After traveling a few miles the guide entered a 
hovel, the youth following in amazement. In the 
center of the only room, at a deal table, sat a man 
whose grizzled locks, blood-shot eyes and wrinkled 
visage gave tokens of the sway of avarice rather 
than that of time. Gold lay in heaps before him- 
and coffers filled with the same precious metal. He 
feasted his eyes, and clutched the lucre as if fearful 
it would vanish, at the same time starving body and 
soul. And this, thought the youth, is the luxury of 
wealth. They left this wretched abode, and soon 
stood before another. A castle with numerous 
battlements and port holes, through which cannons 
glistened in the sun. and sentries keeping guard, 
indicated that Power dwelt within. The guide led 
the way through lofty halls, hung with tapestry 
and covered with implements of warlaie and ances¬ 
tral portraits,until entering an ante room, the youth 
beheld the eagle eye that had awed him. He was 
pacing the room and musing thus : “ I posssess the 
adulations of millions, and power to humble the 
haughty heads of kings to the very dust at my feet. 
Beauty smiles upon me. whilst countries of the 
north and the south, the east and the west, own my 
sway ; yet I am unhappy. Danger lurks in every 
step. The concealed assassin waits but a favorable 
moment to strike at the heart he has so much cause 
to fear or envy. How gladly would I resign all 
these false honors, all this obsequiousness, for one 
hour of peace, one smile of true affection, and after 
death, instead of the waving plumes and martial 
music for the hero that's buried, one tear of sad 
regret for the spirit that’s gone." 
After contemplating this scene for a few sad mo¬ 
ments, the guide said : " Delay your decision until 
we view one more life picture.' The youth followed 
as before, wondering if happiness existed at all. 
or was a mere myth. Leaving A anity hair they 
threaded many green lanes and flowery meadows, 
when suddenly there appeared before them a mini¬ 
ature paradise — a cottage, relieved by the most 
beautiful ornament in the world, roses peeping out 
from their leafy coverts, as the eastern maiden from 
her latticed bower —merry children fro!licked on 
the emerald lawn, whilst a smiling matron, sitting 
under a tree, engaged with a hook, occasionally 
glanced with intense affection at her jewels. As 
the youth, with feelings of quiet happiness, never 
felt before, meditated the secret of this unusual 
bliss, the guide pointed at this significant motto : 
“ Contentment with Godliness, is great gain." 
a man says, to you, “ >\ ill you be my witei (ana 
that is just what every man says, who desires an 
answer to 6ueh a query,) he confers upon you the 
greatest honor in his power, and if you consent, and 
do not at the same time love him so well that your 
own self is of minor importance, in comparison with 
his, you do him the greatest wrong in your power. 
In a word, yon should love him so much, that what¬ 
ever might befall him, there will be no skrinking nor 
wavering from him. to whom you are bound by a 
bond which should elevate, purify, and strengthen 
your spiritual nature. Minnie Mintwood. 
Hilldale Farm, Tomp. Co., N'. T., 1S«2. 
[Written for Moore's Rural New-Yorker.] 
AUTUMN. 
BY J. L. M'CRKKRY 
Alas ! the summer flowers. 
The waving leaves, are gone ; 
No more the shady bowers 
Are echoing with song : 
Each naked bongh that bendeth 
Before the autumn blast. 
Unwelcome tidings sendeth. 
“ The summer time is past " 
The stars are coldly shining, 
Where late the genisil sun 
All pleasant things refining, 
Its hasty course hath run. 
The troup of merry hours 
That ushered in the morn, 
No more with quickening showers 
The joyous day adorn. 
Thus man a lesson learneth 
From every rolling year; 
Life ebbeth and retumeth 
To lay upon the bier 
Each transient thing of beauty 
That springeth from the earth ; 
For death is but a duty 
Enstamped upon its birth. 
BY WILLIAM ALL1NGHAM. 
Thkrk is no death ! The stars go down 
To rise upon some fairer shore ; 
And bright in heaven's jeweled crown 
They shine for evermore. 
There is no death The dust we tread 
Shall change beneath the summer showers 
To golden grain, or mellow fruit, 
Or rainbow tinted flowers. 
The granite rocks disorganize 
To feed the hungry moss they bear ; 
The forest leaves drink daily life 
From out the viewless air. 
There is no death ! The leaves may fall 
The flowers may fade and pass away— 
They only wait, through wintry hours: 
The coming of the May. 
There is no death 1 An angel form 
Walks o'er the earth with silent tread 
He bears our best loved things away. 
And then we call them “dead." 
He leaves our hearts all desolate— 
He plucks our fairest, sweetest flowers ; 
Trnasplanted into bliss, they now 
Adorn immortal bowers. 
The bird-hke voice whose joyous tones 
Makes glad this scene of sin and strife, 
Sings now her everlasting song 
Amid the Tree of Life. 
And where he sees a smile too bright, 
Or heart too pure for taint of vice, 
He bears it to that world of light, 
To dwell in paradise. 
Born into that undying life. 
They leave us but to come again ; 
With joy w e welcome them—the.same 
Except in sin and pain. 
And ever near us. though unseen, 
The dear immortal spirits tread ; 
For all the boundless Universe 
Is life —There are no dead! 
IIrr blue eyes, they beam and they twinkle 
Her Ups have made smiling more fair ; 
On cheek and OU brow there's no wrinkle, 
But thousands of curls in her hair. 
She's little—you don't wish her taller; 
Just half through the teeus is her age ; 
And baby or lady to call her, 
Were something to puzzle a 6age. 
ENGLISH WOMEN 
Her walk is far better than dancing ; 
She speaks as another might sing; 
And alt by an innocent chaneing, 
Like lambkins and t»irds in the spring. 
Unskilled in the airs of the city, 
She's perfect in natural grace ; 
She's gentle, and truthful, and witty, 
And ne'er spends a thought, on her face 
Her face, with the fine glow that's in it, 
Is fresh as an apple tree bloom ; 
And, O 1 when she comes, in a minute 
Like sunbeams she brightens the room 
that we western people class tinder tne name oi 
woman. She has an awful ponderosity of frame, 
not pulpy, like the looser development of our few 
fat women, but massive with solid beef and streaky 
tallow; so (hat (though struggling manfully against 
the idea) you inevitably think of her as made up of 
steaks and sirloiD?. "When she walks, her advance 
is elephautine. When she sits down, it is on a great 
round space of her Makers footstool, where she 
looks as if nothing could ever move her. She im¬ 
poses awe and respect by the muchness of her per¬ 
sonality. to such a degree that you probably credit 
her with lar greater moral and intellectual force 
than she can fairly claim. Her visage is usually 
grim and stern, not always positively forbidding, 
yet calmly terrible, not merely by its breadth and 
weight of feature, but because it seems to express so 
much well-founded self-reliance, such acquaintance 
with the world, its toils, troubles, and dangers, and 
such sturdy capacity for trampling down a foe. 
Without anything positively salient, or actively 
offensive, or, indeed, unjustly formidable to her 
neighbors, she has the effect of a seventy-four gun- 
sbip in time of peace; for. while you assure yourself 
that there is no real danger, you cannot help think¬ 
ing how tremendous would be her onset if pugna¬ 
ciously inclined, and how futile the eflort to indict 
auy counter injury. She certainly looks tenfold— 
nay, a hundredfold—better able to take care of her¬ 
self thun our slender-framed and haggard woman¬ 
kind; but I have not found reason to suppose that 
the English dowager of fifty has actually greater 
courage, fortitude, and strengtH ol character than 
our women ot similar age, or even a tougher physi¬ 
cal endurance LhaD they. Morally, she is strong, 1 
suspect, only in society, and in the common routine 
of social affairs, and would be found powerless and 
timid in any exceptional straight that might call for 
energy outside of the conventionalities amid which 
she has grown up. 
You can meet this figure in the street, and live, and 
even smile at the recollection. But couceivo of her 
in a ball room, with the bare, brawny arms that she 
invariably displays there, and all the other corres¬ 
ponding development, such as is beautiful in the 
maiden blossom, but a spectacle to howl at in such 
an over-blown cabbage-rose as this. 
Yet. somewhere in this enormous bulk there must 
be hidden the modest, slender, violet nature oi a 
girl, whom an alien mass of earthliness has un¬ 
kindly overgrown; for an English maiden in her 
teens, though very seldom so pretty as our own 
damsels, possesses, to say the truth, a certain charm 
of half-blossom, and delicately folded leaves, and 
tender womanhood shielded by maidenly reserves, 
with which, somehow or other, our American girls 
often fail to adorn themselves during an appreciable 
moment. It is a pity that the English violet should 
grow into such an outrageously developed peony as 
I have attempted to describe. I wonder whether a 
middle-aged husband ought to be considered as 
legally married to aLl the accretions that have over¬ 
grown the slenderness of his bride, since he led her 
to the altar, and which make her so much more than 
he ever bargained fori Is it not. a sounder view of 
the case, that the matrimonial bond cannot be held 
to include the three-fourths of the wife that had no 
existence when the ceremony was performed! And 
as a matter of conscience and good morals, ought 
not an English married pair to insist upon the cele¬ 
bration of a Silver Wedding at the end of twenty-five 
years, in order to legalize and mutually appropriate 
that corporeal growth of which both parties have 
individually come into possession since they were 
pronounced one flesh .?—NdthanH Hawthorns 
As taking in mind ns in feature, 
How many will sigh for her sake ; 
I wonder, the sweet little ereature. 
What sort of a wife she would make ! 
[Written for Moore's Rural New-Yorker ] 
AN ALLEGORY. 
BY ESPERANZA. 
In a far-off land, an eternal Spring causes nature 
to smile in the limpid streams, which, dancing mer¬ 
rily from rock to rock, at length lose their identity 
and mingle in one sheet of pure water—in the ver¬ 
dant carpet, which is woven so bountifully for the 
sons of men. and in the groves of golden apples, 
which not only present a beautiful sight to the eye. 
but serve as shelter to the weary traveler who en¬ 
ters this valley. One of these was a favorite resort 
of a youth, who mingled not in the merry pastimes 
of his companions, preferring the sensible pleasures 
derived from the fount of knowledge. 
One day. while reclining upon a moss-covered 
bank, with a book open before him. he mused upon 
the fortunes of men. wondering at the discontent of 
many, thinking if he only possessed their beauty, 
wealth or glory, be should be perfectly happy. 
Thus lost in thought, he was aroused by a ringiug 
laugh: upon looking up. he beheld the most beau¬ 
tiful being be had ever seen. She scarcely seemed 
a denizen of this dull earth, but rather an inhabit¬ 
ant of another sphere. The youth sat entranced 
and speechless. The fascination was complete, and 
he saw nothing but the Charmer before him. She 
spoke, and there was an added charm in ihe silvery 
tones of her voice: "Dreamy Youth, you were 
desiring Beauty, Wealth, or Power. The fairy God 
has consented to confer one upon you, and grants 
you the choice. I am the Queen of Beauty. Fol¬ 
low in my train, and you shall possess a gift that 
will procure you the love of all fair maidens, for 
who can resist Beamy? All will smile upon you. 
The wealthy will feast you, the powerful deign to 
notice you, and the old turn and bless you. Con¬ 
sider well, and the next time I appear give me your 
decision. After saying which she vanished, and 
another took her place—a person clad in the rest- 
[Written for Moore's Rural Nevr-Yorker.] 
WHAT I’D LIKE TO KNOW.—No. Ill 
THE WORD OF THE HOUR 
Under this heading the Springfield Republican 
has this sensible and seasonable discourse :—If ever 
there was an hour in the history of our country 
when the emergency demanded new hope and cour¬ 
age and cheerfulness, aud the grasping of new 
strength for the sinews of toil, that hour is the pres¬ 
ent. Not that there is any lack of determination or 
resolution, for every act and every expression bears 
the seal of both. As a people, we had learned to be 
buoyant and jovial, and hopeful. Every season 
brought its round of festivities, nor war nor any 
dark discipline had hardened the features of the na¬ 
tion. If the last thanksgiving and holiday re-unions 
were sad occasions in many homes, they were also 
bright to the. mass of the people who looked for the 
end of the sorrows before another return of the 
jubilees. But the months have swept by, winter is 
fast upon us again aud still there is the same pall 
over the land. Now then is the time to be on our 
guard against the discouragements, the suspicions, 
the doubts, the fears, the sadness which will seek to 
overpower and make us imbecile. Now, more than 
erer. is the hour for bright faces, encouraging words 
and strong hands. 
Wo. cannot afford, as a nation, thus early in our 
career to acquire the time-worn and discouraged look 
of the Eastern kingdoms, or the air ot hardened de¬ 
fiance which made the stern old Norsemen repul¬ 
sive. Such results would prove a sacrifice even 
greater than that of life. The arts, sciences, litera¬ 
ture, learning, religion — all would receive their 
impress and be depressed or hardened alike with 
the nation. No, while as individuals we may weep 
for the lost ones whom the country shall preserve 
in memory forever, as a people we should struggle 
to be cheerful, and mingle in social pleasures and 
joys as of old. 
The autumn festivals are now nearly past, and tbe 
winter evenings will soon be here, suggestive of 
their many delights. Let us uot imagine that in tbe 
omission of any ot the winter pastimes we are har¬ 
vesting good for ourselves or the country. The 
husking bees, the paring bees, the sociables, the old 
folks’ concerts, the school exhibitions, the debating 
societies, the lyceums. the lecture associations—they 
can all be used to advantage, the present season. 
Our brothers iu the field will enter the contest with 
heart and courage if they know that at 
SOCIETY AND SOLITUDE. 
Tfif.re is a certain healthy parasitic element in 
human nature. Few men, and fewer women, cau 
remain contentedly within the limits of their own 
personality. That serenely self-complacent, self- 
righteous, and self-central humanity, of which we 
hear so much from a certain class of people, has had 
scarcely ever a dead ideal or a complete living rep¬ 
resentative in tbe history of the civilized world. 
Men are perpetually growing and clinging upon 
others, and submitting to be overgrown and em¬ 
braced in their turn. Borrow aud lend, receive 
and bestow, is the silent and subtle law that makes 
even society itself possible. We sacrifice our indi¬ 
viduality to become citizens, and in the continence 
and attrition of social life the atom becomes a nu¬ 
cleus. the rough block a bas-relief, and the Derma 
an Apollo. Some men are moved to do this by their 
instinct, others by their philosophy, and all by their 
humanity. No sooner are we thrown off. as it were, 
into the universe, than we seek for points of attach¬ 
ment and centres of radiation. Home, birthplace, 
race, nationality, friends are so many external ne¬ 
cessities in maintaining our nature, identity and 
happiuess. The imagination of endless space seems 
even more 
home the loved ones are hopeful and cheerful. 
We would not advocate unnecessary and unseemly 
frolic, but would rather call upon all to join in those 
sincere and generous pleasures which, while they 
keep the heart from corroding, make clearer the 
head and put new life into the arm. W ar has 
enough of evil in itself without the additional and 
useless pining of those who are compelled to stay 
at home. Let us trust in the God of battles, who 
shall nerve our brothers to noble and successful 
contests, aud remember our own duty to keep cheer¬ 
ful. hopeful, courageous. 
Conversational Powers. — The late william 
Hazlitt, a man gifted with great powers of observa¬ 
tion and expression, was of opinion that actors and 
authors were uot fitted, generally speaking, to shine ■ 
in conversation. -Authors ought to be read and 
not heard:*' and as to actors they could not speak 
tragedies in the drawing room, and their wit was 
like comedy and farce of a second hand. The biog¬ 
raphy of men of letters, in a great measure confirms 
this opinion. Some of the greatest names in English 
and French literature* men who have filled books 
with an eloquence and truth that defy oblivion, 
were mere mutes before their fellow men. They 
had golden ingots, which, in the privacy of home, 
they could convert into coin bearing an impress 
that would insure universal currency: but they 
could uot, on the spur of the moment, produce the 
farthings current in the market-place. Descartes, 
the famous mathematician and philosopher; Lafon- 
taine, celebrated for his witty fables; and Buffon, 
the great naturalist, were all singularly deficient in 
the powers of conversation. Marmontel, the nove¬ 
list, was so dull in society that his friend said of 
him. alter an interview, “ 1 must go and read his 
tales to recompense myself for the weariness of 
hearing him."— Chambers' Journal. 
[Written for Moore's Rural New-Yorker.] 
GIRLS. —No. IV. 
a This marrying a poor man, and toiling and drudg¬ 
ing for him year in and year out. doesn't pay. I 
married to have some one to wait on me, but I found 
instead of that, I had some one to wait on.’' 
I don’t like her idea ot wed-ology. I never was a 
worshiper of the almighty dollar, and cannot see 
why she laid so much stress upon a thing of dross. 
Girls marry for money, novelty, and often for sim¬ 
ply a home —sue rarely enters wedded life with cor¬ 
rect ideas of its relations. She thinks tis a line 
thing to have a man’s pocket to draw from, not 
knowing that ’tis her duty, as well as his, to bear 
half of life’s burdens. But sadder than all, is mar- 
raying for merely a home. Better beg or starve, 
than place your soul’s happiue ss in the keeping of 
a man whom you have, so deeply wronged as to 
marry for simply a shelter! As long as there is 
the blue sky overhead for a canopy, and the earth 
beneath for a resting place, never perjure your soul 
so terribly. If girls would only be self-reliant, 
strong in their womanhood, and have confidence in 
their own capabilities for self-support, there would 
be much misery avoided. Girls have such a dread 
our friends. The antagonism is very healthy. Soli¬ 
tude and society are always endeavoring to check¬ 
mate each other, and never succeed. Men have 
secluded themselves in desert, cave and city, and 
cheated themselves into an illusive friendlessness, 
when lo. they have either made a friend of some 
entity, or transformed into a familiar for themselves 
a fawn, pigeon, or poodle! Even Jean Paul found 
his studies in the FichtelgeUrge get on better when 
he had Spite— his “dog star"—with him. and 
Goethe’s drama of Faust would be dreary enough 
without the transmigrated quadruped. 
By solitude we do not necessarily mean anything 
ascetioally extravagant, but a studious privacy or 
solitary apartment; and when we speak of society, 
we use the word in its most comprehensive sense, 
as a communion with others, be they equals or 
inferiors.In society we are puzzled to 
discriminate between acquaintances and friends; 
in solitude we make our distinctions and elec: oni 
peers. We are always in danger of being disinte¬ 
grated by one or the other. 
It ha* been well said, that to be contented with 
unbroken solitude a man must be either a wild beast 
or a god: but we should also add, that he who is 
supremely contented with society as it is, is either 
an idiot or a dolt We are nurtured and polished 
by these healthy alternations : one is necessary to 
completeness of purpose aud symmetry of charac¬ 
ter. and the other is helpful in restraining our aber¬ 
rations. recovering our practicality, and stimulating 
our intelligence. Solitude has many mirrors, in 
which, perhaps, we only repeat and magnify our¬ 
selves, and society many faces, in most of which we 
may discern the lineaments of a friend.— Eng. Rev. 
Scriptural Preaching.— We ought to reason 
with our hearers, and to prove our doctrines with. 
and not merely to address 
and affections : but our reason- 
conclusive arguments 
their imaginations 
iugs should be deduced from, or grounded on, the 
Word of God ; otherwise we shall lose ourselves in 
empty speculations, or go beyond our depth, by 
attempting discussions for which we are totally in¬ 
competent. But when we clearly open and explain 
the Scriptures, and support our conclusions by tes¬ 
timonies of Holy Writ: when we thus evideutly 
lay before men those truths, that relate to the per¬ 
son. sufferings, resurrection, and kingdom of Jesu? 
Christ: and then apply such subjects to their hearts 
and consciences by pathetic addresses: we use the 
proper means of bringing them to the obedience of 
faith and may expect to see our labors blessed to 
many souls.— l>r. T. Scott. 
The Shining Ones.— It is said that a pure dia¬ 
mond may be easily recognized by putting it under 
water, when it retains all its brilliancy, while a 
other precious stones lose their peculiar appearance. 
Thus it is with the person who is made pure in t e 
blood of Jesus. However deep the waters an., 
which overflow his soul, still his light shines, s o* 
ing the peculiar excellency of the Christian s hope, 
and the power of divine grace. Of such it may he 
truly affirmed, “Ye shine as lights m the woiId- 
holding forth the word ot life. 
Death comes to all. and the world does not need 
™„r presence so much as it needs your moral 
