? Ilmara 
"Written for Moore's Rural New-Yorker. 
THE EVENING HOUR. 
BY L. MAPLE. 
All day long liave four busy feet 
Trampled the rustling leaves : 
All day long have two voices sweet 
Rivalled the birds In the trees; 
And the noisy whoop and joyful shout 
Rung on the Autumn air. 
And the silver ripple of cUildish mirth 
Told where my darlings were. 
They have romped and raced ’neath the maple trees, 
And piled the leaves in a heap; 
Then covered each other up and played “the babes 
Of the wood" in their pitiful sleep. 
And I have watched them all day long, 
And answered their every call, 
While my heart was full of a mother’s joy. 
And thanks to the Father of all. 
But the evening hour has come at last, 
My birdies are fast asleep, 
The anxious watch of the busy day 
I no longer need to keep: 
There they He in their little beds, 
Their cheeks aglow with health, 
Smiling at pleasant dreams in their sleep— 
My care, my joy, my wealth. 
I can rest at last. I know they are safe: 
They are sleeping close by my side. 
They are safe, they are eafe; I need watch no more, 
My heart is satis fled. 
For the laughing eyes that are curtained now, 
For “mamma ’’—(the morning call,) 
For the patter of little rosy feet 
On the staircase in the hall; 
For the care, the toll the children bring, 
For their many wants, for their love, 
For all the pleasure, for all the pain,— 
I thank Thee, Father above t 
But most of all, as I stand and watch 
My birdies in their nest. 
I thank Thee, Lord of earth and heaven, 
For the blessed boon of rest! 
And yet, O God, it is so like death, 
That my heart is stilled with pain: 
O what if the darlings I love so well 
Should never awake again t 
Be mercifhl to s mother's heart, 
Thou loving and holy One I 
I know Thou art good—teach my soul to say 
“Thy will, not mine, be done!” 
Written for Moore’s Bural New-Yorker. 
STRAY THOUGHTS. 
Down the walk under the shadow of the old 
maples, I took my way that bright May morn¬ 
ing, pausing now and then to look down upon 
the golden dandelions that, mingling with the 
fresh green grass, carpeted my pathway. 
How those bright starry blossoms awakened 
olden memories! Once more I seemed a child, 
treading with careless step the same path lead¬ 
ing to the little brown school house at the foot 
of the hill. There by the wayside lay the rock 
over which I had so often clambered, and there, 
winding its way among the hills and sparkling 
in the morning sunlight, was the old river, beck¬ 
oning me as in other days to bathe my feet in its 
clear rippling waters. How 1 longed to obey 
the summons ! But staring me in the face stood 
the old school house, and for the first time I 
began to realize that I was about to enter its 
walla no longer as a pupil, but with all the 
dignity of teacher; aud sitting down on the 
bank of the river, I fell to thinking of the re¬ 
sponsibility of a teacher’s life—that to them has 
been given in a measure the molding of the 
youthful mind, the shaping of the future charac¬ 
ter—and it seemed a fearful task, that of guiding 
the young aright. Lasting impressions are to 
be made—lessons to be engraved on the tablet 
o) memory. 
What if those impressions are not of the right 
nature? What if those lessons have been 
thoughtlessly given, without regard to the 
future welfare of the child—who but the teacher 
is accountable? The teacher is even account¬ 
able for every unkind word, sinking down deep 
into the heart of childhood and causing the lip 
to qniver and the eye to fill with team. Oh! if 
parents would but realize, before sending their 
little ones forth to the care of a stranger, how 
much depends upon their instilling into their 
minds a deeper sense of right and wrong, a 
teacher’s task would be far lighter, and the 
children would go forth from the school-room 
with a prouder, happier step ior having met the 
approval of their teacher. 
Not all of sunshine, not all of shadow is a 
teacher’s life; there is a mingling of the two. 
It is a joy to watch the mind expanding, and 
feel that the seeds of future usefulness are being 
sown; but It requires much of patience, much 
of 6elf-deuiaL We cannot but love those little 
clinging natures witL which we are daily associ¬ 
ated in the school-room, bringing with them the 
bright joyous life of childhood, and making our 
own lives purer and better for the association. 
Then as we remember our own childhood, let 
us deal more gently with those committed to 
our care, kuowing that “ Of such is the kingdom 
of God.” s. e. w. 
Maple mil, Oazenovla, N. Y. 
FASHION CRITICISMS. 
The Bath Courier gets off the following: 
“ We are about to say a few words which we 
beg our lady friends not to read. It iB not in¬ 
tended for them all. “ Twenty years ago 1 ” 
There’s music in those \vords. Twenty years 
ago we saw sights that would look queer now. 
Possibly it may have been an illusion, incident 
to tangled vision. Our good mothers aud grand¬ 
mothers used to fold together two comers of a 
bandanna handkerchief, and, placing it on their 
heads, tie the other two comers under the chin. 
It made a warm, substantial covering for the 
head, at an expense of about eighteen pence. 
The same fashion prevails to-day, only there’s a 
slight difference. We saw yesterday a little 
three-cornered “love” of a something, that pro¬ 
tected the lady’s head neither from rain, heat, 
nor cold. It was charming—only cost eighteen 
dollars. A wad of somebody clse’s bair depend¬ 
ed from the rear, by a small pike pole with a 
bombshell on either end. Modesty remarked 
that she had named this modern bomb proof a 
“water-fall.” 
Two weeks ago on Sunday we rode out of 
church on a splendid silk robe, drawn by a lady 
full six feet distant. We tried our best to avoid 
the necessity, but she insisted—it was all the 
stylet Mentally, we replied:—“Where’B the 
use of street cars?” 
Twenty years ago it was understood to be ! 
fasbiou3ble to wear short night-gowDS from 10 
P. M. to 0 A. M., or thereabouts. Transpose 
P. M. and A. M., leaving the figures where they 
are, and you get the fashionable remainder of 
to-day. “ Loose sacks ” are beautiful. 
INFLUENCE OF FEMALES. 
It is better for you to pass an evening once 
or twice a week in a lady’s drawing-room, even 
though the conversation is slow, and you know 
the girl’s 6ongs by heart, than in a club, tavern, 
or the pit of a theatre. All amusements of youth 
to which virtuous women are not admitted, rely 
on It, are deleterious in their nature. All men 
who avoid female society have dull perceptions, 
and are 6tupid, or have gross tastes, and revolt 
against what is pnre. Your club swaggerers, 
who were sucking the butts of billiard cues all 
nierht, call female society insipid. Poetry is 
uninspiring to a yokel; beauty has no charms 
for a blind man; music does not please a poor 
beast who does not know one tune from another, 
hut as a true epicure is hardly ever tried of wa¬ 
ter, sauce, and brown bread and butter, I protest 
I can sit for a whole night talking to a well-reg¬ 
ulated, kindly woman about her girl Fanny or 
her boy Frank, and like the evening entertain¬ 
ment. 
One of the great benefits a man may derive 
from woman's society is that he Is bound to be 
respectful to her. The habit is of great good to 
your moral men, depend upon it. Our education 
makes U9 the most emtnently selfish men in the 
world. We fight for ourselves, we push for 
ourselves, we yawn for ourselves we light our 
pipes and say we won’t go out, we prefer our¬ 
selves and our ease; and the greatest benefit 
that comes to man from a woman’s society is, 
that he has to think of somebody to whom 
he is bound to be constantly attentive and re- 
spectfuL 
CRINOLINE A LIFE PRESERVER. 
Crinoline saves more lives than it takes. It 
is no match for fire, but it is a sure thing on the 
water, where It buoys the wearer up better than 
a very stout boy could buoy her. This is settled 
sans disputation, it having been established, by 
repeated facts, that a woman in crinoline, pro¬ 
viding it be sufficiently strong and expansive, 
and the wearer be cool, cannot sink. And now 
it has been proved that the lovely thing is equal¬ 
ly a protection against accidents in the air. 
Lately a young woman in England, a nnrsery 
maid, fell from a precipitous cliff to the sea- 
beach, a distance of one hundred and eight feet, 
and had she been clothed according to the old 
beau-pole or fishing-rod 6tyle, she would have 
been dashed to pieces; but being dressed in that 
fashion of voluminous sufficiency which is so 
becoming, the ch&sfe wind embrace^ her, and 
let her gently down to the grouud, from which 
she immediately rose, and calmly returned, nei¬ 
ther frightened nor hurt, to the place whence 
she came, much to the astonishment and pleas¬ 
ure of the admiring spectators. Since Eve fell 
never has there been so remarkable a fall; and 
perhaps if Eve bad been iu that enchanted and en¬ 
chanting circle which we call crinoline, her fall 
might have been equally harmless, instead of in¬ 
volving us all In a sentence to imprisonment for 
life at hard labor. 
ANECDOTE OF THE FRENCH EMPRESS. 
The Pari? correspondent of the London Star 
writes“ A charming anecdote of the Empress 
has reached me from Boston. A iadyin very 
reduced circumstances, hut who had once occu¬ 
pied a superior station, formed a collection of 
the varied leaves of the magnificent trees for 
which the forests of America are so celebrated, 
and whose brilliant tints are well known to ex¬ 
ceed in vivid coloring even the foliage of tropical 
plants. Part of thiB carious collection was 
placed in an album and sent to cme of the 
crowned heads of Europe (the Queen?,)a pre¬ 
cisely similar album being sent by the same 
steamer to the Empress of the French. But the 
reception of the poor lady’s offering at the.courts i 
in question was very different. From the first i 
arrived an acknowledgment, penned by an offl- 1 
eial, stating that “lor once” the sovereign *• had 
condescended to accept the offering, which, : 
however, it was hoped would net be considered : 
as a precedent or encouragement for any future 
similar gifts.’ - From the second the donor had : 
the infinite gratification of receiving a few lines 
from the pen of her Imperial Majesty, expressing 
her surprise at the extreme beauty of tbe sped- ] 
mens contained In the album, qu'elk tromdUrav- 
issanfe, and requesting the lady to accept the 
ring which she inclosed as a token of her ream- • 
naismnee , 
Search After Happiness.— If you cannot be J 
happy one way, be happy in another; and this I 
facility of disposition wants but little aid from 
philosophy, for health and good humor are < 
almost the whole affair. Many run about after t 
felicity, like an absent-minded man looking for i 
his hat while it is on his head or in his hand. 
Written tor Moore’s Rural New-Yorker. 
LAKE OF SHADOWS. 
BY CLIO STANLEY. 
Fokkvjch ’round thy bright and sonny borders, 
Sweet Love and Charity their memories crown. 
I. 
Amid the bloom of sunny skies 
That crowned my loneliness, 
And wlnsp’rlng leaves that anewored back 
To the sweet South wind's kiss, 
Two guileless children wandered by 
My banks one summer day, 
Stooping to pluck "bright blossoms. 
To weave in joyous way. 
Among their locks of sunny hue— 
Themselves the fairest flowers that grew 
Within their woodland home; 
Ah! what could tempt that mother’s heart 
Abroad to lei them roam ? 
They wandered on, in sun and shade, 
Until their blue eyes caught 
The hue of water-lilifes, with 
Thetr pure, sweet odors fraught; 
Their loitering feet responded 
To thetr innocent delight, 
And, clasping hands, they leaned above 
Those blossoms born of light; 
The broad green leaves, so temptingly 
Were floating with the breeze, 
That down they dropped, in eagerness, 
Upon their bended knees. 
And reached far o'er the mossy bank 
To where the fair flowers gTew; 
Alas 1 the pleasure, bo desired. 
Their little hearts ne’er knew ! 
For my bright laughing waters, charmed 
By tbe faces fair that fell 
In shadow down their lonely depthe, 
Murmured their gentle knell, 
I took them in my dose embrace 
And, at the close of day. 
The broken lilies from the spot 
Had drifted far away— 
Bat down, far down, beneath the leaves, 
The little children lay. 
A little boat with snowy sail 
O’er my fair bosom drifted, 
The gentle breeze, that o'er her played, 
That snowy sail scarce lifted; 
Beneath the Orient loveliness 
Of blooming locust trees. 
The tiny boat slow drifted on 
Before the coming breeze. 
Then out beyond the smiling shore 
The helmsman deftly guides 
The boat: with all its precious freight 
O’er my fair wares it glides: 
Now faster blows the western wind, 
The locnst-blooms are swinging, 
The birds before the toming storm 
Have hushed their jayoaa singing;— 
But when the gale bl«w fiercely o’er 
My angry, tossing wave, 
The blrde eang out. 4.LU pleading tone, 
For life they could viot save. 
My bright ones gathwed treasure hi 
Beneath the troubled tide, 
And now, at peace th|y softly sleep,— 
The bridegroom anl hia bride, 
A pale, wild face, onil Autumn day, 
Shadowed my watc/rs clear ; 
The pain of grief was there, and by 
It’s side, a look of fear: 
The black locks liuog about her face, 
A lace still young and fair, 
But all Its beauty could not hide 
The traces of despair. 
She clasped her thin handB over 
HhrJtirobblng mother-heart, 
As if wwere bard from ev’n her cold 
And cruel life to part. 
She lifted up her eyes to Heaven, 
Murmured her mother's name, 
With faltering tongue and downcast look 
To her pale lips It came. 
No eye was there to see the deed, 
Save the All-Seeing eye; 
All lonely and foreaken, she 
Had sought my brink to die. 
My waters looked with pity 
Upon her anguished face, 
Then opened wide to take her in 
Their ambient embrace. 
N© headstone marks the lonely grave, 
Where she in peace doth lie; 
But birds sing there their sweetest songs, 
And soft winds wander by; 
And my bright waters, lapsing, sing 
A tender monody 
O’er her, who, In her womanhood, 
Sought my cold brink to die. 
Philadelphia, Pa. 
"Written for Moore’s Rural New-Yorker. 
DECEIT AND ITS CURE. 
BY A. M. 
Much is said about the deceitfuLness of the 
wicked, though but little or nothing about the 
deceitfulness of the good. Like tobacco and 
alcoholic liquors, deceit has its uses and abuses. 
Tbe good use it, the depraved abuse it. 
A modicum of deceit is essential to the har¬ 
mony and prosperity of society; for were it not 
for the prudent exercise of this function on the 
part of peace officers, many a criminal would 
manage to elude justice, and crime would thereby 
he fearfully multiplied. 
It has been said that emergencies occur in the 
life of every man in which some form of deceit 
is not only right, but Imperative, and in which 
falsehood la often justifiable; but whatever 
amount of good may grow out of a proper ubc 
of this function is fearfully transcended by the 
immensity of evil that flows from the abuse of It. 
If deceit t« of use In protecting society, it Is also 
the bane of society. 
Deception is eminently progressive, and ac¬ 
quires perinauency in the direct ratio of its 
growth. From small beginnings, it grows into 
a habit, and then settles gradually into a fixture. 
Numerous examples might be cited. Some indi¬ 
viduals, by long practice, become so tenaciously 
addicted to lying, as to be unable to speak tbe 
truth, without much effort; others can scarcely 
j help dealing fraudulently with their neighbors; 
while others, again, cannot maintain an honora¬ 
ble position in society save by the most refined 
artifice. Indeed, so universal and unmitigated 
is the prevalence of this evil, that, it riots in 
apparently uncongenial soil. For instance: — 
There is deceit in the garb of poverty when 
it masks a miser’s heart; there is deceit in epau¬ 
lets when worn by a coward; there is deceit in 
honesty when it is only the “best policy;” there is 
deceit in benevolence when reluctantly or osten¬ 
tatiously exercised; there is deceit in sauetimony 
when specially assumed; there is deceit in 
womanhood when the emaciated form is rounded 
by art; there is deceit iu the suicidal phrensy 
of a slighted lover, who, beating his brains out 
against a wall, cautiously suspends a pillow over 
the exact point of concussion; aud so on ad in - 
Jinitwn, 
Deceit, as most extensively practiced, is the 
hideous and deformed offspring of inheritance 
aud of education. We have what are called the 
naturally deceitful, the educational!}' deceitful, 
besides many of the nature-educational stripe. 
A deceit which is au inherent and distinctive 
element of character, becomes, on that account, 
much more systemetic and complicated than 
one which is acquired. Hence it is, that the 
naturally deceitful class is principally made up 
of our most villainous and successful criminals. 
The educationally deceitful comprise the great 
majority of both sexes, though perhaps few 
exist who are not slightly gifted by nature in 
this respect. It is, perhaps, needless to say, 
that, in the assiduous culture of this faculty, 
selfishness is the controlling element. 
What will not people do for self? To secure 
their frivolous, selfish ends, men and women 
unblushingly resort to the lowest artifices, at 
the expense of a shameful compromise of their 
humanity. Deceit can be traced through an 
entire generation, from blooming youth to that 
age where artifice loses its utility. The youngest 
imitates the example of the next older, who in 
turn patterns after his or her senior, and so on 
through the entire list, until a frightful mass of 
deceit Is garnered up in a single family. This is 
generally, if not universally, true. In fact, to 
the unselfish observer, the modern world pre¬ 
sents the aspect of a mammoth school of deceit, 
for mutual instruction, in which the same indi¬ 
viduals are alternately teachers and pupils, — a 
school in which deception is rapidly becoming 
exalted to the dignity of a science, The com¬ 
plex machinery and clap-trap that commonly go 
to make up marketable men and women, in 
these days—commercial artifice, political chi¬ 
canery, feigned affection, and the like—are a 
dishonor to humanity, and a serious impediment 
to the vaunted moral progression of the age. 
Moral progession, indeed! while this loathsome 
spider-cancer is extending Ite corrupting feelers 
Into the heart of every society ! So loDg as this 
evil permeates all society —so long as our 
social functions operate almost exclusively 
beneath the deceitful guise of a tawdry magnifi¬ 
cence — so long as our lives are gaudy pagean¬ 
tries of extravagant and illnsory dreams — so 
long as our warmest, out-gushing affections are 
stifled and chilled by rigorous conformity to 
frigid and deceptive conventionalisms — 60 long 
will moral progression, at least to any great ex¬ 
tent, be Impossible. 
The question now arises, how can this evil be 
cured? I answer, the Infallible panacea, for 
this, aud all other social maladies, may be thus 
defined; — Let men and women live as men and 
women should. Let woman learn to practice 
exclusively those functions that belong pecul¬ 
iarly to her sphere, and man those that attach 
appropriately to his. When this prescription is 
universally followed, then we can consistently 
boa6t of our moral progression, but net, to any 
great extent, tell them. 
HOW TO SUCCEED. 
A young man, who was thinking of studying 
law, said to Daniel Webster:—“Mr. Webster, I 
understand that the profession of law U quite 
full, and that there are more lawyers than are 
needed; do you think there is any chance for 
me? ” “There is always room up stairs,” was 
the reply, and as true as it was ingenious. Only 
few persons can reach the high places; as they 
are always in great demand, “there is room 
enough up stairs.” First class farmers and 
mechanics, as well as physicians, lawyers, etc., 
always find plenty of work and good pay. 
Whatever calling you choose, it matters little, 
If it be an honest one, resolve to go into an up¬ 
per story, but don't try to jump there by a sin¬ 
gle leap, or you may fall disabled. Rather begin 
at the bottom of the ladder and patiently step 
on each round. 
CHANCE CHIPS. 
To a busy man temptation is fain to climb 
up together with his business, and sins creep 
upon him only by accident and occasions; 
whereas to an idle person they come iu a full 
body, with open violence, and the impudence of 
a restless importunity .—Jeremy Taylor. 
Man doubles all the evils of his fate by pon¬ 
dering over them. A scratch becomes a wound, 
a slight an injury, a jest an Insult, a small peril 
a great danger, and a slight sickness often ends 
in death by the brooding apprehensions of the 
sick. We should always look on the bright side 
of life’s picture. 
The grave buries every error, covers every 
defect, extinguishes ever}' resentment. From 
Its peaceful bossom spring none but tender recol¬ 
lections. Wbo can look down upon the grave 
of an enemy and not feel a compunctious throb 
that he should have warred with the poor hand¬ 
ful of earth that lies mouldering before him f 
The best thing a man can take with him to the 
grave is character. 
BE JUST AND FEAR NOT. 
Speak thou the truth. Let others fence 
And trim their words for pay; 
In pleasant sunshine or pretense 
Let others bask their day. 
Guard thou the fact, though clouds of night 
Down on thy watch-tower stoop; 
Though thou ehotUd’st see thine heart’s delight, 
Borne from thee by tbeir swoop. 
Face thou the wind. Though safer seem 
In shelter to abide, 
We were not made to ait and dream ; 
The eafe must first be tried. 
Where God hath set his thorns about. 
Cry not, “The way is plain 
His path within for those without 
Is paved with toil and pain. 
One fragment of his blessed W ord 
Into thy spirit burned, 
Is better than the whole, half heard, 
And by thine Interests turned. 
Show thou thy light. If conscience gleam, 
Set not the bushel down ; 
Tbe smallest spark may send its beam 
O’er hamlet, tower and town. 
Woe, woe to him on safety bent, 
Who creeps from age to youth, 
Falling to grasp his life’s Intent, 
Because he feaTe the truth l 
Be true to every Inmost thought, 
And as thy thought, thy speech; 
What thou hast not by suffering bought, 
Presume thou not to teach. 
Hold on, hold Ou—thou hast the rock; 
The fees are on the saud; 
The first world-tempest’e ruthless shock 
Scatters their shifting strand; 
While each gust the mist ehall clear 
We now see darkly through, 
And justified at last, appear 
The true, in Him that's true. 
[Dean of Canterbury. 
Translated for the Rural New-Yorker. 
LOVE YOUR ENEMIES. 
BY L. MOO. 
Xenophon relates that when Cyrus the Great 
was about to die, he sent for his Eons to come 
and receive his dying counsel. Accordingly they 
came; andCrRUS addressed them at length upon 
their duties aud responsibilities, assigning each 
hia share in the Empire. In closing he gave 
them the following advice, as the result of his 
wide experience and highest moral culture: 
“Remember this,” said he, “as my last dying 
words: if you do kindnesses to your friends, 
you will be able to injure your enemies.” 
Morally speaking, Cyrus was the highest type 
of a man that the heathen world had produced; 
and with all this, bis loftiest idea of the^relations 
of man to his fellow man, was regard for friends 
aad hatred towards enemies. It can be Bafely 
asserted that heathen morality reached no higher 
standard than that indicated, by the advice of 
Cyrus to his sons. 
The Christian world is governed by a better 
doctrine. With the Christian, love is not limit¬ 
ed to hi3 neighbor, but be Is commanded to 
love his enemies. It was reserved for Christ 
first to announce this duty to man in the Sermon 
on the Mount. 
By that sermon the great Kingdom of love was 
fully inaugurated. Long before, man was com¬ 
manded to love bis God; hi6 nature taught him 
to love them that loved him, but until the Son 
of God had added this command, theltbrono of 
love was insecure. At this throne which the 
Saviour has completed, and upon which He sits, 
we may obtain the greatest blessings that God 
can give to man. Christ says to u» : “ Love 
your enemies, ble-sa them that curse you, do 
good to them that hate you, uud pray for them 
which despltefully use you and persecutejyou; 
that yc may be the children of your Father which 
is in Heaven.” It Is to such a heritage that 
loyalty to this throne will restore us. It is the 
full cup of joy aud happiness, which may never 
be emptied. It is the bliss that may not be de¬ 
scribed. It is the purity that may not be defiled. 
It is life eternal, with the society of angels and 
the beaming presence of Him who is mightiest 
in the universe. It was this love that gave us 
salvation. “God so loved the world that He 
gave his only begotten Son, that whosoever be- 
licvcth In Him should not perish, but have ever, 
lasting life.” That Christ loved bis enemies, 
His whole life will tell; and with what force 
does this truth come home to us when we re¬ 
member his prayer upon the Cross: “Father 
forgive them, for they kuow not what they do!” 
“ Be ye therefore perfect, even as your Father 
which is in Heaven is perfect.” 
Laziness in Bible Reading.— Lord, I discover 
au arrant laziness in my soul; for when I am to 
read a chapter in the Bible, before I begin it I 
look where it endetb; and it it endoth not on 
the same side, I cannot keep my hand6 from 
turning over the leaf to measure the length 
thereof on the other side ; it' it swells to many 
verses, I begiu to grudge. Surely, my heart is 
not rightly affected. Scourge, Lord, ‘this lazi¬ 
ness out of my soul. Make the reading ot Thy 
Word not a penance, but a pleasure unto me. 
Thomas Fuller. 
- » » ---* 
God in Nature. —Ask the world, the beauty 
of the heaven, the brilliancy .'and ordering ot the 
stars, and moon, the solace of the night; ask 
the earth fruittul iu herbs and trees, full of ani¬ 
mals, adorned with men; ask the sea, with how 
great and what kind oi fishes tilled; ask the aii 
stocked with what multitudes of birds; ask all 
thlugs, and see if they do not, as it were by a , 
language of their own, make answer to thee, 
God made ns .-Augustine. 
