that, I couldn't help wondering if you weren't some 
relation of Mr. Shaw. You know what a time 
he had, don't you? 
and hare been for a long time, dis- 
describe, and a thousand voices that fill the soul 
with heaven-born melodies—that the placid lake, 
reposing in its mantle of blue and reflecting from 
its pure bosom the clear canopy of heaven 5 the 
glorious sunset of the year, when the dying sum¬ 
mer, more beautiful in death, makes the forests 
blush with her parting kiss—the autumn sunsets, 
hung like golden banners from the battlements of 
heaven; and the star-gemmed vault above, when 
the sleepy sentinels in their silent virgils over the 
tomb of day keep winking all night long, never 
fail to fill the soul with delightful emotions; yet it 
cannot be denied that nature is the true source of 
literal poetry; and indeed so close is their alliance 
that they together form the jewel-clasp that binds 
humanity to heaven. 
In the very influence of poetry there is a power 
which induces man to avail himself of those high 
prerogatives which exalt him to companionship 
with angels and fill his soul with an etherial pres- 
sence to which belong undecaying raptures and 
the tone of a god-like force. It unseal- the foun¬ 
tains of love and charity, those inestimable treas- 
[ ures of the soul, and by alleviating tie sorrows, 
augmenting the pleasures, and gilding with the 
light of fancy tho stern realities of life, it renders 
the world a paradise and peoples it with beings 
from the argent realms of imagination, It fiilsthe 
soul with all those high hopes and aspirations which 
lead it. to aspire to the beautiful and true, and lends 
it wiDgs to soar to the Mount of Parnassus and quaff 
the pure waters irom the fount, of Castalia. It leads 
the mind to contemplate all that is sublime in na¬ 
ture, or grand in human enterprise, and in the ideal 
kingdom of faucy it erects palaces of pleasure for 
the soul to occupy, whose halls are illumined by the 
fires of passion and furnished by the tasteful hand 
of imagination. 
To him who worships at the vestal shrine of 
poetry, her presence is an agency of joy. and in its 
soft effulgence *• his soul lies strewn on its flowery 
desires, while from the fountains of ideal loveliness 
flows softly over it the rich, warm luxury of the 
fancy’s passion.” She fills his son! with that 
I, too, am 
gtiBled with the Lillies, Minnies and Etties, the 
Hark vs, Herberts and Adolphs. Why can’t we 
have substantial Samvels and IIkzekiahs? 
I can truthfully say with you, that I neither chew 
nor drink. I’ll say more than this. 1 would not 
“spoil ray pretty face” with lily white and vermil¬ 
ion. if 'twas so black one would think i; had been 
“covered with soot from the bottomless pit;” nor 
marry a man that, chewed or drank, if I had to sit 
on the top of the North Pole and freeze ten million 
years; nor sue a roan for breach of promise if I had 
to go and keep house for Pluto himself, 
L i-fly. in the fourteenth place, let me ask you a 
question or two. Why do young men. in a promis¬ 
cuous assemblage, seek out and pay their compli¬ 
ments to little bundles of nonsense, made up of 
paint and ribbons, curl papers aud mWinerish ap¬ 
pendages, with just brains enough to give vent to 
exquisite giggles, say “yes” to everything, and go 
into hysterics If they meet a stray mouse, instead of 
showing their preferences for high-souled, intelli¬ 
gent, educated women, if they havn't “peach-blow” 
complexions or a milled silk? Why don’t all able- 
bodied men, who can if they would, instead of cut¬ 
ting off a finger or skedaddling, (remember that is a 
classical expression,) enlist , and show to their coun¬ 
try, in her peril, thatshehas patriots still living who 
are willing to lay aside (lie pen for the sword? 
I have the honor to be, sir, 
Very sensibly yours, 
Minnie Mintwood. 
Alfred University, Alleg. Co., N. Y., 1862. 
[Written for Moore's Rural New-Yorker.] 
BEAUTIFUL FEET —LITTLE HATTIE 
[Written for Moore’s Rural New-Yorker. 
WHEN I WOULD DIE. 
BY 9AREPTA M, IRISH HENRY 
BY EIIiA JIEDDIC. 
I.v poisonous dens, whom traitors hide 
Like bats that fear the day, 
While all tile land our charters claim 
Is sweating blood and breathing flame 4 
Dead to their country's woe and shame, 
The recreants whisper Stay ! 
In peaceful homes, where patriot fires 
On Love's own altars glow. 
The mother hides her trembling fear, 
The wife, the sister checks a tear 
To breathe the parting word of cheer, 
Soldier of Freedom, Go! 
In halls where Luxury lies at ease, 
Aud Mammon keeps his state, 
Where flatterers fawn and menials crouch 
The dreamer, startled from his couch. 
Wrings a few counters from his pouch. 
And murmurs faintly, Wait ! 
In weary camps, on trampled plains 
That ring with fife and drum, 
The battling host, whose harness gleams 
Along the crimson-flowing streams, 
Calls, like a warning voice in dreams, 
We want yon, Brother I Comb ! 
Choose ye whose bidding ye will do— 
To go, to wait, tv stay ' 
Sons of tlio Freedom-loving town. 
Heirs of the Father's old renown, 
The servile yoke, the civic crown 
A waif your choice, To-Day ! 
The stake is J^id O, gallant youth, 
With yet unsilvered brow, 
If Heaven should lose and Hell should win. 
On wh^rn sbalHie the mortal sin, 
Whose record is. It miyht have been ? 
God calls you—answer NOW. 
BEAVTinu. eekt! 
Small aud dainty, but very fleet, 
Shod with the morning sunshine, 
Bathed with the morning dew, 
Making the sweetest music 
As in und uut they flew— 
Out, and away o'er the valley. 
Up by the hill side spring, 
Bearing about our treasure, 
The dearest and loveliest thing. 
Oh, the glow of the sunshine was richer 
Wherever her footsteps fell, 
And all things rare and lovely 
Acknowledged her magical spell. 
Beautiful lips I 
Touched by the morning's finger tips, 
Asking the strangest questions, 
Singing the sweetest strain— 
How often we pause and listen, 
Waiting to hear it again 
Calling the name- of the household 
Lovingly, day by day, 
Tenderly naming them over— 
The dear ones far away. 
All sounds were sweeter blended 
With the richness of her tone— 
Beautiful lips’, their music 
Forevermore hath flown. 
Beautiful eyes! 
Filled with the light of Paradise, 
Dark with their depth of meaning, 
Like a deeply bedded well, 
Where only the lights of heaven 
In softest glory dwell. 
Alas! that the beauty should vanish 
From anything so divine. 
That the lip should lose its laughter 
And the eye should cease to shine. 
Beautiful feet: 
Walkiug forever the golden Street, 
Shod with the fadeless sunshine, 
Bathed in the living stream 
Whose waves of crystal beauty 
Have brightened many a dream. 
Beautiful lips, that are singing 
A tenderer, sweeter strain— 
In the glorious land of immortals 
Its music shall thrill us again. 
Beautiful eyes, whose glory 
No sorrow can ever pale, 
That look on the face of the Father 
With never a dimming vail. 
Oh, the beauty bath risen to glory. 
Eternal and fadeless—divine ; 
The star hath been kindled in newness, 
For ever and ever to shine. 
And, passing tlie mystical river 
That rolleth so darkly between 
This land aud the country forever 
Arrayed iu perennial green, 
As we tread, with the glide of a spirit, 
Those upper-lands, blooming aud sweet, 
We shall hear the dear voice full of gladness, 
The falling of beautiful feet. 
East Homer, N. Y., 1862. 
L\ lovely, smiling, winsome June, 
When wild birds hum their gayest tune 
And beauty glows in every bower, 
From tree, and shrub, and lowly flower, 
Yc will not miss the snug I sing, 
Nor miss the faded leaves I bring ; 
When soft the winds that hasten by, 
And low and sweet the zephyrs sigh, 
Then let me die. 
At even, when purple shadows creep 
Across the green earth's quiet breast, 
And brighten, in the upper deep, 
The twinkling stars, then let me sleep ; 
While fleecy clouds of roseate hue 
Float lightly o'er the field of blue, 
And flowerets tremble with the. dew, 
I fain would die. 
Where'er through Life I sadly roam, 
Oh. let me rest, at home, sweet home ; 
Where hright birds sing, and tall trees wave, 
There make the weary one a grave ; 
Near the loved haunts where childhood played, 
The verdant mead, the flowery glade. 
In mossy dell, 'neath cooling shade, 
Let me be laid. 
Though new-found friends should prove untrue, 
And shadows darken hope's hright sky. 
They'll vanish like the morning dew 
Before the love ot friends I knew 
In youth's glad moments, void of care, 
If yo may smooth the danip'ning hair. 
And join with me in that, last prayer, 
And shed one tear of sorrow there, 
Where I am laid. 
In blooming June at home, at even, 
Then let my freed soul soar to heaven, 
Leaving all doubts, all fears behind— 
In peace with Con and all mankind ; 
So let me go. from scenes I love, 
Uuto that nobler rest above. 
Where life knows not one evening hour, 
Nor broken dream, nor faded flower— 
So let me die. 
North Hector, N. Y., 1862. 
[Written for Moore's Rural New-Yorker.] 
A TWILIGHT EE VERY. 
The shadows of evening have fallen over the 
grassy vales, and are slowly creeping up the woody 
hill-sides.—down into my heart with a feeling of 
sadness, undefined, deep shadows too are stealing. 
There arc times when we can no more throw off the 
gloom that enwraps us with its dismal folds, than 
we can cause the sun to shine at midnight, or the 
stars to sparkle at mid-day,—times when we cry in 
vain for light. We look up, but thick darkness cov- 
eretli us, we grope with outstretched hands, seeking 
a place of rest, yet finding none. The gloomy 
hours glide by, and the dark-mantled hills and lowly 
vales again appear in jeweled robes, the gift of 
night. So in the night time of trial or temptation 
we often receive the white robe of purity, which the 
dawn of hope to our longing eyes reveals; then, with 
strength renewed, we go forth in the sunlight of (he 
fragrant morning of peace, bearing with joy all 
life’s heavy burdens. 
Thus may it be with our fair Republic, so long 
our pride and boast, now, alas, baptized in the 
blood of thousands of her noble sons. Does not 
their blood 017 out from the crimsoned earth unto 
God, who will not let the evil-doer go unpun- 
ished? Oh! that this fearfully dgrk night would 
soon give place to the blessed dawn of peace. 
Every breeze bears a wail of anguish from crushed 
and bleeding hearts up to the throne of the Eternal; 
from praycrless lips go forth petitions, from eyes 
unused to tears they fall like summer rain; yet the 
fearful tide of blood rolls on, and on, bearing down 
in its course many of the noble sons of freedom, 
who from happy homes went forth to rescue our 
glorious flag from the spoilers' hands. Ah, many 
who went forth thus, with a father’s blessing, a 
mother's “Gon speed thee, my son,” are now lying 
on the far-off Southern shores, with hands idly 
clasped over hearts throbless aud cold. No loving 
sister’s hand bathed the fevered brow, no fond mo¬ 
ther breathed into the listening ear words of love 
and holy cheer, but angel bands hovering near 
caught the last precious message to friends far 
away—“7 die a Christian ,’’—then bore the freed 
spirit to realms of endless day. From out the 
gloomy depths gleams that, one bright Vital' of hope, 
Ml. * _ _ a S ii. . 3 .. _*i . 3 •» q 1 v 3 
[Written for Moore’s Rural New-Yorker.] 
PLEASURES OF POETRY. 
As the rays of tho sun from its high home, in the 
heavens, pierce the earth's surface and germinate 
the seeds concealed in Us bosom, so the refulgent 
sun of Poesy, beaming from the high heaven of in¬ 
tellectual glory, shines through the windows of the 
soul, and gilding all its chambers with a heavenly 
radiance, develops the embryo seeds of truth and 
moral sublimity. 
When the great Author of the universe created 
man, from the “dust of earth,” He placed within 
this temple-shrine of clay a spark of pure divinity, 
and stationed him at the head of the material world, 
where he appeared as a piece of perfection, which 
nothing but infinite hands could consummate, and 
the recipient of blessings which nothing but infinite 
power could bestow. But in return for these gifts, 
so bountifully conferred upon I Lis creature, lie re¬ 
quired implicit obedience to His high commands 
and a due acknowledgement of Jlis supremacy, and 
if we admit that the greatest pleasure which mortals 
can experience, is derived from devotion to the Deity, 
then we virtually acknowledge that poetry contri¬ 
butes, in a vast extent, to the attainment of this 
desideratum: for it cannot be denied that there 
exists bet ween poetry and religon an analogy of the 
most distinct character. Nay! an alliance that can 
“ God shall wipe away all tears from their eyes.” 
The expression is one of exquisite tcude.ruess and 
beauty. The poet, Burns said that be could never 
read this without being affected to weeping. Of all 
the negative descriptions of heaven there is no one, 
perhaps, that would be better adapted to produce 
consolation than this. Who is there of the human 
family that has not shed a tear? Who that has not 
wept over the grave of a friend, over his own losses 
and cares, over his disappointments, over his sins, 
over the follies, vices and woes of his fellow men? 
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 lie bowed 
again in grief! Yet this is to be the condition of 
heaven. In that world there is to be 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 of death is to draw tears of sorrow 
from the eyes. To that blessed world, when our 
eye- 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 be 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 upon 
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. 
nor cannot, fully appreciate it;. Its value who can 
tell? Jt is something, too. which is not to be ob¬ 
tained primarily, which may not be possessed only 
after having been long and laboriously sought: but 
it is freely given us. It is ours to take care of it; to 
watch and guard against anything which may im¬ 
pair it; but if it be trifled with aud carelessly 
exposed, we lose a precious jewel which all the 
wealth of India would be unavailing to restore. If 
a man realize this, how jealously will he guard this 
jewel; and, if be have lost it, how untiring are liis 
efforts, and unspairing his expense, to regain, it. 
Without if no enjoyment is complete. 
Men seek, long and earnestly, for happiness. 
They toil early and late, deprive themselves of 
many comforts, submit to many exposures; for they 
are looking forward far into the future, where the 
object of their desires—wealth or influence, or what¬ 
ever ii maybe, will have been obtained, and tbeywill 
be perfectly happy! Ask such a one if he does not 
endanger his health by this course, and the answer 
is, “Oh, no, I am UEed to it;’’ or. “I know 1 am 
working rather too hard now; but by-and-by, when 
I am rich, I shall be free from care 
his s.angune expectations, 
[Written for Moore's Rural New-Yorker.J 
LETTER TO HARRY BROWN 
University Hall, September, 1862. 
I can assure you. mei amici, that my feelings 
underwent a complete metamorphosis as I finished 
your elaborate, Yankee lied article. I bad the pre¬ 
sumption to think some one had been honest enough 
to answer my queries from experience. But no; 
you, who know nothing of them personally, attempt 
a reply by asking me a “great lot of questions” of 
which I have no experimental knowledge. I find a 
very important you occurring quite frequently in 
your letter; I don’t know whether you mean me 
simply, or the whole sisterhood of feminines. 
Speaking of a man’s getting drunk, you say “ you 
encourage us in it,” Quite true, rnauy times, I 
have seen women hand, and even urge men to 
drink wine. It always makes me shudder, and 
But, alas! for 
Nature is lenient; but. 
who dipped his pen in the fountain ot inspiration, sooner or later, she will assert her claims, and resent 
and imbued with the God-horn spirit of prophecy, the violation of her laws. Though he may live as 
foretold the advent of the Messiah and the day- long and acquire all that he desires, if health for- 
spring of Christianity — to the solemn, yet divinely sakes him, what enjoyment or happiness can he have 
beautiful style of David, the Hebrew poet of anti- while life remains? True, he may have (he highest 
quity, ascending on an angel’s wing to heaven and, degree of health and enjoyment spiritually, but I 
like the bird of morn, soaring out of sight amid the am speaking of the health physically. Since, then, 
music of his grateful piety. it is so essential to life, why will its possessors be so 
But why need we multiply illustrations from the heedless and seemingly unconcerned? Delight. 
sacred volume, to render this connection more ob- Medina, N. Y., 1862. 
vlous? for who that has ever realized the faintest “ 
breathings of poetry has not fell that it engenders STRONG CHARACTERS. 
in the mind the finest conceptions of the goodness c _ < , . , „ . ‘ . 
3 Strength of character consists of two things — 
and grandeur of the Infinite. In the halcyon days _ r ... , , ® 
„ . . , . . ,, . . J ,r power of will and power of self-restraint. It re- 
of childhood it throws a halo ol beauty over the J ,,, e . . , 
... , , . . , .. .... quires two things, therefore, for its existence—strong 
material world, and leads the young mind in the f . ■ , ,, .- .. r 
’ r ,, . r , , , ... ., feelings and strong command over them. Now it is 
contemplation of the great God of Nature, until it , 0 . , . . . 
...r., . b e .. .. . , here we make a great mistake: we mistake strong 
is lost in the vastness of its own conceptions; but .. ,. „ . . b , , . . , * 
„, . . . , .. . , leelings for strong character. A man who bears all 
as it goes out year by year into the broad field of , , ,. , ~ . ,, . . . 
. . . , ; , . . . . belore him, before whose frown domestics tremble, 
intellectual advancement, and begins to compre- . , , , Pr 1 ,, .. . • 
The most common fault in public prayer is care¬ 
lessness. A well-meaning brother commences to 
pray without that careful weighing of thoughts and 
words which he would feel to be proper if he were 
about to commence a speech. He utters words 
which may be expressive of his feelings, but which 
seem to fail to arouse that sympathy and unity of 
feeling which should be manifest in a praying con¬ 
gregation. The congregation may realize that lie is 
leading in prayer, but they cannot realize it to such 
an extent as to follow him. His carelessness leads 
him into the utteranceof a succession of stereotyped 
common-place sayings, which afewinoments of care¬ 
ful thought before prayer might cause him to avoid; 
not that these stereotyped sayings may not iu them¬ 
selves be good and desirable petitions, but that 
they have fallen so often on the ears of those who 
are being led in prayer, as to lose all that life and 
earnestness which should be the characteristics of 
every prayer offered to God. 
In public prayer we cannot be too earnest; we 
cannot be too direct and pointed in our petitions; 
and we need not be afraid of making our prayers 
too short. A very common error is to spin them 
out to such a length that we may almost seem to 
think we shall be heard “ for our much speaking.” 
Notice the earnestness and directness of the peti¬ 
tions in the Lord’s prayer, the publican's prayer in 
the temple, Peter’s prayer when he was sinking, the 
prayer of the dying thief on the cross; then compare 
them with some of the long-strung prayers that we 
sometimes hear. Which is the best? 
me auurmg ana iascinarang persuasions of some 
silly, soulless, pink and white butterfly? 
As for ball-room bewilderments, I know nothing, 
—not attending such places. 1 have no time to spend 
in the development of my toe and heel qualities. 
Yes, Eve gave Adam the apple, and he ate it. 
Don’t yon honestly think that was very silly in 
Adam? I do; I wistyuen would do right, notwith¬ 
standing the Eves ad^jpARRiEs. 
So you think a woman with a quid in her mouth 
is the most horrible sight in existence? I can not 
tell you why they will chew gum, unless 'Lis from a 
desire to imitate, as far as their refined tastes will 
allow, the lords of creation. You certainly can not 
blame them for imitating their superiors/ 
I imagine you must think I know “a heap.” judg¬ 
ing from your queries. 
Query number four. “Why will women ruin 
their healths, Ac,, by tight lacing?” So you men 
will say, “What a fine figure!” “How exquisitely 
formed!’-’ If their waists were respectably large, 
you would say, (I mean ■ROM-sensible yous.) “What 
a horrid figure!” “Pity she isn’t a trifle more 
chunked!" and like expressions. That’s the way 
Empire State men talk, for I’ve heard them. No 
need to deny it, for 'tis true. 
You can not imagine my perfect consternaiion, 
when you said you weren’t acquainted in Pluto's 
dominions! I hope you may always make this 
assertion, truthful. 
Query number five. “Why will girls paint?” 
I'm Yankee, too. Why do men color their whis¬ 
kers? or, why do some dandyfied exquisites paint 
their faces? One reply might do for all— profound 
SIMPLENESS. 
Query number six. “ Why do women marry men 
who drink and chew?” Where will they find those 
who don't? Shades of’ our ancestors, what are girls 
going to do for respectable husbands? (find a grand 
young farmer .) 
A mother teaching her child to pray, is an object 
at once the most sublime and tender that the imagin¬ 
ation can conceive. Elevated above earthly things, 
she seems like one of those guardian angels, the 
companions of our earthly pilgrimage, through 
whose ministration we are incited to good and re¬ 
strained from evil. The image of the mother be¬ 
comes associated in his mind with the invocation 
she taught him to his “Father who is in heaven.” 
W hen the seductions of the world assail his youthful 
mind, that well remembered prayer to his “ Father 
who is in heaven will strengthen him to resist evil. 
When in riper years he mingles with mankind and 
encounters fraud under the mask of honesty; when 
he sees confiding goodness betrayed, generosity rid¬ 
iculed as weakness, unbridled hatred, and the cool¬ 
ness of interested friend'slur,. he Timv liii’Iefifl lie 
Time Passing, — nave you never felt an impulse 
to quarrel with time for leaving you so fast, after 
you had perhaps been impatient for some particular 
portion of it to arrive? But it would neither stay 
to be your companion, nor slacken (o receive your 
reproach. It seems to come past you for the pur¬ 
pose of stealing away your life; each hour taking 
off a share of that as its spoil. Observe how the 
ihet’t and diminution are incessantly going on. 
While you are planning, or consulting, or executing, 
While yon arc striving, or relaxing, exulting in suc¬ 
cess, or freting at failure, the one continual fact is 
— that life■ is speeding of. 
of interested friendship, he may indeed be 
tempted to despise his fellow-men; but be will re¬ 
member his “ Father who is in heaven.” 
Should he, on the contrary, abandon himself to 
the world, and allow the seed of selt-lovc lo spring 
up and flourish in his heart, he will, notwithstanding, 
sometimes hear a warning voice iu the depths of his 
soul, severely tender as those maternal lips which 
instructed him to his ‘-Father who is in heaven.” 
But when the trials of lite are over, and lie may be 
extended on the bed of death, with no other consola¬ 
tion but the peace of an approving conscience, he 
will recall the scenes of his infancy, the image of his 
mother, and with tranquil confidence will resign his 
soul to Him who died that we might live—the Re¬ 
deemer of the world. 
Tue Miner’s Cabin.— We can comprehend the 
dreariness of hours accumulating in the miner’s 
lonesome cabin down the glen. The fire burns 
cheerfully, but the sparks seem to drop like pound 
weights from the forestick. The silence outside is 
more oppressive than the. altercations of wrathfnl 
storms, in spite of his resolutions, he thinks of his 
deserted fireside, and in imagination little plain- 
faced sisters grow to the comeliness of angels, and 
she whom perhaps be has addressed unkindly, folds 
her wasted arms about him, and in the unsearcha¬ 
ble riches of a mother’s love, whispers iu the ear ot 
his heart, “ My son!”— Trinity Journal. 
A very great reason why women 
marry such men is, because they have not enough 
of the true spirit of independence to willingly 
accept the cognomen of “old maid." Men nearly 
always stick up their noses at maiden ladies of 
thirty-five, (by the way, did you ever know one as 
old as that?) and pity the poor souls because some 
one didn’t or don’t marry them. 
Query number seven. “ Why do they sue for 
breach of promise?” Miss Yankee again. Why 
don’t men fulfill their promises? When I came to 
God our Keeper.— Adam had his salvation ia 
his own hands—he could not keep it. Esau bad 
his birthright in his own hands—he could not keep 
it. The prodigal had his patrimony in his own 
hands—he could not keep it. If our soul were left 
in our own hands, we could not keep it. The world 
is a false keeper. The devil is a churlish keeper. 
The body is a brittle and inconstant keeper God 
only is the sure keeper. 
