m 
MOOBE’S RURAL fJEW-YORKIR. 
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DRIFTING. 
BY I)K J'OBKEST P. GL'M'l KRHON. 
Oh, tho visions that I see 
As I drift along life's sea, 
Wlille the shadows of the twilight o’er me bend: 
Of the friends of early childhood, 
And the days we In the Wildwood 
Roamed from early dawn until (be end. 
But these visions pnss array 
Like the sun at close of day. 
And 1 drift and nrift alone upon life’s sea; 
And the sound of happy voices 
Never more my heart rejoices, 
And my soul butlongoth to be free. 
<©ur j^oni-id^r. 
“GOOD-BYE, SWEETHEARTj" 
OR, WHY HE LIVED A BACHELOR. 
BY U. G. WINMONTH. 
It was only an old, red farm-house in Ilel- 
brunt Valley, as the place was called in honor 
of old Col. JlKi.nBONT, a German settlor v/ho 
had served under Washington in '70, and upon 
the establishment of the Colonial I mlopendence 
had taken out a grant for this beautiful tract 
of country, lying between two lofty ridges of 
mountains, and at that time wholly uninhabit¬ 
ed, save In the autumn time, when half a dozen 
warriors of the St. Regis tribe would follow the 
creek afar down tho ot her side of the mount 
tain, and, attracted by the abundance of game 
and the spontaneous productions of the forest, 
the Indians’ natural subsistence, would stretch 
their wigwams among the mountains and occa¬ 
sionally down In the valley, and after rejoicing 
in an abundance of deer and wild fruit for a 
season, would remove their tents to tho fishing 
grounds by t he far-away lake and leave tho val¬ 
ley once more to quiet and loneliness. Such 
was Its condition when the Colonel removed 
hither, built his spacious log cabin for ho had 
a numerous family—and commenced tilling the 
rich, productive soil. Other settlers quickly 
followed him, and commenced, like 1dm, to Jay 
the foundation of t heir family fortune In the 
broad acres of HUrlburt Valiev. And ns nearly 
all of them were endowed by nature with t he 
spirit of true German thrift. It came to pass in 
time Mini the inhabitants of the Valloy were 
regarded as a sort of aristocrats, after all, 
t hough the country had so lately declared Itself 
unalterably a republic. Now, if they had taken 
this title to themselves, doubtless It would 
have been disputed by every one outside the 
boundaries of the magic? circle; but as they 
still cont inued their plodding cares, and plowed 
and sowed and garnered, wit h tin- same personal 
supervision as at first, not one of the most en¬ 
vious could find aught in their speech or man¬ 
ner to lay to their charge, and they were still 
regarded, as I have said, as a little superior to 
tho inhabitants of the neighboring region. 
The adventures of those curly settlers would 
not interest us now, for this little story con¬ 
cerns chiefly Col. H kmirvnt’s grand-child, and 
I must not stay longer with her noted ances¬ 
tors, save to remark that they never cpiurrclod 
with the? Indians when they made, their yearly 
visits to the valley, therefore never lived an 
hour in dread of tomahawk or scalping-knife. 
Indeed, they gained the love and esteem of the 
savages to such a degree that upon one occa¬ 
sion, n noble warrior ami chief, on a hunting 
expedition through the valley, having heard 
much of the old Colonel's hospitality, paid 
them a visit and was so charmed wit h Ids re¬ 
ception and wttfi Aunt BETSY 11 Et. BRUNT, the 
Colonel’s maiden sister, that ho offered to make 
her his squaw before our own minister and de¬ 
pose her who had been for long years the light 
of his wigwam. But Aunt. Betsy, although hor¬ 
ror-stricken, managed to preserve her presence 
of mind, and, politely but firmly declining tho 
offer, succeeded in convincing him of the cruel¬ 
ty of turning the other adrift, and urging the 
necessity of her remaining wit h her brother, on 
account of the illness of her brother's w ife and 
her inefficiency in the housekeeping depart¬ 
ment. lie took his dismissal with true savage 
firmness, and, presenting Aunt Betsy with a 
rich mat of deer skin, took his departure for¬ 
ever from the valley which contained “the light 
of his eyes.” He did not forget , however, for 
every year came some token of his remem¬ 
brance—a pair of lovely bead moccasins, dainty 
baskets and other articles of Indian elegance, 
thus betraying a constancy and fidelity that it 
would be well for hi* w hite brother to imitate. 
And the Colonel prospered. Although the 
people of the vatley improved much, t he Colo¬ 
nel was far ahead of t hem, and when he built 
the farm-house its inner walls were curiously 
carved and colic 1 and painted, in imitation of 
some house in the Fatherland, wit li lovely blue 
and pink-like sky and clouds; and the outside, 
as I said before, was red, but painted with such 
skill, that although eighty years have elapsed 
since then, and the timbers are beginning to 
crumble at t heir foundations, yet the colors are 
still as fresh and bright as they were when first 
the farm-house was completed. And when t he 
Colonel died he left his possessions to his eldest 
son, having paid off his younger sons and daugh¬ 
ters, and with it he left an injunction to keep 
the home forever in the family, to cherish the 
family pride and never by word or deed to let 
the family name bear the slightest stain or 
shadow. His son strictly obeyed his commands, 
married the stout, buxom daughter of a farmer 
whose lands joined theirs, and began in his turn 
to train up sons to walk in the pat h which their 
father and grandfather had walked before them, 
and daughters w hose fair fame should ever be 
a synonym for purity anil virtue. He prospered, 
as did his father before him, in worldly matters: 
but, alas I son after eon, and daughter after 
daughter, were taken from his kind care and 
went with pure young hearts from earth for 
ever. 
But 1>y-and-by there came another daughter 
to their home, the child of their old age, and 
as she reached womanhood without any harm it 
seemed that she was to be spared to inherit the 
rich, broad acres, and tlie paternal mansion. 
She was a dreamy, lirown-eyed fairy, with gold¬ 
en hair, waving around a low, broad forehead, 
and dainty hands and arching feet that a Cas¬ 
tilian might have envied. She loved the home 
of her father, and never wished any modern 
Innovations in the form or arrangement of the 
rooms. Although the Stein way piano and fancy 
music ruck looked strangely enough in the old- 
fashioned parlor, yet it suited her, and it was 
still tho flickering light from the fire-place that 
illumined the room of a winter’s evening and 
showed the rare pictures In golden frames upon 
the tinted walls. Anna Heubuunt was not a 
true Heemhunt, after all for, although her 
mother was a quiet, solid American, yet some 
of her ancestors had come from lovely Italy, 
| and something of their nature and tempera- 
merit seemed reproduced in Anna, notwith¬ 
standing it was underlaid with the slow German 
pride to which she was not only born but had 
been educated. And not one of them had ever 
enjoyed the homestead as did Anna. She knew 
where to go to view tho loveliest sunrise; she 
watched the pure blue sky with its fleecy cloud 
in summer and the starry canopy of a brilliant 
winter night, dreaming soft, sweet, dreams of 
him wlm was, some day, to enjoy with her aJI 
this loveliness. He had already been selected 
by her father, and was an old friend of his, 
Herman Standmen, who had I wen traveling 
all over the world since Anna was a wee in¬ 
fant, but was corning home to claim her on her 
twenty-first birthday. “ Before she gets ent an¬ 
gled in any foolish love offering, she is heart- 
whole now," her father wrote him ; and Stand- 
men, wisely concluding that it was host to re¬ 
turn inst ant ly, took passage In the nest steamer 
across the Atlantic. But ere ho left tho port, 
the danger which her father dreaded was past 
and gone; t he suitor which lie feared had bold¬ 
ly asked Ids daughter for her hand and been re¬ 
fused, with kindness, albeit the native pride 
was heard in the rich inflexions or her voice, 
which gave him a consciousness that he had 
only added another leaf to her laurels, and her 
father rejoiced to find her looking forward to 
STANDMBN’8 return almost as eagerly as hlm- 
scl f. 
Anna had no recollection of Stand men per¬ 
sonally, but on the day when her first suitor 
sought, her hand so earnestly that she could not 
readily shake him off, and site laughingly con¬ 
sented to ask her father’s advice in regard 1.o 
the mutter, her fat her pushed back the golden 
hair t hat shaded the pure, white forehead, and 
I, old her of Herman Stan omen and bade her 
think of no other until his return. Then be¬ 
took from Ids desk an old-fashioned daguerreo¬ 
type and told her she might keep It if she liked, 
and sent her away to dismiss the waiting lover. 
Tins she did in a very speedy, and to herself, 
satisfactory manner, and then she retired toiler 
room up stairs and sat down to study the face 
thus suddenly placed before her. 
The picture showed one in the days of open¬ 
ing manhood : the light of his fearless bluooyo 
was plainly to be seen; even in the dim pic¬ 
ture, the firm, straight, mouth and clear-cut 
nostrils spoke of frankness, strength and pride, 
and she was satisfied, never thinking w’hat 
years might have done for t he fair face before 
her, or doubting but that the purest love of her 
heart, would respond to his caresses. She know 
when he was coming to claim her, and it was 
her only thought to make herself equal, in 
every respect, to tho accomplished ladies he 
had met in his foreign travels. Thinking it over, 
one morning, she began to fear that something 
was wanting to complete her education, and 
she asked that she might be sent for the last 
term to the Academy of ()—, where she bad 
been a year previously, to complete whatever 
was defective in her education. Her parents 
readily consented, thinking that her life there 
would be for more quiet than it would in the 
rather lively circle of society in which she 
moved at homo. If they had known of the 
amateur Professor who filled the Botanical 
■ hair during the temporary absence of old Pro¬ 
fessor Gray in Europe, they might have been 
wise in time; still it is doubtful whether they 
would have thought of him, save as some anti¬ 
quated scholar whose sole delight lay in explor¬ 
ing some of the mysteries of nature which arc 
wrltteu all over vale and hill. Such at least 
was Anna’s fancy, and great hor surprise on 
entering the recitation room to find a young, 
fine-looking, gentlemanly man, whose great 
claim to beauty lay in the lustrous magnificence 
of his eyes. They were not black, nor yet a per¬ 
fect, blue, but there was something in their 
depths that was almost irresistible. Before the 
first recitation was Over Anna had acknowl¬ 
edged their power, and through the remainder 
of the lesson for the clay her usually clear, can¬ 
did mind seemed in a maze, and many of her 
classmates wfindered at Anna’s blunders. Days 
passed on, and her lessons grew more and more 
tasteless to her. She concluded that she did 
not need to review her studies any farther, and 
still she managed to keep up a semblance of 
Interest in them. But her whole attention was 
given to Botany, and she thought the days 
which were appointed for the semi-weekly ex¬ 
cursions Into the fields and forests for speci¬ 
mens the most glorious of all summer days. 
Even when they wandered, on one occasion, 
miles into the forest, and were caught in a 
drenching rain, she thought only of the pro¬ 
tecting arms that wrapped the shawl so care¬ 
fully around her, and the eyes which looked so 
earnestly Into hors, ostensibly teaching her to 
understand the mysteries of science, but in real¬ 
ity teaching her the depths of love of which her 
own heart was capable. 
And so time, on golden wings, passed; the 
summer term drew near Its close, and with the 
announcement in class that tho next day’s ex¬ 
cursion would be the close of lessons for the 
term, came a wonderful revelation to Anna. 
“ That," said the Professor, “ would terminate 
his pleasant relations wit h his class, and at its 
close lie. would bid them each adieu, assuring 
them that tho past few weeks would he ever 
pleasantly remembered by him. Then he left 
them, and Anna went to her room, wondering 
with a vague dread. If that wore to be the last 
of it, after all. She had thought, but no mat¬ 
ter,- and she was interrupted by the postboy 
bringing up a letter. She took It eagerly, think¬ 
ing that,—perhaps it might solve hor doubts; 
hut no, it was from her father, cont ained a no¬ 
tice of St and men’s return, ond told her that 
ho himself would come speedily to bring her 
home. There were, also, a few words from 
Standmkn, written in an unsteady, trembling 
hand, hoping that she had well Improved her 
time there, and that she was now prepared for 
a life of quiet peace and happiness with him. 
It was hard work for him to write, ho said, and 
lie would tax himself no fart her now; ho would 
have ample time in the future to tel! her all he 
wished. He inclosed his photograph ; she would 
sec from that that tho years had not all dealt 
kindly with him, lmt he trusted that her loving 
fingers would smooth the furrows from his 
brow, and that, in the happiness of the future 
he should forget all tho cares of the past. 
1 will not intrude upon that night of Anna 
Heliikint’s life. If any of you have overseen 
the sun go down in utter darkness—have seen 
inky midnight settling around you, with scarce 
a star to light up the gloom you may have a 
slight conception of the darkness that set t led 
slowly around her heart,. But the days of whlcn 
wo read—when sorrow-stricken maidens shut 
themselves up away from the world and 
" nursed their grief in solitude"—are gone by, 
and Anna was ready for tho excursion next 
afternoon much as usual. Tho quick, sharp 
glance of tho lustrous eyes, however, detected 
something of the tempest which had raged 
within her heart, and felt by it emboldened for 
the confession that they were to make. So, 
when, as if by accident, t hey found themselves 
far from t ho rest., and lie found her a shady seat, 
upon a mossy rock, there with his arm about 
her waist and his glorious eyes looking into 
hers, reading her very soul, he told hor all; told 
her how he bad loved her all the days since 
first he knew her—told her bravely, too, of tho 
convict blood in the parent whom he never 
knew, and who had left him only this taint 
upon him for an inheritance; how that, know¬ 
ing the impossibility of her Unking her fate 
with his, lie had meant never to speak of this, 
and now that he had dared to speak, not hop¬ 
ing for a return of his mad love, but only to 
prove that, whatever might be against him, his 
heart was true. 
And Anna— she knew she loved him and she 
was too truthful to deny it, or feign ignorance 
of the power of the passion that possessed her. 
But she told him, with misty eyes and tearful 
voice, of her parents, and that she was, us it 
were, their last hope of happiness here—of the 
husband they had chosen for her, <rf her own 
passive acquiescence in the plan, and of the 
speedy marriage that awaited her. She was 
generous, too, even in that hour, for she did 
not mention St vndmen’s letter, or the shock 
site had received in finding him what lie was. 
But she spoke of his love for her. fostered for 
years, and the great sin she should commit, if 
she followed the dictates of her passionate 
heart —for the depths of her nature were 
aroused, and It needed all the firmness of her 
mind to keep her true to those who could right¬ 
ly claim her. However, firmness triumphed at 
last, and when thoy joined the merry group, 
no one dreamed that the hearts of each had 
been stirred as they could never bo again by 
mortal power. 
That night, the young Professor accepted the 
command of a military post on the frontier 
and was gone with the clown, leaving best 
wishes and adieus for all. Anna returned home, 
and three weeks later then.* w’as a quiet wed¬ 
ding at the old rod farm-house. And she is 
very wise, taking quietly her share of happiness 
in witnessing that of hor aged parents. But her 
fancy is seldom deeply moved by Stan omen’s 
placid voice, nor does her heart throb one atom 
faster, for the admiring glances of his clear 
bine eyes. 
The Professor is a Colonel now, and might 
retire on his laurels,but. he prefers the activity 
of frontier life; and though many a fair maid 
and matron have caught eagerly the glance of 
his lustrous eyes, yet hashe never cared enough 
for another to tell again the secret of his llie, 
or why it is so valuable to him. And thus each 
lives, bravely, the days of this earthly life, look¬ 
ing for bliss in that which is to come. 
“ I GO TO PREPARE A PLACE FOR THEE.” 
Grieve not—nor mourn If for a little while 
My face Is hid from thee. 
Have I not told thee? Canst thou not believe ? 
" Where 1 am, thou shalt bo!’’ 
Where I am, thou shalt be. I only go 
Before thee to prepare 
A place for thee—where thou shall safely dwell 
Beyond nil grief and care. 
Beyond nil grief and care—then, is it hard 
For thee to trust my love? 
And patient wait, until 1 bid thee come 
Up to thy homo above ? 
Thy home above these clouds, where gleaming stars, 
Pouring their radiance down 
Hold In their shining depths the mansions fair 
That 1 wifi give my own ! 
That I will give xny own—and thou art mine, 
Though for a time wo part. 
Nor power in earth or heaven can break tho cords 
That bind thee to my heart. 
That bind thee to my heart! Thou know’st not now, 
But thou shalt know and see 
The glories of the place prepared for all 
Who will bottevc in me. 
Dost thou believe In me ? Then do not fear 
Nor doubt, my faithful love; 
Thy Journey wilt be ended soon—and thou 
Shalt, rest with me above ! 
-- 
SUNDRY ITEMS AND THOUGHTS. 
A good man is kinder to his enemy than bad 
men are to their friends.- Bishop Hall. 
Better make penitents by gentleness than 
hypocrites by severity. St. Francis dc Sabs. 
The increase in the Methodist Episcopal 
Church during tho last twelve years Is 413,733. 
Father Bindley, who went to Africa in 1834, 
has just returned to spend his remaining days 
in this country. 
In the last, three years the Episcopal Church 
has gathered more than fifty congregations in 
Mexico, most of them, ministers anti people, 
from the Roman Catholics. 
The Southern Presbyterian Synod of Ken¬ 
tucky comprises 8,031 communicants, 89 minis¬ 
ters, 1.35 churches and 7 Presbyteries. Tho 
largest church In the Synod is at Louisville, 
numbering 834 members. 
The Methodists have just, opened their foreign 
mission in Japan, where t he Rev. R. 8. Maclay 
has arrived as their first missionary. He will he 
stationed at Yokohama, and soon be joined hy 
three others from this country. 
The Rev. R. P. Smith, Dean of Canterbury, 
whoso arrival has been noted, is in this country 
as the guest of the Evangelical Alliance, and as 
tho bearer of a letter from his superior approv¬ 
ing of the alms of the meet ing. 
Ar.i, our sufferings are ordered by a Father; 
’tis the portion our Father gives us to drink; 
and whatever bitter ingredient there Is In it, 
still it is of a Father's procuring, and why sus¬ 
pect it to he poison, and lie afraid of it? 
The less we expect from this world, tho bet¬ 
ter for us; tho less we expect from our feliow- 
mon, whether of spiritual help or of inspiring 
example, tin? smaller will bo our disappoint¬ 
ment,. lfe that leans on Ids own strength leans 
on a broken reed. 
St. Paul's Episcopal Cnuttcii, Now York, 
which has stood at tho corner of Broadway and 
Vesey street for more than a hundred years, is 
undergoing a thorough renovation at a cost of 
§30,000. Tlie improvements will include re-pew- 
ing and cushioning. 
If mankind wore all intellect they would be 
continually changing, so that one age would be 
entirely unlike another. The great conserva¬ 
tive Is tlie heart, which remains the same in all 
ages, so that commonplaces of a thousand years’ 
standing arc as effective as ever.— Hawthorns. 
The religious fermentation of the present 
day is nothing else than the struggle of reason 
and thought to penetrate to God. When they 
have arrived there, they shall worship ami sing 
praises to the Lord, and theu the first com¬ 
mandment shall he fulfilled, that, tells man: 
Thou shalt Jove tho Lord, thy God, with all thy 
heart, and with all thy soul and with all tiiy 
mind,—that is, with all thy power.— Bremer. 
On. blessed miracle* indeed! 
The desert quickening into Cower; 
Tho stubborn growt h of thorn and weed 
Uprooted by a little seed 
Fostered iu sun aud shower! 
Oh. miracle still wrought anew, 
While hearts one germ of Heaven retain 
Where barren briers and nettles grew 
Let fall the kindly sun und dew. 
And Eden blooms again ! 
The Methodist, has an article noting the fact 
that the senior bishops of Methodism in Amer¬ 
ica, who have served the cause so long and well, 
give many signs of unsettled if not of failing 
Health. Bisfiop Scott was scarcely able this 
spring to perform ills duties as presiding officer 
at the Wilmington Conference. Bishop Janes 
is reported as seriously ill at Morristown, N. J. 
Bishop Simpson has suffered from an attack of 
congestive ague, and gone to Clifton Springs in 
this State; and of Bishop Ames’health there 
have been at times alarming reports. 
4; 
