luxury—more able physicians to attend and set 
him to rights—the other more health and sound¬ 
ness in bis bones, and less occasion for their help 
that, after these two articles betwixt them were 
balanced,—in all other things they stood npon a 
level;—that the sun shines as warm,—the air 
blows as fresh,—and the earth breathes as fra¬ 
grant upon the one ns the other; and that they 
have an equal share in all the beauties and real 
benefits of nature.” 
Rldicnlinsr our Imperfection*. 
Dr. Johnson, in the fourth volume of the 
“Rambler,” gives Borne wholesome advice to 
those prone to ridicule the infirmities of others, 
which we propose to give in this connection to 
close our second article of “Thoughts for Think¬ 
ers.” The Doctor says: —“He that Indulges 
himself in ridiculing the little imperfections and 
weaknesses of his friends, will in time find 
mankind united against him. The man who 
sees another ridiculed before him, though be 
may, for the present, < oneur in the general 
laugh, yet, In a cool hour, will consider the 
same trick might he played against himself: 
but when there is no sense of this danger, the 
natural pride of human nature rises against him, 
who, by general censures, lays claim to general 
superiority.” 
everyday life, may be made beautiful by an ap¬ 
preciation of its very homeliness. You know 
that if the floor is clean, manual labor has been 
performed to make it so. You know that if you 
can take from your drawer a clean shirt when¬ 
ever you want it, somebody’* fingers have ached 
in the toll of making it so fresh and agreeable, 
so smooth and lustrous. Everything that pleases 
the eye and sense have been produced by constant 
work, much thought, great care and untiring 
efforts bodily and mentally. 
I tell you what, men, young and old, If you 
did but show an ordinary civility toward that 
common article of house-keeping, your wives ; 
if you gave the one hundredth and sixtieth part 
of the compliments you almost choked them 
with before you were married; if you would 
cease to speak of their faults, however banter- 
lugly, before others, fewer women wonld seek 
for other sources of happiness than your cold so- 
so-iflh affection. Praise your wife, then, for all 
the good qualities she has, and you may rest 
assured that her deficiencies are fully counter¬ 
balanced by you own.— Exchange. 
Written tor Moore's Rural New-Yorker 
GONE BEFORE US. 
THE LOST CHORD 
Written tor Moore’s Rural New-Yorker 
TO A FRIEND. 
BT CLIO BTAKLET, 
Seated one day at the organ, 
I was weary and ill at ease, 
And my fingers wandered idly 
Over the noisy keys. 
I do not know what I was playing, 
Or what I was dreaming then; 
But I struck one chord of music 
Like the sound of a great amen. 
It flooded the crimson twilight. 
Like the close of an Angel’s Psalm, 
And it lay on my fevered spirit 
With a touch of Infinite calm. 
It quieted pain and sorrow. 
Like love overcoming strife. 
It seemed the harmonious echo 
Prom our discordant life. 
It linked all perplexed meanings 
Into one prefect peace, 
And trembled away into silence 
As if it were loth to cease. 
I have eotight, but seek it vainly, 
That one lost chord divine, 
That came from the soul of the organ 
And entered Into mine. 
It may be that death’s bright angel 
Will speak In that chord again, 
It may be that only in heaven 
I shall hear that grand Amen! 
Thebe are forms that lean beside us, 
Half in hope and half in fear, 
Forms we’ve loved in by-gone hours, 
Honrs that memory has made dear; 
Often through the misty twilight, 
Oft beneath the midnight rain. 
In the solemn silence ’round ns 
We behold tboec forms agaiD, 
And oar heart-throbs break the silence 
Half in pleasure half In pain. 
One is here, with white locks drifting 
Over brow of faith serene, 
And we almost deem the smile, that 
Breaks his eyes and ours between, 
To be real, ’till the darkness 
Snatches back our blissful hope,; 
And we still, with fait’ring footsteps, 
Walk adown life’s shadowy slope, 
Watching for the daylight’s dawning 
When the golden gates shall ope. 
Still another comes before us 
With a gentle gleam of grace, 
And we watch, with anxious faces, 
As the years draw on apace, 
For some token that the mother’s 
Love is not forgotten quite. 
For some glimmer of the morning 
In these waiting hours of night, 
For assurance of Act presence 
In the comiDg days of light. 
And the little one that only 
Blessed our vision for a time, 
And then fled with baby footsteps 
To that far-off blessed clime; 
Who some few days nestled to us 
With soft cheek pressed to our breast, 
And then plumed the angel pinions 
For their flight from out our nest, 
To the bowers of fadeless beauty 
Where the tired one# may rest 
Long the violets have blossomed 
Over those sweet country graves, 
Yet each night my heart longs for them, 
Their more real presence craves: 
But ’tis only when the drowsy 
Spell of sleep lies on tny eyes, 
And sweet Memory is guarded 
By repose from rude surprise, 
That their forms lean down beside me 
With a love that never dies. 
Philadelphia, Pa. 
When ail the world looks dark and drear to thee, 
And hopes and joys have turned to sorrow— 
When friends have laded like the locust tree. 
The glorious present for to-morrow— 
Bubbling pleasures floating down the tide 
Of life’s re«i*tlc*«, onward rolling stream, 
That only wait thy grasp, to lay aside 
Their gaudy plumage like a fitful dream: 
When the snows of life’s winter round thee sift 
Their frozen flakes with cold nnd chilling blasts, 
Flung out upon the night, the dreary drift 
Of the trackless shivering earth, it casts 
Its palling gloom around thy lovely form— 
Reflect, within this bosom lies a heart 
That beats with thine amid the howling storm, 
And fain would bid thy sorrow* nil depart. 
Alike, when life i* fuirly full of blis*. 
And the radiance of one happy smile, 
Would make the gentle zephyr stoop aud kies 
Thy lips that breathed of heaven the while ; 
As sweet wild-wood flower* of blue and gold, 
Their honeyed treasures round thee fling, 
And all the sweet, forget-me-nots, unfold 
Their dewy eye* -moss roses in the spring; 
While all the glided leaves of summer life, 
Their richest gems of living thought shall pour 
Into thy most rapturous seal, whose strife 
Has only made thy spirit brave to soar, 
Where stars in boundless blue forever shines; 
Remember then, my firm, true, loving friend, 
The mind of him who wrote to you these lines, 
Would wish thy happiness might never end. 
Branchport, N. Y., Jan,, ’60. 
POETRY IN UNDRESS. 
Ax English paper which rejoices in the name 
Ladies’ Own, thus plays tricks with rhyme and 
reason “ It .la many years since 1 fell in love 
with Jane Jerusha Skcggs, the handsomest coun¬ 
try girl by far, that ever went on legs. By 
rneudow creek, and wood and dell, so often did 
we walk, and the moonlight smiled on her 
melting lips, and the night winds learned our 
talk. Jane Jerusha was ull to me, for my heart 
was young and true, and loved with a double 
twisted love, and a love that was honest too. I 
roamed all over the neighbor’s farms, and I 
robbed the wildwood bowers, and tore my 
trousers and scratched my hands in search of 
choicest flowers. In ray joyous love I brought 
these to my Jerusha Jane; but wouldn’t be so 
foolish now, If I were a boy again. A city chap 
then came along, all dressed up in fine^clothes, 
with a shiny hat aud a shiny vest, and a mous¬ 
tache under his nose. He talked to her of sing¬ 
ing schools (for her father owned u farm,) aud 
she left me, the country love, and took the new 
chap’s arm. And all that night 1 never slept, 
nor could I eat the next day, for I loved that 
girl with a fervent love that naught could drive 
away. I strove to win her back to me, but It 
was all in vain; the city chap with the hairy lip 
married Jerusha June. And iny poor heart was 
sick and sore until the thought struck me, that 
just as good fish still remained as ever was 
caught lu the sea. 8o I went to the Methodist 
church one night, and saw a dark brown curl 
peeping from under a gipsy hat, and I married 
that very girl. And many years have passed 
and goue, aud I think my loss their gaiu; and 
I often bless that hairy chap that stole Jerusha 
Jane.” 
TALKING AND WRITING. 
To talk welland to write well, arc quite dis¬ 
tinct accomplishments, although they are some¬ 
times found united to a high degree in the same 
individual. Often, however, it is quite, other¬ 
wise. Poor (ioldsmith occurs as a familiar 
example. The observations he let fall in com¬ 
pany with his literary colleagues, were so noto¬ 
riously flat and pointless as to provoke the 
remark that he wrote like an angel, aud talked 
like poor Poll. Other great talkers, famous 
wits, have written so little that their reputation 
rests on bomuots and anecdotes recorded by 
others. But even when a great talker is also a 
great writer, It is rarelv through his own remains 
that, we appreciate his conversational abilities. 
We owe that privilege to the bauds of camp- 
followers who pick clean the bones of deceased 
celebrities. Johnson’s reputation In this respect 
owes more to Boswell than it did to himself. 
The unreported talker shares the lute of the 
singer; after his departure from the scene his 
fame remains a matter of faitli and tradition 
which people believe In because their fathers 
have told them so, but the proof of which is 
forever silenced. 
Written for Moore’s Rural New-Yorker. 
THOUGHTS FOR THINKERS-NO. II, 
Written for Moore's Rural New-Yorker, 
CLARA HALL’S OPINION. 
BY BELL CLINTON. 
in proportion to his thoughts. He selects, as a 
general thing, that, language which will convey 
his ideas in the most explicit and direct manner. 
He tries to crowd as much thought as possible 
into as few words as he can. But on the con¬ 
trary, the man who talks everlastingly and 
promiscuously—who seems to have an exhaust* 
less magazine of words—instead of crowding 
thoughts into his words, crowds so many words 
into his thoughts that he always obscures, and 
very frequently entirely conceals them. Some 
time ago it was said by Cotter— “ An era is 
fast approaching, when no writer will be read 
by the great majority, save and except those 
who can effect that for bales of manuscript, 
that the hydrostatic screw performs for bales of 
cotton, by condensing that mutter into a period 
that before occupied a page.” That is a truism 
well conceived by Cotter, for that era has now 
arrived. 
Idlers. Bores, and Business Meu. 
Nothing is more unpleasant for us than to 
see a merchant., a mechanic, a manufacturer, 
or a stock-keeper, who finds It necessary to be 
actively and constantly exployed during business 
hours, to be annoyed day after day by Idlers or 
triflers, who cannot take u gentle hiht, or who 
will not sec that it is impossible to work and 
play at the same time. Many of the idlers that 
daily visit our workshops and places of business 
are harmless and unmeaning fellows, and fancy 
| that they are really entertaining in tlielr conver- 
They forget to remember, however, that 
headed widomr, —toothless, too —with lots ot 
children oldc.r’u you ! Pshaw on your nonsense, 
Clara. Hall ; you talk with just no sense at 
all.” 
“But mind, I did’nt call him old, — that 
would’ nt answer; Not I mean one haudsome, 
noble, fair —with splendid eyes, dark, wavy hair, 
and teeth with pearl-drops to compare,— ’ bout 
thirty-five or so.” 
“ Well, well, if I ain’t fairly beat, to hear your 
silly notions, I thought that handsome Billy 
Flint was paying his devotions to one Miss 
Clara ; but I guess, if he should hear you 
talkin’, he’d take his hat amazin’ <*mck aud set 
himself a walkin’. I’d rather sot my heart on 
Bill ; for he is wondrous clever, and if you go 
to jilting him, I won't forget it, ever. 
“ But aunt, sure as the light of day, I am in 
earnest when I say, 1 think the second gets at ten¬ 
tion, of which no first wife can make mention. 
“Now, Clara! don't you talk to me — first 
love is always strongest; it certainly will wear 
the best, and I know it lasts the longest.” 
So said aunt Fanny, meantime thinking of 
long ago, when stars were blinking, and uncle 
BOOKS IN OLDEN TIMES 
Written for Moore’s Rural New-Yorker 
LOVE, HERE AND HEREAFTER. 
Before the ^irt of printing, books were so 
scarce that ambassadors were sent from France 
to Home to beg one copy of Cicero’s works, and 
another of Quintlllian’s, because a complete 
copy of these works was not to be found in all 
France. Albert Abot of Gemblours, with in¬ 
credible labor and expense, collected a library 
of one hundred nnd fifty volumes, and this was 
considered a wonder Indeed. In 1494 the library 
of the Bishop of Winchester contained parts of 
seventeen hooks on various subjects; and, on 
borrowing a Bible from the Convent of Swithin, 
he had given a heavy bond, drown up with great 
solemnity, to return it uninjured. When a book 
was purchased, It was an affair of such conse¬ 
quence that persons of distinction were called 
together as witnesses. Previously to the year 
11400, the library of the University of Oxford 
consisted only of a few tracts, which were care¬ 
fully locked up in a small chest, or else chained, 
lest they should escape; and at the commence¬ 
ment of the thirteenth century, the Royal library 
of France contained only four classics, with a 
few devotional works. 
Recently I have had my first near view of 
death since a child. I remember how, then, see¬ 
ing dimly through tears, I thought I saw the 
spirit of a darling little sister ascend to be an 
angel. But now the friend was a man, and by 
his side stood the wife whom he had won in the 
strength of his manhood, and whom he had loved 
with ever-increasing tenderness. 
It was beautiful to see in that terrible struggle 
how, even after his eyes had seen their last of 
earthly light, he used his last remaining strength 
to give her one more token of affection. Tell 
me not that a love so strong in death can fail to 
find Us full fruition in the better land;—for I am 
convinced that all through the Divine word we 
are told to love one another so that we may 
go on loving to all eternity. 
But chiefly will our love overflow to that 
Friend who enables us to find such rich consola¬ 
tion even In the deepest sorrow, and who has 
prepared for us 8ueh abounding joy iu Heaven. 
Great Expectations. — A husband (himself 
perfect, of course,) thus sketches what he 
dreams he deserves:—“A woman whose intel¬ 
lect has field enough for her in communion 
with her husband, and whose heart asks no other 
honors than his love and admiration ; a woman 
who does not think it a weakness to attend to 
her toilet, and who docs not disdain to be beau¬ 
tiful ; who believes in the virtue of glossy hair, 
and well fitting gowns, and who eschews rents 
and ravelled edges, slip-shod shoes, and auda¬ 
cious makeups; a woman who speaks low, and 
does hot speak much; who is patient and gen¬ 
tle, Intellectual and industrious; who loves 
more than she reasons, and yet does not love 
blindly; who never scolds, and rarely argues, 
but adjusts with a smile; such a woman is the 
wife we have all dreamed of once in our lives, 
and is the mother we ull worship in the back¬ 
ward distance.” 
eation, 
there is a season for all things, aud that with 
individuals actively engaged in the pursuit of 
trade, time is more valuable than money. But 
these are the kind of people that never think. 
And yet there is still another infirmity which 
with propriety may he mentioned in this con¬ 
nection. We allude to that of an individual 
who visits another on business, but who, not 
satisfied with stating the fact of the ease briefly, 
and to the point, enters Into a long conversation 
about some irrelevant matter, and thus occupies 
the valuable time, exhausts the patience, aud 
prevents due attention to others who may be 
waiting. Undoubtedly most people are glad to 
see their friends, and to have a pleasant chat 
with them in a moment of leisure. But, wc 
repeat, there is a season for all things, and we 
can imagine no greater nuisance than a prosy 
idler, who, having notbiug to do himself, &eems 
determined that others who are more fortu¬ 
nately circumstanced shall he interrupted again 
and again, in matters that are vital to their 
calling and vocation. Wc trust the thoughtless 
and heedless will “make a note” of this and 
GARRICK’S PRECEPTS TO PREACHERS 
SHAKSPEARE’S TOMB, 
Garrick having been requested by Dr. Stone- 
house to favor him with his opiniou as to the 
manner in which a sermon ought to be delivered, 
the English Roscius seat him the following judi¬ 
cious answer: 
My Dear Pupil — You know how you would 
feel and speak in a parlor concerning a friend 
who was in Imminent danger of his life, and 
with what energetic patko& of diction and 
countenance you would enforce the observance 
of that which you really thought would be for 
his preservation. You would not think of 
playing the orator, or studying your emphasis, 
cadence and gesture; you would be yourself; 
aud the interesting nature of your subject im¬ 
pressing your heart, would furnish you with the 
most natural tone of voice, the most proper 
language, the most engaging features, and the 
most suitable and graceful gestures. What you 
would thus be in the parlor, be in the pulpit, and 
you will not fail to please, to affect and to profit. 
Adieu, my dear friend. 
Shakspeare, in dying, seems to have had a 
presentiment that men of some after generation 
might endeavor to despoil his native village and 
native church of his mortal remains. Hence the 
well-known Inscription he ordered for his tomb¬ 
stone. The stone over his grate forms part of 
the chancel floor of the antique church at Strat* 
forcl-on-Avon, and contains nothing but the four 
lines; no name, no date—nothing hut that sim¬ 
ple, powerful verse—the prayer, the blessing, 
and the curse of which have prevailed to this 
day to let the immortal poet’s dust remain iu 
peace. The following Is an exact copy of the 
stanza, with the spelling aud abbreviations, just 
as tbey were engraven on the tombstone: 
“ Good friend, for Jesus’ sake forbear 
To dig the dust enclosed here. 
T T 
Blesse be man spares these stones, 
Y Y 
And curst be he T moves my bones.” 
FEMININE TOPICS, 
The Emperor Alexander, during the occupa¬ 
tion of Paris, was present at the anniversaiy of 
one of the hospitals. Plates were handed round 
for contributions, and they were borne by some 
of the patrons' wives and daughters. The plate 
was held to the Emperor by an exceedingly pret¬ 
ty girl. As he gave his louis d’ors, he whispered, 
“ Mademoiselle, this is for your bright eyes.” 
The girl curtesied and presented the plate again. 
“What,” said the Emperor, “more.” “Yes, 
sir,” said she, “I now want something for the 
poor.” 
Mrs. Gasicell had just bogun to earn the 
pill reward of henliterary labors when she died. 
She bad saved a considerable snra of money, and 
was planning a pleasant surprise for her hus¬ 
band, by taking him to a pretty house which 
they loved, aud which she had purchased with¬ 
out his knowledge, when “ the shadow feared of 
man ” crossed her path. The last thing that 
she wrote was a little story for the Christmas 
number of All the Year Round, and which is 
one of “ Dr. Marigold’s Prescriptions.” 
A young lady went into a store a few days 
since, selected her outfit, and gave orders for the 
articles to be sent to her. “ Recollect,” said she to 
the accomodating clerk, “rats, mice, waterfall, 
net, crimpers” etc., etc. An unsophisticated 
PERPETUAL YOUTH, 
Mellow Age. — “I love to look back upon 
the past. Memory lives there, and in treasuring 
up whgt we have acquired or observed it expa¬ 
tiates upon the resources of Inliulte Goodness. 
I love, too, to look forward to the future. Faith 
lives there, and in her brightest anticipations 
sees him whose presence and love are the joy of 
earth and time, and also the everlasting joy of 
heaven and eternity. It is a delightful thought 
that God is there, God our owu God. There are 
somber hues in the past; but there is radiance 
even on the darkest cloud.”— Dr. Spring's “ Life 
and Times.'' 
PRAISE YOUR WIFE 
The Saviour has, iudeed, said that “ narrow i 
the way that leadeth unto life.” He has never 
told us, however, that it is a thorny road. It is 
unbelief, in and out of tke,Church, and not faith 
in God, that has represented it as such a road- 
In denying ourselves aud taking up the cross, as 
required, Christ promises us not sorrow and 
sighing, but joy unspeakable and fall of glory, 
not wearisomeaess, but rest. 
till a very advanced pcriou oi uie. 
A Southern paper thinks that “ something is 
on foot in South Carolina.” She herself is on 
foot. She used to ride “the high horse,” but 
can’t now. 
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