I 
“CHRONIC DISCONTEIIT.” 
[AN old contributor to tbo Rural takas excep¬ 
tions to nn article cut!tied “Chronic Discontent,'' 
recently publish pci to tins Department, and sends the 
following poem from “ Mother Goose for Grown 
folks," by Mrs. Whitxky, ;«s a rejoinder. Wt> give 
U room cheerfully, believintr both sides of any ques¬ 
tion should have u henring, merely remarking, how¬ 
ever, that our article was not intended to be sweep¬ 
ing in its application, ftut hud reference to a certain 
class, and that while we still hold to what wc therein 
said, us speaking of such certain class—although now 
uf the opinion that our illustration was not based 
nil fact—wo fully endorse the palpable truths this 
poem contains, a# regards the pox in general.—E ds. 
rural.] 
VICTUALS AND DRINK. 
“ There once was a woman. 
And what do you think? 
She lived upon nothing 
But. victuals and drink; 
Victuals and drink 
Were the chief of her diet. 
And yet this poor woman 
Scarce over was quiet.” 
And were you so foolish 
As really to think 
That all sbe could want 
Was her victuals and drink? 
And that while she was furnished 
With that sort of diet. 
Her feeling and fancy 
Would starve and be quiet? 
Mother Goose knew far better 
But thought It sufficient 
To give a trtiero hint 
That the tare was deficient; 
For l do not believe 
She could ever have meant 
To imply there was reason 
For being content. 
Yet the mass of mankind 
Is uncommonly stow 
To acknowledge the fact 
It behooves them to know ; 
Or to learn that a woman 
Is not like a mouse, 
Needing nothing but cheese. 
And the walls of a house. 
But Just take a man,— 
Shut him up for a day; 
Get his hat and his cane.— 
Put them snugly away; 
Give him stockings to mend, 
And three sumptuous meals; 
And then ask him at night, 
If yon dare, how he feels! 
Do you think ho will quietly 
Stick to the sleeking, 
While yrm rend the news, 
And "don't caro about talking?” 
O, many u woman 
Goes starving, I ween, 
Who lives In a palace, 
And fares like a queen ; 
Till the famishing heart, 
And the feverish brain, 
Have spelled out to life’s end 
The long lesson of pain. 
Yet, stay! To my mind 
An uneasy suggestion 
Comes up, that there may be 
Two sides to the question. 
That, while here and there proving 
Inflicted privation. 
The verdict must often be 
“ Willful starvation." 
Since there arc men and women 
Would force one to think 
They choose to 11 vo only 
On victuals and drink. 
O, restless, and craving, 
Unsatisfied hearts. 
Whence never the vulture 
Of hunger departs! 
How long on the husks 
Of your life will ye feed. 
Ignoring the soul, 
And her famishing need ? 
Bethink you, when lulled 
In your shallow content, 
’Twas to Lazarus only 
The apgels were sent; 
And ’tis be to whose lips 
But earth's ashes are given, 
For whom the full banquet 
Is gathered lu Heaven! 
-+-*-•- 
THE WIGGINS FAMILY. 
BY PEN DENNIS. 
I removed my pipe and read to my good 
aunt this thought of Lamartine : 
“Every family is a history in itself, and 
even a poem to those who know how to read 
its pages.” 
“ Yes, I believe it,” was her remark. 
“ There are very queer families in the world, 
and very queer histories they make, now I 
tell you.” 
I secured an elevated position for my pedal 
extremities, and observed her shilling needles 
with most profound attention, for I felt sure 
she had some family in her mind’s eye, and 
that she would sketch it for me in due time. 
Turning her chair<i little nearer the “ Morn¬ 
ing Glory ” she began. 
“ Penn do you know Mary Jane Wig¬ 
gins?” 
The name brought to mind an ancient 
maiden,—one of the “ permanently unmar¬ 
ried, 1 '—tall, muscular, forbidding in her 
general aspect; face weather-beaten and ill- 
favored, over which a single long yellow 
front tooth kept guard. “ Yes. I know her.” 
“ Well, Penn, in my opinion that harsh, 
rough woman contains all the poetry of the 
Wiggins family. I suppose your smile 
weans that the poetry has rather an ugly 
binding, but that makes little difference alter 
all. They’ve had a miserable life, if I’m any 
judge, from first to last. Mrs. Wiggins used 
to be a regular chatter-box,—talked from 
morning till night, without ever talking a 
'void ot sense; and in her better days she 
dd a deal of mischief by her reporting pro¬ 
clivity. Her husband died when her oldest 
boy was only thirteen years old, and how 
they ever managed to get along and keep 
soul and body together I hardly know. 
John was a sour, cross fellow, but be caught 
a Tartar .when be married Julia Wilcox, 
and its my opinion be gets all the discipline 
be needs. 
“Mary Jane was next, and the poor girl 
tried hard to get an education, but she had 
no encouragement at home, was domineered 
over by her selfish brothers and fretted at by 
her weak-minded mother, till I wonder that 
j there’s a grain of sweetness left in her. No 
wonder she’s cross and bitter. She’s taken 
care of herself since she was twelve years 
old, and lately — yes, for six or eight years 
—she has supported her mother and the two 
youngest children. 1 Lonzo’b a trial — a 
visionary fellow; and he’s taken it into his 
head that he can doctor people; so in sum¬ 
mer he roves around after roots and herbs, 
and in winter he cooks up the most diaboli¬ 
cal messes, that even a witch would not have 
concocted. One he calls the 1 Oil of Joy and 
Gladness;’ another is the ‘ Sirup of Health, 
Wealth and Prosperity.’ Then he has a pill 
which will affect the whole family if one 
takes it, The worst of it is, that he tvhcedles 
his mother into trying his trash, and now 
she doesn't go out for a call without taking 
a basket of medicine with her, in case she 
should have a fit, or a stroke, or a chill, 
or a fever, The other day she informed me 
that she had the spine of the back, and 
that Lonzo had made some ‘ Pictorial ’ for 
her. It’s a positive fact, Penn, that I didn’t 
get rid of the scent of her ‘campliire and 
anarlty,’ as she calls them, for nearly a day 
after her last visit. She has a great deal to 
say about the comparative merits of the 
* alapacky and hoinopacky pyhsieians,’ pre¬ 
ferring the one who gives the bitterest 
medicine. • 
“ Hut, Auntie, how about the poetry? I 
don’t quite see Mary .Jane’s claim to it.” 
" I do, Penn. The girl gave up till hopes 
of an education, and went to work at an 
early age, as 1 told yon. She lias had a great 
deal to bear from her ignorant, cross-grained 
mother, yet no one ever hears a word of com¬ 
plaint on that score. Siie takes caro of her 
crippled brother Henry, and makes and 
mends all their clothes, without getting any 
thanks for it, cilher, I’m afraid. People call 
her harsh and crabbed; but if she had been 
better treated, it would have made a great 
difference. There’s one comfort; she’ll be 
rewarded some day. I do wish I had the 
power to go into that family and straighten 
them tip. I’d give Mrs. Wiggins more 
sense—tind a heart large enough to hold 
something beside self; Mary Jane’s labors 
should be cheered by due appreciation and 
plenty of love; Alonzo should quit his doc¬ 
tor .stuff and go to sawing wood, and try to 
be of some use in the world; and I’d give 
Henry a contented spirit, and a desire to 
help himself a little more, and not he so en¬ 
tirely dependent for his subsistence.” 
“ What a pity, auntie, that you’re not a 
fairy !—then you might do something in my 
behalf.” 
“ To be sure, Penn. I’d spirit away your 
pipe!” 
And with this parting 9hot, she went into 
the pantry and stirred the buckwheat cakes. 
-- 
ANNA DICKINSON ON WOMAN. 
God did not create woman as a violet to 
smell sweet, nor as a lute to send forth har¬ 
monies, but as He created man, an immortal 
soul, and as such, owing duties and responsi¬ 
bilities to every other immortal soul. The 
scales of everlasting justice are held in the 
hands of God, and must swing down at last. 
I do not expect a miracle to be wrought; J 
do not believe the millennium will dawn 
when woman receives the ballot. What 
woman needs is the broadening of brain, the 
expansion of character gaiued through the 
power that will come with the ballot. Wo¬ 
man must help man as well as be helped by 
him. She must inspire him as well as be 
supported by him. The nations of the earth 
will rise up and call such an one. blessed, and 
God himself will say to her, “well done," 
No good will come to man or woman in 
keeping them asunder. There is no work a 
man can do but that will l>e better done by 
having a woman at his side. 
-♦_*-*.---— 
MANNERS IN GERMANY. 
A letter from Gottingen contains the 
following: 
“Ladies here are surprised at woman’s 
position in America, and quite shocked at 
the modern idea of woman’s rights. That 
a gentleman should give up to a lady his 
seat in a crowded house or public convey¬ 
ance is an astonishment to them ; they never 
heard of such a thing in Germany. Wives 
carry garments and packages for their hus- 
bauds, and not husbands for their wives. 
Married women expect their husbands to 
spend their evenings at the club or museum, 
the coffee-house or beer-house, instead of 
being society for them or making home, at¬ 
tractive. It is perfectly proper for a young 
lady to go home alone through the streets 
in the evening,—it would be highly improper 
for a young gentleman to accompany her.” 
{fliotre sttsaHang. 
NONE SPOKE A SINGLE WORD TO ME. 
[The author of the following pathetic poem is Mr. 
Frank J. Webb, a native of Philadelphia, for sev¬ 
eral years he hold an official position in Jamaica un¬ 
der the Fronch Government. About six months ago 
he returned to America, and Is at present studying 
law in tho Howard University, He Is the author of 
a novel called '* TheGarles,” which had au extensive 
sale In Englund, where it wua published. He pos¬ 
sesses decided literary ahlllty, and under the new 
regime of affairs, so favorable to the colored people, 
(with which race he is identified by birth,)he will un¬ 
doubtedly achieve distinction In his own land, as he 
has already abroad lu the best Circles of England and 
Scotland. On his mother’s side, ho Is a grandson of 
Aaron Burr. This poem recently appeared in the 
New Era, a Washington paper, to the columns of 
which he is a frequent contributor.— m. a. e. w.] 
It was indeed a festive scene, 
The hall was all agleam with light. 
And stalwart men and maidens fair 
In mirth forgot time’s hasty flight. 
I sadly wandered ’midst the throng, 
To where I heard their laughter free, 
And stood, a lonely looker on ; 
None spoke a single word to me. 
Around me men and matrons smiled 
On the loud mirth they once could share. 
And gaxed with loving eyes upon 
Loved offspring lu their places there. 
And ever and anon thoy threw 
A quiet Jest to swell the glee; 
Yet whilst I sadly smiled on them, 
None spoke a single word to me. 
Young eyes were brightened by the tale 
Told from old Evo’s time until now, 
And fair cheeks flushed and then grew pale. 
Whilst listening to some whispered vow. 
And laughing children 'midst the throng 
Wore faces, ah 1 so sweet to see; 
Yet though my heart o’orflowed to them. 
None spoke u single word to me. 
’Tis very sail to walk amidst 
A joy in which you mingle not, 
And feel yourself amidst the crowd 
The only pne who seems forgot. 
Yes, even far above the stars 
I dull and sad of heart should be, 
If, ’midst that bright ungulic host, 
None spoke a single word to me. 
-♦♦♦-— 
HUMOROUS NATURES. 
Humor has nothing in it hurtful, and that 
some natures are imbued therewith we feel 
deeply thankful. Take the humorous people 
out of the world, and what a dreary state of 
things we should have, to be sure! Dry, 
matter-of-fact is very unsatisfactory as a 
regular mental diet. Those who have noth¬ 
ing else, do not live, they simply endure. 
Real juicy, enriching life assimilates to itself 
all pleasant things. As a recompense, it 
throws out geniality, and makes other lives 
glad. It turns every outward circumstance 
to its own inward good, and so'**n5hclUs 
mankind in general. 
The humorous man is a blessing to com¬ 
munity. lie sees a certain phase of exist¬ 
ence that ail men ought to see, and that but 
for him many might miss. Soberness is 
commendable; but too much of it begets 
mental dyspepsia. Living should not he all 
soberness; it is not. The class who believe 
it is need the humorous ones to convince 
them of their error. Smiles are better than 
tears, by a long ways. A poor joke is better 
than a dull platitude, ever. A keen sense of 
the ridiculous is oftentimes as valuable to 
the world at large as a profound compre¬ 
hension of the philosophical. Humanity 
grows better through laughter, kinder 
through smiling. The saucy parrot, chatter¬ 
ing his odd things by the hour, is a worthier 
bird than the wise-looking owl, blinking his 
great eyes at you the whole day long. 
Then humorous natures arc by no means 
unthinking ones, and possessed of no intel¬ 
lectuality. You never saw a fool with any 
glimmer of real humor shining out from him. 
Generally speaking, humorous natures arc 
broad, full, receptive. They are in the great¬ 
est degree sympathetic. They do not laugh 
because they cannot cry. They are not 
made, like Victor Hugo’s " Man who 
Laughs,” to laugh any way. There is no 
facial or mental defect about them. Laughter 
is but a part of their temperament, not the 
whole. Look at Hood, for instance. He 
laughs often in his rythmic way, everybody 
knows; but we know also how he weeps in 
his “ Bridge of Sighs,” and we hear and re¬ 
echo his half-repressed sob in the “ Song of 
the Shirt." There is Cowper, too. A more 
fervent, tender soul than his never throbbed 
beneath the underbreath of song, although 
he laughs out so rollickingly in “John Gil¬ 
pin’s Ride” that we all laugh with him, and 
are not ashamed of ourselves either. 
In a study of humorous natures you will 
be surprised to find how much besides 
humor there is blended in them. Humor 
and reverence are not antagonistic. They 
are often in closest harmony. Even re¬ 
verence need not always wear the straight 
jacket, and be grim as a wooden saint. Nor 
are humor and science in any wise unfriend¬ 
ly. Science does not forever don a cowl, 
with an s ahead of it to hush you to digni¬ 
fied silence continually. So humorous na¬ 
tures may even be scientific; and that they 
will be so successfully, if at all, the very ne¬ 
cessity of their make-up will insure. Be¬ 
cause humor sees all sides of a thing, and 
science calls for all sides, and bids us con¬ 
sider them. 
Humor is better than wit, because it is 
never cutting and unkind. Sidney Smith, 
humorous, will be remembered longer than 
Sidney Smith keenly witty, for the reason 
that bis humor pleased and bis wit hurt. 
Things that rankle, make sore, those that 
simply tickle, give a sort of satisfaction that 
is very agreeable. Wit deals telling strokes, 
often, against social and other absurdities; 
but humor works quite as effectively to the 
same end through means a trifle milder. 
Humor ridicules always; wit ridicules some¬ 
times, but oftener punctures and leaves 
wounds that are long in healing. 
We repeat, then, that humorous natures 
are a blessing. If somewhat of their excel¬ 
lence runs to waste through injudicious 
usage, where is the blame? Great blessing 
remains, minus very little loss. To see ludi¬ 
crous things a little too often is happier 
than to see them not at all. To make hu¬ 
morous remarks more frequently than is 
pleasing to some lugubrious ears is on the 
whole better for the humorist and everybody 
else than to be forever preaching stale truths 
self-evident, or driving home a moral that is 
perfectly plain already. Undue levity is to 
be disparaged, but we can stand much laugh¬ 
ter and still grow fat. To go through life 
and never see Us comic side is a lot of all 
hal'd ones most hard and unenviable; and so 
believing we give glad greeting to live hu¬ 
morous natures everywhere! 
-♦♦♦- 
THE EAR OF DIONYSIUS. 
In Oliver Optic’s Magazine there recently 
appeared the following account of a wonder 
which nearly all have read something about: 
lu the neighborhood of Syracuse, in Sicily, 
is a cave of great depth, which Is said to 
have been built by Dionysius the Elder, a 
tyrant, or usurper, who was born about B. 
C. 430, and died B. C. 307, in the sixty-third 
year of his age, and the thirty-ninth of his 
rule. This cave was two hundred and fifty 
feet long and eighty feet high. It was 
fashioned in the form of a human ear, and 
the faintest sounds were carried from all 
parts to a central chamber, which corre¬ 
sponded to the tympanum or drum of the ear. 
In this remarkable whispering gallery 
Dionysius imprisoned all who were the ob¬ 
jects of liis suspicions, while lie himself was 
in the habit of passing entire days In the in¬ 
nermost chamber, listening to the conversa¬ 
tion of liis victims, in order that he might, 
ascertain for himself who were really his 
enemies. Ancient writers tell us that the 
workmen who constructed the cavern were 
pm to death, to prevent them from divulg¬ 
ing the use to which it was to be put, and 
that w’hole families were sometimes Confined 
in it at once. Modern travelers relate that 
even at the present day, notwithstanding the 
changes which have been wrought by time, 
the echo is such that the tearing of a sheet 
of paper at the entrance can be distinctly 
heard at the remotest part. Pieces of iron 
and lead have been found in making exca¬ 
vations, and they are thought to be the re¬ 
mains of the chains and staples by which the 
prisoners were confined. 
SOURCE AND EFFECT OF HOPE. 
Hopefulness is the mother of happiness. 
The truly hopeful are never the truly mis¬ 
erable. They see a light ahead, even at the 
midnight. Whence comes hopefulness? 
Some one has thus declared: 
True hope is based on energy of character. 
A strong mind always hopes, and has always 
cause to hope, because it knows the mutabil¬ 
ity of human affairs, and how slight a cir¬ 
cumstance may change the whole course of 
events! such a spirit, too, rests upon itself; 
it is not confined to partial views, or to one 
particular object. And if, at last, all should 
be lost, it has saved itself—its own integrity 
and worth. Hope awakens courage, while 
despondency is the last of all evils; it is the 
abandonment of good—the giving up of the 
battle of life with dead nothingness. Ho 
who can implant courage in the human soul 
is its best physician. 
-- 
HOW TO LEARN. 
Never forget what a man has said to you 
when he was angry. If he has charged you 
with anything, you had better look it up. 
A person has often been startled from a 
pleasant dream of self-deception by the 
words of an angry man, who may wish his 
words unsaid the next hour, but they are 
past recall. The wisest course is to take 
home this lesson with meekness to our souls. 
It was a saying of Socrates that, every man 
had need of a faithful friend and a bitter 
enemy; the one to advise, and the other to 
show him his faults. 
-♦-*-*- 
Hope is the dawn of joy, and memory its 
twilight; but this prefers to shed the color¬ 
less dew or rain, and tiie day which the 
dawn promises, breaks in; but on another 
earth, and under another sun. 
These arc good words of John Ruskin, 
that deserves to be taken to heart:—“ It is 
only by labor that thought can be made 
bealtby, and only by thought that labor can 
be made happy.” 
tablwtlj linking. 
NO TIME TO PRAY. 
No time to pray ! 
O, who so fraught with earthly care 
A* not, to give to bumble pruyer 
Some part ot day ! 
No time to pray! 
What heart so clean, so pure within. 
That neeileth not some chock to sin— 
Needs not to pray? 
No time to pray! 
’Mid ouch day's danger, what retreat 
More needful than the morcy scat? 
Who must not pray ? 
No time to pray! 
Must cure or business’ urgent call 
So press us us to take It all, 
Each passing day ? 
No time to pray! 
Then sure your record falloth short; 
Excuse will fall yon as reeort 
On reckoning day. 
What thought more drear 
Than that our God Ills face should hide, 
And say through all life’s swelling tide, 
No time to hear ! 
Cease not to pray; 
On Jesus as your all rely, 
Would you live huppy—happy die, 
Take time to pray! 
- - - 
IMPETUOUS CHRISTIANITY. 
Peter was the impetuous apostle. Wc 
all know how his impetuosity cropped out, 
at times,—how he was most ready to declare 
love for his Master, then the first to deny 
Him. It was an inherent fault in his nature. 
He llarccl up at a spark. As susceptible to 
sleep on that, memorable night of the 
Agony ns liis fellow disciples, he was prompt 
enough on the succeeding morning to out off 
the ear of one of the band whom Judas led 
to the betrayal. His acts were as impetuous 
as bis faith, and this came near to causing 
his death on an occasion familiar to all. 
And Peter the impetuous was the type 
of a large class of Christians to come after 
him. Faith, belief, devotion, action, were 
with him a matter of impulse; and they are 
so Still with very many. Perhaps f lu: pro¬ 
portion of impulsive faith, belief, devotion 
and service is ns great to - day among 
(Jurist’s followers as it was in the day of 
His ministry. Warmed by an atmosphere 
of loving nearness to God, thrilled by the 
prayers of faithful ones, many are eager to 
declare their fervent affection,—to stoutly as¬ 
severate that a denial of their Lord is im¬ 
possible. But otit amid the scorncrs, where 
Christ is jeered at and mocked, where, to 
cling to Him may he to suffer contempt and 
ill-treatment, the impulse of denial is as ready 
as any other, and the denial is most emphatic. 
Impulsive service is a poor service, at 
best. Its good effects are neutralized by the 
cold seasons intervening, when all devotion 
is forgotten, all faith apparently dead. But 
is impulsive service rare ? Is it not part of 
almost every Christian life? the bane of 
every Christian church ? We draw the pic¬ 
ture strong, possibly; but it does not, seem 
to us that Cliristiau endeavor is largely char¬ 
acterized by impulse. We do much for a 
little time, when strongly moved, t hen relapse 
into inertia and discontent, if not. utter care¬ 
lessness. Our charity flows out to bless the 
needy only when melted to a white beat by 
external fire3. Giving is not a matter of 
principle, but of impulse; doing springs not 
from an underlying purpose to serve God 
and our fellows, but is the result of outside 
influences, bearing so powerfully upon us 
for the time being that, we cannot resist. 
All good impulses should be cherished,— 
ail will concede that. But life should not 
be all bnpulse,—nervouB and uncertain. 
And our following after Christ should not 
be like unto Peter’s, “ afar off.” 
■■ ■ - •» - 
ARGUMENT FROM THE DEAD SEA. 
Lieutenant Lynch, commander of the 
American Surveying Expedition in Pales¬ 
tine, said:—“ We entered on this sea with 
conflicting opinions; one of our party was 
sceptical, and another was a professed un¬ 
believer in the Mosaic account. After 
twenty-two days’ close investigation, if I am 
not mistaken, we were all unanimous in the 
conviction of the truth of the Scripture ac¬ 
count of the destruction of the C ities of the 
Plain.” There nre numberless proofs of 
Now Testament verity, alBo, In the Holy 
Land; and would doublers only regard 
them as they should, they could not but be 
convinced. 
- 4 -*-*——- 
Self-IIelp. —He who has not learned the 
lesson of resolute self-help has made little 
progress os a student, has grown little toward 
real manhood. Half the world refuses to do 
its own thinking, to toil through the .solu¬ 
tion of its own knotty problems; hence 
half the world who will not do this must be 
subject to the other half who will. They 
who do the thinking will either directly or 
indirectly do the governing. 
-♦ » » — — 
By how much lower the Saviour was made 
for me, by so much the dearer may he be 
to me. 
