CORE’S JS1J1AL M3 
THE LOVER TRUE. 
[Frederick W. l.om no, who was slain by the 
Apache Indians, near Wlckenburg, Arizona, Nov., 
1871, while serving as a correspondent, of the Tribune 
with Lieut. Wueelkr’s Expedition, wrote the fol¬ 
lowing poem, which was found in his pocket-book 
when he fell. It is the best exposition of true love 
we remember ever to have met with in verse.—E ds. 
Rural.] 
T. 
DO you ask me, starry eyes, 
To describe the lover true i 
Wonder not at my surprise. 
Who should know as well as you ? 
Think of ail that you have seen, 
All the lovers that have been: 
He is true whose love is shown, 
For her sake, and not his own. 
What he docs, he does alone j 
Yet ho hopes it wins her thought. 
All tliut. in his soul has grown, 
To her sovereign feet, is brought; 
To Ills soul her imago clings. 
She seetns woven In all things, 
And each thought that in him stirs, 
Is not for his suite, but for hers. 
For her sake he will endure, 
For her sake will sacrifice ; 
Bravoly bearing, her love sure, 
Censure, slander, scorn, advice. 
If another wins her heart. 
Sadly he will from her part; 
Sadly, bravely, true love is, 
For her sake and not for his. 
This is the true lover sweet,— 
True ns ever I am true ; 
For rny love Is all complete, 
Perfect, since it comes from you. 
Darling, yet ’tis not true—no ! 
For I could not let you go. 
I must keep you where you’ve grown, 
For roy sake, and for your own. 
For your own, because I lovo 
Mora tlmu any other can; 
Move than ever lovo could move 
Heart of any former man. 
Look at mo and then agree. 
None have ever loved like me; 
For whatever 1 may do, 
Is because l live In you. 
Kiss, and so shut speech away, 
When old age our life hits spent. 
'Twill be time enough to say, 
What is lovu in argument. 
For t ho proseDt all stars shine; 
You are here, and you are mine. 
Love makes light, and song, and llowers, 
For whose sake t Dear love, for ours. 
-♦ + ♦ 
MY PICTURES AND FLOWERS. 
BY MINNIE D. BATEHA.U. 
I want to toll you how much pleased wo all 
aro with the engraving “Birth-Day Morning," 
anti to thank you for sending it. Wc think it a 
beautiful thing, so finely executed and t lie char¬ 
acters so natural and life-like. The young lady 
looks pleased and happy as she bends back her 
head to look at the rose on hor bosoni, and the 
kindly old gardener is evidently much gratitiod 
at the success of his gift, holding the knife 
between hi* lips while ho feels for a pin with 
which to fasten the miniature bouquet. Those 
of your young readers who have not seen tne 
picture soon will, 1 hope, and to those who 
have the real thing before them any descrip¬ 
tion would seem unnecessary. 
It is a noble thing which so many of our pub¬ 
lishers are doing, sending out all over tire land 
such beautiful works of art, to brighten and 
make happier thousands of hearts and homes. 
Some of us had a good number of pictures be¬ 
fore, but change is desirable j to those who 
cannot go out, it almost serves the purpose of 
an entire change of scenery. 
I lio on my bod and watch the wondrous “Ni¬ 
agara Kails” pouring its cataract of foaming 
waters into the chasm beneath, and the roll¬ 
ing masses of white vapor ever rising from the 
seething abyss below. Then the scene changes, 
and a broad meadow in “ Springtime ” stretches 
out before me, where a little maiden is busily 
lllling her apron with the precious buttercups 
and daisies. “ Little Towhead ” looks down 
with great pathetic eyes, while she carefully 
guards her childish treasure clasped in her 
arms, and bits of charming Swiss scenery please 
and rest the eye, with their distant, snow- 
crowned mountains, blue, winding rivers, rus¬ 
tic bridges and peasants wit h their Docks, Close 
by, there is evidently " Mischief Brewing,” and 
we share the delight of the little girl in the barn 
who is so eagerly watching her brother fashion 
a frightful Jack-o’-lantern out of a huge pump¬ 
kin. Here “Mother’s Moral tig Glory” stands 
under the vines for which she is named, and 
fills her hands with the fragile blossoms. "Lit¬ 
tle Runaway," too, mischievous rogue, capti¬ 
vates your heart, at once. He has evidently 
escaped from the house in the early morning, 
and stands, dressed only in the Uttlo white gar¬ 
ment which is so becoming to babies, holding 
back with unconscious grace the tall wheat, 
from which he peeps out with merry blue eyes 
and unuo vered golden curls, a perfect picture 
of child!g,h innocence. Then the beautiful 
flower chromos, which are sent out bo froely by 
other of our public benefactors, so distinct and 
natural in form and coloring that we could 
almost believe wc wore looking at a bouquet of 
nature’s own making; but, the most beautiful 
of all to me. is the “Wreathed Cross,” with its 
hopeful and comforting suggestions. I think 
it, shows us how our crosses, painful and weary¬ 
ing as they may be, can be changed Into things 
of beauty and oven joy, if they are wreathed 
about with the flowers of fait h and trust and 
lovo. 
With pictures and flowers one may almost 
forget the outside world. I am sure there is 
hardly a home in our favored country yjhich 
does not cherish at least a few house plants in 
its sunniest corner through the winter, and a 
whole garden of flowers I hope, in the summer- 
All last winter our south windows wore bright 
with geraniums and tulips, am! tbo nodding 
hyacinths and narcissus filled the air with their 
fragrance; while high over all the beautiful 
vines went climbing, climbing up and around 
the picture frames, wreathing the whole with 
beauty. Do you think it a small pleasure, espe¬ 
cially to an invalid who is shut, in the liouso 
from the time when the last tinted leaf falls in 
autumn till the spring snowdrops and crocuses 
appear, to have such a bower of beauty contin¬ 
ually before the eyes? Ah I I think we could 
all say from oar hearts, Thank God for Pictures 
and Flowers! 
■ -♦♦♦- 
WAITING TO BE TEASED. 
I asked a young lady to play. Said she, “ Oh, 
I can’t -don't ask me." “ What, so line a piano 
as that,” I replied, pointing to a grand instru¬ 
ment, “ and don’t use it! A ren't you a lover of 
music?" “(Hi! yes, I’m passionately fond of 
music." “And can't play V" said f. “Why, l 
should think you would learn. You have good 
teachers here, t suppose?” “Oh ! yes, the very 
best." “ Well, you arc young yet,; and possibly 
your parents t hink host for you to wait, there¬ 
by completing your Other studies before begin¬ 
ning music." 
Then, noticing her seeming embarrassment, I 
changed I ke subject, and very soon found her 
quite agreeable. boon dinner was announced, 
and during the meal nor father said to mo, 
“ Well, how do you think Clara plays?" Think 
of my astonishment, and Imagine I thought 
mine an ombanisslng position! But I could 
not desire to change places with Miss Clara, 
who, with face as red a# scarlet, finally said, in 
a low l one, “ t didn’t, play, father." Which did 
I really pity the most—the daughter, who had 
striven to consider it polite to be teased (the 
common term) to play, and felt that she must 
not, walk to tile piano ami do the best she could 
1 —or that indulgent parent, who allowed hi* 
daughter to have no wish tingratilled, and each 
day was studying to find new things for her en¬ 
joyment ? 
It was no new act, I could plainly see. No 
more was said. Of course, I had nothing to say, 
and only added one more proof to my observa¬ 
tions, gathered on similar occasions, and con¬ 
clude it Is Invariably the case that nine young 
ladies out of i en, refuse, when asked to play. 
Of these, t wo-thirds consider themselves pond 
planers, and will feel badly If not asked the sec¬ 
ond time. Now, where is the secret, and why 
do they not play when politely Invited bj* their 
friends? I know not the reason, and can only 
say I hope there will be a reformation among 
the lady musicians, so that wc, who are so un¬ 
fortunate as not to know how to play, may now 
and then have the pleasure of listening to music 
with ease (fig 1 certainly t here is often more labor 
t'orthe listener than the player), and without 
allowing so much time to run to waste, as usu¬ 
ally does. 
A good writer has said, “Good manners Is 
the art of making those people easy with whom 
we converse. Whoever makes the fewest per¬ 
sons uneasy is the best bred in the company." 
These aro words which all might do well to 
practice, and especially would we commend 
the last clause to the rising generation of lady 
musicians. Tempest. 
---- 
FLIRTING AS A FINE ART. 
Tin. Samuel Osgood, in Harper’s Magazine, 
has the following on tills subjectThe science 
of society amounts to little true art unless a 
certain genius goes with the knowledge; and 
who wilt deny that there is a certain natural 
gift for social influence, as there is for all beau¬ 
tiful arts. Some, persons have a rare social 
Witchery who have not any other form'of gen¬ 
ius, and some women, of very moderate abil¬ 
ities in other respects, have an art of pleasing 
that amounts to fas- inatipn. One woman in 
famous attire will gather a great crowd of nota¬ 
bles in a grand house and give them a great 
slipper, and all shall ce flat and dull; while 
some winsome little body, without any flashy 
costume or parade, and even without, rare 
beauty, will entertain her circle of guests in a 
charming way of her own, and make them all 
at home with her and each other. Fho plays 
upon their various tempers and traits and asso¬ 
ciations us a master hand plays upon the harp 
or piano. I have sometimes thought that wo¬ 
manly charm, and perhaps even what in the 
best sense is called flirting, could be made one 
of the line arts, and consecrated to charity, aud 
even to religion. That bright girl takes that 
hall dozen striplings fri hand, and touches each 
in turn with playful grace, until they are wil¬ 
ling captives to her spell, ami ready to buy her 
pincushion- or watch chains at the fair, or go 
to her church and worship by her r rayer-hoolc. 
There is a Hue, indeed, beyond which this flirt¬ 
ing cease, to baa fine art, and becomes quite 
business-like and utilitarian, a practical opera¬ 
tion in making a market and bagging a husband 
—a useful but not alwavs ideal result. 
failing for the iloung. 
DER BABY. 
So help me gracious, efery day 
I laugh rue wild to see der vuy 
My small young baby drle to play— 
Dot funny little baby. 
Vlion 1 look of dlicin little tons, 
Und saw itat funny little nose, 
Und heard der vay dot rooster crows, 
I sUHide like 1 was grazy. 
linn vlion I beard the reel nice vay 
Dhem hooplas to my wife dbey say, 
“ More like his father* every day," 
I vas so broud Uke blazes. 
Sometimes dhere come a lectio schqnall, 
Dot’s vhen der vlndy vtod vlll crawl, 
Itlgbd in its lectle stomuclc soli mall. 
Dot's too bad for der baby. 
Dot makes him sing at night so schvect, 
Und gorrybarrls ho must ead, 
Und 1 mustehumb shbry on my feet, 
To help dot little baby. 
He bulls my nose und kicks my hair, 
Und g raw Is me ofor everywhere, 
Und shlobbers on tne—vat I euro? 
Dot vas ray small young baby, 
Around my head dot lectio arm 
Vas sehquoezin me so nice und varm— 
On ! may dhere never coom some harm 
To dot schmnll, leetlo baby. 
* Dot vns me hiiuBelf. 
LETTERS FROM BOYS AND GIRLS. 
A Motherless Housekeeper. 
Dear Mr. Editor:—I saw a letter from two 
schoolmates, telling about their school. I will 
tell you about mine. At intermission wc some¬ 
times walk around and look at the younger chil¬ 
dren playing, but then we bring pur work, sit 
and embroider or crochot, talk to our teacher, 
read or look over the lessons that come. Tho 
older girls here hardly ever play much, not that 
they consider themselves young ladies before 
their lime, but there i-. nothing to play noth¬ 
ing but simple games, lit for little children. 
1 know how to feci for Florence CL, for I 
know what it is to lose a parent,. 1 lost my 
mother when I was eleven years old ; my father, 
a year after, moved to California, and bought a 
farm hero, and T Went to keeping house and 
taking care of my younger brother. I am now 
fourteen years old; have been keeping houso 
all tho time; can cut and make all my clothes, 
and my brother's. Ai, first 1 did not like it, ,nd 
ftdl. inclined to murmur at what seemed a vory 
hard lot, but I liko It much bettor now. I do 
not think itat nil hard; indeed I ought to bo 
thankful for such a good home and kind, pa¬ 
tient father. I foar my letter Is too long. I 
hope Florence will answer this, and tell more 
about her home and invalid sister. How 1 pity 
anyone that Isslckand helpless.— Hattie Lylio, 
Smith River, Cal. 
A Little Reader. 
Mr. Editor:— I see a good many letters in 
your paper, from young ruraliats in your own 
and other Northern States, but none from the 
South. It seems very far off for you to receive 
one from Texas; buL you aro brought so con¬ 
stantly before us, by reading the Rural, that, 
you really seem quite near. We live in the 
country, about eight, miles from our county 
scat, and consequently see but little of the 
world ; but, pa lifts a line library, nml L am fond 
of reading, so that time passes pleasantly. I 
am fifteen years old, nnd have read Scott's Po¬ 
etical Works, some of Plutarch’s Lives, as 
well as sonic ancient and modern history; hut 
of all hist ory tho Scottish is the most interest¬ 
ing to me. We have to do all of our own work, 
it being a difficult matter to got servants, but I 
think the exercise ib good for us ; I only regret 
that I have not. more time to devoto to book*. 
My little brother and myself often mount our 
ponies and ride from sixteon to twenty miles, 
without much fatigue; tho country la beauti¬ 
ful, and vve enjoy It very much. Pa has received 
tho “ 13cc Keepers’ Text Book," and thanks you 
for it. Wishing you much prosperity, i am, a 
Texas girl.— Louise Mai, lf.tt. 
A Girl who Enjoys Life. 
Dear Mr. Editor:—I live in the State of 
New York. I am a little girl eleven years old. 
I live on a farm, and feed hens and chickens, 
and feed cows, and drive them, too. r some¬ 
time^ milk them. 1 have a pleasant home, and 
have ever so much fun t here. I read the Rural. 
and love to read the letters of the girls and boys 
the best of any part of It. I have to go a mile 
anda-half to school. Our school term this sum¬ 
mer was sixteen weelt3, and J went every day. 
The term has closed. The last day we had a 
paper read, some conundrums and a scholar's 
alphabet, in it. Wo had dialogues, and single 
pieces, and enjoyed ourselves. Kittle W. J., 
South Champion. 
_ 
Fond of the Rural. 
Dear Rural :—I see the rest of the children 
have been noticed in your paper, by Inserting 
their letters, and I would like to be sooiable, 
too, because we appreciate the Rural New- 
Yorker more that all the rest of the papers, 
and we take Appleton’s Journal, Homo Jour- i 
nal, Harper's Bazar and Venango Spectator be¬ 
side. But none fills tbo place of the Rural. 
Wc livo in the oil regions, and there is a new 
well in our vicinity flowing eighty barrels per 
day. I suppose there arc lots of little folks 
(and perhaps big ones) who never saw an oil 
well. I will not write any more this time, for 
fear I am not noticed.—SuBIK SHORT, Plcasant- 
ville, Pa. s _ 
The Rural a Necessity. 
Mr. Editor:— I’ve Just finished the last 
Rural, and I must say I like it very much. It 
Contains a little of everything, and is really 
a necessity in every country family. Every 
Wednesday I hurry to the olllcc, thinking “The 
Rural will be there;" and when 1 get it, it is 
opened in a jiffy. My friend Lilias has had 
such good success in getting correspondents 
that I think I'must try. I am seventeen years 
old, nearly eighteen, and would be very happy 
to correspond with a few young persons about 
my own age. I fear this will not be published 
if I make it any longer, so “good-by" for a 
while.— Ella A. Smith, TstUp, L. I. 
Forgot His Sunday-School Lesson. 
My pa takes the Rural New-Yorker, and I 
like to read it so much that my ma gays that I 
forget to learn my .Suuday-school lesson. I had 
to learn four verses last Sunday. It was in 
John. We are farmers. We mixed our corn in 
tar before planting it, so as to keep the crows 
oil of It. I think they will not cat much, If they 
do pull up some. Now, Mr. Moore, I have writ¬ 
ten you a long letter for me, and my hand is get¬ 
ting tirod. I am a little boy, and have not been 
to school much. John Atwater. 
Qood Hans. 
Editor Rural;— I will tell the boys and girls 
about my hens. I bad eighteen last year and 
they laid two hundred and ninety-three dozen 
eggs. There have been persons who have had 
better luck than I have, but as 1 had nothing 
but common breeds, I think I did pretty well. 
One of our neighbors set their gobbler turkey 
three times, and hatched out three broods—one 
of turkeys, ono of ducks, aud another of chick¬ 
ens. He Is tbo most wonderful thing I ever 
heard of.— Wit.i.ie I). 11., Delaware Co., N. Y. 
lie ftelcr. 
ILLUSTRATED REBUS.-No. 2. 
^ 3 H c- 
^ « L Mi 
f0 r 8 9 
1 2 ' ? f S 3\( 
XV* e K 
w 1 8 9 '' 
Pv'“ Answer in two weeks. 
PUZZLER INQUIRIES.—No 1. 
Here is au algebraical “ nut ” forsomebod 
to crack. Suppose we have: 
a -1 ?i= 98 (1) 
b + c= 94 (2) 
c+d- 50 (3) 
d+e-139 (4) 
6 +/-111 (5) 
/ + </« 56 (6) 
</ + «= 44 (7) 
To find the values of o, h, &c., it comes easily a 
follows: 
Subtract ( 7) from ( 6 ) and f— a*= H ( 8 ) 
“ ( 8 ) “ (5) “ e+a=99 ( 9) 
“ ( 9) “ (4) “ d—«= 40 (10) 
“ GO) “ (3) “ c+a-10 (11) 
“ (11) “ (2) “ b—a=84 (12) 
“ (12) “ (1) “ 2a >=14 
Hence a= 7, &c. 
That is all easy enough; but suppose we have: 
a + b = 98 
b + c = 94 
c+d- 50 
d+ 6=139 
e+/*=lll 
. / + a— 26 
This looks easier than the other, for there ar 
less unknown quantities, and other thing 
seem equal. But will some one give a solutio 
of this, and also explain why it oannot be don 
the same as the first ? Pythaqorus. 
CONUNDRUM.-No. 1. 
My first is in, my second Is fat, my third and 
fourth you ate. Mrs. C. S. 
Answer in two weeks. 
PUZZLER ANSWERS-July 5. 
Illustrated Rebus No. 1.—A letter turn 
upside down ;utd wrong-end-to, in readii: 
brings one to a lull-stop. 
Miscellaneous Enigma No. i.—H e isnev 
lonely who has noble thoughts. 
Puzzle No. 1.—Gudgeon (Gobio fluviatilie). 
Problem No. 1.— Uy 2 feet. 
