Written for Moore’s Rural New-Yorfcer. 
POVERTY. 
Vert soon, now. we may listen to the wild gusts 
of winter winds, and day by day watch the great 
white drifts piling higher and higher around our 
door, while safe in the shelter of numberless’cheer¬ 
ful homes, smiling faces will looh forth, contented, 
happy and blest. Would that every place called 
home might he a safe shelter and protection from 
the coming storms of winter. Bat alas! there’s 
many a creaking door and broken pane through 
which the cold blast will sweep, bringing tears and 
moans tp the little ones, and woe to the hearts of 
the helpless, poverty-stricken parents. 
Is there no help for such? Perhaps not; yet a 
little fuel and a few warm garments, just as well for 
being a tittle faded, or ant of fashion—how mnch 
they would help in the great extremity 1 And 
should such find their way over the humble thresh¬ 
old, brought by those who by sweet deeds of mercy 
have found how much “ more blessed it is to give 
than to receive,” then the light of hope and happi¬ 
ness might onec more be brought to those in the 
cheerless home, not alone by the bright blaze and 
warm garments, but by the consciousness that they 
have been remembered by their fellow beings. 
And parents, as yon fondly watch the little group 
around the home fireside, so warmly clad. 
Written for Moore's Rural New-Yorker 
at the last. 
Flee as a bird to your mountain, 
Thon who art weary of sin, 
Go to the clear flowing font:tain, 
Where you may wash and be clean. 
Fly, for the avenger is near thee. 
Call and the Saviour will hear thee, 
He, on His bosom will bear thee, 
Thou who art weary of sin, 
O. thou who art weary of sin. 
He will protect thee forever, 
Wipe every falling tear. 
He will neglect thee, oh! never, 
Sheltered so tenderly there. 
Haste then I the hours are flying, 
Spend Dot the moments in sighing, 
Cease from your sorrow and crying, 
The Saviour will wipe every tear, 
The Saviour will wipe every tear. 
BY CUO STANLEY 
Oh, harvest moon 1 Again too soon 
Yon shed your mellow light 1 
The golden days have been in tune 
Since we passed thro’ the gates of June, 
That pleasant summer night. 
Oh. autumn star-, too soon ye climb 
Within the welkin blue! 
I had not dreamed that any time 
Could rhyme with such a sober rhyme, 
Till lovers proved untrue l 
But like the waves that beat tbc shore 
The summer days went by; 
And now, the songs we song of yore, 
Those merry songs, we'U sound no more, 
Through all eternity. 
No more! Ah, saddest of sad words 
That throng the human heart! 
The scented breesst’ that softly stirred, 
The rippliug song of bonny bird, 
Can make the tear-drop start f 
Each said to each, “Oh, tried and true. 
Our lore can norm- fail; ’’ 
Yet—what must be, the angels knew, 
And brought the breezes, faint and few, 
To fill the snowy sail! 
Oh, harvest moon! Your tender light 
Falls sweetly on the shore; 
And yet, that sail, just out of sight, 
Bears from me all that made life bright, 
Ah, me, forevermore. 
Written for Moore’s Rural New-Yorker, 
PURIFIED. 
BY MRS. H. M. LINCOLN 
gatherin 
so tenderly cared for, think how your hearts would 
bleed to see your own darlings shivering with cold, 
and crying for food. And yet such trouble is all 
around you, and the children very likely are as dear 
to their parents as yours are to you. Yon might 
have seen little forlorn ragged creatures shivering 
on the street corners yesterday, with blue, pinched 
faces and hands, with little feet thrust into shoos 
but a shade better than none,— little feet that, in¬ 
stead of the bounding, elastic step of childhood, 
trudge slowly along, as if they were half weary 
already of the long struggling life-journey before 
them,— laces with already a settled look of sorrow 
and care taking the place of the smiling dimples and 
rosy flush of infancy. 
Poverty is everywhere, and every person can, if 
they will, think of some worthy object on which to 
hestow charity. There’6 many an old chest in the 
attic, whose contents, brought forth, would help 
clothe comfortably some poor, needy family; gar¬ 
ments but half worn, laid aside for those of later 
fashion; little jackets and dresses out-grown long 
ago. Then there are mittens, stockings and little 
shoes, too, all needed somewhere. Some loving, 
There are hearts struggling for purity, to whom 
the Father’s ways seem mysterious. Every plead¬ 
ing prayer such have uttered may have been for a 
spotless life and a fervent faith, sanctified by divine 
love. Such may have felt unsafe in their own 
strength; every effort of their own may have 
seemed sterile and useless, without the invigorat¬ 
ing warmth of their Father’s reconciled smile. 
That Gop recognises these as His children, and, 
like a faithful Father, chastens and corrects, and 
administers every needed discipline, is not strange. 
How grateful and glad such hearts should be, that 
their earnest desire tor an heavenly inheritance is 
not overlooked by a holy and just God. When 
weak and weary He giv.-s them strength; when 
they cry for clean heart- and pure lives He with¬ 
holds not the severe discipline needed to accom¬ 
plish the great work. Often when the heart seems 
so contrite, and broken, and tender, and the strug¬ 
gling ones plead entire submission, severe and 
mysterious afflictions discover opposition, still, to 
their Father’s government, God makes the way 
very dark, oftentimes, before the anxious servant 
is prepared to stand on the exalted heights of liberty 
in Christ. 
41 Well may we tremble to ask God to teach and 
sanctify us if wc do not mean it. But we need not 
tremble at any possible discipline it we do.” No, 
nor our hearts shrink with fear when again and 
agaiu wc feel the painful, piercing answers to our 
repeated petitions for purity ol heart. If our 
Father's glory is dearer to us than all else, and to 
live right the first great object of our being, God 
will surely help us. If strength and encouragement 
Written for Moore's Rural New-Yorker. 
HOW MARJORY 'VEST TO WASHINGTON 
OR, THE WILL AND THE WAY. 
BY LIZZIE M. BOYNTON 
(Continued from page 384, last number.] 
CHAPTER IV. 
44 God’s best gift, a perfect day,”—the sunbeams 
gilding with glory every created thing. The bird’s 
song is a chorus of merriment; not a minor of sad¬ 
ness is to he heard. 
The glad beauty of the morning so permeated 
everything that Marjory was really singing, altho’ 
she had decided to send a letter by that day’s mail, 
telling her friends that she could not join them. 
And now, while she is bravely perforin iug her morn¬ 
ing labors, let ns knock with 41 Uncle John” at the 
little house inhabited by the widow O’Flaretl 
“ Good morning,” says 41 Uncle John.” 
41 The top o’ the mornin’ to ye,” answers M rs. 
Bridget; 44 an’ will yo walk in and rest a bit! ” 
44 No, 1 thank you; I thought 1 had better see if 
PARAGUAYAN COSTUMES 
on the crops raised by agricult are. They are not fl 
progressive people, but quiet, cairn and easily gov¬ 
erned. Their houses arc one story high, oiten large 
and well built, with every care for proper ventila¬ 
tion. The bricks are large, being ten or twelve 
inches long, eight wide, and two thick. The better 
class of houses are covered with tiles, and have pro¬ 
jecting roofs. Our illustration not only depicts the 
costumes of the country, but one of their customs, 
as well, the ladies being in the. act of offering a 
guest some mate, or Paraguay tea, in a cup, while 
he holds in his hand the bombilla, or pipe, with 
which it is taken. 
Just now, while popular attention Is being 
attracted to Paraguay by reason of the war there in 
progress, an allusion to the characteristics of Para¬ 
guayans, and an illustration of their costumes, will 
prove of interest. 
The Paraguayans arc generally of mixed blood, 
the missions of the Jesuits having elevated the 
Datives so that the Spanish soldiers and settlers read¬ 
ily married among them. The same Christian train¬ 
ing, and the nature of the climate and soil, have 
tended to eliminate nearly every savage trace, and 
they arc to-day mild and almost qffeminate, with a 
clear, often brilliant white complexion, and subsist 
er came on, and 1 tumic tuat piasiering requires at¬ 
tention. Let me see; you lived with Mrs. May 
once,-1 think?” 
44 Sure an’ I did, and a beautiful time it was for 
me; in her very kitchen it was that Mike came to 
see me.” 
44 Well, her sister is there, quite sick. I wish you 
could stay there a few weeks and help them while I 
have the house repaired.” 
Thus it was settled. Sing on, Marjory: some¬ 
body has “crowded in” a kindness for you. 
Marjory’s song unconsciously wandered into a 
minor, as she carefully folded the dainty white Swiss 
that she had thought would go to somebody’s re- 
and thon as she closed the lid of the trunk, 
writers. The 
quiet communing with the world’s 
very atmosphere seemed dense with poetry and 
thought. 
The 44 Capitol” with its varied attractions occu¬ 
pied her days, while the evenings were invaded by 
44 receptions,” concerts, &c., &c. Wc will listen as 
Guy Gordon reads part of one of her letters to Miss 
Hattie Holt : 
A reception in imagination and a reception in reality 
are two vastly different affairs, friend Guv. fn imagina¬ 
tion our carriage rolls up to the door, from whence alight¬ 
ing, we glide to the dressing-room, where competent 
“ domestiques” assist, in smoothing the crashed tulle, 
fastening the delicate gloves, and rendering the toilette 
complete. But. ulas! “the folly of it, Iaoo, the folly of 
it [” In reality we are moving slowly through a mile of 
tangled equipages: at la6t we are in front of the 44 man¬ 
sion,” (and Washington mansions are not always just 
what “our fancy painted them;”) the gliding to the 
front door resolves itself into a thirty minutes’ pushing 
and crowding, and when that is attained, alas! we dis¬ 
cover that the crowd becomes more dense, and so we 
crowd our wee “ sea foam” into our escort’s pocket; ne 
kindly takes our shawl upon his arm, and thus, without 
any finishing touches to 1 he disarranged toilette, we make 
our debut. After wc have been presented, the Mecca of 
our desire is a little niche where, all unobserved, we may 
watch the “lions,” This is impossible; we discover to 
our anrprisc that the habitues of Washington consider 
strangers national guests, and so give them cordial wel¬ 
come . 
Can yoo. imagine your girl-friend enjoying an unre¬ 
strained talk with the Hon. M. C., so long worshiped at 
a distance V Such was the fact, and I discovered to my 
surprise that “Foreign Ministers,” United .States Sen¬ 
ators. M. C.’e and Major-Generals arc very much like 
other folks. It did seem a little strange, how ever, when 
this prominent M. C. requested the pleasure of accom¬ 
panying me to Murdoch's Reading to-morrow night. 
By the way, I do not consider a seat in Congress worthy 
of your ambition, therefore I selected one in the Senate. 
First of all, see to it that yon attain complete, true man¬ 
hood. 
44 Well,” said Hattie, 44 Madge has a little more 
assurance than I thought she had; but then she is 
so ambitious that she does not care for appear¬ 
ances ! ” 
We shall see. — [Concluded next week. 
Written for Moore’s Rural New-Yorker. 
WORKERS. 
Workers may be^lassified according to manner, 
into systematic workers and spasmodic workers. 
The former, at first , observation, are not distinguish¬ 
able for anything in particular. Indeed, it is fre¬ 
quently the case that they are the very ones whom 
you would suspect of doing nothing. Whether 
from necessity, from au inherent liking therefor, or 
from a law of their constitution which will not per¬ 
mit them to be idle, they have so habituated them¬ 
selves to a prompt and orderly execution of what¬ 
ever their hands find to do, that, they seem to do it 
naturally and without effort. An individual of this 
class does not know what it is to be in a hurry. His 
work is always so systematized, he knows so well 
bis own capacities for performing, and has learned 
to calculate so accurately for probable interrup¬ 
tions, that he is never found in the alarming condi¬ 
tion of one having 44 everything to do and no time 
to do it in.” This is the reliable class; it is upon 
such as these we may depend to do the world’s 
work, and kuow it will he done well and in good 
season. In whatever department of labor such may 
be engaged—manual <»r mental—they may be relied 
upon with mathematical certainty to accomplish 
what they undertake, and in the time appointed. 
The second class,—the spasmodic workers,—sire 
The eyebrows are a part of the face comparatively 
but little noticed, though in disclosing the real sen¬ 
timents. of the mind scarcely any other features of 
the face cau come into competition, 
eeptiou, 
all at once she seemed to realize just what she was 
giving up, and thero would have been tears but for 
the sudden ringing of the door bell. Starting down 
stairs Bhe met her mother, who said— 41 Nevermind, 
Bridget will go.” 
44 Who is Bridget ? ” 
44 Bridget O’Flarety, who used to live with us. 
She came in a few moments since to ask me if she 
could uot stay here a few weeks while her house 
is being repaired, and I was just coming to tell you 
that I think the fates are in your favor and that you 
had better write to your friends that you will join 
them.” 
44 Faith, an’ I think it’s in here the fates is. Some¬ 
thing rung the bell, and whin I wint nobody was 
there at all only this bundle.” 
With trembling fingers Madge untied the string 
around the mysterious bundle, aud discovered nor 
fates nor fairy, but a delicate silk 44 for the girl who 
would go to Washington on a rag carpet, from a 
gruff old bachelor.” 
Surely, Marjory’s hands and heart were full, and 
the days seemed winged, until at last she said good- 
by and pocketed her check and tickets. 
The days and nights are perfect. On they speed, 
through villages, farms and woodland, until at the 
close of the third day they approach the mountains. 
Now hovering on the brink of a precipice, now 
gliding into the darkened hush of a tunnel, now 
catching gleams of the Potomac tributaries, now 
thinking of fallen braves as Borne one poiuts to 
distant Cheat Mountain. But on the platform of 
the back car, holding to the brake, almost intoxi¬ 
cated with the beauty of the scene, is Madge, the 
enthusiast of all who traveled ou the Baltimore and 
Ohio road that day, and no one dreaming that the 
first steps of that delightful journey had been taken 
on a homespun carpet of rage. 
At last the journey was accomplished and added 
to Marjory’s treasures, to he brought out ou rainy 
days for the benefit of numberless cousins who will 
never travel by any other route than that of Mar¬ 
jory’s imagination. Marjory was in Washington. 
Day after day she visited the Capitol, and daily won¬ 
dered why she had not been told of its many beau¬ 
ties. What though the seats in the 44 House” and 
44 Senate Chamber” were uncomfortable, when one 
could listen to Thaddeus Stevens, Bingham, or 
Sumner and Morton ? The bronze doors (by Ro¬ 
gers) were things of beauty, consequently 44 a joy 
forever;" and likewise that one spot before that 
great painting, 44 Westward,” with the marble stair- 
In vain the 
most prudent female imposes silence on her tongue; 
in vain she tries to compose her face and eyes; a 
single movement of the eyebrows instantly discloses 
what is passing in her souL Placed upon the skin, 
and attached to muscles which move them in every 
direction, the eyebrows are obedient, in conse¬ 
quence of their extreme mobility, to the slightest 
internal impulses. There majesty, pride, vanity, 
severity, kindness, the dull and gloomy passions, 
and the passions soft and gay, arc alternately de¬ 
picted. 44 The eyebrows alone,” said Lavater, the 
prince of physiognomists, 44 often give the positive 
expressions of the character.” 44 Part of the soul,” 
says Pliny the elder, 14 resides iu the eyebrows, 
which move at the command of the will.” Le Brnn, 
in hie treatise on the passions, says 44 that the eye¬ 
brows are the least equivocal interpreters of the 
.emotions of the heart and of the affections of the 
soul.” 
Money.— “Money,” says the Nation, 44 is rapidly 
avowing to be a solitary social test; at once the 
corner-stone and coping of that gorgeous edifice 
which is known as our best society. We do uot at 
all inquire whether a man or woman is virtuous or 
cultivated in order to admit them to the sacred cir¬ 
cles of our elite, hut only if they are rich.” 
Perhaps no cry is more striking after all than the 
short aud simple cry of the water-carrier. “The 
gift of God!” he says, as he goes along with his 
water-skin on his shoulder. It is impossible to hear 
this cry without thinking of the Lord Jesus’ words 
to the woman of Samaria: — 44 If thou knewest the 
gift of God, and who it is that saith unto thee. Give 
me to drink,” etc. It is very likely that water, so 
invaluable, and so often scarce in hot countries, 
was, in those days spoken of, as now, as “ the gift 
of God,” to denote its preciousness; if so, the ex¬ 
pression would he forcible to the woman and full of 
meaning. The watcr-earrier’s cry in Egypt must 
alwaye rouse a thoughtful mi ud to a recollection of 
the deep necessities of the people, of the thirst which 
they yet know not of, and makes him wish and 
pray for the time when the sonorous cry of “ Ya 
aatee Allah! ” shall be a type of the cry of one 
bringing the living water of the Gospel and saying, 
“Behold the gift of God!” 
Pretty deep—Farewell. 
Poetical animals—Purr-verse cats. 
A writ of error—A slip of the pen. 
The golden mean—Wealthy misers. 
Natural politeness—The boughs of trees. 
Things that come home to us—Butcher’s bills. 
Sentimental aquatics—Eyes swimming in tears. 
A practical artist— A man who can always draw 
his salary. 
An entaged man tears his hair; but an enraged 
woman tears her husband’s. 
A swan’s breast cannot be seen when he swims, it 
is so much down under water. 
When are skipping lambs like library volumes? 
When they arc- boundin’ sheep. 
The individual whose choler subsided wore a pa¬ 
per one aud was caught in a shower. 
Why is a pretty girl with lee beaux deux like a hap¬ 
py thought? Because she's a bright eyed dear. 
The more a woman’s waist is shaped like ay hour 
glass the quicker will the sands of her life run out. 
A Mr. Hen has started a new paper in Iowa. He 
says he hopes by hard scratching to make a living 
for himself aud his little chickens. 
A poetaster asked Nat Lee, 41 Is it not easy to 
write like a madman, as you do?" “ No,” answered 
Nat; 44 but it is ensy to write like a fool as you do.” 
A dandy, ordering a pair of pantaloons of his 
tailor said that he wanted them very tight, accord- 
lug to the latest fashion. “ If I can get them on,” 
said he, “ I won’t take them.” 
Children love powerful faces. A man with a 
strong and genial face is at once the favorite of chil¬ 
dren and dogs, only he can never act with the little 
jumping troop on the childish plaj'-ground when 
grown spectators are in the boxes. 
The Shepherd’s V dice ; on, “ It is I.” — A lady 
walking on some downs the morning after a terrific 
thunder storm, met a shepherd. She asked him 
what his sheep had douo duriDg thestorm. 44 Ah! ” 
he replied, “I folded them as usual in the evening; 
but when the storm came on I thought of the poor 
things, and went out to look after them. When I 
got a little distance from the fold, I found them 
jumping about iu the greatest alarm; but the mo¬ 
ment they heard my voice they were quite quiet.” 
Just so, storm and tempest may break over the be¬ 
liever, but only let him hear the Chief Shepherd’s 
voice saying, 44 It is I," and there is a great calm. 
Good for Evil.— Euclid, a disciple of Socrates, 
having offended his brother, the latter cried out in 
a rage, “Let me die if I am not revenged on you 
some time or other.” Euclid replied: 44 And let 
me die if I do not soften you by my kindness, and 
make you love me as well as ever.” 
-- 
TnosE who have lost time have need to redeem it; 
and the longer we have loitered in that which is 
good, the more haste we should make.—if. Henry. 
The joy of the spirit is a delicate, sacred deposit, 
and must be kept in a pure casket, as an unholy 
breath will dim its luster and fade its freshness. 
A secret has been admirably defined, as, 
thing made known to everybody in a whisper. 
