♦ t 
[Written for Moore'* Rural New-Yorker.] 
A TRIBUTE. 
Must jo fade, most ye fade, my beautiful flower*, 
That I've tenderly watched through the long *ummer hour*? 
Mu*t ye fade from the garden, the grove, and the glen, 
Where my joyous footsteps no often have been? 
Cab I nee your bright beauty droop, wither and dje, 
And calmly withhold the faint rbiing (igli? 
Ah, nol in your absence, long, long shall I grieve, 
Kor a desolate place in my spirit ye leave. 
Companions yo are, when all friendships are fled, 
When hopes fondly cherished lie slumbering and dead, 
When hearts we have trusted prove falso and unkind, 
Unworthy the casket whence love is enshrined. 
When weary and vexed with the world’s hearties* strife, 
Of the vanities, charms, and allurements of life, 
O, to turn from such scene* of wild tumult and care, 
And seek ’mid bright flowers a companionship there. 
Ye have voices to mo,—low voices and sweet,— 
Whose soft, gentle accent* I tenderly greet. 
Ye tell me of tone. , oh, wondrous and fair, 
Of a bountiful Father's beneficent care 
And ye teach me how gratitude upward should flow 
To Him who such blessings doth kindly bestow, 
And how In Hi t wisdom ’twere graciously given 
To link our affection* more closely to Heaven. 
In the bright summer hours, when all Nature wa* fair, 
When the music of songsters made vocal the air, 
Came no offering to me of beautiful flowers 
That were gathered from Nature’s loveliest bowers; 
And T prayed that choice blessing* might, always attend 
Her pathway who sent them, my kind, nnknowu friend, 
While my heart from within bade It* whole human power* 
Hies* God for the bright, the beautiful flower*. 
South Dauby, N. Y., 18*1. Mart A. B. 
♦ • • * -- -- 
[Written for Moore's Rural New-Yorker.] 
EVEItY-DAY LIFE. 
MY bKAll FKNCIL, ESQ. 
“ ‘Tub proper study of mankind is man,’— 
The most perplexing one, no doubt, (h woman; 
The subtlest that the mind can scan, 
Of all deep problems, heavenly or bnmani” 
But whether “perplexing” or not, I often find 
myself crossing a street to look into the face of a 
woman, — not simply to discover whether she is 
beautiful or not, — not to gratify a morbid curiosity; 
neither an impertinent impulse by an impudent stare. 
Ob, no! Do not soppose the tiling; for I try to see 
a great deal at a sir^lo glauco, taking care not to 
annoy. But this propensity to secure these glances 
loadN mo to detest vails, and I wish here to enter my 
protest against them. And in doing so, I wish lo 
remind all vail wearers that there are abundant physi¬ 
cal reasons why the practice should lie abandoned at. 
once, why the light of the sun should fall upon the 
face unobstructed, and the eyes should look through 
only a natural medium. Hence I am not altogether 
selfish in my protest. 
1 know there are pro-arguments, however. 
I said I did not seek faces because of their beauty,- 
though I nrn not insensible to It,—nor from any 
impertinent curiosity. But it is because I read per¬ 
sona! history there. I discover the wear and tear of 
every day lifo in the furrows made upon the features. 
And this is profitable; the lessons learned ‘‘sink 
with weight into my heart;” the lifo of the spirit is 
revealed mysteriously, inexplicably, yet positively 
and unmistakably. The expression of some faces 
haunts me for weeks. They beg for sympathy in 
their touching disquiet. They respond insensibly to 
a sympathetic look, They moan with anguish If it 
awakens sad memories. They shudder and shiver if 
jostled by coarse brusquenoss. • i 
I havo learned one tiling by this study:—That there 1 
are many women whose faces have been saying to 
their husbands through long years of wife-hood, as ! 
Ei-hik Vkknkii said to the young schoolmaster,— 
“ Love me,” and with a more disheartening response. 
And these poor women think it is their own secret, \ 
treasured, and to lie buried with them. Alas, they 
are mistaken! Not Esau Pencil, Esq. alone, hut 
thousands of cosmopolitans have read it. All have , 
not sympathised, but many have. 
I have learned, too, that there are many men (so ^ 
called,) ostensibly model husbands and parents, yet { 
really reckless of the happiness of their households, , 
who live a life of supreme scliishnesH. They think j 
they deceive the world. They cannot do it. if they 
have schooled their own features, and learned deceit , 
from tho devil, they cannot do it. Madame’s face j 
will tell of it. I meet men of this character every day ] 
who think I respect them, who seek to cultivate my » 
friendship; hut the faces of their wives have entered , 
protests which arc far more emphatic and conclusive 
than confessions could be. , 
I meet proud women, — so proud that tho sorrow, r 
the trouble that Is gnawing at the heart, tho fire i 
which is burning there, is entirely encased by 1 
schooled, conventional, calmness,— and yet it speakH * 
unmistakably for all that. The student easily detects ' 
the difference between the thin, gauzed complacency v 
which covers a burdened heart, ami the habitually 
happy face that is the index of a satisfied heart,—a | 
heart in which thrive all tlm joys springing from a > 
requited love. There is a world of instruction in ii 
these faces. t! 
Women of the. Revolution. A correspondent " 
of the Portland Advertiser represents Rev. Dr. Lyman l! 
Beecher as being always ready to deliver a Fourth of 11 
July oration, which duty he never was asked to per- m 
form; hut that, had it been otherwise, he was pro- „ 
pared to show that the women of America were the i 
means of securing the success of the Revolution, u 
The logic he would have employed was this: — Tho 111 
soldiers could not havo been kept in camp without 
stockings and blanket*; tho women were appealed fi 
to, and they gave up ail the stocking* and blankets ft 
they hud prepared for their households—actual and ii 
prospective; the men were thereby encouraged to g 
keep in camp during winter, and in good organ!/,a- h 
tion for the campaign wheu the weather was more $ 
favorable for Held duties; ergo, the women wero the a 
means of American Independence. p 
- — ■» »• ♦ - . — . . 
Unspoken Language.— How much expression can n 
be given and exchanged by a grasp of the hand or a (, i 
glance of the eye! The soft pressure of the hand is d 
far more sympathetic than words. A warm pressure *’ 
of the hand can lie understood by all, young and old; j' 
the universal voice of uatpro needs no interpreter. y 
Tho power of love i» too deep and too sacred to be „ 
adequately expressed in words; being, in fact, a fore- a 
shadowing of that more spiritual communion which <* 
will exist hereafter. a' 
-» » ♦ » ♦--!- I 
Women often lose the men they love, and who love lf 
them. By mere wantonness or coquetry, they reject, <l 
and then repent. They should be careful not to take 
this step too hastily, for a proud, high-minded, gifted v 
man, will seldom ask a woman twice. H , 
THE RURAL IN THE FAMILY. 
HOW IT 19 WRITTEN ABOUT BY THE WOMEN. 
From its commencement we have endeavored to 
render the Rerun Nkw-Yobkkk an eminently pure, 
interesting and instructive paper for the Family 
Circle — one which would he read with as much 
pleasure by tho Wife as the Husband, and at the same 
time prove entertaining and beneficial to the Young. 
This has been no easy task, for it requires constant 
care and a vast amount of labor to properly (ill a 
paper embracing several distinct departments, and so 
conduct each as to render the whole valuable arid 
unexceptionable. We started with the idea —and 
have not yet discovered it to lie a mistaken one 
that Women and Children were as worthy of recogni¬ 
tion, and should be as carefully catered for by the 
press, as Men. And moreover we firmly resolved 
that, so far as in our power, the influence of the 
Run a t. should be for good — that its moral tone 
should he most salutary, while every person capa¬ 
ble of reading and thinking could derive enter¬ 
tainment and instruction from its pages. How 
faithfully we have fullllled tills intention, those who 
have read this journal for months and years can beat 
determine. It is gratifying to know that our effort* 
have been appreciated to a largo extent, for the 
Rural has become a cherished friend and companion 
in thousands of families all over the land. For 
years we hsve had frequent letters saying it was the 
first paper opened and read by the wife end children 
of tiiuse wiio took from three to twenty newspapers. 
Much expressions from people in cities and villages, 
as well as the country — together with frequent as¬ 
surances that the Rural is an “Indispensable family 
institution,” &c.,— are both gratifying and encour¬ 
aging. Of late-for the past two months, especially 
— greetings of this character are daily received, and 
not unfreqnently several arrive by ono mail, as was 
the case this morning (Nov. 27,) when wc had from 
fifteen to twenty very complimentary epistles, several 
of them from ladies, and mostly requesting speci¬ 
mens and hills for use in obtaining new subscribers. 
Rut wo have digressed from our purpose in com¬ 
mencing this article - which was to speak briefly of 
the Rural in the Family, or as a Horae Paper, ami 
to quote (as evidence of its estimation by Wives, 
Mothers and Daughters,) from a few letters of recent 
date. Wo will first quote a letter from Mrs. A., of 
Solano Co., California, dated Oct. 2.2. Please listen: 
"Having been a ipgular subscriber to tho Rural for the 
last six year* (until last spring, when we started for Califor¬ 
nia,) I (iii<l that 1 am lost without it, aud do not fuel at 
home where it does not come once a week. Therefore 1 am 
induced to ask you to send me a few hack number*, or such 
a* you may have on hand, to keep me company until the 
beginning of another year, when I will renew my subscrip 
tion. There i* no Agricultural paper taken by any person 
living in tbi* vicinity, and not much done in the way of 
making homes pleoeaut and attractive, and 1 think the Rural 
COnld w ink wonder* here I mur a Indy on board the steamer 
coming to this place, who had a copy of it in her hand, and 
was sorely tempted to .vk the louu of it, but did not. We 
started from Fairmont, Clark Go., Missouri, settled on the 
Sacramento, forty miles above tho bay—but even in this 
golden land I must have the Rural. Flense send me a few 
spare copies, and oblige a friend." 
Our next quotation is from a wide-awake young 
lady in Illinois Miss Allib B,, of lie Kalb Co.— 
who has formed a resolution worthy of emulation by 
other young ladies of the Rural faith. Listen to 
her earnest, musical voice: 
“1 have before sent you my address and that of my mint 
for your large colored show-bill, hut not receiving it think 
you have not got the letter. My birth day Is near, when I 
shall he eighteen, and I have resolved, Mr. Editor, to give 
the labor of that day qf days to you, in getting a club for 
your paper. I think 1 can obtain six, if no more. 1 am 
determined to canvass the town. For this reason you see i 
am extremely anxious for tho colored show hill. I shall 
take the paper if no one else does, for 1 think it is decidedly 
the best paper for every body in tho whole world, as large an 
it is. My mint 1* still younger than myself, and 1 presume 
will aid in tho ciiculatlon of your paper, Her address Is 
N-- B--, M., .Shelby Go., Illinois. Hoping to hear from 
this soon, 1 remain your friend ” 
At the cloio of an article for our Domestic Econ¬ 
omy Department, a lady residing in Clinton Co., 
N. Y., strikes these pleasant notes: 
11 1 am a constant render tif tho 1 Rusal,’ and receive much 
valuable Instruction iu reading the column ‘Domestic Econ¬ 
omy,’ but the fourth page is what 1 prise most 1 consider 
the ‘Ladies' Department,’ ‘Choice Miseellany ’ and ‘ Sabbath 
Musings’ richly worth the price of the paper." 
Mrs. Lizzie K., of Crawford Co., Fa., has recently 
obtained several trial subscrlliers. in a business 
letter dated Oct. 21, sbo writes appreciatively of tho 
Rural, and hits a certain class of men who deserve 
“ talking to” for neglecting to provide their families 
wlt.li proper reading. Listen again: 
11 My husband gave mo my choice between Peterson’s 
MngasibO and tho Rural, last winter; hut being of the 1 
opinion that one story a week was all that was good for one 
mind (unless it, is stronger than mine) to digest, I chose the 
Rural. I was very much pleased with your ottering it on 
such low terms; it was the only moans by which I could get 
it introduced in this section, as the people mound here look 
well lo the dime*. But I expect to get. more subscribers 
every year, lit least I shall try. 1 Intend to take it as long as I 
1 can obtain the mean*. I have asked men in this neighbor 
hood to take the Rural for three months ; their reply was 
‘ Can't afford to.’ Gan't afford to pay 25 cents for the eduea 
tion of their children; can’t afford to pay 25 cents for some¬ 
thing for thuir wives to pass away the time when they are 
left alone night lifter night to lakh earn of the children, 
while the men are off talking about the war with some o* 
their neighbors! (By the way, all they know about the war 
i* what they hear from some of their neighbor* that do take 
a paper.) It make* me indignant when 1 think of it. Itdoes , 
seem as though the men around here are as near like Indians 
ns anything, for they make perfect slaves of their wives; but 
I expect it ih bemuse they don't take any newspaper. Well, 
well! I guess 1 have talked about my neighbors long enough, 
so I will close. Your sifleero friend.” 1 
Some weeks ago we published an excellent nrtlcle j 
from the pen of a young lady in Bt. Joseph Co., , 
Mich. Accompanying it, wc received a most gratify¬ 
ing note — showing that our effort* lo furnish a safe 
guido anil counsellor have not been in vain. Many 
havo written us that tho Rural has saved them from 
$5 to $500, yet wc more highly prize such testimony 1 
as is given by our new contributor. Listen to her 1 
pleasant, musicul and sine re acknowledgment: 
“ Having been for several years a warm friend and constant ' 
reader of your excellent paper, the thought ha* often oc- 1 
curred, can I not do something to add to tho interest of that 1 
dear column, Sabbath Musing*. At bolt I felt that I could 1 
tuit try. Accept or reject my efforts, all will be the same. I ( 
shall over be an interested reader of your paper. If accepted, ^ 
I may venture to write again. I would that I might taka 
your hand within my own, look you in tho face, and tell you 
of tho goad your paper lias done me—how it came to run a* 
a kind friend, correcting my fault*, pointing out my error*, ( 
aud ever helping me to the right iu all things. I do not 
at tempt contributing to the Rural for the name, hut rather 
I wanted to write you a letter. 1 wanted to toll you that 1 
loved your dear paper, that each week it came to roe as a j 
dear friend. I feel that I cannot always rend it and never 
thank the Editor—that he is ever taking so much pains for 
me. 1 feel that it is for vie as much as any. 1 have been so 1 
very much benefited by its roadiug—it has helped me out of 1 
bo many difficulties,” A:c. t 
[Written for Moore's Rural New-Yoiker.] 
DREAM LIFE. 
BY J1IRXY A. BTONH. 
When with thf* busy life 
Wearied and worn, 
On the soft wing* of slumber 
Our spirits are borne, 
Midway ’twixt earth and »ky, 
On a bright shore, 
Those we have loved and lost 
Meet us once more. 
He whom no living arm* 
K’er might embrace, 
Who, in tbi* crowded world, 
Ne’er foond a place, 
Homeless and wanderiog, 
Only in dreams 
Tho sunlight of tenderness 
Orer him streamB. 
8oft arm* and loving eye* 
Come with the night, 
Hpirits that minister 
Fled with the light. 
Half hi* cold journeying 
Parsed in such bliss, 
Ho live* (n tho dream world 
And dream* when iu this. 
She, ton, the childless one, 
All the long night 
Rock* on her aching heart 
Vision* of light; 
With the long buried one* 
Clasped to her breast, 
Angel*, but children Htill, 
Hweet may she rest 
Bsbe* that are motherles* 
Clos« their wet eye*, 
And ainile in their dreaming 
To see from the skies 
Her they *o tenderly 
Longed for in vain, 
Ki«*ing and clasping them, 
Soothing their pain. 
Hearts that sre breaking say 
“ Blessed be dreams,” 
Lire* that are perishing 
Drink from the stream* 
Peered from the fountain head 
By the kind hand 
Which shadow* in dream* to us 
Heaven’* sweet land. 
Grand Rapids, Mich., 1801. 
THE LANGUAGE OF NATURE. 
“ And what if all of animated nature 
Be but organic harp* diversely framed, 
That tremble into thoughts* o’er them *wcep«, 
Plastic and va*t, one intellectual breeze, 
At. once tho soul of each and God of all.” 
The [loot’s soul was still vibrating under the Influ¬ 
ence of the “soft, floating witchery of sound,” which 
was wafted to his delicate ear from tho Aeolian harp. 
A pantheistic philosophy, borrowing nil tho light it 
reflected from tho rays which, glancing from ono 
part!-colored star of truth to another, reached it from 
the Sun of Righteousness, had guided him through a 
night of error, until, at last, the day-star dawned 
upon ills great intellect, and quickened into new life 
his sensitive heart. The above lino* both beautifully 
represent that system; wlii'li deities ono manifesta¬ 
tion of the source or all beauty, and they are, also, 
the almost irresistible expression of a soul which, 
worshipping nature only less than (Jon, playfully 
places itself, for the moment, in the molds of its 
former thinking. Ho himself immediately calls 
them 
“Shapings of the utirvgenmate mind, 
Bubble* that glitter as they rise aud break 
On vain philosophy's age babbling spring ” 
Yet, divested of the particular signification which 
their author musingly placed on them, they present 
a thought in a garb which more than ono will recog¬ 
nize, aud have recognized, as that in which their 
own fancies have taken shape. The music of nature 
has always met an answering melody in tho heart. 
Nature’s teachings and influence are aa real as 
those of the printed page ; and if it should he neces¬ 
sary to annihilate either, let it be the latter, for the 
other* will always mold the heart and make it ten¬ 
der, susceptible to what God would impress upon it. 
Their effect is to draw out tho heart in this direction, 
and in that, and so they make it larger and covered 
with so many prominences which taper toward dif 
ferent parts of Heaven, each throbbing with a ijoly 
passion. There is a philosophy In the words of the 
little outcast who, accustomed to steal away where 
she could gaze into the face of Heaven, said : 
“ Till* skyey father and mother both in one, 
Instructed her Bnd civilised her more 
Than even the Sunday school did afterward*.” 
With simply the liible and nature—which are com¬ 
plements of each other—man could make liis way to 
the world of bliss with much more certainty than the 
greater part now do. 
last it he remembered that there is a thought con¬ 
voyed by nature, whether it is brought through the ear 
upon some wind-wafted melody, or impressed upon the 
eye. As every mark which is made by the bumuii 
hand is the sign of some thought in the mind, as the 
written page is only a transcript of the mind of the 
writer, so is tho material universe but tho expression 
of a given Divine thought^—the mighty scroll un¬ 
rolled between the two eternities, on which Gnu has 
written that universal language for Ills creatures; 
and every part of it symbolizes in its manifold ima¬ 
gery some thought addressed to the heart Only the 
great capital letters which stand out in burnished 
light, hi re mid there, are apt to attftet attention; but 
the soul, standing in the embrasure# of the senses, 
may at any time spell out within the limits of its hori¬ 
zon, u lesson in the elements of Universal Love. 
Only let the soul recognise this magnificent vol¬ 
ume as one of God’s choicest revelations; only 
throw wide open its windows, and be ready to catch 
the breaking of each new dawn which will reveal a 
light and depth unseen before; let it return tlie eft 
ress of the gentle but passionate spirit which woos 
it, coming perhaps from the burning, star-girdled 
breast of nature’# Eve—and it shall learn to thunk its 
Gon for beauty, purity aud love,—it shall have- a 
foretaste of an infinite love,—und whether it ever 
reaches the Eternal city or not, tlit* loftier domes of 
its gorgeous temple shall reflect, even from the 
earth, some of the rays of Heaven. c. n. b. 
Rochester, N. Y., 1801. 
—- 
Ignorance. —Never lie ashamed of confessing your 
ignorance, for the wisest man upon earth is ignorant 
of many tliiugs, insomuch that wliat lie knows is 
mere nothing in comparison with what lie does not 
know. There cuuuot be a greater folly in the world 
than to suppose that we know every thing. 
THE OLD-FASHIONED FIRE. 
Now that the frosty nights are here, we remember 
the glorious old farmers’ fires, where beech and maple 
were abundant, and we try to describe the eastern 
winter night, and the old-fashioned Are. Down goes 
the mercury to the zero of Celius arid Reaumur. 
Down it goes again to the 0 of Fahrenheit. The frost 
is creeping, creeping over the lower panes, one after 
another. Now it finishes a feather; now it completes 
a plume; now It tries its band at a specimen of silver- 
graining. Up. up it goes, pane after pane, clouds, 
and feathers, and grains. Here a joint creaks, here 
a nail cracks like a craft in a racking storm; but all 
is calm and cold as death. Clink! There goes a 
forgotten glasB in the pantry. The door-latch is 
plated; half hidden nail heads, here and there in the 
corners, are “silvered o’er with”—frost. 
Hut what cared we for that, as we sat by the old- 
fashioned fire? Back stick, fore-stick, top-stick, and 
superstructure, all in their places. The coals are 
turned out from their glowing bed between the senti¬ 
nel andirons —the old-time Irons, with huge rings in 
the top. One of tlietal has rested, for many a day, on 
a broken brick, but wliat of that? Many a beautifnl 
tree; nay, ft whole grove, maybe, has turned to glory 
and to ashes thereon, and will again, winters and 
winters to come. 
A handful of “kindlings" is placed beneath this 
future temple of flame; here and there a chip, a splin¬ 
ter, a dry twig, iH skillfnlly chinked into the inter¬ 
stices of the structure; a wave or two of the house¬ 
wife’s wand of power, and the hearth is “swept tip.” 
The old bricks in that altar-place of home begin to 
grow bright and “as good a* now.” A little aspir¬ 
ing flame, ambitions to be something and somebody, 
creeps stealthly up, and peeps through tho crevices, 
over thia stick, under that one, looking like a little 
half-furled banner of crimson. Then comes another, 
and another, and down they go again, the timid 
flames that they were! By and by they grow bolder, 
and a half a dozen, altogether, curl bravely round 
the “fore-stick,” and up to tho “top-slick,” and 
over the whole, like the turrets of a tower at sunrise, 
one, two, three, four, five spires. Then they blend 
together, a cono of flame. Then they tarn into 
billows and breakers of red, and roll up tin; blackened 
wall of the chimney, above the jamb, abovo the man¬ 
tel tree, uwiiy^up the chimney they roar, while the 
huge “ back-stick," below all, lies like a great bar, 
and withstands the liery surf that beats against it. 
The circle of chairs Is enlarged; the “old arm¬ 
chair” in the corner is drawn back; one is reading, 
another is knitting; a third, a wee bit of a boy, is 
asleep In the corner; they look Into each other’s 
faces, look beautiful to each other, and take courage 
and are content.. There is not a shadow in the spa¬ 
cious room; the frost creeps down from the windows; 
the ice in the pail, in tho corner, gives a half lurch, 
like the miniature iceberg it is, and over it goes with 
a splash. The fire is gaining on It. Tho latch and 
the nail lose the bravery of their silvering; the circle 
round the tire grows larger and larger; tho old-fash¬ 
ioned fire has triumphed. It is summer there, it is 
light there. The flowers of hope spring up around It; 
the music of memory fills up the pauses; tho clock 
ticks softly from its niche above the mantle piece, as 
if fearful of letting tit cm know how fast It is stealing 
away with the liourH hours the happiest, alas we 
seldom live but once; hours whoso gentle light so 
often shines from out the years of the long-gone 
morning, on into the twilight of life’s latest close. 
Ah! necromancer* swept tlio ihukIo ein lo iu tim« 
of old; but there is none so beautiful, none with 
charms so potent, as the circle of light and of love 
around the old-fashioned fire! 
— « » ♦ » ♦- 
WHAT BATTLE PHRASES MEAN. 
Think only of tho common hackneyed expressions 
which pass so lightly between the lips, when speak¬ 
ing of a great battle. We talk exnltingly, and with 
a certain firo, of “a magnificent charge,” of “a 
splendid charge;” yet very few will think of the 
bideouB particulars these two airy words stand for. 
The “splendid charge” is a headlong rush of inen on 
strong horses, urged to tlicir fullest speed, riding 
down and overwhelming an opposing mass of men 
on foot. The reader’s mind goes no further, being 
content with the Information that the enemy’s line 
was “broken ’* and “ gave way.” It does, not fill in 
tho picture. To do so effectually, we must first think 
of an ordinary individual run down in the public 
street by a horseman moving at an easy pace. The 
result i* usually fracture and violent contusion. We 
may strengthen the tones of the picture by setting 
this horseman at full gallop, and joining to him a 
company of other flying horsemen. How will it be 
then with the unhappy pedestrian? Ho, when tho 
“splendid charge” 1ms done its work and passed by, 
there will be found a sight very much like the scene 
of a frightful railway accident. There will be found 
the full complement of hacks broken in two, of arms 
twisted wholly off, of men impaled upon their own 
bayonets, of legs smashed up like firewood, of beads 
sliced open like apples, of other heads crunched into 
soft, jelly by iron bools of horses, of faces trampled 
out of all likeness to anything human. This is what 
skulks behind a “splendid charge.” This is wliat 
follows, aa a matter of course, when “our fellows 
rode at them in style,” aud “ cut them up famously.” 
Again, how often does the commander, writing 
home through official despatches, dwell particularly 
on the gallant conduct of Captain Smith, who, find¬ 
ing the enemy were “annoying our right a little,” 
got his gun into position, and “held them in check.” 
Both expressions are fair in drawing-room phrases, 
to bo mentioned cheerfully by ladles’ lips. It is, as 
it were, a few flies buzzing about “ our right wing,” 
teasing and fretting “our” men. And yet, properly 
translated, it signifies this: That stray men of the 
right wing are now and then leaping with a convul¬ 
sive start into the air, as a Minio bullet (lies with 
sharp sting through their hearts; that stray men, 
suddenly struck, are rolling on the ground; that a 
man here and there is dropping down quite suddenly 
with a shriek, his firelock tumbling from hiH bund— 
iu short, that there iB a series of violent death-scenes 
being enacted up and down the long line.— All the 
year Hound. 
- 4 - 
How to Forgive a Rival. — Resolve that you will 
love and wish well to the man who has fairly suc¬ 
ceeded where you fairly failed. Go lo him and get 
acquainted with him; if you and he aro both true 
men you will not tind it difficult to like him. It is 
perhaps asking too much of human nature to ask you 
to do all this in the case of the mau who has carried 
off tho woman you loved; but as regards anything 
else, do it. all. Go to your successful rival, and 
heartily congratulate him; say frankly you wish it 
‘had been you; it will do great good both to him and 
to yourself. Let it'not be that envy, that fast-grow¬ 
ing fiend, shall be suffered in your heart for one 
minute.— Boyd. 
ffcaittgis. 
[Written for Moore's Rural New-Yorker.] 
FAITH AND WORKS. 
nr o. i. pra7.hr. 
Wn*N tho cold, dreary, silent grave 
Our mortal part shall keep, 
.And dewy gr*** in tear* shall ware 
O’er our sepulchral sleep, 
The ill or good wu’vo done below, 
Ab rejjlnter'd on high, 
Will sink our soul* in endte** woe, 
Or bear them to the sky. 
Not that on human merit'* base 
Can moral virtue sfand; 
For all must build on Hov’reign grace 
That reach tho promis’d land; 
But righteous work* will follow faith, 
As fruit succeed* it* flow’r, 
Or else, a* the Apontle Baith, 
It is not faith with pow'r. 
East Oxford, C. W., 1861. 
- — > - 1 - 
[Written for Moore’s Rural New-Yorker.] 
THE BEAUTIES AROUND US. 
What is the need of calling this world a wilder¬ 
ness— a desert, dark and drear? Is -tho world 
dreary, or is it but the reflection of our own 
gloomy feelings? When all is sunshiue and joy 
within, we can read poetry on every page of Nature’s 
grand volume. And would it not bo well to always 
cull sweets from the flowers that spring np all along 
our pathway, to see beauty in everything,— in tho 
grand old pines waving their majestic heads to and 
fro, making solemn music for the listening ear — in 
the glassy smoothness of the summer stream, with its 
(lower-dotted banks in the prairie, stretching as far 
as the night can reach, till the blue above and the 
green beneath soern to merge into one? 
And when Autumn comes,—our own beautiful 
Autumn,— it cannot be that any one can bo insensi¬ 
ble to the splendor of the forest arrayed in its robe— 
like Joskuh’s coat, of many colors—each loaf 
blending so harmoniously with the others, forming 
in the whole a picture of surpassing loveliness; or 
an October sunset, when the sky is all aglow with 
“purple and gold,” and the sun is imprinting his 
last kisB upon the face of mother earth. Surely if 
there is any appreciation of beauty in a person, it 
will send a thrill of pleasure to his heart. 
In Winter, when twilight has deepened into night, 
and “the lamps of heaven are lighted," can one go 
out and Bee Aldeharan still leading on his mighty 
train tho I’leiades and Hyades looking down upon 
ns with the name untiring scrutiny as on Adam and 
Eve, und aee the “Queen of Night,” attired in her 
vestal robes, sailing slowly through the sea of heaven, 
lovingly diffusing her rays on all around,— can they 
say there is nothing beautiful here? 
Who, when viewing the perfect order exhibited in 
all of Nature’s works — in the revolution of the 
planets, their never failing light will say, these all 
came by chance ! Let us be wiser “ and look through 
Nature np to Nature’s Gon.” l. e. 
Losneyville, N. Y., 1861. 
» . - 
THE EFFECT OF PRAYER. 
Most persons And no difficulty in believing that 
prayer exerts a desirable influence on tbe worshiper 
i.i.um.ir; mu even mi* l,..., L (tr aly v.», tr H. la gene¬ 
rally understood that this is all. Indeed, I cannot 
help thinking that conscience itself wonld dissuade 
many from resorting to prayer, If brought to look on 
it aa no better than a kind of well-meant cheat which 
wc practice on ourselves for its moral uhoh. Prayer, 
to have much effect on ourselves, must be believed to 
have an effect on God. It Is too solemn a transaction 
by far to be made unc of as a kind of spiritual strat¬ 
egy. No; make notour prayers to seem ono thing 
and be another. Strike not our devotions dead by 
the skeptical sophism that they can only have an 
effect on ourselves. They will have an effect on (rod; 
for Ho has said that they will, and'the promise has 
been ratified and confirmed in the experience of holy 
and devout men of all ages. They will have an effect 
on God; for He who la "in the hody of the Father” 
has said that they will. “Ask, aud it shall be given 
yon; seek, and ye shall -find.” Again it is said:— 
“ Let us come boldly unto the Throne of Grace, that 
wo may obtain mercy, and find grace to help in time 
of need.” And more affeo(1ngly still in tho words of 
the text;—“If ye, then, being evil, know how to 
give good gifts uuto your children, how much more 
Hlia.ll yoor Father which is heaven give good things 
to them that ask him.” Wherefore, “ Be careful for 
nothing; hut in everything by prayer arid supplica¬ 
tion, with thanksgiving, let your request be made 
known unto God; and the peace of God, which 
passeth all understand)tig, shall keep your hearts and 
minds through Jesus Christ.”— Dr.'Walker's tier- 
DUTIES OF DAILY LIFE. 
Life is not entirely made up of great evils or 
heavy trials; but the perpetual recurrence of petty 
evils and small trials is the ordinary and appointed 
exercise of the Christian graces. To bear with the 
failings of those about us—with their infirmities, 
their had judgment, their ill-breeding, their perverse 
tempers—to endure neglect when wo feel that we 
have deserved attention, und ingratitude where we 
expected thanks-to bear with the company of disa 
grecublc people whom Providence has placed in our 
way, and whom He has provided or purposed for the 
trial of our virtue -these are tho best exercises ol 
patience and self-denial, and the better because not 
chosen by ourselves. To bear w ith vexation in business, 
with disappointment in onr expectations, with inter¬ 
ruptions of our retirement, with folly, inti union, dis¬ 
turbance— iu short, with whatever opposes our will 
or contradicts onr humor this habitual acquiescence 
appears to bo more of the essence of self-denial than 
any little rigors or afflictions of our own imposing. 
These constant, inevitable, but inferior evils, properly 
improved, furnish a good moral discipline, and might, 
in tbe days of ignorance, have superseded pilgrimage 
and penance. 
Utility of Reverses.— Long afflictions will much 
set off the glory of Heaven. Tho longer the Btorm, 
the sweeter the culm; the longer the winter nights, 
the sweeter the summer days. The new wine of 
Christ’s kingdom is most sweet to those who have 
long been drinking gall and vinegar. The higher 
the mountain, the gladder we shall be when we get 
to tho top of it. The longer otir journey is, the 
Sweeter will he our end; and the lunger our passage 
is, the more desirable will tho haven be. 
--- ♦ ■ * - 
Holiness consists iu separation from sin, devoted- 
ncssto God, and conformity to bis moral excellences. 
'/< 'T , 
i. 
