* t 
“BUT ONE MOTHER.” 
BY MAY MAPLE. 
“Oh, mamma! — do something to make 
vou well again, for God can give us but one 
mother. ’ 
These words were uttered by a little girl 
scarcely ten years of age. The mother had 
iiot been well for several weeks, yet she con¬ 
tinued to do the work for a huge family wit li¬ 
mit other help than this same little girl. 
y oW s bc had been suddenly attacked with a 
distressing pain through her lungs. Vf.vie 
„ ;l3 a thoughtful child, and a vision of moth¬ 
erless brothers and sisters, with herself wcep- 
in,r over a loved parent’s grave, flitted 
through her young mind. 
If mothers would but think of this, “ God 
can give my children but one mother,” when 
they”are toiling so hard, so much beyond 
their strength, to gain a few paltry dollars 
for their offspring,—to spend perhaps in a 
manner that may do them more harm than 
good-—would they not spare themselves some 
n f the weariness arising from what they 
deem household duties? Some anxious one 
will say, “ My work must he done; my chil¬ 
dren must have their food prepared, and 
their clothes made; then there are a thou¬ 
sand ami one things that must he attended 
to, or he wasted. My husband is working 
hard to supply us with comforts, ami I must 
do wlmt I can while 1 can raise a hand or 
put a foot forward.” 
Now, fond mother, just “ pause and con¬ 
sider.” Will your overwork really lie any 
help to your husband? Which will save 
him the most anxiety and the most money, 
f„r you to have a hired girl now, while you 
are feeling so worn out with toil and cure,— 
aud then in a few weeks, with your work all 
up in order, commence again with strength 
and vigor, fully able to proceed with the la¬ 
bors of home, with smiling laces and happy 
hearts to keep you company,—or to drag on 
day after day, for weeks and even months, 
wearing yourself out, tortured by weariness 
ami pain, struggling for strength that will not 
come, till some morning you find yourself 
unable to rise from your bed ? The husband 
you desired to assist so much must now work 
in the house and out of doors; his very awk¬ 
wardness worries you; and instead of feeling 
better in a few hours, as you hoped, days 
pass, and you are constantly growing worse. 
After a vain endeavor to he cured with roots 
and herb* that, were carefully slowed away 
in the garret, a physician is called, prescrip 
tions left that you feel will he all the harder 
to take because they are bought with a price. 
The “hired girl” must come into your 
house at last — for husband cannot take 
proper Cure of yourself and little ones, see 
to all the odds and ends of the household, 
and attend to his own work besides. The 
girl would possibly do nicely if there was 
some one to lie with her a part of the time; 
as it is, she is thoughtlessly careless, and 
therefore wasteful. Her wages, which you 
feel so much, are lmt a small part of the 
cost. The physician comes daily, and by 
way of encouragement, tolls you Unit you 
will lie better soon; hut time passes, and 
you are still confined to your bed, and are 
likely to remain so for a long time to come. 
The husbltnd who was all tenderness when 
you first failed to make your appearance in 
your accustomed place, grows weary of 
looking upon your pale face, and listening 
to the oft-told story of the “ distressing 
pain,” and of beholding the house In confu¬ 
sion, the children in soiled and ragged gar¬ 
ments and dirt-begrimed faces. The ac¬ 
cumulating expenses worry him, and he sits 
tor hours by himself thinking over his 
troubles, very possibly attaching no little 
blame to you, who tried so hard to please 
him, because you would have no help till 
you were “ clear down.” 
“It’sno use thinking;” and he takes up 
his hat, steps to your room a moment to say 
he Ugoing down street on some business; 
ami, unless he is a man of the strongest 
moral principles, ten chances to one that he 
'loes not find his way to the bar room. Ah 1 
ho\v is it possible to count the cost, even in 
pecuniary point of view, to say nothing 
ot the moral and religious training of those 
luil ":s that are looking almost entirely to 
'he wife and mother for thorough culture, 
hseasc is fastened upon you; death will 
‘m claim you for his own; your husband 
‘ 1 ni °uni for you a short time, and then 
another wife to his heart and home, to 
wre for your children. Think you she will 
ieel a mother’s love for the offspring of nn- 
1 Hint would be scarcely possible, 
Jl 113 ^evie says, “ Do something for 
j n °w." If you arc worn out, have 
,,nlU y°*» «»•« rested and renewed your 
hllt en .S ’’—for God call givu your children 
hut one mother. 
Manistee Co., Mich., 1871 . 
T r ’ '-■*“*-*--- 
HE fashionable colors used for trimming 
f UUets season are black and yellow; 
ound hats, pink and light gray combined. 
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BY HANK READ. 
I\u sittinK in the west room, watching the sun go 
down; 
For I felt so down and lonesome-like I couldn’t stay 
in town; 
So I'm back to the old house, Mary, and it seems so 
strange and queer, . 
For it brings back till the pleasant times we’ve had 
together here. 
And here I’ve been u-thinking of the years wo tried 
to make 
Each other’s burdens lighter, and the comfort that 
we’d take 
In sharing all our troubles in all the years that’s 
gone; 
But all those years seem shorter than the one I’ve 
been alone. 
I've been all through the old house, but it didn’t 
seem like home. 
And 1 kinder fretted at myself and wished I hadn't 
come! 
But I kriow'twns something from above that put it 
in my mind. 
And 1 couldn’t keep from coming if I’d been so in¬ 
clined. 
I've been all round the garden, and it’s “ rack and 
ruin ” there, 
And I ace that all the flowers need a woman’s tender 
care; 
The fruit is ripe and lays, just where it falls, upon 
the ground; 
And everything is running wild, even the little 
mound 
In the corner of the garden, where our little WILLIE 
lays. 
Is all o’ergr.iwn with brambles; it wasn’t so in days 
When we usihI to go together to see the roses twine 
Their little stems across the mound that covers yours 
and mine. 
And I took the good book off the stand, and brushed 
the dust away, 
And I found a little comfort there, thoflrst for many 
a day; 
So I’m going to ask you, MARY, to forgive me, if you 
will, 
And come home to theold house, and we'll love each 
other still. 
For I think it's wrong and wicked for us two to live 
apart 
After all the years together passed, so happy from 
the start! 
But wo were both so proud, you know, and thought 
it best to live 
Apart; and never thought to ask each oilier to for¬ 
give ! 
But I'm willing now, and glad, Mary, to ask you to 
forget 
The hard words said between us; you know I never 
yet 
Meant half X said in anger! I’ll forgive your fail¬ 
ings, too; 
For we’re older now, und wiser, and that will help us 
thro'. 
It won't be long before we leave the old house, here, 
for good. 
And 1 couldn’t feel my duty done If this little matter 
stood 
Between us then as now, Mary ; so let's forgive the 
past. 
And, as tills trouble was the first, we’ll let it be the 
lust. 
THE GIRLS DEPENDED. 
At last I have come to the conclusion 
that it is my duty to write a few words in 
defense of the girls, its Miss Minnie Tyson 
expressed a hope that they (the men) would. 
The extravagance of young ladies is not 
looked at. as much, as Minnie suspects. 1 
justly hold that if any young lady will dress 
according to her means and not above them 
—will use her intelligence and good sense— 
and not show her vanity when she is in the 
company of men by slighting them and turn¬ 
ing her nose up at them, site never will be 
talked of us being extravagant. 
Minnie speaks of asking sisters about it. 
First, let me tell her that I have no sisters, 
that there are five young men in our family, 
and that it takes a great deal more to dress 
us than it would as ninny girls. But it 
doesn’t come out of “dad’s” pocket, We 
labor hard in the field for it. 
Never accuse me of charging you with 
idleness, dear Miss M , for how could I do it 
when I have a dear mother who cooks all 
the time mostly ! 1 also hold that hut for 
the society of woman, man would he nothing, 
comparatively. TIow could he uphold u 
character, sustain a virtue and abstain from 
evil, if lie did not look forward to the time 
when he could call some pure, untarnished 
girl his own? lie would, never do it— 
never, never. 
In conclusion, I will tell Miss M. that I 
am a hoy in my teens, too, and I would like 
to hear from her again. Willie Fair. 
Olive Branch, Miss. 
-*-♦-*- 
“NO SECRET, DOCTOR.” 
“ I noticf.d,” said Benjamin Franklin, 
“ a mechanic, among u number of others, at 
work on a house erecting but a little way 
from my office, who always appeared to he 
in a merry humor—who had a kind and 
cheerful smile for every one he met Let 
the day he ever so cold, gloomy, or sun¬ 
less, a happy smile danced like a sun¬ 
beam on his cheerful countenance. Meet¬ 
ing him one morning, I asked him to 
tell me the secret of his constant hap¬ 
py flow of spirits. ‘ No secret, doctor,’ he 
replied. * 1 have got one of the best of wives, 
and when I go to work she has always a kind 
word of encouragement for me; and when 
I go home she always meets me with a smile 
and a kiss ; and then tea is sure to he ready ; 
and she has done so many little things to 
please me, that 1 cannot find it in my heart 
to speak au unkind word to anybody.’” 
What, influence, then, lias women over the 
heart of man to soften it, and make it. the, 
foundation of cheerful and pure emotions! 
Speak gently, then ; a kind greeting, after 
the toils of the day are over, costs nothing, 
and goes far towards making home happy 
and peaceful. Young wives and girls, can¬ 
didates for wives, should keep tins in mind ; 
as to older wives, experience may have al¬ 
ready taught them this important lesson. 
And what we say to wives, wc say also to 
husbands,—a loving word and kiss go very 
far with a woman.— N. Y. Observer. 
A BIT OF POETIOAL PROSE. 
Teli, us not in idle jingle “ marriage is 
an empty dream;” for the girl is dead that’s 
single, aud things are not what they seem. 
Life Is real, life is earnest, single blessedness 
a fib; “Man tltou art, to man returneth,” 
has been spoken of the rib. Not enjoyment 
and not sorrow is our destined cud or way, 
but to act that each to-morrow finds us 
nearer marriage day. Life is long and youth 
is fleeting, and our hearts, though light and 
gay, still like pleasant drums are heating 
wedding-marches all the day. In the world’s 
broad fields of battle, in the bivouac of life, 
be not like dumb driven cattle—be a hero¬ 
ine— a wife ! Trust no future, however 
pleasant; let the dead past bury its dead; 
act—act in the living present, heart within 
and hope ahead. Lives of married folks re¬ 
mind us we call live our lives as well, and, 
departing, leave behind us such examples as 
shall “tell”—such examples that another, 
wasting lime in idle sport, a forlorn, unmar¬ 
ried brotl'er seeing, shall take heart and 
Court. Let us, then, be up and doing, with 
a heart on triumph set; still contriving, still 
pursuing, and each one a husband get. 
--- 
Gardening for Ladies Make your 
“beds” early in the morning; sew buttons 
on your husband’s shirts; do not ralcc up . 
any grievances; protect the young and ten¬ 
der branches of your family; plant a smile 
of good temper in your face, and root out 
all angry feelings—aud expect a good crop 
of happiness. 
u '-V 1 ^ 
or Doting D copit. 
> ^ ^ <%) r 
“ I CAN’T.” 
’ [Dear Old Rural:—As the Rural Family are 
sending in recipes for almost everything, I thought 
I would send one for the cure of that troublesome 
disease, "I Can't.’' It. Is a disease that affects chil¬ 
dren as well us urowu people, and is very bad when It 
becomes chronic :j 
What a wondrous sight of mischief 
“ 1 Can’t 1 hns always dnno— 
For thorn arc roqie, It seems to vex, 
From morn to sot of sun. 
“ I can’t do that—I haven't tried— 
But then I can’t, I’m sure”— 
To those nfilleted thus I think 
I cun prescribe a cure. 
One ounce.of patience; mix it, well 
With half an ounce " I’ll try,” 
And when ” 1 Ctui't ” affects the mind. 
This remedy apply. 
Tills Is mi old mid standing euro, 
Received long since from mother, 
And warranted, beyond a doubl. 
This dread disease to smother. 
Carrie Alton. 
LETTERS PROM GIRLS AND BOYS. 
Alonticclln Mow to Ilalte n Needle Kook. 
Dear Editor of the Rural:—I have 
been very much interested in the girls’ let¬ 
ters to the Rural New-Yorker, and re¬ 
solved to write one myself, l don’t know 
much about writing letters for a paper, as 
this is my first, attempt. 1 am ten years old, 
and live near Charlolloville, Virginia, next 
to Monticello, the house of ex-Fresident 
Jefferson. I think l can tell the Western 
hoys a little about his hmue. 
As you enter the house there is a large 
hall; directly over the door there is a clock 
that tells the time and days of I lie week, 
and an ingenious ladder to ascend to wind 
the clock, made by Jefferson liimseif. 
Four men are necessary to perform the ope¬ 
ration. Then you enter the dining room. 
By the fireplace is a dumb waiter on each 
side, to draw up wine bottles from the base¬ 
ment, On one side of this room is an apart¬ 
ment similar to a, bay-window, with a niche 
where formerly the statue of Voltaire 
stood, hut it was taken away during the 
war. Next comes the parlor, with waxed 
floor. On One side are floors into the hull; 
if you open one the other will open itself. 
On eacli side of the door arc two largo mir¬ 
rors standing nearly to the floor. In a nar¬ 
row passage off from the hall you ascend 
the winding stairs, which are about one foot 
and a-liull wide. There are about t wenty 
sleeping rooms, with bedsteads In the wall. 
Then the dancing room, which is round, 
with circular windows. There are stairs to 
go on the roof. 
Now l guess l have said all I can about, 
Jefferson’s home, but I am going to tell 
the little girls how to make a pretty gift, for 
their friends—ftil “ Easy Needle Book.” The 
materials for this are one yard of narrow 
ribbon, any color you fancy, (T like green 
the best,) a little piece of flannel, and a pack¬ 
age of those cards you buy at bookstores, 
with bright,-colored flowers or autumn leaves 
on them. Choose two cards for the covers, 
and button lmling the flannel so us to form 
a terrace. After you have made three, then 
hind them with the ribbon, put your flannel 
between the two cards, bore two holes with 
a darning needle, (one at each end,) slip a 
piece of ribbon through the holes and tie iu 
a pretty how, and your hook is finished.— 
Jennie, CharMtesmUe, Va. 
How .leiiuie makes Sponge Cake. 
Dear Mr. Editor :—I have been reading 
some of the letters from boys and girls, and 
I thought 1 would try and write one, too. I 
like to read the letters from girls; I think it 
easier to read them than to write one. Wo 
think a great deal of your paper, and would 
be disappointed if it did not come every 
week. My father is a farmer, aild lives on 
the west side of the Susquehanna River. 
He thinks your paper a very useful one in 
liis business. 1 am nine years old, and am 
just beginning to learn to bake. I have a 
sponge cake recipe which 1 think is very 
nice. One cup of sugar, three eggs, three 
tablespoons of sour cream, piece of butter 
size of a butternut, one cup of flour, one tea- 
spoou soda, one-half teaspoon of salt.— Jen¬ 
nie II. _ 
A Colorado Girl’s Hanging Musket. 
Mr. Editor;—I read the Rural New- 
Youkek, and I think it. is a splendid paper. 
I have never written for a paper before, but 
seeing yon have given us girls un invitation 
to write short letters, I Just thought I might 
tell the boys and girls that read the Rural 
how I made a hanging basket. I took a 
small, white howl and twisted broom wire 
around it and hung it in the window; then 
I filled it with water and put a little cotton 
in it; then 1 took just a little piece of horse 
radish and put in it,—and it makes a real 
pretty little basket for tbe window. There 
is another way, to scrape out the inside of a 
turnip and fill it with water, and green leaves 
will grow out on the turnip or a carrot. 
Well, I hope the young readers of the Rural 
will try my hanging basket, (if they have not J 
already), for it looks very nicely with its 
broad, green leaves banging over the edge of 
the basket. 
I live among the Rocky Mountains, aud 
try all kinds of Huh’ things to make my log 
cabin home pleasant. I have one sister, ancl 
we make a great many pine cone picture 
frames that look very nice in our home. I 
have a very nice little spotted pony that I 
ride over the mountains and enjoy myself 
very much. I know I can’t write as well ns 
some of the boys and girls that write for your 
paper, but. I shall he pleased if you think this 
good enough to print.—K. A . P., Denver, Col. 
A (laueliiic KiimLi-i lor Vines. 
Mr. Editor: —I see the girls’ letters tell 
bow to do so many nice things, that I 
thought, perhaps some one would answer 
mv questions. How can I press roses so 
they will not fade? aud the best way to 
cryslalize grasses? 
1 know of quite a pretty way of making a 
bunging basket for vines, and will give it 
for the benefit of those who may like it. 
Take a goose egg and break the end out 
about as large as a silver dollar, to put the 
plant in. Then take yarn (any color you 
wish, some take red) and crochet a kind of 
nut. to keep the shell in, but do not make the 
net as high us the shell, ns it, will draw upon 
the dirt. Muko it string of the yarn each 
side of the net to hang it up by aud it will 
be complete. Make as many as you want, 
und bang them in the window ; some make 
three, and put them in the three panes of 
glass. 
1 would like the pattern of the cross very 
much, if Florence would send it to the 
Rural.—Jennie, Salem. 
How Nettie iUukeH Snow-Hall Custard. 
Dear Editor: — I like the girls’ column 
in your paper very much, so 1 will send you 
a recipe for Snow-Ball Custard:—One quart 
sweet milk ; set it over a kettle of boiling- 
water; six eggs; heat the whites to a froth, 
and when the milk boils put them in; let 
them he for a few minutes, then take them 
out and put in the yolks mixed with a few 
spoonfuls of cold milk; then add three 
spoonfuls of white sugar; flavor with cin¬ 
namon ; eat cold.— Nettie, Grassy Cove , 
Cunib. Co., Taut. 
A Younar Poultry Breeder. 
Dear Editor:—I am a little hoy, twelve 
years of age, and a subscriber to the Rural 
New-Yorker. I am engaged iu poultry 
raising. I have a hen coop and yard in 
which I keep the liens and chickens the 
most of the time, iu order to prevent, their 
doing harm by scratching. I want very 
much to raise a few turkeys; can you or 
any of your readers tell me which is the 
heat kind to keep shut up in yards, the 
White or Black ?— r f, M. C,, Eddytovm. 
We should advise our young friend, by 
all means, to try the Black, or Bronze, tur¬ 
keys, They are much more hardy than the 
While, awl are less liable to disease. Blit 
great care is required to rear turkeys suc¬ 
cessfully.—[E ds. 
Letter from u lloy Poultry Fancier. 
Dear Sir: — My father subscribed for 
your valuable paper, the Rural New- 
Yorker, a while ago, * * * Our house 
Is very old, but papa is going to have a French 
roof put on it this summer. The barn is a 
new and splendid one; there is a pigeon 
house in one end, in which the man that 
used Uj live here kept over a hundred and 
fifty pigeons. 1 have sold off all but about a 
dozen, from which lam going to breed some 
that u ill he pure bred feather legs, white,and 
I think they are tumblers by the way they 
pouch themselves. 1 intend to sell them 
through your paper. L am also breeding 
Bantams.— Edward D., Rahway, N. J. 
-♦♦♦---—- 
LITTLE PEOPLE’S WIT. 
A five-year-old city boy informed his 
mother that this is the way to make butter: 
“ You just take a long stick with a cross at 
tbe end of it; then you get a big tub ;'und 
thou you borrow a cow.” 
A little boy and girl had been cautioned 
never to take tbe nest egg when gathering 
the eggs; but one evening the girl reached 
the nest first, seized an egg, and started far 
the house. Her disappointed brother fol¬ 
lowed, crying: “Mother! Mother! Susy 
site’s been and got the egg the old hen 
measures by!” 
A little four-year-old remarked to her 
mamma on going to bed, “ I am not. afraid 
of the dark ” “’No, of course you are not,” 
replied her mamma, “ for it can't hurt you.” 
“But, mamma, 1 was a little afraid once 
when 1 went into the pantry to get a cookie.” 
“ What were you afraid of?” asked Iter 
mamma. “ l was afraid I couldn’t find the 
cookie." 
“ Papa,” said a bright-eyed little girl one 
day “ I believe mamma loves you better’ll 
site does me.” Papa held doubts on that 
subject, but concluded that it was not best 
to deny the soft impeachment. She medi¬ 
tated thoroughly about it for some time, evi¬ 
dently construing her father’s silence ns un¬ 
favorable to her side. “ Well,” said site at 
last, “ 1 s’pose It’s all right; you’re the big¬ 
gest, and it takes more to love you.” 
