M0OR3ET 
Y) TT"ND 
Ja ihn 
■T) (fo T 
•K* 
Jo 
the VERMONT PUEITAH. 
— 
[Concluded from page P’3, this No.] j _ 
A great 8ob burst from Mr. Owen’s heart. 
“Amen!” be said solemnly, “Amen!” 
“To-night iu the early twilight I shall se# the 
cows all coming home from pasture. Daisy, and I 
Brindle, and Bet; old Billy, too, will neigh to 
me from his stall, and precious little Blossom ^ 
stand on the back stoop waiting for me — but 1 ^ 
shall never-never come. God bless you all; 
forgive your poor Bennie.” 
Late that night the door of the “ back stoop” 
opened softly and a little figure glided out, and ^ 
down the foot-path that led to the road by the 
mill- She seemed rather flying than walking, 
turning her head neither to the right nor the ^ 
left; starting not, as the full moon stretched 
queer, fantastic shapes all around her, looking *' 
only now and then to heaven, and folding her J 
hands, as if In prayer. 
Two hours later the same young girl stood at 1 h 
the Mill Depot, watching the coming of the “ 
night train, and the conductor, as he reached re 
down to lift her In, wondered at the sweet, tear- *h 
stained lace that was upturned toward the dim tr 
lantern ho held in his baud. ,x 
A few questions and ready answers told him ' K 
all, and no father could have eared more tenderly 
for his only child than he for ourdittle Blossom. al 
She was on her way to Washington, to ask — 
President Lincoln for her brother’s life. She Si 
had stolen away, leaving only a note to tell her 
father where and why she had gone. She had hi 
brought Bennie’s letter with her; no good, kind er 
heart like the President’s could refuse to be In 
melted - by It. 
The next morning they reached New York, f° 
and the conductor found suitable company for a ' 
Blossom, and hurried her ou to Washington, »c 
Every minute, now, might be a year iu her 
brother’s life. er 
And so in an incredibly short time Blossom tu 
reached the Capital and was hurried at once to br 
the White House. 9a 
The President had hut just seated himself to m 
his morning’s task, of overlooking nod signing tc 
important papers, when, without one word of 
announcement., the door softly opened, and Bios- p< 
som, with eyes downcast, and folded hands, stood T 
before him. 111 
“ Well, my child,” he said, in his pleasant, si 
cheery tones, “what do you want bo bright and M 
early in the morning?” 
“ Bennie’s life, please sir,” faltered out ci 
Blossom. “ 
“Bennie? Who is BennieV” R 
“ My brother, sir. They arc going to shoot tl 
him for sleeping at his post” rc 
“ Oh yes,” and Mr. Lincoln ran his eye over hi 
the papers before him. “ I remember. It was tl 
a fatal sleep. “You see, child, it was at a w 
time of special danger. Thousands of lives w 
might have been lost for his culpable negligence." ei 
“So my father said," said Blossom, gravely, 
“ but poor Bennie was so tired, sir, and Jemmy s] 
so weak. Ho did the work of two, sir, and it. w 
was Jemmy’s night, not his, but Jemmy was too n 
tired, and Bennie never thought about, himself B 
that he was too tired.” h 
“What is this you say, child? come here, I t< 
don’t understand,” and the kind man caught u 
eagerly, as ever, at what seemed to be a juatitiea- w 
tion of an ott’ease. t< 
Blossom went to him; he put his hand ten- l 
derly on her shoulder and turned np her pale, c 
anxious face toward his. How tall ho seemed, t 
and he was President of the United States, too! n 
A dim thought of this kind passed for a moment d 
through Blossom’s mind, but she told her story I 
simply and straightforward, and handed Mr. a 
Lincoln Bennie's letter to read. c 
He read It carefully, then taking up his pen t 
wrote a few hasty lines, and rang his bell. f 
Blossom heard this order given: —“Send j 
THIS DISPATCH AT ONCE.” E 
The President then turned to the girl and said : t 
“Go home, my child, and tell that father of l 
yours, who could approve bis country’s sen- t 
tencc, even when it took the life of a child like i 
that, that Abraham Lincoln thinks the life far < 
too precious to Ije lost. Go hack, or-wait until 
to-morrow; Bennie will need change after he has 
bo bravely faced death; he shall go with you.” 
“ God bless you sir,” said Blossom; and who 
shall doubt that Heaven heard and registered the | 
request. < 
Two days after this interview the young sol- , 
dier came to the White House with his lltt’c | 
sister. He was called into the President’s pri- , 
vale room, and » strap fastened “upon the ( 
shoulder,” Mr. Lincoln said, “that could carry 
a sick comrade’s baggage and die for the good 
act so uncomplainingly.” Then Bennie and 
Blossom took their way to their Green Mountain 
home, and a crowd gathered at the Mill Depot 
to welcome them back, and Farmer Owen's tall 
head towered above them all, and as bis baud 
grasped that of his boy, Mr. Allan heard him 
say fervently, as the holiest blessing ho could 
pronounce upon bis child: — “ J ust.aud true are 
all thy ways, thou King of Saints.” 
That night Daisy and Brindle and Bet caire 
lowing home from pasture, for they hear a wel 
known voice calling thorn at the gate; and Ben¬ 
nie, as ho pats his old pets and looks lovingly in 
their great brown eyes, catches through the 
still evening air bis Puiitan father’s voice as he 
repeats to his happy mother these Jubilant 
\vord6: — “ Fear not, for I am with iheo; I will 
bring thy seed from the east, and gather thee 
from the west; 1 will say to the north give, and 
r to the south keep not back ; bring my sons from I 
,1 afar, and my daughters from the ends of the 
| earth, every one that is called by iny name, for 
>1 I have created him for my glory; I have formed 
y him, yea, I have made him.” 
i J . - - ■ ~ 
Let our meanness be our footstool not our 
cj cushion. 
It is not what we earn, but what we save, that 
T. makes us r;oh. 
LETTER FROM A LIVE VIRGINIAN. 
[It may sound Otherwise iu the ears of our j 
readers, but to us the following letter, just re- 
cclved from a former Captain in the Confederate I 
service, is most interesting and touching. The 
moment its perusal was finished, the writer’s 
name was entered ou our free list. If the Cap- j 
tain insists upon knowing how he can pay for i 
his old friend, the Rural, wc will suggest, (aside, ! 
and to him privately,) that Jie eaudo so by either 
introducing the Rural to the notice and aup 
port of his neighbors, or writing for Us pages— 
or both. But wc like his frank, manly letter so 
well that he shall have the paper this year, at 
1 vast.—E d.] 
Mb. R. D. T. Moore —Dear Sir; The adage 
t luvt circumstances alter eases, and the fact that 
“ necessity knows no law,” are perhaps the best 
reasons I could assign for troubling you with 
these lines. Iu stating, briefly, honestly and 
truthfully the cause of altered circumstances, I 
bog your indulgence, although 1 foci you cannot 
1)0 interested. 
At the breaking out of the war I staked my 
all (person and life) with the Confederate cause 
—joined the anuy, served under the invincible 
Stonewall Jackson while he led h'ls followers 
to victory and death. Alter the,death of the 
bravo Jackson, 1 served in the Army of North¬ 
ern Virginia under tho great and noble Lee. 
In sharing hardships with that veteran host, 1 
got. a little more than my boyish cont ract called 
for, of starving, freezing, fighting, wounding, 
and eventually capture uud imprisonment., You 
sec 1 shared war glory, and abundantly; but 
good and bad things have an end. The war did 
end. Our heroic Lee surrendered. I was 
turned out of Fort Delaware without a green¬ 
back in my pocket or a hard-tack iu my haver¬ 
sack. A pretty hard cose to be In, bat I turned 
my face toward the Old Dominion and hastened 
to my native home us fast as United States 
agents could give tne transportation ; but trans¬ 
portation ended, for I had to leave the railroad. 
The only chance then was to move forward on 
my scurvy, swollen pegs as best 1 could, until I 
should reach my home among the mountains of 
Western Virginia. 
Here at home my tule might stop, but stern, 
cruel war had been here whilst l was away, and 
misery, as It always does, followed in his wake. 
Relatives dead; property all destroyed—not by 
the freeing of the slaves, for, thank God, my 
relatives, who were of English blood, would not 
have slaves. I said property was all destroyed; 
there were a few patrimonial acres left me on 
which I am to live. To make my ilvlug In this 
way might not bo very bard, bad I better knowl¬ 
edge of Agricultural Science, 
Well, I did not intend, when I sat down, to 
Bpin such a long letter, but thought I would 
write a little and beg a great deal, t took up 
my pen to ask you for a few numbers of the old 
Rural which charmed bo many of my boyhood 
hours, and then served good uncle John, (peace 
to the ashes of his kind soul,) as a polar star by 
which to steer his agricultural boat. You are 
weary and out of patience. I ought perhaps 
to b top, but. lank and famishing mentally, with 
the ghost of certain starvation ever before me, 
can I stop now that wc have a post-ollice, a 
thing we have uot had for ten mouths? I have 
no money ; I can’t get any; you know the con¬ 
dition of our finances. To beg Is all I can do, 
I work—work early, work late, work continu¬ 
ally. I need directions; I need the experience 
of wise men. Please, Sir, think of me; I have 
told you the truth, bnt you have no vouchers 
for it, and wore I to otter reference a» vouchers, 
you well might scorn a poor fellow for so pre¬ 
sumptuously pressing his case ou your atten¬ 
tion. If you can send me a few papers, good— 
but if you could tell me what I could do for you 
to pay for the paper, bettor, for I would rather 
work than beg. My address is-,- 
County, Va. 1 am, Sir, yours to command. 
■ »« + — 
PRACTICAL AND STUDIOUS MEN. 
UTIHSTB 
THE ANCIENT CITY OIP PEUSEPOUS. 
The site of Porsepolis,—often known by the < 
uame of Istakhan or Estakhan,—like that of 1 
many ancient cities, was not favorable either to 1 
protracted growth or to a continuance of exist- I 
cnee. Prior to the conquest of Babylon it wan 
the favorite residence of the Persian Kings, and 
even after the fall of that “lady of cities,” 
Gyrus accumulated here a vtwt amount of treas¬ 
ure, which was to enrich him aud hie people, 
nere were the sepulchres of the Kings of Persia, 
and tho “Place of Graves,” it la well known, is ou u 
of solemn reverence and munificent adornment 
with the Oriental. After the conqyst of Alex¬ 
ander, who destroyed the magnificent royal 
palace, It became the policy of this conqueror to 
despoil the subverted cities of the people who 
(ell under his arms, uud with the rich materials 
so obtained embellish others which were to bear 
liis own uamc, and thus Peraepolis was reduced 
to comparative poverty and Insignificance. The 
ruins cover a wide surface, and ou a terraced 
platform, 1,4:30 feet iu length, and from 800 to 
900 feet in width, are large gateways, numerous 
columns and bas-reliefs, the whole supposed to 
ho the remains of this place. After Alexander 
had exhibited his despoiling power, the caravans, 
conveying the barbaric splendors of ind, sought 
exactly the tint of a cigar, aud on this costly ma¬ 
terial Eugene Laury has painted exquisite fres¬ 
coes. Thu family dining room is decorated with 
sporting subjects, executed by Philippe Rous¬ 
seau. It opens on a small and v$ry plain syna¬ 
gogue. It was in the largo dining-room that, the 
Emperor and his suite partook of the celebrated 
luncheon in 1803, served on Bernard de Palissy 
china, and plate chlssellcd by Gottleres. 
DEATH OF THE OLDEST MAN. 
other marts, and a blight fell at once upou 
this opulent city. Manufactures declined,—the 
wealthy sought out, a gayer field, and the poor 
became the prey of wandering hordes of Arabs, 
who found a temporary and delightful repose 
amid the decaying glories. 
The ravages of time, and men soon destroy 
what is loft out pf repair, and Persupolia is now 
deserted and nearly forgotten. A writer says :— 
“She lives, it is true, in Oriental legendry, 
where the wildest, adventures aud most astound¬ 
ing narratives of genii, and spirits, and magic, I 
aud incantation, Invest tive dead city with a wild, 
melancholy splendor. Like many whom tho 
grave hides from our sympathy or dislike, Por¬ 
sepolis has an ever-living Interest to the lovers 
of the marvelous, and the thought of her gives 
rise to a thousand ideas of luxury aud cabal¬ 
ism. She becomes peopled, not with owls 
and bats, but with the graceful or magnificent 
creations of fancy, and her dim corridors are 
thronged with gnomes, and genii, aud en¬ 
chanted princesses, potent in mischief, or tern 
der aud winning in misfortune. Thus it. is, 
and thus it will ever be, that the world is loth 
to let the beautiful die, even when its elements 
have lost their siguificaucy." 
tm 
For Moore’s Rural New-Yorker. 
Those who call themselves practical men are 
too apt to undervalue the thoughtful and studi¬ 
ous men, aud to sneer at them as mere book¬ 
men. The practical uavigator, with a little skill 
In the use of instruments and a knowledge of 
common arithmetic, by the help of certain print¬ 
ed formulas and tables, can guide his ship safely 
through the perils of the pathless deep. But be 
should not sneer at book-learning, for those 
charts and tablcB and instruments by which he 
makes his observations and solves his problems, 
were the result of deep uud profound study and 
thought. It is wrong to class among the non- 
producers all who do not labor with their bauds. 
But for studious men, what would be the pres¬ 
ent condition of agricultura ? It would indeed 
be blind and toilsome. To produce great re¬ 
sults the brain and arm must move more to 
getlier — the ideal be wedded to the practical. 
The world has as much reason to bless the 
memory of the Inventor as that of lilm who re¬ 
duced the invention to practice. Those ouly 
who live upou the profits of labor without an 
equivalent are to be regarded as stale and un¬ 
profitable. 
THE ROTHSCHILDS’ COUNTRY HOUSE. 
Somebody' who has been to the Rothschilds’ 
country house, in France, says the most com¬ 
fortable chair in the salon dej'amillt wus once the 
throne of a Chinese Emperor, presented by that 
celestial to a Rothschild. A sola in this said 
room is covered by Orieutal embroidery bearing 
the imperiul dragon. The Baron’s private study 
is furnished with Gobelin tapestry, worked from 
designs by Boucher. The walls of the smoking 
room are entirely covered with Russia leather, 
Tub Portage (Wisconsin) Register chronicles i 
the death, at Caledonia, in that State, ou the ! 
37th ult., of Joseph Crele, born in Detroit, I 
Mieh., in 1735, and who bad attained, therefore, 
the amazing age of one hundred and forty yean! 
lie was born seven years before George Wash¬ 
ington, and was fifty years old at the outbreak 
of the American Revolution; so tnat he might, 
even then, have claimed exemption from mili¬ 
tary service. He was forty years old at the 
birth of Napoleon I. He was sixty-two years 
old wheu the Federal Constitution was formed, 
and eighty four when Abraham Lincoln was born. 
We know but one longer life in modern times, 
that of Purr, the Englishman, who U. recorded to 
have been horn in 1483, and to have died In 108(1, 
at the ripe age of 153. Grole’s baptism is said to 
be ou record iu the French Catholic Church in 
Detroit; so that his age would seem to be duly 
authenticated. 
Vinous Irregularities.— Doctor Gorvesart, 
celebrated for his knowledge and treatment of 
diseases of the heart, was, like so many others, 
a lover of champagne wine, which he drank Iced 
at dinner. The effects ou him. were somewhat 
of a contrasted nature. At the beginning of 
d'muor, while the other guests were busy eating, 
he was jovial, uud indulged freely in stories aud 
anecdotes. At dessert, ou the other hand, when 
the conversation at the table bad become ani¬ 
mated, the doctor felt Into a serous, taciturn 
and somewhat morose mood. Fmm this occur¬ 
rence, and many other of like tenure, the author 
of the Physiology of Taste draws, with becoming 
gravity, this conclusion: — Ghatupagne wine, 
which is exciting in its first effects, la stupefying 
111 its subsequent operation. He finds the cause 
and explanation in the sparkling gas, or carbonic 
acid of the wine, which produces analogous 
results. 
MISCELLANEOUS ENIGMA. 
I am composed of ‘30 letters. 
My 1,10, 4, 8 is a luminous body. 
My 5,10, 3, 0 is at this place. 
My 11, la, t, 7 is what we all do at times. 
My If), 0, 17,17,15,10 is a girl’s uame. 
My I t, 8,10,3, 3,16 Is not the present. 
My 3,17. l k 3,10,18 la a boy’s name. 
My 11, 5, SO is an adverb. 
My 9,13,18, 6 is a number. 
My whole Is the name and address ot the author. 
Say* Answer in two weeks. 
-. ♦. 
For Moore’S Rural New-Yorker. 
CHARADE. 
Mr first is never ont, T weeu, 
Because ’lie always in ; 
My second, should you chance get called, 
Will make you mad as sin. 
My whole’s a word quite often used, 
And thoughts of debt will bring. 
Pequonoc Bridge, Ct. Mary Waxkv. 
|27~ Answer in two weeks. 
For Moore’s Rural New-Yorker. 
AN ANAGRAM. 
IAUBLOKTP OnSWl 
Nifrtigd nwod tnrfo bet yak vouch, 
Ot eth egnplsci rtahe lbowe, 
Lgfodin erh mraw ni a slapc fo lveo, 
Uaeifrlub, ltafeibuu wnso! 
Clinton, Mich. Archie R. CrozeBB. 
C2T* Answer in two weeks. 
ANSWERS TO ENIGMA3, &c., IN No. 841. 
Answer to Miscellaneous Enigma: —Never speak 
of your own father as the old man. 
Answer to Anagram: 
Flag of our country, gently wave o’er us. 
On every hill top from Texas to Maine, 
Encircle oui Union with friendly devotion, 
Let peace and contentment surround us again. 
Answer to CharadeMatrimony 
Answer to Fuzzte:—Often, tense, tenor, &c. 
ftoliwg for Hat fjflimg. 1 
Written for Moore’s Rural New-Yorker. & 
THE WRONG ROAD. 
A few days since some horses were advertised 7 
to be sold at auction in the county where I T§? 
reside, and being in need of a span I determined 
to attend. When tho day of sale arrived, how¬ 
ever, I was dotaiued by business until about 
uoou, when, thinking 1 might yet be in time, I 
started for tho place, which whs some ten miles 
distant. After traveling nearly far enough, as I 
supposed, I hallod a farmer whom l chanced to 
meet, and inquired how far I was from my desti¬ 
nation. “A long way,” he replied, “ if you keep 
ou tills I'oad. You took the wrong fork at the 
school house.” “But,” l asked, “Is there no 
way to roach the place but to go back to the 
school house,” “Yes,” he replied, “you will 
find a cross road a little way ahead, which 
will take you to tho right road. Wholly you 
get oil the other road you are almost there.” 
Thanking tho farmer for the correction, I re¬ 
sumed my way aud soon arrived at the cross 
road, which I found drifted, and in some places 
almost impassible. HowcVer, after a Blow, tedi¬ 
ous ride of about two miles, I reached the desired 
place, though too late l'or tho sale. Had Ijtakcu 
the right road at the school house 1 would havo 
been in time. 
Is there not a moral to bo derived from this 
mistake? Look out upou tho world and note 
pooplc as they press forward to reach the goal ot 
Happiness. Alas l how many are taking tho 
wrong road at the school house! Hear tlftt 
boy swearing at hi* playmate. He has just 
started ou tho wrong road. And there is 
another, scarcely cuterod upon his “teens,” 
strutting along the street with a cigar in his 
mouth. Othurs are learning to lie, to cheat and 
steal, or to Idle away their time in foolish sports. 
Such boys arc all taking the wrong road. Look 
at that guide board (the Bible) that points you 
to tho right road; take it,—you havo but juBt 
started and it will bo comparatively cosy to 
change now to what it will bo In a few years. 
Perhaps you Intend some time to take tbe other 
road. But why not now? Stop and reflect; 
you are not standing still; you aro continually 
progressing,—If not in the right, most’snrely In 
the wrong road. Though you may in after yearn 
take the cross road, and at last reach the place 
you seek, consider the valuable time wasted in 
doing so. I repeat, take the light road now, 
while you are comparatively free from the Bnares 
and temptations of tho wrong one. Look at 
. those men carousing in tho bar room; they are 
far advanced ou the wrong road. Aud yonder 
r sec that man ascending tho scaffold, — he has 
r nearly reached the cud of the same road. Lot us 
. look at his past life. He commenced while a 
boy, by idling tho time which should have been 
spent In study. Then camo lying, swearing, 
stealing, and at last murder. He ;took the 
wrong road al the school house. 
0 In conclusion, let me say to the young—If you 
. have b tar ted in tho wrong road, do not fail to 
s change it for the right one immediately. But l 
8 hear one say— “This is the best road; it looks 
l_ tbe smoothest and easiest to’truvcl.” It may 
8 look so from where you now stand, bat a little 
t, ou, Just over the hill of deception, the road 
e winds round tho mountain of despair, down 
, which many are precipitated never to rise again. 
And to those who are far advanced on the wrong 
s road, my word for it you had better take tho 
I* cross road. You will never find happiness in 
^ the way you arc going — but If you are not very 
far indeed on the wrong way you may'yet take 
- the cross road, and though lute, reach the place 
you arc seeking. Iron-Wood. 
r -- 
|* A SURPRISED FATHER. 
= A fine looking man, clad in overcoat, gloves 
aud stout boots, was walking out the other day 
with his little three-year old daughter,'* pale- 
faced child with barcneck and arros’and morocco 
slippers. A neighbor, meeting them began to 
ask, with great apparent concern,Rafter the 
father’s health, adding, 
“ But I’m glad your little one docs not inherit 
yonr feeble constitution.” 
“ Feeble constitution! ” exclaimedthe aston¬ 
ished parent. “ Why, I waa never slck'a day in 
my life, while as to my daughter,*we 'fear she 
has her mother’s consumptive tendencies.” 
“Indeed!” replied his friend, with a sly 
twinkle of the eye, 11 you took such extra otue 
to protect yourself from the cold, while she goes 
bare-necked aud in pasteboard shoes, I inferred 
that it was you that inherited the mother’s con¬ 
sumptive tendencies, and'uot she.” 
■ ■ ■ H4 ■ —--- 
WAKING GRANDMA '.WITH JA KISI3. 
A sweet little incident is related by a writer. 
She says; I asked a little boy last evening— 
“ Have you called your grandma to tea ?” 
“ Yes. When I went to call her she was asleep, 
aud I didn’t know how to waken her. I didn’t 
wish to hoV«r at grandma, nor To shokA her; so I 
kissed her cheek, and that woke hor very softly. 
Then I ran into the hall and said, pretty loud, 
“ Grandma, tea la ready.” Aud she never knew 
what woke her.” 
Do wc dud anything more sweet, delicate and 
lovely than this iu the annals of poetry? Gan 
conventionality improve upon such politeness, 
spontaneous in the heart of a six-years’ boy ? 
— - 
Be just, since equity supports the human race. 
Be good, as bounty attaches every heart. Be in¬ 
dulgent, sluce thou llvest ainoug beings weak 
like thyself. Bo modest, as pride hurts the self- 
love of every human being. Pardon injuries, as 
vengeance eternizes hatred. Do good to him 
who Injures thee, that thou mayest show thyself 
greater than he, and also gain friendship. Be 
moderate, temperate aud chaste, since voluptu¬ 
ousness, internpcrauce and exoesa destroy thy 
lacing and render thee contemptible. 
