them the valleys are covered with violets, and but¬ 
tercups and daisies. And so are not the iowlands of 
our lives beautified by sweet flowers, and watered 
by rippling brooks, and made cheery by the songs 
of birds ? 
In the cold magnificence of dizzy heights there 
are no enchanting melodies. The sweetest song¬ 
sters fly lowest. On the window-sills of humblest 
homes they perch; for the lowliest workers they 
trill all the day long. And days cannot be long, nor 
work wearying, where music floats ever on the air, 
and lingers ever in the heart. 
A geologist, writing of these adamantine piles, 
He would treat of 
Written for Moore'a Rural New-Yorker. 
FORGOTTEN. 
Written for Moore’a Rural New-Yorker. 
THE CHRISTIAN’S CROSS. 
BY MAT WHITNEY. 
Hast then forgotten me, sweet? 
Have I passed like the clouds from a blue summer sky, 
Or the shadows of birds that o’er silver lakes fly,— 
Or remembrance of stars when the sun is on high ? 
Canst thou have forgotten me, sweet r 
Well, I remember a day 
Far adown the long aisles of the cathedral Time, 
’Neath its Heaven yearning dome and its arches sublime, 
Where an altar was raised to a love half divine; 
Ah! well I remember the day. 
Beautiful September day! 
How Its shimmering, glimmering, passionate light 
Leaps athwart the thick darkness of silence’s long night, 
Of the night whose dim curtains thy hand dropp’d despite 
That beautiful September day. 
I think of those hours of bliss, 
As with lip to lip-lieart to heart—lying entranced 
Where the cool shadows fell and the bright waters danced, 
And the russet leaves sighed as the south wind advanced, 
Our love filled the hours with bliss I 
Think of the love which I gave, 
As the birds scatter songs, or the summer clonds showers, 
Pure as God’s blessed light, sweet as earth’s dewy flowers, 
As the air, free and freshening, encircling the hours 
01 think of the love which I gave.,_ 
BY KATE WOODLAND, 
What is the cross that I must bear ? 
Which is the straight and narrow way 
My feet must tread that I may share 
The great reward for which I pray ? 
Is this my cross,—to speak in praise 
Of Him I claim to love so well ? 
My voice in public prayer to raise, 
And loudly sacred anthems swell ? 
Is this my cross,—to wend my way 
Bach Sabbath to the house of prayer ? 
To search my Bible day by day, 
For promises and precepts there f 
Are these the struggles I must share ? 
Is this the conflict, this the strife ? 
Are these the crosses I must bear 
That I may win eternal life ? 
Nay. nay weak heart, if this were all, 
How easy wouid thy burdens bel 
Without the wormwood and the gall, 
No draught were bitterness to thee. 
To crucify my own desire 
That I may give another joy, 
This is the soul's refining fire 
By which it loses its alloy; 
To humbly turn the other cheek 
When smitten with a cruel blow, 
To answer patiently and meek 
When words of anger tempt ns so; 
To overcome with good the wrong; 
Our neighbor as ourself to love; 
These to the Christian’s cross belong; 
And these his love to God will prove. 
Oh Father! show us each our cross ; 
Make every path of duty plain 1 
And give us grace to count as loss, 
Whatever fails of Heavenly gain. 
would discourse very differently, 
stratas, and formations, and drifts, and only a geo¬ 
logical dictionary knows what other things. But I 
shouldn’t like to probe the subject in this matter- 
of-fact way, if I could. 
Ton cannot wonder that I write as 1 do. The 
whole lesson of the mountains is one of sublime re¬ 
pose. They are the indexes of the Almighty, point¬ 
ing forever upward. They are continually calling 
to us to climb higher. They stimulate our ambi¬ 
tion, but they also sanctify it. Vision grows weak 
by limitation. It is not well to look always along 
the level of the narrow plain. We should glance 
up, out of close confines, away into the wide fields 
where are splendid possibilities. A broader outlook 
is a revelation,—a revealing of the Beyond. And 
that is a glorious country. It is the Canaan that is 
before us wheD we climb the uplands of Hope. We 
shall dwell therein—sometime. 
vju me auar we Hallowed the dust Betties slow; 
Down the aisles,-chanting sadly,-my dreary days go 
To a pale marble shaft,-and my heart lies below 
Since yon have forgotten me, sweet. 
Sorrowful September day! 
With the rain drifting onward before the cold blast 
And the yellow leaves sinking down softly. At last 
Comes the death-shadow. Thou’rt soon over-past, 
O sorrowful September day I 
Written for Moore’s Rural New-Yorker. 
ACCOMPLISHMENTS. 
I heard somebody, perhaps it was a prude, say 
the other day that fashionably accomplished young 
ladies consider it a disgrace to enter a kitchen or 
know how to make a loaf of bread. Now I know 
there are some sensible girls who do not consider 
themselves disgraced if they be found helping theix 
mothers, and moreover I know that what the above- 
mentioned prude said Is true in many instances. 
Society at the present day demands that girls 
shall be what it calls accomplished; and to fulfill 
this demand the mothers of Christendom teach 
their daughters that a knowledge of all that be¬ 
longs to life’s duties at home, is not one of the 
i equireinents, that manual labor eaunot be conso¬ 
nant with drawing-room cultivation. And so their 
lily hands slip idly over piano keys; they waltz in 
| the most approved stylo; simper a little French or 
German ; quote poetry,—and society 6ays they are 
accomplished. Doubtless they are, and by-and-by as 
all modern fashionables do, they win a husband. ’ 
Now is there one of their boasted accomplish- 
ments that will help to make or bless a home ? I 
know that music is pleasant, and home is not home 
where there are no songs or sweet harmonies; but 
a knowledge of the piano will not do much toward 
helping a woman to discharge her wifely duties, and 
a smattering of French, or the ability to waltz grace- 
rally, will do but little toward preparing a palatable 
dinner for a husband when he comes home hungry. 
Modern girls have not less ability than our grand¬ 
mothers had; the evil all lies in the principles im¬ 
bibed iu early years. If mothers will teach them, 
y word and deed, that idleness is an accomplish¬ 
ment, then what may we expect ? Where shall we 
look for the title women, the blessed homes in the 
years to come ? The woman who would fill life’s 
station nobly and well, cannot learn too much. If 
ehe fails in her home she will fail in all; for there 
rests the basis of her ultimate success. 
By far too many of our young ladies marry with¬ 
out the remotest idea of the duties and obligations , 
that must be discharged by a wife; and what is the 
result V Neglect, estrangement and ruin. The true 
wife will not leave her household affairs wholly to 
the careless oversight of servants, nor will the true, 
loving motner leave her children to the care of hire- 
lings. And I may as well state here, that I do not 
think any woman has a right to marry until she feels 
herself qualified to take her place as mistress of 
household economy—queen regnant of all that can 
make home pleasant and bright, whether in parlor 
or kitchen, even as she should be queen regnant in 
the heart of the man she marries. 
Perhaps, kind reader, you will call me prudish, 
but if young ladies were educated for the duties of 
life, instead of its frivolities, there would be far less 
unhappiness in the world,— they would not be cen¬ 
sured as the majority now are, for marrying for sel¬ 
fish interests-for wealth, ambition, anything hut 
love. Wives would not seek for their dearest happi- 
ness in 6CCI1 es of fashionable gayety, but would find 
it in brightening and hallowing their homes; hus¬ 
bands would not frequent the “club room” and 
billiard parlor,” as so many do now, nor com¬ 
plain of extravagant expenditure; and the public 
press would not condemn fashionable American 
women as it does to dav. r. _ 
COURTING SIN 
NYDIA, THE BLIND FLOWER-GIRL 
Thebe are few stories so beautifnlly and touch¬ 
ingly told by writers of fiction as that of Nydia 
the blind flower-girl, in Bulwer’s “Last Days oi 
Pompeu. ’ Her unsuspected, unselfish love is por¬ 
trayed with rare grace. That portion of the narra- 
ve which depicts her as gathering flowers iu the 
garden of Glaucus, has been happily illustrated in 
marble, by Mr. O. F. Fuller, a sculptor of Florence, 
We cannot avoid beiDg tempted. In some form 
or other the spirit of evil comes to us every hour 
of our lives, with his magnificent promises. If we 
listen to them, half smilingly, are we not really 
courting sin? To go voluntarily to baleful influ¬ 
ences, and put ourselves in their power, is little 
worse than to give ourselves over to those influ¬ 
ences, without effort to the contrary, when they 
come to us. There is no excuse for half the defeats 
we meet with while endeavoring to walk uprightly. 
We surrender to temptation with never an arm up¬ 
raised in defense. With not even a whispered “Get 
thee behind me, Satan,’’ do we meet the tempter. 
and the 6tatue is faithfully represented above. The 
groping, apprehensive, keenly-listening habit so 
sadly characteristic of blindness, is well expressed 
in the young girl’s elevated chin, as she stoops 
feeling for the flowers, more than ever sweet- 
scented for her. “Nydia” has been on exhibition 
the present season across the water, in the Royal 
.me is beautiful as a panorama that moves on to 
the great and final climax, when the curtains of 
eternity are drawn, and the marvelous beauty of the 
universe opens with endless vistas of glory upon our 
enlarged sight, and the dreams of the past are paled 
from view in the blaze of the never-eudiug present. 
The toy, the sword and the toy make up the sum 
of our existence, for the oid and young are nearest 
heaven. Brattling childhood and old age walk hand 
in hand, and laugh at gamboling lambs and make 
pretty speeches to the bright birds and butterflies, 
for the veil of time is but a mist to the right and left 
of them, and love and innocence stand like cherubs 
by the cradle and the grave. 
nothing. How they came to marry the’ 
could explain. They had got into a drift 
that bore them on to Hymen’s altar. 
always contended that marriage was made in 
and had to be. 
Thirty years of married life had passed j 
sweetness and delight, when the wife sugges 
purchase of two houses and lots that were I 
William, who never thought his wages mo 
sufficient to support his family, hardly knew 
consider the question. When his wife pr< 
the amount sufficient to purchase the propt 
felt more puzzled than ever. The fact is, his 
wife had always put by—unknown to him—s< 
Choice IftisccUattg 
Ana yet we oemoan our sinfulness; we shed bit¬ 
ter tears over evil thoughts and deeds; we make 
weak resolves to stand up more manfully in the 
future. All this is well. Repentance is very essen¬ 
tial. But unless we cease tacitly courting sin by 
receiving it kindly when it visits ns, of what avail 
are all our bemoanings, our tears, and our resolu¬ 
tions ? Our visitors measure their stay by the char¬ 
acter of their reception, and sin is no less sharp- 
sighted than they. 
I hen it is wiser to put sin behind us, always, 
rather than let it stand before us as an equal. The 
language our Saviour used, when tempted, has a 
deeper significance than we are wont to give it. 
lie said “ Get thee behind me." Ana why behind? 
Was it not to be wholly out of sight ? Sin is hardly 
ever without a glamour over it, concealing its de¬ 
formity, oftentimes rendering it absolutely beauti¬ 
ful. Satan may nave a cloven foot, and the ct ceteras 
commonly credited to him, but he is frequently ex¬ 
ceeding fair to look upon. And the heart receives 
its impressions too often through the eyes. On that 
account it is dangerous, in the extreme, to long 
look evil in the face. Unless we voluntarily bid 
it get behind us, away from our seeing, it may be¬ 
come as an angel of light, blinding our vision com¬ 
pletely. 
And alas! how often our thought plays truant, 
and goes off kite-flying, like the veriest idler, in 
beautiful fields where all beauty hides a secret 
sting! Into those lovely reaches we follow, no 
longer waiting for sin to come to ns that we may 
be won, but going out after it, though we scarcely 
Written for Moore's Rural New-Yorker, 
INGS — NEW SERIES. 
RICH WITHOUT MONEY. 
Many a man is rich without money. Thousands 
of men with nothing in their pocket, and thousands 
without even a pocket, art rich, A man bora with 
a good sound constitution, a good stomach, a good 
heart and good limbs and a pretty good head piece, 
is rich. Good bones are better thau gold, tough 
muscles than silver, and nerves that flash fire and 
carry energy to every function, are better than 
houses and laud It is better than landed estate 
to have had the right kind of father and mother. 
Good breeds and bad breeds exist among men as 
realiy as among herds and horses. Education may 
do much to check evil tendencies, or to develoo 
NO. VIII.—THE EVERLASTING HILLS. 
We have come up among the mountains—Aunt 
Jebusha and I. Our watering place experience, 
you will remember, wa3 not satisfactory. We re¬ 
turned home with the conviction that there are a 
few aims in life higher than fashioi.ufie recreation. 
It struck my good Aunt that ling three score 
glasses of mineral fluid per day, jo re-create, was 
diluting the material altogether toi much. And it 
struck me ditto. 
Aunt Jekcsha made no objection to coming here. 
A laudable desire to institute comp^-iAons, may have 
influenced her somewhat. We snuffed the mountaiu 
breeze afar oil, and scented the pure air while yet 
TO THE UNHAPPY. 
Cease thy compiaining-couldst thou know 
The purpose of these hiddden ways, 
How many flowers about thee grow, 
Thy heart woald sing more thankful lays. 
For human hearts must break or bow, 
Since sorrows to ns all belong; 
The blossoms that are failing now, 
In youth, from life’s o'ei-c.lnster'd bough, 
Will make the after-fruit more strong. 
And great the lesson thou hast Jearn’d, 
When from the world thy heart is turn’d, 
By losing that for which it yearn'd. 
and various are the means diligently and persever- 
ingly tried by fashionable belles to achieve this most 
desired result. Now, it is not an easy matter for a 
healthy girl to obtain a uniformly white hand. If 
the blood flows actively and in swift currents it will 
sometimes rush to the cheeks and sometimes to the 
hands, and generally it does this just when it is not 
wanted. Why girls should he mortified at a flush 
which simply shows youth and health it is hard to 
say, but they are so, and it may be because fashion 
has decreed appearance and manner as the most de¬ 
sirable of virtues, and voted even the natural circu¬ 
lation of the blood common and vulgar. It is a 
medical fact that the delicacy of appearance com¬ 
mon to most American girls is owing to their seden- 
taiy habits, the want of activity in the circulation 
of the blood, and the incipient liver complaint, 
which afterward change them into premature old 
women. When their vouth has denarmfl tv, At? Irrj/^Ttr 
realize this, and wooing it in its own chosen haunts. 
And we go, and go again, until the way becomes 
worn and familiar, and the beauties throw off their 
outward seeming and pierce us with their sharp, 
biting realities. Then, wounded and sick at heart, 
we feel that it is not enough to pray “ Lead us not 
into temptation,” but that we must continually 
and in all earnestness declare “ Get thee behind me 
Satan!” ’ 
we cannot calculate; how many cycles may repeat 
themselves before the end eometn we cannot con¬ 
jecture. We who look upon them now,—who climb 
their rugged steeps,—who seem overwhelmed by a 
sense of their vastuess and our own littleness, as we 
stand far up among the clouds,—shall go our little 
way and he forgotten, but they—they will remain. 
The Creator willed their existence, and there they 
are— everlasting. 
And I have a fancy that their existence is almost 
as sublime as our being. 
To be is grand! The mountain summits rise 
To pierce the blue of (he low bending skies. 
Their towering might my inmost nature thrills— 
I think of thisThe strength of all the hills 
Is His alsoand then there comes to me 
The truth so prescient-ft is grand to be / 
To simply claim existence at His hand- 
To have been fashioned at 8upreme command— 
To have no will, but be a monument 
To the Creator’s will, and be content 1 
There is a sublimity in existence, when existence 
conquers time and all its ravages, and keeps pace 
with the ages, which fully equals that of life itself. 
For life faffs, sooner or later, Life implies death, 
and a passing away. Existence knows nothing of 
either. 
I like to believe that mountains have been hal¬ 
lowed, in a certain sense, ever since our Saviour 
preached that remarkable sermon 
RESTING PLACE OF THE SPIRIT. 
There are good, cool watering places for tired 
spirit as weft as tired body. Tne Twenty-Third 
Psalm is such a place. It is a beautiful picture of 
i epose, of peace and quiet joy. Such a scene is very 
refreshing in the dust and heat of life's battle. The 
Spirit of Holiness drew this golden landscape. How 
quiet the Good Shepherd has made the ofttimes 
troubled momreh. He is reclining on the soft bank 
of a gently fl o wing stream. It sweeps off in meand¬ 
ering courses through the green pasture grounds. 
It is very, very still. Just the place to muse. Just 
as you ha ve done, perhaps, some summer day. Very 
likely the flowing waters bear his thoughts outward 
and onward to the sea. This suggests the Onward 
flow of life, outward into the Great Sea —of the 
shadows of death. It is an hour of delightful con¬ 
templation The royal man and royal poet rests 
sweetly in the quietness and assurance of faith. Its 
atiline-s brings with it the peace of God. 11 1 shall 
He is a good shoemaker who is faithful to the last. 
A minor chord—A short load of wood. 
A real teetotal curiosity—A pair of water-tight 
boots. 
The man who waxes strong every day—The shoe¬ 
maker. 
Humor of the situation—The sport of 
stances. 
Tables that are always being turned over—Time¬ 
tables. 
Something you’re alwayscomiug to blows with— 
Your nose. 
Pleasant bell (e) ringing —Putting your arm 
around her. 
Sugar, like a sweet temper, makes much insipi¬ 
dity agreeable. 
He who tells all he knows will also tell what he 
does not know, 
Echoes of the clubs—The nocturnal sounds of 
policemen’s maces. 
It is a miserable thing to live in suspense; it is 
the life of a spider. 
When is a woman wedded to silence ? When she 
bridals her tongue. 
Cast no dirt into the well that has 
^Vhen their youth has departed they know 
that they conld very well have afforded a little of 
the health which produces permanent beauty at the 
expense of their sickly delicacy. But who can make 
them believe it now ?— Newark Daily Advertiser. 
Written tor Moore’s Rural New-Yorker. 
TWO PHASES OF MARRIED LIFE. 
Many years ago I had a friend living in London. 
Industrious, sober, honest and economical, he had 
saved quite a nice sum of money. Entertaining the 
idea that it was not good to live alone, he married 
This was the turning point in his good fortune. 
He was unequally yoked. His wife proved to be a 
termagant that banished every enjoyment— a vam¬ 
pire that sucked out every sweet. Home became as 
no home It was a place hateful to think about. 
Charlie took to the pot-house. He became wretch¬ 
ed, a social meubus, a horrid drunkard. In a fit of 
excruciating misery he committed suicide. Accord¬ 
ing to Charlie’s experience, it did not pay to marry. 
a ^° tb tr r f r CUd ’ UviDg In 0De of the towns 
fnr (, n f a ? d ‘ H , e a wa ? 6 bore an excellent character 
industry and probity, but he would “ taste the 
b»le, br„e.» Tree heart«, aEd the ver ™ 
honor, Monday morning seldom found him richer I 
for the past week’s work, “a short life and a 
merry one,” was his motto; and his frequent pres 
ence at the resorts of pleasure proved how faith¬ 
fully he lived up to his idea of life. 
Somehow,—I never could tell how, — William 
found himself within the enchanted grounds of 
love. He was fascinated, dazzled, enraptured and 
bo completely charmed that even the “flowing 
bowl” and “hale companions” had lost their in¬ 
fluence. He married. It proved to be the right 
step, the turning point that led to fortune Wtt 
circum 
When you are come to the other side of the 
water, and have set your feet on the shore of glo¬ 
rious eternity, and look back again to the waters 
and to your wearisome journey, and shall see iu 
that clear glass of endless glory nearer to the bot¬ 
tom of God’s wisdom, you shall then be forced to 
say, “If God had done otherwise with me than he 
has done, I had never come to the enjoyment of 
thi6 crown of glory. —JtutherJihd. 
upon one. On 
their peaks we breathe a new atmosphere. Up 
where ai: is pure,—far above the dross of earth and 
its wickedness,—we can hope to become pure in 
heart and receive the blessing. Far above the bat- 
ling storm-clouds, where all is cairn serenity and 
peace, we can understand more clearly why our 
Saviour said “Blessed are the peacemakers.” 
If only we could live on the mountains always I 
If there were never any low valleys where life is a 
dim twilight in which we grope blindly for better 
things ! If the clouds were ever below us, and the 
warm sunlight ever above! If—and if—and if— 
But if the mountain-tops are grandly magnificent, 
the valleys are charmingly beautiful. Little alpine 
flowers are sometimes found amid the wild majesty 
of the everlasting hills, it is true. But far below 
given you wa¬ 
ter when you were thirsty. 
It is a good thing to be aboveboard, but generally 
a bad thing to be overboard. 
“ I am laying for you,” as the old hen said to the 
chap who was hunting for her nest. 
Love, the toothache, a cough and tight boots are 
things which cannot be long kept secret. 
Ip you wish to fatten a thin baby, throw it out of 
the window and it will come down plump. 
Why are bgse ball matches like the backs of cheap 
chairs ? Because they are fixed to come off. 
When a man’s services are entirely dispensed 
with, his furlough may be considered a furlong. 
Dn. Chalmers was wont to say:—“A home-going 
minister makes a church-going people; as the people 
are sure to acknowledge the courtesy of returning 
the minister’s week-day visits by their Sabbath-day 
attendance. 
When searching words come home to your heart, 
do not seek to turn them aside. Let the truth work 
effectually. 
* 
V 
