822 
GORE’S RURAL MEW-YORKIR. 
THE OLD MAN. 
MV BEX DO CO LAS. 
Behold him standing at thy door, 
A lifc-wreoktd, faint and trembling man ; 
His looks are gray, Ilia checks arc pale. 
His spirit-strength and hope arc gone— 
His day* arc narrowing to a span. 
His wants are known, he asks for bread. 
And shelter fi oai the winds and rain ; 
O, treat him kindly, take him in. 
And at. thy hearth-stone give him room, 
Let not his plea ho made in vain. 
In that old house of trembling bones 
Some crushed lint, noble son) may dwell; 
Great sorrows may have pierced his heart,— 
Misfortune may have bowed his head,— 
His weight of sadness none may tell. 
O, treat him kindly—gently speak ! 
Who knows the griefs which wound him so : 
And one kind look, or whispered word. 
May cheer his heart, Unit, sea-slioll like, 
Breathes but a monotone of woe. 
Hemember, lie's a brother still. 
And needs thy friendly aid to-day. 
More tban when ‘neat.h a father’s roof,— 
More than when youth was on Ids brow,— 
More than when first lie went astray. 
Life’s road to him is hard and long, 
J’oor pilgrim wanderer with ns here ; 
No friend, no arm, no place of rest, 
For him no love-encircled homo— 
No kiss of welcome, and no tear. 
Once his was wealth, and strength, and hope,- 
Uis story heed and him sustain : 
Too many 't owns may make a grave, 
But smiles that old heart yet may thrill, 
And make it dream of love again. 
A hand of brothers all are we, 
All deslined to the self-same goal; 
So kindly help and cheer him on, 
And if he falls, bo his support, 
And make his broken spirit whole. 
Hind up his bruised and bleeding heart, 
But few his duys of strife and care : 
Faith points t he Old Man's soul to Heaven, 
Where riches may he nnforglven— 
No c hi ih-rule will exclude him there. 
Wooster, Ohio. 
<D«r ^lonr-^cllcr. 
HOW SHALL I GET THROUGH? 
BY MUS, it. F. BUTTS. 
The morning was very hot and Mrs. Brown 
rose late. The baby was fretful, the children 
were disobedient, and Mr. Brown found fault. 
It seemed as If breakfast never would be ready. 
The distance front the pantry to the stove was 
novel so long, so many t hings never needed do¬ 
ing: at one time before, and when at last Mrs. 
Brown tied the buby in his high chair and 
seated herself alongside the coffee pot, she had 
a splitting headache and a general feeling of 
despoadoncyand lassitude almost impossible to 
hear, “ How shall I ever got through this day?” 
she asked herself, mentally, as the “men folks” 
straggled earekr ly in and took their places at 
the table, 
“Mother, said Mr. Beown, “wo must have 
breakfast In better season. We’ve been waiting 
a full half hour.” 
Mrs. BROWN said nothing, but poured out the 
coffee, and prepared some bread and milk for 
the baby In silence. Nobody noticed that she 
ate no breakfast, so busy wore they all Indis¬ 
posing of the cold corned beef, the delicious 
brown bread and mealy potatoes, and In talking 
of the wall they were going to run through the 
east meadow before night. They were not long 
in eating, and men and hoys shoved their chairs 
hack from the table and went out, leaving the 
mother with the lircakftust dishes, ihe “milk 
things," the sweeping, the dinner, the baby, 
and various other delicate hits of work not 
necessary to mention. Out into the fresh air 
and through the daisied meadows wept the 
meu, laughing and talking gaily: in the hot 
kitchen sut the woman surrounded with her 
monotonous work. 
Wearily Mrs. Brown rose from the table, 
took the baby from his chair and put him in 
liis cradle, surrounding him with the clothes¬ 
pins, the dinner horn, and such other utensils 
as he couldn't Injure; tljen she turned to the 
task of dish-washing. Rhe bad carried part of 
the dishes to the sink, when baby screamed. He 
had fallen out of his cradle iu reaching after 
something lie had dropped, and, frightened and 
hurt, ho loudly demanded his mother's atten¬ 
tion. There were tours of thorough discourage¬ 
ment in Mrs. Brown's eyes when she took up 
the child and began soothing him by walking up 
and down the room. 
“How shall I get through to-day?" she asked 
herself again; and a succession of just such 
days arose in the future, each one asking her 
“How will you get through me?” and “How 
will you get through me?" till she felt ready to 
give up the conflict and never try again. While 
she walked up and down, brooding and forlorn, 
a fresh, bright, detorinined-lookinglitilo woman 
walked in at the door. It was Mrs. lt.un, the 
wife of tin’ now minister. 
“Don’t mind me. Mrs. Brown," she said, 
taking off her hat. “I've come oyer to help 
you. Don’t say one word," as the housekeeper 
attempted to remonstrate, “ I'm going to wash 
these dishes, and l want you to sit down and get 
baby to sleep while T do it. Then we’ll have a 
little talk.” 
Mrs. Brown yielded, as everybody yielded, 
to the persevering woman, who went at the 
half-cleared table as if It wore a fortress to be 
taken. In a .surprisingly short space of time 
every dish was shining lugti and dry on the 
pantry shelves, the sink was clean and dry and 
the dish-cloths lluatod like banners from the 
lilac bush at. the back door. 
"There, now,” said Mrs. Hart, seating her¬ 
self triumphantly, “wasn’t thatquicklydone?" 
“You have some spirit,” said poor, pale Mrs. 
Brown. “ If hasn't all been dragged out of you 
by hard work." 
ITe-ei-se-l.v,” said Mrs. Hart; “that’s just 
the point 1 want to talk to you about. The 
wife and mother who lots herself be used up so 
that she has no spirit to put into her duties, 
commits a great wrong against herself arid 
every one connected with her.” 
Mrs. Brown looked up in amazement, mingled 
with resentment, 
“ 1 know yon think you're doing right," con¬ 
tinued the intrepid little preacher,“but I know 
that you are fatally mistaken. Your first duty 
is to keep your soul and body in a healthy con¬ 
dition ; unless you do that you must utterly fail 
in all other duties.” 
“ Rut I cannot, with all this work.” 
“ You ought not tout tempt to do all this work. 
That is the first error." 
“ I can’t help It.” 
"1 beg your pardon, dear Mrs. Brown, but 
you cun help it. You could have a pood girl in 
a week if you should use the power in your 
hands. Nobody has the right to make you over¬ 
work yourself. If you act as a true woman 
should, a woman who respects herself as a child 
ot Goo, as the mother ol' children, in whom la 
reposed a sacred trust, you will not overwork 
yourself. You will hire a servant for the ser¬ 
vant’s place, and save your energies for their 
proper use. In the course you are taking now, 
you run every day the risk of depriving your 
children of their mother. Cun you afford to do 
this? 
Mrs. Brown's eyes began to Hash. “ You are 
right,” she said. 
Mrs. Hart laughed. “1 knew you were of 
the true stuff, or I shouldn’t have undertaken 
you. Some women are born to be drudges. 
Let such fulfill their destiny; but let no woman 
capable of being a real wife and mother, dare 
to destroy t hese functions wit h a servant's work, 
There arc cases Whore overwork is inevitable; 
but those eases are the mre exceptions in our 
prosperous coon try." 
Mrs. Hart stayed all day, and the minister 
came over and took dinner with them. Mrs. 
Brown “get through " very nicely, and in less 
than a fortnight a stout-armed servant was in¬ 
stalled in tlie farm kitchen. Mr. Brow n was as 
much the gaiueras ids wile,atu? fell in lovoover 
again with the fresh, happy, neatly-dressed wo¬ 
man who presided at His table; and as for the 
lililc Browns, they had u mother, and not a 
tired, dispirited drudge to guide and mold them; 
and this statement tells its own story. 
THE ONE DOLLAK BILL. 
How it did rain that November night! None 
of your undecided showers, with hesitating in¬ 
tervals, as it, were, between ; noneof yourmild, 
persistent pattering* on the roof, but. u regular 
tempest, a wild deluge, a rush of arrowy drops 
and a thunder of opening Hoods! 
Hquire Part let heard the angry rattle against 
the casements, and drew his snug easy chair a 
little closer to the Arc--a great open mass of 
glimmering anthracite, and gazed with a sortof 
sleepy, reflective satisfaction at the crimson 
moreen curtains, and the gray eat fast asleep on 
the hearth, and the cunary bird rolled into a 
drowsy taill of yellow on Us perch. 
‘This is snug," quoth the Squire, “I’m glad 
I had t hat leaky spot fixed in the barn roof last 
week. I don't object to a stormy night once in 
awhlie, when a fellow's under cover, and there's 
nothing particular to bo done, Mary. 
" Yes," Mrs. Parllet answered- She was flil- 
atiout between kitchen and sitting room, with a 
blue check apron tied around her waist. 
’I'm nearly ready to come in now, Josiah. 
Now I womler," aottn roir, “if that was realty a 
knock at i lie door, or just a little rush of the 
wind and rain?” 
She wont to the door, nevertheless; and a 
minute or two afterwards she went to her hus¬ 
band's chair. 
"Joe, dear, it’s Luke Kuddilove,” she said, 
hall' apprehensively. The Squire never looked 
up from Ins paper. 
“Tell him lie’s made a mistake. The tavern 
is on (lie corner beyond. 
Bui he wants to know if you will lend him a 
dollar! " said Mrs. Tartlet. 
“And couldn't you have told him No, without 
tin* preliminary ceremony of coming iti here to 
ask me? Is it likely that 1 shall lend a dollar or 
even a cent to Luke Ruddilove? Why, I had a 
great deal better throw it among yonder red 
coals !No! of course not !’’ 
Mi's. Partlof hesitated. 
“ He looks so pinched and cold and wretched. 
Josiah. He says there's nobody in the world to 
let him have a cent," 
All the better for him, if lie did but know 
it," sharply enunciated the Squire. “If it had 
come lu that pitch half a dozen years ago, per¬ 
haps he wouldn't have been the miserable titan 
be is now.” 
We used to go to school together," said Mrs. 
Tartlet, gently. “He was the smartest bov 
in the class.” 
“That’s probable enough," said the Squire. 
“Buf it don't alter the fact that he’s a poor, 
drunken wretch now. Send him about his busi¬ 
ness, Polly, and if his time is of any consequence, 
just let him know that lie had better not waste 
It coming here after dollars." 
And the Squire loaned back in bis chair after 
a positive fashion, as if the whole matter was 
definitely decided. 
Mrs. Tartlet went back to the kitchen where 
Luke Kuddilove was spreading his poor, thin 
fingers over the blaze of fire, his tattered gar¬ 
ments steaming as if he were a pillar of vapor. 
"He wouldn't let you have It, Luke," said 
she. “I thought he wouldn't." 
“ Then I’ve got to starve, like any other dog!” 
said Luke Bmldiiove, turning away moodily. 
“ after all, I don't suppose it makes much 
difference whether I shuffle out of the world to¬ 
day or tO-rnorrow." 
“ Oh, Luke, not to your wife! " 
“She'd be better off without me," said Luke, 
down-neurtediy. 
“ But sin- ought not to he." 
“Ought and Is are two different things, Mrs. 
Tartlet, Hood night, 1 ain’t going to the tavern, 
though I 11 wager something the Squire thought 
1 was. 
“And isn't it natural enough ho should think 
so. Luke? 
“ Yes yes, Mary, I don’t say but what it is,” 
murmured Luke Kuddilove, lu the same dejeet- 
ed tone lu- had used throughout I lie interview 
.Stay! Mrs Tartlet called to him. as his 
hand lay on Hie door-latch, in a low voice. 
" Nero !■ a dollar, l.ulte. Mr. Part let gave me for 
a new piece ol' oil cloth in front of the dining¬ 
room stove, but Til tryand make the old one do 
a little while longer. And. Luke, for the sakenf 
old times for the sake ol your poor wile—will 
you do better? " 
Luke Kuddilove looked vacantlv first at the 
fresh new bank Mil in ids hand, and then at the 
Mounting matron who placed ii there. 
’’ 1 hank you, Maty," lie said, and crept out of 
the warm, bright kitchen, into I he storm and 
darkness that reigned without. Mrs. Tartlet 
stood lookiug into the kitchen fire. 
“I dare say I’ve done n very foolish thing,” 
she pondered; “but indeed 1 could not help it 
Of course he'll spend It at the public house, and 
1 shall do without my oil cloth, that will be the 
end of it all- 
And there was a conscious Hush on her cheek, 
as If she hud done something wrong, when she 
rejoined the Squire* in Hie sitting-room. 
“ Well.” said Squire Tartlet, “ has that ne’er- 
do-well gone at last ? ’ 
“ Yes.” 
“To Stoke's tav ern, I suppose." 
“ 1 hope not. Joshlali." 
“I’m afraid its past hoping for,” said the 
Spuire. shrugging his shoulders. "And now 
tur a pleasant evening. How it does rain, to be 
sim*,” ’ 
And Mrs. Tartlet kept the secret of the dollar 
bill within her own heart, 
Ii was six months afterward that the Squire 
enrno into the room where bis wife was preserv¬ 
ing some great red apples into jelly. 
“ 'Veil. well. ’ quoih lie, “wonders never will 
ccKue. J ho Kuddilovcs have gone away." 
" (lone where? " 
“ I don't know—out West somewhere, with a 
colony. And they say Luke hasn't touched a 
drop In six months. 
" I'm glrnl of that," said Mrs. Tartlet, 
iugly WOU ' r laM lo "h r ’” said Hie Squire, deepuir- 
“ Why not?" 
“Oh, I don't know. 1 haven't any faith in 
those sudden reforms. 
Mrs. Tartlet wassllent; she thought thankful- 
ly that, alter all, l.ulte bad noL spent the dollar 
lull ill liquor. 
Six mouths -six years the time sped along 
in days in weeks, almost before busy III lie Mrs 
Tartlet knew that it was gone. The'Kuddilovcs 
laid gone buck to Sequosset. 
Luke hud made hKfortune,astbostorv went, 
in the far-away El Dorado, vaguely nbrased 
“Out West ” by the simpleSequ.issetcrs. 
’’ They do say," said Mrs. Buckingham, “that 
ho bought, thin ere Jot down opposite the court¬ 
house, and is going to buiJd such a house us 
never was. 
“He must have prospered greatly,” raid the 
gentle Mrs. Portlet. 
“ And his wife wears a silk gown that will stand 
alone with its own richness," said Mrs Bucking¬ 
ham ; "lean remember when Luke Kuddilove 
was nothing but n poor drunken creature ” 
“All the more credit to Dim now,” said Mrs. 
Tartlet, emphatically. 
"It’s to by* nil o’ ftun,"said Mrs.Buckingham, 
with marble mantles and inlaid floors. And 
lies put a lot of papers and tilings under the 
corner one.” 
"The corner what?” said Mrs. Tartlet, laugh¬ 
ing. Floor or uiantel?” 
o‘,‘u tu !V u \ l)C ; L'Ure," said Mrs. Buckingham. 
Like they do in public buildings, you know.” 
“That fannturulenough." 
" Wei!, it's kind o'quecr, but Luke Ruddilove 
never wan t like nobody else. Folks thinks its 
dretidiuJ strange ho should put a one dollar blU 
In with ihe other things.” 
Mrs. Tartlet felt her checks fiutii scarlet; she 
glanced up to where the Squire was cheeking off 
a list ot legal items in the bill In* was making 
oui against some client. But he never looked 
around,ana Mrs. Buckingham went on with her 
never-ceasing flow of chit-chat, and so the color 
died away in her cheeks. After all the money 
hud been her own to give, and the old nil-cloth 
in trout oi i he dining-room stove hud answered 
Very well. 
She met Kuddilove that afternoon for the first 
tune since bis rcluin to Sequosset— Luke tijiu- 
si-lt, yet not himself the demon of Intemper¬ 
ance crushed out ot his nature, and its better, 
nobler elements triumphing at last. He looked 
herbnghty in the iace a:- he hold out, his hand. 
"Mary. 
“ 1 uni glad to see you back here again, Luke." 
she s uit, tremulously, 
“And well you may he,” ho rejoined. "Do 
you remember me night you gave me ihe dollar 
Gil', find begged me nut logo to the tavern.” 
’ Yes.” 
"That ntglil was the pivot on which my whole 
destiny turned. You were kind to me when 
everyone spoke coldly; yon i rusted me when 
all other faces were averted, I vowed a vow in 
prove myseil worthy ol your confidence and I 
Ki pt it. J did Jiot spend tin* momy— f tn-iiBurocI 
it up—and heav en has added mightily to niv lit- 
tlesinre. 1 put the dollar Inli under the eorner- 
•dnno of my new house, lor the house has risen 
trom U, and it alone. I won t offer to pay you 
back, tor 1 am alniid.” he added smiling, " the 
luck would gofrout mo with it ; but. I'll tell you 
what J will do, Mary ; I wiil give money and 
words ol trust and encouragement to some oth¬ 
er poor wretch as you gave me.” 
And Squire Tartlet never knew what his wife 
did with the dollar bill he gave her lo buy a 
new piece of oil cloth. 
|v catling. 
A NIGHT THOUGHT. 
As 1 hear the breath of the mother 
To tlie breath of Hit* child at her feet 
Answer in even whispers, 
When the night lulls heavy and sweet; 
And the thought, of the other dear ones 
Conies down from their cradle above ; 
'Tis not with the spirit only 
Of hope and confident love. 
For over each head In the darkness 
A holl rw-cyed thing hangs near. 
And I know Hint my treasures tremble 
On a thread of gossamer. 
O life ! what art tliou that boldest 
What is more Hum life to thee, 
By the tenure of their own hours. 
Thine own fragility? 
And each breath is n sigh, that nearer 
Brings the long farewell to me. 
O life ! thou shouldst be life truly, 
Or else thou shouldst not be ! 
IF. T. Pftlgrave. 
EXTRACTS FROM SERMONS. 
How to Get a Healthy Spiritual Life. 
BON a r says:- "If you want your spiritual 
life to be lu-ulthy and vigorous, y ou must just 
come more boldly to tlie ihrone of grace. The 
secret of your weakness is your little faith and 
Bttlc prayer. The fountain is unsealed, but 
you sip only a few drops. The bread of life is 
before you, yet you eat only a few crumbs. 
Tlie treasury of heaven is open, bul you lake 
only a few ponce. O man of littlo faith, where¬ 
fore doubt? Awake to know your privileges! 
awake! and sleep no longer. Tell me not of 
spiritual hunger and thirst so long as the throne 
of grace ts before you. Bay rather, you are 
proud, and will not cuiuo to It a poor sinner; 
suy, rather, you are slothful, anrl will not take 
pains to get more. Cast aside I he grave-clothes 
of pride that still hang around you. Throw off 
that Egyptian garment of Indolence which 
ought not to liuve been brought through the 
Bed Sea. Away with that unbelief which ties 
and paralyzes your tongue. You are not strait¬ 
ened in God, but In yourself. Come boldly, lor 
you may, all sinful as you are, if you come in 
the name of the great High Triest." 
The Secret Closet. 
Cuyi.kr fays; We must not overlook one 
room in our converted heart, though it lie ever 
so small or ever so secluded. It is the secret 
1 closet, where Faith holds sweet fellowship 
vvilli (Ion. Ii i* fragrant with the presence of 
Jesus, Here stands the mercy-seat. To this 
inner sanctum Falih keeps the golden key, in¬ 
scribed, "Ask and ye Khali receive; seek and 
ye shall Hud ; pray without ceasing." Over t lie 
door she reads I lie inviting words; - “ Enter into 
thy closet, and when thou hast shut thy door, 
piay to thy Father which soeth in seen I ; and 
thy Father which is In secret shall reward ihee 
opeply,” On the walls are inscriptions written 
in momenta of devout intercourse with God, 
when the meditations with him were like the 
droppings of the honey-comb. This is Faith’s 
stronghold; here she weapons herself for the 
daily conflict. Blleno in that closet of prayer 
bespeaks death throughout nil the house. When 
that door is suffered to rust on its hinges, and 
that. Chamber is deserted, then Hie heart-house 
is soon re-taken by Satan, and the evil spirits 
come in and dwell there. 
The Love of Cod. 
Philips «ry»: Did you ever try the effect of 
believing the love of God to the world ? of be¬ 
lieving the ability of Christ to save you? of 
believing what God bus sworn, that he has no 
pleasure in the death of a sinner? The Spirit 
may not have helped your infirmities at all, 
whilst you were trying to believe that you were 
an elected, or an adopted, ora regenerated child 
of God; but the question is, would the Spirit 
have withheld ids help, had you tried ns much 
to believe that tlie blood of J i:sp.s Christ cleans- 
eth from all sin? Hemember (hut the Spirit’s 
grand aim is to "glorify Christ,” and not. to 
give us such a good opinion of ourselves as 
should warrant us to hope in Christ, rt is (he 
tliingsof Christ, which ho shows to the soul, 
when he con verts the soul. 
Christ an Unchangeable Priest. 
McCueyne saysPrecious friend and un¬ 
changeable priest, is Christ sweeter to you 
than the honey and the honcy-comb. How 
great is the goodness lie hath laid up for them 
Hi at fear him ! J list as the miser lay sup money 
Hint tic may least his eyes upon it, so Christ 
ha« laid up unsearchable riches, that he may 
supply all vve need out of them. Unfathomable 
Oceana or grace are in Christ Tor yon. Dive 
ami dive again, you will never come* to ihe bot¬ 
tom of those depths. How many millions of 
dazzling pearls and gems are at this moment 
hid in the deep recesses of the ocean eaves? 
But these are unsearchable riches in Christ. 
Seek more of them. The Lord enrich you with 
them. 
•-♦♦♦ -—— 
If the divine earnestness within u= only shift 
and does not die, it matters little what becomes 
of our mere theology; and deep-hearted prac¬ 
tical faithfulness is not separated long from 
true thoughied practical faith. 
