MOV. 7 MOORE’S RURAL NEW-YORKER. SOS 
A LAMENT. 
BY RUNE BLCF7. 
Moan, O desolate wind. 
Beat, O dripping rain! 
For my life is heavy with weight of woa, 
And my heart criet.h out in its pain. 
In the dear, dead face that Is gone from me. 
That I never shall sec again. 
The word is empty and dark, 
No hope, no light ahead,— 
Only a memory of eyes shut tight. 
And of words thut have all been said. 
And a torrent of bitter, blinding tears 
For my weary eyes to shed. 
-» ♦ ♦ 
INFLUENCE OF EXAMPLE. 
The smallest bark on life's tumultuous ocean 
Will leave a track behind forevermore ; 
The lightest, wave of influence, set tn motion, 
Extends and widens to the eternal shore; 
We should he wary, thon. who go before 
A myriad yet to be , and we should take 
Our bearing carefully, where breakers roar 
And fearful tempests gather: one mistake 
May wreck unnumbered barks that follow in our 
wake. [Mrs. Bolton. 
(®ur ^torg-S^U^r. 
OUR DICK. 
BY CHARLOTTE CORDNER. 
It is a good many years now since it all hap¬ 
pened, but I remember as well as though it 
were yesterday how boyish-looking I thought 
liitn when we first met; aud how little I then 
dreamed that he would be the one whom des- 
ttny would ao closely entwino with my life. Wo 
mot at the opera for the first time, whither I 
had gone with a party of friends to listen to the 
muBlc of “ Masanillo." The last sweet notes of 
tho most beautiful gem of the piece, ’* Behold 
how brightly breaks the morning," were yet 
liugeriug on the air when he made bla appear¬ 
ance, and shortly after one of my friends pre¬ 
sented him to me; hut T gave little lieud to his 
beardless face thou and thought of him only as 
a boy. If I thought about him at all. 
Afterwards ho came into our family to live 
and even then my first Impressions were domi¬ 
nant. How long It was before I began to change 
them I cannot now clearly remember, as for 
some l ime I purposely avoided seeing much of 
him; but my first recollections are of our con¬ 
stantly disagreeing in our opinions. First it 
was about, the mi ulster, then predastlna- 
we would have liked to realize thorn in the 
years which have coursed on since then. 
After a time a break came, for business re¬ 
quired Richard io go to a distant place, and 
so we were obliged to give him up. I remember 
how lonely It seemed after he had gone. We 
had no more readings and lacked the stimulus 
of his aggravating ways; and so, in spite of the 
faults we had found with him, we all declared 
we missed him and wished him back again 
After awhile a letter came telling about his Itfe 
and new friends, Ac., but no word in particular 
to me; indeed I liked it Just as well so, for I 
never dreamed then that I should one day be¬ 
come his wife. To be sure he had said a great 
many prettY things to me and had treated me 
with a deference and humility at times which 
might liavo caused me to think he was aerlously 
interested in me, but T chose not to give par¬ 
ticular hoed to these attentions, as opposite 
ones were of quite as frequeut an occurrence. 
At last another letter came from him, 
saying that ho was coming back again; and, 
two days after, at midnight, he roused us by 
his hoartv ring, flow pleasant it seemed to 
have our quiet life stimulated agaiu by his noisy 
ways; and so we fell back ouce more to old 
habits, reading and talking and playing chess 
orchcckers at odd times, until tho sprlngcame. 
It was filled with beautiful days which seemed 
to impart a new life to each one of us as well as 
to the trees and flowers. I remember the first 
time I began to think I was growing to iovo 
him. I had had a little pet rabbit which l had 
left out to nibble in the clover for awhile. All 
at once I heard it crying as If in pain, and run¬ 
ning to see what had occurred, 1 perceived a 
large cat going over the fence with it In her 
mout h. This saddened me all the day, as [ had 
no means of learning whether It was dead or 
not, and as it was very tame anti cunning wo 
were all attached to it. 
It was one of these lovely evenings in June 
when tho moon was at Its full, the perfumes of 
the roses filled tho air, and that higher harmony 
which the soul sometimes experiences when 
nature Is in her first full bloom and almost sud¬ 
dens while she charms, when Richard re¬ 
turned from business. Most of t.bo family were 
absent) and I had remained at homo only to at¬ 
tend to his supper; but my uiind was too full 
of suspense about my little pet to think of 
minding it until I had learned about its fate. 
So, after hastily relating tho atory, 1 bogged 
him to find out about It for mo. 
After a while lie returned from his errand 
with the Information that he had found it still 
living, but bad mercifully left it dead. This 
produced a fit. of tears on my part, which no 
doubt had something to do with my mood 
afterwards. 
Tea over, he brought down a volume of poems. 
and selecting some of the finest, he read them 
with a tenderness which he did not often dis¬ 
play. As I sat by tho table with my head rest¬ 
ing on my folded hands watching him, I noticed 
for the first time bis well-shapod mouth, the 
breadth nod whiteness of ills brow, and the 
light, in his large, grey eyes. I still call him 
homely, os on first acquaintance he is, but as I 
then listened to the music of ids voice and 
looked upon his face, I discerned a sympathy 
in it wbioh I had not before perceived, and 
which rendered it for the time handsome to 
me, and I felt conscious of a warmer feeling 
growing up In my heart for him than was con¬ 
sistent with my future peace If I allowed It to 
go on. 
Shortly after that Richard returned to his 
native land across the ocean, for ho was not an 
American by birth, though the most zealous 
naturalized one I have evor known. When he 
left we did not know whether he would ever 
return or not, as his business seemed to require 
him to remain there; but after a month or so 
had elapsed a letter came to me one day, a long 
and interesting one, which I road und guarded 
with great care. In it he expressed an earnest 
desire to have an early reply, as he was impa¬ 
tient to hear from me, and spoke of his home¬ 
sickness and wish to return to our shores once 
more. I knew when I had finished It that lie 
loved me—that truth I could no longer disguise; 
hut still I did notchooseto drop my defenses 
as yet, and though I answered it I did so very 
guardedly, saying I should not write again, for 
I still thought that my fate was not bound with 
his. 
8ome months elapsed after this, when one 
day the carrier’s welcome knock was heard, 
and soon after grandma entered, with the in¬ 
formation that she guessed twas a letter from 
Dick, and sure enough it, was, and a real happy 
one too -as lie said he would probably be with 
ine in a few days, as he was going to embark in 
the next Bteamer. 
A week or so passed by after this, when ono 
day a strange, sunburnt looking man walked In 
whom we coukl hardly recognize as our Rich¬ 
ard, he was so changed by a bushy pair of 
whiskers, unshorn ourls and somewhat foreign- 
looking dress—but having lost nothing from 
his tormenting ways. 
So far T have not said much about inyself— 
and it may seem strange that I should not have 
considered myself bound in any way to one 
who for some years now had been so closely 
connected witli rny life, but. it might not, If I 
were to relate more of my history, which had 
had many minor strains running through it; 
beside, I was a year or so tho eldest, and conse¬ 
quently felt much more mature in a natural 
sense than he, and so did not consider it wise 
to even think seriously of being more to him 
than I was. 
After his return once tnoro our skirmishes 
commenced, which the whole family united in 
at times, until tho rebellion which was then 
agitating our country wiis, as well as our own ar¬ 
gumentative battles, nearly brought to a close. 
Many a pleasant experience was, however, In¬ 
terspersed through these attacks In the way of 
little presents fruits, books. Rowers and many 
other acceptable things,—which were often 
found in the most unexpected of places, and 
which were productive of great astonishment 
on my part, us to how they could have got. there. 
So a cmple of years slipped by, some of which 
f passed away from home among friends, until 
six years had elapsed since we had first met, and 
as yet it was not a settled thing that 1 should 
marry him. In the meantime he had grown 
quite into the heart of our family, I always 
thought of him as Richard un Civur dc Leon 
—first on account of his independent, fearless 
ways and buoyant temperament, which under 
blio darkest clouds have never nppeured to be 
deprossod; and secondly on account of his 
looks—ns his bushy curls were of an auburn 
hue and his moustaches decidedly leonine. 
Spring had died in the arms of Summer, bu¬ 
ried in blossoms of her own creating, when 
business again required Rtcu a ki> to visit Eu¬ 
rope. Then, for the first, time, l partially gave 
my consent that if wo were both of the same 
mind on Ids return, we should be married. I 
shall never forget the day on which lie sailod 
and how i mounted to the top of the house and 
watched tho red chimneys of the steamer as 
they floated down the bay and out of sight, with 
that sense of depression which one fools when 
they are in doubt whether they will over look 
upon a loved object agaiu. 
Some months passed after this eventful ones 
to mo, for I went into the country and was 
thrown into considerable society for a time, 
during which, while wandering about among 
the picturesque hills or by the clear streams, 
another brief romance commenced to weave 
itself Into my life, not sufficiently to tempt mo 
from my allegiance to RICH a up, but only to 
more plainly show mo iny own heart, which I 
sometimes doubted. I loved Richard, but lie 
was younger than I and an enthusiast. Would 
ho, with all of his cheery ways, have tho endur¬ 
ance to walk the path I Baw lie before mo? 
Sometimes J mistrusted hint ami myself. That 
he loved mo dearly I did not doubt, but ho had 
that ardent temperuiuont. which, while it is 
always loving, is apt sometimes to yield when 
temptation draws near and the Illusions of life 
begin to vanish. As yet bo see mod to me like 
ono who had never been very severely tried by 
any great experience. And it was for this rea¬ 
son that I was glad to avail myself of any op¬ 
portunity for testing his, as well as my 
tlon or election, and then — about almost 
everything which we discussed. 
At first I thought that he did it on pur¬ 
pose, for the sake of an argument, which 
he was by no means averse to, but after¬ 
wards changed my mind, giving him credit 
for more honesty, from the earnestness 
which he displayed while talking and his 
repeated assurances that ho meant what 
he said, when I smiled Incredulously, I 
don't think 1 lilted him then; in fact I 
often thought him exceedingly disagree¬ 
able, he had so many little aggravating 
ways ; but he was a good talker. (Indeed I 
have rarely listeued to any better,) having 
read and traveled extensively for one so 
young, and being possessed of a retentive 
memory, sympathetic voice and warm en¬ 
thusiasm, I soon found he was more than 
a match for the most of pcoplo with whom 
we came in contact. lie was very daring, 
too, and 1 used to get so angry with him at 
times that t would go away resolving 
never to speak to him again for his sauci¬ 
ness—bul. then he would come after me 
and beg so humbly and pathetically for 
forgiveness, saying that he would never err 
ao again, that I would consent to overlook 
the fault. 
So a year or more passed away, during 
which I never thought I was learning to 
care for him, our skirmishes and battles 
were so frequent. He was not at all hand - 
some,—at first I thought him quite ugly,— 
but he had a good figure and the hand¬ 
somest hand I have ever seen on a man. 
Then, too, his face would light up in con¬ 
versation with such intelligence at times 
that my first impressions quickly wore 
away—as they did iu respect to his boyish¬ 
ness also, for I soon found that hla mind 
was old. 
When we got accustomed to his bearish 
ways, which all the family agreed be was 
possessed of, he became quite a favorite, 
for he was a good reader, and many an 
hour he used to beguile away reading to 
us, until the characters in Walter Scott’s, 
Dickens’ and Lover's novels were familiar 
friends to us. It was a dull winter which 
came upon ue then, for business was bad 
and some of the members in our house¬ 
hold were affected by it, and the severe 
cold and frequeut snow storms were by 
no means enlivening; but we lived in a 
little world of our own that had Its bright 
side, for our labors grew lighter as we 
each took turns in reading aloud. Some¬ 
times we were provoked to tears by the 
pathos of Dickens, at other, to smiles by 
the humor of Los t eh, and so together we 
dreamed our dreams, and laid our plans as 
own, heart. And during tills Interval I 
bad an opportunity to do so, so far decid¬ 
edly iu his favor. All of till?. 1 used to 
write to him, telling him to be Bure and 
consider himself free to make any other 
choice if he felt the least disposition to do 
so while away, as l knew It would be his 
last chance; but the summer months one 
by one rounded out t,licit- full life of bloom 
and beauty and no _uch word came, and 
when autumn had covered tho hills with 
the glory of tier gorgeous hues once more, 
Richard returned and soon after I was 
speeding along through their bright pano¬ 
rama of coloring to greet him. 
Three weeks after this, on one beautiful 
October day, clad simply in a stlvery-gray 
suit, we were quietly married. Wa L I hap¬ 
py? I suppose so. Sometimes I think life 
cheats us, when we expect a great deal, 
but makes It Jup afterwards In little ways. 
At all events 1 have found it so, as my 
happiest momenta have not been antici¬ 
pated once. Its fevers often consume tho 
dewa which fall daily to refreshen and 
cheer us, and from which our best fruits 
are gathered. 
For awhile we roamed about among pic¬ 
turesque scenes, and then settled down. 
That was many years ago, ami my life has 
had many acloud obscure it since, through 
which at times I could seo no light, but 
yet it has always held some pleasant things 
in store. Richard is still what lie was, 
but so far no worse, while my Ideals have 
grown as the years have elapsed until I 
sometimes question whether I was tho 
woman best suited to him. 
One little daughter looked iu on us for 
a short time, then closed her eyes forever, 
and we have ever since been childless. 
Sometimes I think t hings might have been 
different and ids life more of a success 
with a different women; while mine- 
but we are yet in its noontide and the sun 
breaks through the clouds sometimes. 
Whatever trials we have had to endure 
have made apparently but little impress 
on Richard, whom I yet think of as a part 
if not the whole of man Cceur dc Leon. 
Goethe’s Ideal of married life, undone 
to which he strictly adhered, Is described 
by himself as the union of two persons of 
cultivated faculties, identical in opinion 
and purposes, bet ween whom there exists 
that best kind of equality, Similarity of 
of powers and capacities with reciprocal 
superiority in them, so that one can enjoy 
the luxury of looking up to the oilier and 
can have alternately the pleasure of lead¬ 
ing and being led iu tho path of develop¬ 
ment. 
