vr 
Written for Moore’s Rural New-Yorker 
DARE TO DO RIGHT. 
How much ie involved iD that little word dare. 
The love of praise is an innate principle of human 
nature, and it requires much strength of purpose to 
boldly oppose wrong, particularly when society and 
the world court and advocate it. Wc must expect 
opposition if we dare to defend the right in spite 
of all usages of society. There arc many kind, 
noble heart*, by far too lenient in this matter. 
Strong on all other points, yet in this they fail,— 
their trembling feet dare not overstep the limits 
which society has prescribed for Christian courtesy 
and charity. 
If brothers or sisters err, the world says “Shun 
them; thus you will show that yon disapprove of 
the act, making an example of them.” Alas! how 
many examples we have of this mode of teaching 
crowdmg the haunts of infamy to-day. Once bright 
young lives, over whose pure lips and innocent 
brows mothers watched in all tenderness; but the 
trembling feet took one false step, and so we thrust 
them out of our hearts, out of our churches, and 
would even thrust them out of heaveu. Is it right, 
is it just, is it CfJRisT-likc? 
A young girl errs once, and Ihe doors of human 
kindness aud love are closed against her. But wc 
reach the betrayer our hands, and bid him welcome; 
wc court and flatter him, and sacrifice our darling 
daughters to his greed — for is it not a sacrifice of 
love, purity, and everything worthy to wed such an 
one ? Does Gon ever smile upon shell a union ? If 
either he shunned, whynot the betrayer of youth aud 
innocence, rather than tnc one who has been wronged 
sogriavously ? I know that lips will enri with scorn, 
and society will sneer, if we reach our hands to the 
outcast; but Gon and the angels will be glad, and 
if a soul is saved, wbat matters it? 
I know that thousands of noble young men and 
women have pledged each other in wine, because 
society said it was fashionable; and where are they 
now ? I know, too, that professors of the religion 
of Christ, have mingled in social amusements, have 
sat at the card table and frequented the ball-room, 
bccan-e the world would laugh and call them “ec¬ 
centric” if they refused. Is it a crime, then, to be 
eccentric ? — is it a crime to love the right and cling 
to it, regardless of all opposition, for humanity’s 
sake and for Goo’s ? Why, I have seen little chil¬ 
dren wbowoukln t yield to wrong, let it come in 
whatever way it would; and shall the hearts of man¬ 
hood and womanhood be so pant/ that they dare not 
advocate the right by example, wherever they may 
see it? 
Shall wc not cultivate decision of character, and 
pray that our hearts and hands may be strong and 
earnest to crush out these evils that society is bring¬ 
ing into our homes, — that every day of our lives, 
whether at home or in social gatherings, in the 
work shop or the counting-room, we may dare to 
defend the right? Grace G. Slough. 
Written for Moore's Rural New-Yorker. 
COMPANIONSHIP. 
BT A. J. H. DCGANNE, 
Not lightly did the Persian sage 
Conceive two warring spirits— 
The Good and Ill that every age 
Of mortal life inherits. 
Each human son! discerns in these 
His curse and his evangel— 
Ahrimanes—Orozmades— 
The Demon and the Angel. 
Not only is our life two-fold 
In waking and in sleeping, 
But two-fold is the soul we hold 
Within the body's keeping. 
Not only two-fold is oar sense 
Of doing and of dreaming, 
But Good and HI, with power intense, 
Divide our nature's scorning. 
We love, yet hurt the hearts we love; 
We feel, yet mock at feeling; 
We ask orr Father’s help above, 
Yet sptim otir brother’s kneeling. 
We chase the brightest form, to find 
’Tis but a cloud we follow; 
We pluck the fruit of fairest rind, 
To prove it sere and hollow. 
Possession palls, and Promise cheats, 
Hope fails and Trust is shattered; 
Oar marriage blooms, our cradle sweets, 
In lowly graves lie scattered. 
What matters, then, to trust or hope ? 
What use in human, caring ? 
Since Evil still with Good may cope, 
And love must die despairing ? 
Not so, my soul! Love never dies, 
And Good can never perish; 
The fruit will bloom hey oral the skies, 
Whose blossoms here wc cherish. 
The Evil rules but earthly things, 
W r hile at the grave’s low portal 
The Good awaits with angel wings. 
To rule our life immortal. 
BT A. A. HOPKINS 
Two little brooks, that pleasantly bad sung 
Adown two dim defiles, 
And in and out the meadow vales among 
Had flashed their silver smiles, 
Their waters blended where a wooded hill 
Came down for each to kiss, 
And wooed them on along Its banks until 
They met in liipiid bliss. 
Together then they bade the hill adieu, 
And cheerily did wind 
Along the valley, where the lilies grew 
Aud with the myrtle twined. 
The song they eaDg was softer, more subdued, 
Than when each Bang alone; 
Bat it was sweeter, as though each renewed 
All sweetness if had known. 
So with our lives; we sing some songs apart, 
In solitary ways, 
That give some pleasant echoes from the heart 
To make more glad the days: 
But they are sweeter, and the days more bright, 
And life a gladder thing, 
If one or two sweet-singing souls unite 
These songs with us to sing! 
Who walks alone a weary distance goes, 
With none to comfort him; 
No shining sun his shadowed being knows, 
But only twilight dim. 
The onward road is not so broad that we 
Should walk it separate; 
With close-clasped hands the miles will shorter be. 
The burdens not so great! 
Written for Moore's Rural New-Yorker, 
NOVEMBER. 
The somber figure and limpsy gray robes of 
November, — the mouth of sighing andj tears,— 
visits 'earth again; and the thought of her pres¬ 
ence sends a chill over many of us. For with'her 
udvent we know the close of another year; is not 
far distant. Of all the thirty days, but one is 
hailed with anything like gladness,—our national 
Thanksgiving, wheu the great family gatherings 
are held, when graudparents, with bowed forms 
and dim eyes, call home their children, many of 
them showing by the silver Hues in their dark, un¬ 
colored hair that they too are reaching up among 
the years of forty and fifty, and the grandchildren, 
who are always so glad to go to Grandma’s and par¬ 
take of the “goodies” made with those dear, old, 
brown, wrinkled bands, and listen to Grandpa’s 
stories of “bears” and “Indians,” of which they 
never tire, though possibly they may hear the same 
ones every holiday. The turkey that has been 
strutting about through all the long summer days, 
displaying the bright crimson tassel at his throat, 
arranging and re-arranging uis wealth of glossy 
feathers with as much grace as a modern belle 
shakes out the folds of a stiff brocade — this same 
turkey with all liis pride and arrogance must be 
sacrificed, with untold chickens who have had 
their little day of happiness not umixed with 
trials, to add to the luxury of the grand dinner. 
It is well that this great national day should 
have been allotted to this particular mouth. It is 
the one bright spot, the oasis, in barren, desolate 
November; seemingly her only joy. Long, long 
days she has reclined on the far-off purple hills, en¬ 
veloped in a soft gray mist, watching the gambols 
of her fairy sisters, as they wandered mid bright 
flowers or floated in the dance, keeping time with 
bird-music; and the softly murmuring stream kissed 
their tiny feet, and showed them the delicate gar¬ 
lands so beautifully woven (Hong Its velvet margin. 
Tiiough she could plainly discern their lovely habi¬ 
tation from her throne in the distance, she cocild 
never clasp hands with them in their joyousm ss,— 
never feel their soft kisses upon her pale cheek, nor 
listen to their whispered consultations; even the 
privilege of breathing the richly perfumed air is 
denied her; nothiug of childhood, youth or beauty 
does she know. 
No wonder she ever comes to us with tear-dimmed 
eyes and a saddened heart; nor that wc can only 
discover the faintest outlines of the crimson and 
gold broideries upon her garments, and that her 
brow is furrowed with dee}) lines of sorrow. Who 
is able to live utterly alone, without love’s caresses 
and heart sympathy, without cheerful eoinmuuings 
and the harmonious sounds of music and laughter, 
and still W’ear a suusliiuy face aud tasteful adorn¬ 
ments ? 
Ah , November! As our precious Thanksgiving 
day is the one bright Joy in thy short life, which is 
filled almost to the brim with clouds and darkness, 
so may we remember that (here is no life, however 
sorrowful, but has its one great jog. And as the years 
never fail to bring this anniversary day, replete 
with happiness to thousands, so may the life that 
finds no earthly joy seek pleasure and consolation 
in lookiug to the God of the Pilgrim Fathers as its 
firm, everlasting friend, its continued ray of sun¬ 
light which will lift the soul out of deep darkness 
and despair. May Maple. 
Michigan, 1868. 
Wrutun for Moore’s Rural New-Yorker. 
AT THE EVENING TIME. 
When the twilight of life gathered its mist-like 
shadows about the great Scotch schoolmaster of the 
last century,—the teacher of Sir Walter Scott,— 
ihe last words that, for him, linked eternity with 
time, were:—“ It grows dark, boys ; you may go.” 
He was in that calmer, holier twilight of which it is 
written“ It shall come to pass in that day that 
the light shall not be clear nor dark. But it shall 
be one day which shall be known to the Lord, not 
day nor night, but it shall come to pass that at even¬ 
ing time it shall be light.” 
Is it strange, then, with such hallowed memories 
clinging to it,—with such a glorious hope for the 
infinite to come,—that we love the sacred quiet of 
this hour?—that it is to us like the “Holy of 
Holies,” where we are shielded as under the shadow 
of His wing who grants us this sweet mystery? 
The pale, wan shadow? of twilight are not a lit set" 
ting for a jest, or words uttered in lightness; but 
serious yet most welcome thoughts abide in the 
pavilion of growing darkness. 
Of the beautiful Scriptural evening time, the long 
twilight of Scotland is a noble type. It is said that 
at eleven o’clock the light still lingers so that one 
can see to read by it. There is a dawn before the 
day when it seems doubtful whether light or shadow 
sliall be the victor, and this corresponds to the 
period of youth when doubt and earnest belief go 
baud in hand. Light has invaded the dornaiu of 
darkness, but has not yet won the victory. There 
is still a strong castle of doubt upon the borders. 
But the day grows apace, till the noou comes, aud 
then fades away till the evening time, when old age 
gathers its silver threads one by one. The crown of 
the old secures them favor when the darkness 
wraps its gloomy mantle about them, aud men 
jostle each other rudely on the thoroughfares of 
life. “ Sometimes at the close of the checkered and 
sober day, the Better Sun has broken through the 
clouds aud made the flaming west all purple and 
gold. The purer light always comes, if not in this 
world, then in a better. Bowing Ills head to pass 
under the dark portal, the Christian lifts it on the 
other side in the presence and in the light of God.” 
You may have stood in the chamber of the dying 
man and seen the summer sun in glory going down; 
and when the eveniug came to you and not to him, 
when the shadows fell upon you and not upon him, 
that glorious promise met its perfect fulfillment,— 
“ At evening time it shall be light.” 
Alice M. Beale. 
Northville, Mich. 
The above representation of a statuette by Miss Edmonia Lewis, needs uo words of comment or 
description. The poem which inspired the sculptor’s chisel is familiar to all. Mbs Lewis has begun 
to attract attention by her skill in an art extremely difficult. She is of African descent,— a native 
of this State, we believe, — and is now in Rome, devoting herself assiduously to study. 
company, or unforeseen circumstances of any kind, 
and who finds it both possible and cu»j‘ to be faith¬ 
ful Bridget and the accomplished mistress, the 
skillful housekeeper and the intelligent and well- 
informed woman. For nil these things society 
demands, and women arc killing themselves in 
trying to meet the requiiemeut; and yet —our 
feeble American women! l. a. o. 
Northville, Mich , 1868. 
Written lor Moore's Rural New-Yorker 
FARMERS’ HOMES. 
THE POWER OF A MUSICAL VOICE 
It is a curious fact in the history of sounds, 
that the loudest noises perish almost on the spot 
where they are produced, whereas musical tones 
will tie heard at a great distance. Thus, if we ap¬ 
proach within a mile or two of a town or village in ] 
which a fair is held, we may hear very faintly the 
clamor of the multitude, but most distinctly the 
organs and other musical instruments which are 
played for their arausemeut. It a Cremona violin, 
a real Amnti, be played by the side of a modern fid¬ 
dle, the latter will sound much the louder of the 
two; but the sweet, brilliant tones of the Amati will 
be heard at a distance to which the other cannot 
reach. 
Dr. Young, on the authority of Derliam, states 
that at Gibraltar, the human voice was heard at a 
distance of tea miles. It is a well known fact that 
the human voice may be heard at a greater distance 
than that of any other animal. Thus, when the cot¬ 
tager in the woods or in an open plain wishes to call 
her husband who is working at a distance, she does 
not shout, but pitches her voice at a musical key, 
which she knows from habit, and by that meaus 
reaches his ear. The loudest roar of the largest 
liou could not penetrate so far. “ This property of 
musical sound in the human voice,” says Young, 
“is strikingly shown in the cathedrals abroad. 
Here the mass is entirely performed in musical 
sounds, which become audible to every devotee, 
however placed in the remotest part of the church; 
whereas, if the same services had been read, the 
sound would uot have traveled beyoud the precincts 
of the choir.” 
There are women who cannot grow old ; women 
who, without any special effort, remain alway? 
young and always attractive. Their number is 
smaller thau it should be, but there is sufficient 
number to mark the wide difference between this 
class and the other. The secret of this perpetual 
youth lies not in the beauty, for some women pos¬ 
sess it who are not at all handsome; nor in dress, 
for they arc frequently careless in that respect, so 
far as the mere arbitrary dictates of fashion arc con¬ 
cerned; nor in having nothing to do, for those ever- 
young women arc always a? busy as bees, and it is 
very well known that idleness will tret people into 
old age and ugliness faster than overwork. The 
charm, we imagine, lies in the sunny temper— 
neither more nor less—the blessed gift of always 
looking on the bright side of life, and of stretching 
the mantle of charity over everybody’s fault-, aud 
feelings. It is not much of a secret, but it is all 
that we have seen, and we have watched such With 
great interest, and a determination to report truth¬ 
fully for the benefit of the sex. It is very provok¬ 
ing that It is something which can not be corked up 
and sold for fi fty cents a bottle. But this is impossi¬ 
ble, and is why the most of us will have to keep on 
growing old aud ugly and disagreeable as usual. 
Man was created for something nobler than the 
mere pursuit of galu. Our social faculties were 
given us to enjoy and to improve, aud a withering 
blight rests upon him who refuses thus to employ 
them. Look at that dried up specimen of humanity 
who has worked two or three wives to death, and 
has doomed his children to a life ol intellectual 
degradation, if not of physical pain, iu order that 
his Lank account may be ever increasing} that he 
may add acre to acre; that he may pull down bis 
barus aud build larger. How little of the light of 
humanity beams from Ills eye; how withered his 
heart; how bloated his sensibilities ! He has chosen 
his path and he must pursue it. The end of every 
year finds him possessing less and less of the spirit¬ 
ual—the soui-elevatiug part of man’s nature—aud 
becoming more aud more earthly, sensual, brute¬ 
like iu his instincts and associations. “ A harsh 
picture,” you exclaim, but we have all seen such 
men, aud pitied while we despised them. 
Not to the mere money-getter, then, should we 
talk of farmers’ homes, but to those who wish to 
improve the faculties given them by their Creator 
for that purpose; those who would make home u 
place of happiness, and the fireside the abode of 
love. To such we say, do not be afraid of doing too 
much to render home pleasant. Let beautiful pic¬ 
tures hang upon its walls; let good books, plenti¬ 
fully supplied, iuvitc the attention of the young; 
aud, if possible, let the charm of music fling its 
magic spell over all, that the tempted youth, when 
the gilded allurements of folly would attract his 
gaze, may ever turn to home as the brightest and 
cheeriest place on earth. 
Do not, we beg of you, make the mistake of re¬ 
moving to that best room, opened only to call forth 
the admiration or minister to the enjoyment of the 
unusual visitor, the books, the pictures, aud the 
music. If they are uot worth enjoying, they are 
not worth baviug. If a book is bought only for its 
binding aud gliding, then let it ever remain under a 
glass case, safe from the pollution of smoke, or 
dust, or children’s fingers. If pictures are to be 
enjoyed only when we wear our Sunday clothes, 
then banish them to the parlors. If music is cheer¬ 
ing and soothing only when the babbling of stran¬ 
gers interrupts its strains, let the piuuo cover only 
be raised when visitors are present, and we and our 
houses are on exhibition. 
But if, ou the contrary, these beauties of sight 
aud sound are able every day to exert au elevating 
and ennobling influence, then let us have them 
brought from the best room to our ordinary apart¬ 
ments where we can enjoy them, or else throw open 
the long-closed shutters, remove the canvas covers 
from the parlor furniture, and make our children 
our most honored guests. L. Halsey. 
Trumansburgh, N. Y., 1868. 
At a local election “ Out West,” crinoliue had a 
good deal to do with the business. The contest 
turned wholly upon personal popularity, aud the 
successful candidate brought his wife to help him. 
“His wife,” says the country paper, “would have 
made the fortune of any candidate. A line, dazzling 
woman, she rude about with him iu a carriage upon 
the canvassing tours, and when, one day, he stopped 
in a public house to see a committee, while she sat 
without in the barouche waiting his return, the 
’frieze coats’ gathered round the vehicle, aud giv¬ 
ing ’ three cheers for her honor,’ called ou her for a 
speech. Prompt as lightning, she responded, ‘I 
will sing you a soug, which au Irisbmau with 
music in his soul would any day prefer to a speech; ’ 
and sang, in a clear, sweet voice, one of Moore’s 
melodies. The ‘frieze coats’ listened entranced. 
From that moment until the election took place, 
the beautiful politician could never appear in public 
without being implored for a song.” That is the 
kind of wife needed just now. 
Memory. —None of us remember when we did 
uot remember, when memory was naught, and our¬ 
selves were unborn. Memory is the premise of our 
sensations, it dates our immortality. Nestling ever 
in the twilight of our earliest recollections, it 
cradles our nativity, canopies our hopes, aud bears 
us babes out of our bodies as into them; opening 
vistas alike into our past and coming existence. 
The thread of our experiences, it cannot be severed 
by any accidents of our mortality; time and space, 
earliest found and last to leave us, fading and fall¬ 
ing away as we pass into recollections which these 
can neither date nor confine,—the smiles that wel¬ 
comed, the tears that dismiss us, being of no age, 
nor place nor time.— Alcott's “ Tablets 
Written for Moore’s Rural New-Yorker. 
TRUSTING GOD FOR THE FUTURE 
What should we think of the child, whose pa¬ 
rents were surrounding him with every needed 
comfort, yet who was constantly fearing that after 
awhile they would cease to love and provide for 
him ? And is it uot more surprising that Christians 
should distrust their Heavenly Father, and fear 
that they shall be left to know want aud destitu¬ 
tion, with none to love aud care tor them iu old age ? 
Yet how many do this. How many a professed 
child of God virtually says to the world, “ We have 
no sure refuge, no assurance that we shall be cared 
for in the future.” Yet God assures His people 
that He will never leave nor forsake them. “ Eveu 
to your old age I am He, and even to hoar hairs I 
will carry you.” What more is needed than this? 
Why, then, do they not believe Him ? 
Sherburne, N. Y., 1868. Lina Lee. 
Written for Moore’s,Rural New-Yorker, 
ANOTHER SIDE. 
The fruit of the Tree of Knowledge—The Srst pair. 
Is a “ so- 60 ” 6ort of farmer a good grain raiser ? 
Soul—H ousekeeper for the body. 
Life—T he forerunner of death. 
Nose—T he snubbing post of the body. 
Old maids—Embers from which the sparks have 
fled. 
Pride —Folly strutting in the east ofl clothing of 
common sense. 
Artifice— Hiding behind a lamp-post, showing 
more than we conceal. 
Equivocation—D ancing on a tight rope between 
two lies, in presence of truth. 
Fashionable ladies are like aristocratic houses— 
They both have high stoops. 
How to get at the real complexion of some ladies 
—Take a little soap aud water. 
Money— The “ root of all evil,” to those who 
spend their live& rooting for it. 
If “brevity is the soul of wit,” what a funny 
thiug a fashionable coat is, isn’t it? 
Adversity —A simple rule in human mathematics 
to find the solid contents of a man. 
The music of cotton mi Is is supposed to be made 
by the bauds that run the machinery. 
If nature abhors a vacuum, why does she permit 
so many empty-headed people to live? 
Love, the toothache, a cough, aud tight boots, 
are things which caunot be long kept secret. 
Having watched with some interest the replies 
called out by the account of that remarkable Satur¬ 
day forenoon which contained a whole hour for 
sewiDg, I would like to present still another side of 
the picture. “System” is no doubt a great help 
when it is attainable, but many a woman who does 
all her owu work, is iu every sense a help meet for 
her husband, aud a ueat aud prudent housekeeper,— 
uot “smart,” however,—will recognize this as no 
unusual experience: 
Get up in the morning with a dull, heavy head¬ 
ache; attempt to get breakfast iu the usual time, 
but find mind aud body under poor control, and the 
meal half an hour behind time; after breakfast 
attempt to make up lost time by doing several 
things at once; forget one thing while doing 
another, and Jose in material and time more than 
is gained; follow this up till dinner, and try it over 
again iu the afternoon, securing barely time to put 
on a clean dress before tea, — aud reach bed time 
exhausted and discouraged, and vainly wishing to 
know the secret of good “management.” Or, if 
preferred, rest to-day and do double work to-mor¬ 
row, only to find the result equally unsatisfactory. 
Ah, if women were only seven-day clocks, that 
needed only to be would up and set going! Then 
we might always wash Monday moraine before 
breuklast; then we might do everything at once 
and get through in the middle of the forenoon, with 
plenty of leisure to reward our efficiency 1 Blessed 
is 6he whose plans are never disturbed by sickness, 
A Woman’s Mask.—W hat a mask the unhappy 
wife is forced, from prudence and self-respect, to 
wear over that poor, tear-dewed face of Pei’s! If 
she does not wear it, aud if she lets the tears down 
in the sight of all, brmiug plowshares will not tie 
too hot for her feet to walk on, and she must carry 
live coals from the world's altar, though they &coreh 
her trembling fingers to the bone. Full of sympathy 
as the world is for her sorrows, if only delicately 
indicated—liltiug a mere corner of the veil duinUiy— 
it has neither sympathy nor respect if broadly shown 
and rung into its ears through a six-foot epeakiog- 
trainpet. But the mask of the ill-mated spouse, 
male or female, must be of peculiar manufacture aud 
careful manipulation ; the kind more usually adopt¬ 
ed, because most generally approved of, one embody¬ 
ing u gentle patieiice, a plaintive manner. 
The Believer’s Helper. —The believer is culled 
to wayfaring and to wayfaring straggles. He has 
to bear a dally cross, and to fight a daily fight. But 
iu every hour of need a sure support is near. Be¬ 
hold Moses; the ground which he must tread is 
very slippery; the hill of his difficulties is very 
steep; a foe opposes every step. But a staff and a 
sword are provided for him in the name of his guid¬ 
ing and protecting Lord. “ I am that I am.” On 
this he can lean the whole burden of his cares, and 
fears, aud pains. By this he can scatter kings as 
dust. This stay is still the same—ever mighty, ever 
near. The feeblest pilgrim may grasp it by the hand 
of faith. Aud whosoever grasps it is “ as Mount 
Zion, wliieh cannot be removed, but abides for 
ever.”— Dean Law. 
Care for the Little Ones. — Every little girl 
should be provided with a water proof cloak, with 
a round hood, which she can draw ap over her nead. 
They are more necessary than for grown people, as 
children more frequently catch the rain in going to 
school, or in being sent upon errands. Colored 
“Tartan” stockings for every-day wear, and high 
balmoral boots are the proper winter dress for the 
feet. • 
HOPE. 
Tue night ie mother of the day, 
The winter, of the spring; 
And ever upon old decay 
The greenest mosses cling 
Behind the cloud the stariignl lurks; 
Through showers the euuheams fall 
For God, who Iovetli all his works, 
Hath lefc us Hope with all 
Bees find the flowers, not because they are 
symmetrical and beautiful, but because they have 
honey iu them. If sinners are ever attracted to the 
churches, it will not be by the observance of stated 
and stately forms, or by the display of gaudy para¬ 
phernalia, but because there is honey in them.— 
Clark's Oospd in the Trees. 
The lady who took a fancy, concluded ou second 
thought to return it, and did. 
