. 
With the ripple of the river, 
With the murmur of the stream, 
Brothers’ blood is mingling ever 
Staining all the living green. 
O, that SprlDg mny rise in glory 
Over Winters snowy bier; 
0, that war's revolting story 
May be ended with the year; 
0, that peace on downy pinions, 
And her mildly beaming eyes, 
With the light of Truth and Justice, 
May Illume these Autumn skies, 
Lockport, N. Y., 1861 
The wild October winds are high and cold— 
My mother, such thy spirit bore away; 
Come back with them while beie I sit and say, 
Thy child is weary, weary! and the old 
Low song repeat as when thou didst enfold 
My little form und hushed my sobs to rest. 
The dead leaves now that rustle o'er thy breast 
Are emblems of iny withered hope*, and mold 
Is on my heart. Come from thy peaceful shore 
And teach me what them didst but just begin, 
How welt and hmu content to /•><• N ' 0 Ior ” 
Is equal this in worth, yet out and in, 
And up and down, I've wandered dreary yeare, 
But found not this, though sought with earnest tears. 
Avoca, N. Y., 1861. 
that be is a second Esculaptur. You may recognize 
him anywhere, by the various arts which he is wont 
to practice to keep up a reputation, such as riding 
JonN-OariN-like through the streets, when every 
body knows that nobody i3 sick within ten railea, 
or repeating long and torturing words at the patients 
bedside, as If he had learned the dictionary by heart: 
or, worst of all, sporting saddle-bags filled with 
divers bottles purporting to have varied contents, but 
which prove to contain nothing but big and little 
doses of calomel, and which he can honestly warrant 
to kill or cure. 
Monsieur H. is a special favorite of teachers and 
professors, in “young-lady factories,” particularly 
on graduation days, when flattering diplomas, gay 
with blue ribbons, are awarded to a score or more 
of sleepv-eyed, listless young disciples, of whom it 
is affirmed that each is mistress of all the modern 
languages, well versed in natural sciences and 
'ologics, and can paint and make music equal to 
any foreign artist, however celebrated. Ttow the 
delighted papas and exultant mamas congratulate 
one another on being the proprietors of such prodi¬ 
gies. in blissful ignorance, as it is best they should 
be now it can't be helped, of the fact that the young 
ladies cannot, write a letter without dreadfully mur¬ 
dering the King's English, and would find it utterly 
impossible to reckon up the fractions which might 
occur in purchasing their 1iat3 and gloves. 
No wonder the little man is popular, when the 
almighty dollar is so easily obtained by his aid, when 
people can coin ready money out of the sage advice 
which he offers gratis. Merchants and dentists, 
lawyers and lawyers’ clerks, shoemakers and mantua- 
makers, kings and priests, each and all court the 
favor of the little wizard, and deem it in no wise 
unmanly or undignified to take him into the closest 
partnership. Invisibly he stands behind many a 
Judge's bench, and in the halls of Congress, on the 
rostrum, and sometimes even in the sacred desk: 
always at his tricks, always the same arch-deceiver. 
I last heard of him in Dixie’s land, wearing the dress 
of a patriot, and pretending to be fighting for free¬ 
dom and equality. But you will be sure to find him 
among that gallant corps which, in a sharp fight, 
always selects a bach seat and most indubitably ex¬ 
emplifies the wisdom and verity of the couplet which 
says: 
“ He that fights and runs away, 
Will live to fight another day.” 
Fayetteville, N. Y., 1861. A. M. P. 
ence between her ana smith s onuu was me 
of a different mode of government. He said he did 
not try to control her nntil she was old enough to 
understand whst was said to her,—nearly two years 
old. At first he did not tell her to do anything but 
what she could do easily, and in that way gained her 
confidence to snob an extent that she thought she 
could do anything lie required of her. Whenever 
she wanted anything, he first considered whether she 
ought to have it; and after once deciding, did not 
change his mind; so she soon learned that it was 
useless to tease for a thing which had once been 
denied. He never told her to do a thing which he 
did not calculate to make her perform. He did not 
use the whip,—it was unnecessary, injurious, and 
unrighteous. He believed his child had as good a 
moral right to beat bis flesh, as he had to beat hers. 
He said the main thing was to have tbe right idea of 
government and begin in the right way. 
Here, thought I, is a man who understands the true 
philosophy of government; and the more 1 have 
reflected upon it since, the more thoroughly I have 
been convinced of the correctness of that impression. 
He had seen considerable of the world, and was one 
of the few men who learn u valuable lesson from Con¬ 
trast between the various modes of living and gov¬ 
ernment adopted by people in the same and in 
different situations in life. He had got the right idea 
As through the land at eve we went, 
And plucked the ripened ears, 
We fell out, my wife and I— 
O, wo fell out, I know not why, 
And kissed again with tears. 
For when we came where lies the child 
We lost in other years, 
There, above the little grave, 
Oh, there, above the little grave, 
We kissed again with tears. 
[Written for Moore's Rural New-Yorker.l 
PARENTAL GOVERNMENT. 
“You are the most disobedient child I ever saw.’’ 
Such was the language used in my hearing by a 
mother to a child of nine or ten summers, and had 1 
less of the world I might have felt inclined to 
Been 
give the expression my hearty concurrence — for the 
child did appear to be as ill-behaved and disobedient 
as it could conveniently— yet 1 should hardly have 
dared to, knowing that it is never agreeable for 
parents to hear others speak of their children’s faults, 
whatever they may themselves say. Every action of 
this child gave unmistakable evidence that her gov¬ 
ernment had been neglected. 
Now, 1 imagine T can almost hear some of my 
readers repeating the words of Solomon: — “Spare 
the rod and spoil the child;” but, reader, I long since 
came to the conclusion that there are other qualities 
required for the judicious government of a child, 
beside a disposition to apply the rod. In fact, I have 
often thought that those parents who administer Jlageb 
lotion the most plentifully generally have the worst 
children . 1 will give one of a number of instances 
which have come under my observation. 
Some live years since I became acquainted with a 
family, consisting of four members—a man and wife, 
and two boys aged about eleven and thirteen. Two 
worse acting boys never lived. They would steal, 
lie, swear, and get into the meanest scrapes possible, 
when they knew that if they were found out they 
would be sure of getting whipped; for whenever they 
did any wrong, the father or mother would seize a 
stick—generally a barrel stave- and, if they did not 
get out of reach, give them such a severe Hogging 
that I often wondered they were not whipped to 
death. Bnt they were like other ehildrcu—whipping 
and brutality did not make them love to do that 
which was right and spurn that which was wrong. 
Whenever they did wrong they would lie, and thus try 
to hide it, so as to escape the rod. Tbe/car of the rod 
never made a child love its parents, and desire to do 
their commands. That there is a natural difference 
in the dispositions of children, is not denied; bnt it is 
claimed that the main difference is attributable to di¬ 
verse teachings,—a child is obedient or disobedient as 
its parents cultivate the feelings. So I thought when 
[Written for Moore's Rural New-Yorker ] 
CHRIST OUR COMFORT. 
from Christ — away from safety—away from happi¬ 
ness—away from heaven! Turn, 0, wanderer, to 
the beacon light Repentance. Bee the faithful 
watchmen, Mercy and Forgiveness, holding out 
their loving arms to receive the weary wanderer back 
to Christ. Heed now the warning voice that says, 
“ Come up and live in Him” for “ Why will ye die.’’ 
Weary traveler, “cast tby burden on the Lord.” 
He in able and willing to bear it and thee across the 
rough and jostling highway of life. Trust Him now, 
only for -^ne hour, then tell me if ought on earth 
could tempt tbee with thy little strength to carry for 
one day only that weary, weary, burden. He never 
meant it for yon to bear alone. He never gave you 
strength to bear it alone, for “in Him we live, and 
move, and have our being.” 
Broken hearted mourner, turn from thy lost idol 
aw8 y_tarn to the Savior. Thy little one has gone 
to dwell with Him — He will dry thy tears — He will 
send a balm for every wound. His grace will be thy 
stay in every time of trial. 0, despair not if every 
idol of clay be tom from thy embrace. Christ, the 
Rock, is firm. Haste to the shelter of that Rock, bury 
thy sorrow beneath it, calm thy troubled soul in its 
shadow’; for in the shadow of that Rock is perfect 
peace. It is the Savior’s voice that says, “ Of such 
is tbe Kingdom of Heaven.” Can you aot trust your 
little one. with Him? He will care for it so tenderly, 
[Written for Moore's Rural New-Yorker.] 
THE WORLD’S WIZARD. 
Havk any of my readers seen so little of tbe world 
as not to have met, some where, during their pere¬ 
grinations, a certain dapper-looking little man, of 
affable manners and pleasing address, who, with 
many obsequious bows, introduced himself as “Mon¬ 
sieur Humbug, at your leisure,” and followed up the 
introduction, by his card, which informed you that 
the little man was able and willing to co-operate 
with yon In any undertaking which you could name? 
You remember him, doubtless, whether you saw fit 
to employ him or not, and can recall him at once 
as a very small man who tried to look tall, a very 
old man who sought to look young, and a very great 
braggart, who affected to be of the Uriah Heap 
stamp, exceedingly ’nmble. 
You will also remember bim as practising various 
old bachelor tricks, such as wearing dentists' teeth 
and barbers' head gear, and making believe they were 
all bis ewn. He is older by some centuries than the 
Wandering Jew, but must have lived in comparative 
obscurity until within the last half century, and 
might have remained still longer so had not our 
national showman introduced him to the world as a 
warm personal friend und able coadjutor. But the 
kind world, especially the American part of it, were 
greatly delighted by the little man, and the little 
man's introduction, and received him with open 
arms. Madam Falsehood, a hldeouB, misshapen 
creature, who is only able to make herself look 
respectably by wearing tbe garments of Truth, is 
the consort and confidante of the little gentleman, 
and though he contrives to keep her in the back, 
ground, the old crone's advice is invaluable. To¬ 
gether, they attract crowds of disciples. Men in 
every department of business eagerly seek advice at 
his lips — women of all conditions contrive to make 
the acquaintance of the quaint little man, and child¬ 
ren, even, are eager'to hoard up his precepts. 
“Those precious “live hundred friends’’ of ours, 
dear reader, are very often closeted with the wise 
Monsieur, and emerge from tbe private interview 
skilled in all his arts and wiles. It is for this rea- 
sou that I discarded all mine, long ago, although it 
was not uutil I had burned my fingers several times 
upon the altar of friendship, that I learned to keep 
away. Many a grave has been opened iu desolate 
corners of my heart, into which I have unceremoni¬ 
ously tumbled, unshriven and uucolfiued, all that 
remained to me of what had once been confidential 
friends and inseparable companions. They loved me 
just as long as I could benefit them, but, when they 
could no longer use me, iu climbing the ladder of 
the world's good opinion, then they turned cold and 
betrayed me. Very foolishly, I had revealed to one 
“the very bottom of my bouI,” made her a regular 
father-confessor,— another had been to me tbe mirror 
of all excellence —hut when she seemed most 
attractive — when I had grown to love her, as I can 
never love friend again—she, too, turned traitress 
and deceived me. But, equally numerons among 
these disciples of Monsieur Hcmbcg, are those 
AUTUMN LEAVES 
The leaves of Autumn are beginning to fade and 
fall, although without the aid of the still kindly- 
delaying frosts. It seems not long since we watched 
their gradual unfolding, iu tufts of tender green. 
The Spring birds rang sweetly then upon tbe buil¬ 
ding boughs, their Jail* plumage contrasting with 
file scarlet (lowers of the maple, the graceful tassels 
of the elm, and the pinky-velvet leaflets of the oak. 
leaves of the hickory burst from their 
play aside from the main business of life ; but women 
—be they of what earthly rank they may, however 
gifted with intellect or genius, or endowed with art 
ful beauty -have always some little handiwork ready 
to fill tho tiny gap of every vacant mumept. A needle 
is familiar to the fingers of them all. A queen, no 
doubt, plies it on occasion ; the woman-poet can use 
it as adroitly as her pen ; the woman’s evo that has 
discovered a new star turns from its glory to send 
the polished little instrument gleaming along the hem 
of her kerchief, or to darn a casual flaw in her dress. 
And they have the advantage of us in this respect 
The slender thread of silk or cotton keeps them 
united with the Bmall, familiar, gentle interests of 
life, the continually operating influences do much for 
the health of the character, and carry off what would 
otherwise ho a dangerous accumulation of morbid 
sensibility. A vast deal of human sympathy runs 
along this electric line, stretching from the throne of 
the wicker chair of the humblest, seamstress, aud 
keeping high and low In a species of common union 
with their kindred beings. Methinks it is a token ol 
healthy and gentle characteristics when women of 
accomplishments and high thoughts love to sew, cs- 
neciallv as they are never more at home with their 
The young 
calyx like the petals of an emerald flower; and as 
the season advanced the sycamore shook out its 
broad foliage to tho sun, and tho sumac veiled its 
harsh outline in floating and feathery plumes. — 
And when at length the June roses blossomed by 
the wayside, the forest stood crowned aud robed in 
its pomp of Summer green. 
But the leaves whose shadow was bo welcome, 
served not for coolness and drapery alone. Each 
of our graceful visitants had its modicum of work 
to do. Fed by the branches they adorned, they in 
turn laid up a store of nutriment for the parent 
trunk. They elaborated its juices, and sent them 
back enriched by nourishment imbibed lrorn the 
surrounding air. They imprisoned the sunshine in 
their delicate cells, and sent its vitalizing influence 
to the roots it never saw. They watched all night 
long beneath the stars, drinking in the “sweet 
I influences of the Pleiades” with the moonlight and 
the dew. They nursed the young buds cradled at 
their feet, till, rocked by the winds and lulled by 
the songs of the new-fledged birds, they grew health¬ 
ful aud round, the robust heirs of the developed 
year. They watched over the ripening fruit, screen¬ 
ing it from the too fervid rays of noon, and break¬ 
ing the force and fury of the storm. 
But now their benignant ministry is closed. They 
can no longer serve the children they have fostered, 
nor ihe parent that gave them birth. Their small 
housekeeping accounts are balanced for tbe year; 
their graceful task is done; and so, donning their 
fairest robes, and kissing the strong arras that have 
sustained them so faithfully, one by one, and in 
silence, they steal to their place of rest. Go to the 
orchards and see, wherever Spring frosts have not 
blighted the season’s hope, how the boughs bend 
above the treasures they have lost, while on the 
turf beneath them, 
'* Like living coals, tbe apple* 
Burn among the withering leaves.” 
Go to the woodland walks, and you will find them 
already strewu as if for expected guests; lightly car¬ 
peted with leaves of pale yellow, and greeu with 
crimson veins. Go to the cemetery, and see how the 
Who is the prophet that shall uncover the abysses 
of onr acted lies, and pour adequate shame on our 
mutual impositions? Smiles on onr faces, with envy 
and jealousy underneath; cordiality in onr grasp, 
with no connecting nerve between the fingers and the 
heart; deference in our professions, with no suitable 
esteem, no genuine respect, no sacred sincerity; in¬ 
vitations issued with a ft aud lurking in their polite¬ 
ness; getting the company together by one falsehood; 
greetings of indiscriminate and extravagant welcome, 
receiving them with another; fashions made up of 
composite illusions, ornamenting them with another; 
ceremonies of elaborate make-believe, sustaining 
their mock dignity with another: and dishonest re¬ 
grets at the farewell, dismissing them with another 
who will dare to affirm these do not enter apallingly 
into the staple of what we call civilized and elegant 
life? When is the rugged, truth speaking, Christian 
time coming, which shall tear open aud rend apart 
these guilty illusions, plant the communion of 
soul with soul on some pure and just foundation, and 
restore the social world to its primitive and upright 
simplicity?—/'’. D. Huntington. 
Profit of Prayer.— The profit of prayer is thus 
excellently set forth in a few sentences bv the French 
writer, La Mannaia:—“ After praying, “s not the 
heart lighter, and the soul happier? Prayer renders 
affliction less sorrowful, and joy more pure. It 
mingles with the one an unspeakable sweetness, and 
adds to the other a celestial perfume. Sometimes 
there passes over the fields a wind which parches the 
other of her parents. Whipping, slapping, shaking, 
and pulling her hair, were the usual modes of punish¬ 
ment. and these were always inflicted while under 
the influence of passion. A command was generally 
accompanied by a throat, but tlie child seldom 
obeyed; aud as a consequence Mrs. S. flew into a 
passion and began whipping in such a severe manner 
that Mr. S.. moved by pity, would catch it away 
from the mother and give something to pacify the 
little one. Perhaps in less than nn hour the scene 
would change. Mr. S. would be whipping the child, 
and Mrs. S.’s turn would come to relieve her from 
torture and give Mr. b. a severe lecture for his 
cruelty. This, of course, was not an every-day 
occurrence, hut it is a faithful description of what I 
saw more than a dozen times during the three months 
I was at Smith’s. 1 never saw so young a child 
receive ns much punishment, still she seemed to grow 
fat and ugly every day. In short, from morning till 
night she was almost continually teasing for some¬ 
thing, doing something which she ought not to do, 
or refusing to do something which was required by 
her parents; for all of which she was scolded and 
threatened, and often cuffed or whipped. 
In the course of events I went to hoard with 
Brown. I had got an impression that Brows was 
very severe and tyrannical to hia child—not unlike a 
schoolmaster a hundred years ago. It was true he 
was always a jovial, good-natured fellow, while at 
work, but he often said “ if that child of Smith’s was 
his, he would make it stop that continual crying ”— 
So there are always burning winds which pass over 
the soul and wither it. Prayer is the dew which 
refreshes it again.” 
. — _ _ 
Exhorting Prayers.— Don’t exhort when called 
on to pray. It is very well to exhort at proper times, 
and under proper circumstances. But when on your 
kneeB, ostensibly addressing Jehovah, it is not the 
time to exhort. Stand up on your feet and look at 
the audience, and talk right at them, if you have 
anything to say to them; hut when you pretend to 
pray, pray.— Pacific Methodist. 
Tub horrible catastrophes that sometime happen to 
the vicious, are as salutary to others by their warning 
as the most brilliant rewards of the virtuous are by 
their example. And, on the contrary, the successes 
of the bad, and the sufferings of the good, might 
make us tremble for the interests of virtue, were not 
these very things the strongest proofs of an bereafter. 
D PTY ,_ Harriet Martineau, in her new book enti¬ 
tled “Health, Husbandry, and Handicraft,’ says. 
“ If half the thought and sentiment that are spent 
on the subject of death were bestowed on the practi¬ 
cal duty of strengthening, lengthening, and enno- 
ne* he more fit to live worthily and 
Curious Courtship of William theCoqueror.— 
The following extract from the life of the wife of the 
Conqueror, is exceedingly onrious, as characteristic 
of the manners of a semi-civilized age and nation:— 
“ After some years' delay, William appears to have 
become desperate: and, if we may trust to the evi¬ 
dence of the 'Chronicle of Ingerby,' in tho year 1047 
waylaid Matilda in the streets of Rruges, as she was 
returning from masB, seized her, rolled her in the 
dirt, spoiled her rich array, and, not content with 
these outrages, struck her repeatedly, and rode ofl at 
full speed. This Teutonic method of courtship, 
according to onr author, brought the affair to & 
crisis: for Matilda, either convinced of the strength 
of William’s passion, by the violence of his behavior, 
or afraid of encountering a second beating, con¬ 
sented to become his wife. How he ever presumed 
to enter her presence again, after such a series of 
enormities, the chronicler sayeth not, and we are at 
a loss to imagine.” 
Be Punctual.— The listless, irregular, aud un¬ 
punctual man, though often good natured, and 
pleasing, and kind, and inoffensive, is nevertheless 
the mere plaything of society, a mere means of 
amusement, often wanted, but little valued; he is 
■generally left behind in the race of human life, daily 
laboring umder disadvantages which result from his 
habits: and the rest of mankind, if they do not con¬ 
demn or despise him, yet make him the object of 
Tears are nature's lotion for the eyes, 
see better for being washed with them. 
