SEPT. U 
i 
OORE’S RURAL NEW-YORKER. 
ladies' |ot|t-<Jolio. 
THE OAK AND THE ROSEBUSH. 
FROM T11E FRENCH OF LA FONTAINE. 
A KitAGlI.K rosebud her fair arms hold out. 
Beneath a nigged oak, who, old and stout, 
Was lord or all the region round about. 
One time, gray clouds above the sun climbed high, 
And all the white and blue fled from the sky. 
While weird elves with hoarse shouts went hurrying 
by. 
The oak shook out his branches wide, and said 
To his fair neighbor, " Well, it is, oh ! lovely head, 
That you beside me found a bed! 
•* You are so gentle that you rook and sway, 
if faintest bronth of wind doth come your way, 
Even if It be the softest breeze of May. 
But I the storm king’s anger mock. 
1 laugh at ids fierce roar and shock. 
My loots reach deep-they clasp the rock. 
•‘I’ll care for you,dear neighbor; do not fear,” lie 
said. 
When swift along the grass the wood folk sped, 
Crying, “ Oh, flowers ! oh, trees ! quick, bow the 
head! 
“ Oh, birds! it is the storm king I Hy ! oh, tly ! 
’Tits death to meet his awful, violet eye, 
Or touch his long, gray lmir, as lie rides by.” 
Ah ! swift the storm king came. He stopped beside 
The giant ouk, and, laughing at his pride, 
Ills branches tore, and threw them far and wide. 
Then, turning on the oak his fierce, dark face, 
He wrapped him round about In bis embrace, 
And wrenched his longest roots from out their hiding 
place, 
Then Hung him down to die. across the way ; 
And. drawing all his clouds about him, fled away, 
And left the world to gladness and to day. 
When at last the rose bush raised her head, 
And found her stern old brother dead. 
Her bright leaves on the ground slip shed, 
And, weeping, cried, “ My joy hath end. 
Alas! that when the storm descends. 
Thoro’s mercy only for the head that bends.” 
E. C. PlKHOE. 
COUNTRY WOMEN. 
1 have read for ft long time, in the Kijkai., of 
the trials our funner*’ wives have, to get along 
with their work, how little tholr labor is appre¬ 
ciated, etc.; and L cannot help thinking there is 
cause, way down below tlm surface, that they 
fall to get at. Why, only 8ce how times have 
ohanged ’• I am not as old as MkthU 8 A 1 .bh, and 
f can remember when my mother did i ho work 
for twelve- T mean the washing, ironing, buking, 
sweeping, sewing and knitting, and in the sea¬ 
soned it. would, in addition, spin her t hree run 
of yarn, and not think she worked very hard 
either. 
But some one says the sewing (lien was noth¬ 
ing compared to now. I know that very well. 
The little Miss of ton years has a more ext ensive 
wardrobe than the young lady of eighteen used 
to have; but the sewing machine is, in. a great 
measure, the cause of it. The tucks, ru flies, and 
flounces of to-day could never be made by hand. 
How few there are, too, who find time to knit; 
it is so much cheaper to buy stockings; or. If 
they do not wear so well, get a knitting machine. 
See, too, the washing machines, churn powers, 
butter workers and other conveniences and 
yet the woman of to-day has less time than the 
one of fifty years ago. Why fs it? “Oh," she 
says, “woman's work Is never done till she lies 
down in her grave." I say, " Fudge! " There 
is a principle that lifts taken root in our minds 
that it is a little more genteel to he delicate and 
to not work any more than we can help, l know 
there are honorable exceptions; .still it lias 
thrown out libers oil over our country, atfnoting 
men, and women too, and no where more than 
in the Rural districts. The great amount of 
Irish help that has drifted among us hns helped 
it along very much. Nearly every family can 
hire a girl, and mother cun oversee Biddy hi 
the kitchen, w hile the young ladles of the fami¬ 
ly crochet, play croquet, drum on the piano, and 
are tired to death ail tho time. 
Does some one say, " This does docs not apply 
to common country people; they live upon 
farms und are obliged to work." I say it does 
apply to just such people. You will hardly go 
into a bouse in your neighborhood, or mine, 
but you hear about the hard work they have to 
do. Now, I have no patience with these putter¬ 
ing women, who w ill run all day in a half bushel. 
Don’t bo afraid of work; teach your girls to 
work, and don't be everlastingly complaining, 
in these days of machinery, that your work is 
never done. Go at it with a will, and do it. 
Cayuga. 
-♦♦♦- 
THE LOVELESS LIFE. 
Heading in the Rubai. New-Yorker of Aug. 
24th Che incognita’s sad letter to “Leap Pencil, 
Esq., 1 could not forbear writ ing a lew words, 
in the hope Unit it might, meet her eye. Dear 
soul, whoever or wherever you may be, my 
heart aches for you wearing on through a love¬ 
less, aimless life! O why is it altogether love¬ 
less? What though the love that is so much to 
every woman be denied you, is that all Of life? 
Is it the only love? Is there uot all around you, 
if you but seek (1, the love or good men and 
women of little children —of the poor and 
wretched ? Is there not above you an Iniiuito 
Love? Is there not before you, if you will, an 
Eternity of Love, with Him who is Love? Your 
tears, it seems, can flow ; then be thankful, dear 
soul, for there are depths of suffering that know 
not the relief of team, and 
•* The eyes that cannot weep 
Are the saddest eyes of all.” 
And now will you let me share with you some 
“thoughts” that I have found in one of Mrs. 
Wiutney'S delightful books? “Ye who have 
missed out of your actual living the answer to 
your soul's passionate asking — ye whom some¬ 
thing afar off, that ought to bo your very own, 
passes by like a mirage, who see, away off upon 
the distant horittfiV, like dwellers In a wintry 
Arctic, n sun circling over happier /.ones, that 
never comes nlRb ynnr z.enith- sec herd where 
the unset ting Sun of the Kingdom sends down 
its full amt glorious rays into the secret cold, 
and ache within you!". .“Outside may bo 
cold and darkness. Your hands may stretch 
into an unresponsive void. Yet in your spirits 
arc ye blessed. There find ye, wide open, tho 
door into tho Kingdom! As out of a dream, 
paths impossible to sense and every-day, show 
plain and sudden transit into distant places,—so 
from your shut souls widens out an entrance 
way into Goo's everlasting joy! ” — "Yours is 
the kingdom! Because earth is so little, the 
tworld that lies in and about this visible that we 
call earth becomes so much. What, is this King¬ 
dom of Heaven? ‘It is within you.' It is that 
which you hold and live In spiritually; therm/, 
of which all earthly, outward being and having 
are but the show. It Is where* we are when we 
Bbutour eyes and pray In the words that Christ 
taught us.".. .“What matters, then, where 
your feet stand or wherewith your hands are 
busy, s<> that it is tho spot where Goo has put 
you ami tho work ho hns given you todo? Your 
real life Is within hid in Gtu> with Christ— 
ripening and strengthening and waiting, as 
through tho long geologic ages of night and In¬ 
completeness waited the germs of all that was 
to unfold into this actual, green and bounteous 
earth!" . “The narrower your daily round 
the widerjnnytbc tho out-reoch. Isolated upon 
a barren mountain-peak, you may take in river 
and lake*, forest, field and valley. A hundred 
gardens and harvests lift thoir bloom and full¬ 
ness to your Blnglc eyo. There is a sunlight that 
OOntractR the vision; there is a starlight that 
enlarges it. to take hit lotto space.” 
*' Gou sots some souls In shade, alono ; 
They lmve no daylight of their own ; 
Only In lives of happier ones 
They seo the shine of distant suns. 
Heading fm the f|outtg. 
“GOING INTO BREECHES.” 
‘MOV to Philip! he tills day 
Has Ids long coats cast away, 
And (the childish seuson gone) 
Put the manly breeches on. 
Officer on gay parade, 
Red-coat In Ids first cockade. 
Bridegroom In his wedding trim, 
Birthday beau surpassing Him, 
Never did with conscious gait 
Strut, about In half the state 
Or the pride (yet free from sin) 
(if my ll(t.le manikin; 
Never was there pride nr bliss 
Half »o rational as his. 
Sashes, frocks, to (hose that need 'em, 
Philip’s limbs have got their freedom. 
He cun run, or he can ride, 
And do twenty things beside. 
Which his peltloouts forbade; 
Is not he a happy lad t 
Now he's under other banners 
lie must leave Ills former manners : 
I’.Ul adieu to female games, 
And forget their very names; 
Puss-In-oorners, hide-and-seek, 
Sports for girls amt pussies weak! 
Baste-the-hear he may now play at, 
Leap-frog, football, sport away at; 
Show his skill and strength at cricket; 
Mark his distance, pitch his wicket; 
Him about. In winter's snow 
Till his cheeks anil lingers glow ; 
Climb a tree or scale a wall 
Without any fear to fall; 
If tie get a hurt or bruise, 
TO complain he must refuse, 
Though the anguish and flic smart 
Go unto his little heart; 
Me must have hiH courage ready. 
Keep his VOJce and Visage steady ; 
I trace Ills eyeballs stlllas drum, 
That a tear may never conic; 
And Ills grief must only speak 
From the color In his cheek. 
This and more he must endure, 
Hero lie in miniature, 
This and more must now be done, 
Now the breeches are put on.” 
--- 
MY KITTY. 
HY MAllY S. HAUKK.ll. 
' (Jon knows. Content thee with thy night. 
Thy greater heaven hath grander light. 
To-day is close. The hours are smutl. 
Thou sit'd afarnnd hast them all. 
• huso the less joy that doth hut blind ; 
Reach forth a larger bliss to find. 
Tu-day Is tirlet ; tin* tnulusive spheres 
Bain raptures of a thousand years. 
Cousin Johnny. 
A PIONEER WOMAN IN WASHINGTON 
TERRITORY. 
I hope that the novelty of a letter from this 
out of the way oorner of the world, will cause 
it to Hurt excuse at least, if not l’avor In your 
eyes. I live in the extreme North-Western oor¬ 
ner of Washington Territory, fifteen miles from 
the British line, and with grand Ml. Baker loom¬ 
ing up so close t<» us in the South-East that it 
looks almost within walking distance. 1 think I 
may call myself one of the pioneer women of 
the West, fur there are hut two white women 
within twenty-three miles of me, and the near¬ 
est post-olliee is l wonty-flve miles distant. < >ur 
only itNuins of communication with the outer 
world Is through the Indians, who are constant¬ 
ly passing upaml down the river in their canoes. 
I Im vo Visited every sect ion of thcL'nlted Ktates, 
tint everything combines here to surpass them 
all the delightful climate, mugniUecnt scenery 
and luxuriant vegetation. Kidney potatoes 
grow a foot long, peach blows average six hun¬ 
dred bushels to the acre, and hay averages 
throe ton* to the acre. I think if you could 
give me place in your paper I might write some¬ 
thing that would interest your readers, and per¬ 
haps call a little attention to this great country 
which has not received half its share so far. 
Noot Saak River, AV. T. Nku.tk S. Coupe. 
-- 
FEMININE FELICITIES. 
A Lawyer, having some legal business to 
transact witli a widow lady, took occasion to in¬ 
quire her age. The matron, who had not long 
since dotted the “widow's weeds," attempted to 
look prim and rnnch younger than she really 
was, as she replied: “Thirty-live, sir.” Then 
turning to the daughter, he said: “ May I he so 
bold, miss, as to Inquire your age ?" “ Certainly; 
I am a little past thirty-two-most three years 
younger than mother." 
Oi.n Lady “When does the uext train stop 
here?” Porter (explanlng)—“ WclL’m, you see 
the next train dont stop 'ere at all, and the next 
t rain as stops ere don't go no farther, and the 
next train is a through express." The old lady 
is much better for the explanation. 
A widow who has married and lo6t five hus¬ 
bands, remarks“ Widowers never die of grief, 
although crushed to the earth by their sorrow, 
like truth, they rise again and rewive.” 
Why should a man with a termagant wife be 
considered a smart fellow? Because he’s a 
shrewd individual. 
When I was u little girl about, eight years old, 
I was sent to a neighbor's one day with a basket , 
of eggs, and when the lady lmd taken out the , 
(Nf.-rs she asked me If I didn’t want a kitty. Of 
course I said “yes," so she told me she would ( 
put It into the basket for me, us it was so wild ( 
I could not carry it in uiy arms. She caught It, 
put It in my basket, tied tlm cover down, and 
off 1 trudged home, stopping every few stops to 
peep at my treasure through the wicker-work 
of the basket. K Itty didn't understand matters 
at nil, mid mewed and scratched and tried to 
get out. uf his prison, hut could not. When 1 
reached home I carried the basket into the 
kitchen, shut all the doors and windows, mid 
then opened the basket, and out sprang kitty, 
and the way he flow round 1 he room! He was 
so frightened 1 thought tie had a fit. Hejuinped 
over tables and chairs, ran rigid up on the win¬ 
dow, and jumped down on my head, making 
me acreair. with fright, and at last crouched tip 
in the corner under the table, mid no coaxing 
would make him come out; even a nice buucoi* 
of milk was not any temptation to him; he 
wouldn't even taste of It. Hy-and-hy some one 
came in and loft the door open Just a minute, 
and quick as a Hash kitty darted out. and into 
the yard. I ran after him and almost caught 
him, but just as I was putting my hand on him 
lie turned round, stood upon his hind feet and 
spit at mo so fiercely that I screamed right out, 
and before I could get over the fright he was 
gone. I could not tell whore, lie was loo small 
to find his way baok home, so 1 thought lie must 
have got killed or starved to death, for I could 
not tlnd him any where round tho barn or house. 
But one day, more than a week after. I was 
hunting hen’s eggs, and I heard a feeble little 
“mew-ouw." 1 looked all round, behind the 
barn-door, under the steps, and out in the barn¬ 
yard, and at last l found him behind the big 
water-trough. He was so weak he could not 
Stand, and did not try to get. away, but only 
“purred” when I took him up. Dou’t you 
guess T run into the house just as fast as I could, 
and cried:—”Oh! Auntie, see! see! I've found 
him, and he’s bo hungry. Mayn't I have some 
milk right oft for him?" Poor Kitty. Auntie 
gave tne the milk, aud l held it to him, und he 
ate it us if it was good; and when ho had ;eaton 
it all up, he just curled himself np Lo my lap and 
went to sleep, as if he had never been afraid of 
me; and always after that he loved me as well 
as cals can love. He would follow mo round 
everywhere, so I would have to shut him «p 
when I wont after tin* cows, for fear he would 
get lost, and he would seem bo lonely If I was 
OUT. of his sight; and as soon as tie found me, lie 
would jump right on uiy shoulder, put his face 
into mine, aud kiss me; but he never would kiss 
any one else. He wanted to sleep with me, but 
Auntie said, “No, no; I can’t have a cut in the 
house at night.” So, every night before she 
went to bed, she put. him out in the ooai shed; 
but there was a broken pane of glass in one of 
the windows, and just, as soon as the light was 
out, and all was still, lie would Jump in through 
that,como up stairs and Jump on my bed, put 
his lace up to mine and purr so softly, as if to 
say, “ Hush ! don’t tell: ” and then lie would 
curl up on my pillow, close to my face, and be 
still as a mouse till morning, when he would 
wake me up kissing me, and purring softly for 
a moment; then he would jump off the bed, run 
I downstairs, mid out through the window, and 
be mewing to come in when Auntie came down 
to make the tiro. I suppose I ought to have told 
Auntie about it, lint I loved him so, and T 
thought It was so cunning in him, that I could 
not hear to. I had no b rothors or sisters or 11 tt lo 
playmates, so I was often lonely before I had 
Kitty. 
I used to toll him all my troubles, and 1 really 
thought, he understood me, for he would put his 
face close lo mine anti curl up close to niy cheek 
as if he wanted lo comfort mo. He would piny 
with me just like a dog. I would call “Kitty, 
kitty! see who'll get to the ham lirsl,” and off 
he would start with his tail straight up, and run 
for the bat'd. If he got there first he would 
stoji and wall for me and seem as proud as 
could he. He had a great, many tricks such us 
opening the door, hut I never knew him to 
steal. He caught mice when he was Just a kitty, 
and one day before he was grown up, he brought, 
in a rat and laid it at my feet. .How proud he 
was! He rubbed against my dress aud purred 
“out loud," and said us plainly us he could, 
“Just see Hint, will you! That's none of your 
small fry." When ho had grown to he quite a 
big kitty we got. another cat with her little kit¬ 
ty. It was a tin} thing and the prettiest kitty r 
ever saw. A Maltese with Just, the whitest paws 
and breast that ever a kitty had. Tho old eat 
stayed one night, ami then went off buck to her 
old home and left her little baby with us. Did 
she know we would take care of tt? Kitty— 
“ my lritty,” I called him now, ami the other only 
“kitty," seemed to pity it, and let It eat his 
milk, and brought it mice. But it was so funny 
to see them play together. ( suppose the big 
one played too roughly and the little one would 
get mad and spit at him and box Ills ears, and he 
would take it all so provoklugty cool sitting up 
there, wagging his tail, us If to say, “ now ain't 
you mad?” and then little kitty would rim off 
and lie down hy herself. Just as you have seen a 
little boy or girl do when they “got mad "at 
play. But in a few minutes she would get, all 
over it and he ready for another frolic, which 
would he sure to end In the sumo way. 
Kitty had grown to tie a big cat. when 1 left 
Auntie's, and it was three years before I oumo 
hack on a visit, and then In* remembered me, 
for lie euuie right, to mu, and jumped up on my 
shoulder to kiss me, Just as he used to, though 
* Auntie said sin* never could get him to do il 
* even to her. And he was always afraid of 
® Strangers; would not even come into the house 
1 while they stayed; but he knew me, and was as 
1 glad to see me as a eat could lie. lie was so big 
1 should hardly have known him. Auntie had 
r ’ a pitiful story to tell me, of how he ha<l taught 
'* Ids foot, in a steel trap I hey had set to catch a 
" skunk, and It. broke hts leg and tore it most off. 
k But, they made him a hod In the kitchen, behind 
* the stove, and nursed him till he was well again 
° because he was “Mary's Kitty,” they said. 
1 It was a great many years ago, and, of course, 
’’ Kitty is dead long ago, though I did not hear 
when he died. I have seen a great many cats, 
G and kittles too, and a great deni prettier ones 
18 than mine, but none that I could love, and never 
one loved me as lie did. It kittles over do go to 
t" heaven, I am sure mine will be there. 
$he Hurler. 
HIDDEN NAMES.-No. 1. 
1. Why art thou so sad? I entreat thee to 
tell me. 
:i. Gan you play on the viol? I’ve hoard say 
that you cuu. 
TTe is not so had a man as I. 
4. Do you feed that hen rye or barley? 
5. A woman cuu do what a man daro uot. 
fi. What a lovely dinnthus you have there. 
7. Will you with me wed, warden of my heart? 
8. Is it ago or genius that you refer to ? 
9. That liuzzur. Oh! he lias stolen my heart. 
10. Did Shorn muke ull flits disturbance? 
Answer in two weeks. .T. M. s. , 
-»♦» — - 
RIDDLE.—No. 2. 
I AM captain of a company 
That counts full twenty-six ; 
And also with a party five 
I deign to intermix. 
With Adam I was seen to stay, 
But Evo I do not like; 
I'm always seen throughout the day. 
But never In the night. 
From sun and moon I stand afar, 
While you may see me in a star. 
J'*?" Answer in two weeks. n. e. k. 
- •** ■ - ■ 
ANAGRAM. No. 4. 
Eli dart pices yerev saps nad rawd, 
<H rusth t, ot kite is, ot nltef, ot dragu ; 
Hiwel sols peexrt, ghthuo goneratr arf 
I-Ict Ghie demat muin gcvenual urev. 
New Baltimore. Enigma. 
" Answer in two weeks. 
- 
PUZZLER ANSWERS.-August 31. 
Hidden Mountains No. 1. — i, Atlas; t 
White; 3, Green; 4, Etna; 5, Snowdon. 
Puzzle No. 5. The season is backward. 
