victories. Goldsmith has not swathed 
their memories in the fine-twined linen of 
his unmatched English; Uowper has not 
immortalized their skill and hallowed their 
trivial perfections with his deathless sing¬ 
ing. But my Aunt Dolly was a notable 
exception to these nameless heroines of the 
hearthstone. Now that she is dead, and her 
works appear to be ended, we find that she 
has made a long and effectual protest against 
the on-coming of the oblivious wave that 
threatens to engulf all industries of women, 
from “ Cleopatra's Needle ” to “ Uncle 
Tom’s Cabin.” In short, my Aunt Dox.lv 
kept a journal. I have said that she was a 
housekeeper who always had t ime for every¬ 
thing. By nine o’clock of a summer’s morn¬ 
ing, the milk pans were scalded and laid to 
sun, on a bench in the back yard, t he break¬ 
fast things were on their appointed shelves, 
and the closet windows wore darkened; the 
dead leaves <>u the rose bush by the east 
door had been picked off, her geraniums had 
been watered, sho had strolled through the 
garden and Milled the few sprigs of white 
clover and purslane that dared show their 
heads between her carrot rows, and coming 
bade through the sout h door, she had clipped 
a red rose bud, and stepping into her bed¬ 
room, had hung t he black lace cap on its 
regular nail at the right of the mirror, and 
from the second drawer had taken out her 
white lace cap and the triangle of bishop’s 
lawn aud fitted them—the cap strings with 
just such a bow, and the lawn with just such 
a fold, and set the rosebud in the acute angle 
where the lawn folded, all in less t ime I Linn 
it has taken me to write these two score 
words with which I try to describe her sim¬ 
ple toilet. So, when sho stepped out from 
that little north room, she heard nothing 
but. the regular click clack <>f tho old eight- 
day clock, and the purr of the family oat on 
the door mat, aud the droning of two blue 
Hies that felt themselves to bo misera¬ 
ble, intruders the moment my Aunt came in 
from the garden. 
Nino o’clock aud the work all out of tho 
way in that notable fashion what did my 
Aunt Dolly propose, and how did she 
spend those, three hours before noontide? 
She would go straight to the south parlor 
and take her pen from behind tho looking- 
glass, and from the cupboard on tho right 
of the fireplace she took out her Journal, 
and for two hours, till it was time lo light 
the lire and pare the potatoes, she wrote. 
IIoW glad 1 am, how glad all her nieces and 
nephews and cousins and three or four 
score thousand more, perhaps, who may 
read extract s from the journal of this noble 
and gifted old lady, how glad we ate that 
sho consecrated those two or three hours to 
us and to munkind. 1 will not probe into 
that kindly heart to feel for the motives 
that prompted her to such literary indus¬ 
try. Sho abhorred gossip, but who is not 
interested in human nature? And as she 
would never talk of the fault s of her neigh¬ 
bors, sho toolca harmless pleasure in sott ing 
down what she observed of society as she 
saw It, of the youug rnou and young wo¬ 
men that sang in tho villugo choir, that 
paired off for sleigh rides in winter and for 
pie-nics in summer. She was much stirred 
in her mind when men of mark came across 
her path, some Boanerges of the pulpit, a 
famous editor or a business man whose com¬ 
binations took in many cities. Besides 
those shrewod observations on men and 
women and the secrets of success, my Aunt 
has sot down a great many most, valuable 
hints and rules and cautions in the house¬ 
keeper’s art; she quoted the words of an 
Apostle for her thrift, and was resolved to 
try all things and hold fast, that which is 
good. 
This journal of hors is a rich legacy. 1 
am more grateful to her than if she had left 
me all her silk dresses, and her furs, and 
her Paisley shawl, aud all the furniture of 
that south parlor. Take, for instance, as a 
taste, this wineglass of good thinking on the 
true sphere of woman. It is a finger long 
on her page, and worth for me at least a 
bound volume of the Revolution: 
“The proper mission of the wife and 
daughter is Lo foster all the courtesies and 
charities of life. Whatever makes existence 
dear and sweet, belongs peculiarly to 
woman. Man hungers for power; in; thirsts 
for conquests. Woman hungers for home 
life; her gentler spirit thirsts for love, lie 
gives form to society; she gives soul. She 
can be more t han a legislator in her proper 
and natural sphere — the one she hus tilled 
from the beginning of time — she can make 
the law-makers. We delight evermore in 
our fancies to paint woman bending in ten¬ 
derness over the cradle, nurturing in her 
sous and daughters every noble motive, 
holding up the hands of her husband in 
brave battle with adverse fortune, dispens¬ 
ing gracious hospitalit ies, uiblistering to the 
poor, the sick and unfortunate, always 
bearing about her an atmosphere of win¬ 
ning grace and gentle firmness in the right; 
and breathing words of charity which cover 
eth a multitude of sins.” 
tho mother, “Oh, Aunt Sue, you don't 
know what a bad boy he is; some day he 
will be taken to an asylum as a lunatic, be 
get s in such a raging passion.” The mother 
sighed, the child looked abased. lie said 
not a word, but by-and-by, when Aunt Sue, 
whom he loved, wus alone, he crept up to 
her and put his arms ubout her neck, ami 
wept, and said: 
“ Oh, Aunt Sue, she don’t know how I try 
to help it. The other day I pl’ayed to Gon 
to help mo keep my temper, and Tie dM 
until to-day,— 1 guess He forgot about me 
to-day. Don’t you think you could go to 
the druggist's and get me some medicine to 
keep off the mad t" 
A child is insubordinate, and the parent 
would rob it of its toys, its treasures, (and 
so, of its individuality,) as a punishment. 
The boy questions her right. “You and 
your toys arc mine until you are twenty- 
one,” said the mother. The child was si¬ 
lenced. lie thought, “ How long to wall, for 
liberty'; until twenty-one!” Suddenly a 
thought struck him: “But. if you Imre a 
right to me, why haven't I a right to you?” 
So some persons take the self-dependence 
and self-respect from their children. 
I have seen people watch with most sedu¬ 
lous attention, the temperaments, habits 
and wants of the plants in their windows, 
while they treated their children cither as 
puppets to amuse them, or as objects of 
spasmodic caresses, or as victims of their 
despotism. 
There are those who treat their animals 
with the tend crest care, while others treat 
theirs with systematic cruelty. Happily, 
most parents are instinctively wluvt they 
should be. I'uhappily, others are selfishly, 
ignorantly cruel to their offspring. It Is 
only for the latter class J suggest the super¬ 
vision of a Mr. Bebcii. 
There is a steadfast, patient love that can 
look beyond a personal ambition—beyond a 
love of ruling; beyond the child act to tho 
child motive; beyond even tho Child motive 
to tho physical, mental and moral constitu¬ 
tion which those parents have entailed upon 
the child. Truly.it takes wisdom to be a 
true parent; a wisdom from on high. 
THE FAMILY CLOCK 
HAPPY-GO-LUCKY 
JIY MARY WILEY 
Happy-Go-Lucky has check? rosy red, 
Ten times a day he will stand on Ids head, 
nappy Go-Lucky is brimful of fun, 
Up in the morning us soon ns the sun, 
Sliding on banisters, all the way down, 
1’laylng nt circus and bumping bis crown. 
'When he has shocked all the house with affright, 
Offhe goes, screaming with roguish delight. 
Uappy-Go-T.uchy once climbed up a tree, 
Just to look round and see what lie could see. 
Cnu-k wen® the bough ! Buell n terrible fall! 
Didn’t hurt Happy-Go-Lucky at all ! 
Way-bo the fairies, with some potent charm, 
Because lie s so cheerful, have kept him from barm, 
Mother so wishes that he would bo still. 
Only for once; but tho rogue never will! 
Huppy-Go-Lueky runs out In the streets. 
Asks In to dinner each beggar he meets : 
Happy-Go-Lucky—now, just think of that- 
lied granny’s spectacles on the poor eat! 
When he knows mother is going to scold, 
up lie trots gravely, in tears. I am told ; 
Then ho will kiss her and bug her with joy. 
Any one got such an out-and-out boy ? 
[George Coeiper. 
Stately in yon corner stands. 
With honest face and busy bauds, 
The family clock—for years has stood, 
In self-same tone and changeless mood, 
Ticking on,—through every change, 
Heeding naught—however strange. 
Ticking on through grief and mirth, 
Ticking on through death and birth; 
Ticking, ticking, night and day. 
Ticking, ticking tlino away. 
Never basting, never resting, 
Naught thy diligence molesting; 
Through winter s gloom and summer’s shine, 
Attesting still the flight of time. 
Telling high and telling low, 
TelllDg all who come and go,— 
Life is short, and time is fleeting, 
This alone thine only greeting. 
Ticking, ticking, night and day, 
Ticking, ticking time away. 
Years agonc—in infancy, 
A thing of life then seemed to be 
Hushed me into silent wonder. 
Left my infant wit to ponder 
As loud and clear, from day to day, 
I heard thee toil the hours away. 
In childhood's years I stvmn’d thy face. 
And learned thereon the hours to trace. 
Questioning if from elf or fniry 
Came the tone that would not vary. 
Ticking, ticking, night and day, 
Ticking, ticking time away. 
A PLEA FOR THE LITTLE ONES 
I’m not so sure but a Mr. Buitonia needed 
to go into families, and prevent cruelty to 
children. Surely the cruelty exists. 
Tho tradition is, that step-mothers are 
t he only ogres in the family. This is a curi¬ 
ous mistake. Those, often from the bad 
name which precedes them, are the most 
zealous to bo just to the children who have 
come under their charge. But it is of pa¬ 
rents, more especially, of whom I now com¬ 
plain. 
Fathers and mothers are often most, cruel 
to their offspring; and the tortures are ns 
varied as those of the inquisition. The mind 
of a child is accutely sensitive. Wo hear 
much of “careless, happy children.” Who 
hears of tho sharp suffering a child may 
feel ? Yet, if we reflect a moment, we will 
remember by our own experience that they 
suffer as keenly as they enjoy. Don’t wo 
remember slipping into the creek, and then 
spreading our wet stockings on the hank in 
the sun to dry, while we sat. besido thorn in 
utter wretchedness because of the reproof 
we would get when wo reached home? Do 
we not remember when the privileged nurse 
slapped us across tho cars till they rangand 
burned, and called us a contemptuous name, 
and wo went down in the cellar, and sat 
upon a potato bin as stiff and tearless as a 
stone, and wished wo could kill her ? Do. 
we not remember the hour we had to amuse 
the baby seemed a year; and tho nursery 
was u prison; and no convict ever chafed 
more under his chains? Then, when we 
were released, to have tho freedom of tho 
fields! How wildly we Ilcw, with the sense 
of liberty and complete happiness. But 
soon, even as tho wing of a bird droops, we 
tired, and sat down upon a stone, aud won¬ 
dered if there was not something more. 
Liberty did not satisfy our wants! 
Do we nob remember tho task thought¬ 
lessly given beyond the capacity of a child, 
and the dreadful sense of hopelessness that 
came over us on attempting to do It? And 
then we remember going home from school 
with a friend, without permission, to spend 
the night. And, while all the household 
were asleep, we lay in the‘darkness with 
eyes wide open, suffering because a way¬ 
ward will had disobeyed a sensitive con¬ 
science. Ah, truly, children are only men 
and women in epitome ! Their sensations 
are just as varied and koen as ours — far 
keener, because they have not yet become 
callous. Wo look to Gon to “temper the 
wind to the shorn lamb.” Why are not 
people equally tender of the lambs under 
their own care? 
There Is much domestic despotism. The 
worst despots, of course, are weak, selfish, 
undisci pi iued charact ers. Some, also, are 
despots through mistaken notions; others 
through ignorance. Many want their chil¬ 
dren to how servilely, and without question, 
to their every mandate, be it ever so whim¬ 
sical. Any opposition shows will; so that 
will must be broken. They strive to break 
tho will, and succeed only in breaking the 
temper, and almost breaking the heart! 
Some aspire to have tlieir children good 
and quiet, like mummies, and make them 
prisoners. Others wish their offspring to 
be “smart.” They crowd, and crowd, and 
crowd them until knowledge has not a zest, 
it is only so many chips t.o be piled in tho 
store-house. They cannot, assimilate when 
laboring to stuff, so they wearily crowd. 
Many torture the little ones by wounding 
their pride. They tell their faults to others 
to shame them out of them. An outraged 
feeling possesses tho child, and he thinks lie 
will never again attempt to do right. Says 
Drtftlug out of childhood's years. 
Changing oft from mirth to tears. 
Were we sad or wore we nay, 
Sileutly time flew away 
And left tne here—how many gone! 
Ah, loft me hero, almost alone. 
With memory Oiling heart and brain 
So full of weary, (telling pain; 
While thou'rt still ticking night and day, 
Tickiug, ticking lime away. 
Bainbridgc, I*a., 1872. 
MY AUNT DOLLY AND HER JOURNAL 
From a child I had a vague and wonder¬ 
ing admiration for my Aunt Dolly, Do¬ 
rothea, Gon’s own gift, she was named by 
the holy man who wet her baby brow with 
baptismal water; how strange it seems to 
me now that she could ever have been a 
baby. But she was a baby, and after that 
sho was a little girl, and her brothers and 
sisters would never take kindly to that long 
Greek word, Dorothea, and so clipping it, 
down aud making it liquid, after the niuu- 
ner of childhood, she became Polly, and 
grew up with that name aud carried it away 
from that old north parlor whore she lost 
her other name, and wore it through the 
industries and bustle of young womanhood, 
and was crowned with it when she began 
to wear caps and to merge into that long, 
serene aftornoou of life that began at forty, 
and lasted without cloud or gust or chill 
till the hair under her cap border was frosty 
and she had numbered her three score and 
ten. 
Dear old Aunt Dolly ! Sho saw but lit¬ 
tle of this world, as we count world-seeing 
now. But those clear, dark-blue eyes — 
what unerring insight was theirs. How 
mildly, jmt with what absolute precision 
did she look at men and women, and read 
their thoughts, and measure their rapaci¬ 
ties, and feel their tempers, and watch their 
paths through the world. Aunt: Dolly 
was one of those notable housewives that 
always have time for everything. The 
questions of Biddy in the kitchen, of cheap 
Chinese labor, of patent churns and dish¬ 
washers, and bread-workers, how little did 
they worry her! Heroic Aunt DoelyI 
With what force, and clearness, and method 
did sho fly at the morning’s work; how 
exactly did every movement tell on the 
final result; what a quick, deft grasp was 
that; saucers never slipped fi'urn her cup- 
towels; hot water never cracked her glasses; 
her strawberry preserves did not “ work ” 
aud push the lids off her jars. Such cur¬ 
rant w ine was hers; such blackberry cor¬ 
dial; suoh quince preserves; such mottled 
cheeses ; such golden butter! I suppose 
there are one thousand — yes, ton thousand 
— just such housekeepers now, only we 
never hear of them. What history have we 
of the millions and millions of honey bees 
that, following nothing but their own Goo- 
given instinct s, built their cells with a wis¬ 
dom and an accuracy that Sir Isaac New¬ 
ton could never equal, and tilled them with 
such delicate amber, nectarine fluid as no 
retort or alembic of chemist eftll compound. 
So in ten thousand houses home work is 
planned, carried through, accomplished; 
chemical operat ions are conducted with a 
right-handed skill and precision that would 
make the reputation of a state laboratory. 
But these chemists of the bread bowl aud 
the cheese vats have no newspapers to sing 
their encomiums, no bulletin to praise their 
ILLUSTRATED REBUS.—No. 11 
82?” Answer in two weeks. 
HIDDEN ANIMALS.—No. 1 
1. Phonography enables me. to live. 
2. Amasa pesters me terribly. 
3. Have you heard of tho wild Catawba grape 7 
4. See that enormous elephant! 
5. Wo are following numerous fashions. 
6. The pine cone yields an excellent salve. 
7. Ghosts can enter common keyholes. 
8. An Arab bitterly' implored aims. 
9. He can be a very good scholar. 
10. I am a rebel. 
11. I have not determined yet. 
12. He stands afar, mad, ill, or hungry. 
{ST' Answer in two weeks. A. l. m. 
MISCELLANEOUS ENIGMA.—No. 4, 
I am composed of twelve letters. 
My 11, 9, 3, 8, 12 is a man’s name. 
My 1,10, 2, 5 is a useful implement. 
My 4,7,6 is a name sometimes given to an animal. 
My whole is the name of a reader of tiic Rural 
New-Yorker. X. Y. Z. 
Answer in two weeks. 
CHARADE. No. 1 
My lirst is a sweet-scented (lower 
My second, a girl’s name. 
My whole is a plant. 
{ST Answer in two weeks. 
Franz. 
PUZZLER ANSWERS.-March 2 
IllustiiateT) Rebus No. 9.—None are so blind 
as those that will not see. 
Riddle No. 2.—An Egg. 
Problem No. 1.-05 feet. Correct answers to this 
problem have been received from K. G. Warner, II. 
X. LkBauon, (’. 15, Mason, M. H. garland, David 
A. Chatviki.d. Edwin L. Baker, Mark D. Hi-koat, 
Clark R. Trumbull, ” Pythagorns," s. G. Caorom, 
I. N. Jones, o. o. Rockwell, John n. Rogers. 
