my new name, which they pronounced to be al¬ 
most as pretty aH Nellie. And, truly, the new 
name, spoken in that deep-toned, musical voice, 
had a magic spell for me. Never hud 1 been more 
studious,—never more successful as a scholar. 
Mr. Howard paid marked attention to composi¬ 
tion, and us I had always excelled in this branch, 
I found it easy to gain his commendation. That 
was an eventful winter to me, and one never to be 
forgotten, for therein I learned more lessons than 
could have been found In ray text books, and, un¬ 
awares, became proficient in that love which 
brings with it joy or sorrow. To me it brought 
sorrow. 
The term closed in the early spring-time, and 
we had a great “Examination,” at which admir¬ 
ing relatives and friendB were present, and be¬ 
stowed high encomiums upon Mr, Howard and 
bis pupils. The “School Committee” trusted 
that they would be able to secure the services of 
so successful a teacher another winter,—which 
hope was echoed by many heart*, hut of this Mr. 
Howard gave no encouragement, and wo knew 
there was but little prospect of our ever seeing 
him again. 
The valedictory had been assigned me, and I 
wrote it in rhyme, for which I always had great 
fondness, and which my partial friends would 
fain make ine believe was a proof of my genius. 
The afternoon’s exercises were concluded; the 
scholars had gone, one by one, each bidding their 
loved teacher a sad good-bye; and many tears fell 
from maiden eyes. I made no display of the deep 
emotion I felt,—that was reserved for the sanctu¬ 
ary of my own chamber. 
We were alone in the school-room,—I had 
been collecting my books and placing them in 
order on my large slate. Mr. Howard left his 
desk, and came and stood by me; be took up the 
long composition which I had just read, 
home, where my thoughts were so often penciled 
down in rhyme, and where I could hold com¬ 
munion with the gifted ones of earth, “the bards 
whose lays had made my deep heart burn,” and 
“ the lovely, whose memorial is the verse that 
cannot die.” But the summer gave place to 
autumn, and J was at home, busily preparing for 
ray year at school. 
One day a paper came, directed to “Miss Med¬ 
iae Grant;” the hand was a firm, free one, the 
same that was to be seen in so many copy-books 
at Mayfield. A delicate pencil line attracted oar 
attention to a notice of the appointment of Wal¬ 
ter Howard, A. 1$,, ub tutor in tlie college where 
he bad graduated a year previous, 
look; although its title was simple enough,— 
“ Lays aud Lyrics,—By Mellie.” 
Cousin Eleanor was in her element, and daily 
rehearsed the compliments which she managed to 
obtain for me from her numerous friends. I 
should have been in great danger of becoming 
vain, bad not egotism been entirely at variance 
with my nature. As it was, l felt, pleased with my 
success, and sent copies of the work to my friends 
Their approval was 
If we knew the earcs and crosses 
Crowding round our neighbor’s way, 
If we knew the little losses 
Sorely grievous, day by day, 
Would we then so often chide him 
For his lack of thrift and gain,— 
Leaving on his heart a shadow, 
Leaving ou our lives a stain? 
If we knew the clouds above us, 
Held by gentle blessings there, 
Would we turn away all trernbling, 
In our blind aud weak despair? 
Would we shrink from little shadows, 
Lying on the dewy grass, 
While 'tis only birds of Eden 
Just in mercy flying paHt? 
if we knew the silent story 
Quivering through the heart of pain, 
Would our womanhood dare doom them 
Back to haunts of guilt again? 
Life hath many a tangled crossing; 
Joy hath many a break of woe; 
And the cheeks, tcar-washnd, are whitest: 
This the blessed angels know. 
Let us reach in our bosoms 
For the key to other lives, 
Aud with love toward erring nature, 
Cherish good that still survives; 
So that when oui disrobed spirits 
Soar to realms of light again, 
We may say, dear Father, judge us 
As we judged our fellow-men. 
at home, with sincere joy, 
what I most thought of; 1 only wished that mother 
could have seen it. 
In the early winter Mrs. Gleason gave a large 
party In my honor, she said, as it was right and 
proper that I should increase the circle of rav 
acquaintance, and she wished t<* present “the 
young poetess” to ail her friends. ] followed my 
own taste in my toilette that evening. My dress 
wus of snowy muslin, gossamer-11 ke- in its texture. 
My hair, which, with care, bad become soft and 
silky, and was usuallytermed “auburn” in hue, 
was disposed in classic, braids, and a few green¬ 
house (lowers were twined therein. I was aware 
that I looked unusually well; and yet I felt no 
particular exhiliration,—Indeed 1 waB quite indif¬ 
ferent to the opinion of the world. 1 wanted to 
please Cousin Eleanor, because slm had been 
Kind to me. J wished that father, and the boys, 
and Aunt Lee* could see me; I thought with a 
sigh of my dead mother, and then my heart 
yearned for the approving smile of that dear 
friend, of whom I now kuew nothing. Mrs.Gi.KA- 
;-os topped at my door. 
“Ah! Mklt.ie, ray white rose-bud, you are all 
ready,—yeH, that will do,—simple and artistic,— 
I feel very proud of you,” and she kissed me 
kindly. 1 could not help sighing, for I remem¬ 
bered another kiss, and the words, “ I feel very 
proud of you.” Ab! pride was not love, and I 
loDgcd more than ever tor that affection which 
alone cun answer the yearnings of a woman's 
heart. 
We went down into the parlors, and in a short 
time the guests began to assemble, 1 was soon 
the center of a large circle who seemed anxious 
to do me homage. I knew they would gather as 
eagerly around the next person who might win 
the name of a “stir” among them; and feeling.as 
For Moore's Rural New-Yorker. 
POETICAL ENIGMA. 
Yk lovers of riddles, who bother your brains 
In the solution of trifles, not worthy the pains. 
Just gather your wits, and see what you can do 
With this new enigma I have written for you. 
It has been composed as sport for the green ones, 
Hat may prove a match for tho shrewd and the keen ones, 
Take a name that’s dishonored—oh, breath it not here— 
Which, read backwards, a verb in past tense will appear, 
Expressing what always may truly be said 
Of the statesman, the warrior, or patriot, dead. 
My next, a quality, always deemed evil, 
And called a distinguishing trait of the Devil; 
Which, read from the right, most clearly will show 
What, m long as we live, we are hoping to do. 
Then a bird of tho east, reversed, you espy 
What each Latin student to himself will apply; 
What the villain and coward have done In their fear, 
Which, road backwards, a class of utensils appear. 
What many have worshiped—read backwards, the name 
Of a place widely known in the annals of fame. 
What the burning volcanos will do with their fire; 
Reversed, what the old and the dying desire. 
Last, a word that is -weet to the prisoner's ear, 
Reversed, what he is fated to be will appear. 
The initials in order arranged will proclaim 
The loftiest desire of tho votary of fame, 
Read backwards and forwards, still ever the 
Tbe paper 
was carefully read by each member of the family, 
and then, together with tbe wrapper, was placed 
among my treasures. Smile not at tbe fondness 
of an “old maid” for “relics,’’—but I have that 
paper yet! 
Tbe last of September found me duly- installed 
as a pupil at Mrs. Weston's Seminary,—Oak HilL 
It was a model school, not only in name, but in 
reality; and very profitable to me were the months 
I there spent. 
In addition to my numerous school duties I 
found leisure for writing a few poetical articles 
which, at the suggestion of my room-mate, I sent 
to a paper which was printed in the vicinity. To 
my great delight they were published, and that, 
too, without any of the provoking typographical 
errors so discouraging to youthful votaries of the 
muse. My signature was simply Mellie,” which 
I confess 1 had chosen partly from the hope that 
it might, some time, meet the gaze of him who 
had bestowed that name upon me. I sent copies 
of tbe papers home, and my mother wrote me 
that they were all much please.d with the poetry. 
—but hoped I would not neglect my lessons; 
which I was in no danger of doing. 
1 remained at Oak Hill until the summer vaca¬ 
tion, when I went home, with tbe earnest solicita¬ 
tions of my teachers and schoolmates that I 
should return to them at the commencement of 
the autumn term. This it was my desire to do, 
but I found my mother too much of an invalid 
for me to think, for a moment, of leaving her 
again. She had not been well for several months. 
same. 
Now geek you the words, which in shadows I've thrown 
Arrange them in order, and let them be known; 
Else, still unexplained the enigma shall be, 
For the author’s solution you never will see. 
Grand Rapids, Mich., i860. Phi Epsilon. 
JTjf" Answer In two weeks. 
stir" among them; and feeling,as 
1 did, my own weakness and ignorance, I could not 
be flattered by their attentions. 
Thus passed an hour or two, wlien I heard a 
manly voice near me. I started,—for surely I had 
heard that voice before. The individual who had 
spoken was standing behind me, and I heard him 
say, “J must be introduced to this new poet of 
whom you arg all talking. I saw her book for the 
first lime, to-day, and it unite delighted me,—so 
chaste in conception, so fresh and artless in style. 
Where is she?” A moment more, and one of my 
new acquaintances presented “Professor How¬ 
ard” to “Miss Grant.” 
"Mellie Grant! is it possible!” was his first 
greeting, while I, who had less cause for surprise, 
responded, " Indeed, Mr. Howard, I am as much 
pleased as surprised to meet you once more. But 
it seems you have acquired new honors.” 
“Ah! yes, I’ve just, been dubbed Pro lessor of 
Latin and Greek, at my Alma Mater. However, 
that's nothing compared with the laurels you 
have won.” 
1 wondered did he think of his prophecy, and 
could he know how much the utterance of it had 
do with my xuccr.ts. Wo conversed together 
for some time, of other scenes, aud old friends. I 
thought, he did not look quite at ease, and once or 
twice he turned bis face from me with a half 
audible sigh. At length he said hurriedly, “1 
must go now. Mhi.uk,—W ill you not call and see 
my wife,—we are stopping at the Revere.” Ufr 
wife! lie was married, then. My heart gave one 
painful throb aud Becrned to stop. I kuew that 1 
turned pale, 1 grasped a chair for support, aud 
murmured something scarcely intelligible, about 
“my many engagements,” and then I bade him 
good evening as calmly as 1 could; and feeling 
tne need of concealing my emotion, 1 rallied as 
quickly as possible, and did not allow myself to 
think, until I was alone in my chamber. Ample 
time had I for reflection, fur weeks passed ere 1 
left that room. I was seriously ill. Mrs. Gleason 
attributed it to over excitement; I was very glad 
she bad no suspicion of tho true camm, When 1 
was once more able to see company, 1 learned, In¬ 
cidentally, that Professor Howard had returned 
1o his College duties. And then 1 made a sepul¬ 
chre in my heart, aud there laid away the 
memory of one who must, henceforth, be even as 
the dead, to me. If I was a mourner, it was in 
silence, and no one guessed my secret. 
In the early spring i went back to Mayfield. 
My father's health was failing, and lor two year's 
i devoted myself entirely to him. At ihe end of 
that time, I was indeed an orphan. Our family 
•it was 
neatly written, and tbe sheets of paper were fast¬ 
ened with blue ribbon. “May 1 sot keep this?” 
be asked. “JtwJU serve as a pleasant memento 
of my beat scholar. I feel very proud of you, 
Mki.uk,” he added, “ and I shall expect to hear of 
other and brighter laurels, which you have won 
in the field of authorship.” And, stooping down, 
lie imprinted a kiss, the first I had received from 
him, upon my brow-. If it be true that a mother’s 
kiss made one of our own noble artists, I may say, 
with due humility,—" That kiss made me a poet.” 
Mr. Howard carried home my books for me 
that night, and we all spent asocial, pleasant eve¬ 
ning, in our cosy sitting-room. But our happi¬ 
ness was alloyed by the thought of bis speedy de¬ 
parture, for we were all much attached to the 
kind and agreeable sehool-master. That night, 
when we knelt around tho family altar, I noticed 
a tremor in my good father's voice, as lie prayed 
for “One who would on the morrow go out from 
ns, to return no more.” He prayed that his might 
be a useful and a happy life,—that he might wisely 
improve the talents entrusted to his care, and at 
last receive the Divine commendation, “Well 
done, good and faithful servant, enter tbou into 
the joy of thy Lord.” Aud nil our hearts re¬ 
sponded, “ Amen.” 
The morning meal was partaken of in haste, 
and with effort at cheerfulness, but I saw that 
even my brothers, whom I used to condemn as 
rough and unfeeling, lmd but little appetite for 
their breakfast; aud Josie, two years my senior, 
[Written for Moore's Rural New-Yorker.) 
MV SCHOOL TEACHER: 
A 1ST autobiograph y 
For Moore’s Rural New-Yorker. 
MISCELLANEOUS ENIGMA. 
BY KATE CAMERON, 
I am composed of 86 letters. 
My 1, 7, 30,13 is a girl's name. 
Mv 10, 3, 14, 34, 21 is a mineral salt. 
My 2, 31, 8, 24, 15, 35,1 is an imaginary demon. 
My 26, 4, 23, 34 is useful in every house. 
My 0, 33,11,19,16, 22,17 is a fish, a fowl, and a quad¬ 
ruped. 
My 25,20, 27 b an adverb. 
My 6, 28, 32, 12, 6, 35, 29 is the capital of one of the 
United States. 
My 8,10, IS, 34, 36 is a boy’s name. 
My 1,10,19, 20, 30, 24,13,18, 36 is to inclose. 
Sly whole is a proverb that all would do well to 
remember, J. IJ Wiutmork. 
East Shelby, N. Y., 1860. 
£3r" Answer in two weeks. 
" Melliscent ! Mei.liscent !” 
It was my mother’s voice calling at the foot of 
the back stairway; and I knew very well what she 
wanted of me, for ten minutes before 1 had seen 
Walter Howard enter the gate; and now I was 
standing before my little mirror, arranging and 
re-arranging my stubborn hair, that would not lie 
smooth, aud pinning and unpinning iny pink 
neck-ribbon, that would look still and precise, try 
as I might to give H a graceful air. 1 heard tho 
murmur of voices below, aud was well aware that 
the rest of the family had been Introduced to tbe 
new school-master, and now my turn had come, 
and I must no longer delay making my appear¬ 
ance. How 1 wished my mother had not spoken 
that odious name,— 1 “Melliscent!”— for I was 
now sixteen, old enough, T thought, to bo called 
“Miss Grant,” and Mr. Howard would not at 
once have found out tbe soubriquet which I so 
much disliked, but which I had received, to¬ 
gether with a feather-bed and silver spoon, from 
my grandmother. My brothers had always tor¬ 
mented me about my unpoetJcal name, and I 
really considered it, next to my red hair and pug 
nose, as part of the daily cross which I must bear, 
—a heavy one, too, it seemed to me. 
But mother had called, and I must go down; so 
sighing involuntarily, and smoothing my black 
silk apron, 1 slowly descended, and stumbled into 
the sitting-room, where the household group wore 
assembled. 
% 
I was an awkward girl. 1 remember how 1 
blushed and stammered when my mother, looking 
up from her knitting, said, “This is my daughter, 
Melliscent, Mr. Howard;” and that gentleman 
arose, 
Witty Superscription.—A witty hoy, writing a letter 
to a school-fellow in a well-known academy in New Eng¬ 
land, superscribed his letter in the following way: 
Wood 
John 
Mass. 
which three words, with the relative position of the 
name “ John,” indicate the boy’s whole name, the town, 
and State where ho studied. To avoid puzzling the 
Post-Mader, this Was inclosed in another envelope, and 
addressed without the enigma. 
Let some of our young folks puzzle themselves in find¬ 
ing out what was the address. 
£3*” Answer in two week-. 
winter in our desolate dwelling. Aunt Lrcv de¬ 
cided to remain permanen ly with us; and I was 
to teach the school in our own district the coming 
summer. Thus passed months qf my quiet life, 
until more than two years had elapsed since Mr. 
Howard left us, and I was now nineteen. 
About this time we received a visit from a 
cousin of my mother, Mrs. Gleason; one of those 
affable, charming women, who seem to attract all 
hearts, F-he was a widow, and childless. Her 
home was in Boston, and she urged me to share it 
with her for u number of months,— nothing less 
than a two year’s visit would satisfy her, she 
said,—and she persuaded my father to allow me 
to return with her, saying that a little experience 
of city life was just what I needed. 
Father told her that she would find me quite a 
“book-worm,” and something of a “bine-stock¬ 
ing,” too: at which information, Mrs. Gleason, 
or “Cousin Eleanor,” as she preferred to be 
called, seemed much delighted; for if she hud a 
weakness, it was a fondness for patronizing those 
whom she thought would, some day, do honor to 
her wise fore-sight And thus I was at once 
taken under her protecting wing. 
The city residence where I was soon duly en¬ 
sconced, seemed quite grand compared with mv 
unostentatious country abode. Cousin Eleanor 
was wealthy, and she was, moreover, possessed ot 
traits that are not always its concomitants, viz., 
taste and tact By the aid of these most neces¬ 
sary social virtues, she had furnished her house iu 
a style at once rich and harmonious. The colors 
all blended,—every article was in its appropriate 
place,—there was nothing harsh or glaring either 
in design or execution. And then she had drawn 
around her a large circle of friends who could 
well appreciate both herself and her surround¬ 
ings. They were not the mere ephemeral vota¬ 
ries of fashion, but people who were, at least, one 
grade above that classy and many of them of de¬ 
cidedly intellectual tastes and pursuits. 
All this was, to mo, like entering a new world. 
My cousin insisted on my devoting a portion of 
each day to my studies, and my writing. I was 
not expected to “ go into society,” on account of 
my deep mourning,—such conventionalities were 
rMMKUN alia liEN.l AM1X, UGlIlg I10W yOUTlg 
men grown, were not expected to manifest their 
grief outwardly; but 1 knew that they also felt 
very sorry to lose Mr. Howard, 
The stage stopped before the house, and iny 
elder brothers carried out the trunk, while Mr. 
Howard bade us all “good-bye.” A cordial 
grasp of tbe band, and the one word which is so 
full of pathos to tbe loviug heart,—and be was 
gone! The boys went directly to the hr i n, father 
bad some errand at the village, and mother and 1 
were soon busied in our household labors. It 
seemed a strange and not very pleasant change to 
me, to return to the drudgery of house-work, after 
spending four mouths in intellectual pursuits. 
Bui I resolved to make the best of it, I had al¬ 
ready begun to learn the truth, which 1 have since 
well proved, that our primal duties are those 
which lie the nearest to ns, the center whence 
radiate innumerable obligations to the world 
around, not one of them of equal importance with 
those that form that center. Think not that I 
advocate a selfish course of conduct,—! do be¬ 
lieve that “ charity begins at home,” not by any 
means that it ends there. 
I thought ot all this while I was washing the 
dishes, and sweeping, that Saturday morning. J 
determined to be a more dutiful daughter a 
ANSWERS TO ENIGMAS, &c., IN NO. 538. 
Answer to Miscellaneous Enigma:— A rolling stone 
gathers no moFS. 
Answer to Mathematical Problem:—A grinds 4 inches; 
B, 6.0S2C inches; C. 9.2426 inches; I), 20.0182 inches. 
^.hnevtisements 
and taking my band kindly, said smil¬ 
ingly: 
"Yon have my sister's name, and I must call 
you, as I do her, Mellie." 
I feltat once more easy, and less self-conscious; 
and seating myself in the corner, where I fancied 
the shadows would conceal tlie brilliant hue of 
my hair, 1 managed to answer Mr. Howard’s in¬ 
quiries, with a degree of composure quite sur- 
the girls would bo in love with him. I was a ro¬ 
mantic maiden, the only daughter, and very fond 
of reading poetry and fiction; although in the 
latter my tastes were not allowed free range, as I 
was brought up in a manner befitting a deacon's 
daughter. 
It was not strange that I at once exalted my 
new acquaintance into a hero, and, for want of 
another, imagined myself the heroine of an un¬ 
written romance. Pate seemed to favor this idea, 
so far as opportunity for intercourse was con¬ 
cerned: for my father was “committee-man,” nud 
Mr. Howard was to make his home in our family, 
beside tbe four weeks which he was to board there 
for tbe tuition of my three brothers and myself. 
Monday morning came at length,—the long- 
talked- of “ first day ” of school. There was the 
A A* A_l AJ AJ kl A AA1 U O £i . 
First Premium over Fairbanks, at Vermont State Fair, 
'57 and *08. First Premium and no Competition in 
*59. First Premium at 13 Different State Fairs. Sil¬ 
ver and Bronze Medala at American Institute Fair, 
N. Y„ 1859. 
Howe’s Scales for All Uses, Lave Great Simplicity, 
Wonderful Accuracy. 
Require no Pit: may be get on top ol' tbe ground, or on 
a barn floor, and easily removed. 
Ab Cheek Rods; A 'a Feint tun (>u Knife Edges; all friction 
received on Balls. Weigh truly if not level. 
Delivered at any Railroad Station iu tbe United .States or 
Canada, get up, and warranted to give entire satisfaction. 
Or taken back. 
Send for Circulars and price lists, with account of trial ot 
Scales between Howe aim Fairbanks, at Vermont State 
Fairs, to .. JAMES G. DUDLEY, 
mineral Western Agent, 93 Main street, 
518-tl Buflalo, N. Y. 
was all 1 conld aceummodate. I received as many 
more day scholars, and very soon we had a nour¬ 
ishing school. I employed assistant teachers, and 
in the new career thus opened to me, 1 found 
peace aud contentment. Years passed ou, until 
my thirty-third birth-day found me still surround¬ 
ed by kind and loving pupils. I had amassed 
considerable wealth, aud what i cured more for, 
influence, and respect; yet not the love for which 
1 had once 6ighed. 1 Lad not been wholly desti¬ 
tute of suitors, but none of them bad been suc¬ 
cessful in winning more than my esteem. One 
day a carriage stopped at the entrance ol the long 
avenue leading to our door, and soon after I was 
called to the reception room. There 1 found a 
gentleman, a stranger as I supposed, but a second 
glance showed me that, despite the traces of time 
aud care, it was no other than Walter Howard 
who stood before me. 
•• Miss Grant?” he said inquiringly; “but ah! 
you have altered bo little I could not be mis¬ 
taken;” and he shook hands, with his old cordi¬ 
ality. After a lew common-place remarks, he 
said he had come to ask if 1 could receive an¬ 
other pupil? He had a daughter, an only child, 
of eleven years, nuw left motherless,—could he 
entrust her to my cure? Of coarse I consented 
to receive her, and he left promising to bring her 
to me the next day. She came, BWeet little 
Agnes! and I could but love her, so innocent in 
heait, so winning in ways. She remained with 
us a year before her father again came to May- 
field. 
-And here, kind reader, I must close “ the 
diary of an old maid,” for next week I am to be- 
walk that distance, morning and night, when the 
weather was favorable; at other times, one of the 
Father and mother 
MOORE'S RURAL NEW-YORKER, 
TUB LARGEST circulated 
Agricultural, Literary nud Family Weekly, 
IS PUBLISHED EVERY SATURDAY BY 
I>. I>. T. MOORE, ROCHESTER, Jf. Y. 
boys could take me 
made this arrangement almost before I had begun 
to consider the matter, and as I had no Berlous 
objection to bring forward, I acceded to the pro¬ 
posal. It would, at least, do me no harm to re- 
view my studies in this wa.\, anil as father had 
promised me that I should go, the next autumn, 
to a noted boarding-schoo!. some sixty miles dis¬ 
tant, I thought this might be a good preparation. 
And so, through the long summer days, I taught 
twenty scholars in the little red school-house at 
“ the Grove.” It was a pleasant task, for I loved 
the children, and they loved me. But wearisome 
days would come, when I longed for something 
higher and better,—when the oft-drilled elements 
of learning seemed stale and distasteful to me. 
Then I sighed for the quiet of my little room at 
TERMS IN ADVANCE: 
Two Dollars a Year— $1 fur six months. To Clubs and 
Agents as fallows:—Three Copies one year, for Li; Six, and 
one free to dab agent, for *10: Ten, and one free, lor $15; 
Fifteen, aud one free, for $21; Twenty, and one free, for $25; 
and any greater number at same rate —only $1,25 per copy 
— witli an extra free copy for every Ten subscribers over 
Twenty. Club papers sent to dilk-rent Pogt-oflices, if de¬ 
sired. As we pre-pay American postage on papers sent to 
the British Provinces, onr Canadian agents and friends 
must add UUi cts. per copy to the club rates of tbe Rural. 
The lowest price of copies sent to Europe, Ac., is $2,5(f— 
including postage. 
