An Illustrated Monthly Rural Magazine 
Subscriptions 50 cents per year. -:o:- Advertising space $5.40 per inch. 
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SUs-FOR EVERY ONE WHO PLANTS A SEED OR TILLS A PLANT.-^ 
vot. $. /iuqust, ias4. wo. vm. 
THE SONG OF THE WORKERS. 
I sing the song of the workers, the men of the 
brawny arm, 
Who give us our daily bread, and keep us from 
hunger’s harm; 
Who labor afar in the forest, who leaven the fields 
with toil, 
Who take no heed of the sunshine, and mind not 
sweat or toil. 
I sing the song of the workers, who harvest the 
golden grain, 
And bind it, and thrash it, and sift it, nor care for 
the sting and stain; 
Who load it in creaking wagons, and stoutly their 
oxen drive, 
And bid them good-bye as they go, like the bees 
flying home to the hive. 
I sing the song of the workers, the men who strug¬ 
gle and strain, 
Who give us their muscle and nerve, as they guard 
the loaded train; 
Who give us their sinew and brain, as they watch 
the prisoned steam, 
And run the risk of their lives, as they pass the 
perilous stream, 
I sing the song of the workers, the men who labor 
and thrive, 
Who handle for us the honey that comes to the 
human hive; 
The patient and tireless workers, with muscles as 
tough as steel, 
Who carry the heaviest burdens, and lift, and 
trundle, and wheel. 
I sing the song of the workers, demanding for 
every one 
His just and rightful due for all the work he has 
done; 
For all the work of the workers, no matter whom 
or where, 
To each from the grand result, his honest pro¬ 
portionate share. 
—Edvxird Willett, in Rural Record. 
UNCLE CUTHBERT. 
“Hush! It is Clarence Hyde’s step!” And 
Rosa Eldon sprang to her feet, rosy and 
smiling, with the freshly-plucked heliotrope 
trembling among her glossy brown braids, 
and her pretty blue dress floating around 
her like an azure cloud. 
Only eighteen, and very fair and lovely 
was our little Rosa, a trifle spoiled and wil¬ 
ful, perhaps, but what pise could one ex¬ 
pect ? Every one petted and made much of 
her, every one smiled at her pretty, kitten¬ 
ish way, and Clarence Hyde thought her 
the fairest specimen of feminine humanity 
that ever the sun shone on. 
Rosa Eldon made room for her sister, 
Lizzy, just one year younger and scarcely 
less fair, yet very different in character. 
Lizzy was quiet, and sage and demure, 
while Rosa rattled away like a merry 
mountain stream flowing over its mossy 
stones. Lizzy thought her sister perfection, 
while Rosa was lecturing Lizzy in a capri¬ 
cious fashion, and laying down the law to 
her after the most approved manner of eld¬ 
er sisters. 
“How nice it must be to be engaged!'’ 
said Lizzy, with a half encouraging smile, 
as Rosa paused at the glass to adjust her 
hair. “I wish I was engaged!” 
“You? Oh, you are nothing but a child,” 
Rosa said, patronizingly. “There give me 
my pocket handkerchief.” 
And away she went, light and lithe as a 
blue-winged butterfly. 
