MOOSE’S SURAL ^EW-YQSKES. 
FARMER JONES SPEAKS. 
UOW tilings have changed! I’ve always thought, 
and father thought the same. 
That so u boy could read, add well, and plainly sign 
his name, 
He had learned enough and know enough to manage 
any farm; 
That books and papers were all trash, and often did 
him harm. 
But things have changed—why bless my soul! ’twos 
but the other day 
In town, at Pmith's 1 got so mixed, I didn’t know 
what to say— 
They spoke of things, all Hutch to me, of which I 
never had heard. 
And if I had, knew nothing of, so I couldn’t say a 
word. 
There’s Johnson, once my hired man —ho lives 
aoroBB the way— 
With Ids speck of a farm, knows more than me, and 
beatsme every day; 
Ills laud looks clean, his crops do well, his house Is 
good a* now} t 
He owes no man, and what Is more, is malting money 
too. 
And the Harper lad—a boy 1 Bay!—old Squire 
Harper's son— 
College bred—a lawyer too—and at forming just 
begun, 
Sticks to it well, although ho says, (I tell you he don’t 
shirk,) 
That he knows only the theory, and that Seth 
B itowN does the work. 
Now Brown himself don’t read, ’tis true, but never 
will pass by 
Good hints from books, he listens well, and then 
begins to try— 
That's'Tlio way they manago>*hlngs, and switch me! 
If I know 
A prettier farm than HARPER'S, in the valley here 
below. 
My children too, In spite of all I’ve done to keep 
them back, 
Have learned a little—but why talk more '! I’ve long 
boon off the traok, 
And mean to take It pretty soon—I’ll do it right 
away, 
I’ll change my clothes, hitch up my team, and put 
for town to-day. 
I’ll get the books; the papors too, I’ll try them fora 
while j 
Yes, every one the children want—but won’t their 
mother smile ? 
(Perhaps she’ll cry, but not from grief, as often she 
has cried,) 
To see the very things brought homo she has always 
been denied. j. S. P. 
®«r £torg-8l$tyr. 
COURTSHIP AFTER MARRIAGE. 
A. ’TA.X^Iil H’OIi, WIVES. 
“ NOW Is this what T call comfort,’’ said 
Madge Harley as she sat down by her neighbor's 
lire one evening; “ here you are at your sewing, 
with the kettle steaming on the hob, and the 
tea-things on the table, expecting every minute 
to hear your husband’s step, and see his kind 
face look in at the door. Alii if my husband 
was hut like yours, Janet." 
“ He Is like mine In many of his ways,” said 
Janet, with a smile, “and if you will allow me 
to speak plainly, he would be still more like 
him if you look more pains to make him com¬ 
fortable.’’ 
“What do you mean?” cried Madge; “our 
house is as clean as your’s; T mend my hus- 
band'sjclothes, and cook his dinner as carefully 
as any woman in the parish, and yet ho never 
stays at home of an evening, while you sit here 
by your cheerful Arc night after night a* happy 
as enn bo.” 
“ As happy as can be on earth,” said her friend 
gravely; “yes, and shall I tell you the secret of 
It, Madge ? ” 
“ I wish you would,” said Madge, with a deep 
sigh; “ it’s misery to live as 1 do now." 
“ Well then," said Janet, speaking slowly and 
distinctly, “ I let tny husband see that I love 
him still, and that 1 learn every day to love him 
more. Love Is the* chain I hat binds him to his 
home. The world may call it folly, but tho 
World is not my lawgiver.” 
“ And do von really think," exclaimed Madge 
in surprise, ” that husbands care for that sort of 
thing? ” 
“ For love, do you mean?” asked Janet. 
“Yes; they don’t feel at all as we do, Janet, 
and it don’t take many years of married life to 
make them think of a wife as a sort of maid-ol- 
all-work." 
“A libel, Madge," said Mrs. Matson, laugh¬ 
ing ; “ I wont allow you t o sit in William’s chair 
arid talk so.” 
“No,because your husband is different, and 
values his wife's love, while John cares for me 
only as his housekeeper.” 
“ T don’t think that,” said Janet, “although I 
know that he said to my husband the other day 
that courting time was the happiest of a man's 
life. Williurn reminded hi m that there is greater 
happiness than that, even on earth, if men but 
give tlielr hearts to Christ. 1 know Johu did 
not alter his opinion, but he went away still 
thinking of his courting time as of a joy too 
great to be exceeded.” 
“Dear fellow,” cried Madge, smiling through 
her tears, “ r do believe he was very happy 
then. 1 remember T used to listen for his steps 
as I sat with my dear mother by the lire, longing 
for the happiness of seeing him." 
“Just so,” said Janet; “ do you ever feel like 
that now ? ” 
Madge hesitated. “ Well, no, not exactly.” 
“ And why not?” 
“O, I don't know," said Madge; "married 
people give up that sort of thing.” 
“ Love, do you mean? " asked Janet. 
“ No, but what people call being sentimental,” 
said Mrs. Harley. 
“Longing to see your husband is a proper 
■sentiment,” replied Janet. 
“ Hut some people are ridiculously foolish be¬ 
fore others," reasoned Madge. 
“That proves they want sense. I am not 
likely to approve of that, as'William would soon 
tell you; all I want is (hat wives should let 
their husbands know they are still loved," 
“But men are so vain,” said Madge, “ that It 
Is dangerous to show them much attention.” 
Her friend looked up, “ O, Madge, what are 
you saying? Havo you, then, married with the 
notion that it is not good for John to believe 
you love him?” 
“No, but it is not wise to show that you earo 
too much for them.” 
“ Say / and him ; do not talk of husbands in 
general, but of yours In particular. 
“Ho thinks quite enough of himself already, 
I assure you.” 
“Dear Madge,” sold Janet, smiling, “would 
itdoj/oitany harm to receive a little more at¬ 
tention from yotir husband? ” 
" Of course not. 1 wish he’d try>” and Mrs. 
Harley laughed at the Idea. 
“Then you don’t think enough of yourself al¬ 
ready? and nothing would make you vain, 1 
suppose? ” 
Madge colored, and all tho more, when alio 
perceived that William Matson had come In 
quietly, and was now standing behind Janet’s 
chair. This, of course, put an end to the con¬ 
versation. Madge retired to hor own home to 
think of Janet’s words, and to confess secretly 
that, they were wise. 
Hours passed before John Harley returned 
home. He was a man of good abilities, and well 
tn do in the world; and having married Madge 
because he truly loved her, ho had expected to 
have a happy home. But partly became he was 
reserved and sensitive, and partly bocause 
Madge feared to make him vain, they had grown 
very cold toward each other, so cold that John 
Imgan to think the ale-house a more comforta¬ 
ble place than his own fireside. 
That night the rain fell in torrents, the winds 
howled, and it was not until tho midnight hour 
had arrived that Harley left the public house 
and hastened toward his cottage. Ho was wet 
through when he at length creased the thresh¬ 
old : he was, as ho gruffly muttered, “ used to 
that;” but he was not " used " to the tone and 
look with which his wife drew near to welcome 
him, nor to find warm clothes by a crackling 
fire, and slippers on the hearth; nor to hear no 
reproach for late hours, and neglect, and dirty 
footmarks as he sat lu his arm-chair. Some 
change had come to Madge ho was very sure. 
She wore a dress ho had bought her years ago, 
with a neat, linen collar round tho neck, and 
hod a cap, trimmed with white ribbons, on her 
head. 
“ You're smart, Madge," he exclaimed at last, 
when he had stared at her for some little time 
in silence. “ Who has been here worth dressing 
for to-night?” 
“ No one until you came,” said Madge, half 
laughing. 
“I? Nonsense; you didn’t dress for me/” 
cried Joliu. 
“ You wont believe it, perhaps, but 1 did. 1 
have been talking with Mrs. Matson this even¬ 
ing, and she has given me some very good ad 
vice. So now, John, what would you like for 
your supper?" 
John, who was wont to steal to the shelf at 
night and content himself with nnytbing he 
could find, thought Madge’s offer too excellent 
to he refused, and very soon a large bowl of 
chocolate was steaming on the table. Then his 
wife sat down, for a wonder, by hie side and 
talked a little, and listened, and looked pleased, 
when at last, os if be could not help it, he said, 
“ Dear old Madge ! ” 
That was enough; her elbow somehow' found 
its way then to tho arm of his great chair, and 
shesat quietly looking at the fire. After awhile 
John spoke again; 
" Madge, dear, do you remember the old days 
when we used to sit side by side in your moth¬ 
er's kitchen ?" 
“ Yes." 
"1 was a younger man* then, Madge, and, as 
they told me, handsome; now I am growing 
older,plainer, duller. Then you—you loved me; 
do you love me Mill " 
She looked up In his face, and her eyes an¬ 
swered him. It was like going back to tho old 
days to feel his arm around her as her head lay 
on his shoulder, and to hear once again the kind 
words meant for her ear alone. 
She never once asked if this would make him 
“vain ; ” she knew, as if by instinct, that it was 
making him a wiser, a more thoughtful, more 
earnest-hearted man. And when, after a happy 
silence, he took down the big Bible, and read a 
chapter, as lie had been wont to read to her 
mother in former times, she bowed her head 
and prayed. 
Y cs, prayed—for pardon, through the blood 
of Jesus Christ—for strength to fulfill every 
duty In the future—for the all-powerful influ¬ 
ence of the Spirit, for blessings on her husband 
evermore. 
She prayed—and not in vain.—British Work¬ 
man. 
AUGUSTUS AND MARIE. 
A WATERING PLACE IDYL. 
Sino, Muse, the story of Augustus and Marie. 
Briefly, O Muse, extol the excellent moral char¬ 
acter,business integrity and social qualifications 
of that business youth. Augustus was employed 
in a large and fashlnable “emporium" for the 
sale of men’s underwear. Ho was familiar with 
scarfs, hosiery, handkerchiefs and zephyr un¬ 
dergarments. He was accomplished in his line. 
Ho knew the exact shade of necktie that suited 
his customers’ complexion—better than that, 
bo knew what was fashionable. To him the 
secrets of the measuring tape were familiar; he 
knew the exact number of Inches which the 
breast of the finely-formed swell revealed below 
his padding, and—was nobly reticent,. Ho knew 
where the knock-knees and bow-legs were, but 
wild horses could not tear that secret from his 
breast. And yet lie was not happy. Glimpses 
of another and gayer world, of unother sphere 
of usefulness and display beyond his counter, 
were revealed to him In the persons of the fash¬ 
ionable young men who patronized him. Ilis 
bosom may have swelled with an infinite long¬ 
ing. Why should he not connect himself with 
that bright and beautiful .world, and mayhap 
marry an heiress? Perhaps no one know better 
than ho the hollowness of that superficial orna¬ 
ment which attracts the fair. So he regularly 
spent his month of vacation in tho giddy halls 
of Saratoga, or the fascinating vortex of New¬ 
port. He looked well. His linen was irre¬ 
proachable, bis gloves faultless, his cravats 
Incomparable. 
It was at ono of these places that tho peerless 
Marie dawned upon him. Beautiful, young, 
stylish ami ingenuous—there was withal a fas¬ 
cinating air of mystery about her. She was 
cliaporoncd by n lady who, even the unsophisti¬ 
cated Augustus could perceive, held her posi¬ 
tion more by her money than her graces. But 
Marie was all that Augustus could wish. Thoy 
became acquainted in tho usual matter-of-fact I 
way; there wits no heroic episode; mad bulls 
and runaway horses were infrequent on the 
corridors of tho great hotel where t hey flirted; 
beyond preserving the integrity of her skirt 
from the fatal fall of an orange lee, Augustus 
absolutely did nothing. A nd so the days passed 
with little of expression to mar the monotonous, 
idiotic smile they shed upon the happy pair. 
The lady talked lightly of names whereof Au¬ 
gustus had hoard incidentally with awe over his 
counter. Sacred precincts to which Augustus 
had often dirocted packages of A 1 zephyrs wore 
alluded to with fascinating familiarity. In that 
fatal moment Augustus hesitated; could he 
reveal hla own connection with the Emporium 
to the aristocratic fair? Augustus fell! Let 
not the reader believe that ho forged a check 
or embezzled from his employer. He only 
alluded to himself as a capitalist, and spoke 
casually of the money market. There was -no 
engagement. When they parted at tho end of 
his vacation it was with that sweet, vague sig¬ 
nificance that closes usual watering-place flir¬ 
tations. It was for the season only, and the 
shutters of common sense were to he .put over 
the windows of sentiment for the rest of the 
year. They trusted that they would meet Again. 
And they did. 
It was a week or two after his return, and 
Augustus’ soul was not yet In his vocation. 
Already the heavier woolens were coming in 
for the fall trade, and Augustus smiled, albeit 
sardonlcaliy. at the change which overtakes all 
fashions and things, as ho stood at his familial’ 
counter. But an extra and peremptory order 
for custom-made shirts obliged him to visit one 
of the many seamstresses employed by the em¬ 
porium. As Augustus turned down the narrow 
street of a remote, unfashionable locality, and 
rang tho bell of a modest tenoment house, his 
mind reverted to the paat and he glanced ner¬ 
vously up and down the street, lest Marie from 
a passing carriage should detect, him with the 
ominous parcel under his arm. Ho was oflieved 
when the opening door enabled him to enter. 
But as he did so the bundle slipped front his 
nerveless Ungers. For there, seated at a sowing 
machine, with her pretty fingers on the plate, 
and her slim foot on the treadle, sat Mary 
Jones—the Marie of his dreams. 
Artistic taste would Indicate that for true 
literary effect wo should stop here. But this is 
a severely practical statement of fact. Briefly, 
then, let us go on to say that Augustus, under a 
good deal of harmless weakness, carried an 
honest heart. For your little snob, after all, Is 
more apt to possess that organ t han a ead or a 
prig. Augustus and Mary were engaged—and 
perhaps, in defiance of poetic just ice, may yet 
be happy. 
- *■++ - 
SPARKS AND SPLINTERS. 
A Detroit paper alludes to “ the L extension 
of the prevailing costumes worn by ladies.” 
“Why do you set your cup of coffee on a 
chair, Mr. Jones?” said a worthy landlady one 
morning at breakfast. “It is so very weak, 
ma’am, I thought I would let it rest.” 
The popular balls of the season this year at 
Saratoga xn ill be billiard balls. Even the ladies 
are taking to them. As for hops in this hot 
weather, they will soon become small beer. 
A man who sent his wife to a place on the 
Jersey coast because he heard that dumb ague 
was prevalent there, is greatly discouraged be¬ 
cause she has returned w ilh the chattering kind 
Instead. 
PRAYERS I DON’T LIKE. 
I don’t like to hear lilm pray. 
Who loans at twenty-live per cent.; 
For then 1 think the borrower may 
Be pressed to pay for food and rent; 
And In that Book we all should heed, 
Which fays the lender shall he blest, 
As sure as I hare eyes to read, 
It does not say, “ Take Interest.” 
I do not like to hear him pray, 
On bended knees, about an hour. 
For grace to spond aright tho day, 
Who knows his neighbor has no flour. 
I’d rather sen him go to mill, 
And buy the lucklussbrotbar broad. 
And see hla children eat their fill 
And laugh beneath their humble shed. 
I do not llku to hear him pray, 
“ Lot blessing* on the widow be,” 
Who never seeks her home to say, 
“ If want o’ertakee you. 001110 to me.” 
I hate tho prayer so long and loud, 
That'H offurod for tins orphan’s weal, 
By him who sees him crushed by wrong. 
And only with his lips doth feel. 
I do not like to hear her pray 
With jewoted ear* and silken dress, 
Whose washerwoman toils all day, 
And then Is asked to " work for less.” 
Bneh pious shavers 1 despise I 
With folded hands and face demure 
Thoy lift to heaven 1 heir • angel eyes,” 
Then steal tho earnings of the poor. 
I do not Uko such soulless prayers; 
If wrong. I liopn to be forgiven ; 
No angel’s wing them upward bears. 
They're lost u. million miles from Heaven I 
■--- 
THE PRAYER OF AGASSIZ. 
The Christian Union (H. W. Beecher), speak¬ 
ing of the speech by Prof. Agassiz at the open¬ 
ing of the Anderson School of Natural History, 
says, “ After a few opening words, felicitously 
suited to put all their minds Into fellowship, 
Agassiz said tenderly, and with touching frank¬ 
ness, ‘I think wo hava need of help. I do not 
feel that I can cull any one hero to ask a bless¬ 
ing for us. 1 know I would not have anybody 
pray for us at this moment. I ask you for a 
moment to pray for yourselves,' Upon this, 
the great scientist- -in an ago In which so many 
other great scientists have concluded that pray¬ 
ing Is quite an unscientific and very useless pro¬ 
ceeding—bowed his head reverently; his pupils 
and l'rlends did the same, and there, in a silence 
that was very solemn and very beautiful, each 
spirit was free to crave of the Groat Spirit tho 
blessing that was needed. For our own part it 
seems to us that Ibis scene of Agassiz and his 
pupiln, with heads bowed in silent prayer for 
the blessing of the God of Nature, to be given 
to that school then opened for the study of 
nature, Is a spectacle for some great artist to 
Spread out worthily upon canvas, and to bo 
kept alive in the memories of mankind. What 
are coronations, royal pageants, tho parade of 
armies, to a scene like this? It heralds tiio 
coming of the now heavens und the new earth— 
the golden age when nature and man shall he 
reconciled, and tho conquests of truth shall 
supersede tho conquests of brute force,” 
--- 
FAITH AND WORKS. 
Two gentlemen were one day crossing the 
river in a ferry boat. A depute about faith and 
works arose; one saying that good works were 
of small importance, ami that faith was every¬ 
thing; the other assorting the contrary. Not 
belng'able to convince each other, the ferryman, 
•in enlightened Christian, asked permission to 
give Ids opinion. Consent being granted, he 
said“ I have in my hands two oars. That in 
my right hand I call faith; the other, in my 
left workB. Now, gentlemen, please to observe, 
I pull tho oar of faith, and pull that alone. 
8 ee! the boat goes round, and round, and tho 
boat makes no progress. I do the same with 
the oar of works, and with a xireclsely similar 
result—no advance, Mark! I pull both togeth¬ 
er; we go on apace, and in a very few minutes 
we shall he at our landing-place. 80 , in my 
humble opinion, he added'Tuith without works, 
or works without faith will not suffice. Let 
there bo both, and the haven of etcrual rest is 
sure to be reached." Bishop Whaldy. 
—--<*-♦-*- 
EINE PRAY ERS. 
Prayers need not be fine. I believe God 
abhors fine prayers. If a person asks charity of 
you In elegant sentences he is not likely to get 
It. Finery in dress or language is out of place 
in beggars. I heard a man in the street the 
other day begging aloud by means of a magnifi¬ 
cent oration. He used grand language in very 
pompous style, and 1 dare say ho thought he 
was sure of getting piles of coppers by bis bor¬ 
rowed speech, but 1 , for one, gave him nothing, 
but felt more inclined to laugh at his bombast. 
Is it not likely that many groat prayers arc 
about as useless? Manyprayer-rnectings’pray¬ 
ers are a great deal too fine. Keep your figures 
and metaphors and parabolic expressions for 
your fellow-creatures; use them to those who 
want to be instructed, but do not. parade them 
before God, When we pray, the simpler our 
prayers are, the better; the plainest, humblest 
language which expresses our meaning is best. 
Spwrocon. 
