I 
be spent in vain, but may they tend to the advance¬ 
ment of the great cause of Liberty, Truth, and 
Christianity throughout the world. Artxo. 
Oberiin. Ohio, 1862. 
better, which will procure for us the most friends, 
and be of the most actual service to us in our con¬ 
nections with the world. An individual with a tine 
face may gain admiration, but he will not draw to 
himself lasting friends unless he possesses other 
qualities than this. Good looks are certainly a 
recommendation, and are always desirable; for 
justly has some one remarked that. “ The beautiful 
are never desolate, for some One always loves them.” 
There are many who possess both kinds of beauty, 
and such are Inily beloved. But if we can only 
have one kind, may it be the latter. This will 
remain with us in old age, as in earlier years, and 
secure us the esteem of those whose friendship 
never falters, and continue to gain new admirers all 
the way through life. Then when the eye grows 
dim in age. and the cheek pales before the influence 
of Time, we shall have the assurance of knowing 
that we have gained our reputation in the world by 
beauty at second sight. Okkli.e. 
Canandaigua. N Y., 1802, 
THE SHADOW OF THY WING, 
[Written for Moore's Rural New-Yorker.] 
“CHARLIE AND I” 
THE EAGLE’S STRATAGEM 
The stream is calmest when it nears the tide, 
The flowers are sweetest at the eventide, 
The birds most musical at close of day, 
And saints divinest when they pass away. 
Morning is lovely, but a holier charm 
Lies folded in the evening's robe of balm, 
And weary man must ever love her best, 
For morning calls to toil, but night brings rest. 
She coiio from heaven, and on her wings doth bear 
A holy fragrance, like the breath of prayer, 
Footsteps of angels follow ill her trace 
To shut the weary eyes of day in pence. 
All things are hushed before her a* she throws 
O’er earth and sky her mantle of repose; 
There is a calm, a beauty, and a power, 
That morning knows not, in the evening hour. 
Until the evening we must weep and toil, 
Plow life’s stem furrows, dig the weedy soil; 
Tread w ith sad feet our rough and thorny way, 
And bear the heat and burden of tlie day. 
Oh. when our tun Is setting, may we glide, 
Like summer's evening, down the golden tide; 
And leave behind us as we pass away. 
Sweet, starry twilight, round our sleeping clay. 
Weary of life's great mart, its dust and din, 
Faint with its toiling, suffering with its sin, 
In child-like faith my heart to Thee 1 bring 
For refuge in '• the shadow of Thy wing.” 
Like a worn bird of passuge, left behind. 
Wounded and sinking, by its faithless kind, 
With flight unsteady, seeking needed rest, 
I come for shelter to Thy faithful breast. 
Like a proud ship, dismantled bv the gale, 
Her banners lost and rifted every sail, 
In the deep waters to Thy love T cling, 
And hasten to the refuge of Thy wing. 
O. Thou, Thy people's comforter alwav. 
Their light in darkness and their guide by day, 
Their anchor 'mid the storm, their hope in calm, 
Their joy in pain their fortress in alarm. 
We are all weak. Thy strength we humbly crave; 
We are all lost, and Tliou alone canst save; 
A weary world, to Thy dear arm we cling. 
And hope for all a refuge “ ’neath Thy wing.”. 
As the mountains nronnil the Konigs Sea abound 
in chamois, the eagle very naturally resorts there; 
and opportunity is frequently afforded of witness¬ 
ing his tactics, modified by circumstances. The 
following account gives an instance of most cun¬ 
ning stratagem; but it also shows how impotent for 
attack the eagle is when his victim is not entirely 
exposed. A good sized chamois buck had got upon 
a ledge of rock, and was gazing downward and 
about him. as these animals like to do. An eagle 
perceived him: but as the bird could not approach 
close to the rock on account of his breadth of wing, 
he resolved to obtain the prize he had marked as 
his own in another manner. So he sailed by the 
chamois on his narrow path a3 near as he dared 
come; then again and again: and as the animal 
retreated in order to quit iiis perilous position, the 
eagle, wheeling round in a smaller circle, met him 
instantly, to hem in and cut off his retreat. By thus 
rushing past within a few feet of him. and filling 
him with terror, he hoped to bewilder the chamois, 
and cause him to fall over the precipice, in which 
case he would have lint to descend, and carry ofl his 
booty. And in fact, the chamois, Jrom trepidation 
probably, in turning a corner, slipped with one 
hind foot over the ledge. lie lost his bajance. and 
fell headlong over the rock, as the eagle intended 
that he should. But after lodging for a short time 
on an intervening slope, the carcass rolled off. and 
came toppling down into the lake. The whole pro¬ 
ceedings had been watched by two persons in a 
boat. They now rowed across to get the chamois; 
while the eagle, disappointed of his victim, wheeled 
Forest Crea- 
BY MARY J. CROSMAX 
I.v gladness we journeyed together. 
And none were so happy as we; 
Bright blossoms were nodding in beauty, 
And soft winds swept over tlie lea. 
One time to our hearts came » sorrow, 
Which, thorn-like, brought anguish and pain; 
But each wiped tlie brow of the other, 
Aud whispered of comfort again. 
True love was the magic that lightened 
The burdens each mortal must bear, 
That sweetened the dregs in the life-cup, 
Atid silvered the clouds of dull care. 
But once wfien the glories of sunset 
Their beams On our pathway had thrown, 
“ Oh, Maooik.’’ lie said, *' I must leave you 
To finish life's Journey alone. '’ 
Then, thick dosed the shadows around me, 
Atid naught could a ray of hope bring, 
Till I saw, ’mid the shadows of carthland, 
Tlie gleam of a heavenly wing. 
And now, as I look o’er the river 
That borders the bright, promised land, 
I fancy there waiteth to guide me 
A spotless, an uuerriug hand. 
Rural Seminary, East Pembroke, N. Y., 1S62. 
[Written for Moore’s Rural New-Yorker.] 
COL. PLOWHANDLE AND THE WAR, 
Dear “Col. Moore”:— And so your old friend 
and correspondent. Mr. I’uiwhaxiii.k. has really 
got among the 1 lions, and is hob-nobbing with tlie 
President, General McClellan, and the rest of 
them. Of course he bos forgotten about “ Polly 
Krea.m ” and other ordinary mortals, and lias 
enough to think of and to do, grinding out ideas for 
Messages, &o. Mercy knows 1 never would have 
said a word to him if I had dreamed he would ever 
have “riz” to be particular confidante and counsel¬ 
lor to “the powers that be,” But I hope, now he 
is there, he will be a blessing to this ill-starred 
Republic, and it be has so much influence, he and 
McClellan, and the other powers, will speedily 
put an end to the terrible sacrifice our country is 
sustaining. 
Iris a solemn thing for Col. Pi.owhanoi.e and 
all those “distinguished” men to he placed at the 
head of this great nation in these times. That wis¬ 
dom and grace may be given them to feel and act 
as true patriots, and with noble disinterestedness 
and sell-forgetfulness in the cause before them, is 
the prayer of his humble friend, 
[Written for Moore's Rural New-Yorker.] 
RELIGION. 
Reader, have you ever considered the truths of 
religion? Have you ever thought of the necessity 
and desirableness of giving your present attention 
to this important subject. Has not God’s com¬ 
mand-son. daughter, give me thy heart—often 
come to your heart with startling earnestness? 
With how many trifling excuses have you stifled 
those convictions—grieved away the Holy Spirit, 
and thought to wait until a “more convenient 
season?” nas that convenient season ever come? 
The present is ours to improve. 
Look around you? Loved ones lie in the cold 
embrace of death. The knell of the tolling hell 
rings in our ears, telling of the departure of friends 
from earth, and in language too plain to be misun¬ 
derstood, “Prepare to meet thy Gop!” Lift is 
lengthened out to us for this purpose. Shall it bo 
in vain? Shall not God’s goodness lead us to 
repentance. 
Our highest, duty, as well as our supreme happi¬ 
ness, both here and hereafter, depends upon doing 
the will of God — of concentrating our lives to 
religion. “ We each have a heaven to gain or lose.” 
Dear reader, will you not think of these things? 
Genoa, N. Y., 1862. E. O. W. 
[Written for Moore's Rural New-Yorker.] 
THE AUTHOR OF “ THE DESERTED VILLAGE 
[Written for Moore's Rural New-Yorker.] 
A LEAF FROM STONY FARM, 
Not a very poetical title, is it? But very appro¬ 
priate, nevertheless. Stones iu rows, stones in 
heaps, stones in order, aud stones in disorder. But 
underneath them the soil is rich and productive: 
like many a human heart, hard to reach, but when 
found, rich in all noble impulses, all kindly feeling. 
And who would not prefer such an one to that, 
which is outwardly fair and smooth, but worthless 
withal —whose only virtue consists in that very 
fairness? And so. after all, you perceive that our 
farm is not to be despised, even though it hath an 
humble name. And the house, though not elegant, 
is comfortable. And happy hearts it contains—that 
is, happy in the general acceptation of the term — 
for, though trouble and disappointment, have visited 
us, alike with all of earthly mold, still they have 
not bowed us to the dust; they have bent, but not 
broken. Yet even now, while 1 write, a fear dawns 
upon mo that for this seeming boast some great 
sorrow may come which will quench our smiles in 
tears—which will both bend and break. (), doubt¬ 
ing heart, canst thou not trust Him who hath said; 
“ Take no thought for tlie morrow; but let the mor¬ 
row take thought for the things of itself?”— He, 
whose love for tfa is such that He hath even died for 
us, that we might obtain that happiness which 
passeth the power of man to conceive? 
Ah! many a gleeful gathering have these vails 
witnessed, and to many a merry laugh have they 
echoed, whose cadences they never again may 
catch; for more than one who once joined us in our 
happy home, have left father, mother, all the dear 
home lies, and gone forth to battle tor their country’s 
rights. And may God, the all-seeing, ever-present, 
watch over, guide, and protect them, and eventually 
return them to the loving and waiting hearts, who 
will hail their coming with such joy 1 
Calm and pleasant is it, in the imperfect light of 
a Buinmer’s eve. to sit upon the veranda, or at one 
of the low windows, and listen to the rustling of 
the trees as the night breezes float gently through 
them, and to dream happy waking dreams. Then 
sister enters from an evening walk, and seating her¬ 
self, favors you with a lively description of some 
incident which has just transpired; and before you 
are aware of it., both llie dreaui and mood which 
produced it have taken wings and flown. 
Such is tlie vision stored away in memory's 
tablet, of Summer. But to-day — how different! 
Although it is Spring, Mother Earth has not yet 
doffed her winter habiliments. She seems to cling 
with a longing fondness to her beautiful robe of 
white. For beautiful indeed it is! Man could 
never form aught which would half equal in loveli¬ 
ness the lleeoy covering in which earth is shrouded 
to-day, so purely white, so exquisite in texture! 
And, though many arc* wishing the warm spring 
above them, watching 
hires by Charles Boner 
SURE OF THE VICTORY, 
Let us have faith! It is everything to the 
Christian, it is everything to the patriot! Though 
the fair temple of our liberty should be in ruins, 
ourselves crushed beneath the fragments, it is well. 
If our courage knew no faltering, our patriotism no 
alloy, if daring to die. and willing to die for the 
truth and the right, we left our record untarnished, 
fairer fabrics arise from our ashes, and freedom, in 
other ages and oilier climes, attest that tlie death of 
martyrs is the life of a good cause. There is no 
such tiling as defeat lor those who battle for the 
right: living or dying, they are victorious: for the 
spirit, that takes its flight from the contested field 
shall animate new legions and return to the charge 
invincible. 
Our own Washington and Warren, LaFayette 
and Kosciusco, Hampden and Sydney, Leonidas 
and Tell, whether defeated or victorious, whether 
slain in battles or crowned with laurels, are to this 
day, and for all time, the leaders of freedom’s hosts. 
Go forth, then, and know that you are a victor, it 
you but do and flare.—Hugh T. Brooks'lecture on 
the Doom of Despotism. 
George 13. Prentice is. perhaps, best known as 
a wit, and punster, and political writer. But from his 
facile pen flow also the sentimental and the beauti¬ 
ful. Some years have passed since we laid aside his 
description of the “broken-hearted,” hut it has lost 
neither its freshness nor its beauty: 
“About two years ago 1 took up my residence for 
a few weeks in a country village in the eastern part 
of New England. Soon after my arrival I became 
acquainted with a young lady, apparently about 
seventeen year> of age, She had lost the idol of her 
heart’s purest love, and the shadows of deep and holy 
memories were resting like the wing of death upon 
her brow. 
I first met her in the presence of the mirthful. 
?he was, indeed, a creature to be admired; her brow 
was garlanded by the young year’s sweetest flowers, 
and her sunny tresses were hanging beautifully and 
low upon her bosom, and she moved through the 
crowd with such floating, unearthly grace, that the 
bewildered gazer looked almost to see her fade away 
into the air, like the creation of a pleasant dream. 
She seemed cheerful and even gay, yet 1 saw that 
her gayety was but the mockery of her feelings, She 
smiled, hut there was something in her smile which 
told me that its mournful beauty was but the blight 
reflection of a tear, and her eyelids at times pressed 
heavily down, as if struggling to repress the tide of 
agony that was bursting up from her heart's secret 
urn. She looked as if she could have left tlie scene 
offeslivity, and gone out beneath the quiet stars, and 
laid her forehead down upon the fresh green earth, 
and poured out her stricken soul, gush after gush, 
till it mingled with the eternal fountain of purity 
and life. 
1 have lately heard that the young lady of whom I 
have spoken is dead 
A DOLOROUS DEACON 
I have seen a deacon in the pride of his humanity, 
Ho combed bis hair straight, and looked studiously 
at the. main chance; and while he looked, he em¬ 
ployed himself in setting a good example. Iiis 
dress was rigidly plain, and his wife was not 
indulged in ihe vanities of millinery and mantua- 
making. lie never joked; he did not know what a 
joke was any further than to know that it was a sin. 
He carried a Sunday face through the week. He 
did not mingle in the happy social parties of his 
neighborhood. He was a deacon. He starved his 
social nature because he was a deacon, lie refrained 
from all participation in a free and generous life 
because he waa a deacon. He made his children 
hate Sunday localise he was a deacon, lie so 
brought them up that they considered themselves 
unfortunate In being tlie children of a deacon. Iiis 
wife was pitied by other women because she was 
the wife of a deacon. Nobody loved him. If he 
came into a circle where men were laughing or tell¬ 
ing stories, they always stopped until he went out. 
Nobody grasped his hand cordially, or slapped him 
on the shoulder, or spoke of him as a good fellow. 
He seemed as dry and hard and tough as a piece of 
jerked beef. There was no softness of character — 
no juiciness —no loveliness in him. 
Now it is of no use for me to undertake to real¬ 
ize to myself that God admires such a character 
as this. 
Nature versus Custom. — The author of “Self- 
Formation” does not without cause read his philip¬ 
pic against custom as opposed to and thwarting 
nature: 
Tlu* ordinary nature of the child is the corruption 
of the mam We are ruined, the most of us, spoiled 
to the heart’s core, by being cradled, and swathed, 
and nursed up in the artifices of society, instead of 
being left awhile to the freedom of our will, and 
our own proper yearnings and aspirations. We are 
taken perforce from the bosom of our kind mother, 
Nature, and put out to a dry nurse—to the hard, 
hackneyed old hag, Worldly Custom. Hence, a 
wrong bias, a oravingness lor ill food, a restlessness, 
a distortion, a perversion, a thorough depravity. 
Hence, to crown all, an early mannishness, and 
by sure consequence a late dwarfishnoss of mind. 
It the blossom be set, and the disposition be fixed 
over-soon, what have we for fruit but crabbedness, 
canker, and stuntedness? How shall the potter 
fashion forth a vessel of honor from the clay, if it be 
hardened ere it come to hand? It must he softened 
in indulgence before it can be strengthened for real 
service. 
large quantity ol them. 
never 
thinking, until he had sent them off, that he had 
paid out all his traveling money, so he was obliged 
to forego his journey. 
Among Goldsmith’s many friends was the great 
lexicographer, Johnson, who defended him against 
all attacks of his more thoughtless companions. 
Goldsmith had such a childlike simplicity and was 
so little skilled in the ways of the world, that he 
was constantly committing blunders which made 
him appear ridiculous in the eyes of his associates. 
Though he had many friends, lie died broken 
hearted; there was but one, and he the son of a 
friend, who followed him to tlie grave as mourner. 
Martha J. Smith. 
Rural Seminary, East Pembroke, N. Y., 1862. 
Trials Needful to Purification.— “ I remem¬ 
ber,” says Whitfield, “some years ago, when I was 
at Shields, 1 went into a glass house; and, standing 
very attentive, I saw several masses of burning 
glassofvarious forms. The workman took a piece of 
glass and put it into one furnace, then he put it into 
a second, and then iuto a third. 1 said to him, 
* Why do you put this through so many fires?’ He 
answered, ‘ 0, sir, the first was not hot enough, nor 
tlie second, and therefore we put it into a third, and 
that will make it transparent.’” This furnished 
Mr. Whitfield with a useful hint, that we must be 
tried and exercised with many fires, until our dross 
be purged away, and wo are made fit for the owner’s 
use .—Select Miscellanies. 
The close of her life was calm 
as the falling of a quiet stream, gentle as the sinking 
of the breeze that lingers for a time round a bed of 
withered roses, and then dies for very sweetness. 
It can not, be that earth is man’s only abiding- 
place. It can not lie that one life is a bubble cast up 
by the ocean of eternity, to float a moment upon its 
surface, and then sink into nothingness and dark- 
I ness forever. Else why is it that the high aspirations 
which leap like angels from the temple of our hearts 
are for ever wandering abroad unsatisfied? Why is 
it that the rainbow and the cloud come over us with 
a beauty that is not of earth, and then pass off and 
leave us to muse on their faded loveliness? Why 
is it that the stars which hold their festival around 
the midnight throne are set above the grasp of our 
limited faculties, and forever mocking us with their 
unapproachable glory? And, finally, why is it that 
bright forms of human beauty are presented to the 
view and then taken from us, leaving the thousand 
streams of the affections to flow back in an Alpine 
torrent upon our hearts’? 
We are horn for a higher destiny than that of earth. 
There is a realm where the rainbow never fades, 
where the stars will lie spread out before us like the 
islands that slumber on the ocean, and where the 
beautiful beings that here pass before us like visions 
will stay in our presence forever.” 
Home Music.—We take it to be true, that wher¬ 
ever you hoar a good deal of music in a house, that 
dwelling is tenanted by a “happy family.” If you 
hear a domestic going gleefully about her work, and 
lightening her labors with a song, you may take it 
for granted that she has neither a discontented tem¬ 
per nor a scolding mistress. Girls that “don’t like 
their places,” are far more likely to go moping and 
grumbling about the house than to hum a pleasant 
ditty or carol a roundelay. Then if you hear the 
“ young ladies of the house,” without the accompan¬ 
iment, of the piano, trilling a popular air or a merry 
catch, you may be sure they are light-hearted and 
happy, and as good as they are cheerful. And what 
stronger proof of happiness all around can there be 
than the evening social concert, when old and young, 
male and female, make melody with their voices as 
in their hearts? In some houses the very purring 
of the cat is “musical, most musical,” while the war¬ 
bling of a canary bird is sweeter far than the most 
dulcet of operatic voices. Aud the great recom¬ 
mendation of home music is that it is cheap as well 
as joy-speaking and joy-inspiring. 
Suitose that when the Savior had put his hands on 
the blind man’s eyes twice, and he had begun to see, 
a professor of astronomy had come to him, and 
said, “ What do you know about optics'? What 
do you know about astronomy?” The man would 
have said, “Nothing at all; for I never had 
the use of my eyes till now.” It would be just as 
reasonable to suppose that a man who was born 
blind would understand optics the moment his 
blindness was cured, as to suppose that a man who 
has lived a life of sin will be rich in Christian 
attainments when he is first converted. When a 
man receives his spiritual sight he begins to see, aud 
he may be expected to see a great deal before he 
gets through; but his experience in seeing is very 
limited at first.— Beecher. 
[Written for Monr$'s Rural New-Yorker.] 
BEAUTY AT SECOND SIGHT, 
Fancy Dreams of a Young Lady,— Some young 
ladies regard marriage as a fairy land, where violets 
and roses perpetually blossom—where the cedar tree 
and the cinnamon tree ever flourish—where the 
waters of tranquility and sweetness ever flow. Tell 
them there are thistles and briers in that state, 
though they do not contradict, yet they do not 
credit you; for they believe that their love, their de¬ 
votedness for each other, will exempt them from the 
cares, the vicissitudes, the anxieties, which generally 
pertain to humanity. All lovers before marriage 
conceive their destiny will lie an exception to the 
general rule. Could you give, them a sketch of the 
pages in their future history, they would not believe 
a word; they would set you dowu as a misanthrope, 
a painter of gloomy and unnatural scenes, an inim¬ 
ical represser of t he hopes and aspirations of youth. 
The dark spot which the telescope ot your experi¬ 
ence might disoover. they would regard but as shad¬ 
ows or molehills in the moon. If they would but 
reflect a little, how much misery they might avoid. 
Tbe family circle is a divinely constituted rela¬ 
tion, ordained in infinite wisdom for the highest 
and best of purposes. The love implanted in the 
heart of the parent, and the principle, of subjection 
impressed upon the mind of the child, constitute 
two links in a chain of influences that reach from 
the cradle to the grave. 
Excellent Definition of good Manners.— 
A writer in the Atlantic thus describes tv hat we are 
always theorizing about:—“ The world has always 
been charmed with tine manners, and why should 
it not? For what are fine manners but this: to 
carry your soul on your lip. in your eye. in the 
palm of your hand, and yet to stand not naked, 
but clothed by your individual quality — visible, 
yet inscrutable—given to the hearts of others, yet 
contained in your own bosom—nobly and humanely 
open, yet duly reticent and secured from invasion. 
Polished manners often disappoint us: good man¬ 
ners never. The former may lie taken on by indi¬ 
gent souls; the latter imply a noble and opulent 
nature.” 
with the beauty of his features and his manly bear¬ 
ing, we call him beautiful. But should we chance 
to meet the same person un another occasion, see 
him cast a contemptuous glance upon one whom 
fortune had not favored as much as himself, and 
observe the haughty and almost insolent spirit in 
which he replies when spoken to. we would say to 
ourselves. “ That young man impressed us quite 
favorably at first, but upon a second sight we are 
much disappointed in him.” On the contrary, a 
person of very plain personal appearance, even ap¬ 
proximating to homeliness, may look disagreeable 
to us; hut an after acquaintance will disclose the 
fact that lie possesses those traits of character which 
compose real beauty. 
Thus we see there are two kinds of beauty; the 
one attracts our attention at first, and the other ip 
beauty at second sight, I recently met in the street 
two youngladies with whom I had a slight acquaint¬ 
ance. and whom I considered very prepossessing, 
and spoke to them in a friendly manner, when, to 
my surprise, a scornful look and a bow of the head 
just enough to be perceptible, were the only answer 
to my remarks. Dow differently f have thought of 
them since? They are among the number who do 
not possess beauty at second sight. It must be 
obvious to every one which kind of beauty is the 
BeautifulLegend.— There is a beautiful legend 
illustrating the blessedness of performing our duty 
at whatever cost to our own inclinations. A beau¬ 
tiful vision of our Savior had appeared to a monk, 
and in silent bliss be was gazing upon it. The hour 
arrived in which it was his duty to feed the poor of 
tbe convent. He lingered not in his cell to enjoy 
the vision, but left it to perform his humble duty. 
When he returned, he found the blessed vision still 
waiting for him, and uttering these words, “Hadst 
thou staid, I must have fled.” 
Peace. —Peace is better than joy. Joy is an un¬ 
easy guest, and always on tiptoe to depart. It tiros 
and wears us out, aud keeps us ever fearing that the 
next moment it will he gone. Peace is not so —it 
comes more quietly, it stays more contentedly, and 
it never exhausts our strength, nor gives us one 
anxious forecasting thought. Therefore, lei us pray 
for peace. 
- - » i » « ♦ ~ 
It shows the power of Christ’s blood, when it 
gives peace in an hour of trouble—when it can 
make happy in sickness, poverty, persecution, and 
death. Do not be surprised if you suffer; hut glo¬ 
rify God. 
The Art of Laughing. — The man that laughs 
is a doctor without a diploma; his face does more 
good in a sick room than a bushel of powders or a 
gallon of bitter draughts. People are always glad 
to see him—their hands instinctively go half tvay 
out to meet his grasp, while they pirn luvoluntarily 
from the clammy touch of the dyspeptic who speaks 
on the groaning key. IIo laughs you out of your 
faults, while you never dream of being offended with 
him; and you kuow not what a pleasant world you 
are living in, until he points out the sunny streaks 
on its pathway. 
