household. They see not the dark cloud hovering 
over them—the death-angel's wing. He smites the 
fairest, the best beloved of the band, and as, with 
folded hands and closed eyes, she crosses the mystic 
river, we can only go with her to the brink, while 
our hearts acknowledge “ the good die first." The 
circle is broken, and as years roll on, separation 
comes in another form, aud young hearts strong for 
the battle of li/e, with a half sigh, go from the old 
home, taking with them much of the light from the 
remaining hearts. They make for themselves new 
homes; they will become endeared to them by asso¬ 
ciations as fond as they had on leaving, perhaps; 
but in after time, when they wear the “ silver crown 
of years." and the selfishness of the world is made 
manifest to their opened eyes, they will gladly turn 
to the period when they were surrounded by true 
friends, with a mother's hand to sooth their weary 
brows and sympathise in all their childish grief. 
Dr. lloi.LA.vr> says there must he something 
unhealthy in this longing for childhood's hours 
again; but. if so, many are diseased, for nearly all 
hearts beat responsive to this sentiment: 
<• Homo of our childhood • how affection clings 
And hovers round thee with her seraph's wings.” 
“ Springside.” N. Y., 1862. L. E. 
u \\'h — what do J think of women v I asked; lor 
I had shut one eye and was admitting but a single 
ray of light from the large lamp into the other, as I 
leaned tar back in the easy chair Madame Stroxg- 
mind had drawn before the fite for me. 1 confess I 
was not prepared tor such a question-was not 
expecting it 
“Yes. what do you think of women? and the 
neatlv fitting congress gaiter boot, with a foot in it, 
[Written for Moore’s Rural New-Yorker.] 
THE LITTLE SLEEPER. 
[Written for Moore's Rural New-Yorker ] 
“ HAUNTED CASTLE.” 
[Written for Moore's Rural New-Yorker.] 
MARY’S GRAVE. 
BY K. IT. PORU. 
BY ADELAIDE STOUT. 
BY SARAH J. QUADE 
‘ For of such is the kingdom of heaven." 
Fold the hands gently 
Over her breast. 
Softly she’s sleeping,— 
Disturb not her rest. 
Smooth hack the golden curls 
From the fair brow — 
Angelic beauty 
Rests ou it now. 
Hers the pale closed lips, 
Once and again 
Forcing hack bitter tears, 
Moanings of pain; 
For the sweet warbling music 
Silent forever; 
The sunny smiles vanished, 
To return again never. 
Tress down the coffin lid 
Sadly and slow, 
In grief for the mourners’ 
Anguish and woe. 
Crush not a rosebud; 
Let them all fade away 
With the form they are circling 
As it wastes in decay. 
Bear to the churchyard 
And lay ‘neath the snow 
The little pale sleeper 
Silent and low. 
There will her rest be 
Peaceful and sweet. 
For God and the angels 
Wilt watch o'er her keep. 
Nor weep, stricken parents, 
For your loved, buried dead, 
Though the light of your dwelling 
With her lifts has tied; 
Shall I lead you to mv castle, 
“ Haunted Castle" near the eaves ? 
You can, through half-darkened windows, 
Catch the shimmering of leaves. 
Falleth here and there a sunbeam. 
Golden pencils o’er the floor ; 
I would tell you by their magic 
How xny lio.Trt is written o’er; 
But a tablet in your own heart 
Surely hath such tracery,— 
Golden letters, flowing rhythm 
Hath our childhood's poetry. 
Storied treasures hath my castle, 
Pictured rock and mountain gorge ; 
Here are rudely painted watch-fires 
On the snows of Valley Forge. 
Dust the seamed brow6 of heroes 
And the sinewed arms of might, 
Place the treasure of my childhood 
There within the moated light, 
And I’ll tell you of the teachings 
Of the lips ye thought were mute,— 
How those hands have placed strong armor 
O'er a soul hnlf resolute; 
Blessed hands that, strong, uplifted, 
Bore the Ark of Liberty 
In that hour of darkest trial 
Through the singings of the sea. 
Aye, ye never knew what teachers 
Met the dream child near the roof, 
Nor what hands athwart its life warp 
Wove hv far the stronger woof. 
Love for every dauntless hero 
To a silent worship grew; 
“Right is might.” we believe forever, 
And the. “ God of Battles ’’ true ' 
Valley Forge ! O. bring the records 
And we ll read them softly o'er ; 
Stranger eyes will never see us 
If we how in tears once more 
O’er the heroes who lidbe trodden 
Lonely plain and mountain gorge, 
And who left their crimson footprints 
On the snows of Valley Forge. 
’Twas when the spring's first budding glory, 
Clothed In the sunniest green, 
Came with the love-bird's song and story 
Where winter late had been; 
Then cheerful song and lightsome glee 
Came with the sunset o’er the fide, 
And moonlight hours passed joyously 
Ere Mary died. 
commenced heating a tattoo in marked measure, as 
much as to say, “ Be honest, or retreat, sir! for km 
in the eye. I think, with tem oxides. that -a man 
cannot possess anything that is better than a good 
woman, nor anything that is worse than a bad one; 
and that” — and I paused to reconnoiter. 
“ What?” 
“And that the chances are about equal that he 
will get a good or a had one. unless he learns more 
of' the character and habits of his wife before mar¬ 
riage than most men do.” The gaiter boot with a 
foot in It didn’t tattoo any more; but J heard a — 
“Well, I declare, Ksquire Pencil, I «ro a good 
deal wiser, aint I, for asking you that question?” 
“ 1 hope so, madam.” 
“ Well,”—and after a pause a bright idea seemed 
to illuminate her face — •• I wish you would send 
that opinion to the Rural; for I think it both sensi¬ 
ble and complimentary to the sex, compared with 
anything from a man’s lips yet; for fulsome flattery 
is not compliment." 
And, accordingly, here is the “opinion." 
Of late that eye was bright and glowing. 
That cheek was full and fair; 
That smile, so sw eet and soft, was showing 
Like sunset glories there. 
The check is pale, the brow is cold, 
And vanished now the smile of pride; 
I know I am not as of Old 
Since Mary died. 
Down where the willows bend so lowly. 
By the slow river’s side,— 
• Down where the moonlight comes so lioly 
Across the silver tide, 
There M aRY sleeps. The grass is green 
Upon the mound I kneel beside, 
And I am weary now, I ween, 
Since Mary died. 
Zittlc's Corners. N. Y.. 1862. 
[Written for Moore's Rural New-Yorker.] 
WELL DOING. 
How much pleasure do we enjoy at the conscious¬ 
ness of having performed a good act. Who has not 
experienced this joy? A brother lias fallen, you 
have come to his relief, and a kind word or generous 
act has assisted him to occupy his former position; 
or, if perchance, you can assist him one step higher, 
does not your heart grow warm at the success? 
You have passed by the urn of poverty, hut not 
without casting in your mite in the form of a half 
eagle, or at least in a substantial way, which tells a 
kind heart and generous hand has passed that way. 
Sad hearts grow joyous in your presence; for your 
words are halm to the troubled soul. Kindness 
breathes forth in every word, gesture, and action, 
until their mourning is turned to jov, and weeping 
to cheerfulness. You meet the little child in the 
street crying for the loss of a penny. You smile 
upon him, place a sixpence in his band, and he 
trips along more joyous than before; his little heart 
overflows with thankfulness, and you are the hotter 
for the act. Does not these small acts of kindness 
add to your store of happiness when you lie down 
upon your pillow? Does not their memory lull you 
sweetly to vest? The mau who performs these acts, 
although small, cannot be miserable, nor will their 
effects produce misery. The man who thus pursues 
his way through life cannot be miserable. Although, 
in Iboir turn, clouds may lower over his pathway, 
yet the same cheerful heart beats within his breast, 
and a kind disposition prompts him to deeds of gen¬ 
erosity and love. 
How much better would be our world if all were 
bent upon doing good. If every countenance was 
decked with a smile, and loving hearts spoke love 
to all, would not the pall that hangs over this pil¬ 
grimage be lifted, and light spring up in new places? 
Let us strive to do something- for others, and not 
wrap our selfishness around us, and turn a cold 
shoulder to an invalid sister or fallen brother. 
Great men tell us they have taken more pleasure 
in one small act performed with purity of purpose 
to some poor widow, or orphan, than they have in 
deeds for which the world praised their greatness. 
Must not these generous deeds, these acts of kind¬ 
ness. enhance Ihe joys of the dying hour, and lift 
the vail, that we may look beyond? 
Fluvanna. N. Y., 1SG2. H. A. Whittemore. 
[Written for Moore's Rural New-Yorker.] 
THE INFLUENCE OF WOMAN, 
Much is said at the present day of the servility of 
woman. It is said that she is debarred from her 
rightful privileges; that instead of occupying the 
position she now holds in society, she should be 
allowed to take her place in the Senate, and have a 
voice in the questions of the day. But, we very 
ranch fear that,, if such were the state of affairs, the 
political arena would present a far more deplorable 
picture than it now does. The character of woman 
would soon be stripped of those graces with which 
it is at present adorned, aud strife and envy would 
hold sway in her bosom. Why cannot we, instead 
of cherishing such dreams of fame, be content in the 
possession of that affection aud respect which are 
now lavished upon us, and, in return, strive to 
create aspirations of a higher grade in the breasts of 
our fellow beings by our example of purity and 
goodness. Which, think you, possessed greater 
power. Cleopatra or J osephjne ? Theformerhad 
aspirations which led her to commit the most terri¬ 
ble crimes which have ever stained the name of 
woman; while the latter, by the nobleness of her 
character, held complete sway in the heart of the 
French nation. And it has ever been thus through¬ 
out the history of past ages; when woman has pos¬ 
sessed similar longings, to those of Cleopatra, 
after fame, she has been brought to the lowest 
depths of degradation. Woman has been endowed 
with gifts from Nature which fit her to adorn the. 
home circle; it is here that her virtues slime in their 
greatest brilliancy, and who shall say that she does 
not here exert an influence which she could never 
possess were she to occupy any other position than 
that which she now holds. 
But, il' we would exercise that power which wc 
believe we possess, we must come u p to the high 
standard of womanhood; our thoughts must become 
purified by communion with tha Savior. The 
mother must instil high and holy principles in the 
heart of her son; the sister must be to the brother 
all that God designed she should he; the wife must 
be the guardian angel of him with whom she has 
confided her heart's best and holiest affections. Thou 
there will be a change wrought in their natures 
which will be manifested in all their acts. But, 
while we sanction by our approval the many vices 
of the day. there will he but little hopes of reforma¬ 
tion in society. 
If we place the wine cup to our brothers’ lips, 
shall we not be responsible in a great degree if they 
become addicted to the use of intoxicating drinks, 
and at last fill a drunkard’s grave? So, also, if we 
engage with them in their amusements at the card 
table? If they lose their fortune and character, can 
we not but think that, if our example had been dif¬ 
ferent, we should not now witness this sad wreck of 
humanity? When it is too late to avert the evil, 
then shall we weep bitter tears of repentance. If 
we would exert a good influence upon those with 
whom we arc brought in contact, we must commence 
the work of purification within ourselves; for the 
fountain must he pure before pure waters cau gush 
therefrom. 
Look at Byron and Wesley! See the vices aud 
passions to which one fell a victim, while the other 
drank deep of the waters of righteousness, and 
became the instrument, in the hands of God, of 
accomplishing much good. One had a mother who 
daily askedjn prayer that her son might live to the 
honor aud glory of God, while the other had no 
such guardian angel to guide his feet along the slip¬ 
pery paths of youth; for she, unto whom an immor¬ 
tal soul had been given to nurture for the told of 
Christ, had proven unworthy the trust reposed in 
her. 
Daughters of America! to-day we have a duty 
to perform. Although it is not for us to go forth to 
the battle-field, yet, as we bend weeping over a 
loved lather, or brother, who is about to go forth,— 
and it may be to return no more,—we can whisper 
words of love and encouragement which may 
strengthen them in their endeavors to overcome the 
monster that is sapping the life-blood of our Repub¬ 
lic. Which is the truer patriot, he who girds on his 
armor and goes forth to die, it may he while fighting 
for his country, or she who with a breaking heart 
bids him hasten to the conflict? Nellie. 
St. Charles, Kane Co.. HI., 1862. 
Here are some sensible hints which should be 
heeded. The suggestion, “ never fear spoiling chil¬ 
dren by making them too happy, ’ is an important 
one, i^oine parents are constantly teaching their 
children to look on the dark side ol their own char¬ 
acter, and their teaching soon fixes the habit upon 
the child, which ripens into gloominess in mature 
life—legacy of discomfort and unhappiness always. 
Bad temper is oflencr the result of unhappy cir¬ 
cumstances than of au unhappy organization; it 
frequently, however, has a physical cause, and a 
peevish child often needs dieling more than correct¬ 
ing. Some children are more prone to show temper 
than others; and sometimes ou account of qualities 
which are valuable in themselves. For instance, a 
child of active temperament, sensitive feeling, and 
eager purpose, is more likely to meet with constant 
jars gml rubs, than a dull passive child; and if he is 
of an open nature, his inward irritation is immedi¬ 
ately shown in bursts of passion. If you repress 
these ebullitions by scolding and punishment, you 
only increase the evil by changing passion into 
sulkiness. A cheerful, good tempered tone pf your 
own, a sympathy with his trouble whenever the 
trouble has arisen from no ill conduct on his part, 
are the best antidotes; but it would be better still to 
prevent beforehand, as much as possible, all sources 
of annoyance. Never fear spoiling children by 
making them too happy. Happiness is the atmos¬ 
phere in which all good affections grow—t he whole¬ 
some warmth necessary to make the heart blood 
circulate healthily aud freely. Unhappiness is the 
chilling pressiu’e which produces here an inflamma¬ 
tion, there an excrescence, and worst of all, “ the 
mind’s green and yellow sickness—ill-temper.” 
For among the bright seraphs 
That wait round the throne, 
Singing in glory 
Is your lost little one. 
Buffalo, N. Y., 1862, 
Fairer her heavenly home 
Than aught here below 
Wish her not back again 
To share in earth's woe. 
[Written for Moore's Rural New-Yorker.] 
MORE SLEEP. 
Geneva, N. Y., 1862. 
Ours is a climate peculiarly trying to the eyes. 
We have so much sunlight, and of such brilliant, 
dazzling quality, that even the strongest organs of 
sight can hardly pass through one of our summers 
without more or less discomfort and detriment. 
And winters, like the. one just past, when the snow 
has lain on the ground for eight or ten successive 
weeks, are perhaps still more unfavorable to the 
health of the eyes than summer. A white land¬ 
scape, with its uniform, clear, cold glitter, is tiresome 
and unwholesome to the sight; with the sun shin¬ 
ing on it, it cannot be looked upon long, even by 
the unimpaired vision, without pain. Travelers in 
the Nile country tell us that there the sun truly 
shines, that with us it only glares; aud perhaps it is 
the glare of the American sun that makes its light 
so hard to he borne by the eyes. 
If. then, our sight is taxed more severely by the 
sunlight than that of dwellers under soberer, more 
tempered skies, our eyes certainly need more 
rest, but they get far less. Not, perhaps, that the 
American people spend a greater number of hours 
out of the twenty-four awake, but their habit of 
incessant reading— ol passing most of their leisure 
time over books and newspapers — constitutes an 
additional heavy tax on the eyesight, to which, if we 
may trust the observation of travelers, the inhabit¬ 
ants of no other country subject themselves in so 
high degree. 
As a partial compensation for this trying exposure 
and excessive use of the eyes, would it not be well 
to adopt the c ustom of southern countries, of taking 
a nap (siesta, the Spanish call it,) in the middle of 
the day, at least in summer. In winter perhaps the 
long nights give opportunity enough for sleep: hut, 
during the summer months, when the nights are 
short and the days long and warm, a short sleep 
between morning and afternoon labor is very 
refreshing. Beasts and birds seek shade and rest at 
noonday, and why not man? In hot weather the 
early morning and lute evening are the pleasantest 
time of day. in fact, the only part of the twenty-four 
hours that cau really he enjoyed. One does not 
fancy going to bed till the evening air has cooled 
the house so as to make sleep attainable, and 
[Written for Moore's Rural New-Yorker.] 
OUR LIFE-WORK. 
“ All great souls are true and earnest, 
See their beacon star ahead, 
And the strengUi for which thou yearnest 
Lieth not among the dead." 
When the clouds of grief and sorrow gather in 
gloom, and the storm bursts in fury over our heads, 
we often feel like folding our hands, and closing our 
eyes in that dreamless sleep which knows no 
waking. Even when it is over, and the calmness of 
despair, and the lethargy that succeeds the violence 
of sorrow, creeps over the heart, we feel that the 
mortal frame is too frail to hear life’s burdens, and 
we fain would be at rest. But 
“ A bruised reed he will not break, 
Afflictions all His children feel; 
He wounds us for His mercy’s sake,— 
He wounds to heal." 
Aud it is not meet for the children of such a 
Father to idly fold the hands and shrink from the 
duties all should perform. There is a task for each 
to do, a mission for each to accomplish. We may 
deceive ourselves with the delusive phantom of 
hope, and think that the beautiful harmony of our 
lives will again be restored; but. only by meekly 
pursuing our destined way. dwelling not on the 
past, but marching onward, right on, will we obtain 
the strength we hope to gain. Have you ever gazed 
on the features of a friend, one who by silently 
doing good is loved by all ? You would not think, 
as you beheld that peaceful countenance, that the 
pathway had been thorny, and the struggle fierce, 
which had succeeded in destroying the false hopes 
and pleasures; but could you search into the mys¬ 
teries of the heart, you would find that we must he 
true and earnest if the treasures that once charmed 
the. soul are laid away in memory’s casket, and in 
theirj-teail wo weave the garland of Faith’s choicest 
flowers, which will be our crown of rejoicing in the 
Home of the Blest. Mary F. Parker. 
Randolph, l J a., 1S62. 
Of all happy households, that is the happiest where 
falsehood is never thought of. All peace is broken 
up when once it appears that there is a liar in a 
house. All comfort has gone when suspicion has 
once entered—when there must he reserve in talk 
aud reservation iu belief. Anxious parents, who 
are aware of' the pains of suspicion, will place gen¬ 
eral confidence in their children, and receive what 
they say freely, unless there is strong reason to dis¬ 
trust the truth of any one. If such an occasion 
should unhappily arise, they must keep the suspi¬ 
cion from spreading as long as possible, and avoid 
disgracing their phot child while there is a chance 
of its cure by their confidential assistance. He 
should have their pily and assiduous help, as if he 
were suffering under some disgusting bodily disor¬ 
der. If he can be cured, he will become duly grate¬ 
ful for the treatment. 1!' the endeavor fails, means 
must of course be taken to prevent his example 
from doing harm: and then, as I said, the tamily 
peace is broken up. because the family confidence, is 
gone. I fear that, from some cause or another, there 
are but few large families where evey member is al¬ 
together truthful, But where all are so organized 
and so trained as to be wholly reliable in act and 
word, they are a light to all eyes, and a joy to all 
hearts. They are public benefits, for they are a 
point of general reliance: and they are privately 
blessed within and without. Without, their life is 
made easy by universal trust; and within their 
home and their hearths, they have the security of 
rectitude, and the gladness of innocence .—Hamet 
Martineau. 
It is a great mistake to suppose that you are 
hound to discard a fixed belief of your mind, 
because an ingenious opponent may ply you with 
argument which at the time you cannot auswer. 
Beliefs are a sort of growth, a gradual accretion of 
the mind through a long series of years. It is very 
difficult for any man, ou the spur of the moment, to 
give all the reasons which may have conduced to 
any oue of his beliefs. Those reasons have from 
time to time been brought to the cognizance of the 
mind, have wrought their work upon the convic¬ 
tions, aud then have been forgotten, The resultant 
beliefs, like successive strata, remain as a sort of 
fixed, permanent deposit. This is the order of 
nature, in mind as well as in matter, and it is right 
that it should he so. Otherwise we should be for¬ 
ever afloat on the sea of opinion. Cultivate, then, 
this habit ol tenacity, as well in your opinions as in 
your course ol life. It is no harm to he a little 
dogged sometimes. Do not give up your creed 
because some specialty man presses you with argu¬ 
ments that you cannot answer. You could answer 
them had you made the subject a hobby, as he has 
done. You could answer them if you had the 
leisure to review seriatim the steps by which you 
have come to your present stage of belief. Only be 
careful and lionest iu the first place in forming your 
opinions, and then be willing to place some confi¬ 
dence iu your own mental results. Do not be 
badgered out of your position by every whisper 
that comes along prating about old fogyism aud the 
progress of the age. 
[Written for Moore’s Rural New-Yorker.] 
MEMORIES OF CHILDHOOD. 
eolation than this. This is a world of weeping—a 
vale of tears. Who is there of the human family 
that has not shed a tear? And what a change it 
would make in our world, if it could be said that 
henceforward not another tear would be shed, not a 
head would ever be bowed again in grief! Yet this 
is to be the condition of heaven. In that world 
there is to he no pain, no disappointment, no 
bereavement. No friend is to lie in dreadful agony 
on a sick-bed; no grave is to be opened to receive a 
parent, a wife, a child; no gloomy prospect ot'death 
is to draw tears of sorrow from the eyes. To that 
blessed world, when our eyes run down with tears, 
we are permitted to look forward; and the prospect 
of such a world should contribute to wipe away our 
tears here, for all our sorrows will soon he over. 
Amidst the trials of the present life, when friends 
leave us, when sickness comes, when our hopes are 
blasted, when calumnies and reproaches come upon 
us, when—standing on the verge of the grave and 
looking down into the cold tomb—the eyes pour 
forth floods of tears, it is a blessed privilege to be 
permitted to look forward to that brighter scene in 
heaven, where not a pang shall ever be felt, and not 
a tear shall ever be shed.—Hr. JJ arms. 
As the traveler, footsore and weary, pauses upon 
a hilltop to survey the ground he lias passed over, 
his glance falls upon jagged rocks, deep gorges, aud 
slippery paths that he has recently trod, with only 
here and there a spot of green to relieve the gloomy 
aspect of the whole; while far away in the commence¬ 
ment of his journey he sees through the blue mists 
of distance the level plain and the clear, sparkling 
waters of the river; and it seems, too, as if the sun 
shone brighter then than now. He forgets all the 
unevenness of the way aud the weariness that 
attended him in the greater and more recent toil, 
and as a sigh of regret escapes him, he wonders that 
he did not appreciate the beauty of his surroundings 
while there. So in life blessings seem to brighten 
as they take their flight.” and they that have reached 
the hilltop and have tasted the realities of life, have 
learned its earnest lessons, turn lovingly to the 
memories of their childhood and youth, when life 
was before them with naught to mar its bright col¬ 
orings, and having in its embrace happiness for 
them and the realization of their fondest dreams. 
Step by step they go back to the days of long ago— 
their school triumphs and trials. How trilling the 
latter seem in comparison with those ot the present, 
yet they were all they were able to hear then; and 
they linger long upon the memory of their ehild- 
hood’sbome. All sacred memories cluster round that 
spot! “'There bubbled up tMm unseen fountains 
life's first effervescing hopes;'’ there they received 
their first impressions of the future and its meaning, 
and to many that have outlived this period, its re¬ 
membrance is the sunniest spot in their life. 
A vision of the past is mine to-day; and looking 
down the “ corridors of time,” I see a circle gath¬ 
ered round the fireside. Health and contentment 
are there, not as guests, hut as members of the 
THE TRUTHFUL AND SINCERE WOMAN, 
STRONG CHARACTERS 
BY LEAD PENCIL, ESq. 
“What is the use. Square Pencil, of eternally 
discussing this question of the value oi woman ? I’m 
sick of it! The fact is I haven’t any patience with 
a woman so silly as to reply to the querulous com¬ 
plaint of some miserable misanthrope. Such a 
woman's brain will endure few more scummings 
than that of the man who provokes her “defense " 
(Lord save us!) of the sex, li is quite safe to say— 
and when once said it is enough—that there is quite 
as great a proportion of talented, sensible, useful, 
and worthy women, as men. compared with the 
whole number of each. There are worthless, indo¬ 
lent, slatternly, unworthy women and girls; but it is 
all nonsense to assert that the women ol the present 
have so badly degenerated. And—but I see I am 
practicing what I had commenced by condemning— 
what do you think of women, Esquire Pencil?” 
Babies are the tyrants of the world. The Em¬ 
peror must tread softly; baby sleeps. Mozart must 
hush his nascent requiem; baby sleeps. Phidias 
must drop his hammer aud chisel; baby sleeps. 
Demosthenes, be dumb; baby sleeps. 
If sleep flies from you, don’t go in hot pursuit of 
it; lie still, and it will probably come and kiss you. 
