9 
MJ El 
Jack Barnley, as the two friends sat together 
toward twilight on Sunday afternoon, and they 
ended by ordering their horses and riding down 
to see their old friends. And every Sunday 
evening thereafter Tom and .Tack were seen to 
ride from their respective houses, meet at the 
ford half way from one to the other farm, and 
cross to spend the evening with the Misses Mart 
and Nanct -. So long has this continued, 
for all the four subjects of our sketch are still liv¬ 
ing, that it has become known to every man, 
woman and child of the neighborhood. When 
the tide of war rolled round into that quiet spot, 
Jack, driven from his home, took refuge with 
his fair friends, but as the enemy occupied their 
side of the river and we the other, Tom was sepa¬ 
rated from his friend and their quondam enter¬ 
tainer? at the same time. 
And now for the reason which led Tom Clat- 
tu.v, the ancient brave, to come into our camp 
and relate to us this tale. Not long before, the 
ford near which lived the Misses-had been 
the scene of a skirmish between detachments of 
the two armies, and a stray shot had penetrated 
the house and wounded one of the ladies, but 
whether Miss Mart or Miss Nancy was not 
known. Couldn't we devise some plan whereby 
he could learn of the condition of his friends ? 
Promising to do what we might without violating 
our duty, he took his leave. 
I will own myself to have been much interested 
in this little “romance of real life." and bitterly 
regretted that military usage shut all avenues 
whereby we might have eased the mind of our 
ancient friend, and—satisfied my own curiosity. 
However, our guards one day caught a “reliable 
contraband" from that neighborhood, and while 
Major Jack tried to extract from him some infor¬ 
mation regarding the enemy to send to head¬ 
quarters, I pumped him as to the condition of 
affairs in the 
scarcely receives a passing look from the many 
that are around her. Follow her a little further, 
through another street and down a narrow alley, 
and before a miserable, broken-down tenement 
she pauses, but only long enough to make each 
step sure as she ascends the rickety stairway. 
There, in one poor room, is that child’s home. 
And, Oh! how pleasant it seems to her. after 
meeting but the glances of cold humanity, to go 
to that borne and receive a kind, though poor 
mother's blessing. 
Note the contrast But a little way from this 
scene is a mansion, brilliantly lighted although 
the shades of evening have scarce yet fallen ; and 
in that mansion is another child; the same in 
years, and none the fairer in face or form than 
the little one we have just left. This one, too, is 
happy. This is her home; and though splendor 
dwells, and beauty dazzles on every side, still 
she is no happier than the other; each one is 
joyous in their own way; each have their home, 
they know no other, and wish for no other in this 
world. Many there are who have no place they 
can term home; they roam o’er the world as a 
mariner without a place of destination. Ever 
send out from thy heart a kind thought and a 
prayer for such, hoping that if they find no home 
in this life, that they may secure a resting place 
and an “Eternal Home" where tears never (low, 
and sorrows never come. Augusta. 
Hazel Home, July, 1863. 
Written for Moore’s Rural New-Yorker. 
THE CITY OF LIFE. 
Written for Moore's Rural New-Yorker. 
FAREWELL TO THE SUMMER 
Written for Moore’s Rural New-Yorker. 
REVERIES. 
BY BARBARA ERAXDE. 
BY AXKTE II. BEACH 
Far away where the angels in tenJerest pity 
Labor on in the bloom of the infinite days, 
Arise the white towers of the Beautiful City, 
“ Whose walls are Salvation, whose gateway is Praise.” 
Across the dark wares of the shadowy river, 
Beyoud earth’s sin-promptings, and doubting?, and 
strife; 
Where the bright arrows fall from the beautiful quiver. 
In glorious light is the City of Life ! 
Where the snow-robed bands of the pnre blessed angels, 
Awake the glad song of thanksgiving and praise, 
Their holy lives rising,—a sweet-toned evangel,— 
To the AU Father’s throne, through the eternal days 
There the spirit o’erburdeued with earth's weary sorrows, 
By the crystalline waters in joy lieth down, 
Undisturbed by dark thoughts for the fast-coming mor¬ 
row*, 
Freed from the world's hatred, temptations and frowns. 
And sweet o’er the purple hills, mistily shrouded. 
Come the fragrance of blossoms, the glory of song, 
Joy reigneth supreme; for the sky is unclouded, 
And the years in a sweet happy dream glide along. 
Soon, Boon shall we cross o'er the shndowy river, 
To its shores that lie dimly beyond the dark wave, 
Trusting our 60 uls to the Bouutifu! Giver, 
Whose love is all potent to shield and to save. 
Brande Cottage, Wis., 1863. 
Sweet spirit .of the Summer, 
Thou art passing from me now, 
And dearer seem the kisses 
Thou art.pressing on my brow. 
I have called thy pathway lonely, 
Spite the fragrance and the flowers, 
Ami have chid the smiling moments 
That w ere numbering the hours 
I have heeded not thy beauty. 
Nor thy breezy whispers fond; 
But have bid time bear me faster 
To the years that lie beyond 
And now thy farewell murmurs 
Bring me feelings of regret, 
As it were o’er slighted friendship 
That may never more he met, 
For I know not of the future, 
I have hidden time to bring, 
If still around my pathway 
I shall hear the hope-birds sing 
Should the grief clouds darkly gather 
In the next -weet summer sky, 
My heart will wander backward 
With a weary, longing sigh, 
I 
For the roses left ungathered 
As 1 dreamed away the hours 
To the music of the hope-birds, 
That have sung amid thy bowers 
Cambria, N. Y., 1863. 
BY IK 101-AS AM) MIKKIK MIKTWOOD. 
I am weary, tho' yet morning, 
And I long to cast away 
From my soul this great life-burden 
Growing heavier every day. 
Oh! my heart is aching ever 
From the grief* of long ago, 
And to-day I feel tho anguish 
Throbbing, moaidng, deep and low. 
Bad the memories of olden 
6eem so near, a sable train, 
Faces which ugone lay lifeless 
As of old I see again. 
And the voices which were silenced 
As the frost-king stills the streams, 
Sing again the songs of childhood: 
What strange memories bring these dreams 
Yes, 1 dreamed, in hours of gladness, 
That the future day* would bring 
Joys like blessed heavenly visions 
In the heart's perennial spring. 
Golden shone the bright horizon, 
With fond Hope’s celestial light: 
Fading now, it seems like evening 
Gently gliding into night. 
Still, I trust, though sorrow saddens 
Alt the good we have on earth, 
From the mingled chaos rises 
Grander deeds of nobler birth. 
Let me dream, then while I’m weary, 
Let my heart be soothed with tears; 
Purer shine the groat heart-treasures 
Tlirough the lessons of the years. 
U. 8. General Hospital, St. Louis, Mo., July, 1863. 
Hilldale Farm, Tompkins Co., N. Y., 1863. 
THE ENGLISHWOMAN IN SAXON TIMES 
In olden times, if the husband proved a thief, 
the wife was equally liable to punishment. Alfred 
relieved the wife from punishment if she could 
prove that she neither knew of tho theft nor had 
tasted of the thing stolon. In the days of maraud¬ 
ing expeditions, when thieving was rather hon¬ 
orable than otherwise, these laws naturally led 
to domestic differences. The Northmen and 
Danes allowed the wife to have a custody of her 
husband's keys. If he refused to give them to 
her, there was a law by w hich she could compel 
him to do so. When Canute became king, he in¬ 
troduced a law into England embodying the spirit 
of this institution, for he enacted that every mar¬ 
ried woman had a right to a store-room, a chest 
and a cupboard, to keep under lock and key, and 
to deny her husband access to Ihem. This priv¬ 
ilege extended to every class, so that, in the 
event of the master of the house— Ida ford (bread- 
owner)—taking to thieving, his wife— hktfdvj 
(bread-divider)—was protected. For by the laws 
of Canute, if a man bring a stolen thing to his 
cot, and he be detected, it is just that the owner 
should havewhat he went after. “And unless 
it has been brought, under his wife's key-lockers, 
let her be clear: for it is her duty to keep the key 
of them—namely, her store-room, her chest and 
her cupboard. If it bo found in these, then she 
is guilty; but no wife may forbid her. husband 
that he put not into his cot what he will—-EViy- 
lish lo077i a/Cs •Jon. rind.. 
ABOUT HEAVEN 
IIeaven is not a mere state of being, but a 
place. When the believer dies, his spirit does 
not go forth to float about in space, as a cloud 
drifts in the sky, but it goes to a home-land—a 
city that, bath foundation. Christ said to his dis¬ 
ciples, “ I go to prepare a place for you, and if I 
go and prepare a place for you I will come again 
and receive you to myself, that where I am ye 
may be also.” The abode of the Spirit will, no 
doubt, be widely different from earth. But it 
will not be immaterial, as some imagine. It will 
not be cold and shadowy, but a city with man¬ 
sions—a city lighted by the smile of God, filled 
with the bright forms and glad voices of saints 
and angels. 
Where this place is, we know not, and it is idle 
to try to learn. It may be on some star that we 
gaze upon every night. It may be in those 
richly clustering stars which we call the milky 
way, or it may be yet nearer, and built of such 
material that our gross senses cannot perceive it. 
But it is a place to which the souls of the re¬ 
deemed can go as soon as they leave the earth. 
It was after three o'clock when the penitent thief 
expired, but that, very day he was in Paradise. 
Heaven, though a place of rest; is not a place 
of inactivity. John saw It in symbols from his 
island prison, and was his vision one of moon¬ 
light and of stillness, or of low and gentle melo¬ 
dies wooing to repose ? tin the contrary, he saw 
a city full of light—a city of gold and gems to 
reflect that light —splendor, brilliancy, dazzling 
effulgence ! And out of the throne which was 
the source and centre ol illumination proceeded 
lightnings and thnnderings and voices, and 
round about the throne were living creatures full 
of eyes, who rest not day and night, saying, 
“ Holy, holy, holy, Lord God Almighty." And 
there are many ungels round about these living 
creatures, ten thousand times ten thousand, and 
thousands of thousands, and they are saying ever 
with a loud voice, “worthy is the Lamb that was 
slain.”— Christfan Herald. 
THE DOCTOR IN CAMP.-No. V, 
household; und I (irmly be¬ 
lieve that if the answers to my questions were 
less copious, they were quite as valuable as those 
obtained by the Major. And though I did not 
report to the Major-General Commanding, I did 
to poor Tom Clayton, and by the air of relief 
on his face when I told him it. was Miss Mary. 
and not Miss Nancy, who was hurt, I fancied I 
had found a clue to the answer to the question 
which so bothered the gossips as to t; which was 
which, anyhow However, dear reader, I 
leave that for your conjecture. 
I have told my tale, and I hope it pleases you. 
I am conscious that it does not amount to much 
after all, but I was interested in the contempla¬ 
tion of this little romance, which hud lasted a 
life-time, and could not keep myself from won¬ 
dering why it was never consummated by a 
brace of weddings. But I shall not impose upon 
your good-nature by any moralizings of mine. 
I only introduced the story to show the inconve¬ 
niences of living in the scene of military opera¬ 
tions, and I leave each reader to draw his own 
moral. 
Should any fair reader, unable to restrain her 
curiosity, desire more particulars of the final 
fate of our characters, if she will write to my 
address, “ Headquarters of the —th Cavalry." I 
Written for Moore’s Rural New-Yorker. 
WHAT I’D LIKE TO KNOW. 
Why need people use what is commonly 
termed “ baby-talk” to children ? I can see very 
many reasons why they should not, but none why 
they should. If ’tie thought “ sissy" Or “ hubby" 
can better understand a mixed up jumble of 
words than plain English, 'tis a great mistake. 
If a good mother says *• my child, what ails your 
toes ?” the child would readily understand, if 
ordinarily bright. But when she gives vent to 
“what does ail my little dearie pcerie’s tozies , 
dories, wozies ?' I would defy the premature in¬ 
tellect of Chatterton to understand. Who 
knows but that many a child has been rendered 
idiotic by too early stretching of the intellect in 
order to take in such extraordinary phrases? 
Again, such a simple, foolish way of talking to 
a child corrupts his own language, and ’tis years 
before he rids himself of these “ early Impress¬ 
ions," and talks senpibly. I think a parent must 
know, if a little reflection be resorted to, that 
this: senseless “baby-talk” sounds extremely fat 
to listeners. If there is any logic in it we should 
be pleased to have it pointed out, for we full to 
“see it.” ’Tis really remarkable that as many 
children live tlirough the perilous days of infancy 
as do, there are so many of'edionate tortures for 
tho infantry corps. 
I well remember, when 1 was a little child, my 
eldest brother would bo ensconsed in the foot of I 
the cradle—’twas a huge one—to rock “ Sis” tu 
sleep. And so I would be rocked first to one 
side of the room, and t hen to t he other again, and 
the louder ! yelled the harder he must rock. 
Slam. bang, would go my infantile head against 
the cradle-sides, until, perhaps, after a halfday’s 
work 1 would be shocked into an unnatural sleep, 
for I believe when a child needs sleep, nature 
will close the eyelids without tho aid of so many 
external wearying influences. The result of it 
was l became so accustomed to being shocked, 
that it now takes a great deal to shock me, and 
what most, people look upon as wonderful, awful, 
holding up their hands in sanctified horror, pro¬ 
duces no bewildering effects upon me whatever. 
If a little more common-sense were now and then 
used, the “world would be the better for it.” 
But ’tis such a rare article that people fail to 
recognize it when they see it. and not unfrequent- 
ly men and women are pronounced very sensible, 
when they havn't, at the same time, enough com¬ 
mon-sense in them to unbend their stick-straight 
souls, or turn their stern unflinching natures to 
the sun-light of Truth uud Charity. 
Minnie Mintwood. 
Hilldale Farm, near LudlowTille, N. Y., 1863. 
We (Major Jack and I.) were picketing with 
a detachment of the —th cavalry the hither bank 
of one of the Virginia rivers, our headquarters 
being near the mansion of Col.-, when, one 
day, as we were enjoying our pipes by the camp¬ 
fire the orderly on duty brought to us a man 
apparently about sixty years of age. He was 
tall, slim, for his age very straight, and dressed 
with the care of a beau of the olden school, 
though, owing to the deprivations enforced by 
the war, his clothes were not of the latest mode. 
Inviting him to a seat by the fire, we soon ascer¬ 
tained him to be very much of an original, and 
soon extracted from him the materials for the 
following sketch, which may be called 
• THE FOUR FRIENDS. 
Mauv years ago. there lived on the bank of one 
of the rivers of Virginia which empties into the 
Chesapeake Bay. a young man who had inher¬ 
ited a mansion, and farm, and negroes, and. in 
short, lacked nothing to complete his establish¬ 
ment but a wife, and that he seemed in no hurry 
to add to his possessions, notwithstanding he was 
a general favorite among the surrounding fair 
dames and damsels. With horses in his stables 
and clogs in his kennel, he rode, hunted, sang 
and drank like a free-hearted, open-handed 
young blade as he was: and no merry-making in 
the country for miles around was complete with¬ 
out Jack Barkley, for such we must call this 
fortunate youth. 
Among Jack's friends was none more inti¬ 
mate than one. whom we will call Tom Clayton, 
though if that were not his real name it does not 
Change the nature of our •* ower true tale." At 
hunt, or at ball, or in the evenings after race or 
election, when the punch went round with many 
a joke. Tom and Jack were inseparable. But 
while their companions took to themselves wives 
from among the maidens of the neighborhood 
and settled down to cultivate lands and raise 
families, our two heroes rode harder and laughed 
jollier than ever. 
A HAPPY WOMAN. 
OUR DUTY AND THE WAR. 
SPEAK YE COMFORTABLY 
The weary need sympathy and encourage¬ 
ment. They are prone to despond. Their work 
is burdensome to them. They do it listlessly, 
carelessly, mournfully; sometimes they are 
tempted not to do it all. They are disposed to 
magnify their difficulties, and to underrate their 
own capabilities. They take a gloomy view of 
things. Their hands hang down; their knees are 
feeble; their brow is clouded. And It would be 
both unwise and unkind to blame them. Would 
it lessen their fatigue, do you think, to lecture 
them for beiDg tired? Or would they be likely 
to be more hopeful through your scolding them 
for their faint-heartedness? No, they want com¬ 
fort, not reproof; gentle counsels, not harsh 
animadversions. When the wearied and dejected 
prophet sat under the juniper tree, 3nd, with 
fretful impatience, exclaimed, “It is enough; 
now, 0 Lord, take away my life;” how gently 
God dealt with him! An angel was sent to min¬ 
ister unto him, who prepared for him a table in 
the wilderness, and bade him arise and eat, and 
recruit his strength. 
soldiers, or sneer at the black ones? To reduce 
the speed of trotting horses a second or two 
below Us old minimum ? To color meerschaums? 
To flaunt in laces, and sparkle in diamonds? To 
dredge our maiden’s hair with gold dust? To 
float through life, the passive shuttle-cocks of 
fashion, from the avenues to the beaches, and 
back again from the beaches to the avenues? 
Was it for this that the broad domain of tho 
the western hemisbere was kept so long unvisited 
by civilization?—for this that Time, the father of 
empires, unbounded the virgin zone of this 
youngest of his daughters, ami gave her, beauti¬ 
ful in the long veil of her forests, to the rude 
embrace of the adventurous colonist? 
All this is what we see around us. now—now, 
while we are actually fighting this great battle, 
uud supporting the great load of indebtedness. 
Wait till the diamonds go back to the Jews of 
Amslerdam; till the plate-glass window bears 
the fatal announcement For Sale or Let; till the 
gold dust is combed from the golden locks, and 
hoarded to buy bread; till the fast driving youth 
smokes his clay pipe on the platform of the horse 
car: till the music grinders cease because none 
will pay them; till there are no peaches at 
twenty-four dollars a dozen, and no heaps of 
bananas and pine apples selling at the street cor¬ 
ners; till the ten-flounced dress has but three 
flounces, and it is felony to drink champagne— 
wait till these changes show themselves, the 
signs of deeper want, the preludes of exhaustion 
and bankruptcy: thou let us not be cowards with 
our purses while brave men are emptying 
their hearts upon the earth for us; let ns not 
whine over our imaginary ruin while the re¬ 
versed current of circling events is carrying us 
further and further, every hour, beyond the influ¬ 
ence of the great failing which was born of our 
wealth, and the deadly sin which was our fatal 
inheritance!— Oliver Wendell Holmes. 
No one could brew such 
“applejack” as Tom, (I can testify he has not 
forgotten the art,) and he mixed it to drink the 
health of every bride but his own, while Jack 
was ever ready to treat every newly-married 
pair and wish them a “happy life and plenty of 
children.” amid the blushes of the bride; but 
always shook his head when asked to bring a 
mistress to his own mansion, and plantation, and 
slaves. 
At about equal distances from the houses of 
Jack and Tom. but across the river, lived two 
young ladies, sisters, named Mary and Nancy. 
—and very frequent visits did they receive from 
both the young gentlemen; and often, too. were 
they escoried to and from balls and merry¬ 
makings by Tom Clayton and Jack Earxley, 
but whether Tom rode oftenest with Mary or 
with Nancy, or whether Jack led out the one or 
the other most frequently in the stately cotillion 
and merry contra-dance, not the most inveterate 
gossip could ever decide. 
Finally Tom Clayton left his home and spent 
several years in travel, or in business, it matters 
not which, suffice it to say that when he returned 
he found the companions of his youth had all 
disappeared. Some were dead, some had become 
fathers and mothers, and their children now 
graced the merry-makings and the sports of the 
little community. All. did I say? Nay, Jack 
Burnley still lived in bis old homestead, a 
bachelor still though his dogs and his horses 
were old and stiff and no longer led or carried 
him to cover, or after the fox. “And Misses 
Mary and Nancy— what of them ? Had they, 
too, died?” “No." “ Were they married, then ?” 
“No." Were Tom’s flret inquiries and Jack’s 
Goon Temper. —Don’t trust too much to good answers. Their parents were dead, leaving 
temper when you get into an argument. The them alone, and there on the old farm they still 
Indian produces fire by rubbing of the driest lived, and though not so young, just as pleasant, 
sticks. nay, pleasanter company than ever. So said 
A Mother's Grave 
Written for Moore’s Rural New-Yorker 
HOME. 
A Christian’s Trust. — If you have been 
looking at works, duties and qualifications, in¬ 
stead of looking to Christ, it will cost thee dear- 
No wonder you go complaining. Graces are no 
more than evidences; the merits of Christ alone, 
without thy graces, must be the foundation of 
thy hope. Christ alone is the hope of glory. He 
that builds up graces, duties, Ac., knows not the 
merits of the Savior. This makes believing so 
hard, and so far above nature. If thou believest, 
thy graces, thy duties, thy tears, thy humbliugs, 
will follow; hut beware, lest tbou make ihem 
thy dependence. Nothing but Christ must be 
held up. The others are born of faith and love 
toward him.— Wilson. 
There is not a place in this world that a true 
heart loves more than home. Our thoughts will 
center there when the mind is weary of the toils 
of life. How oft we hear the expression. “ If 1 
were only at home." as though a sight of that 
loved place would brighten every prospect, light¬ 
en every care, and make us better prepared for 
every task. There is a time when home seems 
dearer than at any other. It is when among 
thoso whom we know not well, and in a strange 
land. Then how quickly each little scene that 
has ever transpired at home comes to our minds. 
How we long to cross that same old tkresbhold 
that we have watched the sunbeams of many a 
summer play around; and think if we could but 
be gathered once again within the family circle, 
thru we would care not for wealth and praise; 
none save the loved ones at home would possess 
our affections. 
How truly it has been said. “ There is no place 
like home be it ever so humble.” Enter a busy 
thoroughfare of one of our lauge cities. Do you 
see that poor, thinly clad child pressing its way 
through the crowd ? Of so little account does 
she seem in the eyes of the world, that she 
The hungry mouth no more readily finds food 
than the hungry mind finds truth. 
