OTLY 2S 
But the brown wasps with the white legs,—they 
are the true ktiights of the insect tribe. 
The afternoon sun is stealing into my room. 
It lies white and clear, as is this day after a 
shower, upon the carpet, and will be soon 
against the wall. How different from the fore¬ 
noon is this light! f. g. 
Here is an anecdote from an eye witness, and 
known to be trnc. A rather good looking young 
man enters a store and asks to see some cloth 
for a coat. Now it happens that the merchant 
has a fine bolt of cloth, which for convenience 
he has divided, placing the halves upon different 
shelves. At the young man’s request he takes 
down one half and opens it upon the counter. 
Our customer examines and asks the price. 
“Seven dollars per yard," says the merchant. 
Customer looks dissatisfied and aBk6, "Have 
you any better?" “Oh yes,” replies the mer- 
Written for Moore’s Rural New-Yorker, 
FAITH. 
A PRAIRIE PICTURE 
Written for Moore's Rural New-Yorker, 
DREAMS. 
Tms i* the prairie, broad, and wild, and free— 
Ocean of emerald hue and moving light! 
Here the meek grass with its green finger points 
To him who feed* it and the Myriad Bowers 
Of many hues-igrass-nestling Bowers, sweet buds— 
Swing Uke rich ccnser-cups in the soft wind. 
Nations of Insect* float in the free air, 
On glittering wings, so radon* dyed and gay 
They seem tne offspring of the gorgeons flowers. 
Blithe birds, like winged blossoms of the «ky, 
Poor forth their rear delays from morn to eve; 
The robin, bard of bird*, whose ardent hymn 
Glows In her swelling breast of softened flame, 
Bnilds here her cabin neat, and rears her brood. 
That jewel of the air, the oriole, 
Bright drops of sky and sunshine turned to song, 
Hangs here its cradie on the lonely tree; 
And nature rocks it with an unseen hand, 
And watches it with all the stars of heaven. 
BT MK3. OLIVE E. PAINE THOMAS, 
How kind our Heavenly Father is, 
To send us, In our sleep, 
Bright fancys to delight our minds 
And fresh onr hearts to keep. 
He gently guides u* through the day, 
And in the hours of night, 
Still 'tis HU hand that leads the way 
Through dream-land’s cloudless light. 
In dreams the aged see once more 
Their childhood’* home so dear, 
And form# of loved ones, gone before, 
In life and health appear. 
The young, and middle-aged too, 
Alike these fancy* share; 
And many times have /enjoyed 
Dream-pleasures, rich and rare. 
And often when I shut my eyes, 
I «ee a vision fair, 
Of one who dwells beyond the skies, 
Whore white-robed seraphs are.* 
She eomee with eyes of sparkling glee, 
As in oar childish years; 
She walks with mo,—she talks with me, 
And then—she disappear*. 
Ah! these are happy, happy dreams 
That bring her back to me; 
They waken many pleasant scenes 
From slumbering memory— 
Scene* that are dearer, dearer far, 
Because her gentle form 
Is penciled *0 distinctly ther^— 
A rainbow in the storm. 
Although she cannot come to me, 
The way to htr is plain: 
Help me, ob I Lord, tby child to be, 
And that bright land to gain. 
Then shall my dreams be realized 
Within our home on high, 
When, after life’s last Joumcyings 
We moet beyond the sky. 
Ontario Co., N. V., July, 18(56. z. o. a. 
* The person referred to is a departed sister of the 
writer, who contributed several nrticleB to the Rural 
New-Yorker over the signature of ‘\Alicb Asulbt." 
For Moore’s Rural New-Yorker, 
WHISPERINGS OF THE MOON. 
Though the storm in its fury bend, 
And the smile In the sky depart, 
The gloomiest day will end 
la joy for the trusting heart. 
Though the voice of the tempest calls 
The bark to the rocky strand-, 
The music of promise falls 
On the tide from the unseen land. 
For, straight as the arrow speeds 
When It mounts in its swift release, 
The hand of the future leads 
To the calm of a blessed peace. 
Oh! beautilbl angel, Faith! 
That never a doubt con hold, 
That likens a human face 
To the sinless ones of old, 
I clasp to my heart to-day 
The soul of thy echoing song 
Nor fear that the morning ray 
Will vanish in gloom ere long. 
I gather the flower* that be, 
And trust in the hearts I know, 
And over earth’s warfare see 
God’s river of mercy flow. 
And oh! when the voice of Faith 
Leads never to earthly bliss, 
It will be to a quiet place, 
And holier far than this. 
Lead on, my soul! for the way 
Grows bright in its upward bend. 
And the Bush of Immortal day 
Is the goal where our hope shall end 
If the light of a faithful love 
The gloom of this life can hide, 
We know in the Fount above 
Our hearts wtll he satisfied. 
Salisbury, Vt., 1866. 
I stood looking out of the window just as the | 
golden sun had disappeared behind the hills. | 
The whole earth seemed filled with gladness;—I 
alone was sorrowful. I was thinking of the 
trials that ever await the Btudent, and how very 
difficult seemed the road to knowledge. I saw 
my duty, hut it seemed so hard that my soul 
shrunk from attempting to fulfill It; and while 
I stood musing thus, the pale silvery moon ad¬ 
vanced from behind the clouds and looked down 
on me so calmly that I almost heard her whisp¬ 
er—“Child of earth, why art thou sad? Thy 
lot is no harder than others. There is notaper- 
son on earth wholly free from sorrow; we all 
have our trials, and were all placed here for some 
■wise purpose. Let me tell you something of 
my life. 
Long, long ago, when time first began, my 
light was formed and hung in the heavens. 
With what wonder I surveyed the vast wilder¬ 
ness before me, and commenced with my sisters 
(the stars) to illumine the rude hut of the Indian, 
and to watch slowly the progress of civilization. 
I guide the laboring man to his humble cottage, 
and spread silvery light over the hair of his wife 
and children as they run forth to meet him; I 
stoop by the bedside of the dying invalid and 
try to raise his thoughts above to that 1 better 
land;’ I dart my rays into the face of the mid¬ 
night assassin and stay his hand from the foul 
deed which he contemplates; I follow closely 
on the footsteps of the robber till he hurries in¬ 
to alleys and dens too dark with sin and shame 
for me to enter; I linger by the side of the old 
church where prayers have been offered up from 
pure hearts, and glance mournfully at the old 
grave yard, where, mouldering into dust, lay the 
hopes of many a heart; I guide the lonely mar¬ 
iner fur away at sea, and whisper in his ear kind 
words of dear friends watching for his return; I 
brighten the hours of the weary soldier, and 
breathe fond words of a true heart far away that 
even then is praying for her soldier’s return, and 
I watch over that lonely maiden in her lar off 
home, and dry the tears on that fair young face 
so beseechingly upturned tome; I Hager lov¬ 
ingly over the door-sill, where long absent 
friends have again met each other; and I steal 
behind the trees where lovers are parting. I 
stay by the lonely grave where lingers the heart- 
stricken mourner, and with him keep my nightly 
vigils. I fill the lawn and veranda with floods 
of silvery light, where those tired of the music 
and dancing have come to enjoy a short season 
of rest, and then many and beautiful are the BOit 
eyes upturned to me — some sorrowfully, 60 mc 
Joyfully! 
Thus have I ever went my rounds. ’Tis lor 
this that T was created. And though solitary 
and alone, I murmur not nor shrink for one 
moment from my duty, which shall continue as 
long as time enduroe; and not till he who first 
placed me here and bade me shine proclaims it 
otherwise, shall I fail to do all I can to help the 
world on to knowledge, wisdom and glory.” 
Cottage Farm. Schuyler, N. Y., 1866. Lizzie L. 
price. “Fourteen dollars per yard," says the 
merchant. “ I will take a pattern," says the 
young man directly. Now you cannot fail to 
understand me. The reason you catch little fish 
Is because you put on bail for little fl6h, and the 
larger ones can see at a glance that there Is noth¬ 
ing there for them and therefore they don't go 
and you have to take the little ones or none, and 
it’s all your own fault. 
There is no young lady who will admit that 
she is not just as good as any body ; yet “ ac¬ 
tions speak louder than words,” and she shows 
by the company she keeps that she does not value 
herself as she wishes others to value her. Young 
men are ambitions and those of the first caste 
are careful to maintain their reputation and self- 
respect under all circumstances; and we know 
gentlemen of this kind who would be willing 
to pay their regards to certain young ladles, 
were It it not for the fact that those same ladles 
are receiving the attentions of certain doubtful 
characters, aDd, as one gentleman said to me, 
“I will not go where Tom, Dick and Harry 
can go." When informed that a certain gentle¬ 
man paid attention to a certain lady I have some¬ 
times heard the remark: “ That’s nothing, any 
body can do that." We see the low estimate we 
are held in; a young man’s ambition makes him 
want to do what everybody can't do. 
We do not look upon marriage in the least 
degree as a sale of a woman to a man, as intima¬ 
ted by the comparisons — far from it; but we 
believe a perfect freedom and equality Bhould be 
exercised, and that it should be the right of a 
lady to invite a gentleman to Epend the evening 
with her, as much as it is his right to ask the 
privilege; and it should be as much his right to 
excuse himself, ns it is hers to do the same. 11' 
this were customary it would very much abate 
the evil we have alluded to; but fashion dictates 
and we all follow foolishly on wherever lute 
may lead. 
But, sisters, the very best we can do, under 
existing circumstances, is to hold ourselves up 
to be something and somebody — perfect ladies 
in all respects — and rest assured that the com¬ 
mon curs of the country will not trouble us 
much. Think less of fashion; spend less time 
in dressing and Ices in studying the labyrinths 
of etiquette. An excess of flounces and ribbons 
and jewels, of airs and aff ectations, are the baits 
for little fish, and disgusting to a real gentle¬ 
man. I have sometimes seen these would-be 
ladies enter church with high and haughty car¬ 
riage, scrape their feet upon the floor and crowd 
upon the backmost seats because they can see 
the people better, and, during service, drum 
with feet and fingers to show their independence. 
H7/a( good wives they would make! Worthless 
trash! 
Let common sense and the better feelings of 
our hearts dictate our actions, and a cultivated 
mind be our adornment; be free and easy, at 
home, in every place, company for young and 
old, and finally loved and welcomed by all. 
There ts something here worth loving, and the 
true admirer of women will not fall to find it 
out, and try to woo it to himself to grace his 
home and make it happy. Mary. 
Ohio, 1866. 
Written for Moore’s Rural New-Yorker. 
Written for Moore's Rural New-Yorker. 
MY TREASURES. 
Written tor Moore’s UHral New-Yorker. 
A TALK TO GIRLS. 
COMMON SENSE IN ITS EVERY DAY CLOTHES, 
In a late number of the Rural I was happy 
to notice a “Chapter on Courtship," and can 
fully endorse the sentiments advanced; at the 
same time I feel like easting In another mite 
toward drawing aside the “ gaudy drapery,” and 
rendering the rigid popular. I Bhall address 
myself chiefly to young ladies. 
There Is no turn or circumstance In our lives 
which comes so near foretelling our happiness or 
misery in the eternal hereafter as onr marriage 
choice. Death only can give the final decision, 
but next to death is the matrimonial union. If 
this he so then should it not be divested of all 
this popular, fictitious romance, and be entered 
into deliberately and seriously? I agee with 
Anna Dickinson, “ that girles are trained" too 
much “for Just one thing—to get married;” 
and the principle is so instilled that marriage is 
one of the indispensable requisites of human 
existence, that the Idea of being an “ old maid" 
continually frightens them from the time they 
are old enough until they are relieved by enter¬ 
ing thoughtlessly into this life-long contract 
when they can again breathe easy aB of yore aud 
the fluttering heart returns to its wonted mea¬ 
sured throb. 
This anxiety to marry with a false conception 
of the married slate is the chief corner stone 
of all the mischief, the chief bar between them 
and their happiness* It induces us to set too 
Iowa price upon ourselves in order to secure a 
purchaser — to look favorably upon any propo¬ 
sal from whatever source for fear “’twill be the 
last.” Wc cannot recommend a more effectual 
way for a young lady to defeat her object of get¬ 
ting a good husband than to show that she is 
willing to associate with aud receive the atten¬ 
tions of almost anything that comes in the way 
—to lake just what she can get — the low price. 
I take it for granted that the most of ns arc 
residents of rural districts, aud reside upon 
farms with our fathers and brothers, and are 
acquainted to some extent with their dealings 
and trades with other men. Now let us draw a 
a comparison to illustrate human nature and 
show our exact meaning. Substitute horses 
for girls and money for high social position, 
intelligence, industry, good character, and 
above all a lively interest in the things which 
pertain to onr eternal happiness. .Suppose I 
have a fine looking horse for sale, a purchaser 
calls, riding a prancing pony, a bunch of halters 
dangling at his side, and carries every indication 
of a large dealer and a wealthy man —1. e., he 
possesses all the above desirable traits of char¬ 
acter. He examines my horse and asks my 
price; I answer eighty dollors; he steps hack 
and looks astonished and soliloquizes thus:— 
“He is a very fine looking horse, but there is 
something wrong, something in the dark, or he 
would not. ask so small a priceand soon takes 
his leave, saying that the horse does not suit 
him, that he does not want just that kind of 
stock. Now the probability is that if I had 
asked him two hundred dollars for my horse I 
would have sold. I become uneasy for fear I 
will not sell and put my price down to fifty dol¬ 
lars. In a few days here comes one of the little 
dealers, hut he has no money. However 1 effect 
a sale by taking Lis note payable at 6ome future 
time—i. e., his family is quiteordinary.be is not 
encumbered with knowledge or intelligence, 
does not work when he can help it, is not troub- 
1 ed with friends and does not care anything 
about morality or religion, but promises to re¬ 
form and do better when he is married. This 
is the note payable at a future time, which never 
comes. 
to build its nest,— so builds it in the tree. And 
there it is, the robin — a couple of them. They 
have been here for many years—-yearly they re¬ 
turn. What If they should meet with a mishap 
while gone. But no, they return safely every 
year, and rear several broods. Perhaps there is 
a family of compassionate members at the other 
end of their Ilight, who have at heart the same 
concern for their safety. And thus they arc a 
link, a sort of telegraph. These little birds have 
a possession here. Nature has given them as 
true a title-deed as to me. I would as soon dis¬ 
possess them as to dispossess myeelf. So we 
live together. How I wait to hear their first 
cal] In the spring — call to me to inform me of 
their arrival 
These trees —I have but a few—are my prin¬ 
cipal treasure, that is, they are ever in my sight. 
I cannot look out but I see them. One extends 
its arras to the window. I can reach it, aud 
shake hands with it Each year it comes nearer. 
By and by it will baud me its frnit, rcd-and-gold 
Spitzenbergs. When the wind is abroad, the 
trees Inform me. I see their branches play — 
6wing and toss. They afford me shade to sit in. 
But most is the daily sight. This is so much so 
that it has become ft necessity. Here are limbs 
as shiny as wax. This is for the good service I 
do them. Insect has no lodgement here, nor 
humidity its pestilence. There is not an apple 
but has its face in the sun,— not one but has air 
and good living. 
In May there is a glorious time (you will have 
anticipated.) Then the tree has renewed its in¬ 
fancy. So much roughness to put on such 
beauty ! But I liko best the autumn, if that is 
possible. Then the branches bend, so that the 
wind can hardly stir them : they are not then in 
a frolicsome mood. They are heavy—what they 
were designed for,—what they blossomed for in 
the spring. Here are trees instinct as it were 
with intelligence: they bear this fruit for you: 
they would not have done so without you,—so 
that it is your fruit, handed through the trees to 
you by Nature. She always does her part if we 
do ours—always —for she is invariable in her 
doings. You can depend upon her. 
There are elovbr-heads among the grass, like 
little globesof fire—I believe Longfellow com¬ 
pares apples in the fall to coals of fire. The 
clover-blooms are in the place of the dandelions, 
which have since ethcrialized. It is difficult to 
walk the orchard now, 60 rank is the grass, 
grass and branches meeting, each sweeping the 
other on this airy day, just after the shower (of 
last night.) And this sunshine after the rain 
seems to bring the humble-bees. Scarcely a 
minute passes but some one buzzes along, zig¬ 
zagging through the orchard, finding his way 
often to the window, and then darting in almost 
ere he is aware. So I have music in my room; 
it is as breezy as need he. I have sometimes 
considerable trouble with these fellows. They 
accumulate so thickly that there is no keeping 
house in such a tumult. And it is not an easy 
matter to let them out: they will be thumping 
against the window, and you dare not take them 
with your hand, for four they will become bitter 
at you. And who blames them ? Thus these 
fine fellows have all day been bestirring them¬ 
selves. And the wasps, I always permit them 
free access to my room, (it is overhead.) But 
hornets I do not like so well — I have been in 
too many scrapes with them and paid dearly. 
graves arranged side by side in inc ora vrameivry 
near my home have cost me — what fond hopes 
and anticipations were buried there. Such mem¬ 
ories come to urn often, but to-night, this anni¬ 
versary of the death of one of them, it all sweeps 
across my sonl, opening afresh the wounds 
which time has failed to heal. Stoop down, 0 
loved ones, from your home on high, for I am 
sad and lone. If angel spirits are again perrnit- 
ed to revisit these mortal shores, pass through 
the pearly gates and come to me to-night. Let 
me but feel your hands upon my throbbing brow 
—It will calm my troubled mind into a dream 
of peace. 
Often, when I have been wandering in the 
“Land of Dreams," this angel band seem to 
hover around me, as In the happy days ol the 
“ long ago.” Among them 1 can ecc the loved 
form of my angel mother—clothed in robes ol 
celestial brightness and smiling on me in pity 
and in love—pointing with “gleaming hands” 
to that far-off shore, saying: “This is the path, 
my child— follow thou mef Instinctively I reach 
forth my hands to clasp her back to my heart 
agaio, and find nothing but empty space. 
"shall I disregard the lessons which come to 
me in hours like these ? God forbid! In my 
soul I feci stronger and better for these silent 
spirit communions. They teach mo to lean 
with greater confidence and trust on tha “Ever¬ 
lasting arms which are underneath and arouuu 
us." With my weak sight, it is sometimes hard 
to understand these things. But God, who so 
orders it, does, and it must he all right. The 
removal of our loved-ones from our midst may 
be intended by the All-Father for our good, as 
theirs,—done to call onr minds from earthly van¬ 
ities, and direct it to Heaven, their home and 
mrs. Perhaps even now, upon some “ unseen 
wire that touches our frail world," the finger* 
of my angel friends are striking holy sympho¬ 
nies that shall attune tne to better deeds. 
I know not how soon Heaven may “unclose 
Us doors of light" for me to enter in. but 
Death is only the dawning of a purer, better, 
more exalted life. Then why should I shrink 
with dread from entering this abode of evei- 
lasting peace and rest, when so many of my 
heart’s treasures, who have gained that “shining 
shore,” are beckoning me thither. With a 
prayer on my lips for guidance and support 
through these hours of darkness and woe. i 
will put my trust in Him “ who doeth all things 
well." E ' H ' 
Crawford Co., Pa. 
__ »»♦ —- 
We must be smitten with the rod of God: t ut 
in the midst of judgment God remembers mer¬ 
cy, and makes the rod to be medicinal, and, uw. 
the rod of God in the hands of Aaron, to s 0 
forth buds, and loaves, and almonds, hopes 
_o+omoi rpuomnenses in the day o 
A LETTER OF INTRODUCTION 
Tub following is the text of a letter brought 
by two sons of Abd El Jvader to M. Emile De 
Girardin at Paris:—" Praise be to the one true 
God. To our noble, respected and highly hon¬ 
ored friend! May God grant you all happiness! 
May you and all who are dear to yon enjoy per¬ 
fect health! We pray also the Almighty to pour 
down his mercies upon you. After beiug in¬ 
formed as to you and your health, we 6hall tell 
you that, thanks to God, wc arc at the height of 
our wishes. Your personal affection and the 
great kindness of France is always present to 
our mind. May the Eternal rewurd you —you 
and the French nation —as highly as you de¬ 
serve. I have sent my 6ons to France that they 
may visit our friends. They will go after that 
to one of the watering places of your country. 
We pray you regard thum with kiodliness. May 
you live long in peace! Your true friend, 
Abd El Rader.” 
INFLUENCE OF FEMALE SOCIETY 
It is better for yon to pass an evening now 
and then in a lady’s drawing room, even though 
the conversation he slow, and you know the 
girl’s song by heart, than in r. club, tavern, or 
pit of a theater. 
All amusements of youth to which virtuous 
women are not admitted, rely on it, are delete¬ 
rious in their nature. All men who avoid female 
society have dull perceptions and are stupid, ur 
have gross tastes, and revolt against what is 
pure. Your club swaggerers, who are sucking 
the huts of billiard cues all night, call female 
society insipid. Poetry is insipid to a yokel; 
beauty has no charms for a blind man; music 
does not please a poor beast w ho does not know 
one tune from another; and as a true epicure is 
hardly ever tired of water sauehy and brown 
bread and butter, I protest that I can sit for a 
whole night talking to a well-regulated and, 
kindly woman, about her girl’s coming out, or 
her boy at college, aud like the evening’s enter¬ 
tainment One of the great benefits a man de¬ 
rives from women's society is that he is bound 
to be respectful to them. The habit is of great 
good to your moral man, depend ujiou it. Our 
education makes of us the most eminently sel¬ 
fish men of the world. We fight for ourselves, 
we push lor ourselves, we yawn for ourselves, 
we light our pipes and say we won’t go out; 
we prefer ourselves and our ease; and the great¬ 
est good that comes to man from woman’s soci¬ 
ety is that he has to think for somebody besides 
himself, somebody to whom be is bound to be 
constantly attentive aud respectful.— Thaekony. 
Writing fob Newspapers.— It is not enough 
to think and to know. It requires the faculty 
of utterance, and a peculiar kind of utterance. 
Certain things are to be said in a certain manner; 
and your amateur article - writer is sure to 
strengthen in any manner but tho right. Per¬ 
haps of all styles of writing there is none in 
which excellency is so rarely attained as that of 
newspaper writing. A readable leading article 
may not be a work of the loftiest order, or de¬ 
mand for its execution the highest attribute of 
genius; but, whatever it may be, the power of 
accomplishing it with success is not shared by 
“ thousands of clever fellows.” Thousands ot 
clever fellows, fortified by Mr. Thackeray’s opin¬ 
ion, may think they could write the articles 
which they read in the morning journals; but 
let them take pen and paper and try.— North 
British Iteidew. 
Want op Time.— We complain that we have 
no time. An Indian chief of the Six Nations 
once said as wise a thiDg as any philosopher. A 
white man remarked in his hearing that he had 
not time enough. “Well,” replied the Indian, 
“I suppose you have all there is!" He Is the 
wisest and best man who can crowd the most 
good actions into now. 
t -- 
If every year we would root out one vice we 
should sooner become j>erfect men. 
A Valuable Legacy. —Well cultivated in¬ 
tellects ; hearts sensible to domestic affection; 
the love of parents, aud brethren, and sisters; a 
taste for home pleasures; habits of order and 
regularity, and industry; hatred of vice and 
vicious men; and a lively sensibility to the ex¬ 
cellence of virtue—are a more valuable legacy 
than an inheritance of property. 
