HOW COULD I BUT BE TRUE! 
BY GRACE GLENN. 
I had meant to say. If lie came that way’— 
Oh, a host of careless things! 
But his eyes were bright, and his steps were light, 
And my words hnO taken wings. 
With the hushful hour, and t he closing flower. 
And the grass blades wet with dew, 
And the clear moon high In the starry sky, 
How could 1 he else but true ? 
And hi9 speech was low, and so calm and slow, 
And with such a conquering tone. 
That I could but know. In the moonbeam’s glow. 
That my secret was all his own. 
’Twns the BtoTy old that his voice had told— 
But 1 sought Ills eyes of blue.— 
As I looked them through, If he read mine too, 
Why shouldn’t hiy lips speak true? 
I had meant to hide, with a maiden’s pride. 
All my blushos from Ills view ; 
What l knew he rend from my bended head. 
Could 1 say that he read untrue? 
So. my gentle friend, let your chiding end,— 
For the time may come to you 
That you've only power, In the fleeting hour. 
Is just to tell somebody true, 
Saginaw City, Mich., 1871. 
A FEW WORDS ON MARRIAGE 
BY OI.TVK HENRI. 
My dear girl, with eyes so full of a glad, 
sunny light,—with the happy smile on your 
fair, youthful face—I want you to listen to 
me for one moment; I have sonieiliing to 
say to you. So recall your thoughts from 
the land of day dreams, and lay aside your 
hemming, and tucking, and patchwork, and 
give me your attention. You can afford to 
cease your stitching for a short time, if it U 
so near to the day of your wedding, when 
what I have to say to you is about that 
event in your life so full of Importance— 
that event upon which, the future of two 
beings depends. 
Of course you love the man with whom 
you. ore so soon to stand before the altar—I 
will not question that,—but is it a full, deep, 
reasoning love ? Is ilie love that is given 
in return, a love that has its well-spring in 
a true and thorough appreciation of your¬ 
self? Harry may he all devotion now; ho 
may seem to see in you little less than that 
which la angelic. But you know that you 
are not an angel, only an ordinary young 
lady, and sooner or later he will discover 
that yotl have lost your wings—that, in fact, 
you Itever Imd any; and you—you have in¬ 
vested him with every chivalrous attribute, 
and your fond fancy lias woven eliarms and 
thrown them about his mind and person 
that belong no more to him than wings do 
to you. And what are you to do when all 
these romantic, hallucinations melt away in 
the realities which a few months or years of 
married life bring ?— when you have learned 
to know each other only ns you can, after 
you have each become a part of the other? 
Doubtless you each have an honest desire 
to make the other happy, and to he happy 
yourselves; but thousands before you have 
had the same intentions, and have failed in 
their endeavors,—so there are chances that 
yon, too, may miss your happiness. I do 
not want to till your mind with forebodings, 
to give the future a tinge of gloom, to make 
you distrust yourself; but I do want toques- 
tion you, that you may know yourself wheth¬ 
er or not you have thought earnestly of the 
step you are about to take,—if you under¬ 
stand one-lialf of the weight of responsibility 
you are about to assume, and have any con¬ 
fidence in yotir own strength to meet and 
perform well and efficiently the duties you 
will find awaiting you in the path of the 
years which lie before you. Unless your af¬ 
fection for the man you are about to marry 
transcends every other affection—unless deep 
down in your heart you feel that his is the 
hand of all others in which you are to place 
your own, to rest there evermore,—you are 
committing an act for which, some time, you 
will weep. Unless you feel that iu his being 
are elements which call forth your soul’s 
sweetest music, that in his nature are chorda 
to which respond all that is harmonious and 
best in years, do not unite your life with his. 
If you do, feeling that between you there is 
nothing common, nothing iu sympathy, can 
you reasonably expect lo be happy ? 
Haruy may be wholly unlike you, and 
possess traits of character which would not 
make you happy as his companion, and yet 
someoMer woman might find lier joy there¬ 
in. And so it may be with you. Have you 
never been with people who seemed to call 
out every discordant element in your na¬ 
ture? and with others at whose touch all 
that is lovely and harmonious awake ? Un¬ 
less you feel that you can sympathize with 
the man whose wife you are to become, that 
you can help him to a development of all 
that is best and noblest in him, and that your 
own powers will brighten and expand under 
his touch; you are falling far short of se¬ 
curing your highest good and happiness— 
falling fur short of making the matrimonial 
state wliat God designed it to be. 
Oli, my dear girl, I want you to find much 
of sunshine and brightness in the years that 
lie before you; but unless you fully appre¬ 
ciate the man with whom your future years 
are to be spent,and he fully appreciates and 
understands you, you will find many rough 
and rugged places, aud gloomy clouds where 
sunshine might have been. I have seen 
men and women who have lived together 
fora decade of years, longer perhaps, who 
have not as just an appreciation of each 
other as the person may have who has speut 
one day in their society. It is a sad thing, 
yet nevertheless it is true. They married, 
perhaps, without reason or judgment, and 
so have missed their happiness. 
They may love each other well, as well as 
it is possible for persons to love whose men¬ 
tal organizations are wholly unlike, but that 
love was not by any means sufficient to se¬ 
cure life from sorrow and grief arising from 
association with each other. I think I know 
a young girl’s heart. It. is so easy to forget 
caution—so easy to let leve overmaster pru¬ 
dence and judgment—so easy to omit to 
look beneath the surface when the heart is 
held in bondage—when youth and joy and 
gladness are smiling upon you. Would that 
one half of the romance and poetry that lend 
their charm to courtship were carried be¬ 
yond the altar 1 
Perhaps Harry will come to-night, and 
whileseated byJiis side you will think it the 
most impossible tliiug in the whole world 
for his eyes ever to look inlo your own with 
a less worshipping tenderness, or his voice 
ever to greet you with less love-thrilled ac¬ 
cents, or your own heart to throb with less 
joy at the content you feel in his presence; 
and Heaven grant that you be not deceived. 
But do not forget what 1 have said to you. 
lie sure that you begin your married life 
with a clear conception of what it is to be, 
and that no mistake or error stands at the 
threshold of what may be your earthly para¬ 
dise, to bring you sorrow or the over-bur¬ 
dening consciousness that you have missed 
life’s dearest sweets by the recklessness of 
your own band. 
-- 
THE OLD-FA SHION ED MOTHER. 
Thank God! some of us have an old- 
fashioned mother. Not a woman of the pe¬ 
riod, enameled and painted, with her great 
chignon, her curls and hustle; whosewlilte, 
jeweled hands never have felt the clasp of 
baby lingers; but a dear, old fashioned sweel- 
voieod mother, with eyes iu whose clear 
depths the love light shone, and brown hair, 
threaded with silver, lying smooth upon her 
faded cheek.' Those dear hands worn with 
toil, gently guided our tottering steps in 
childhood, and smoothed our pillows in sick¬ 
ness; even reaching out to us in yearning 
tenderness, when her sweet spirit was bap¬ 
tized in the pearly spray of the river. Bless¬ 
ed is the memory of an old-fashioned moth¬ 
er. It floats to us now, like I he beautiful 
perfume of some woodland blossoms. The 
music of other voices may be lost, but the 
entrancing memory of lier’a will echo in our 
souls forever. Ollier faces will fade away 
and he forgotten, but lier’s will shine on un¬ 
til the light from heaven's portals shall glo¬ 
rify our own. 
When in the fitful pauses of busy life our 
feet wander back to the old homestead, and, 
crossing the well-worn threshold, stand 
«»nce more in the low, quaint room, so hal¬ 
lowed by her presence, how the feeling of 
childish innocence and dependence comes 
over us, and we kneel down in the molten 
sunshine streaming through the western 
window—just where, long years ago, we 
knelt by our mother’s knee, lisping “ Our 
Father.” How many times when the tempt¬ 
er lured us on has the memory of those sa¬ 
cred hours, that mother’s words, her failli 
and prayers, saved us from plunging into the 
deep abyss of sin I Years have filled great, 
drifts between her and us, but they have not 
hidden from our sight the glory of her pure, 
unselfish love. 
-♦ ♦ » 
LOVE SEEKS AN OBJECT. 
Regarded as a sentiment, love is possi¬ 
ble in respect to principles; hut, regarded 
as a passion, it is possible only touching a 
person, No one dies for abstract truth. 
Idealize it, connect it with something tangi¬ 
ble, and man will die for it,—not before. 
Even then bis self-sacrifice is impelled by 
regard, necessity, or the force of collateral 
circumstances. A patriot does not lay down 
his life for liberty iu the front rank of bat¬ 
tle with the same feeling which fills the bo¬ 
som of a frontiersman when lie dies light¬ 
ing at the door of his log cabin in au heroic 
attempt to defend his wife and children 
from the murderous savages. We admire 
beauty; we reverence virtue; we praise 
modesty as elements of character; but never 
until these are embodied, until the eyes be¬ 
hold them clothed in physical form, never 
until the woman who, we believe, represents 
these qualities, stands before us, do we love 
them. The qualities we admire ; the woman 
we love. Here, at this point, you see how 
love educates one in worthy directions. The 
man loves the woman, the woman the man, 
and each the qualities that the other repre¬ 
sents. Each educates the other into a finer 
appreciation, a truer regard, a higher emu¬ 
lation, of the virtues each embodies; and 
thus, as Tennyson sings, 
“ They grew together. 
Dwarfed or Godlike, bond or free.” 
\Bev. W. II. Mu, nay. 
fox V 
p 
CO 
Doting Jlcople. 
LITTLE MARY’S DOLL’S HOUSE, 
BY LAURA SOUTHGATE. 
Little Mary’s aunt brought her a beau¬ 
tiful doll’s house for a present. It had a 
window for the doll to look out, and in the 
other side were some dishes, and Mary 
played it was a kitchen. Then there was a 
little table, which you see in the picture. 
we must always be on our guard, and hold 
our passions in control Suppose now, in 
your anger, you had struck Will .Tones a 
severe blow with the nearest stone you 
could find, which if it had not‘broken his 
head,’ might have inflicted some severe in¬ 
jury upon him which would have clung to 
him through life,do you think that the days 
that are to come would seem very bright to 
you when you thought of the miserable 
ones that another was passing through, and 
knew you had caused them ?” 
“No, mamma; I know they would not, 
and I will try and be careful of my temper; 
00RRE0T SPEAKING. 
We would advise all young people to ac¬ 
quire, iu early life, the liahit of correct 
speaking and writing; and to abandon, as 
early as possible, any use of slang words 
and phrases. The longer you live, the more 
difficult the language will lie; and if the 
golden age of youth, the proper season for 
the acquisition of language, be passed in its 
abuse, the unfortunate victim if neglected is, 
very properly, doomed to talk slang for life. 
Money is not necessary to procure tin's edu¬ 
cation. Every man has it. in his power, lie 
has merely to use Ilia language which lie 
reads, instead of the slang which he hears; 
to form his taste from the best of speakers 
and poets in the country; to treasure up 
choice phrases in his memory and habituate 
himself to their use, avoiding at the same 
time that pedantic precision and bombast 
which show the weakness of vain ambition 
rather than the polish of an educated mind. 
LITTLE IV1a£r.Y’S 
The doll’s name was Susan Jane, and she 
had a pretty dress on her, and a beautiful 
bonnet. 
One morning Mary’s mother gave her 
some pieces of bread, and some sugar, iu her 
little sugar bowl, and a cup of milk,—and 
she told Mary she might gel breakfast for 
Susan Jane, up stairs in the doll’s house. 
So Mary took Susan Jane in her arms — 
because you know she never could walk up 
stairs alone—and she carried up the things 
for her breakfast. 
Now, you would have thought that Susan 
Jane would have kept very quiet, and be¬ 
haved liko a good child until the breakfast 
was ready. But she didn’t; she began lo 
cry, because Mary, who was her little 
Mamma, wanted her to sit dow n on the floor, 
white she broke the bread in little pieces 
and stirred in the milk and sugar. 
“ You are a very naughty child,” Mary 
said, “ and now what do you think I shall 
do to you for crying so), 1 shall just put yon 
upon top of the honso^iutify’ou tell me you 
will he a good girl.” I 
So there is Susan Jane up on top of the 
house, and Mary is talking to her. But I 
think she will lie good very soon, and then 
Mary will sit her down by the table, and 
they will take some breakfast together. 
-- 
COALS OF FERE. 
BY DE FORREST P. GUM.MERSON. 
Mrs. McNamkk had just finished arrang¬ 
ing a warm woolen tippet about the neck of 
her youngest born, so that he might go out 
and coast upon his brother Fred’s new sled, 
when the heavy sobbing of some one fell 
upon her ear. They were not of an ordi¬ 
nary nature, either, but came from away 
down in the depths. Sobs such as would 
wring sympathy from any one whose heart 
was not made of adamant. 
Suddenly the door of the sitting-room 
opened and in walked Fred with the rem¬ 
nants of what, one short hour ago, had left 
the gate, clipping along smoothly upon the 
crisp snow after him, in the shape of a bright 
new sled—his father’s Christmas gift. He 
dropped the fragments on the floor, ran to 
his mother’s side, and buried bis head in 
her lap. 
Willie had meanwhile unwound the tip¬ 
pet liis mother had so carefully arranged, 
and advanced to her side also. 
“ What’s the matter, Freddie? Did you 
broke it?” said he. 
“ No—I di—did—didn’t break it,” the sobs 
growing more violent. 
“Well, how did it happen, then?” ques¬ 
tioned his mother. 
“ Wait tm—un—until I g-e-e-t doneclio— 
bolting so, and then I’ll tell you—you—all 
about it.” 
At last the sobs grew shorter, and after a 
desperate effort finally ceased. 
“ Can’t you tell 11 s now, Fred ?” said 
Will; “come, I’m iu au awful hurry to 
know who broke it.” 
“Will Jones! — that’s who broke it. 
And only for his brother I’d a-broke his 
head, too.” 
“ Freddie !—why Freddie!” said Mrs. 
McNamee. “ I did not expect such talk 
from my little hoy. Have yon forgotten 
what, we read about ‘ Coals of Fire,’—how 
that, the best way to revenge an injury was 
to do a kindness to the one that injured you? 
“Yes I know, mamma. I’ve not forgot¬ 
ten. But you just let a great big boy, near¬ 
ly twice as big as you, com© up and smash 
your sled, and see if that is the way you’d 
do?” 
“Perhaps it is not, if I should act under 
the impulse of the moment. But Freddie, 
DOLL’S HOUSE. 
but it was so mean to break my nice, new 
sled, that I felt at the moment as if I could 
have killed him!” 
“ 1 once knew a man, Freddie, whose 
whole life was embittered and made wretch¬ 
ed by one rash net, committed in a moment 
of intense passion. He had been out search¬ 
ing for berries with his little sister, when 
hidden among the bushes they came upon a 
bird’s nest. The color of the eggs was so 
beautiful, that both agreed to resist the temp¬ 
tation to take them home would be impos¬ 
sible. 
So the nest was torn from its place, and 
then ensued a dispute as to which should 
carry it. His sister was determined that she 
should, and, intent upon her purpose, seized 
the nest, and in doing so crushed the eggs 
into fragments. He, in his auger, seized a 
stick from the ground and struck her in the 
face. From that blow she never recovered, 
for, when days of sickness and pain had 
passed, it was found that she was blind. 
Fred and Will both listened intently 
until their mother had finished, and then 
told her that they would never, never strike 
any one, no matter what they did. They 
then went out to their play, and their mother 
resumed her work, with an earnest prayer 
that her dear hoys would always be able to 
keep the resolve they had so earnestly made. 
One morning, some lew weeks after the 
accident had happened to the sled, Fred 
had been out sailing bis boat in the gutters, 
which had become flooded wilL the heavy 
rain of the night previous, when lie met 
“ Prissy Jones”—Priscilla was her name, 
but everybody called her “ Prissy,” for 
short—coming down the street and holding 
her apron to her eyes. Now, Fred had a 
great liking for Prissy, and lie had just the 
faintest idea that she was crying, and he 
could never stand that. So lie walked up to 
her and asked what was the matter. 
“ Oli, the rain done it!" was her answer, 
amid sobs almost as violent as the ones 
Fred had given utterance to upon the occa¬ 
sion of t he broken sled. 
“Done what?” said Fred. 
“Killed all Willie’s little Guinea pigs— 
dround-ded them, and Will says he’s just a 
good mind to go and dround himself too. If 
lie don’t get some more Guinea pigs I’m afraid 
he’ll do it.” 
Now, hero was a chance for Fred and 
his “ Coals of Fire.” He had Guinea pigs, 
most twenty, and lie could just as well spare 
some of them as not—but then Will Jones 
broke his sled ! If it wasn’t for Prissy, he 
wouldn’t do it., and yet if he did it for lim¬ 
it would not be revenging the “ broken 
sled,” and Fred was a little sore about that 
yet. At last lie resolved to ask his mother, 
and she told him that it was the very thing 
for him to do. So he selected two of the 
nicest ones he had, and placing them in a 
basket, set out with them on his way to 
W rLL Jones’. 
He found Will buried iu grief, but when 
Freddie’s errand was known the tears were 
quickly displaced with smiles, and he could 
not thank Fred enough, who did not wait 
any longer than lie could help to listen to 
him. 
A few week.; later, just at evening, an ex¬ 
press wagon drew up in front of Freddie’s 
house, and a man took from among Us 
numerous packages a bright,new sled, which 
was addressed to “Master Freddie Me- 
Namee, from liis friend Will Jones.” It 
was a perfect beauty; and many a good ride 
did Fred have upon it. 
The Guinea pigs at last accounts were 
thriving finely, and Fued thinks that the 
best act of bis life was when he heaped 
“Coals of Fire” upon the head of Will 
Jones, rather than have done him an injury. 
RIDDLE. -No. 2. 
God made Adam out of dust, 
But t.hoiitflit it host lo make me first; 
So I was made boI'ore the man 
To answer God's most holy plan. 
My body be did make complete. 
But without loirs, or arms or feet; 
My ways and actions did control, 
And I was made without a soul. 
A living being I became, 
’Twas Adam who gave mo my name; 
Then from liis presence I withdrew; 
No more of Ad \,\i over knew. 
I did my Mokor's laws obey— 
From them T never went astray ; 
Thousands of miles I run in tear. 
Did seldom on the earth appear. 
But God in me did something see, 
And put a living soul in mo; 
Again id' me my GOD did claim 
And took from me that soul again. 
And when from mo that soul was tied, 
I was tlm same as when first made ; 
And without bands, or feet or soul, 
I travel now from polo to pole. 
I labor bard both day and night 
To fallen men 1 give great bght; 
Thousands of people, young ami old, 
Will by my deitib grout light behold. 
No fear of depth doih I rouble me, 
For happiness is mu for me ; 
To Heaven I shall never go 
Nor to the grave, nor bell below. 
Tho Scriptures I can not believe; 
If right or wrong, I can’t conceive; 
Although my name therein is found, 
They are to me an empty sound. 
Now, my friends, these Hues you read, 
Ami search the Scriptures with all speed, 
And if my nume you don't lind there. 
I'll think it strange, I must declare. 
J. W. B 
t^tV' Answer in two weeks, and we will pub¬ 
lish I lie names of those who send us correct an¬ 
swers during that lime. 
ILLUSTRATED REBUS.-No. 13. 
H 
m 
mm 
C2T Answer in two weeks. We will publish 
the answers received to this Rebus during two 
weeks. 
-©♦!- 
MISCELLANEOUS ENIGMA.—No. 14. 
I am composed of 10 let ters. 
My 1, 9, 8, 4, 7 is a colebrated town in France; 
Or, it is a kind of chair. 
My 2,8,8, 9, HI is an ugly reptile; 
Or, a. mathematical instrument. 
My 5, 9,10, 9 is a sheet- of water; 
Or, it la “ almost nothing.” 
My 5, (5, 8, 8 Is a large beetle; 
Or, a shad y walk. 
My whole is a fabled-flrernan, or a little reptile. 
Answer in two weeks. F. H. W. 
■ » ♦«-- 
THOSE CYLINDRICAL CUPS AGAIN. 
Ts there no reader of Rural New-Yorker 
who can inform mo through its columns bow to 
obtain the altitude of a cylindrical cup of a cer¬ 
tain capaolty when the diameter is given ? Shape, 
that of a frUBtrum of a cone. Example:- Base 
and top diameters of a oup to be six and live 
Inches respectively. What will beits altitude 
to contain one gallon? Mr. Crawford’s rule 
for finding the bight of a perfect cylinder is 
correct; but ho will observe that this example 
is a fruatrum. s * 
Verdi, Wilson Co., Kan. 
-♦-*-*-- 
PUZZLER ANSWERS.-Oct. 14. 
Illustrated Runes No. 12.—To improve the lot 
of woman put a house on it and a man lu the house. 
Miscellaneous Enigma No. 12.— Learning makes 
man tit company for himself. 
Cross-word Enigma No. 8.—Florida. 
Problem No. 11.—We have received the following 
answers : — From S. G. Cauwjn, 4,97056306 feet; 
Ralph Hunt, b.486 plus feet; Wm. M. Richardson, 
6.1943a plus feet. 
