s 
LOVE. 
_ 
BY ANSON G. CHESTER. 
The loveliest thing on earth is Love, 
The loveliest and the purest; 
The dearest thing on earth is Love, 
The dearest and the surest; 
And not alone Is heavenly sweet 
The honey of its kisses— 
The very tears of Love are sweet, 
Its very pangs are blisses; 
And they who love with love the best, 
The fondest and the strongest, 
Love with the loveliest love of all, 
Are they who love the longest. 
■Written for Moore's Rural New-Yorker. 
WHAT IT IS TO BE A MOTHER. 
A SERIES OF LETTERS OH HOME TRAINING.—II. 
BY MRS. LAURA E. LYMAN. 
i Dovecote, April, 186-. 
My Dear Mary I have read your valuable let¬ 
ter again and again, and thank you most heartily 
amd warmly for it. Some of my friends were taking 
tea with me the evening it came,—all young mar¬ 
ried women,—and I read it aloud to them. With 
aue voice they pronounced it excellent, and unite 
with me in the sincere desire that you will send us 
many more such. Mrs. Briggs, who has a baby 
still in long clothes, hopes you will say some things 
to fit her ease; and Mrs. Uewett, whose only child 
—a boy—is just running about, looks fora hint or 
two for her; while Mrs. Riley, with a brood of four 
little ones, all under six years of age, is sure you 
cannot fail to drop into her lap some crumbs of 
comfort. So you see you have written youreelf in¬ 
to an authority, aud I hope the reflection that you 
can do us so much good by giving us your views on 
these most important subjects will prompt you to 
write 8ire5n very soon. 
How I wish I had spent less time practicing on 
the piano, when L was a girl, and more in reading 
useful books. I scarce ever touch the instrument 
now, unless to play some simple waltz or march, or 
e ng a 6ong, to please the children; and the piles of 
music book^ that cost so much money and used up 
so much time, lie mouth after month on the music 
s.tAtid unopened. I wish I could turn them into in¬ 
teresting juvenile hooks for my children. One 
thing I am resolved upon,—when my little Carrie 
grows older, unless she shows a decided talent for 
music, she 6hall not be compelled, as I was, to 
practice hour after hour on a tedious music lesson. 
I want her to learn to sing aud play, too, but the 
time and money wasted in trying to accomplish me 
iu an art for which 1 had no talent shall be more 
wisely expended in her case. Oh dear! when I 
look at these children, growing up around me, and 
think what a poor little know-nothing their mother 
is, don’t I wish 1 had been studying history and 
arithmetic instead of reading novels hidden away 
among my books!- What good do Mrs. Hentz’s 
novels do me! 1 —or Mrs. Southworth’s V What, 
cm I remember of tbc “Children of the Abbey,” 
or “ Alonzo and Melissa," that will profit me now ? 
Tell me, if you cau, how I am to make my children 
like histories and books that instruct as well as 
amuse. Is it too late for me to learn to be a sensi¬ 
ble, judicious mother? If I had my school-girl life 
to live over again, I should do as you did; hut that 
can’t be. Visitors call me away. 
i Good-by,—and write soon to your warm friend, 
_ Julia. 
Home, May, 1S6-. 
My Dear Julia:— I am gratified, indeed, that 
as*y words of mine can do you or your friends good, 
and how glad shall 1 be to discuss with yon fully 
these interesting and important subjects. If the 
women of our land, instead of evading and shirk¬ 
ing the duties or motherhood, would rather study 
t« fit themselves nobly and faithfully to discharge 
them, the next generation would show u& results 
that would as much surprise as rejoice us. Young 
ladies are taught to look forward to marriage as 
their destiny, and since the relation of mother 
springs naturally from that of wife, why should 
they not be educated iuto the idea that they are to 
become mothers? How do women mistake the 
true sources of their own highest felicity when they 
imagine a life without care, without labor, without 
the incumbrance of children, can be a happy life I 
Y r ou, Julia, are a mother. You know the intense 
delight that fills your whole being when you feel 
nestling to your heart the precious buds of immor¬ 
tality God has given you upon your tree of life. 
Could any embroideries, any jewels, any splendid 
equipage waken such raptures in your breast? Aud 
do you ever envy those women, who, having not 
tiie maternal cares that sometimes oppress you, 
know nothing of the depth, the height, the power 
of a mother’s love? To me it seems that she who 
passes from girlhood to womanhood, and en into 
mature life, without once tasting the wine pressed 
i'j the mother’s lips, has missed the sweetest 
draught of life, the highest honor, the brightest 
jewel in the crown of womanhood. Laces, dia¬ 
monds, elegaut leisure, a costly establishment,—do 
they, can they, satisfy the true woman’s heart? 
Sbe may have all these and be magnificently mis¬ 
erable; while the toiling, self-denying, patient 
mother of a family, wanting these brilliant gew¬ 
gaws, may yet drink continually from unfailing 
fountains of perennial joy. Shall not we who are 
mothers do much to bring abont a more healthy 
aud legitimate feeling with regard to the care and 
labor of bringing up children by dwelling on the 
bright side of the picture, by speaking of the hap¬ 
piness we have with them, the ever fresh joy they 
diffuse through the home circle, the hopes they 
Inspire, rather than of our toils, our anxieties, and 
our fears ? 
liut I promised you a sketch of the courses we 
marked out aud have pursued with our children, 
and in what 1 may first say your friend, Mrs. 
E riggs, may find something of interest. The two 
extremes into which young mothers are apt to fall, 
—CiGglect, on the one hand, and over-tenderness, on 
fke other, I determined to avoid. No nurse, how- 
e.vjr skillful or conscientious, can make good the 
mother’s place, since she cannot bring to the infant 
a nether’s wealth of love. The magic touch of the 
beloved hand, that so many of our sick soldiers in [ 
the war longed for with inexpressible yearnings, the 
young baby very soon learns to recognize, and pine 
for if it is withdrawn. The loving tones, the gentle 
■presses, the brooding affection that none but a 
mother eau bestow, arc to the baby as dew and sun- , 
shine to the tender plant. Her voice, her smile, 
her presence, make the joy of childhood, the de- ! 
light of youth. Let these be given free as air, fresh < 
as morning light, plenteous as summer showers to | . 
“LA. M E K >1 ”—(THE MOTHER.) 
FROM A GROUP OF STATUARY IN THE PARIS EXPOSITION. 
the olive plants around our table. Let the newly 
made mother not excuse herself from the care of 
her child because she lacks nursery knowledge; for 
she can learn from those skilled in the nurture of 
children, from books, and gradually from her own 
experience, all the secrets of the art. 
On the other hand, too great devotion to the 
baby will undermine the mother’s health and in¬ 
jure, instead of benefiting, the child. As we plant 
seeds in the ground and leave them to the care of 
the kindly elements, tafeiDg thought that no rude 
hand molest them, so must we manage with chil¬ 
dren. Sleep and food at regular aud stated inter¬ 
vals, flannel, cleanliness and abundance of pure air 
—these are the elements on which their physical 
nature thrives. Provide these, aud the law of 
growth will assert itself. Let the morning bath be 
succeeded by a full repast, aud that by a long, deep 
sleep; then in suitable weather will naturally come 
a walk in the open air, aud early sleep at night, 
which may, after the child is about four mouths old, 
be unbroken till morning. When my boy was a 
month old I laid him in his little crib at six o’clock 
at night and let him cry himself to sleep; at the 
tune of hie morning nap I did the same. In two or 
three days he learned to lie quietly, and go to sleep 
without rocking. This course I have pursued with 
all my babies, and can recommend it as practical 
and beneficial to mother and child. By careful at¬ 
tention to her baby’s physical wants,—by keeping 
it warm, and cleau, aud dry,—by removing as far as 
possible every cause of fretfulness and uneasiness,— 
the mother will do very much towards cultivating 
in the little thing a uniformly pleasant disposition. 
She cannot commence too early to impress upon 
her child the idea of prompt and implicit obedi¬ 
ence. Her own mind cannot be too full of the value 
of that idea. As in the germinating seed, the root 
and the leaf develop about the same time,—one 
seeking nourishment from the soil beneath, the 
other unfolding in the air above, fed with sunlight 
and dew,—just so in the infant mind, intelligence 
aud will expand together, and the mother should 
sedulously cultivate the one, while she no less 
carefully directs and restrains the other. Many a 
mother labors under the mistaken notion that a 
child can be taught many things before it is old 
enough to learn submission. But whenever the 
tone of its cry indicates temper, that moment a 
corrective should be applied. A firm tone of com¬ 
mand, a slight reproving pat, will change the cry of 
anger to one of grief, which may be soothed. And 
6hc who wisely loves the nestling in her bosom will 
early instil lessons of patience aud obedience. As 
for bruises she applies arnica,—for colic, catnip 
tea, — for sorrow, soothing tones and gentle ca¬ 
resses,—so in the same spirit of truest love let her 
cheek the earliest risings of self-will. 
Of vastly more importance than any details of 
nursery training is the spirit in which the mother 
dntere upon and discharges her duties. Let the 
same love which prompts her to bestow toys and 
caresses on her little ones, and to dress them in be¬ 
coming and tasteful attire, restrain her from ever 
correcting them hi anger, or withholding reproof 
and punishment when the real good of the child re¬ 
quires it. You will be curious to know if I carry 
out my principles in daily life. Indeed, Julia, I 
try to. Our standard of perfection cannot be too 
high, and though all must fall far short of it, the ef¬ 
fort to attaiu to it must result in good. 
As the skillful gardener knows by the look of his 
flowers what treatment they need, 60 we can catch 
the tone of the little brood about us, and quickly 
see what on our part is called for. One of our little 
plants may need a trellis to climb on; around an¬ 
other weeds may be springing or a worm be at the 
root; while one may need just to be left to grow, 
another may call for the pruning scissors. Happy 
and fortunate, fortunate and happy, is the mother 
who is able to adapt to each the culture it requires. 
As ever, yours, Mary. 
A WF.ITER in Lippincott’s Magazine tells us that 
the ladles in Cuba seldom wash themselves, and only 
clean their faces with a little spirits or eau de Cologne , 
which is supposed to improve the complexion. A 
cold bath once a day would, however, be far better 
for this purpose. 
Choice fpsccWiWjr. 
Written for Moore's Rural New-Yorker. 
MATRIMONIAL DEMONSTRATIONS. 
It seems to be the natural tendency of many 
people to suppress all manifestations of feeling and 
emotion. Before the suggestions of impulse are 
followed, they are critically examained and thor- 
| oughly understood; and as it is impossible to be 
mathematically impulsive, the little exuberance of 
feeling these persons possess grows weak, and the 
i affectionate, unselfish promptings of the heart fre- 
I quently become almost extinguished from simple 
disuse. It is not enough to possess good character- 
l istics; we must make a proper use of them in order 
to show our proprietorship. 
Lovers are usually profuse in their protestations 
of affection towards each other, and the experiences 
of courtship are generally conceded to be at least 
pleasant: but there is nothing supernatural about 
this comparative happiness; it is only the legitimate 
result of the frequent and palpable manifestations of 
their mutual love and regard. When the matrimo¬ 
nial contract is completed, and the honeymoon 
begins to wane, little opportunities for showing 
attentions are slighted as too insignificant to merit 
notice. Conscience may protest against the grow¬ 
ing indifference, but it is silenced with the reflection 
that each party has been informed in reference to 
the other’s feelings, and should henceforth be sat¬ 
isfied, forgetting that the moment either ceases to 
demonstrate the fact that the old love still lives, a 
mutual right to question it exists. This right is im¬ 
mediately claimed, and jars and dissensions follow, 
culminating, perhaps, in a disgraceful attempt to 
procure a bill of divorce. I believe this deplorable 
state of tniugs might be avoided, in many cases, if 
the parties concerned would cultivate a disposition 
to manifest their love towards each other, instead of 
suppressing as meaningless every natural ebullition 
of feeling that seeks to be tangibly represented. 
f. s. J. 
-■ »♦«- » « ♦ » - 
Written for Moore’s Rural New-Yorker. 
LABOR. 
No great man can be an idler. The world is 
teeming with work for ns all, aud no one can do 
that which God has given another to do. We seek 
amusements to pass away the time , when every hour 
is crowded with human destinies, and we have not 
one moment to waste. The seconds of time are the 
woof of eternity,—a moment misspent, and there is 
a flaw in the web. 
We must work. Not all may’be'reapers, not all 
gleaners; but all may do something. Day after day 
humanity is stretching out her hands for help—poor 
erring souls going down to ruin, because men, and 
women, love self more than God. You who lounge 
on luxurious couches, who boast your lily-hands, 
tell me, what have those hands ever done for others? 
The poorest day-laborer who walks the streets, is 
greater than you. Not all kings wear royal robes, 
or sit on thrones, aid he is far more kingly aud 
noble who earns his bread by the sweat of his brow, 
than he who wraps about him his purple and fine 
linen, and boasts his millions. 
We hear so much of “gentlemen” nowadays. 
What constitutes a gentleman f Is it fine broadcloth, 
glossy beaver, immaculate kids, and dainty cane ?— 
or is it a true, unselfish heart and soul rich with 
blessed deeds? Young woman, to which would yon 
trust your happiness, jour life ? Better a royal soul 
than royal robes,—better hands that labor has made 
brown, than those that idleness has made white. 
The crown that earnest toil brings, is better than a 
king’6 coronet, and labor for others’ sakes better 
than treasures of silver and gold. 
Grace G. Slough. 
-- »-> - » ♦-•*»- 
Ring out, Merry Laugh!— Fun is the most con¬ 
servative element of society, and ought to be cherish¬ 
ed and encouraged by all lawful means. People 
never plot mischief when they are merry. Laughter 
is an enemy to malice, a foe to scandal, and a friend 
to every virtue. It promotes good temper, enlivens 
the heart, and brightens the intellect. Let us laugh 
when we can. 
EARNEST MEN. 
Enthusiasm is magnetic. Like the magic fiddle 
of little Fritz in the German legend, it fascinates and 
draws after it the crowd. No eloquent enthusiast 
ever lacked followers, whether his creed were right 
or wrong. The earnest man of action, even though 
a very buugler in his rhetoric, is sure to have plenty 
of friends. His deeds speak for him. Cromwell’s 
speeehes were generally unintelligible, but he was 
terribly in earnest both as a fanatic and a soldier. 
It was impossible to doubt the sincerity of his 
prayers, or to misunderstand the logic of his 
victories. Mahomet was a man of vast capacity, a 
great, orator, a farious sectarian leader, and a lion- 
hearted hero. Such a combination was irresistible, 
and he founded at once a new empire and a new creed. 
Had the Intellec t of Luther been of a more passive 
type, his conquest over error had never been 
achieved. It was the warlike ardor with which he 
challenged and defied his antagonists, bis enthusi¬ 
asm as a controversialist, that enlisted sympathetic 
spirits under his banner, and made the reformation 
a success. To come down to later times—confi¬ 
dence in his own destiny was the inspiration of Napo¬ 
leon, and it was because he believed in himself that 
his army believed in him. He thought himself 
irresistible, and so thought every man in his hosts, 
from the marshals of the empire to the meanest 
followers of the camp. To this delusion, as much 
as to his genius, may be ascribed the glories of his 
dazzling career. 
-- *'»♦ > ' »-— 
THE ITALIAN PEASANTRY. 
You meet what looks like an opera chorus at 
every depot — men and women dressed, it may 
be, in rags, but it is sure to be in colors, and 
worn with an unconscious grace that is peculiar to 
this race. The Italian peasant is a natural posturer. 
He tumbles into graceful attitudes as naturally as 
the workmen of most countries fall into awkward¬ 
ness. No hussar can wear his jacket as jauntily as 
an Italian beggar wears his capote. And when he 
flings his darned, and stained, and tattered cloak 
about him, it falls mto statuesque folds. H he 
leans against the walls, he poses himself like Mas&a- 
tiiello, and stands like a model, as fixed as if he had 
been arranged for an hour’s Bttidy. His hat is a 
curious sugar-loaf, that looks like an Italian volcano 
dwarfed into tit proportions, but retaining all its 
picturesque features. The Roman contadint beat all 
the peasants in the world in natural beauty and na¬ 
tive costumes. The sun deepens their complexion 
without coarsening their features. Their blood is 
dark as Burgundy. They are improved by the bold¬ 
est colors, and their dress is as rich as a parrot’s 
plumage.— Rev. Dr. Bellows. 
SUNSHINE. 
The country-houses of Great Britain are by no 
means shaded as our owu; aud the most considera¬ 
ble piles of buildings, such as Eaton Hall, Blen¬ 
heim, Dalkeith and Burghley House, have hardly a 
noticeable tree witliin stone’s throw of their walls. 
The flower-patches and coppices or shrubbery ap¬ 
proach more nearly, and to the garden-fronts of 
those magnificent homes yon walk through walls 
of blooming shrubs. But the full flow of sunshine 
upon the window is a tlilug courted. Allowing for 
all difference in climate, I thiuk there may be a 
question if we do not err in this country by over¬ 
much shading. A cottage in a wood is a pretty sub¬ 
ject for poetry, but it is apt to be uncomfortably 
damp. And there are village streets with ns so 
embowered that scarce a ray of sunshine can play 
fairly upon the roofs or fronts of the village houses 
from June to October. A summer’s life under such 
screen cannot contribute to the growth of roses in 
the cheeks any more than to the growth of roses at 
the door. There is no provision against agues— 
whether moral or physical—like a good flow of 
sunshine .—Rural studies, by Donald 0. Mitchell. 
-<> ■» ■ » «♦» - 
POWER OF MUSIC. 
Time may never disclose the mighty power of 
music in the war of the rebellion. In the camp, in 
battle-fleet, in hospitals, on transports, in sacred 
services, I have 6een aud felt its power to inspire 
patriotism, subdue suffering, carry the wanderer 
back to home and the cross, aud sustain the spirit 
amid weariness and agony. In our evening song6 
we were joined by the soldiers, who quickly gath¬ 
ered among ns. As the shades of twilight deepened, 
and nothing but dim outlines could be seen, the sob 
of many a manly breast was heard In the pauses of 
hymns made familiar by the Sabbath school, the 
family altar, and the sanctuary. One evening, after 
a pause, we started the air “Home, sweet home.” 
All joined in except the soldiers. They sat in 
silence, and a long, deep inspiration at the close ex¬ 
plained the reason. One braver to speak than the 
rest, said. “ Ladies, the boys never sing that song. 
It unfits them for duty, and makes them homesick.’’ 
As we all know, Napoleon on that principle forbade 
the Swiss evening song, “Ranz desVaches,’ to be 
sung or played in his army, it paralyzed the arms 
and crashed the spirits of his Swiss soldiers.— 
Hours at Horne. 
-. » •» -— 
SANDWICHES. 
Where should a blind man go ?— To au i(s) land. 
Airless music—bal’d opera. 
The only tolerated murders are the lady-killers. 
An angry country—Ireland. 
A strange noise at table—a fish ball. 
A popular cure—Sine-cure. 
Juvenile warriors—Babes in arms, 
Sanguinary ships—Blood-vessels. 
Musical ornament—bugle trimming. 
The Essay on Man—A woman’s attempt to marr y 
him. 
The best exercise of memory—Remembering the 
poor. 
A cynical bachelor thinks the honeymoon a sweet 
lunacy. 
Pyrotechnical remedy for crying infants — 
rocket. 
The science of numbers — Knowledge of the 
people. 
When is a cat like a teapot? When you’re 
teasin’ it. 
The most cruel revenge is the disdain of a'possible 
vengeance. t 
Smith found a dollar the other day in an alley. He 
calls it alimony. 
Heaven and earth, advantages and obstacles, con¬ 
spire to educate genius. 
A rustic gallant thinks his inamorata deserves to 
be called refined sugar. 
Some seek renown as the Parthiaus sought victory 
—by seeming to fly from it. 
A self-denying wotnau—one who sends word 
“ not at home,” when she is. 
The truly generous is the truly wise, and he who 
loves not others, lives unblest. 
