1*1 ftl 
mm rural 
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misty cloud land at the huge spiders which often I 
crawled over their frames,—unsought, un- lion to 
paid for, and unknown 1 fellow i 
We were told Hint American art was In dingy r 
its i nfancy (“ muling and puking in its nurse’s Clyde ! 
often I shrunk away from my own starva¬ 
tion to look at the worse starvation of my 
fellow men, that I might go hack to our 
dingy room and he kind and wifely to poor 
arms,”) that society had not yet reached 
that point of culture and elevation which 
would warrant the free use of spiritual and 
religions elements; that the public taste was 
vitiated, etc. Intensely dispiriting to a new- 
Al last, Lillian, I began to feel my love 
for him waver, and struggle, aud almost 
fail. T sometimes feared I should hate him 
for bringing upon me such misery, unneces¬ 
sary woe, most of it; for had he still been 
Hedged artist, was it not? And so poor kind and loving to me I could easily have 
Clyde’s ardor cooled and his amhilitm died home the rest. 
the death. Where his money went is more 
I began to work with new will and pur- 
tlian I can imagine; but in less than six pose. If Clyde chose to fail in the world’s 
months after our return from Paris’, Clyde battle, I would not he such an imbecile; if 
told me we must leave our beautiful house he could throw his brushes down and become 
on the avenue and take cheaper rooms else- an idle, worthless waif on life’s ocean, I 
where. would build me a bonnio boat and set my 
I thought it would break my heart Lillian ! sails, and let him drift away in one direction 
I, who had never been homeless, must lose while favoring breezes walled mo onward to 
my graceful, elegant home, whose very walls, a sheltered haven of rest. So 1 toiled early 
with their sculptured treasures, had been my and late with my pen and thoughts. Sue- 
daily inspiration. I must hid farewell to the cess crowned my efforts, and the hour came 
consecrated nooks where my suhlimest vis- when 1 could purchase for myself a home 
ions of Truth and Beauty had come, where and—What ? 
1 had learned the noblest graces of Clyde’s Leave him ! Leave this mendicant Clyde, 
nature, until 1 almost worshipped him as he who only endured my presence at the beet, 
worshipped his art; where all that was best who seemed to care no more for me than 
and sweetest in me had come forth to crown 
him lord of all my love. These things I 
for his external condition? It was a hard 
question to decide, hut I sometimes felt that 
must forego, and in their stead accept— J must go; that my love could not much 
what? longer endure such adverse fate. 
I dared not think—I would not think— Last week Clyde was visibly unhappy, 
for Clyde’s eyes were fastened curiously refusing to tell me the cause of ins trouble, 
upon me, and I would not betray my pangs It cut me to the heart to see him thus, and I 
to him for a thousand homes. It was heavy was sorely tempted to confess to him my 
enough for him to hear—this loss of fortune, treasure and plead for his love, and cling to 
position, home—and I would add no straw’s him as long as life lasted. He came to me 
weight to the crushing burden. 1 had yesterday and said: 
thought of all those things before my mar¬ 
riage, and 1 deemed it but a just punishment 
to lose the wealth which had allured me. 
“The trial has come at last, Guilies, the 
last one I shall inflict upon you. I have 
been a great trouble to you all these months, 
Like an angel-whisper came the thought, no doubt, (ah! did he know at last?) 
“ His love is surely left mo; that I will keep but it is over now. (1 began to blanch.) I 
at whatever cost of selfish pleasure, and that remember once, Guilies, long ago, in your 
shall be my greatest joy.” These thoughts girlhood’s pride, you told me in reply to a 
flashed in an instant, while he looked sharply lover-like question, 4 1 never shall love any 
in iny eyes, and I think he did not detect so one so well that I can “ go to the ends of the 
much as a tremor in my voice when 1 cheer- earth ” with them, into a garret for instance, 
ily said— 
“ O, that will be delightful, Clyde! 
to live among rats and bugs and bad odors.’ 
(I had not forgotten it either!) Now the 
large house is such a burden on a ‘ literary’ time has come when 1 must go into that 
woman’s mind; the change will be a great veritable garret to live. Shall I go alone? 
relief, 1 am sure.” 
Is there love enough left in your heart to 
With a strange cold look he turned away follow me even there, and share my burdens 
from me, while I with horrible wrenches at the little time I have to stay on earth ?” 
my heart-strings, put carefully away the few What then was a garret to me! I looked 
things weeould take, and then we bade faro- at him, while a horrible fear crept over me, 
well to our sweet home. .like the chill of death. Could he die, my. 
Our first room was very pleasant, so I beautiful Clyde, star of my darkest night 
tried to think. The lace curtains (no two of and splendor of my brightest day? lie 
them alike,) which dropped at the low win- seemed at the moment to waste away, to 
clows were limp and graceless, but in among shrivel and pass into nothingness before my 
their folds 1 -wove some trailing ivy vines gaze. And so he did, for I fainted utterly, 
and hung two rustic baskets I had brought Life pressed me back into the struggle 
from “ homethe walls were white, tables again. Shall it be against him ? Shall I 
and mantles were marble-topped, the carpet desert him now, when more than ever he 
was a delicate gray with soft green vines needs my help, albeit he does not love me? 
running through it. I made up my mind at Mv heart and reason war with each other, 
a glance to be happy. The room was sug- and my rebellious love for beauty and long- 
gestive of grace and beauty, so my poetic ing for rest, fight back the weakness which 
fancy would not be chilled into a premature bids me stay with him now and evermore, 
consumption; I would rest in Clyde’s arms Which will conquer ? God alone knoweth. 
and dream ourselves back in our lost Eden. Before I move in any direction, 1 shall go 
Beside, what had a literary woman to do to Him, and in the silent watches of the 
with home-longings or domestic impulses? night will come the voice that shall ever 
We were undeniably poor and must struggle guide Your sorrowing Gullies. 
with brush and pen for very life. I would 
not grant my yearning memories a moment’s 
hearing, ] never alluded to such awant be- 
forc Clyde to grieve or trouble him; never 
LETTER NO. II. 
My Dear Leslie :—You’ll be surprised 
to hear from me after this long silence, still 
talked of the lost; always praised what I m<*e so at the contents of iny letter. But— 
could in our new life, and settled myself for the deuce take it—I'm in a curious quandary, 
steady work. When my heart would ache and I want your help. Do you remember, 
in defiance of will, I dashed off a despairiug old fellow, how you warned me once about 
poem or story and made it my safety-valve, marrying a “ blue," stigmatizing the whole 
Then, O then, as 1 began to feel content, class of literary women as heartless and cold, 
an awful change came over Clyde. The untidy and unlovely ? If I had only heeded 
hitler, biting horror of that change! Can 1 you! And yet, woman’s nature is a mys- 
forget it ever? It was not only that his tery I cannot solve. Tire sphinx is a child’s 
neatness left him, that he was disorderly, plaything beside the wife I married, as you’ll 
ruinous, almost dirty, with his paint-be- say before I’ve done, 
smeared clothing which “he could not af- You know I felt so sure in those old daj-s 
ford” to send to the laundress; not alone that if I won the entire intense love of my 
that he would no longer take his customary gifted Guilies, I should lie certain of domes- 
walk or call, or lecture; not simply that lie tic bliss. /, of all persons, pould not doubt 
insulted every friend of mine who clung to my power to win her. With a mau’s blind 
us through our adversity, and caused them egotism, I felt so certain, 
at last to leave us alone ; but to me, to me, I do not think my peace was perfect at 
he changed and chilled. For me no smiles first, or my place in her heart secure, despite 
came dancing to his lips, no longer were my my irresistible (?) attractions. She was too 
dreamy hours made glorious by his tender- fond of her pen and her poetic fancies; she 
ness, he walked beside mo daily like a sat with them hour by hour, while her jeal- 
stranger, disdaiuing every attempted caress, ous lord and master snored deceitfully in the 
refusing any word of explanation. Had his next room. She cared little fbr society and 
coldness been harsh and rough, I could have less I thought for home; still less, I feared, 
battled with it; but his stem reserve, his for myself. I could not understand her calm, 
cold look of constant reproach, as if I had self-poised air, and was resolved to test her 
done him some mortal wrong,—all this nature and ascertain what was truly neces- 
pressed down upon my woary heart until it sary to her happiness. I had taken up the 
well-nigh broke. Alas! what could Ido? study of Art and there was the finest oppor- 
What had I done? It was in vain to ques 
tion. 
Utility to plead ill-fortune. My Art against 
her Poetry had brought no jealous twinges 
We gradually wont down, lower, lower, to her heart; now I would try my poverty 
until one bare room sufficed for studio, par- against her life-long wealth aud see if home 
lor, reception-room, and bed-room. Long was dear to her, ascertain, if she had domes- 
ago every attempt at comfort or decoration 
was left behind. How my delicate tastes 
tic attachments like other women. I told 
her we were poor and must give up our 
suffered, how these vulgar surroundings, beautiful house. She looked into my face 
with their coarse touch, pricked and rasped with the oddest smile and said -she'was do¬ 
me, only my own heart guessed. Often and lighted with the change 1 She entered into 
our cheap lodgings with as queenly a grace 
as she had swept through the most elegant 
halls, hung up her pet flowers, sang her pet 
songs, calm as ever, nothing wanted, noth¬ 
ing lost. 1 tore down her flowers and said 
that singing annoyed me, and that, was the 
end of both. I tried to torment her by sloven¬ 
liness, but she followed in my footsteps— 
stopped curling her pretty golden hair, put 
it away in an ugly net, ami wore the most 
unbecoming of dresses to be polite to me! 
She would not do so indecorous a thing as 
outshine her chosen companion ! It galled 
me to think I could not weaken her woman¬ 
ly pride and passion; it vexed and chilled 
me to sec her so devoid of domestic graces. 
I cut her friends and moved to worse quar¬ 
ters; she -was more calm and queenly than 
ever, devoting herself entirely to her hated 
pen, caring no more for her vulgar surround¬ 
ings than cared the sun for the fogs which 
earth exhales! Never a complaint made 
she; never a wish for better things passed 
her lips. She simply did not care! If she 
had raved a little, cried and 6colded and 
tried with all her being to bo patient, just 
for my sake, it would have been so sweet! 
But so cold and calm—pali I She would be 
a marble statue in the midst of Paradise or 
in Hades—all the same to her if the ink did 
not fail or the quill break. 
I cannot understand how so beautiful a 
woman can forget even her vanity, that 
foundation-stone of woman’s nature, but 
Guilies— laugh a little Leslie—Guilies has 
not looked into a glass for months! What 
a monstrosity! 
1 made a little discovery hist week which 
startled me. Guilies has published several 
books unknown to me for which she must 
have gotten a small fortune. What has she 
done with it? Would she surprise mo with 
it like a loving generous wife? 1 waited 
long enough to get a silent answer, then I 
tried my last resourco. If she showed no 
sign of life or love at this I'd none of her in 
future, that was sure. I told her we must 
take another step and go up the Inst round 
of poverty into a garret to live with other 
vermin, until like them our worthless lives 
perished. We! if she would go with we. 
At that she fainted and since then lhavo not 
received a word or look to answer me. She 
does not love me. 1 have proved it fully and 
I think she means to leave me. The decep¬ 
tion of my poverty lias availed me only that 
I learn how wretched a man may be to know 
one woman, only one, 1ms never loved him, 
cannot love libp truly. Poverty and I must 
separate and shall I cotuc to you and wile 
away my weariness for a few months? I 
shall no longer live this barren life. O tell 
me wliat to do and win a hearty blessing from 
your friend, Wellmont. 
Those two strange letters lay upon the 
bare deal table in close proximity. What a 
pity that letters have no tongues! How sad 
to think the suffering expressed within then 
must remain nnguessed by those most nearly 
interested! Misunderstanding may come to 
all, but to this self-blinded husband came no | 
suspicion of the injustice he had done his 
patient struggling wife. His early years had 
been warped by the frivolities which had 
surrounded him, and only half believing in 
the woman he had chosen, he carried into 
the marriage relations the falsest of false 
principles. Ah Clyde ! how disastrous may 
bo this “ trial ” of yours. Not always does 
poverty prove a sweetener of domestic joys, 
not always can the lack of every comfort, 
every beautiful surrounding stimulate a 
woman’s love of home, 
The little household Laves, which had 
never quite forsaken them, were in agony 
at the unguessed secret within the letters; 
and well knowing that now or never must 
the truth he fully known, they cast about as 
elfins will for ways to accomplish the de¬ 
sired end. One of them drew the old rags 
from the broken window and admitted a 
boisterous breeze which instantly whirled 
the letters on the floor and into the ashes of 
the hearth before which sat Clyde, the ex¬ 
perimentalist. Whiff came the ashes in his 
eyes and blaze went the envelope of the let¬ 
ter on the hearth ; with a quick movement 
he rescued it in time to save the contents; a 
few words caught and riveted his gaze. 
Then.O then, the Lares danced with joy; all 
the elfs in the room laughed aud screamed 
to see the man’6 eager ej’es go down the 
closely written pages until it was finished 
and a shout rang out from Clyde’s own lips 
to swell the chorus. 
It would have been impertinent to stay in 
even that uncon vent ion al apartment when 
the patient wife came in and met her hus¬ 
band's triumphant kiss and listened to his 
happy words of explanat ion and regret. The 
little Lares fled away with tears of joy in 
their eyes and a dimpled finger at each lip 
for silence; and we only guessed the sub¬ 
stance of that, long and blissful talk by the 
radiant smiles which crowned two faces at 
the eventide, 
-- 
A FrRM faith is one of the best divinities; a 
good life one of the best philosophies; a clear 
conscience the best law; honesty the only 
true policy; and temperance the best physic. 
W Hoitng jjjfoplf. 
THE LILY AND BEE. 
BY I.CCY L. STOUT. 
“ What 1b this musical fifing aud drumming, 
AVliatall this wonderful buzzing and humming, 
Making the air ring with resonant glee?” 
That’s what the Lily said to the Bee. 
“ Doublet of velvet, broidered with gold, 
Wiugs of gossamer, fold upon fold: 
Knight and troubadour, gallant and free.” 
That’s what the Lily said to the Boe. 
“ I am a vestal, clad all In white. 
Led by cool dews and kiss’d by the light; 
Rocked by soft airs from over the sea.” 
That’s what the Lily said to the Bee. 
“ Seek’sl thou this bosom, where sweet secrets 
tremble? 
Hearts that tire purest, best, can dissemble; 
So, al! my bolls chime a love-song to thee.” 
That’s what the Lily said to the Bcc. 
The bright day goo* on. but her blooming Is over 
Kaint from afar floats the song of her lover; 
Low droops her pallid head, dying, ah me! 
Lilies, fair Liites, beware of the Bee! 
ANSWERS TO SAM CARTER. 
flow to C’atcli flnss. 
Sam Carter’s little letter has been read, 
and now come the answers. S. D. of Hor- 
nellsville, N.Y., writes:—“Please allow me to 
answer Sam Carter’s inquiry on page 392 of 
Rural New-Yorker, June lltli, as to how 
to catch bass. 1 will just give him and many 
thousands of the readers of the Bubal my 
mode of preparing bait, with which I think 
I can catch at least, ten times as many fish 
of any and all kinds as with any oilier bait. I 
ever tried. I tnke a. lump of very highly 
scented or decayed Dutch cheese, pulverize 
it and add the same amount of wheat flour 
dough ; mix well with white cotton hatting, 
then make a small worm of the same, and, 
my word for it, you can catch all the fish 
that you want." 
An old fisherman at our elbow, to whom 
the foregoing has been read, and w ho has 
used this bait, says it takes but very little 
cotton batting, and it must be thoroughly 
incorporated with the dough by being 
“pulled,” like molasses candy. A half- 
ounce of balling wdll make a ball of bait as 
big as a large lien’s egg. 
And now that jolly old chap, Pen Den¬ 
nis, who writes occasionally for other de¬ 
partments of the Rural New-Yorker, and 
under whose long, white beard we know 
there are fun-dimples enough) to stock a 
whole family of merry-makers, writes for 
Sam Carter’s benefit as follows: 
“ There’s no better fun than fishing, pro¬ 
vided one gels the fish; but when Billy 
Hempstead, or any other fellow', has all the 
luck, it in aggravating sure enough. When 
I was a younger boy than I now am, and 
came home in the twilight, hungry and tired, 
with ‘’narry a fin’ to show lor my after¬ 
noon’s labor, I really don’t think my state of 
mind was enviable. Then again, when a 
long string of sleek, shining pickerel, or a 
couple of dozen speckled trout kept me com¬ 
pany, I was as happy as a king. Only last 
week I went fishing on the beautiful bay of 
Assorodus—silver-shining water the name 
means, but you’ll not find it on any map, 
however—and so I’ll tell you about it. I 
don’t know as their presence had anything 
to do with my success, but I had two ladies 
aboard iny boat—Madame T,, a brisk little 
woman of sixty, and her niece, Bertha, 
aged sixteen. We had minnows for bait; 
but while I rowed down to the pickerel 
ground, the ladies let out their trolling lines 
w ith the bright - feathered hooks. They 
caught nothing but weeds. I tied the boat, 
baited our three hooks, and having enjoined 
a moderate degree of silence upon my com¬ 
panions, w T C waited. Madame is a veteran 
at the business; not so Bertha, who was 
giving false alarms continually for the first 
fifteen minutes, then she subsided into a 
steadfast watch of her floats. All at once 
she gave a sudden jerk, and brought up her 
hook minus the bait; she had pulled too 
soon, and lost her fish. Five minutes after, 
Madame whispered— 
“ I’ve got Bertha’s fish. Don’t breathe 
till I land him.” 
Sure enough, her line swayed hither and 
thither, making a curious zig-zag track in 
the water; but Madame held her line with 
a firm hand, in spite of Bertha’s eagerness. 
Then, as it suddenly straightened out down 
stream, she hauled in her prize, a wriggling 
something, then plunged, and jumped, and 
pulled a great, lusty pickerel, an eight- 
pounder. Just think of it! Wc caught 
half a dozen of the same kind and three 
bass, then rowed up stream, the ladies, with 
their spoon-hooks, catching two more bass. 
How did we do it? We had a warm, 
cloudy day, plent,y*of live baft, and patience 
to wait after throwing our hooks. If you 
pull yoltr hue too soon, you are sure to lose 
your bait and fish, too. I don’t see why 
Sam Carter can’t catch his bass, unless lie’s 
in too great a hurry. Try again, Sam, and 
I rather think you’ll ‘whip them out’ as 
well as the foreigners. Have patience when 
m u 4 
you’re fishing; that’s the secret. Ask your 
questions, Sam, if the editor will allow you 
space. I know all about boys, both big and 
little.” _ 
My Dear Sam. Carter:— I have read 
your letter in tbe Rural New-Yorker, and 
it has occurred to mo that, possibly I know 
of some games which may he new to you. 
It will give me great pleasure to describe 
these to you, from time to time, and I will 
do so, if the Editor can spare me a place in 
the column for Young People. But, unfor¬ 
tunately, I am not a boy, so you will have to 
make all due allowance if some of the games 
should appear a little quiet.. 
I entirely agree with you that it, is a very 
good plan to write anything that, shall sug¬ 
gest and extend to others means of enjoy¬ 
ment. For my own part, I hate dullness 
and stupidity, and think the more pleasure 
one can have the better. 
I wish I could give you some hint in re¬ 
gard to those Bass. Their not taking your 
hook is clearly a case of self-willed obstinacy, 
but bow to overcome this obstinacy is more 
than I can tell. I know that, bass arc good, 
because I have eaten them; and also I re¬ 
member how the school teacher, Miss Ma¬ 
tilda Barscome, unwittingly pronounced 
them to be so. Perhaps you have heard the 
story, how Miss Matilda wrote as a copy 
for the writing class:—“Pike and eels are 
very good fish. — Tilt. Basscome.” The 
hoys gave the teacher credit for good taste 
in the matter of fish. 
I will commence wilh the games next 
week. Laura Southgate. 
-- 
A LIVE PRAIRIE GIRL WRITES. 
Dear Mr. Editor; —I atn awful glad that 
girl Edith, somebody, wrote to you, for I 
have been wanting to for about live years, 
but I didn’t, dare. I shall be thirteen years 
Old next August and am freckled as a Domi¬ 
nique hen. That comes of running out in 
the sun and wind so much. Mother is al¬ 
ways screeching after mo to put on my sun 
bonnet; but dear me! these groat pasteboard 
things and shakers we girls out here on the 
prairies have to wear! Why ’tis like look¬ 
ing out of an emigrant, wagon all the time. 
If I could only have one of those great broad 
brimmed hats, like wliat Tom wears, or the 
Texan greasers that drive cattle thro’ these 
parts, why I’d like that. But mother thinks 
that, would be just horrid! Now, I’ll tell 
you, Mr. Editor. I’m awful tired of being a 
girl! I’m all the time doing something per¬ 
fectly fearful —riding the horses just as Tom 
does, skipping stones on the water, whistling 
" Captain Jinks of the Horse Marines,” and 
then having mother screaming out at me 
every time she gets a chance: 
“ Oh, Jennette ! What a Tom boy you 
are! “ I’m ashamed of you! Como right in 
here and behave yourself!” 
And so she gets me down, prim as a stick, 
and sots me to piecing bed quilts, and I get 
so irritated that I want to stand right up and 
yell. But of course that wouldn’t do. Moth¬ 
er’s head would fly in astonishment. 
Mother says about, forty times a day that 
she don’t known what to do with me! May¬ 
be you can tell her. I wish you would. Td 
just like to know. Oh! may-beyou would 
like to know what kind of a way my bed¬ 
room is fixed. Tom (lie’s my brother) says 
its a hideous den. But I don’t, believe I’ve 
room in iliis letter. 
1 reckon most of my words arc spelled 
right in this epistle, for Tom owns up that 
I’m a KcrumptimiH speller. Mother says 1 
make too many big letters; but I Hatter my¬ 
self 1 ain’t got an}' too many in this. 
Very humbly, your friend, 
Kansas. Juno 39,1870. Jennette Stone. 
Jennette does spell very well, lmt she 
puts in the capital letters rather profusely. 
We thought we would print her letter as she 
wrote it. at, first, but concluded to correct its 
capitalization. Some of her words arc more 
expressive than elegant. But wc conclude 
she is a girl of great vitality and is relieved 
by “yelling” occasionally. We know it is 
not a very lady like mode of relief; but we 
don’t know as she will be less likely to be¬ 
come a good woman if she has opportunity, 
on those broad prairies, to expand her lungs. 
—[Eds. Rural. 
-, ■ —- 
RURAL FOUR-YEAR-OLDS. 
f Mothers of Smart Children are invited to contri¬ 
bute to this Department.] 
Don’t Scold So Easy.—“Our little MATlEwent 
to visit her grandmother, who knew the child’s 
mother was in quite poor health. ‘ How is your 
mother to-day?’ a<ked grandmother- ‘I guess 
she is better for she dun'l ncoUl so cosy !’ was the 
reply.” 
Greasing Ills Chair.—LittleB ertie, two years 
old, saw his mother painting a clmir am) watch¬ 
ing attentively slid, “I wish you wouldgreaso 
my chair too, with that.” 
Raining Milk.—Little Helen, two years old. 
standing in the hall one morning utter the first 
snow had fallen, called out “Mamma, it rained 
raillc last, night." 
Shoo Fly.—Little Loola S., two yenis and a 
half old, hud never seen a butterfly till to-day: 
her mother saw her chasing one and asked her 
what it was. "A Shoo Fly,'' was the original 
reply. 
