cept on special occasions, and which he keeps a 
secret even from his own sons. Gafar had no 
sooner put to profit the information so gener¬ 
ously given him, than the mare sprang forward 
like a flash of lightning, rendering all farther 
pursuit of no avail. 
The companions of Jabal were both aston¬ 
ished and indignant at his strange conduct: 
“ Fool that you arc, said they, yon have aided 
this brigand to rob you of your jewel.” 
But he silenced them with these words: 
“I would rather lose a mare than to tarnish 
her reputation. Could I suffer It to be said 
among the tribes that another marc could catch 
mine! I have at least this consolation left; the 
power to affirm that she has never met her 
equal!" o. o. b. 
For Moore’s Rural New-Yorker. 
HAPPINESS IN DEATH. 
CARE OF THE LITTLE ONES. 
Mother, watch the little feet 
Climbing o'er the garden wall. 
Bounding through the busy street, 
Ranging cellar, shed and hall; 
Never mind the moments lost; / 
Never mind the time It costs; 
Little feet will go astray; 
••Guide them, mother, while you may. 
Mother! waich the little hand 
Picking berrie* by the way, 
Making houses In the sand, 
Tossing op the fragrant clay ; 
Never dare the qdcstion ask, 
“Why to me the weary task?” 
These little hands may prove 
Messengers of light and love. 
Mother! watch the little tongue. 
Prating eloquent and wild; 
What is said and what Is sung 
By the joyous, happy child. 
Catch the word yet unspoken, 
Stop the vow bi-fore ’tie broken; 
This same tongue may yet proclaim 
Blessings In the Saviour's name. 
Mother! watch the little heart, 
Beating soft and warm for yon; 
Keep, O keep that young heart true! 
Extricating every weed, 
Sowing good and precious seed: 
Harvest rich yon then may see 
Ripen for eternity. 
The following lines are from a dingy and time-worn 
MSS. copy, which I accidentally came across a short 
time since. The author’s name is unknown. They 
were written over thirty years ago, and dedicated to 
Mart Price, who died at the early age of seventeen. 
On the simple marble slab which marks her resting 
place are the words, “ Prepare to follow me.” 
So. Ctyuga, N. Y., April, 1866. a. 
While poet* famed would climb Parnassus steep, 
And heaven's winds the soft JEollan sweep. 
An humble hard hia little mite would bring 
And bin the triumphs of the blest would slog. 
Young Mart wss a flower that long bid fair 
To scatter fragrance through her natal air: 
And though unknown among the great and ictse, 
Claimed a* her Father him who rules the skies. 
Her mind with Scripture truth was amply stored; 
She loved the pious, and their God adored: 
Like her of old she claimed no higher seat 
Than that beside her lowly Master's feet. 
The time was come when heaven wisely chose 
To place this flower where air salublious blows; 
Her friends all viewed her with a tearful eye. 
And thought It hard that ono to young should die: 
But Mary hailed it as a sweet release, 
From sin aud sorrow to a world of peace; 
And while a beam of jey hung o’er her brow, 
She said—“ For me death hath no terror now.” 
When racking pains her gentle syetem wore, 
She seemed an angel lovely as before; 
“Weep not,” she cried, ‘ my friends, weep not for 
THE ANGEL IN THE BLOCK, 
It is related of Michael Angelo, that while 
walking with some friends through an ob¬ 
scure street In the city of Florence, he discov¬ 
ered a fine block of marble, lying neglected In a 
yard, and half In dirt and rubbish. Regardless 
of his holiday attire, he at once fell to work 
upon It, clearing away Ite filth, and striving 
to lift it from the slime and mire in which 
it lay. 
His companions asked him, in astonishment, 
what he was doing, and what he wanted of that 
worthless piece of rock ? “ Oh, there’s an angel 
In this stone,” was the answer, “ 
and I must get 
it out” 
He had It removed to his studio, and, with 
patient toil, with mallet and chisel, he let tjie 
angel out. What to others waa bnt a rude, un¬ 
sightly stone to his educated eye was a buried 
glory of art and he discovered at a glance what 
might be made of It. A mason would have put 
it into a etone wall—a cartman would have used 
it in filling in, or to grade the streets; bnt he 
transformed it into a creation of genius, and 
gave it a value for ages to come. 
And bo it is with time. Some see it only as 
rubbish to be disposed of. Others know no use 
for it but to fill up gaps of toil or pleasure; but 
the trained eye of the devout student of Provi¬ 
dence, sees it in the sleeping or buried angel, 
and knows that i£ by the grace of God, he han¬ 
dles it right, he can bring that angel out. He can 
carve it into the forms of angelic service—fie can 
Bbape it. into a life of holy devotion, till, like 
that which Theodore Parker admired in the mis¬ 
sionary Jndson, iB worth mere than “a temple 
like the Parthenon.” 
Without religion It i» almost inevitable that 
one should be constrained to exclaim at last, 
like one of the great Marshals of France, “ My 
life has been a failure." But with It, time will 
be transmuted from the rough block into the 
glorious statoe, or rather the living form. Con¬ 
secrated aimB will make it at once useful and 
blessed —a patch of light, hut a pathway, too, 
to angelic glories in a higher sphere. 
BOY LOST 
Once o’er deaths flood I’ll happy, happy be.” 
Could you have gazed upon this dying maid, 
And viewed the smile which o’er her features played. 
You most hare cried e'en ’till your latest breath, 
”0 let me die the lovely Mart's death.” 
She met death’6 blow without one dimming tear, 
Her soul grew happy as her end drew near; 
Then “ Palms of Victory Crowns of Glory I" cried, 
And gently dosed her lovely eyes aud died. 
Farewell sweet spirit I though no costly tomb 
Is raised to thee, the almple rose tree's bloom 
Shall shed a fragrance round thy early grave, 
That wealth might covet, and the lofty crave. 
buttoned on; had a habit of whistling, and liked 
to ask questions; was accompanied by a small 
black dog. It Is a long time since he disap¬ 
peared. I have a very pleasant house and much 
company. Everything has Buch an orderly, put- 
away look—nothing about under foot—no dirt. 
But my eyes are aching for the sight of whit¬ 
tling® and cut paper on the floor; of tumbled 
down card houses; of wooden cattle and sheep; 
of pop-guns, bows and arrows, whips, tops, go- 
carte, blocks and trumpery. 1 wunt to see boats 
ft rigging and kites a-maklng. I want to see 
crumbles on the carpet and paste spilled on the 
kitchen table. I want to sec the chairs and ta¬ 
bles turned the wrong way about. I want to 
see candy-making and corn-popping, and to find 
jack knives and fish books among my muslins. 
Yet these things used to fret me once. They 
say: “How quiet you are here! Ah! one 
may here settle bis brains and be at peace.” 
But tny ears are aching for the pattering of little 
feet; for a hearty shout, a shrill whistle; a gay 
tralala; for the crack of little whips; for the 
noise of drums, fifes and tin trumpets. Yet 
these things made mo nervous once. 
They say: “Ah! you have leisure; nothing to 
disturb you. What heaps of sewing you have 
time for!” But I long to be disturbed. I want 
to be asked for a bit of string or an old news¬ 
paper; for a-cent to buy a slate pencil or pea¬ 
nuts. I want to be coaxed for a piece of new 
cloth for jibs or mainsails, and liieu to hem the 
same. I want to make little flags and bags to 
hold marbles. I want to be followed by little 
feet all over the house; teased for a bit of dough 
for a little cake, or to bake a pie In a saucer. Yet 
they say: “Ah! you are not tied at home! How 
-delightful to be always at ^berty for concerts, 
lectures aud parties! No dlbtinement for you." 
BuM v*- ant confinement. I want to listen for 
' w ^' r J chool bell mornings, to give the last hasty 
'•’’./ash and brush, and then to watch from the 
window nimble feet bounding away to schooL 
I want frequent rente to mend, and replace lost 
buttons. I want to obliterate mud stains, fruit 
stains, molasses stains, and paints of all colors, 
want to be sitting by a little crib of evenings, 
when weary little feet are at rest, and prattling 
voices are hushed, that mother may sing their 
lullabye, aud tell over the oft repeated stories. 
They don’t know their happiness then, those 
mothers; I didn’t All these things I called 
confinement once. 
A manly figure stands before me now. He 
is taller than 1, has thick whiskers, wears a frock- 
coat, a bosomed shirt, and acravat He has just 
cooie from college. He brings Latin and Greek 
jn bis countenance, and dusts of the old philos¬ 
ophers from the sitting room. He calls me 
“ Mother,” but I am rather unwilling to own 
him. He avers that he Is my boy, and says that 
he can prove it. He brings his little boat to 
excitement, but by the contrasts of color and 
form which each may present, In her habit and 
her horse. Companies of gentlemen and ladies, 
in full bunting suits, bounding in all the excite¬ 
ment of a race over a smooth stretch of road, or 
better still, over wide meadows, in eager chase, 
present one of the most beautiful sights Imagin* 
able. Of the healtbfulness of this rnoet delight¬ 
ful accomplishments too much cannot be said. 
But certainly its benefits must greatly diminish 
when It is resorted to, merely to strengthen the 
body. If a lady be recommended to ride for 
her health. Jet her first seek for the delight of 
riding, for nothing is more tiresome than being 
heavily jolted in a lady’s saddle, or more weari¬ 
some than Wing iju’icUy ambled over the ground 
by a small, spiritless pony. 
FEMALE EQUESTRIANISM 
Thus pleasantly writes a lady in a chapter of 
Herbert's Hints to Horse-keepers: 
Every lady should learn to ride; not at a 
mature age, when her frame has become ex¬ 
hausted by a sedentary life, and consequent ill 
health; nor even when, her school days being 
over, she is thought to Have leisure lor whole¬ 
some crercisc; but in childhood, when her will 
Is strong and her body obedient to it. Particu¬ 
larly in our large cities, too little care Is given to 
the physical culture of young girls. Their minds 
are engaged, not often with energetic mental 
work, but with Idle thought for dress aud show, 
while no other exercise is taken than a mea¬ 
sured daily walk, and occasional dancing and 
waltzing. 
Where household labor Is disdained, and no 
opportunity can be afforded for floriculture or 
any other agreeable out-door occupation, there 
is no substitute so good as horseback riding. 
But for the country girl it becomes indispensa¬ 
ble. Not her health, perhaps, but her happiness 
demands It. No woman ever rides 60 w ell as 
one who from childhood baa loved her pet colt. 
8he has chased him, perhaps, for hours around 
a ‘ten-acrc lot;’ and when, his frisky mood 
over, she has been able to lake him coaxiugly 
by the mane and lead him to a mounting place, 
great was the triumph of her wild ride. And no 
training or care can give the freedom and skill of 
this youthful practice. When, at length, she is 
able to bridle and saddle him, her seat may be 
somewhat faulty, and her use of the reins awk¬ 
ward, but those faults are easily remedied, and 
are certainly atoned for by her freedom and fear¬ 
lessness. Besides, no one can fully enjoy riding 
who does not both love and admire the noble 
animal which she rides; and the quick intelli¬ 
gence of the horse yields ready obedience to the 
hand and voice of a woman who has learned 
lovingly to control him. His affectionate nature 
yields to her the mastery, often more readily 
than to ft strong power. 
Well mounted on a strong, spirited horse — 
with a wide country before her — on a clear, 
cool day—with a love for all the beauty around 
her, of the noble animal beneath her, and glow¬ 
ing with the bounding life within her, a lady 
capable of enjoyment Is certainly prepared for it 
then. The first gentle pace of the horse starts 
the warm blood in her veins, and as both become 
excited, the glow tingles to the very finger-tips. 
The close-clinging to the horse, the slight reli¬ 
ance upon stirrup and bit, and the generally 
light proportion of rider to steed, give a feeling 
of being possessed of the powers of a new life, of 
riding upon the whirlwind, and yet controlling 
It with a word. 
This combination of a sense of weakness and 
of power, as every woman knows, is her greatest 
delight, and is the secret of many an enjoyment 
which she attributes to other causes. If a 
quieter mood possess the rider, there is no such 
pleasant manner of strolling over a wide extent 
of count ry, otherwise inaccessible. The discov¬ 
ery of new paths and openings in woods and 
hilly country, where momently change? are suc¬ 
ceeding each other In the panorama, affords 
delights wbioh are not attainable In any other 
way. Even hundreds of miles of travel are more 
pleasantly accomplished in the saddle than in 
any other manner, even by ladies; provided 
always that they be well attired and well 
mounted. Then the companionship of friends 
Is Infinitely more sweet under the exh Herat tug 
influences of active exercise, fresh air, and keen, 
physical enjoyment. 'VYhat so gay as a party of 
high-spirited equestrians? The emulation of 
riders and horses adds a new element of enjoy¬ 
ment, while the beaaty of every fair rider is 
enhanced not only by the glow of pleasurable 
Written tor Moore’s Rural New-Yorker. 
WHICH PATH WILL YOU TAKE! 
The young man starting forth Into active life, 
pauses a moment before leaving childhood’s 
roof, to deeide which road he shall take, that ho 
may roach the goal of his wishes. Shall it be 
the straight and narrow path, along which a 
sense of duty shall be his only guide, and which 
leads directly to the shining shore ? Or shall it 
be the broad and shady one, that winds around 
among pleasant groves, alongside of beautiful 
streams, that seem to refresh the weary traveler 
by their cool appearance, and where the scorch¬ 
ing suns of summer never come to wither. 
The teachings of earliest childhood warn him 
to take the one, while pleasure beckons him to 
the other. But a moment, and the decision is 
made, perhaps never to be retracted. Child¬ 
hood’s teachings, and a sense of duty have not 
failed him, and he starts forth, free to contend 
with the bravest, for he sees the star of truth 
beams brightly lor him. He sees his fellow man 
starting out upon a career of pleasure, and offers 
him ft warning, a word of kind advice. “ But,” 
he answers, “ life is long, and nothing ventured 
nothing gained.” 
But alas for human hopes! He Boon finds 
himself lost among the mazy windings of the 
road he has chosen. Far from its entrance, he 
cannot tnrn back; while his former companion 
moves peacefully alonglife’s highway, loving and 
loved, a faithful disciple of Christ. Many now 
stand, wondering, doubting, half believing, and 
again rejecting each former thought, before de- 
deciding upon the fatal or fruitful step, that 
shall be only as they decide. It is a fearful de¬ 
cision. Onu that will bring either joy aud hap¬ 
piness, or misery asd anguish to the traveler. 
80WING WILD* OATS, 
In all the wide range of accepted maxims, 
there is none, take it for all in all, more thorough¬ 
ly abominable than the one as to the Bowing of 
wild oats. Look at It on what side you will and 
I will defy you to make anything but a devil’s 
maxim of it. What a man — be he young, old, 
or middle-aged—sows, that and nothing else, 
shall he reap. The one only thing to do with 
wild oats is to put them carefully in the hottest 
part ol the fire, and get them burnt to dust, 
every seed of them. If you sow them, no mat¬ 
ter in what ground, up they will come, with long 
tough roots like the couch gross, and luxuriant 
Btalks and leaves, as sure as there is a sun In 
heaven — a crop which it turns one’s heart old 
to think of. The devil, too, whose special crop 
they are, will 6ee that they thrive, and you, and 
nobody else will have to reap them; and uo 
common reaping will get them out of the soil, 
which must be dog down deep, again aud again. 
Well for you if, with all your care, you can make 
the ground sweet again by your dying day.— Dr. 
Arnold. 
Translated for the Rural New-Yorker. 
ARAB CRAFTINESS. 
The cleverness of the French and English 
thieves is often spoken of, but the Bedouins of 
the desert ore quite their equals, as is proven by 
the following facts. 
We must premise tbgt, iu the moral code of 
the desert, the tfcelt of a horse is considered a 
very honorable exploit, if the victim is a stran¬ 
ger, or belongs to another tribe, which is almost 
synonymous with an enemy. 
A Bedouin named J abal, possessing a much 
renowned mare, heard that a person named Ga- 
far had boasted of bcltg cunning enough to 
steal her from him. He kept himself on his 
guard, fastening his mige every night with a 
chain affixed to the fetlt/ck of one of her hiud 
legs, and then, passing (through the canvas of 
his tent, the other end \tus attached to a stake 
firmly driven Into the jround, under the lion 
skin which served for a Jed for himself and his 
wife. 
But Gafar, one nighty managed to introduce 
himself Into the tent, and, slipping in between 
JabaL and bis wife, amj pushing gently, firet 
against one and then the other, he managed to 
induce the sleeping spores to asperate to the 
aight and loll, each supposing that the pressure 
came from the other. 3 his done Gafar cut 
through the skin with a £barp knife, pulled up 
the stake, detached the fnare and sprang upon 
her back. Bat, before g ling, he siczed the lance 
of Jaral, ami, striking ikirn with the wooden 
end, he cried: 
“ I am Gafar ! I have stolen your mare, and 
I give yeu timely warnltg.” 
It may be remarked here that this warning 
was in conformity with the customs of the 
desert on similar occasions; from the moment 
when a theft, under the proper circumstances, 
is considered au honorable act, he who executes 
It naturally seeks to obtain all the glory that 
might attach to such an Exploit. 
Awakening with a spring, the poor Jabal 
rushed out of his tent and gave the alarm; then 
springing upon his brother’s mare, he started, 
with a few Arabs of his tribe, in pursuit of the 
robber. The brother’s mare was of the same 
breed as Jabal’3, without, however, being her 
equal. However, after a four hour’s chase she 
had outstripped all the others (the Bedouins 
never ride horses,) and was even on the point of 
catching up with the thief, when Jabal cried 
to the latter: 
“Pinch her right ear. and make her feel 
your heel!" 
These were the secret means always used by 
Jabal to urge his mare to her greatest speed. 
Every Bedouin teaches his horse some sign of 
this kind, which he never has recourse to ex¬ 
Backsliding. —All serious dec-’ensiou iu re¬ 
ligion begins in negligence o r closest duties. 
These are meditation, gelf-examination, reading 
the Scriptures, praise and rrayer. A close walk 
with God insures regularly, and alacrity in per¬ 
forming these duties. But an indisposition for 
them is one of tba first signs that spiritual 
health Is /ailing. We can go to hell without 
intending to fio so, without putting forth any 
effort to thSit effect. But to go to heaven re¬ 
quires prayer, self-denial, vigilance, running, 
wrestling, fighting.— Hr. Flumer. 
Tub Way to Avoid Calumny.—” If any one 
speaks 111 of thee,” said Epictetus, “ consider 
whether he hath truth on his side; and if &o, 
reform thyself, that hia censures may not affect 
thee.” When Anaximander was told that the 
very boys laughed at his singing, “ Ay,” Baid 
he, “ then I must learn to eing better.” Plato 
being told that he had many enemies who spoke 
I will live so 
ill of him, said: “ It is no matter 
that none shall believe them.” Hearing at an¬ 
other time that an intimate friend of his bad 
spoken detractlngly of him, be said: “lam sure 
he would not do it. If he had not some reason 
for it.” Thl6 Is the surest as well as the noblest 
way of drawing the sting ont of a reproach, and 
the true method of preparing a man for that 
great and only relief against the pains of calumny 
—a good conscience. 
As one single drop of black ink will tinge and 
pollute a vessel of crystal water, so one little 
act. of faithlessness may irredeemably poison a 
whole lifetime of the purest friendship and con. 
fidenec. 
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