iis look only at the “ upper deep ” of blue floating 
o’er us — to the broad, groen fields, where 
“ Your voiceless lips, O flowers I 
Are living preachers— 
Had) cup a pulpit, every leaf a book*— 
to the mountains, hills, and forests wide —and the 
soul will tie drawn out in the purest emotions— 
thrilling and sublime. It is our privilege to com¬ 
mune with the mighty spirits of the past —to tread 
in the far off sunny land of the vine—to visit the 
RftC-red places of oarlh, once consecrated by the 
presence of Divinity — to dive into its mystic comers 
and find wonders untold. ’Tis ours to commune 
with the stars, and trace ihe mysteries of the spheres. 
Yes, to pass “beyond the flight of Time,'’ and light 
our lamps at the Fountain of All Knowledge —to 
wisely improve our talents here, that we may go on 
unto perfection when we enter upon the life that 
awaits us in the shoreless Future. 
Chenango County, N. Y., 1801. Bhli, Cintron. 
[Written for Moore'a Rural New-Yorker.) 
THE NEW YEAB, 
Thk old year has gone to add another drop to the 
sea of departed centti ries, and a new year is Indore us. 
" A new, unsullied year in ours. Its pago 
Is sealed. -We know not wliat is foldod there. 
We know not whether Joy or ugony; 
We know rfot Whether lift' or dcsitli is writ 
Within (liut fearful scroll.” 
We have just crossed the threshold of another 
twelve months of Ibo mysterious, unknown future. 
Yet because we know not. what lies before us, wfe 
are not to remain idle. Life’s duties aud cares are 
interwoven with every beating pulse Of Time. And 
a preparation for the startling events of the now 
year becometh us all. 
Death will come in many forms; and perhaps 
some one of the friends with whom we now hold 
daily intercourse, at the close of the year will 
have ceased life’s song, and 
“ Over tho river the boatman pale ” 
will have carried another precious burden to the 
“ Silent City," leaving one more broken circle, to be 
re-united, perhaps,— never. 
It may be the dearest, the one that could least be 
spared of the household band, that will be called to 
go through the “Dark Valley.” But “ Death loves 
a shoring mark,” and ho asks consent of uone of the 
friends, when he levels his shaft, at the loved one. 
( While grief is busy at the heart-strings of some, 
J in other households the gay revelry will he held, 
and young hearts will beat quick measure to the 
silvery chime of the merry marriage bell. 
Solomon says “there is no new thing under the 
sun,” aud We may therefore expect to see much that 
has taken place in the old year re-euaoted in this; 
but Gon, in mercy, grant we may see the end of 
this unnatural war, and see peace and happiness 
smiling upon our once fair Republic before earth is 
covered with the glittering mantle of another winter 
and the next New Year is welcomed in. 
Change will come to all in some way. Those who 
commenced the year with sadness and tears, may 
find cause ere its close for smiles and rejoicing; 
while others, whose whole “ march of life ” thus far 
has been marked by favors both human and divine, 
may lie obliged to fit their brows to wear “ the iron 
crown of care,” and to know what it is to mourn. 
And now amid all the hurry, turmoil, and strife 
hero, let us pause a moment and inquire what is a 
year, into which so much of good and evil, sorrow 
and joy, are crowded? One writer says: 
“ Tis but one deep nnd earnest throb 
Of Time's old iron heart, 
Which tireless now and strong as when 
It first with life did start. 
“ Tis but a step upon the road 
Willed) we must travel o’er; 
A few mow steps, and we shall walk 
Lite's weary round no more.” 
“ Springside, 1 N. Y., 1862. L. E. 
IWritten for Moore’s Rural New-Yorker,] 
WHO ABE THE BKAVEP 
[Written for Moore’s Rural Now-Yorkor,) 
BETHLEHEM’S STAB. 
Tnr loveliest eye is that of faith. 
Which upward looks to God; 
The neatest foot is that which has 
The path of virtue trod. 
The sweetest Ups are those that ne’er 
A word of guUe have spoken; 
The richest voice is that of prayer, 
Ouo-ne’er a row luu broken. 
Till) prettiest hair is that which Time 
Hus silvered o’er with gray, 
Or covers o’er an honest bead — 
Its beauties ne'er decay- 
The fairest hand is one that oft 
In deeds of kindness given; 
The purest heart, is one that Christ 
Has sanctified for Heaven. 
BY MAROARKT KM.IOTT 
Who are the brave! Sure not alone 
Those who, with nerve undaunted, stand 
And heat the rebel focmen back 
With manly strength and steady hand. 
Not those who, by ambition led, 
Toil up the rugged steeps of fame. 
Crushing beneath their iron will 
Joy, heal tit, and pence, to gain a name. 
Not he who, on the rolling main, 
Trusts to the treuch’rous plank his life, 
Bares to toe storm his naked breast, 
And dares tho elements to strife. 
’Mid humbler seenes than these wo find 
A heroism nobler Eir 
Than ever led the volunteer 
To tread toe gory path of war 
The. widow, silent, sad, and lone, 
Waked to a sense of dutious joy, 
Gives to her country all she has, 
Her only child, her darling boy. 
The nurse, forgetfnl all of self, 
Bends o'er too racking couch of pain; 
Inhaling foul contagion's breath, 
She bids the sult’orer live again. 
The wife who sends her loved one forth, 
With cheering smiles her grief concealed, 
Shows courage true as Unit which serves 
Her husband on the battle field. 
As I wandered, weak and vreary, 
Through toe desert, dark and dreary, 
Through tho dry and arid desert of my life’s tempestuous way, 
Still my soul looked, never fearing, 
For toe star whose bright appearing 
Should illume it, turn its darkness into full and glorious day. 
And I watched its first faint gleaming 
On the distant bill-tops beaming, 
Till its radiance filled the valley nnd ontshone the rising morn; 
Then my soul said I am blessed 
But. toe words not half expressed 
Ail the bliss, the joy triumphant, that of darkest griof was bom. 
And its radiance, ne'er declining, 
O'er my pathway still is shining, 
Lifting me from out the Jiadon s. crowning me with wondrous 
light,- 
And my life is filled with beauty, 
For each stem and thorny duty 
Stands transfigured with fair blossoms whieh no cloud nor 
storm can blight. 
Gainesville, N. A’., ISCd. 
[Written for Moore’s Rural New-Yorker.j 
SATURDAY NIGHT. 
[Written fur Moore's Rural Now-Yorker.) 
COMPOSITION FOB FEMALES, NO. 1 
Saturday night is ono of tho pleasant resting 
places in the journey of life. Then the weary 
school teacher wends her way homeward with a 
longing love of that dear place filling her heart. 
The young student leaves his weekly lessons, and, 
with a sigh of relief that another week of studious 
(oil is over, turnR his face toward the old farm-house. 
The faithful mother, whose round of labor never 
ceases, gives a last survey to her orderly house, and 
seating herself looks down the road occasionally to 
see if “the children” are coming. Though they 
leave her now for the greater part of the time, yet 
Saturday nights they belong to her again, and the 
pleasant Sabbath intercourse will strengthen her for 
the coming lonely week. How delightful is this 
hour of family reunion! All the little experiences 
of the week, painful or otherwise, are talked over, 
future plans are discussed, and all the tender home 
affections are deepened in this season of sweet com¬ 
munion. 
IIow often, when the young man leaves home, to 
return only at long intervals, will the coming of a 
peaceful Saturday night bring up fresh in his mind 
tho recollections which shall be to him powerful 
weapons with which to ward off the temptations to 
wrongdoing. The cheerful family room, tho plants 
in the windows, the table covered with books, the 
group around it talking of the absent one. will rise 
before him, and ho will feel that no act of his shall 
render him less worthy to enter there than of old. 
IIow like the close of a well-spent life a cheerful 
Saturday night appears — a cairn review of the past, 
a hopeful anticipation of the coming of a better day. 
Geneva, Wis., 1861 n. c. n. 
The aptness of the teacher often leads him to 
retrace the steps taken in solving a difficult ques¬ 
tion, that lie may point out the way-marks to his 
pupil; so a few bits of experience in thought and 
practice may encourage and assist some unhappy 
school-girl, whose weekly or two weeks’ task is 
almost tho bane of her existence. Such cases are 
not rare, andindeed it has become proverbial with this 
class of young ladies: “ 1 do hate to write composi¬ 
tions.” I am not a school-girl now, but have been, 
and T never could quite understand why so many 
should dislike what I consider the pleasantest, 
though by no means the easiest, thing in the world. 
There are many reasons why all, but especially 
females, should acquire this beautiful and elevating 
art I say females especially, for this must be their 
principal means of communication with the great 
mass of humanity. Grace Greenwood is lectur¬ 
ing, and Antoinette Blackwell is preaching, 
but woman can never excel in oratory. Her voice 
is not stentorian, that it may reach the ears of vast 
audiences, nor has it the compass and fullness that 
give eloquence and power. To man. living, mov¬ 
ing, acting in the great bustling world, it is reserved 
to give vitality to expression, and sway the multi¬ 
tude with “thoughts that breathe and words that 
burn.” Through the medium of the pen, here is the 
“still small voice” that cheers the stricken mourner, 
subdues the convict in his prison cell, adds grace to 
every home of elegance and refinement, and 
enlightens the dark corners of the earth. “The 
pen is mightier than the sword.” Woman cannot 
mingle in warfare on the battle field, but she can 
share with her stronger brother in wielding tho 
mightier weapon that conquers spirits for eternity. 
Man has written much that is beautiful, pathetic, 
and sublime, but she is destined to add a charm to 
literature, even jus to society. 
No education is complete without more or less 
proficiency in composition. The pupil seldom 
knows what knowledge he really possesses until 
required to communicate it to others. If merely a 
recipient, the odds and ends of knowledge, with the 
little substance he may be able to retain, as they 
are culled promiseously, are cast into his expanding 
mind in dire confusion, and unless necessity 
demands, he will not attempt to place them in 
order. In the practice of composition, he cannot 
avoid a classification of ideas, which, though imper¬ 
fect at first, will form a habit of referring each to its 
proper place, giving system to thought, and develop¬ 
ing hidden resources ot the intellect. Hence, as a 
means of mental discipline, it is indispensable, and 
as such, preferable to mathematics, because less 
abstract. 
As a source of pleasure, the art of composition 
cannot be too highly valued. Our social propensi¬ 
ties are expanded and enlivened in proportion as 
they are exercised; and of their two spheres of 
action, writing and speaking, the first is the most 
extended. Not to speak of the foolish conversation 
[Written for Moore’s Rural New-Yorker.) 
THE TWO CROWNS. 
He is a hero true wlio fights 
Life’s battle will) unconquered will; 
With resignation takes, and hope, 
His mingled share of good and ill. 
Who are tho bravo? Sure not alone 
Those who, with nerve undaunted, stand 
And beat the rebel foeinen back, 
Those traitors to toeir native land. 
Walworth, Wis., 1861. 
Mark 
brows. One will be a crown of ineffable light and 
unrivalled beauty; the other, a darkness of which 
wo t an now form no conception. One will be infi¬ 
nitely more attractive than the balmy light of the 
sweetest day; the other. Infinitely more repulsive 
than the deepest darkness of the stormiest night 
Nevertheless, we must be crowned with one wreath 
or the other; with which, wilL Ik* determined by our 
conduct. Our thoughts and actions are constantly 
twining the wreaths which must rest upon our 
brows forever, either as coronals of light or of 
darkness. 
The flowers which will compose our crown- 
wreaths are daily blossoming in our souls, whether 
we realize it or not; and, good or bad, they can 
never perish. Though growth and decay charac¬ 
terise everything earthly; though the flowers that 
gladden the summer-time perish; though we grow 
up and vanish from earthly vision: though the dead 
years lie thickly along the pathway of time back¬ 
ward lo a distance which Is dim to human sight; and 
though tho great globe itself shall perish in consum¬ 
ing lire, yet will the flowers which time beholds ns 
weaving in our wreaths be as enduring as the life¬ 
time? of God. 
Reader, voting or old, one who loves yonr 
immortal soul would ask you, as you should 
solemnly ask yourself what flowers are you' 
weaving in your life-wreath? Are you diligently 
adding to the flowers of Faith those of Virtue, 
and Knowledge, and Temperance, ami Patience, 
and Godliness, and Kindness, and Love? If so, 
happy are you, for the fragrance of holy influ¬ 
ences will continually pervade your being, gradu¬ 
ally assimilating your human character to the 
divine character of the infinite Christ. If not, rise, 
oh, deluded dreamer! and cease to weave in your 
life-wreath the bad and poisonous flowers of selfish¬ 
ness, aud earthly passions, and low desires; tear 
these flowers from your soul, and begin to cultivate 
with all diligence for your crown-wreath tho flowers 
of heavenly origin, and the blest light of (Jon’s holy 
smiles will rest upon you, and soon you will be 
crowned a prince in the spiritual realm of the 
Supreme Sovereign whose kingdom is not of this 
world. a. t. h. o. 
Academy, New Haven. Vt, 1861. 
[Written for Moore’s Rural New-Yorker.} 
LIFE’S AIM. 
“ O, Lipk is but a strife— > 
Ti» a bubble *tis n dream; 
And man is but a little boat 
That’s paddled down the stream,” 
Then are we all voyagers upon its surface, bound 
for a haven where our bark may rest securely 
anchored. And would we bo inactive while tho tide 
is bearing us swiftly? Shall we fold our hands and 
be borne with the floating mass wherever the current 
listoth? Rather, should we not strive to surmount 
each billow — to so steer our 
coarse as to touch at 
those green isles which rest upon life’s bosom, where 
the weary soul may be refreshed, and gather fruit 
which turneth not to ashes? New strength will be 
given us to combat each rough wave, until, on some 
calm, even tide, we float silently and securely out 
u[ion the vast ocean of Eternity. 
But wlmt is our aim? Do we live for pleasure — 
for present enjoyment —to please for a brief hour 
with a few vain attractions? Then to the really 
good and beautiful are we insensible. Our souls 
will receive no high impulses toward a future life, 
and the dews of intelligence will fall upon our 
hearts as rain upon the sand, where no buds flourish, 
or bright blossoms unfold. 
There is strife in the world, but not always for the 
“host, gifts” or for noble attainments. Many are 
content with (he smile of flattery. Some seek honor, 
some fame; others to occupy Halls ol State, and 
wield a scepter of might o’er the people; others turn 
their minds to the accumulation of wealth, and strive 
with every energy for the “gold that perisheth.” 
They bow at Mammon’s shrine, and cast the faculties 
God ordained for a higher purpose on an unhallowed 
altar; and while gold glitters in the coffers, the gems 
of intellect lie unpolished. Such fail to discover 
life's true aim. There are those who pass not a step 
beyond the sphere in which they were born — are 
content with the ignorance of their fathers-—will¬ 
ingly live as they lived, and die unknown. Others 
apparently strive to make themselves a byword and 
blemish on earth. IIow repulsive the sight of one, 
who, possessing capacities lor usefulness in life, has 
blighted and perverted them to the debasing of so 
noble a nature as man originally inherited. 
There arc none so low*, so humble, but may rise. 
Facilities are on every hand at the present day for 
acquiring intelligence. Books are w ithin the reach 
of all, and from them w e may gather imperishable 
knowledge to supply the rich treasure-house of the 
mind. But it is necessary that w r e give a careful 
and thorough perusal of those hooks which are 
judicious, instructive, and of a decidedly elevated, 
moral tone, in order to become trail/ informed, and 
our mental capacities improved. “ no that would 
win. must labor for the prize.” Inactivity will 
A great many husbands, especially in the country, 
spend their evenings away from home; formerly at 
the tavern, but now at the store, talking politics and 
general business. to this right? Is it generous? 
Has not the wife as good a right to spend her even¬ 
ings abroad? And what would the husband think 
to lx* left alone to take cure of the house? Is it fair? 
Did you not promise to love your wife, and to 
cherish her? And is this the way to fulfil your 
vows? Home should be the pleasantest of all places, 
to both husband and wife. There the evenings of 
both should be spent And this is the way to keep 
alive the fires of love, and to warm the heart with a 
generous unselfishness. Wives may not complain, 
but they feel, and deeply, the absence of their hus¬ 
bands. They want their company; want their sym¬ 
pathy, and they ought to lmve it. Especially, if 
there arc children in tho house, should tho husband 
be at home. The wife, in her sphere, labors as hard 
as the husband in his; and, when evening comes, 
she and her little ones have a righl to the company 
of the husband and father. 
And what good comes of lounging at the store? 
11 is a habit , and a bad habit We do not object to 
passing an evening occasionally in this way, w T hen it 
is necessary in the way of business. But it is a bad 
sign to see a man hanging about a grocery in the 
evening. It shows that he has not the highest ideal 
of life, lie does not care much for mental im¬ 
provement, or for the society of woman. The 
best husbands are those who love their waves 
best, love their company, and do the most to 
make them happy. The best lathers are lovers 
of home; lovers of their children. To a good 
husband and father, absence from home is always 
regretted. It is submitted to as u necessity. w r hen it 
cannot he avoided; but the good husband aud 
father loves his home; loves his family; delights 
in the circle of domestic affection; and is never so 
happy its under his own roof, and among those of 
his own blood, Husbands, think of this; and if you 
have acquired the habit of absence from home for 
mere trifles; if your evenings are lounged away at 
the store, break off at once, and acquire the habit of 
staying at home; of helping your wife, and becom¬ 
ing her companion, and the companion of your 
children. 
One of the oddest things about very little children 
is their passion for hearing the same story told in 
succession a dozen times w ithin an hour; and their 
positive refusal of the alteration of a word in the 
narration, which, by the way, they are lynx-eyed to 
detect. It is worth while to watch the face of a 
little one, listening to tho favorite “ story;” to mark 
Ihe flitting expression of the face, the mirthful kind¬ 
ling of the eye. or the tragic little scowl, when the 
dish of appetising horrors is brought on. All this 
pastime is very well now and then, but a child so 
quickly moved should not be unduly excited in this 
way, particularly just before retiring to rest, when 
uneasy dreams may be the consequence. A bright 
child is a great temptation to the child-experiment¬ 
alist, if I may apply this term to those fond of 
studying them, 
Such do not always remember how 
delicate is the brain thus stimulated for a passing 
amusement. It is hard to keep from talking with 
an interesting child, or answering the questions it 
industriously propounds. The trouble is that such 
children rarely care for the usual active sports of 
children, preferring, above all others, the brain- 
amusoment. A wise parent or guardian will see 
the little, grave in prospective, and he warned in time. 
How* the little creatures will plead to “sit up,” 
when their eyes are heavy with sleep, and their 
may urge the heads are swaying about like flowers on their stems, 
present age to How valorously they will deny it all, and strain 
premeditation open the languid eye. and do anything hut succomb 
tu expression, to the ignominious bed or crib—and how gratefully 
re an* as many happy are they for a respite as they lie in your lap, 
of our day is listening to the pleasant parlor-hum of voices. It is 
to the demand only a verycouscientioiisperson, ora-child-hator, who 
nd to a want of can decisively introduce them to the abhorred night- 
attributed the gown at this juteresting crisis. Alas! it is so hard 
cuion. While to love a child wisely. It is so hard to refuse that 
authoresses of which gratifies so much, even when we know it is 
ell exceedingly harmful 
A Thought for the New Year.— It is proper 
at the beginning of a new year to review our past 
life, and to make new resolves for the future. Aim 
at an elevated life. Seek to live so near to God that 
you shall not be overwhelmed by those amazing 
sorrows which you may soon encounter, nor sur¬ 
prised by that decease which may come upon you in 
a moment, suddenly. Let prayer never lie a form. 
Alw ays realize it as an approach to the living God 
for some specific purpose, and learn to watch for the 
returns of prayer. Let the word of God dwell in 
you richly. That sleep will be sweet, and that 
aw aking hallowed, w here a text of Scripture or a 
stanza of a spiritual song imbues tho last thoughts 
of consciousness. See that you make progress. 
See that, when the year is closing, you have not all 
the evil tempers and infirmities of character wrliich 
now afflict you: but see to it that if God grant you 
to sit down on the Ebenezer of another closing 
year, you may he able to look back on radiant spots 
where you enjoyed seasons of spiritual refreshing and 
victories over enemies heretofore too strong for you. 
And what a marvel that avo see as many 
children as wo do. grow up healthy, and happy, and 
good, in spite of that miscalled “fondness” for 
them, w hich is too apt suddenly to evaporate, when 
tins injudicious indulgence brings forth* its legiti¬ 
mate fruits—petulance and obstinacy .—Fanny Fern. 
Working wrru One’s Might. —Nature and Rev¬ 
elation both concur in enforcing the rule of earnest 
and patient toil. The same commandment, that 
enjoins rest upon the seventh day requires six days 
of labor. And as Nature never performs her tasks 
slovenly, she shows by example how men should 
work. What is worth doing at all is allowed to be 
worth doing well, and so fully is this maxim recog¬ 
nized in life, that the performance of anything in an 
inferior and shabby manner is always supposed to 
Ik: indicative of a certain meanness of mind. In 
English ethics, therefore, shahbiness bears a very 
contemptuous interpretation, while its apposite—a 
disposition lo do things handsomely and in style— 
commands universal applause. Nor can there be 
anything unreasonable in this view of matters, look¬ 
ing at appearances as the exponent of internal con¬ 
victions. It may be generally observed that the 
man who performs an act in a handsome manner, is 
also the most generous and estimable. No man was 
ever truly great who attempted to do things by 
halves. 
Courtesy at Home.—W e trust that few of our 
readers need the hint suggested in the following 
extract: 
“ Almost any one can be courteous in a neighbors 
house. If anything goes wrong, or is out of time, 
or is disagreeable, there it is made tlm best of, not 
the worse; even efforts are made to excuse it. and 
to show it is not felt; it is attributable to accident, 
not to design; and this is not only easy but natural 
in the house of a friend. 1 will not, therefore, 
believe that what is so natural in The house of ano¬ 
ther is impossible at home, but maintain, without 
fear, that all the courtesies of social life may be 
upheld in domestic society. A husband as willing 
to he pleased at home as he is anxious to be pleased 
in a neighbor’s house, and a wife as intent on mak¬ 
ing things comfortable every day to her family as 
ou set days to her guests, could not fail to make 
home happy.”— ladies 1 Repository. 
The Pure Heart. —The springs of everlasting 
life are within. There are clear streams gushing up 
from the depths of soul, and flow out to enliven the 
sphere of outward existence. But like the waters of 
Siloah, they “go swiftly,” You must listen to 
catch the silvery tones of the little rill tvs it glides 
from its mountain home; you may not witness its 
silent march through the green vale, but its course 
will he seen in llie fresh verdure aud the opening 
flowers; its presence will be known by the forms of 
life and beauty which gather around it. It is over 
thus with the pure. You may not hear tho “still 
small voice,” or heed the silent aspiration, but there 
is a moral influence and a holy power which you 
will feel. The wilderness is made to smile, flowers 
of ucw life and beauty spring up and flourish, while 
an invisible presence breathes immortal fragrance 
through the atmosphere. 
Love of Dress. —Love of dress is not necessarily 
vanity, It may arise from a love of the picturesque 
or a fine perception of the harmonious and symmet¬ 
rical. If a fondness for dress is confined to display 
on one’s own person, then it is vanity; but a catholic 
appreciation of form and color, that is equally 
pleased with adornment on our neighbors as our¬ 
selves, is an aesthetic sense worthy of praise and 
culture. Those fellows who applaud their supe¬ 
riority to the vanities of dress, unconsciously con¬ 
fess, either to a blunt sense of the pleasing, or to an 
intense self-love, which isolates itself from the appre¬ 
ciation and sympathy of others. 
Profit of Prayer.— After prayer, is 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 plants, and then their withered stems will droop 
toward the earth; hut watered by the dew, they 
r%ain their freshness, and lift up their languishing 
heads. So there are always burning winds, which 
pass over the soul and wither it Prayer is the dew 
which refreshes it again. 
Value of Application. — Genius is a good 
thing, hut industry is better. Smiles, in his Self- 
Help, takes a correct view: 
“Accident does very little toward the production 
of any great result in life. Though sometimes what 
is called ’a happy hit' be made by a bold venture, 
the old and common highway of steady industry 
and application is the only safe road to travel.” 
Don’t let your children learn good and bad things 
indiscriminately. To be sure, the bad might be 
eradicated in after years, but it is easier to sow 
olean seed than to cleanse dirty wheat. 
There is no friend to man so true, so real, and so 
good as woman. 
