MERITS OF MODESTY 
might receive Instruction by rending the Sheep De¬ 
partment as well 88 the real Literary. There 
was also an article a few weeks ago on the rear¬ 
ing of calve*, to which I would invite the special 
attention of his mother; she might receive some 
valuable hints therefrom. 
One or the Jane Anns. 
Orwell, Bradford Co., Pa. 
tVe did not publish “ Leaves from the Country” 
on account of its complimentary allusions to 
the Rural, but to show how ridiculous a bach¬ 
elor could make himself appear In the mirrors 
of our readers. As anticipated wo have received 
several sharp replies, but the above, and the one 
given last week, must eufflee.—Ro. 
Modesty — A Virtue.— Among the Virtues 
which ought to secure a kind regard, wc univer¬ 
sally assign to modesty a high rank. A simple 
and modest man lives unknown, until a moment, 
which ho could not have foreseen, reveals his 
estimable qualities and his generous actions. I 
compare him to the concealed flower, springing 
from an humble stem, which escapes the view, 
and is discovered only by its perfume. Pride 
quickly flxos the eye, and be who Is always his 
own eulogist, dispenses every other person from 
the obligation to praise him. A truly modest 
man, emerging from his transient osbeurity, 
will obtain those delightful paiscs which the 
heart awards without effort, ITU superiority, 
far from being importunate, will become attract¬ 
ive. Modesty gives to talents and virtues the 
same charm which chastity adds to beauty.— 
Stanley. 
CHARACTERISTICS OF MODESTY. 
When the west wind courts her gently, 
How modestly she blows, and paints the sun 
With her chaste blushes; when the north comes near 
Written for Moore’s F.ural New-Yorker 
OLD WINTER, BEGONE! 
Written for Moore’s Rural New-Yorker. 
SONG. 
JTb leads us on 
By paths wo do not know; 
Upward lie leads us, though our steps be slow; 
Though oft we faint and falter on the way, 
Though stoma and darkness oft obscure the day, 
Yet when the clouds are gone 
We know He leads us on. 
He leads U9 ok 
Through all tho unqiet years; 
Past all our dreamland hopes and doubts and fears. 
He guides our steps through all the tangled maze 
Of sin, of sorrow, and o'erclouded days, 
We know His will is done, 
And still He leads us on. 
And He, at last. 
After the weary strife, 
After the restless fever we call life, 
After the dreariness, the aching pain, 
The wayward struggles which have proved in vain. 
After our toils are past, 
Will give os rest at last. 
Old Winter, avaunt I 
Tbon terrible thing! 
How long must thou linger 
In Ihe lap of the Spring? 
Wo have brearled thy storms 
For three months and more. 
And long have we listened 
To the Tempest’s wild roar. 
Thy days are far spent. 
So northward hike wing— 
Wo‘d welcome thy dnnghter, 
The fair, gentle Spring; 
Her pathway Is sunshine, 
Her vestments, sweet flowers; 
She brings the soft zephyrs 
And life giving showers. 
Little Robin was here 
To build him a nest, 
But slack I how cold 
The wind comes from the West. 
From twig to twig 
Ho goes hoppiDg around. 
To see If a warm place 
For his neet can be found. 
Soon his taak he gives o'er 
And then files away— 
ne’ll greet ns again 
On some warmer day. 
Tho Bluebird, she came, 
With her blithe little song, 
“ Ugh I How cold it is here 1 
I'll not stay very long 
So she spread out her pinions 
And purse 1 up her mouth, 
And quickly flew off 
Toward tbe fur sunny South. 
Sweet warblers, adieu I 
Could this body take wing 
Like you. I’d enjoy 
A perennial Spring; 
I'd revel In sunshine 
Through all the bright hours, 
And breathe tho perfume 
Of the sweet-scented flowers. 
The flowers have gone to sleep, love, 
Tho bird* have ceased to sing; 
Tbe stars begin to peep, love, 
The owl unfolds his wing. 
The gentle night-dew falls, love, 
The cool sea zephyr blows; 
And sinking Flesper calls, love, 
To calm and sweet repose. 
But the ocean waves still roll, love, 
The billows slug low as aye; 
Tbe swelling tides of the soul, love, 
Rise as high by night as by day. 
Then come to the shore with me, love, 
Wo will sail In roy bonny boat; 
While moonlight gilds the sea, lov«, 
Who w. uld not he afloat? 
Ever to float and to dream, love, 
That all la pure ns the sky. 
To think that each starry gleam, love, 
Is the glance of n friendly eye. 
To dream that no clouds will come, love, 
That storms will ne’er descend 
Till we safely land at home, love. 
Where pleasures never end. 
But, alas 1 the billows rise, love, 
The breeze blows oil' the shore,— 
Our fading friends sink from our eyes, love, 
We shall greet them nevermore. 
Written for Moore's Rural New-Yorker. 
THE BEECH TREES. 
A little way up the road, beyond the old 
brown school house, where many of my child¬ 
hood’s hours were spent, grow a cluster of 
young beech trees. They were scraggy, ill¬ 
shaped things, fulrly stunted hi their growth 
by being climbed so much by the restless schol¬ 
ars. At morning and noon nearly all our spare 
momenta were spent at our favorite resort, the 
beech trees; aud In those days of delightful 
slackness in Bchool discipline, permission was 
often given to tho pupils, a fevr at a time, to 
leave tho school-room anti learn our lessons in 
their grateful shade. I doubt whether the mul¬ 
tiplication table or questions on the map of 
North America, were as quickly learned there 
as they would have been In the dingy old school¬ 
room, whore there was nothing of beauty to 
divert our miuds from the business on hand; but 
we may have cultivated other tastes not alto¬ 
gether, valueless. We might have there prac¬ 
tised the feminine art of gossipplng on a small 
scale, also. 
Memory often carries one back to that spot, 
now unvlslted for years, aud I can but wonder 
whether tbe beech trees yet occupy their old 
place in the corners of the rail-fence, or whether 
some rude hand has destroyed them. Perhaps 
the lapse of many years has changed them Into 
tall graceful trees, casting their angular kernels 
down each year for the benefit of the children, 
who now wend their way to wards tho now school 
house. But whether they are alive or dead, no 
one who remembers them in connection with 
those early day6, can fail to be made better and 
happier by the recollection. b. o. d. 
Ktkhorn, W'ia. 
Ende and impatient, then, like chastity. 
She locks her beauties In her bud again, 
Aud leaves him to base briers. [Rowley. 
Silence of Modesty. —Modesty is silent when 
it would be improper to speak; the humble, 
without being called upon, never recollects to 
eay anything of himself.— Lavater. 
GRACES OF MODESTY. 
That modest grace subdued my soul, 
That chastity of look which seems to hang 
A veil of purest light o’er all her beauties. 
And by forbidding most Inflames desires. 
[ Young . 
Modesty—Associated with Virtue. —Mod¬ 
esty seldom resides in a breast that Is not en¬ 
riched with nobler virtues.— Goldsmith. 
CONSEQUENCES OF MODESTY AND PRESUMPTION. 
The man that’s silent, nor proclaims bis want. 
Gets more than him that makes a loud complaint, 
[ Creech . 
MODK8TT—of Merit.—M odesty is to merit as 
shades to figures in a picture; giving it strength 
and beauty. — La Bruycre. 
Modesty—when a Weakness.— Modesty in a 
a man is never to bo allowed as a good quality, 
but a weakness, If it suppresses his virtue, and 
bides it from the world, when he has at the same 
time a mind to exert himself. —Johnson. 
Written for Moore’s Rural New-Yorker. 
“INSURE. ” 
I lately found upon my table a little pam¬ 
phlet with the above heading. It was intended 
to show the importance of insuring buildings 
and their contents against loss by fire. The 
principle Is a good one. This is generally 
admitted and acted npon by prudent business 
men. They Insure their buildings arid property 
and keep them insured. When ono policy is 
about to cxpi.o thoy see to it that another com¬ 
mences at the very moment—for, say they, “ Wo 
do not know when a fire may occur, and we do 
not wish even for a single day to run the risk of 
the loss of »ur property.” This is prudent and 
commendable. 
But what awful riskB in relation to their souls, 
many of these same worldly-wise men will run. 
The precious soul is in danger of ruin. Polluted 
by sin It cannot go to Heaven. If lost it will 
be a total and an eternal loss. God has pro¬ 
vided salvation —Jasus has died to open up the 
way. God invites by His word and spirit, His 
ministers and people, to accept this salvation 
and to iusuro the soul against eternal lo86. One 
would think that if men believed this doctrine 
they would use all the means within their reach 
to secure the salvation of their souls without a 
moment’s delay. 
But what is the course of many? With a 
slackness and a spirit of procrastination of 
which they would bo ashamed in worldly mat¬ 
ters, they put off from time to tirno this most 
Important work. Sometime in the Indefinite 
future they mean to do It—but not now. They 
dare not risk tho loss of a building worth per¬ 
haps a few thousands of dollars —yet year after 
year they risk tho loss of a soul worth moro 
than the wholo world. They will stand by the 
side of death-beds, hear dying groans, and look 
into open graves, and yet put off the work of 
preparing to die. A building burned may be 
replaced—but a soul lost is lost forever! Fellow 
traveler to eternity —insure thy soul now. With 
eagerness fly to Christ, and make thy peace 
with God. Whatever else you may neglect, do 
not neglect a work which God requires at your 
hand now. To-morrow i3 not yours. 
Written tor Moore's Sural New-Yorker. 
REPLY TO “LEAVES FROM THE 
COUNTRY.” 
Never have I been a contributor to a news, 
paper, but I am asuhscriber to the Rural, wliicb 
I generally manage to get hold of about the 
second day after its arrival—as I live in the house 
with a bachelor, who thinks that money spent 
for a newspaper is worse than thrown away. 
Consequently I cannot have mine until he gets 
through with it, . 
Well, I have just finished reading " Leaves 
from the Country," and cannot resist the im¬ 
pulse to give you a bit of my experience with 
regard to that lofty, poetical, exalted class of 
animate creation — Bachelors ! And, notwith¬ 
standing the correct ideas which I ought to have 
about them, mu*t confess myself surprised that 
any one so familiar with the world as your new 
contributor professes to be, should be so nearly 
a stranger to your paper, (I won’t say excellent 
paper, for it speakos for itself, as we who take 
it all know.) And also trust that its editor has 
too much good sense to allow his head to be 
turned by such capital, splendid flattery as 
‘‘oozed from the closed lips” of the “first-rate 
follow.” I suppose that he really thought you 
would believe It, when he asserted that the 
friend of his who has just commenced taking 
the Rural gave it the best recommend It ever 
had received. I wonder if he convinced you 
that it was a very great deal better than those 
common sense, practical people give It who 
have taken it from its infancy—not for the sake 
of daubing its editor over with meaningless flat 
tery, that they may get their egotistical selves 
in print, but to read and profit by Its Instructive 
pages. 
However T must be careful what I say, lest I 
hurt tho bachelor’s fcellugs, as he must be so 
sensitive, for he is so good, and so “good look¬ 
ing” — “ at least the girls all tell him sopity 
that he had'nt 6eou a little bit more of the 
world—just enough to know what “praise to 
the lace" is. And a bachelor thanks Gosj that 
he is single! Doubtless all of his lady acquaint 
anccs do the 6;une, aud are perfectly willing that 
he should remain single to the end. of life I 
believe, though, that I promised to relate a lit¬ 
tle of my experience with bachelors. Now I 
have not seen much of life, and cannot give 
glowing accounts of what I have seen, for the 
very good reason that I have, during the past 
twenty-two j ears been the subject of bachelor 
caprices, and ns a consequence have bad no op- 
March, 180G. 
Written for Moore's Rural New-Yorker, 
TIMELY TALE AROUT BOTANY. 
As dear, old-fashioned Mother Earth will soon 
thrust from her protecting bosom tho bright 
young flowers which have nestled there so long 
in warmth and security, the season of Practical 
Botany will begin, — when, instead of Art’s 
clumsy designs for study, we shall have Na¬ 
ture’s handi-work, right from tbe Great Artist’s 
studio, fresh and glowing, where 
“Thomorning snn is tinted, 
And tho sunset dye is cask” 
Now comes the season of intellectual activity 
to the botanist Flowers are something that 
never grow old — something we never tire of. 
We greeet them first as heartily, love them just 
as dearly, cherish them Just as fondly as wo did 
when the sweet little things first crept in to fill 
that vacant place in our childish heart; yet they 
are the same modest, unobtrudlug little beings 
that they always were — the same as when God 
created them that long, long time ago, on crea¬ 
tion’s morn, when tho stars were Jubilant and 
sang together. Theirs is a fashion that never 
goes out, and In this, as In everything else, He 
shows his superiority over mankind. When a 
work is once done—when the great seal of per¬ 
fection is placed upon it—it. remains so forever, 
unless, perchance, the ever-meddling hand of 
man takes up the already finished work, and too 
often dims where he would add luster, and mare 
where he would beautify. As a rub quite safe 
to follow, man bud better let “well enough 
alone,” as God lelt but little for him to do where 
He designed to finish. 
Botany is a study we never tire of, a study 
that never loses its freshness, 
SOCIAL IMPORTANCE OF THE FIRESIDE 
PERSONAL NEATNESS, 
The fireside is a seminary of Infinite impor¬ 
tance. It Is Important because it is universal, 
and because the education it bestows, being 
woven in with the woof of childhood, gives 
form and color to tbe whole texture of life. 
There are few who can receive tho honors of a 
college, but all are graduates of tbo hearth. 
The learning of the university may fade from 
the recollection, Its classic lore may moulder In 
the halls of memory; but the simple lessons of 
home, enameled upon the heart of childhood, 
defy the riut of years, and outlive the more 
mature but less vivid picture of after-years. 
So deep, so lasting. Indeed, are the impressions 
of early life, that you often see a man in the 
imbecility of age holding fresh in his recollec¬ 
tion the events of childhood, while all the wide 
space between that and the present hour is a 
blasted and forgotten waste. You have, per¬ 
chance, seen an old and half-obliterated por¬ 
trait, avd in the attempt to have it cleaned and 
restored you may have seen it fade away, while 
a brighter and more perfect picture, painted 
beneath, is revealed to view. This portrait, 
first drawn upon the canvas, is no inapt illus¬ 
tration *f youth; aud though It may be con¬ 
cealed by somo after-design, still the original 
traits will shine through the outward picture, 
giving it tone while fresh, and surviving it in 
decay. Such is the fireside,—the great institu¬ 
tion of Providence for the education of man. 
— Goodrich. 
Some eay it is quite impossible for farmers’ 
wives and daughters, who have so many duties 
to perform, always to look tidy. Some do say 
so, and I have often heard them—hut such decla¬ 
rations do not, in my opinion, militate against 
the general principle. A wife or daughter may 
be personally neat, no matter what duty she 
may be emjdoyod at. Those who allow them¬ 
selves to appear negligently dressed, on the plea 
that, they have something to do-cooking, wash¬ 
ing, scrubbing, whitewashing, etc. — are pretty 
sure to be habitually untidy. A torn, faded, 
soiled, bad-fitting gown, with a sun-bonnet in 
keeping, worn in the house or out of it, slipshod 
shoes, no appearance of a white collar, hair 
squashed upon tho head, with plenty straying 
about tho neck, do not give tho husband, if he 
possesses any idea of cleanliness himself, a very 
elevated idea of his wife's attractions, nor will 
the daughter, who may ho equaliy delinquent, 
impress the young men of the neighborhood 
very favorably. 
I am a wife and a housekeeper, and havo been 
a daily worker for twenty-five years, but I have 
never seen the day when I could not take time 
to attend to my personal appearance. System, 
and a desire to be cleanly, will not only afford 
the necessary time, hut will make the labor one 
of the highest pleasure. My husband never has, 
and never shall have, an occasion to twit me or 
the girls in relation to a matter which every 
woman's pride or self-respect should guard 
against. Will not, then, my sister housekeepers 
give this question of domestic propriety, or re¬ 
spectability, their serious consideration ? They 
should remember that It not only concerns them¬ 
selves, but especially their daughters, and in no 
small degree their sons also.— Martha, in Ladies' 
Bepository. 
NEED OF DIVINE AID. 
“ Walk before me and be thou perfect” This 
said God unto Abraham; and by these words we 
are instructed that to live In the presence of God 
is the way to perfection. Whenever we depart 
from that way It is by losing eight of God, and 
forgetting our dependence upon him. God is 
the light which we see, and the end to which we 
should aim. Iu all the transactions and differ¬ 
ent events of our life, we should consider only 
the order of his providence, aud should main¬ 
tain a sense of h'u presence in the midst of all 
affairs. “I will lift up mine eyes to the hills, 
lrom whence cometh my help.” Depending 
upon our feet Is not sufficient for our deliver¬ 
ance from the innumerable 6nares that surround 
us; the danger, indeed, is below, but the deliv¬ 
erance can only come from above; thither must 
we raise our eyes to him from whom our help 
cometh. We arc continually encompassed by 
our enemies; nor are we, on account of our in¬ 
firmities, In less danger from witbin; there is 
no hope for us in Jesus Christ, who has over¬ 
come the world for himself aud for us; his om¬ 
nipresence will support our weakness.— Ftndon. 
The field it opens 
is too boundless ever to be exhausted. Day by 
day are opened fresh avenues of pleasant inves¬ 
tigation, and day by day we learn to love bettor, 
and deeper, this great folio of Nature, which 
lies open bo temptingly before us, brimfull of 
strangest love, and pictures such as only God 
can make. Botany ranks high among our best, 
and most worthy studies. It tends to culture 
and refine the very best part of man. Flowers 
are a great civilizer, and every one is better for 
them. Every wbero they shed a sweet aud quiet 
influence, aud where that lufluenco is felt and 
acknowledged, its results are truly salutary. 
“But what is the use of botany ?” (he meant, 
“Where does tho money come from?”) was 
asked of us by ono we were not particularly 
proud to Bay was an acquaintance—“where Is 
the uso, where is the profit, where is the ledger 
and cash book ? M Poor man! — we could only 
pity him, but could offer no consolation. For 
however, we did wish that the health pre- 
A MODEL RECOMMENDATION, 
Dean Swift once had a Eervant who, besides 
being a drunkard, was quite impertinent to the 
poor people who called to consult his master. 
Overhearing a colloquy between his man and 
one of the poor petitioners mentioned, the Dean 
summoned the fellow before hku — reproached 
him for his superciliousness to people better 
than himself, and also for Ills inebriety, strip¬ 
ped off his livery and turned the culprit adrift. 
Being destitute of a churacter he was foreed to 
go to sea where he was buffeted about for the 
space of fi ve years. Having returned he applied 
to the Dean for a certificate of character, which 
he got in the shape of the following character¬ 
istic letter: 
“ Whereas the bearer served me the space of 
one year, during which time he was an idler and 
a drunkard, I then discharged him as such; but 
how far his having been live years at sea may 
have mended his manners, 1 leave to the pene¬ 
tration of those who may hereafter choose to em¬ 
ploy him. Signed, J. Swift." 
A BABY IN OUR HOME, 
I have been young and now I am old, and as 
I stand before God to-night I declare that noth¬ 
ing I havo ever given In charity is regretted. 
Oh, no! it is the riches wo keep that perish; 
that which is given away abides with ns forever; 
it impresses itself on our character and tells on 
our eternal destiny; for the habit of chanty for 
this life will accompany us to the next. The 
bud which begins to open will blossom iu full 
expansion hereafter, to delight the eyes of angels 
and beautify the paradise of God. Let us then, 
now on every occasion hereafter, practice that 
liberality which iu death we 6hall approve, and 
reprobate tho parsimony which we shall then 
condemn. 
once. 
served, the enjoyment taken, the .knowledge 
galued, could all be summed up in dollars and 
cents, for his consideration. There would be 
a formidable array of tlguers, we are sure. Where 
do we find enjoyment more keen, pleasure and 
profit 60 nicely combined, as in tbe spring-ilay 
excursion? — when the birds sing, and the sun 
shines, and winds whisper, and that eame cheer¬ 
ing inspiration comes, that only comes in spring¬ 
time ? The tramp through the meadow among 
the grasses and lilies — the day in the woods 
among the mosses and lichens-the hour in the 
swamp among the cowslips aud ferns — tho pil¬ 
grimage home, with arms full of flowers —the 
nook in the attic, with our spoils strewn thickly 
around us—the analyzing—the prying into tbeir 
well-kept secrets — tho keen and quiet satisfac¬ 
tion that so seldom comes in one’s life time;— 
surely there must be money somewhere, if not 
there is treasure vastly richer. 
Silas McManus. 
Lima, Ind., April, 18CG. 
Industry. —Nothing is more evident than that 
it is the duty of every man to pursue some em¬ 
ployment which may be beneficial to himself and 
family, or to the community of which he is a mem¬ 
ber. On these principles the Greeks and Ro¬ 
mans appointed magistrates to see that no per¬ 
sons speut their time iu sloth, and severely pun¬ 
ished those who thus offended. It was the gen¬ 
eral custom of the Jews to bring up their chil¬ 
dren to mauual labor, no matter bow ample their 
means were, or how finished their education was 
designed to be. The Apostle Paul, who had a 
learned education, under the greatest of their 
Rabbis, worked as a tent maker. He that is not 
doing what he ought will be doing what he ought 
not. Many things, which at first sight seem to 
be beyond our reach, are surmounted by labor 
and industry. 
A Noulb Reply.— It was a beautiful turn that 
was given by a great lady, who being asked 
where her basband was when he lay concealed 
for having been deeply concerned m a conspir¬ 
acy, resolutely answered that she had hid him. 
This confession drew her before the king, 
(Charles II.,) who told her that nothing but 
her discovery where her lord was could save her 
from the torture. “ And that will do ?” said the 
lady. “ Ye6,” replied the king; “ I’ll give you 
my word for it.” “Then,” said she, “I have 
him hid in my heart; there, and there alone, 
you’ll find him.” 
brated Persian w riter, “ to rise from my sleep to 
watch, pray, and read the Koran. One night, as 
I was thus engaged, my father, a man of prac¬ 
ticed virtue, awoke. ‘Behold,’ said I to him, 
‘thy Other children are lost iu irreligious slum¬ 
ber, while I aloue am awake to praise God.’ ‘ Son 
of my bouI,’ said he, ‘it is better to sleep than 
to wake to remark the faults of thy brethren.’ ” 
To be shamed out of heaven is to be shamed 
into hell! 
The mind wears the colors of the soul, as the 
valet those of his master. 
