CHANCES OF LIFE, 
•Written for Moore's Rural New-Yorker, 
DOMESTIC HAPPINESS. 
Whatever might be a man's confidence in 
his dependents or follower*, on general occa¬ 
sions, there arc some of such particular impor¬ 
tance he ought to trust 1o none but himself 
and his family. The great end of prudence is 
to give cheerfulness to those hours which splen¬ 
dor cannot gild and acclamation cannot exbile- 
ratc-those soft Intervals of unbended amuse¬ 
ments, in which a man shrinks to his natural 
dimensions, and lays aside the ornaments or 
disguises which he feels, In privacy, to be useful 
encumbrances, and to lose all effect when they 
become familiar. Dr. Johnson says, with much 
truth, that “to be happy at home Is the ulti¬ 
mate result, of all ambition; the end to which 
every enterprize and labor tends, and of which 
every desire prompts the prosecution. It is in¬ 
deed at home that every man must be known, 
by those who would make a just estimate either 
of his virtue or felicity; for smiles and embroid¬ 
ery are alike occasional, and the mind is often 
dressed for show in painted honor and fictitious 
benevolence.” In this day and age, domestic 
happiness is generally measured by the length 
of a man’s nurse. Senbx. 
SATTJPwDAY NIGHT 
Written for Moore’s Rural New-Yorker, 
SONG. 
Written for Moore’s Rural New-Yorker, 
GRIEF. — TO KATIE. 
BT HENRY 8. WASHBURN. 
Lips that we have kis?ed now moulder 
Neath the marble-sculptured dove,— 
Hands that we have pressed are colder 
Than the chilling earth above. 
Skies, where now the skies are glowing, 
Soon with clouds will be o’ercast; 
Where the moonbeams now are flowing, 
Soon will sweep the stormy blast. 
At the dawn, the air is ringing 
With the rice-bird’s minstrelsy, 
But the bird, so sweetly singing, 
Ere the evening hour must die. 
With a slow and gentle motion 
Saile a gallaut ship from shore,— 
But a storm sweeps o’er the ocean, 
And she sinks to rise no more. 
Thus, alas, the hopce we cherish, 
As we enter on earth's strffe, 
Like all worldly treasures, perigh 
On the battle-field of life. 
Trnmansborgh, N. Y., I860, 
Pause my soul! a week hath ended, 
One the less for thee below; 
In this week there bath been blended 
Hope and fear, and joy and woe; 
Weary heart, thou canst not murmur, 
O’er thy sky a bow is cast; 
One week to thy haven nearer, 
Courage gather from the past. 
Pause my soul 1 a week hath ended, 
What its record borne for thee ? 
Whom oppressed hast thou befriended? 
Who the happier been for thee ? 
nast thou love for hate requited ? 
To thy neighbor wert. thon true ? 
What, my soul, hast thon neglected? 
What performed thou shouldst not do ? 
Panse my sonl I a week hath ended, 
Time is bearing tbee away: 
Only for a while extended 
Is the life wc live to-day. 
What, may be upon the morrow. 
God in mercy hides from thee; 
Bnt so live, come joy or sorrow. 
As thy day thy strength shall be. 
Oh, eye* that heavier grow with unshed tears i 
Oh, hcaH that treasures up eorne vanished smile! 
Whose throbs break alienee in these moments while 
The bloem of life fades with the vanished years! 
There used to be no silence half so drear 
As when your footstep died along the walk. 
But naw, such recollections only mock 
The hours that know no oomlng footstep dear! 
account at the age of sixty-three. Public, offi¬ 
cers cling to their existence with as much perti¬ 
nacity as they retain their offices—they never 
resign their office*, hut life forsakes them at 
fifty-six. Coopers, although they seem to stave 
through life, hang on until they are fifty-eight. 
The good works of the clergymen follow 
them to fifty-five. Shipwrights, hatters, lawyers 
and ropemaker8 (some very appropriately) go 
together at fifty-four. The “Village Black¬ 
smith,” like most of his contemporaries, dies 
at fifty-one. Butchers follow their bloody ca¬ 
reer for precisely half a centnry. Carpenters are 
brought to the scaffold at forty-nine. Masons 
realize the cry of “mort” at the age of forty- 
seven. Traders cease their speculations at. forty- 
Bix. Jewellers are disgusted with the tinsel of 
life at forty-four. Bakers, manufacturers and 
various mechanics die at forty-three. The 
painters yield to the colic at forty-two. The 
brittle thread of the tailor’s life is broken at 
forty-one. Editors, like all other beings who 
come under the special admiration of the gods, 
die comparatively young—they accomplish their 
errand of mercy at forty. The musician re¬ 
deems his dying fall at thirty-nine. Printers 
become dead matter at thirty-eight. The ma¬ 
chinist i 3 usually blown up at thirty-six. The 
teacher usually dismisses his scholars at the age 
of thirty-four, and the clerk is even shorter lived, 
for he must needs prepare his balance sheet at 
thirty-three. No account, is given of the aver¬ 
age longevity of wealthy uncles. The inference 
is fair, therefore, that they are immortal. 
Oh, tender earth, lie softly on his breast! 
Full oft my aching head has rested there 
While he has blessod me, calling me most fair, 
Ab I a maiden’s earnest love confessed. 
Oh, soft, blue sky, bond brightly o’er the place 
Where lies the lifeless form of one I love! 
No other can ray deeper feelings move, 
For Btill I linger o’er his dear, dead face! 
Oh, winter wind, grow gentle as yon go 
On quick wing by that lonely churchyard grave 
And bear the eigb that loving momory gave, 
And drop it there amid the drifted snow! 
Written for Moore’s Rural New-Yorker 
AUTUMN’S ENDING. 
COURTSHIP IN GREENLAND 
JERUSALEM 
Written tor Moore's Rural New-Yorker. 
LOUISE CLAYTON’S SURPRISES. 
There ia something exceedingly melancholy 
in the accounts which are given of the custom 
of courtship in Greenland. Generally, women 
enter upon the blessed estate with more willing- 
neBB and less solicitude than the men. The 
women of Greenland are an exception to this 
rule. A Greenlander, having fixed his affections 
upon some female, acquaints bis parents with 
the state of hie heart. They apply to the parents 
of the girl, and if the parties thus far are agreed, 
the next proceeding is to appoint two female 
negotiators, whose duly it is to broach the sub¬ 
ject to the young lady. The lady embassadors 
do not shock the young lady by any sudden or 
abrubt avowal of the awful subject of their mis¬ 
sion. Instead of this, they launch out in praises 
of the gentleman who seeks her hand. They 
speak of the splendor of his house, the sump- 
tuousness of his courage in catching seals, and 
other like accomplishments. 
The lady, pretending to be affronted even at 
these remote bints, runs away, tearing the ring¬ 
lets of her hair as she retires, while the embas¬ 
sadors, having got tlic consent of her parents, 
pursue her, drag her from her concealment, take 
her by force to the bouRe of her destined hus¬ 
band, and there leave her. Compelled to remain 
there, she sits for days with disheveled hair, 
silent and dejected, refusing every kind of sus¬ 
tenance, till at last, if bind entreaties do not 
prevail, she is compelled by force, and even 
blows, to submit to the detested union. In 
some cases, Greenland women faint at the pro¬ 
posal of marriage—in others they fly to the 
mountains, and only return when compelled t.o 
do so by cold and hunger. If one cuts off her 
hair, it is a sign that she intends to resist to 
death. 
All this seems so unnatural to us that we seek 
for a reason for such an apparent violation of 
the first principle of human nature. The Green¬ 
land wife is the slave of her husband, doomed to 
a life ot toil, drudgery and privation; and, if he 
die, she and her children have no resource 
against starvation. The marriage state is a 
miserable condition, while widowhood is a 
still more appalling fate. 
To-day closes out the advertised stock of dear, 
delightful Aufumn days; and what a splended 
make-np of pleasant time it has been — this 
grand masterpiece of summer's after-thong lit! 
It would he something worth liviDg for if only 
to sec the coming of these warm, hazy morn¬ 
ings, before the bright, sunlight has quite taken 
away the heavy curtain of night, and Nature seems 
only half awake. These, are going now, hut they 
leave us eoraething besides a mere memory of 
their pleasantness. All the days have been full 
of Joy, bnt more than this is the rich inlaying 
of better deeds and thoughts—the brighter hope 
and &tronger faith which life has taken on. Thus 
we live, drinking in, as Is mete, these influences 
of beauty and purity and loveliness—growing 
into a better life. 
When the rain came in such fitful showers 
yesterday, I thought of the tears the child has for 
his broken toy or disappointed hope—of the 
bitter, deeper agony of the strong man's sor¬ 
row— and wondered if Nature were weeping 
over the change. The certain comine of the 
winter of our days should give no cause for 
tears; but the spring, the summer, the autumn 
of life, are gloriouB seasons. We love them all, 
oh, bo dearly, and the more if in their time we 
have grown into that great, living Faith which 
ends all doubts and fears and questionings ; pre¬ 
cious they are, for we have lived in them; we 
weep because they arc not. 
To-day, with its warm, bright sunshine, gives 
a glad welcome to the coming end. Spring gave 
of her beauty in tiny buds and cunning blos¬ 
soms; Autumn perfected: why weep? —that 
the fruit of our, life is Boon to be tasted, our 
attainments measured, our faith rewarded ? 
When opens up the brightness and greatness of 
that Love which buoyed us through life — that 
taught, guided, saved—weep that we go into 
its fullness, its gloriousness? Nature is true; 
for departing loveliness she drops a tear; to 
coming glory gives glad welcome. e. 
Maple Lane, Nov. 80tb, 1800. . 
Jerusalem is, perhaps, unlike any other city 
In the world. The midnight slumber is undis¬ 
turbed by the shrill voice of the iron horse as he 
thunders along proclaiming the march of sci¬ 
ence, and bearing with a speed swifter than 
eagle’s wings the products of civilization and 
the labor of genius. The weary sufferer, tossing 
through the long watches of the night, is undis¬ 
turbed by the roll of wheels. The devotee of 
fashion, the midnight reveler—one who has tar¬ 
ried long at the game of chance, and quaffed 
that cup which at last biteth like a serpent and 
stingeth like an adder — has no cause to curse 
the fireman’s trumpet, which has startled him 
from his drunken slumber. The man of litera¬ 
ture, who has labored long and sadly, until the 
night has far waned, to bring from his brain the 
creations of his fancy, that his loved ones may 
be preserved from starvation, will not have con¬ 
sciousness aroused, and his weary mind called 
back from tho holy land of dreams by the roll 
of the market cart, bringing to his memory that 
Aurora has already harnessed her horses, and 
again the burdensome cares of the day must 
force him to arise. No Arc hell tells in which 
ward of the city the power of destruction is 
wasting, with more than lightning speed, and 
implores the strong arm and stentorian voice of 
the noble fireman to rescue some helpless infant 
or trembling maiden from the suffocating 
flames. The weary mother, bending over the 
cradle of the sick child, is not pained by the 
hilarity of the theater-going crowd. There are 
no brilliantly illuminated streets—no light to be 
seen without, save the fitful glimmer of a paper 
lantern carried by the hand of the solitary night- 
walker. No policeman stands sentinel. The 
soft light of the moon cannot penetrate those 
narrow, dark alleys. The daughters of music 
have been brought low. There is a quiet per- 
vuding these streets, In which the wind even 
seems faint, and nothing finds utterance save 
the bark of a dog, the matin hell, and the muz- 
zeirn’s cry, doling out his lugubrious summons 
for the faithful Mohammedan to arise and come 
to prayers. 
And this is Jerusalem, once the joy of the 
whole earth! And this, the spot spread out by 
Jehovah himself for the eternal dwelling place 
of his chosen. And these miserable, filthy, 
poverty-stricken and oppressed people, are the 
decendants of the friend of God — the children 
of Abraham. Behold the literal fulfillment of 
prophecy! See them “ melted out, peeled, and 
trodden down by the worst of heathen; their 
houses possessed, the pomp of the strong has 
ceased, and their holy places are defiled.” Where 
now is that magnificent temple erected by King 
Solomon ? Yea, “ not one stone has been left 
BY MAY MAITLAND 
“Gone, gone, gone! 0, Guy, can it be?” 
and the speaker Bank to the ground and burying 
her face within her hands, Bob followed sob bo 
fast and heart-rending that she eeemed utterly 
prostrated beneath her great sorrow. “GoneI 
and I could not know it. But I am wrong, I 
am wrong; this must not be;” and with the 
resolution came calmness. 
Rising to her feet Louise Clayton seemed, 
with her face upturned toward heaven, to in¬ 
voke Divine aid for strength to endure her trial. 
A few moments before a friend and suitor had 
hidden her “good-bye,” and left her standing 
beneath the vine-wreathed arbor where they had 
been seated while he had told her of the heart 
he had given her, and in return heard her say he 
could never be more than friend to her. And 
while his heart seemed almost bursting he read 
her secret. 
“Louise,” he had said, “your heart is not 
your own.” 
“That is more than you have the right to 
know.” 
“Did you know Captain Harding left this 
morning?” 
“Left?” 
“Yes, he and his company are on their way to 
join the Regiment.” 
And thus had Will Merton left her for, she 
knew not where—nor cared, so long as he to 
whom she had given her whole heart hud gone 
without one word to let her know her love was 
even cared for. But hers was a proud heart, 
and none must read it as she had done. Bo, as 
of old, Louise Clayton moved among her 
friends, the life of every circle, hiding well the 
keen agony that was steadily gnawing at her 
heart-strings. 
TALENT ACQUIRED AND NATURAL 
As it is in the body, eo it is in the mind—prac¬ 
tice makes it what it is; and most even of those 
excellencies which are looked upon as natural 
endowments will be found, wben examined into 
more narrowly, to be the product of exercise, 
and to be raised to that pitch only by repeated 
actions. Some men are remarked for pleasant¬ 
ness in railery, others for apologues and appo¬ 
site diverting stories. This is apt to be taken 
for the effect of pure nature, and that the rather 
because it is not got by rules; and those who 
excel in either of them never purposely set 
themselves to the study of it, as an art to he 
learnt. But yet it is true that at first some lucky 
hit which took with somebody, and gained him 
commendations, encouraged Lira to try again, 
inclined his thoughts and endeavors that way, 
till at last he insensibly got a faculty in it with¬ 
out perceiving how; and that is attributed whol¬ 
ly to nature, which was much more the effect of 
use and practice.— Locke. 
POOR READING AND NONE AT ALL, 
“Good morning, Captain.” 
“Will Merton! where have you hailed 
from? Corneas a damper with this rain, have 
you not?” 
“ Don’t know, Goy; that is yet to be proved. 
But I suppose you really want to know what I 
am here for.” 
“Certainly.” 
“ Well, sir, I came to ask for a place as ‘high 
private’ in your company, if I can get the 
station.” 
“ Good; but why did you not enlist before ?” 
“Had various reasons.” 
So we thought. 
A diet composed exclusively of Ladys’ Books 
and Gentleman’s Magazines, is only one remove 
from starvation. A man is not necessarily in¬ 
telligent because he reads his county newspaper. 
He who stops there will scarcely he rewarded 
for having begun. The only difference between 
some readers of newspapers and those who read 
nothing, is that tho former know the gossip and 
scandal of the country, while the latter know 
only the gossip and scandal of their own village. 
The only difference between some readers of 
magazines aud those who read nothing is that 
the former have filled their lives with milk-and- 
water romancing and unmitigated snobbery, 
while the latter have never deviated from the 
bread and butter of tbeir homely circle; and 
though the snob is unquestionably higher than 
the clod, both are so far below the true man, 
that the difference between them is scarcely per¬ 
ceptible. — 0a il Hamilton . 
Written for Moore's Rural New-Yorker, 
THE SUNBEAM. 
It was a bright and beautiful morning. The 
last lingering emblems of night had disappeared, 
the morning twilight had come and gone, and 
the first rays of the rising sun shone forth with 
their accustomed splendor. All Nature seemed 
to awaken and to put forth new life at the touch 
of a joyous sunbeam. The flowers, warmed by 
its genial glance, opened their tiny petals and 
sent forth their sweet, odors, to enrich the pure 
air of morning. The little dew-drop concealed 
among the fresh rose leaves sparkled with a 
diamond-like brilliancy as the glittering sun¬ 
beam penetrated the deep recesses of its hiding 
place; the birds warmly welcomed the bright 
sunbeam, and, enlivened by Its influence, filled 
the air with melodious song. Man, too, was 
delighted at its presence, and many a sad heart 
was cheered by its friendly touch. The counte¬ 
nance of many a youthful one brightened as it 
merrily danced over his pleasing features. 
It penetrated through cracks and broken shut¬ 
ters to the garret homes of many of earth’s un¬ 
fortunates, and its genial warmth cheered the 
inmates of miserable homes. The little ones 
eagerly tried to grasp the shadow that it might 
not depart. It sought betwixt iron bars the 
captive home of erring ones, and its purity 
brought shame to the cheek and repentance to 
the guilty heart. It entered the rich man’s win¬ 
dows, and those basking in all the splendor that 
wealth can give were made more joyous by the 
presence of the pure and lovely ray. 
0 sunbeam, beautiful aud bright, 
Thy path of love pnrsue; 
And let thy pure and holy light 
Its visit oft renew. 
Greene, N. Y., 1806. 8. 
A KIND WORD FOR CHARLOTTE, 
Charlotte is beloved by the whole popula¬ 
tion of the valley of Mexico. She has worked 
unceasingly to improve the poorer classes — she 
has founded schools and hospitals, supporting 
them from her own purse, and sincere mourners 
in thousands would lament her death, should 
that be the result of her dangerous illness. To 
the shame of Protestant England aud America, 
this noble and royal lady has been the only mis¬ 
sionary that has ever visited the poor of the 
valley of Mexico; hers the only hands to dis¬ 
tribute charity and toil for the elevation of the 
tens of thousands of the half-clad and most nu¬ 
merous portion of the Mexican people. 1 have 
seen her in ihe suburban Pueblos of this capital, 
accompanied by a single lady of honor, calling 
at the mud huts of the poor, and stopping for a 
moment to review one of our recently founded 
schools. Whatever may be said of Maximilian 
and his sad effort to govern these people, noth¬ 
ing can be said of Charlotte of Belgium that 
will lessen the opinion of t housands of her, and 
that is that she is one of the noblest women of 
the century .—Letter from Mexico. 
Six months of camp life. The battle of Shiloh 
was over and Captain Harding’s left arm was 
shattered. 
“ Ah, Will ! old friend, I am glad to see you. 
Come to write my letter?” 
“ Yes — who is it to?” 
“Mother. Tell her particulars, and that I 
will come home as soon as I can travel.” 
"What else, Guv—any more letters? Of 
course Lou will want to hear.” 
“ Then you have not written to her ?” 
“Me!—of course not; you ought to know 
that.” 
“Why, should 1 know? I supposed you 
were writing to her.” 
“I have never been so highly honored as to 
be one of her correspondents.” 
“ Will, are you not engaged to Miss Clay¬ 
ton ?” 
“ No, man, yon must be wild.” 
“I — I thought you were.” 
“Well, I am not, sir.” 
COURAGE IN EVERY-DAY LIFE 
Have the courage to do without that which 
you do not really need, however much your eyes 
may covet it. 
Have the courage to show your respect for 
honesty, in whatever guise it appears; and your 
contempt for dishonest duplicity by whomso¬ 
ever exhibited. 
Have the courage to wear your old clothes till 
you can pay for new ones. 
Have the courage to obey your Maker, at the 
risk of being ridiculed by man. 
Have the courage to prefer comfort and pro¬ 
priety to fashion in all things. 
Have the courage to acknowledge your igno- 
rather than to seek credit for knowledge 
Queens shall be tut Nursing Mothers. — 
The following is a beautiful example of Scripture 
fulfillment: — “At the anniversary of the Lon¬ 
don Missionary Society, the venerable Rev. Mr. 
Ellis, in giving an account ol his visit to Mada¬ 
gascar, said that in the drafts sent from England 
of a proposed treaty of amity and commerce be¬ 
tween England and Madagascar, there occurred 
these remarkable words : — ‘ Queen Victoria 
asks as a matter of personal favor to herself, 
that the Queen of Madagascar will allow no 
persecution of the Christians.’ In the treaty 
that was signed a month before be came over 
there occurred these words: —‘In accordance 
with the wish of Queen Victoria, the Queen of 
Madagascar engages that there shall be no per¬ 
secution of Christians in Madagascar.’ ” 
END OF A FRENCH LADY’S ELOPEMENT 
Such a story of love and suicide as this could 
have originated only in France: 
M. de R-, having acquired a fortune in 
business, retired to a handsome property he 
possessed near Fontainebleau. Soon after, his 
daughter Julie, 2L years of age, was asked in 
marriage by a gentleman in the neighborhood, 
and in spite of her opposition and repugnance, 
the wedding took place. In the evening the 
bride was missed, aud the result of the research¬ 
es made was only to find that the groomsman, 
who had been a friend of the young lady’6 from 
infancy had likewise disappeared. The father, 
like every one else, believed in an elopement, 
and all the usual means were employed to trace 
the fugutives, hut unsuccessfully. This oc¬ 
curred five years ago, and M. de K-, having 
laiely pnrchaeed some adjoining property, on 
which was a quarry long ont of use, set some 
men to work, who round at the bottom of an 
old excavation two skeletons, which, from the 
remains of the clothes and the jewels, were re¬ 
cognized as the missing bride and her lover. . 
“Captain Harding, I am glad to see you at 
home again,” eald Miss Clayton. 
“Thauk you, Louise, I came to see you. I 
thought you engaged to Mr. Merton, bnt find 
it is not so. Will you take me ‘ for better or 
for worse?”’ Her reply was faint, bnt loud 
enough for the lover’s ears, as she is now Mrs. 
Captain Harding. 
ranee 
under false pretenses. 
Have the courage to provide entertainment 
for your friends within your means, — not 
beyond._ 
A Beautiful Idea. —An Indian philosopher 
being asked what were, according to his opinion, 
the two most beautiful things of the universe, 
answered, “The starry heavens above our heads, 
and the feeling of duty in our hearts.” 
Luck and Labor. — Luck is ever waiting for 
something so turn up; Labor, with keen eyes 
and strong will, will turn up something. Luck 
lies in bed, and wishes the postman would bring 
him news of a legacy; Labor turns out at six 
o’clock, and with busy pen or ringing hammer, 
lays the foundation of a competence. Luck 
whines; Labor whistles. Luck relies on chances; 
Labor on character. Luck slips downward to 
idigence; Labor strides upward, and to inde¬ 
pendence. 
Gen. Cass on Poligamy. — Gen. Cass once 
said, speaking to a delegate from Ulak, “Can 
you tell me, sir, how an American woman can 
give her life away for the sixtieth portion of a 
man’s heart?” The delegate replied that he 
supposed for the same reason that women did 
in Mahommcdan countries, because it was part 
of their religion. ‘' That is no answer, sir,’ ’ Baid 
the grand old man, turning away with the cold 
loftiness of manner peculiar to him, “American 
women are supposed to have souls.” 
It is not work that kills men, it is worry. II 
is not the revolution that destroys the nm 
chinery, but the friction. 
Those who make of literature a profession, 
a business, lose thereby a part of their aptitude 
to think and feel normally. 
Men are frequently like tea—the real strength 
and goodness is not drawn out of them until 
they have been sometime in hot water. 
