308 



MOORE'S RURAL NEW-YORKER: AN AGRICULTURAL AND FAMILY XEWSPAFER. 



SEPT. 18. 



m\tt f0^g. 



THE FIRST DISAPPOINTMENT. 



lb |U cuc«i tntit 



4 lio i fiii(#r» tiatp 



Ut gMtbWA 



MY 



TORY. 



M - Btobv In h'joui Alh 8 Obey. When I first 

 knew hor she hud numbered nearly forty years, but 

 was still treading the quiet path of maidenhood. 

 Wby she was unmarried I never ascertained. Some 

 Imagined that Heath, perchance, had claimed the 

 object of her early love; others praised the filial 

 heart which bad led her to devote her life to her 

 widowed mother; while other*, still less charita 

 ble, said they " guessed she never had an offer." — 

 All agreed, however, that Alice was a model old 

 maid. Cheerful and content she trod her solitary 

 way, and If, Id enrller days, thoughts of husband 

 and children had made pleasant maiden reveries, 

 such dreams had long ago been dismissed from 

 her heart 



Rut there was one who was beginning to plot 

 agalnat the " quiet tenor of her way." A year be- 

 fore, Esq. Mobiford had buried the wife of his 

 youth. In bis desolate furm house were four 

 motherless children— dependent upon hirelings for 

 the care a tender mother had always lovingly given 

 — and feeling, at length, the necessity of having 

 some one who should have more than a hireling's 

 interest In hlB home, he began to look around in 

 search of such an one, and his eye rested on Alice 

 Grey. Death had been in Alice's home, too, and 

 when the worthy suitor came to woo, he found she 

 coold bo won; so, as widowers' courtships are 

 usually short, Alice waa coon introduced into a 

 new path in life. Alas! she found it a path of trial 

 Filial, and loving, it bad been easy to discharge a 

 daughter's duties, bnt those of wife and mother 

 were new to ber and all untried. It bad been more 

 than twenty years since she waa "little Alice."— 

 No little ones had played abont her hearthstone, 

 and so she had become a stranger to children's 

 ways and children's hearts. Carefully she abstained 

 from everything unkind, but there was a wai 

 sympathy between her own and her childi 

 hearts. She entered into none of their childish 

 plans; they did not tell her of tbelr ohlUilfa joys 

 or grleft; and very soon they began to regard her 

 with suspicion, and even with dislike. At length, 

 Ciimu.es, the oldest ohlld, who could 

 trasting thla state of things with the sunny home 

 his own dear mother made, felt that it waa a home 

 no more for him. So, one night, leaving tea 

 goodbye kisses with hia Bleeping brother and 

 tcrs, be stole softly down the stairs, and went 

 to be a wanderer. The earliest gleaming of the 

 morning found him Bobbing by his mother's grave, 

 and the first tidings of him were that he had gone 



waa taken 



aifay naughty woman ! I want my own t 



Comamama and kiss iIkacib! Comeawi 



and In a little while the plaintive voice 



forever. 



Alice Moritoed was very, very sad, 

 alone In ber room the night after Gr, 

 One of the children to whom ahe had 



a mother's place waa away on the stormy sea. 



Death had claimed another; and she felt that 

 neither from the absent ones nor from those still 

 left to her care had ahe won a mother's share of 

 confidence and love. Long time she sat and 

 thought; then long and fervently ahe prayed that 

 God would teach her. When ahe arose from prayer, 

 it was with a new light In her heart, and on 

 her face* 



Gracji'b {oaeral was over, and Esq. MoHTORD's 

 house had become aa quiet as ever, and more 

 cheerless than before, GlOXOI was the second 

 ■on, a lad of thirteen years. One night after he 

 had gone to net he heard a rap at hia door. ■ Who 

 i» »: ' h<- inquired. -Mother! May I come In!" 

 Half pnushly be consented, and bis stepmother 

 entered stdttt down by hU bed. She began talk- 

 ing abont.c.Eina; and then about his dear dead 

 mother. Sb* told him how anxious she was to fill 

 that mother", pi**; ^ tpoU o( ^ dlmonU , M ^ 

 be assured htm of her love for him and 



o bless them and help 

 >eght;and,kiasing 



to sleep full of memories of that dead mother, and 

 with kindlier feelings than be had ever had towards 

 ber who filled that mother's place. 



Ellek, too. received a visit from her mother 

 that night, and before they psrted Kllej* bad told 

 of all her longings after love, and bow Bhe b*d 

 wanted to talk of her dead mother. They wept 

 together and then the mother prayed. As she 

 gave the child her first good-sight kiss. Ellen 

 threw her arms aroond ber neck and said, ■ I lore 

 you, mother,'' and from that time they knew and 

 loved each other. In angry moods, Ellen would 

 sometimes say - — ■ I wish a step-mother had never 

 come to darken our home,'' but in s very little 

 time she would come. In tears, to be forgiven. 



Geobcis was not so easily won; but Alice was 

 not discouraged. She songbt bis confidence in 

 every way; interested herself in his plans, and 

 be would tied some nUe little offering or her handi- 

 work on bis table, with a card attached, asylng It 

 was "a little token of love from one who would 

 be a mother to him." Finally, Bhe foond, one 

 morning, a little gift for her, with these words at- 

 tached, " To my kind Mother''—" From George.'" 



Then sunshine began to dance all over the old 

 farm-house, to the sweet music of loving words 

 and tones. Clouds came sometimes, bat Alice 

 prayed, and wore the same gentle look and smile, 

 and they passed without a storm. 



Years went by. The sad news came that the 

 bright-eyed Charlie reeled in an ocean grave,— 

 Geobgk and Ellen grew to manhood and woman- 

 hood and went to preside over homes of their own. 

 Mrs. Morei-ori) sat alone one evening awaiting ber 

 husband's return from the village. As be entered 

 he handed her two letters,— " from the children," 

 be aald. 



With a fall heart she read Geobue's letter. He 

 had just been recalling the scenes of hie child- 

 hood, and gratefully and toachingty alluded to 

 the time when ehe camo to bless them. He as- 

 sured her that he had treasured in memory her 

 years of unwearied love and kindness, and that In 

 bis devotion be always tbauked t'-oo for giving 

 him such a atep-mother. 



Eli.ek's letter was mostly filled with descriptions 



of a little wee stranger who bad come to gladden 



ber WeBtern home. " Wo call ber A lice," ahe said, 



"and only hope Bhe will be as good ae the one 



whose Dame she bears." Tearfully and gratefully 



Alice More lord read those nil ectionate tributes to 



motherlycare and love. Then she complained 



odden faintness, aud retired. Morning found 



very ilL A physician waa sent for, who came 



pronounced ber symptoms alarming. Day af- 



day passed, and she grew rapidly worse, and 



then the doctor eatd, Badly, "I fear there is no 



hope." Gkori.e and Ellen were informed that 



their mother was dying. They hastened home, 



bat arrived in time only to receive one of her own 



Bweet smiles, and then tbc eyes which bad 



bo lovingly on them closed forever. 



8o Alice died — not nnmoorned. Still is her 

 memory very sacred in the hearts of her bereaved 

 husband and children, who, as long aa they live, 

 will bless God that she did not always keep ber 

 maiden name of Alice Grey. Nettie. 



mother's favorite, loved by alL I did not wonder 



\i one ao beautiful In form and spirit should be 



beloved. Her eyes were brown and softened in 



lb light, and the loudest tone of her sweet voice 



seemed bat so echo to my hem. Some voices 



ngs— they quell the troubled spirit so 



would her voice, yet I did not dare to lore her. I 



only worshiped her as a summer flower, too bean- 



I did not think that one so pore and 



have one thought of love for me — I 



only thought, as I sometimes foond her mild eyea 



sting on me, that she pitied her poor, willful 



One day, for some stubbornness of mine, my 

 other told me, in ber usual cold, unfeeling tones, 

 that "ahe did not love me— no one loved me, or 

 ch an ngly gtrL" Oh, she 

 i then my heart was yeara- 

 ot know that ber 

 ■ further from the 

 e love I so much 



i bad clsaped 



S bushed 



. died.— 



lot know that 



log — craving love. She did 



reproofs were leading 



in which I was to gain 



sought Ob, bow I longed f 



tenderly srouud me, as my 



band to rest soothingly oponmy aching 

 brow, aa hie had done — and, more than this, to 

 cared for me, though, like my 

 father, they spoke it not It was then that I 

 thought of my sister — tbooght of the mild eyes 

 eetlng pityingly npon me— then, again, I thought 

 of my willfulself", and I shuddered as I seemed to 

 hear tbe words. "No one loves you," and a moan 

 ngln my heart though my eyea looked 

 coldly and defiantly at my mother. That night 

 when all waa still, and the moon was drifting 

 brightly through the silver clouds, I stole out to 

 grave. Ab 1 neared the spot, I did not 

 expect to see what I beheld— my little sister, her 

 mild eyes raised to heaven, her little hands clasped 

 earnest prayer. I had expected to 

 alone, on my father's grave, my heart's 

 deep angniab, bnt no. I was listening to my 

 ister'a voice, breathing my name in her earnest, 

 hild-prayer — speaking of me — */w, my pnre and 

 .ngel sister. Her soft voice ceased, and In the 

 great agony of my heart, breaking through the 

 ooldness of my outer self, I knelt by her side, crying 

 with the earnest waitings of my heart — "Love me, 

 1 felt the tears falling fast on my burn- 

 ing forehead, and a soft voice answered— "I do 



night, when we went to our chamber, my heart 



ppferthan it had done since I 



my father's knee— hie arms around me. I could 



lecp, but my arms twined jealously around 



almost fearing that I would lose my 



found treasure." The moon climbed op In 



y, till its light came round in my chamber 



mdvatistracnts. 



YEOMAN'S FRUIT BOTTLE. 



50.000 



Mu.wvnr.ttkv 



THE MASTER-SPIK IT op raE AQE 



• PRIVATE HBTOBT 



I . ■:- u i it ■ CM ■■!■-■ n ■ >-■:..'„ i 





MOHBOE ST NURSERY, ROCHESTER, N. Y. 



t Spruce Ttw» Also. ■ BWl vwtWj of StT«TtbMTj FUuU 

 JeotMalL [H3-i1| K BOARD It AJf 



50,000 



ABODV'-H STRAWUKRSV. 



I v : ■.■.*.:'■ 



HE EMPEROR, THE EMPRESS 



■ i ENSE, 



COUNTESS CASTIOLIONE. 



Fninee under the Second Kn 







Wooden Water Pipe. 



■ r--' i-il . .■■*;>•' rli»i" .>-i. 





"W A.NTED1 







PUBLIC SALE OF SHORT -HORNS. 



a 



^vmc out, 



ARE OTJT! 

 CLARK'S FALL STYLE 

 GENTS DRESS HATS 



< tffloe 343 Br 



3QOOOQOOOQC 



T"£ 



her desire ;t 



hia bedside and prayed r 



them to lore each o 



him, bade htm a kind ■ good nigbj- 



"SPEAK. liENTLY TO THE ERRING ONE.' 1 



I was a etrange girl always. Strange was my 

 talisman, ever clinging tome like a darkening spirit, 

 until I learned to hate, oh, bow bitterly, that one 

 word— etrange. 



"Strange," people would say, a9 they looked 

 into my great large eyes— much too large for my 

 thin, pinched face—shining with a wild, unsteady 

 light. "A strange, strange girl," murmured my 

 mother in an unloving tone, aa I atlll persisted In 

 some stubborn will — for my willfulness did 

 make me a favorite, and I was generally unloved, 

 especially by my mother. "Strange! strange!" — 

 I heard it in every motion, in every word I utter 

 until I felt that "strange" was a part of myself- 

 part which I loathed as my evil genius. Yea, e- 

 since tbe death of my father, I felt that I was loved 

 by none, and the very knowledge of It made my 

 willful nature more hardened nod stern. 

 Oh, bow I loved my father! A love a 

 adoration— and now that be was dead, I worship 

 ed bis spirit, which seemed to hover o'er 

 the floating clouds — his fond voice speaking 

 Id the winds aud zephyrs. I say that I loved my 

 father, perhapa it was because I knew that he loved 

 me, although be never spoke or told n 

 was always very still and stern, at home and 

 abroad— no one knew him Intimately— and I often 

 wondered why he never Bpoke or seemc 

 for my mother; then, again, I wondered why be 

 ever married her, for, instinctively, I seemed to 

 know there waa no unison of taste or mind. These 

 were my thoughts, many times as I Bat in my 

 fatber'a lap, neither of us speaking. These 

 the happiest hours of my life, for my father died 

 when I was very young — yoong in years, bat old 

 In heart. 1 did not weep when he died— no, I did 

 not shed one tear when I stood by his grave and 

 heard the cold, cold earth falling on bis coffin. 



My mother said that I was a "strange child 



nothing coold touch my heart." Oh, she could not 

 know there was a grief within, deeper than all 

 others in its silent anguish, for I felt I waa losing 

 my only friendt 

 For a year or two after his death, my life was 

 most a blank page; only a few words upon Its 

 surface, and these were— sorrow. Borrow. I bad 

 friends or playmates as other children have, 1 

 shunned all those who dared approach me. 1 did not 

 attend school— my mother's attempts to make me 

 go were all in vain. I feared to sit all day, with 

 ao many strange eyes peering at me In the school- 

 room, and my mother, at last, left me to my own 

 wilL She did not love me, and it was to my stub- 

 born heart almost a pleasure and triumph to dis- 

 obey her command*. 



They buried my father near the house, in the 

 shade of a few old pines. Most of my leisure time 

 was spent by hia grave, and many snmraer nighta 

 I have sat there nntil loag put midnight, looking 

 up at the Tapory clouds, hoping and believing it 



s proud little heart did 

 to answer his mother a word, 

 bad gone be began to think c 

 to him. Be remembered how kindly 

 talked of hia own dear mother, and sobbed himself 



t permit him 

 t as soon as she 

 r aU she bad sard 



as the spirit of my dead father, watching 

 his rooely, alnfol child. Yes, I knew that I 

 very, very sinful, but there waa no tender, gentle 

 hand to guide my waaderiog fcotstepa. 

 fortnf smile to cheer 



I had < 



sr, younger than myself— my B, €0 



composed of 80 letters. 

 14, 16, 1, 21 is a proper 

 My 14, Bj, 11, 24, 12, 23 ia sometimes a relief 



broken-hearted. 

 My 17, 24. 22 ia a girl's nb 

 My 2 we are all acquainted with. 

 My 10, 0, 6, 7, 4, 1G ia a relative. 

 Hy 20, 18, 26, 21 many profess to be. 

 My 14, 5, 23 belongs to us. 

 My 3, U 16, 7, 15, 2i Is claimed by all, but poa- 

 sewed by few. 

 y 4, 25, 6, 13 is not very hard. 

 My whole is three of the sweetest wordB in 

 language, and a portion of the Lord'a prayer. 



PROBLEM IN ENGINEERING. 

 Reqcibko to survey 



straight 



., _ lot of land with three 

 and three corners, and each 

 nght-angle-tri angle. *. c. 



Onooil»g» ViUej, It. Y., ISiS. 

 Z3- Answer in two weeks. 



ANSWERS TO ENIGMAS, 40, IN KO. 452. 



Answer to Geographical Enigma :-Pennaylva- 

 ola; Htfltatarg, 



Answer to Historical Enigma:— The Peoples 7 

 College. Havana; Amos Drown. 



- Miscellaneous Eoigms: — Thomas 

 Hart Benton. 



Arithmetical Problem:— A, 40 



1 acr.'i— ill l-j i::t~:. 



