IVIOOBE’S RURAL UEW-YORKER 
have thought of addressing such words to 
his self-regulating cultivator. 
“ Ho will hold thee, when his passion shall have , 
spent its novel force. ,. , .. 
Something hotter than his dog, a little dearer than 
this horse 
may be true of the rollicking English Squire. 
It evidently is not true of a certain class of 
American farmers. For while tlie liors© is 
guarded and cherished as a valuable beast 
of burden, the automatic wife is apparently 
considered as being above and independent 
of all such needs. Am I putting this too 
strongly? Alas! many will recognize the 
picture as a true one. I do not say that 
there is no love for the faithful helpmeet, 
hut. this love—it there be any —too often 
does not reveal itself until the weary hands, 
browned and seamed by excessive toil, are 
folded by a. pitying Father within the Collin. 
It was with a mind shadowed by gloomy 
forebodings that Mrs. Cla nr. proceeded with 
her afternoon's work, part of which now 
was to arrange the spare chamber. She 
might not have time to-morrow morning; 
so, with baby amused with trinkets from 
the bureau, she spread dainty sheets and 
laid out snowy towels for the unwelcome 
guest. 
When, as a school girl, Gkuty Clare had 
several years ago paid a short visit to the 
farm, Mary had rather liked her, but lately 
rumors had reached them which were far 
from re-assuring. It. was said that since at¬ 
taining young-lady-hood, instead of con¬ 
tentedly enjoying her father's wealth, Miss 
Clare had imbibed certain modern notions 
of Individual responsibility — of woman’s 
mission to women, of advanced progress 
for her sex, and so <>n. Her name had been 
mentioned as belonging to a far-famed club 
of ladles —the chosen butt of unthinking 
ridicule and shallow sarcasm. True, the 
avowed object of the energet ic and influen¬ 
tial ladies composing tlm Association was 
to lend a helping hand to their struggling, 
fainting sisters; but poor Mxuv ('LARR, ab¬ 
sorbed in her daily toil, and bearing only 
the one side, anticipated nothing but con¬ 
tempt for her homely, womanly habits and 
employments. 
Tills feeling of sadness was still upon her 
when, at length, night brought a respite 
from labor. The last meal is cleared away; 
the last dear little face washed, kissed and 
laid upon its pillow; the sponge set for to¬ 
morrow’s baking; and now, in the lingering 
gleams of the long summer twilight, while a 
low, cool breeze creeps up from the mead¬ 
ows, the tired mother—whoso back aches, 
and whose temples throb as only the over¬ 
worked can know—sit s in t he porch reading 
from a little, worn volume. It is growing 
rapidly darker. She cannot read much. 
No; Vint, the peculiarity of this old book is 
that a very few words contain a great deal 
of meaning—of comfort. Alt! these precious 
moment s at. nightfall are the secret of her 
uncomplaining meekness, her patient con¬ 
tinuance in well-doing. Weseeatiny piece 
of mechanism gliding back ami forth, hack 
and forth ill its place, noiselessly, j et st ead¬ 
ily. It is so delicate that a child’s hand 
might crush it, and yet. impelled by the 
mighty power of steam, it becomes almost 
irresistible. A small brooklet trickles feebly 
among tangling grasses, over stony barriers 
and through narrow openings. .Sometimes 
almost hidden, yet always ceaselessly flow¬ 
ing—aye. and singing a cheery song as it 
goes, for away up somewhere among the 
everlasting hills is an unfailing fountain of 
supply. And 60 it is that many a frail life, 
linked by a subtle bond to Omnipotence, 
becomes mighty to endure and to achieve. 
“My strength is sufficient for you,” has a 
meaning for t his life as well as for that which 
is to come. 
It was to this sure source of comfort that 
Mrs. Clare brought her weariness in the 
present and her fear for the future. Per¬ 
haps it was by accident, but, as it seemed 
to her, providentially, the little Bible 
opened sit the last, chapter of Hebrews, and 
immediately following the first- short verse 
see and read:—"Be not forgetful toeutert&in 
strangers; for thereby some have entertain¬ 
ed angels unawares.” Surely it was a mes¬ 
sage sent to herself; she whose heart-was 
fainting at the thought of her coming task. 
She took the full consolation it conveyed, 
went to her rest cheered and encouraged, 
and when, the next morning, a stylish young 
lady, in a jaunty brigand hat and a fashion¬ 
able traveling suit, alighted at the door, 
those Divine words were as a talisman ex¬ 
orcising the demons of jealousy and iuhos- 
pitality, and giving her strength to utter 
from her heart a cordial welcome. 
That first day, Miss Clare's clear, gray 
eyes were only calmly observant; but on the 
second morning, when the thermometer 
stood at eighty degrees Fahrenheit-, and 
when poor, weary Mrs, Clare, exhausted 
by the. early work, was almost fainting at 
the thought of lunch and dinner, her sister 
suddenly appeared in the kitchen, wearing 
a loose robe of cool, graj r linen. 
“ Cousin Mary.” she said, placing her soft, 
white hands upon the shoulders of the tired 
woman, “ I've been sweeping and darkening 
up the sitting room. It is shady and quiet 
there, and baby is waiting for you to rock 
him to sleep. When he goes, lie down upon 
t he lounge yourself and get a nap. 1 11 take 
your place here.” 
There was quiet resolution in her tone, 
but MARX', overcome by surprise, noticed 
only the strangeness of the proposal, 
“you!” she exclaimed, in unfeigned as¬ 
tonishment. 
G r.itTitrm: laughed—a clear, ringing laugh, 
which reminded her companion of the past. 
"To be sure,” she said. “Why shouldn’t 
1? You are tired and 1 am not. Or”—with 
a queer little grimace — "is it because you 
doubt my ability? Don't you be a hit 
alarmed about t hat. What’s the use of 'at¬ 
tending a whole course of Mona. Blot's 
lectures, or" —throwing back her magnifi¬ 
cent shoulders and stretching out the arms, 
which under their rounded smoothness con¬ 
cealed finely cultivated muscles—“learning 
gymnastics, not to speak of studying prac¬ 
tical chemistry, if I ain’t, equal to cooking 
one farm dinner? Come, now, let me try 
it—there’s a dear. H will be only fun to 
me.” 
Poor Mrs. Clare thought of the old fable 
of the boys and the frogs, with another ap¬ 
plication. But, though the vision of rest 
was most tempting, she still demurred. “ It 
wouldn’t be using you well, Gertie,” she 
said, adopting, half unconsciously, the fa¬ 
miliar name of that earlier visit. 
“It, Avould be using me beautifully to let 
me have my own way,” answered the coax¬ 
ing voice. “Now that you call me Gertie 
once more, 1 know you will consent.” And 
persuasive arms were drawing her from the 
kitchen. 
“But the pics,’! suggested Mary, in one 
faint, final effort, at objection. 
Again Miss Clare's merry laugh burst 
forth. “Dear Cousin Mary, are the pies 
inevitable? Well, even my commiseration 
for the poor men's digestive organs shall 
not interfere. The pies shall be forthcom¬ 
ing. Listen,” she added, “there is baby 
Calling you, and / will call you when I want 
you here again. Now!” and, with a kiss 
vernation with her husband she might have 
felt yet more convinced of the angelic nature 
of her guest. Gertrude was bound for 
Newport. Her trunks had been awaiting 
her there for weeks, and troops of gay 
friends—gid iy with the nightly German— 
wore clamorous for her coming. Hitherto 
a divine pity had prolonged her stay in 
the country; and now, before entering 
upon her season of gayetj*, she resolved to 
make one earnest effort for the weak sister 
left behind in bondage. 
“ What beautiful scarlet leaves!” she ex¬ 
claimed, innocently, alluding to some glow¬ 
ing sprays adorning the hedgerows, as they 
passed. “ Premonitious of Autumn.” 
“Yes,” answered unsuspecting Mr. Clare; 
“ r shouldn't wonder if we have an early 
fall.” 
“ That means leisure for you, does it not ?’ 
was the bright reply. “ I am glad, for I am 
sure all tired farmers and their wives re¬ 
quire rest after the summer. And this re¬ 
minds me of something which I wanted to 
Bay to you. When you come down to the 
city about the grain this fall, 1 want you to 
be sure to bring cousin Mary with you. 
The change will do lier good, and I would be 
so happy to have her. I could n't get her to 
promise positively—she seems to think it 
would be difficult for her to leave home— 
but, of course, that's all nonsense; she can 
bring all the babies along. 1 depend upon 
your influence in the case, and you will cer¬ 
tainly use it, will you not?” 
Mr. Clare passed the lines nervously 
from hand to hand before answering.— 
“Well, 1 can’t promise, exactly,” was his 
reply at last. “I reckon Mary knows host. 
Traveling is expensive, and there is n t any 
need of women going about much.” 
“Need!” was GERTRUDE'S mental cry, 
followed by an exclamation mark sharp and 
deep as the woes of women—“ Xcctl! " and 
an indignant outburst wasuponher lip; but¬ 
ts lie was too skillful a diplomat to betray ex¬ 
citement, and after a pause she cont inued 
calmly:—“Cousin James have you any ob¬ 
jection to telling me the amount of your 
profits for the year; I mean the approxi¬ 
mate amount, of course.” 
For a moment or two Mr. t ’la re appear¬ 
ed to be giving undivided attention to bis 
horse's ears. Not. every one could have ask¬ 
ed this question with impunity, but during 
these last few weeks ills respect for ” CVRtra’ 
gill” had vastly increased, and feeling that 
ho had ftli intelligent as well as interested 
which somehow fell upon her brow like -f- au( jj ( „r, he repliedTake it all in all- 
pitying benediction, Mrs, Clare was fairly 
banished from the scene of her unceasing 
labor. 
Without- at all understanding why, Mr. 
Clare and his men enjoyed that day's din¬ 
ner with peculiar relish. From some unex¬ 
plained cause, the potatoes were mealier, 
the beefsteak juicier, and the pie-crust 
crisper and flakier than usual, while for the 
second table, around which gathered the 
more delicate mother and children, was a 
t rifle of a pudding, so light and nutritious, 
yet so cool and refreshing, that the dainti¬ 
est appetite must havebeon tempt ed there¬ 
by. “ Most as good as ice cream,” was the 
approving comment of little Frank, whose 
knowledge of the city luxury—gained a year 
before at a Fourth of July celebration—had 
served ever since as a model of toothsome 
excellence. 
This day proved to be only initiatory. 
Once having obtained a foothold in the 
kitchen, Gertrude held to her advantage. 
Daily, upon one pretext or other, she 
managed to send the weary housewife to 
lighter tasks, or showed her a wiser mode of 
performing her duties. On the plea of 
sending for samples, a large order bearing 
her name went to the city for delicate 
farina, sparkling gelatine and such light and 
nourishing preparations, and gradually the 
unwholesome fare of the farmer's table, gave 
place to these simple but elegant luxuries. 
Mary’s over-stocked work-basket grew 
rapidly lower, as nice little pinafores and 
sun-bonnets upon the children showed that 
mother’s harvest hurry was over, and some 
of their wonted fullness came back to her 
wasted checks. Her eyes regained their 
sparkle, while her mind, so long clouded by 
excessive toil, under Gertrude’s gentle 
guidance caught some of the lat ter's in¬ 
spiration, and the great questions of the 
day—interests agitating the whole world— 
ceased to be mere meaningless words to her. 
Hourly she grew more and more attached 
to her visitor, and when at length the 
bright weeks were over, and the stylish 
traveling-dross once more donued, she 
watched her departure with a gadder heart 
than she would have believed possible. 
“ Truly, I have entertained an angel,” she 
thought as the carriage disappeared down 
the lane. 
Could’slie have hoard Miss Clare’s con- 
summer grain and corn land together—I 
reckon I’ll clear nigh on to three thousand 
dollars. It’s been a pretty good year.” 
The tone of satisfaction was not to be 
mistaken, and Gertrude hastened to re- 
join :—“Yes, excellent, 1 should say; and to 
gain this sum you have had the help of sev¬ 
eral men. There has been no really ex¬ 
haustive toil, and the end of the year finds 
you a clear gainer. No wonder you are 
t hankful. How different from poor cousin 
Maky, who, after sacrificing her vet'u life, 
lias nothing tangible to show as the result 
of her labor.” 
She sighed as she spoke, but a burst of 
rough laughter from her companion check¬ 
ed it. , .. 
“What gammon you women can talk 
when vou get started! " he said. “ ‘ Sacri¬ 
ficing her life! ! 1 like that. Why, what's a 
woman good for, if she can’t work for her 
family? That’s some of your city notions. 
But vou needn’t put any of that- nonsense 
into Mary's head. She’s rugged enough, 1 
guess. She'll have to be, anyway.” 
Once more the impetuous words rushed 
to Gertrude's lips, but she was wary. 
Moreover, a deep flush creeping up under 
the sunburned cheeks showed that- the man 
was not so callous as he seemed, and, lying 
her hand gently upon his arm. as one from 
a serene bight above him she made reply: 
“ Cousin James, you do not mean—you do 
not know what, you say. I am sorry to ap¬ 
pear harsh, hut I must tell you your wife is 
in great danger. Thanks to the thorough 
education which my father has given me. 
I know something of medicine, and 1 had 
not been one hour in your house before 1 
noticed certain symptoms which, unless re¬ 
moved, will assuredly lead to the gravest 
results. Bhe bears daily a burden sufficient 
to crush her into her grave, and it rests 
with you to lighten it. By-and-by it- will 
be too late. These, thousands, which you 
make so comfortably and spend so grudg¬ 
ingly, will be of no avail when your children 
are motherless. And remember I it w,ll be 
a life spent for you and yours.” 
They had reached the depot now, and a 
shrill'scream of the locomotive cut short 
her appeal. There was a hasty clasping of 
hands and the beautiful mouitress was 
whirling away toward another life—a life 
of dance and song; but Mary, watching 
forthe return of her husband, was surprised 
to And him accompanied by a strong-armed 
German help—yet more so when, a few 
weeks later, he proposed and arranged a 
visit to the city. But the climax of lier as¬ 
tonishment was not- reached until Christ¬ 
mas-time brought her a handsome sewing 
machine, and in the lightened labor and in¬ 
creased leisure she recognized the blessed 
fruits of Entertaining an Angel. 
MY CROSS OF MOSS. 
A TINY cross 
Of soft wood moss. 
And that is nil! 
And yet it hath a voice and speaks to me, 
Of patient faith and holy victory— 
Faith that could trinmph In Oethsemane, 
And for our sins a sinless sufferer be. 
Upon the Cross. 
A shadowy cross 
Of soft pray moss, 
And that Is nil! 
But when from sinful thoughts I fain would flee, 
This little cross reproaches silently. 
As if it said: “ Cans’t thou ungrateful be. 
When Christ, to cleanse from sin bath died for 
thee. 
Nailed to the Cross t ” 
A little cross 
Of velvet moss, 
And that is all! 
Vet when I've left my darlings with the dead. 
And storms of sorrow have swept o’er my head. 
I've seen this beacon cross through tears, and 
said, 
What grief he bore! I will he comforted, 
And bear my cross. 
Oti! tiny cross 
Of forest moss. 
That I* not all! 
I'll have thee for ttiy daily guard and guide. 
And learn of thee to conquer sin and pride; 
Thou shall, speak oft of Jesus crucified. 
And all the burden of life's woes I'll hide, 
Beneath His cross. 
RELIGIOUS YALUE OF FLOWERS. 
The Bible, the most valuable of all books, 
speaks of the Rose of Sharon uud the Lily 
of the Valley. Christ, pointed to the latter 
for the purpose of illustrating and enfor¬ 
cing truth. The poet feels the inspiration 
of flowers, and employs them as rich mate¬ 
rials. One speaks of never-fading flowers 
that smile upon the everlasting fields of 
Paradise, and another of the shady rills of 
Sharon, where the lily and rose contribute 
wit h their beauty and fragrance to the hap¬ 
piness of the devout. Their influence on 
the health and happiness of families, where 
cultivated, is proverbial. Were 1 to picture 
to myself a happy family, 1 would place all, 
parents and children, around an altar of 
devotion, where each one present, was clad 
with the beauty of holiness, and took de¬ 
light in cultivating a meek and quiet spirit; 
and as we always feel an inward influence 
corresponding wit h outward circumstances, 
1 would have home beautified with walks 
and flowers, where parents and children 
could take, recreation together, and drink 
in the inspiration of all that is beautiful. 
This would tend to the refinement of the 
sensibilities and purity of the moral feel¬ 
ings. Absolutely, we must surround our¬ 
selves with things beautiful and agreeable, 
or sink to a kind Of heathenism. 
KEEP THE HEART ALIVE. 
The longer I live the more expedient I 
find it to endeavor more and more to extend 
uiy sympathies ami affections. The natural 
tendency of advancing years is to narrow 
and contract these feeliugs. 1 do not 
mean that I wish to form a new friendship 
every day; to increase mv circle of inti¬ 
mates—these are very different affairs. 
But I And that it conduces to my mental 
health and happiness to find out all I can 
which is amiable and lovable in those I 
come in contact with, and to make the most 
of it. It may fall very short of what I was 
once wont to dreaui of; it may not supply 
the place of what I have known, felt and 
tasted; but it is better than nothing. It 
seems to keep the feelings and affections 
alive in its humanity ; and, till we shall be 
all spiritual, this is alike our duty and our 
interest.— The Moravia n. 
The popubir notions that, at the day of 
judgment, the past life of each shall lie ex¬ 
hibited before men and angels, do not seem 
to be morally valuable, or likely, as far as 
we can judge, to be literally true. In that 
other world t hose who feel rightly will have 
no wish for, and take no pleasure in, the con¬ 
cealment of anything about themselves, and 
would feel nothing but pain at the reve¬ 
lation of the sins and weakness of others. 
Who, then, at this great audit, will he the 
spectators of whom we are to ho ashamed ? 
Such spectatorship, unsympathizing, and 
prepared for a merely human and curious 
interest, for triumph and contempt, be¬ 
longs to earth, not to heaven.- -Grate. 
Let the day have a blessed baptism by 
giving your first waking thought into the 
bosom of God. The first hour of the morn¬ 
ing is the rudder of the day,— Bcechcr, 
