M1W"Y©BE1 
vital sympathy, taking hold of the child and 
clasping it as in a warm embrace. If in 
those first regards and outreachings of the 
girl-heart which the mother ought to be first 
to appreciate and understand, maternal ten¬ 
derness makes no sign, there is a sad loss, 
and almost irreparable. 
There is another point which we cannot 
forbear mentioning iu this connection. Be¬ 
sides being tbe daughter’s nearest companion 
and sympathizer, the mother should be her 
instructor, also,—not simply in matters of 
general importance do we mean, but touch¬ 
ing certain subjects upon which all woman¬ 
hood should be informed. A young woman’s 
knowledge of herself is most properly im¬ 
parted by the mother; yet herein is tho 
mother rarely a teacher. False delicacy- 
stands in the way; and the girl marries, may 
be, to learn in pain and suft'ering what her 
mother culpably failed to toll her. Theso 
are undeniable truths, which tbe Rural does 
not shrink from uttering. 
abbatl) 
anuers 
THE BABY’S DRAWEE, 
FALL FASHIONS 
LONGING 
There’s a little drawer in my chamber 
Guarded with lenderest care, 
Where the dninty clothes are lying, 
That my darling shall never wear. 
And there, while the hours are waning, 
Till the house is all at rest, 
I sit and fancy a baby 
Close to my aching breast: 
My darling’s pretty, white gnrments ! 
I wrought them silting apart, 
While his mystic life was throbbing 
Under my throbbing heart. 
And often toy happy dreaming 
Breaks in a little song, 
Like the murmur of birds at brooding, 
When the days arc warm and long. 
I finished my dainty wardrobe, 
And the drawer was almost full 
With robes of the finest muslin, 
And robes of the finest, wool. 
1 folded them all together, 
With a rose for every pair, 
Smiling, and saying. " Gem fragrant. 
Kit for my prince to wear.” 
Ah, the radiant summer mosning. 
So full of mother's Joy! 
“ Thank Gon, he Is fair and perfect, 
My beautiful, new-born boy.” 
Let him wear the pretty, white garments 
1 wrought wliilesittiog apart; 
Lay him. so sweet and so helpless. 
Here close to my throbbing heart. 
Many and many an evening 
I sit, since my baby came, 
Saying, “ What do the angels call him?’’ 
For he died without a name; 
Sit while tho hours are waning, 
And the house is all at rest, 
And fancy a baby nestling 
Close to my aching brejist. 
[Putnam’s Magazine. 
Ok all the myriad moods of mind 
That through the soul come thronging. 
Which one was e’er so dear, so klud. 
So beautiful as longing? 
The thing we long for that we are, 
For one transcendent moment; 
Before the present poor and bare, 
Cun make Its sneering comniw.it. 
Still through our paltry stir and strife, 
Grows down our wished ideal; 
And longing molds in elay what life 
Curves In this marble Real; 
To let the now life in wo know 
Desire must ope the portal; 
Perhaps the longing to ho so 
Helps make the soul immortal. 
Longing is Gori’s fresh heavcnwnvd will, 
With our poor earthward striving; 
We quench It that we may be still 
Content with merely living; 
But would wo know that heart’s full scope, 
Which we are hourly wronging. 
Our lives must climb from hope to hope, 
And realize our lunging. 
Ah ! let us hope that, to our praise 
Good Goo not only reckons 
The momunts when we tread his ways 
But when llie spirit beckons; 
That some slight good is also wrought 
Beyond self satisfaction. 
When we arc simply good in thought, 
Howo’or wo fall in action. 
[■fumes littsscll Lowell. 
BY SHIRLEY DARE 
Before tbe leaves have begun to drop or 
change, merchants have brought on their 
warm-colored silks and wool cloths, eager 
to resume business which has been so long 
suspended. There is no reason why people 
in the country should not keep pace with 
the fashions, at least so far as to know what 
is iu rogue and what is not. It helps them 
to present, fresh and tasteftil articles of dress 
with the least money; for there are always 
devices of fashion that make an old dress 
look new. An alpaca becomes worn in 
front and frayed on the edge; tbe fashion is 
to wear trimmed skirts, so all one has to do 
is to put a llounce on the edge and add an 
upper skirt, which gives a becoming air to 
the whole dress, and t he old material is good 
for a year longer. There are fashions and 
fashions! Some modes with extravagances 
of trimming are suitable only for women 
whose rank and fortune render it proper for 
them to maintain a certain show of appear¬ 
ance. But, ihero arc always pretty, simple 
styles, to follow which takes little money, 
and repays that with compound interest. 
I seldom see a plain, hard-featured, hard¬ 
working country woman, without wanting 
to “ get at her,’’ like Miss Marjori banks, in 
the Carlingford Chronicles, and set her to 
rights. It is so much easier to plan for 
others than for one’s self, you know ! 1 would 
make the black alpaca skirt over with plain 
front widths, and dispose the folds gracefully 
round the back of the waist. I would draw 
the outlines of tho ill-lilting waist more 
trimly and true, adding a ruffle cape to hide 
the ungainly shoulders, and allowing the 
sleeve to lie loosely round the large waist, 
The dull complexion—well, that, needs the 
blown of happiness, the rarest cosmetic in 
the world, which one word of praise from 
hur husband, a single delicate attention, 
would bring there. Meanwhile one would 
soften it. by the white collar with Elizabethan 
ruffle, of muslin semi-transparent, that makes 
any complexion look tender. I would tear 
down all cork-screw ringlets and shabby 
chignons, and twist the scant hair iu faint 
waves round the head over a basket-work 
roll, instead of the doleful string’ of black 
wool that women stuff their locks with. 
Over this a fanclion of muslin and ribbon 
would add matronly grace. TJi mortified 
bonnet” I would n r -y ., thecoal 
scuttle,—dust to its n: live dustau-1 choose 
a plain straw, of modem shape, iimt would 
suit the head it was meant for, with a veil 
hanging behind, not stringy, as if It had been 
dragged under somebody’s arm, but crisp 
and fresh, carefully folded when put, away, 
and ironed once in a while to keep it, smooth. 
The red and blue flowers I would extirpate 
like Canada thistles, and put a knot of wheal 
ears, or golden pansies in their place, some¬ 
thing quiet, soft, mul rich in effect. Then a 
pair of broad white cuffs, with pretty, Inex¬ 
pensive buttons; a sash of black ribbon tied 
in wide bows behind; a well-fitting shoo, 
whether largo or small does not so much 
matter, and the woman would look so much 
prettier that her husband wouldn’t know 
her. There are no investments on a farm 
that pay better than those made for tho 
women,—keeps them good-natured, you see, 
and they work better for it! 
Suppose you and 1 go shopping together, 
to Stewart’s, to look at, the full goods. 
This little reporter’s card gives us welcome 
and attention at the many counters, and you 
maybe sure none of the novelties will be 
kept from us. What do you think of these 
Biarritz cloths, all wool, soft as broadcloth, 
resembling an Empress cloth with the cord 
running lengthwise, instead of across the 
face? It is softer than any Empress cloth 
that ever was woven, I fancy, seven-eighths 
of a yard wide, anil one dollar and fifty cents 
a yard. The all-wool goods wear bettor 
than anything cheaper, and can be cleansed 
and dyed, over and over, so it is true econo¬ 
my to buy them. The colors that will be 
most worn are three shades of dark red,— 
namely, carbuncle, Sultan and maroon, the 
first the lightest tint. Then dark, bright 
purple, called violine oolor, a bright green, 
pure emerald, instead of the apple-green and 
spring-leaf colors that have been seen for 
two seasons. Ashes of roses and stone color 
are fashiouable, instead of mode and lead 
colors, or pearl gray. A rich, warm brown, 
more of a snuff color than a ciunamon shade, 
is seen, and will be coveted for beauty and 
durability. 
There are reps and armure poplins of silk 
and cotton, or wool and cotton, but these do 
not wear well. They lose color and fray in 
half a season without great care. The price 
is the same as tiie wool goods, and they come 
in metallic shades, blue-green, copper-green, 
brassy-brown and mixed tints, not very at¬ 
tractive, but still fashionable. Theso are 
the colors worn in silk for street suits, and 
all the silk mixtures are colored after them. 
LITERARY WOMEN 
Literary women are notso entirely unlike 
the rest of their sex as some people imagine. 
Grace Greenwood tells the following little 
story, which illustrates the point; 
“ A lovely young friend of mine once met 
Miss Mnrtinoau and Mrs. Somerville at a 
literary soiree. Being exceedingly modest, 
my friend dared not seek an introduction to 
beings so exalted, but watched them afar off 
with the intense interest of true genius-wor¬ 
ship. At last she saw them sitting together 
in a secluded window-seat, conversing in a 
deeply interesting manner Thinking that 
the subject under discussion might be the 
track of the next comet, or some profound 
question of political economy, she resolved to 
draw near, and, uuporocived, catch and hoard 
up some of those grand revelations of genius 
and bold speculations of science. She stole 
noiselessly up to tho window, and, hidden by 
the curtain, listened ;—‘ I will toll you what 
1 mean to do,’ said Miss Martineau, laying 
her hand emphatically cm the arm of Mrs. 
Somerville, ‘ I mean to have my white crape 
shawl dyed brown, to wear with my brown 
satin dress.’ Then answered Mrs, Somerville 
Impressively, through the ear-trumpet of 
Harriet Martineau:— 1 1 think you cannot do 
bettor, my dear.’ ” 
“TROUBLE not trouble, till trouble troubles you.” 
What a quaint, old saying, and when and 
where did it originate V thought I, as I read 
this volume of wisdom in few words. 
Surely it would be wise to use this as a 
motto, to bear about in one’s memory al¬ 
ways, acting as a silver mirror when dis¬ 
posed to turn mole-hills of little nothings 
into mountains of trials, llow few of us, 
how very few, “ trouble not trouble, till 
trouble troubles us ?” 
Alas! for the imperfections and weak¬ 
nesses of our natures, so little understood, 
and so feebly opposed. Alas! that this blind 
and stupid ignorance prevents us from appre¬ 
ciating oven very imperfectly the real bles¬ 
sings of life,—prevents us from realizing, lx 
Mcaing that a wise and beneficent Creator 
has mapped Out our lives with all their man¬ 
ifold changes; that He has surrounded us 
with numberless rational enjoyments, many 
of them tender and exquisite, which wo may 
grasp if we will, blessed sweetness of the 
real troubles that must couie to all the sons 
and daughters of Adam. And these trials, 
real trials, act as correctives, or should do 
so, to the pride and unbelief of poor human 
nature. 
When we speak of trials, we do not moan 
the annoyances, vexations they may be, of 
daily life, but those troubles which touch the 
heart. Those only are trials. And yet, how 
many men tuiil women fret their lives away, 
and sour their hearts and faces, and make 
homo miserable, by ceaseless worrying over 
tho avoidable and unavoidable annoyances 
of every day. 
“ The little foxes spoil the vines.” “ We 
should lay the ax at the root of all pride, and 
ask ourselves what wo possess that, wo have 
not received,” and the honest answer to this 
searching query, and the contrast between 
our condition anil that of so many so very 
wretched around ns, would bo one of the 
surest means of cultivating in our own hearts 
feelings of contentment and gratitude, and a 
willingness to await the troubles of life with¬ 
out voluntarily and unnecessarily increasing 
them. 
There is unhappily a decided tendency in 
the human heart to consider the first, person 
singular and all that concerns it, the princi¬ 
pal objects in life. No other person ever 
enjoyed quite so much happiness, or was over 
afflicted with quite so many and aggravating 
trials as that one; and those that are not 
now making large demands on their patience 
and sweetness, (if they have any,) are seen 
to be at their door, and if in duo time they 
do not choose to walk in, these determined 
trouble-seekers will force them to become 
unwilling intruders into what might other¬ 
wise be a little Eden. 
Alas! for the unconscious selfishness; alas! 
for the unknown self-conceit, and vanity, and 
self-will of poor human nature. How many 
bitter trials, how much heart-breaking sor¬ 
row, how much Imagined trouble and anx¬ 
iety, might be avoided if it were not for these. 
How easy then would it be to “ trouble not 
trouble, till trouble troubles us 1” m. e. l. 
MOTHERS AS INTIMATES. 
Girlhood lias a natural longing for near 
friendships. We see the truth illustrated 
wherever we sec girls. At school they are 
ever rushing into confidential associations 
with their classmates, and forming friend¬ 
ships which limy fondly affirm are to con¬ 
tinue till death. At home they take long 
walks with village associates, of one sox or 
the other, and drop into that half tender and 
wholly intimate intercourse which alone 
satisfies an innate desire of their nature. 
We would not, decry girlish friendships. 
They are often of tho purest kind, and are 
as happifyjng to the parties themselves as 
they are pleasant, for others to look upon. 
But we would say that of all friends a young 
girl may claim her mother should ho Hie 
nearest,—of all intimates she may yield con¬ 
fidence to the mother should be most confi¬ 
dential. While tho sympathy and trust, of 
girlhood arc sweet indeed, the mother’s 
sympathy is more tender ywt bconuso of its 
solicitude, the mother’s confidence is more 
beneficial because it will give strength. 
What are the facts as regards the relation 
between mother and daughter iu nine 
families out of every ten ? Simply these : 
The step from childhood to girlhood is a 
long step away from the mother. Borne 
youthful intimate usurps tho place flio 
mother should hold, and the tender inter¬ 
course between parent and child Is never 
seen. Of those undefined longings which 
mark womanhood’s development, the mother 
hears no lisp, Of love's first awakening, 
when tho charm of woman life begins, other 
ears hear whispers often, tho mother’s never. 
Doublings, misgivings and won dor ings, such 
as the girl-heart never fails to know, take 
counsel only of inexperience, and are per¬ 
haps unwisely answered. 
Does such a slate of things tend to after 
happiness? Alas! no. Half the domestic 
infelicities following marriage are due to 
these unwholesome intimacies antecedent 
thereto. The whole train of foolishly roman¬ 
tic vagaries that fill tho minds of many 
young girls, grows out of improper confi¬ 
dences at a time when the mother should he 
sole confidant. Regrets without number, and 
unavailing, are tbe offspring of maidenly 
ignorance which the mother is alone fit to 
enlighten. 
Who is responsible ? Mainly the mothers 
themselves. And here in all earnestness we 
arraign them for glaring dereliction of duty. 
Wo call upon them, as they love their kin, 
and as they hold dear the prosperity of the 
coining generation, to get nearer their daugh¬ 
ters’ hearts. There is no reason why, grow¬ 
ing from girlhood to womanhood, tho 
daughter should grow so wholly out from 
her mother’s arms, so far away from her 
mother’s pulsing sympathies. Bashfulness 
will not create so much distance as often 
exists between them, if tho mother prove 
such a companion as she ought to be. Indeed 
there will be no bashfulness; and where there 
is manifest a truly motherly regard there can 
be no reserve. 
Mothers seem rarely to remember that they 
are ordained to be their daughters’ best com¬ 
panions. Iu this fact lies tho secret of the 
whole matter. Forgetting what companion- ( 
ship the young girls most need, the maternal 
watchcare is but a kiud of unloving, unsym¬ 
pathetic guardianship, which chills and 
represses confidence. The mother work of 
training should be not so much a strict cog¬ 
nizance of right and wrong doing, as a live, 
MATRIMONIAL ADVANCES 
Tiie Rev. Dr. Bushnell, inliisnewbook, 
“ The Reform Against Nature,” writes on 
this subject as follows : 
“ Full three quarters of the men who get 
stuck in their bachelor life and are never 
married, are, in fact, tho most inborn adorers 
of women ; such as never in their lives can 
muster courage far any advance juatbecause 
the shrine they look upon has too much 
divinity in it, for mortal approach. Of course 
it will not do for unmarried women to put 
t hemselves In a way of being suitors to men. 
That kind of suitorship would oven bean 
offense, and raise a sense of revulsion; 
nobody would recommend to women that 
they get over their modesty ; but tbe almost 
colic stringency of what are called good 
manners, in this matter, might bo relaxed, 
without real impropriety and with grant 
advantage. The present, iron-dad modesty, 
which is simply ridiculous in either party, 
might be so far mitigated as to let feeling 
feel its way, and carry on its own courtship ; 
requiring no restriction save the restriction 
of words and formal advances, and allowing 
nature to interpret and work out her problem, 
hampered by no unnatural coyishness. Wo¬ 
men cannot be forward and bold, but they 
are now a great way further off than they 
need be.” 
GOSSIPY PARAGRAPHS 
A gentleman wishing, not long since, to 
“ pop the question,” took up the young lady’s 
cat, and said, “ Pussy, may I have your mis¬ 
tress ?” It was answered by the lady, “ Say 
yes, pussy 1” 
The woman who made a pound of butter 
from the cream of a joke, and a choose from 
the milk of human kindness, has since wash¬ 
ed the close of a year, and hung them to dry 
on a bee line. 
When hearts arc filled with holy affections, 
and home is happy, then do the young dwell 
in a charmed circle, which only the naturally 
depraved would seek to quit, and across 
which boundai-y temptations to error shine 
out but feebly. 
Ninon df. l’Enclos defines a kiss :—“ An 
alms wliioh enriches him who receives with¬ 
out improve fishing her who gives.” Very 
true, but misses should be careful to choose 
none but deserving objects on whom to 
bestow their charities. 
An old French Countess, of the most ex¬ 
quisite politeness, was about to breathe her 
last, when she received a call from an ac¬ 
quaintance ignorant of her mortal illness. 
Tbe answer sent down from the chamber of 
the departing sufferer wag memorably unique. 
11 The Countess de Rouen sends her compli- 
ments to Madame de Calais, but begs to be 
excused, as she is engaged in dying.* 
We often suffer ourselves to he put out of 
ali our bearings by some misfortune, not of 
the most serious kiud, which looks very black 
at the time, but which fl’om its nature cannot 
be lasting. We are thus like ignorant hens 
that insist upon going to roost in mid-day 
because there is a brief transitory eclipse of 
the sun. 
Round Hats. —White and drab French 
felt hats of a superior quality have been 
largely imported in a variety of shapes. It 
is not probable that felt will be extensively 
worn, yet they are sought after at this sea¬ 
son, and for no other reason than to see 
something of what the styles arc to he in 
round hats. Some of these shapes are be¬ 
coming, and others are very trying to even 
a pretty face cncl should never surmount a 
plain one. One shape has the crown slop¬ 
ing up from the brim, with a high, small 
center; tbe brim is turned up, and wider at 
the sides than front and back. 
As that servant was grievously punished 
who had received a talent and wont and 
digged in tho earth and hid It; even so such 
Christians as have received any gifts of God 
and do not employ them to the profit of the 
people of God sh^ll receive heavy and griev¬ 
ous judgments of God. 
