“CICELY.”* 
Alkali Station. 
Cicely says you’re a poet; maybe; I ain’t muck on 
rhyme: 
I reckon you'd give me a hundred, and beat me every 
time. 
Poetry !— that's the way some chaps puts up an idee, 
But I takes mine “straight without sugar,'’ and that’s 
what’s the matter with me. 
Toetry !-just look round you,—alkali, rock, and sage; 
Sage-brush, rock, and alkali: ain’t It a pretty page! 
Snn in the east at morrun’, sun in the west at night, 
And the aliadow of this ’yor station the on’y thing 
moves in sight. 
Poetry!-Well now-Polly! Polly, run to your mam; 
Run right awuv, my pooty ! By by! Ain’t she a lamb? 
Poetry !-tliat reminds me o’ suthln’ right in that suit: 
Jest shot that door thar, will yer?—for Cicely's ears 
is cute. 
Ye noticed Polly,—the baby? A month afore sho 
was bom, 
Cicely—my old woman—was moody-like and forlorn; 
Out of her head and crazy, and talked of flowers and 
trees; 
Family man yourself, sir? Well, you know what a 
woman he’s. 
Narvous she was. and restless. — said that sho 
“couldn’t stay.’’ 
Stay,—and the nearest woman seventeen miles away. 
But 1 fixed It up with the doctor, and he said ho would 
be on hand, 
And I kinder stuck by the shanty,and fenced In that 
bit o’ land. 
One night,-the tenth of October,—I woke with a chill 
and fright, 
For the door It was standing open, and Cicely warn’t 
In sight, 
But a note was pinned on the blanket, which it said 
that she “ couldn't stay,’’ 
But had gone to visit her neighbor,—seventeen miles 
away! 
When and how sho stampeded, I didn't wait for to 
see. 
For out In the road, next minlt, I started as wild as 
she; 
Running llrst this way and that way, like a hound 
that Is off the scent, 
For there warn't no track in the darkness to tell mo 
the way sho went. 
I’ve hntl some mighty mean moments afore I kem to 
this spot,— 
Lost on the Plains In '50, drownded almost, and shot; 
But out on this alkali desert, a hunting a crazy wife, 
Was ra'ly as on-satls-factory as anything in my life. 
"Clcelv! Cicely! Cicely!'' I called, and I held my 
breath. 
And " Cicely!” came from the canyon,—and all was 
as still us death. 
And “Cicely I Cicely! Cicely!" came from the rocks 
below, 
And Jest, but 11 whisper of "Cicely!’’ down from them 
peaks of snow. 
I ain’t what you call religious,—but I jest looked up 
to the sky. 
And—this 'yer's to what I’m coming, and maybe yo 
think i lie: 
But up away to the east’ard, yaller and big and far, 
I saw of a auddent rising the ainglerist kind of star. 
Big and yaller and danclng.lt seemed to beckon to 
me : 
Yaller and big nnd dancing, such ns you never see: 
Big and > uller and dancing,—I never saw such a star. 
And I thought of them sharps in the Bible, and I 
wont for it then and thar. 
Over the brush and bowlders I stumbled and pushed 
abend: 
Keeping the star afore me, 1 went wharever It led. 
It might hev been for an hour, when suddent and 
peart and nigh. 
Out of the yearth afore me thar rlz up a baby's cry. 
Listen! thar’s the same music; but her lungs they 
are stronger now 
Than the day l packed her and her mother,—I’m 
darned If I Je9t know how. 
But the doctor kem the next minit, and the Joke o’ 
tho whole thing is 
That C’ls never knew what happened from that very 
night to this! 
But Cicely says you're a poet, and maybe you might, 
some day, 
Jest sling her a rhyme 'bout a baby that was born in 
a curious way. 
Andseewli.it she says; and, old fellow, when you 
speak of the 9tar, don’t tell. 
And how 'twos the doctor’s lantern,—for maybe 
'twon't sound so well. 
* From Poems by Bult Haete, published by 
Fields, Osgood & Co. 
-- 
LETTERS FROM RURAL WOMEN. 
Not n “Troubled Martha.” 
I cannot call myself another of the 
“Troubled Marthas,” although there are, 
I know, many troubles that we all meet 
with, and be they small or great, they seem 
to us just as we look at them. The petty 
trials of life are more vexing than larger 
ones, which we usually hear with good 
grace. Many of those little annoying affairs 
creep into our every-day life,and often min¬ 
gle themselves with our household cares. It 
does really seem as though “ woman's work 
was never done; 1 ' and when we are so 
weary with work —ever working—slight 
tilings annoy and seem to us much greater 
than they really are. But, after all, the life 
of cares and trials is pleasanter than the 
, aimless, listless one; for we are always hap¬ 
piest when well employed ; and we are well 
employed if we do well the work which 
lies nearest to us, putting our whole soul 
into it as the task by Qod assigned us. I 
don’t mean that we shall have no aspira¬ 
tions for anything higher, but that we shall 
be faithful in wbat presents itself for us to 
do, seeking improvement, if we would be 
competent to fill what seems to us nobler 
fields of labor. But, to me, nothing seems 
nobler than home with its order, peace and 
harmony. Oh! it is there that the soul 
gains its most perfect proportions, and learns 
and loves to build its earthly paradise after 
i the ideal heavenly pattern I 
Home, dear home! How much we love 
the pictures on its walls, even though they 
be simple and mostly made with our own 
hands from such little treasure as nature 
gives us. Though the dear books on its 
shelves are few, we know they are true, 
good friends, with whom we have passed 
many a pleasant and profitable hour. And 
then there is the “desk,” with its papers, 
account books, Ac.; and there a knife aucl 
spectacles, that have long been unused, for 
the hands have turned to dust, and the dear, 
dim eyes have long needed no glasses. 
There are no coats nor hats to hang up, (and 
there never were, for he always kept his 
clothes in their place -,) no hoot tracks on 
the floor. Oh, would that there were! I'd 
care not how muddy, could I only see them 
again! 
Marthas, my poor, weary sisters, some 
day your hearts will ache, and you will long 
for the echo of those silent steps through 
your home. Sometimes no hungry brothers 
will relish their sister’s cakes. Some day, 
perhaps, there will be no tired, hungry men 
coming from the field to enjoy your good 
dinner and rest in the quiet shades of your 
cool, pleasant home. Perhaps you won’t 
have to work so hard then ; but what of the 
hungry hearts and vacant seats arouud the 
fireside ? 
Let us have patience, my sisters, that the 
future may not bring regrets. 
It is true, that we have not all homes; 
some of us must seek that dear place among 
strangers; but if wc are worthy the place 
we find, then shall wc find worthy places.— l. 
Trnin tho Bora Properly. 
Dear Rural : — “ Troubled Martha ” 
lias received so much sympathy that she 
can scarcely wish for more. Yet I would 
add my mite. Does not work of some kind 
come to all who arc not too indolent to find 
it? Surely a life of idleness is no blessing 
to any one; and I often think the busiest 
women are also the happiest,. I am not a 
farmer’s daughter, hut am a farmer's wife, 
with the usual amount of home cares vouch¬ 
safed to my sisters in affliction, (?) and the 
somewhat unusual care of four small olive 
branches. I kuow somewhat of Martha’s 
troubles by experience, and would like to 
suggest one remedy. Boys should be early 
taught to make the comfort of mother nnd 
sister their first consideration. They should 
learn to remove muddy boots and hang up 
coats and hats when they enter the house, 
as algo to keep their own rooms in respecta¬ 
ble order. 
I am aware that is is far easier to preach 
than to practice, yet I hope, with the aid of 
my better half, (who was trained in this 
school, to make my two hoys as kindly 
thoughtful of the comfort of the gentler sex 
as he is. I am one of nine brothers and 
sisters, and well remem her how often my 
good father restrained his girls in their 
womanly desires to wait upon their broth¬ 
ers. Sisters must aid in the training by 
feeling that the only real affection is that 
which helps to make the brother a truly 
gentlemanly man.— A Sincere Ruralist, 
Ml. Morris, Livingston Co., JY Y. 
Mothers it ml Their Chililren. 
Mothers, do we consider as we should 
what a great work we have before us—the 
training of immortal souls, and the making 
of men and women who shall take our places 
and do better ? Oh ! how much better we 
want them to do tlmn we have done. We 
see so many mothers who are always scold¬ 
ing, ready with a word and a blow when¬ 
ever their little ones come near them; we 
wonder if they really love the little ones 
God has given them ? How can children 
grow up kind and loving in such a home? 
Did any one ever see kind, loving children 
in a family where the mother was always 
scolding? Then, other mothers are foolish¬ 
ly imlulgent. The little one must have 
everything it asks for, or else it might cry. 
Such mothers say they love their children 
too much to deny them anything they ask 
lor; that disappointments will come soon 
enough to them; but they don’t consider 
that they should he preparing them to hear 
the trials and disappointments of life. 
We must begin to train our little ones as 
soon as they can understand us. If we are 
always kind, and yet firm, when we refuse to 
give them what they should not have, they 
very soon will learn that it will do no good 
to cry for what has been denied them. 
And, mothers, above all things, we must 
pray, pray, pray for patience, for wis¬ 
dom, and that we may set a good ex¬ 
ample; fori think example is worth more 
than precept.; and it is impossible for a 
mother to govern her children well if she 
cannot govern herself; this she cannot do 
without help from her God. 
I might write some of my own experience, 
for I have a large family of children; hut 
perhaps it would be out of place here. Our 
little ones must be clothed and fed properly 
to keep them healthy, and then, from the 
time they can first understand us, let us be 
kind, firm, and strictly truthful with them, 
nfever promising them what we do not mean 
to give them, neither prize nor whipping, 
always exercising patience, and God will 
bless us in our children.— a. e. 
JOHNNY'S GRIEF. 
BY LACRA S. 
Little Johnny cries, Because last night 
The cat got hold of his very best kite, 
And ate it for breakfast, I do believe; 
And JOHNNY found it only a tatter, 
While Pussy seemed to thi'ik 'twas no matter. 
Aunt Mary had never been to visit them 
before, and the children bad never seen her, 
but they were very sure they should love 
her, from the kind letters she had written 
them. They hail seen her picture, too, which 
hung in their parlor. 
“ Oh, I am so glad Aunt Mary is coming,” 
said Fanny. 
“ But what shall we do all alone! Oh 
dear, if mother was only at home I” said 
Katie. 
Oh donr! oh dear! 
What made Pussy do It ? 
Such a bountiful kite. 
All red and blue, 
With a picture upon it, 
And a long tall beside; 
And when Johnny saw It, 
Of course, he cried. 
It was very queer that Pussy should eat 
A paper kite Instead of her meat; 
And there sho sits and does nothing but wink. 
She’d eat up anuther, I really think. 
But smooth your face, Johnny, 
And don't look like u fright; 
Mamma ’ll buy you, I'm sure. 
Another nice kite. 
-♦ - 
AUNT MARTS VISIT, 
“Oh dear,” said Katie Belden, looking 
out the window just after breakfast, “ isn’t 
this dreadful! It snows, and it blows, and 
it rains, and does everything.” 
“And it’s so lonesome when mother’s 
gone away," said her sister Fanny; “I 
don’t see what we can do all day. There’s 
nothing I want to do, either;” and then 
Fanny began to cry. 
In just about one minute more, Katie 
would have been crying, too ; but before she 
really had time to begin, Frank, their 
brother, came running in with a letter. 
“ Oh, Frank,” cried both the girls at 
once ; “ the letter is from mother—I know 
“Aunt Mary won’t think it’s a bit pleas¬ 
ant. without mother, will she?” said Fanny. 
“ Oh dear, what shall wc do?” 
“Mother says we must do the best we 
can, and try to make Aunt Mary comforta¬ 
ble," said Katie; so now let’s go right to 
work and put the house in order, nml I’ll 
ack Jane to make some biscuit; then I 
shall make some cake myself. You know 
mother said I might try, some time. I read 
a recipe in the Rural, and I mean to make 
u just like that.” 
The girls were very busy. They forgot 
all about the storm, and never thought of 
stopping for a minute to cry. 
Fanny said she could arrange the parlor 
all alone herself; she should brush the dust 
aAvay, and then she should bring her moss 
cottage to put on the bracket, and her Bes¬ 
sie Books, and everything she could think 
of to make the room pretty. It was so nice 
to think Aunt Mary was coming. 
And Katie looked in the Rural New- 
Yorker again at the recipe. Then she put 
on her mother’s large gingham apron, rolled 
up her sleeves and went to work. She 
could not remember, at first, whether her 
mother took the flour or the sugar to stir 
with the butler; but Jane told her it was 
the sugar nnd the butter that went together, 
and then the yolks of the eggs, and next the 
THE CHILDREN ENTERTAINING AUNT MARY. 
the writing." It was directed to Katie, be¬ 
cause she was the oldest, but was written in¬ 
side to all three. Mrs. Belden tolcl the 
children that she had heard that Aunt 
Mary was coining to visit them — that she 
would he there by four o'clock that day; she 
was very sorry, she said, that she should 
not be able to return herself, but she was 
sure her little girls would take her place and 
make their dear aunt comfortable. 
whites, and the flour after it was sifted, little 
by little; and then, if there was fruit to put 
in, raisins or currants, a little of the flour 
must be taken to mix with the fruit, to pre¬ 
vent it settling at the bottom. 
Katie was very much afraid the cake 
would not be nice; but she did just as Jane 
said, and Jane made the oven just the right 
heat and when the cake was baked it was 
just as nice as could be. Jane told Katie 
fM 
that if her mother had made it she did not 
think it could have been any better. 
At four o’clock Aunt Mary came. “Oh, 
my dear girls,” she said, “so you are tho 
housekeepers, and how sweet uud pleasant 
your rooms look 1” 
Tho fire was burning brightly, and a large 
chair was drawn up, all ready for Aunt Mary 
to sit down, and it was no wonder Bhe ex¬ 
claimed as she went in. 
The girls brought some hot tea, for their 
aunt was cold and tired, after her journey. 
In the picture you see how pretty they wait 
upon her. Frank sits by the flic, and alto¬ 
gether they are having n very happy time. 
Fanny said it was the nicest day she had 
ever had in her life, although that morning 
she was crying because it was so lonesome 
and stormy. 
-- 
LITTLE THIN GS—GR EAT RESULTS. 
TnE great philosopher, Newton, saw a 
child playing with soap bubbles, which led 
him to his most important discoveries in op¬ 
tical instruments. 
Stephen Montgolfier saw a shirt waving, 
when hung before the fire, from which he 
first conceived the idea of a balloon. 
When Gallileo was in the Metropolitan 
temple of Peria, he observed the. oscillations 
of a lamp, and this was the first conception 
of a correct method of measuring time. 
The introduction of the telescope jsdueto 
a little boy playing with spectacle glasses. 
The art of printing was suggested by a 
man cutting the letters of his name on the 
bark of a tree and impressing them on paper. 
On account of which we have hooks printed 
on good legible type on almost any and 
every subject sought by the human mind. 
Little drops of wat er, little groins of sand, 
Make mlglity oceans and tho beauteous land. 
Ages are made up of moments, fountains 
of drops, and human character of little 
words and actions. 
-- 
FROM RURAL GIRLS AND BOYS. 
A Young Poultry Keeper. 
Dear Editor :—I have read your paper a 
long time—ever since I can remember. I 
live in the country, on a farm; am a boy 
thirteen years old, and I read every letter in 
the hoys’ nnd girls’ column. I have wanted 
to write to you before this, but didn’t dare to 
venture. But now, as you have asked the 
boys to write, 1 will try this once. I would 
like to ask you about n great many things. 
I have good luck fishing for black bass, troll¬ 
ing with a leathered spoon-hook; but as the 
fish are getting their full share of attention, 1 
will write about something else. I have what 
they call a nice flock of liens. I am not 
suited with them; they are White and Black 
Spanish; and some of them are mixed with 
the Dorkings and common fowls. They are 
good layers, look very handsome, and the 
roosters have nice combs; but they are apt 
to get frozen in the winter, and Unit spoils 
all their beauty. I want to get some pure 
blood fowls in their place. Now, what kind 
do you think would be best for me to get? 
I think the Light, Brahmas noticed in a 
late number of the Rural New-Yorker 
would do very well, as I have to keep them 
shut up in the park every day in the summer 
till after four o’clock. The park is thirty- 
six by forty-eight feet square, and is made 
of posts set eight feet apart and six feet high, 
and boards for stringers; the bottom hoard 
is a foot wide; the upper stringer is a six 
inch board, nailed four leet above the lower 
board; lath is nailed on, with one inch and 
a-half space between each lath, and over 
this are strung five strands of wire, one above 
the other, about three inches apart. Ad¬ 
joining the park is the hen house; this is 
twelve by twenty-four feet, one story high. 
The roost is made of poles placed six feet 
above the ground, and nailed tight, so they 
will not bo rolling about. A walking board 
reaches from the ground to the roost, with 
slats nailed on every five inches. The nests 
are placed two and three feet from the 
ground ; they are made out of a long box, 
partitioned off so that they arc one foot 
square; the bottom board projects six inches 
in front for tho hens to walk on in going to 
their nests. Mr. Editor, I will stop right 
here; my letter is getting too long.— Ar¬ 
thur IIusted, Kent Co., Mich. 
Anna Speaks a “Karat” Piece. 
Dear Rural: —I am a little girl, eight 
years old, and wanted to write you a letter. 
I have never written a letter to the paper be¬ 
fore, and cannot write very good. 
I want to tell you about our school exhi¬ 
bition. Most all the little girls, like myself, 
spoke a piece which was found in the Rural. 
They were all very pretty. Mine was called 
the " Christmas Ride." It was in the Rural 
of last Christmas. The story of the ride was 
very long, but I knew it all. 
I wish Ml*. Rural, and all his little read¬ 
ers, a Merry Christmas and a Happy New 
Year.—A nna De F. 
- +-+-+- - 
Children, if you expect success In any 
undertaking, enter into it with an earnest 
will to do your best. When your trade or 
profession is chosen, obstacles, large or small, 
must not be allowed to stand in your way. 
