is too debasing for decent men to engage in; 
they admire only pure and elevating pursuits; 
they design to live always most strictly moral 
and virtuous—to he, in a word, all their dear 
Fanny cau desire. Doubtless with many all 
these things ure truthfully uttered; but where is 
the determination to carry them out ? 
Again, they are gentle and courteous. Noth¬ 
ing irritates them; not even when others exclaim 
“how provoking,” are they disturbed. And 
sneb things as oaths, why they’re as far from 
their thoughts as—heaven? 80 attentive they 
are; they bring such beautiful bouquet*, Bucb 
spleudid uovels, such loves of pictures,—and no 
wonder the fair lady Is In eestacy over tbla most 
perfect of men. But could she follow this her 
ideal as he joins his companions—hear him pro- 
sce him drink 
sum 
Blutcker the great Prussian general, is said to 
have won many a hard contested battle through 
the inspiring influence of this motto. In his 
councils of war on the battle-field, “Forward I” 
was his watchword, and he suited the action to 
the word. The promptness and energy with 
which he planned and executed his engagements 
gave him thenicknamc of “ Marshall Forward.” 
Pulaski, the brave Pole, who espoused the 
American cause in Its Infancy, and gave his life 
in its defence, and to whom as well as to Kosci¬ 
usko, the American people will ever owe a debt 
of gratitude, in one or more instances turned 
the fortunes of war in his favor by rallying his 
men with the war-cry of “Forwarts, brudren, 
forwarts!” Often was the faillug strength of 
the American soldier rallied and revived and his 
weary arm nerved with new vigor by the inspi¬ 
ring battle-cry of this brave officer, as la the 
thickest, of the fight and above the din of battle, 
was heard in broken English,.” Forwarts, brud- 
THE FLOWER. 
Written tor Moore'* Rnrat New-Yorker 
MY BROKEN IDOLS. 
Baby owns a tiny castle 
On the carpet plains of home, 
And it* walls are woven willow, 
Fine within from floor to dome: 
Snowy curtain* at the window; 
Downy coach where baby dreame- 
Lacea, too, that softly glimmer 
In the sunlight's golden beams. 
That's the heritage of baby, 
And he'* held in state so grand. 
Mother says—if no one else does — 
“He's the king of baby-land.” 
Here he bravely fights hie battles, 
When old puss would slyly creep, 
Over guarded mote or turret, 
Jnet to curl herself to sleep. 
All i* still In baby's castle, 
Not the slightest nofsc wc make; 
Surely, now the rogue Is sleeping;; 
Peep! the blue eye* wide awake t 
Bee 1 the dnnpl d arms are round ns, 
Hear the “ cooing ” mild and lew; 
May the angels keep you, darling. 
Everywhere your feet may go. 
Baby’s man-at-arms’s mother, 
And she watches all day long; 
When his habyshlp would eiumber, 
Then she sings a loving song. 
Boon comes “papa ” home at evening 
Storms the castle all so gay, 
Makes a prisoner of baby. 
Bears him Joyfully away! 
BY C. D. MCNAUGHTON, 
BT MEBTELE COMO. 
Beside a little silver stream 
A blushing wild-flower stood; 
Each BUBny morn it sweetly smiled 
And donned Its gayest hood. 
Whim man approached with eager hand 
The streamlet’s wealth to find, 
The flower was torn from where it stood, 
And rudely cast behind. 
It chanced to fall upon the tide 
That followed fast and free. 
And floated on while tossed about 
Upon its little sea. 
On, on, it went, until at last 
It caught upon tbe shore; 
Its seed took root and there it grew 
As sweetly as before. 
How like this little flower are wo 
When torn from childhood's home, 
From all wc cherish most at heart 
In stranger lands to roam. 
But man his destiny awaits, 
And each his load must bear, 
And for the changing tides of life 
With cheerfulness prepare. 
If we retain that dear-bought love, 
That hope to mortals given. 
Our perils past—'twill root at laft 
And sweetly bloom In Heaven. 
[Golden Era, 
I said if I could go back again. 
And live o’er the buried past, 
I would blot out from It the weary pain 
And make my life bright at last: 
I would crown my pale brow with a glory bright, 
With Unrein of endless fame. 
Till, sounding adown the dtm ranks of night, 
The ages should bear my name. 
I would make my life rounded in beauty too, 
A perfectness not to die, 
A soul as pure as the ether blue, 
A purity grand, and high,— v 
I would crash all the memories of the heart 
And level the mounds of graves, 
I would heal the old wounds that bleed and smart, 
Unfetter the cringing slaves. 
Control my will, with a mighty baud, 
And wear a false outward calm. 
And to all the wondering poor tu the land, 
Hold open a generous palm: 
I would make the bitter the sweet, and feed 
The wants of my thirsty soul. 
And covering all the old wounds that bleed, 
Would make my poor torn life whole. 
Bo I said—and quickly God's urrow came 
And pierced thro’ my armor bright, 
And shattered my temple, of golden fame, 
And left my field bare, and white. 
So bare had it come to be—oh God I 
So ruined my past aDd gone— 
Bo fresh my soul from the smarting rod, 
Bo sudden the work been done. 
And yet the veil from the past uprose, 
And in 5ts old stead appeared 
The welcome fruition of all my woes, 
The altar ot faith— nprenrod. 
And deep in the furnace He kept me fast 
And struck blow on blow again, 
Till out of the the old heart he brought at last 
The one little hidden grain. 
And now I know this same life to be 
The best for my bleeding feet. 
The discipline He has sent to me. 
To make a tom sou! complete; 
And looking back over those graves of hopes, 
Those memories—one by one, 
I cry no longer like ne who gropes 
In darkness-” Thy will be done." 
I nounce her name with an oath 
glass after glass of brandy—stake sum after 
at the gatnlDg table—or, farther even, watch him 
as heemers yonder bouse of iufamy, where, think 
you, fur ideal would be ? Deception—if you 
find it not in such a class as this, where would 
you find it? Victims there arc, however, who 
sacrifice all at such shrlnos. The pure, and Inno¬ 
cent, and trusting, arc sought by the representa¬ 
tives of deception,—not those deserving of such 
a future as awaits them. 
One might go on enumerating the various 
ways in which the true character of lovers is 
marked, but it would occupy too much space. 
If “ the heart is deceitful above all tilings, and 
desperately wicked, until changed by the Holy 
SpmiT, can wo look for unblemished truth in 
those nntaught by Cubist. 
Since courtship is designed to bring into close 
and intimate companionship those who wed, 
should not every hindrance to thorough acquaint- 
ince be put aside ? We look for pleasing cour- 
esics and nameless attentions between lovers, 
md who could object were they continued after 
I brief honey-moon? If the husband were still 
ourteoas and attentive —still careful not to do 
hlngs he would have scorned once to do —still 
lenounced in practice and principle what he 
tnceprofessed to despise-still remembered one- 
iftlf the delicate courtesies he once proffered ; if 
he wife still retained her gentleness, — still 
tudied her husband’s taste* and preferences and 
tade herself the same agreeable companion as 
f yore—6tlll dressed neatly and carefully, — in 
Let,, tf the tried one-half as hard to please this, 
er husband, now, as when a lover, things would 
o more smoothly. 
Such is the strict intimacy of married life, 1 
tat deception is impossible. The mask so long 1 
ora, innocently perhaps, must be removed, 1 
and the true character be discovered. How 
useless, then, the brief, hasty, artificial method 1 
of courtship. It is when all the pleasing atten- E 
tions, all the nameless nothings (and yet so great 
we can’t define them) are laid aside —when all 
the unfavorable points of character are discov- a 
ered — that the foundation of unhappiness is 1 
being laid. With all the frankness hearts can 1 
offer, a long term of courtship will discover T 
little enough of what there is to be learned; and c 
if, thou, having lived without seeing each other " 
only In the “ smooth walks, peaceful bowers and 11 
quiet skies" of courtship, and even then arti- h 
in the time of despondency and trial, and united 
with proper energy and zeal, overcome every 
opposition and give it the victory.” 
To the student Journeying Btep by step up the 
rugged hill of science; your success lies in your 
own efforts to do whatever you undertake. I 
will tuccted, has accomplished much. No great 
undertaking was ever carried through without 
it. The road to eminence may seem a hard road 
to travel; roll the boulders aside, clear the track 
of trees, bridge the streams, and the way is clear. 
With a stout heart, and a will to do and dare 
there U no such word as fail.” — Clark'* School 
Vi/Ator. 
Written tor Moore’* Karat New-Yorker. 
A CHAPTEE ON COUKTSHIP, 
BY MRS. H, M. LINCOLN. 
Some time since a request came to me that 1 
would write an article on Courtship for the 
Rural. Though the author *f this request is a 
stranger to me, I send a few thoughts. Should 
I deal plainly with my subject, be assured it is 
truthfully so, and while referring to only two or 
three classes to be met with, those inclined to 
criticise will remember there are happy excep¬ 
tions of which but little need bo said. 
‘‘In no intercourse between the sexes is there 
practiced so much hypocrisy as in the compan¬ 
ionship of those who entertain a view to mar¬ 
riage.” Whoever lias studied closely or even 
casually could not fail to .discover this; and 
while only observation has made It evident in 
some instances, experience has confirmed it in 
many. Anna Dickinson Insists that most girls 
are trained lor just one thing—to get married. 
It is talked of In the nursery, the parlor, the 
school-room,—Indeed, everywhere, until at lost 
Written lor Moore’s Knral New-Yorker. 
WHAT IS LIFE? 
WnAT is Lite? You can Rneerand laugh at 
such a question, but you cannot, dare not, 
answer 
it. You mock the very idea, and yet you cling 
to lives, and grasp them closer than the miser 
does his gold,—you value them above all things 
else ! Yon look away upon the mocking, silver- 
tinged billows of the fnture, and say, if you live, 
you will reach tbe summit of youder golden- 
peaked mountain; or, yon will bind that wound, 
care for that caat-away, that widow, that old sol¬ 
dier of life, that beggar who is soon to make lilt- 
feeble voice utter, “Give me a spot of earth for 
my grave.” Yea, you intend to do all this; but 
first you must reach the highest point of fame, 
and gather in an abundanee of those deceivers of 
reason and lurcrs of fancy—“ almighty dollars.” 
THE MYSTERY OF SLEEP. 
Twelve hundred millions of dreams make a 
network of wild fancies nightly about our 
planet. To go, If it were possible, through this 
world of sleep, wanld be a stranger process than 
that of exploring the. whole waking-world ; for 
in sleep every living being is a poet, from the 
baby that clings in its dreams to the breast of 
goddesses, to the centenarian who, with staff 
and spectacles, hobbles abont paradise at the 
heels of seraphs. Bleeping and waking are the 
two great phenomena* of our existence. What 
is done and thought In the everyday working- 
world, where the ordinary busine-s of life U car¬ 
ried on, bo living creature has ever fully re¬ 
vealed to another. There are reticences in the 
INTEGRITY AND GRACE, 
mg their sacrifices lu a way of compounding 
with their obligations. Little do they conceive, 
meantime, how honest a man mast be to pray, 
how heartily, simply, totally he must mean what, 
he prays for. Perhaps he p>rays much, prays iu 
public, and has it for a continual wonder that 
he gets on so poorly, and that God, for some 
mysterious reason, does not answer his prayers. 
Sometimes he will even be a little heart-broken 
by his failures, and will moisten Ids lace with 
tears of complaint. He has mudu great strug¬ 
gles, it may be, at times, to fresheu the fire that 
was burning in him, and yet, lor some reason, 
he is all the while losing ground. His faith be¬ 
comes a hand, as it were, without lingers, lay¬ 
ing hold of nothiug, The more ho pumps at 
the well of ids jojs, the dryer he grows. It Is 
as if there were some dread fatality against him, 
and he wonders where it Is. Commonly it is 
here —that he wants rectitude. He is trying to 
be piously exercised in his feelings when he is 
slack In UU Integrity. lie has been so much 
afraid of being self righteous, it may be, that he 
is n«t righteous at all. When he is loose In the 
conscience, how can he be clear in his feelings ? 
— Dr. Bushnell. 
TRUE COURTESY, 
Real courtesy is widely different from the 
courtesy which blooms only on the sunshine of 
love and the smile of beauty, and wither* and 
cools down in the atmosphere of poverty, age 
and toil. Show me the man who can quit the 
brilliant society of the young to listen to the 
kindly voice of age; who can hold cheerful con¬ 
verse with one whom years boa deprived of j 
charms. Show me the man of generous im¬ 
pulses, who is always ready to help the poor and 
needy; show me the man who treats unpro¬ 
tected maidenhood as he would the heiress, sur¬ 
rounded by the protection of rank, riche* and 
tamiJy. Show me the man who never forgets 
have never said to the beggar, ‘go hence, my 
body .needs all I have.’ And now that, my work 
Is done, I am ready to journey where, the lea*t 
are made the greatest, — for this lire to me, to 
you, to all mankind, is but the sprltig-time of 
Eternity.” 
If life is but one breath, and that one breath 
all we own, these lives which we call ours arc 
but drops in tbe ocean of Time. Yet, human 
nature to-day sings that same consoling song 
that was heard at the first breath of Civilization : 
“There is a better time coming!” A better 
time to “lift the heart and bend the knees; ” 
a better day to give to the poor, to speak to the 
drunkard, to drive away the tear with gentle 
words and deeds; and a brighter morning to 
'walk out among the sick and suffering. Are 
crimes increasing? — are gallows being reared 
up anew ? — are we moving en tnaMe back to bar¬ 
barism and infidelity ?—are oar homes becoming 
workshops for iniquity? —are our lives growing 
less useful ? I hear a voice that says, “you an¬ 
swer.” If this be so, there is no olher reason 
but this: — Arc we idling away our Jives waiting 
for the dawning of better days ? Cbristains sn 1 
IufideL- count their words, look upon their gold 
and lock it np, saying, “I may havejneed cf 
it—there will be a better time to give." There 
is a time for all things. A timelto work and a 
time to rest; a time to Bpcak and a time to be 
dumb; a time to laugh and a time to^tnourn; a 
ADVICE TO YOUNG LADIES, 
LrTTLE touches of girlish prettiness are of the 
utmost importance to you, young ladies, and 
always convince the sensible masculine observer 
that you have those tender and confidiug quali¬ 
ties of heart which would enable loving hus¬ 
bands to lead you by a thread. 
I would even specialize one more of these 
loaches, lest you in your uncalculating gulle- 
leesnc'ss should forget it. I would have you bear 
for an instant the delicacy, the respect that is 
due to woman 
THE HIGHER NEED, 
woman, in any condition or 
class; show me such a man, and you show me a 
gentleman—nay, you show me better, you show 
me a true Christian. 
Wiiat would we think of one who possesed 
a rare and beautiful singing bird, who should 
lavishly adorn its cage, gilding and burnishing 
it, and bestowing tender care on its senseless 
burs, while the living, animate object within 
slowly periBhed for waut of care and fooi; or 
of another who owns a wonderful jewel andjpol- 
ished and adorned the casket aud kept It free 
from spot or stain, while the diamond within 
corroded and grew dim from neglect—would 
not such conduct seem wrong and foolish in the 
extreme; yet do we see it daily exemplified in 
cases of far greater importance. 
The soul is that singing-bird —that priceless 
jewel, and the cage and casket the perishable 
bodies we feed and adorn, aud spend ail our 
fleeting hours in ways and means to gratify, 
while the prisoner within its dormant, or beats 
its wings in silent despair agaiust the beautiful, 
perishable walls we rear so proudly— “sits on 
forlorn,” and sees the happy estate God destined 
it to, recede from it forever, in helpless anguish 
at our apathy and frivolous unconcern, 
Admiration. — We indeed hear it not Beidom 
said, that ignorance is the mother of admiration. 
A falser word was never spoken, and hardly a 
more mischievous one; for it seems to imply 
that this healthiest exercise of the mind rests, 
for the most part, on a deceit and illusion, and 
that with better knowledge it would cease. For 
once that ignorance leads us to admire that 
which with lull insight we should perceive to be 
a common thing — aud one demanding, there¬ 
fore, no such tribute from us — a hundred, nay, 
a thousand times, it prevents us from admiring 
that which is admirable indeed. Tnis is true, 
whether we are moving in the region of nature, 
which is tbe region of God’s wonders, or even 
in the region of art, which is the region of man’s 
wonders.— Trench. 
for loviug. 
In the matter of conversation, society expects 
you to express Ignorance of every material 
thing In the world a& grammatically as possible. 
It also expects you to practice the phrase, “How 
I perfectly ridiculous!" until you can use it os a 
reply and comment to and upon everything not 
supposed to be of dally occurrence in high life. 
As— 
“ Did yon bear, Miss Gusherby, that your 
father’s old partner had committed suicide?” 
“How perfectly ridiculous." 
“ Oh, Marianna Gusherby! I shall never get 
over it—I’m sure I shan’t. I saw a man ruu 
over to-day, and the omnibus wheels went right 
over his face 1 ” 
“ How perfectly ridiculous \"—The Boudoir. 
How Beautiful. —The closing sentences of 
President Lincoln’s first inaugural are singularly 
impressive, when viewed in the light of the 
bright bow which spans and Illuminates the 
dark clouds of war. Here they are: — “ We are 
| not enemies, but friends. We mast not be ene¬ 
mies. Though passion may have strained, it 
must not break our bonds of affection. The 
mystic clouds of memory, stretching from every 
battle-field and patriot grave to every living 
heart and hearthstone all over this broad land, 
will yet swell the chorus of the Union when 
again touched as they surely will be by the bet¬ 
ter angels of our nature.” ‘ 
Better 
I that the body 6hould starve, that it should wear 
I rags and toil in narrow places, if by such con¬ 
stant frletlon the soul be kept pure and bright. 
If we bend low to carry the cross we shall rise 
higher to wear tie crown, aud that life is not 
worth having that does not bear the mark of the 
nails —that has not crucified tbe flesh again 
aud again to fit it for the resurrection aud the 
life eternal.— Christian Times. 
The first of all virtue is innocence; the next 
is modesty. If we banish modesty out of the 
world, she carries away with her half the virtue 
that is in it. 
Different sects are but different rays, and 
the great God blends these into the pure light 
of truth. 
