■ 
t 
V. -J 
liis old father of so much of Jiis time, was 
going now to set the seal upon his absurdity 
and disobedience by marrying u town girl! 
.Bad enough to marry any one, seeing his 
father wasn’t through with him yet, but a 
town girl! He should never consent, and 
every Shellenbarger acre should go to stran¬ 
gers before Anson should have one, if he 
persisted in an idea so ridiculous! 
“And pray what harm is there in being a 
town girl?” questioned Barbie Halmstead, 
when Anson told her, half laughing, half 
vexed, and altogether rueful; for, without 
assistance from his father lie could not many 
Barbie for a long time yet. 
Anson laughed again, hut with some em¬ 
barrassment, saying. “ my father is afraid 
that a daughter of Professor Halmstead 
would not make a very good farmer’s wife." 
“ Does he think-Barbie hesitated, 
looking with a smiling perplexity at her lit¬ 
tle white hands. 
“ That these pretty hands don’t know 
much about brewing, baking, etc. ? Exact¬ 
ly ; I believe lie thinks just that.” 
“Then he thinks wrong,” said Barbie, 
reddening und looking up at her lover with 
a comical little pout. “Didn’t I hear you 
say you needed a servant at home? I’ve a 
mind to go and offer for the place.” 
Anson laughed cnjoyingly. 
“ We need one Imd enough, but my father 
will not suffer one inside the house.” 
“ Why, how do you live, then ? Who 
cooks for you, now that your mother is ill ?” 
“ We do our own Cooking,” Anson said, 
with a return of the half-smiling, half-em¬ 
barrassed expression. “ We cook for our¬ 
selves or do without.” 
The very day succeeding the one which 
witnessed this conversation, Anson was at 
home busying himself over some culinary 
operations, when the outside door, which 
stood ajar, was noiselessly pushed wide 
open, and a singularly-attired form presented 
itself on ilm threshold. It wore a red and 
green plaid dress, tiie checks very large, a 
yellow shawl and a very frowsy and tum¬ 
bled white bonnet. A red feather, nearly 
as long its Anson’s arm, streamed from 
one side, and within the brim flopped the 
immense frill of a cap which clung close 
around the face of the stranger. The 
face, what could be seen of it, was a very 
curious one to be inside of such a bonnet 
and cap. Just now, as she surveyed the 
kitchen and Anson, herself unseen, the 
muscles about her mouth twitched nervous¬ 
ly, and her eyes twinkled with roguish 
brightness. 
Presently Anson looked that way. In¬ 
stantly the face took a lugubrious length, 
and coining into the room, the girl said 
hesitatingly, but without looking at him : 
“ An’ would ye he aflher hirin’ a servant 
the day ?” and stood fidgeting with the fringe 
of her shawl. 
“ I believe not,” said Anson, coloring with 
some annoyance perhaps at the nature of 
his employment. 
“ Slmre, sir, an’ the lady that sint me, God 
bless her swale eyes! said you'd be shttre to 
take me on her recommendation, which I 
has in my pocket, and here ’tis now." 
She gave him a note which proved to he 
from Bailee Halmstead. Anson read it 
•with very lover-lilte carefulness, but shook 
his head. 
“ I’m very sorry, my good girl, but we do 
not wish to hire a servant.” 
“ Belike your father mayn’t object when 
he sees me,” the. girl persisted. 
Anson looked ul the spoiled white bonnet 
ami the red feather, end repressed a smile, 
wondering what liis father would say. But 
lie was of too kindly a nature to be willing 
to expose even this servant to his father’s 
rough manner. Ho repeated what he had 
said before, assuring her that it would be of 
no use to see liis father. 
The girl stood a moment. 
“ If you please, sir, I’ll just see him a mo¬ 
ment. Belike he may take a liken’ to the 
look o’ me.” • 
And before he could reply she had crossed 
the room and stood upon the threshold Of 
the next. Anson followed presently to see 
what kind of a reception she would get. 
“ Slmre, an’ I’ll do more'n worth to yces,” 
she was saying, with innocent emphasis, as 
Anson entered. 
She talked rapidly, pouring out such a 
torrent of words that the old man could not 
by any possibility slip one in among them, 
and sat regarding her with an expression of 
the most ludicrous astonishment. 
This remarkable volubility completely baf¬ 
fled the old man’s slowness. He could not 
say a word if he wished to, and she con¬ 
cluded with, “I can make flapjacks and 
corn-bread that’ll bring the very eyes out iv 
ver head and make ye swally yer tongue 
with delightsomeness,” (if he had a weakness, 
it was for flapjacks and corn-bread,) he 
could only twirl his thumbs in a sort of 
ridiculous awe, and asked her with a sudden 
smile how much she expected “ to get for do¬ 
ing all those things.” 
“ Seventy-five cents a week,” was the 
prompt reply. 
With a still more cunning laugh, Joel 
offered her half the money. Greatly to his 
amazement, she agreed at once; and he 
found himself, to use liis own expression, 
“in for it.” To add to his chagrin, Anson 
stood by, laughing with intense enjoyment. 
But the girl, without further ado, pro¬ 
ceeded to disencumber herself of a bonnet 
and shawl, and vanish in the direction of the 
kitchen before anything could he said. 
As she shut the door she stole a glance at 
Anson that, made him start and bite his lips, 
and presently lie stole kitchen ward also. 
She was already at work handling a broom 
like an adept, and grumbling in her rich 
brogue at the dust that bad accumulated in 
the corners; for the extent of Anson’s and 
bis father’s sweepings had been to brush the 
center of the room, somewhat, to the disad¬ 
vantage of the rest. 
She did not look up as Anson entered; 
but he sat down and deliberated, and fur¬ 
tively watched her. For some time she 
seemed unconscious of his scrutiny; but 
presently she turned and clasping both her 
little hands upon the top of the broom han¬ 
dle, said with a mixture of bravado and 
archness too natural to be mistaken: 
“ Well, Anson, what do you think?” 
Tlu: young man laughed and looked an¬ 
noyed in the same breath. 
“ Then it Is you, Barbie?” he said; “I 
was suspecting something of the sort.” 
“ Not till I looked at you,” said the girl, 
roguishly retreating as he approached. 
“Do you tbink it is quite the thing, Bar¬ 
bie ?” 
“Shure, an' why ain’t it the thing for a 
poor girl to he gettin’ her living ilacently and 
honestly ?” 
And that was all lie could get out of her. 
Having acknowledged her identity with 
Barbie for an instant, she was the most un¬ 
approachable Biddie the next, and would 
have nothing to say iu that character. 
“Docsyour father know of this Barbie? 
What would he say?” persevered Anson. 
“ Shure, an’ it’s not me own ladder would 
be interferrin’ wid me, would he?” said 
Biddy. 
In vain were all remonstrances with the 
roguish and willful girl. She persisted in 
being Biddy even to him, and maintained a 
distance between them, very different from 
that between him anil Barbie iu her own 
proper self. Annoyed, provoked, chagrined, 
almost angry, the advent of his father forced 
him to retire from the kitchen, for fear of 
betraying Barbie’s secret, which he would 
not have done for a good deal. 
1 1 was several hours before lie could re¬ 
turn to the house, his father having upon 
one pretext or another detained him. 
When at last they entered together, kitch¬ 
en and sit ting-room, both of which had been 
in a. most untidy state when they left there, 
had undergone such a remarkable renova¬ 
ting process that old Joel drew hack at first, 
thinking he had set foot in somebody else’s 
house instead of his own. 
Supper was smoking on the table; such a 
supper as old Joel, at least, had not seen iu 
months. To crown all, .Mrs. Shellenbarger 
was eitijng propped up with pillows in a 
great easy chair, and looking wondrously 
contented, and with reason—the poor lady 
had not had a woman’s hand about her be¬ 
fore, since her illness. They lived in such 
an isolated, inhospitable manner, that very 
few of their neighbors even knew Mrs. Shel¬ 
lenbarger was not as well as usual. Biddy, 
as she called herself, had tidied the poor 
lady up in a wonderful manner. 
Joel Shellenbarger sat down to the dainti¬ 
ly spread table, and made a most hearty and 
keenly relished meal, glancing askance at 
Biddy meanwhile. Anson, strange to say, 
ate very little, and he watched Biddy ask¬ 
ance, too. 
This was only the beginning of reforms 
this darling girl instituted. First, however, 
as much for her own peace of mind as An¬ 
son’s—knowing that, mother and son were 
fast friends and always of one opinion—she 
told her secret to Mrs. Shellenbarger, and 
fairly wheedled the good lady into approval. 
It is true that she shook her head at first, 
ami looked wondrously shocked. It was so 
charming to have those little soft hands flut¬ 
tering about her, and to see such brightness 
and comfort spring up around, that she 
could not, for her own sake, help counte¬ 
nancing, as much as silence could, Biddy’s 
mysterious presence. 
I liavii’t time to give particulars; but hav¬ 
ing made a good beginning, with a true Irish 
facility, Biddy established herself In ft short 
time, completely iu the good graces of the 
old man. He had a lurking likeness for 
neatness and good order, and Mrs. Shellen¬ 
barger, poor woman, wasn’t a very tidy 
housekeeper. Under the new reign, order 
grew out of chaos; the house seemed iu 
holiday garb all the time, and an atmosphere 
of social cheerfulness pervaded everywhere. 
Ope morning, Biddy had said something 
the day before, the old man ended a grumb¬ 
ling complaint of Anson with “ I never see 
no good come of eddicalion yet. If it hadn’t 
been for that college business, you might 
have taken a liking to a sensible girl, and she 
to you.” 
He glanced at Biddy as lie spoke. She 
turned scarlet, and came near dropping the 
dish she was holding. It. was not the first 
lime Anson hail heard such insinuations, and 
he rather enjoyed Biddy's trepidation. 
“ See here, father,” he said roguishly, “just 
pick me out a wife, and see what will come 
of it.” 
“ The only girl I know of, worth having, 
wouldn’t have you, I dare say—would you, 
Biddy?” Joel said grumblingly, but sud¬ 
denly turning to the girl. 
Anson was smiling maliciously. Bridget 
O’Flynn had kept Barbie’s lover at a tantaliz¬ 
ing and unrelenting distance all this time, 
lie was taking his revenge now. Making a 
desperate effort Biddy rallied her confused 
senses to say, with considerable self-posses¬ 
sion : 
“ Shure, sir, an’ it isn’t meself that’ll be 
alllier having any man till I’m asked.” 
“ Biddy, will you marry me ?” said Anson, 
gravely extending Ids hand. 
“I will that now,” said Biddy, promptly 
putting her hand in liis, while old Joel came 
near choking himself with amazement. It 
was too late to recede, however, whether he 
had really wished such a thing or not, as they 
soon made him understand. He went, out of 
doors presently, privately pinching himself to 
ascertain if he were really iu Ids senses or 
not. Seeing the two standing by the window 
in close conversation soon after, lie crept 
with the same laudable intention toward 
them, under cover of the bushes that grew 
by the house. 
“ Now, Barbie,” Anson was saying, laugh¬ 
ingly, “ wliat is to be done next? I must 
say you have managed wonderfully, so far; 
but what do you suppose lie’ll say when he 
knows you’re not Biddy at all ?” 
“ Not Biddy at, all ?” screamed Joel, struck 
with a sudden suspicion, of lie know not 
what, as ho started out of his covert. 
There stood Biddy, the white frill of her 
close cap os immense as ever ; she laughed, 
though, when she saw him, and deliberately 
taking off her cap, shook her bright, curls all 
about her face, and reaching toward him 
her little hand said: 
“ Shure, sir, an’ ye won’t be aflher bating 
a poor girl because her name’s Barbie Ilalm- 
stead instead of Biddy O'Flynn?” 
“ You—you Professor Halmstead’s girj.” 
“ Professor Halmstead is my father,” said 
Barbie, in her natural voice. 
“ What’s that?” 
Barbie repeated it. 
“ And you’re not Irish ?” 
“ Niver a bit!" • i 
The old man stood a moment, clouds 
gathering iu his face. 
“ Well, Anson,” he said, rather saucily, 
“ you have out-witted me again ; much good 
may it do you. You’d better get out the 
horses now and lake Halmstead’s girl home, 
lie must want to see her by this time.” 
“Yes, sir.” And Anson colored with 
mingled anger and amazement. 
Barbie did not change countenance, how¬ 
ever. Extending that pretty hand of hers 
again, she said sweetly, “ You’ll shake hands 
with me, sir?” 
Joel Shellenbarger turned back and gave 
his band awkwardly. The girl took it in 
both hers, bending her bright, arch face to¬ 
ward him, saying: 
“ I shall come back sometime, sir. Will 
you be glad to see me?” 
Joel hummed and hawed, and stammered 
out at last: 
“ Ye-yes; come back, Biddy—I mean Miss 
O’Flynn—I mean Miss— 
“ Barbie," suggested the girl, quietly. 
“ Yes, come back ; anil the sooner the bet¬ 
ter. There, Anson, make the most on’t!" 
Barbie did come hack, in a very few weeks 
too, and nobody was gladder to see her than 
old Joel, though lie was a little shy at first 
of Professor Halmstead’s girl, She soon 
made him forget everything save that, she 
was Anson’s wife; and the way hn humored 
the sly puss to sundry grants of money, re¬ 
furnishing and repairing, etc., I couldn’t be¬ 
gin to tell. 
-- 
No man ever prospered in the world with¬ 
out the co-operation of his wife. If she 
unites in mutual endeavors or rewards his 
labors with an endearing smile, with wliat 
confidence will he resort to his merchandise 
or bis farm, fly over the land,sail upon seas, 
meet difficulty, and encounter danger, if lie 
knows that he is not spending liis strength 
in vain, but that his labor will be rewarded 
by the sweets of home! Solicitude and dis¬ 
appointment, enter the history of every man’s 
life ; and he is but half provided for his voy- 
age who finds lint a*i associate for happy 
hours, while for his months of darkness and 
distress no sympathizing partner is prepared. 
They get rid of their marriageable child¬ 
ren by menus of fairs in Roumnnia. When 
the fair is opened, the fathers climb lo the 
top of their carriages, and shout with the 
whole power of their lungs:—“I have a 
daughter to marry. Who wants a wife?” 
Tiie call is answered by some other parent 
who lias a son be is anxious to pair off. The 
two parents compare notes, and if the mar¬ 
riage portion is satisfactory, the treaty is 
there and then concluded. 
BABY’S PARTY. 
BY KATK WOODLAND. 
OCR babjr must have a party— 
He’s just a year old to-diiy ; 
Under the leafy apple true 
We'll crown him with blossoms gay; 
The robin who pits In the branches, 
And sings by tail dear ones’ nest, 
We will greet ns the chief musician. 
And a self-invited guest. 
Go, Frankie, and tell Mrs. Biddy 
To come with her little brood, 
And call on your way for the Uiminie 
And the kittens under the wood; 
Tie Bruce to the little wagon. 
We'll play he’s a big black borse, 
To draw the family dollies; 
They’ll want a. carriage of course. 
Here’s a basin of water for duckies ; 
Oh see how they dive and swim ! 
And O, look at the darling baby ! 
Tie knows they are all for him; 
He is smacking his lips to kiss them. 
He is reaching hi* tin mis to hold, 
And his heart Is fill’d with a gladness, 
And joy that may never be told. 
Oh baby, with hair so golden ! 
Oh baby, with eyes so blue ! 
What lire the unguis weaving 
In the Future's loom for you? 
If It be sorrow and sadness, 
If It be plciisurc and joy, 
A true heart, patient and loving, 
God give to my baby boy. 
-♦♦♦-- 
LETTERS FROM GIRLS. 
From a Southern IJirl. 
Dear Mr. Editor :—My uncle Ben takes 
your paper and brings it over to me every 
week. I am very fond of reading it, partic¬ 
ularly since the young people have com¬ 
menced to write for it. 1 am a Southern 
girl, and as I live on a big cotton plantation, 
my life ami surroundings are a liitle differ¬ 
ent from your other little correspondents, 
and perhaps 1 can tell them some tilings 
that are new and interesting. Although I live 
in the country with no companions save my 
Papa and my governess, I never get lonely, 
i have a sweet little pony, “ Dixie," and I 
gallop all over the plantation on him, with 
“ Lee," my dog, at liis heels, and with 
“ George,” my special plantation pet, 
perched behind me like a little black mon¬ 
key. Some of your ladylike girl-correspond¬ 
ents would be sadly shocked to see me fly¬ 
ing over the hills, for 1 never wear such an 
incumbrance as a liabit, though I have a 
very handsome one. 
I do not love to sew, but, governess, who 
is the dearest old lady Yankee, tells me that 
I must remember that times arc not like 
what used to be, and that, I ought to learn 
to sew. So Madam lias taught me bow to 
make some very pretty things. 
1 was very much intested in Loretta’s 
letter, and hope that she will continue to 
give us her experience In the fancy depart¬ 
ment. Like the Western Boy, I would like 
for some of your young friends to write 
something about the Northern cities. I 
have never been out of my native State, 
Georgia; but Papa takes me to Augusta 
often, when he goes to sell his cotton. I 
always like to go, though I don’t know any¬ 
body except the landlord, and the mer¬ 
chants and commission merchants ; for you 
must, know that Papa has to take me all 
around with him, since he cannot leave me 
alone at the hotel. If you would like, 1 
will write you about my pets and flowers; 
I have a great many of both. Papa says 
that may be yon would like me to write you 
about a “corn shucking,” if you have never 
witnessed one on a Southern plantation. 
Can’t you get one of your little Yankee 
friends to correspond with me ? 1 am near¬ 
ly fifteen, and would like her to be my own 
age.— Trixie Clanton, Independence Farm , 
July, 1870. _ 
Mabel Grohame's Room,—Her Letter to 
Ktlltli mill Annie. 
I will tell you bow my room at home is 
furnished. It is rather large but not so 
much so as to look bare and formal, for all 
of my friends say It is the cosiest room they 
ever saw. There are two windows, one 
south the oilier west. The room is furnished 
with light colored furniture. Under the 
west window 1 have a small lounge the 
cover of which I worked myself in worsted ; 
and 1 have twostools worked after the same 
pattern. The paper is a spray of “ lily of 
the valley ” on 1 a vender-colored paper. In 
the west window are my two canary birds. 
T think a great deal of them, they were a 
present from my brother. 
The south window is almost an oriole 
window, it, opens down to the floor so that I 
can sit out on the little porch outside. In 
the window I have a quantity of Southern 
plants and Northern ones. My uncle lives 
South and sends me a great many rare plants; 
there arc three hanging baskets, also. 
On the Avails arc water, colored pictures 
of all the family; also cork pictures and oil 
paintings, water colors, and drawings by 
myself. On each side of the west window is 
a bracket; on one is the statuette of Clyde 
and on the other the statuette of Cupid; iu a 
corner by the south window is my statue of 
Flora with English ivy growing over it. 
Opening otf the north side is a room nearly \ 
the size of this room with one window facing , 
the west; this room is my sitting-room and i 
is separated from my r sleeping room by glass 
doors. It was formerly a dark room inclosed 
on all sides by walls; lint on accidentally 
striking one of the walls it ivas found to be 
hollow, so I asked my father if he would not 
fix it for me and he did. I had dark carpet 
put on the floor. I avrs afraid the flowers 
Avould soil a light colored one. A lounge 
and easy chair are almost the only furniture 
in the room, Avhicli is filled with flowers Mid 
plants of all descriptions and kinds. The 
window is nearly filled with plants and 
hanging baslie.ts. T have a pair of mocking 
birds and a parrot, near the window; of 
course they make a. great deal of noise but I 
can easily quiet them by throwing a cloth 
over their cages. In the Avinter the room is 
heated by a register. I am atraid an open 
stove would smoke the flowers. 
In one corner is my piano—a present from 
my parents. Over the piano is my book 
case. In thread and light wood frames are 
the pictures of my school mates when T Avas 
away to school. Near the door is a. marble 
cross with ivy growing over it. Perhaps * 
you would like to know Iioav I look and my 
age. I tun sixteen. Medium height, large 
black eyes and black hair that comes below 
my Avaist, my front curls around my face. I 
have been sick over a year so my face is thin 
and pale. \ have a. light complexion which 
I inherited from my mother. My brother 
looks almost exactly like, is tall und full of 
fun, lie is a little over eighteen years. What 
attracted me toward your letter was your 
name, Edith. It is also my sister’s name ; 
she is a little beauty, has big blue eyes and 
long curly lialr. She has, like my mother, 
light hair and a pink and white complexion, 
she is five years old but very petite. "My 
brother’s name is Will. I would like very 
much to correspond with both of you. 
Mabel Grahame. 
Jennie Mc’» Library. 
Jennie Me writes:—“ 1 have Avhat I call 
a library. It is a dry goods box, with the 
front taken otf; it lias two shelves nailed in¬ 
side. 1 plaited some white cloth for a cur¬ 
tain and tacked it on Hie box, and laid a 
white cloth on top of the box, which Con¬ 
ceals it. By lifting the curtain you can see 
my books, although I have not as many as I 
hope to have some time.” 
Jennie Mu’* Picture Frames. 
Jennie Avritos:—“1 have some pictures 
which I framed, und think the frames very 
pretty. I cut a piece of pasteboard just tiie 
size of the picture; then sew two little loops 
of tape on the back of the pasteboard to 
hang the picture with. Then I have glass 
cut; put me pasteboard, picture and gloss 
together, jnd bind the edge Avith black 
paper.” 
- 4 -*-*- 
letters from boys. 
To Catch, Shin amt Cook Eels. 
Dear Mr. Editor: — In the Rural 
New-Yorker of July 30lh Master Sam 
Carter inquired bow to skin eels; also, 
now to cook them. I catch a great, many 
eels, anil have caught some very large ones 
in my time. Although Samuel didn’t in¬ 
quire. Iioav to catch them, I ivill give my ex¬ 
perience for liis and the rest of the boys’ 
benefit. 
Iu the afternoon, say about two o’clock, 1 
take my bait net, made of mosquito bar, and 
catch small minnows, about the length of 
my finger—about fifty or seventy-five, ac¬ 
cording to the number of hooks I want to 
set. Then I take them home and string 
them Avith a needle, made of a darning 
needle with a horse-lmir eye, on to snoods 
made of twine about twenty inches long, 
with a large eel book on the end—Limerick 
are the best. Now you are all ready to set! 
In the creek I use short lines for the boles, 
with about six or eight 6iiooils tied on and 
sunk; for the shallow water, alder sticks 
stuck in the bank with one snood tied to the 
end. Be sure and get your book on the 
bottom. Rise early in the morning to raise 
your books, for after sunrise the large eels, 
if you have any, will struggle to get loose, 
and often break your hooks. 
The way to skin them is: run an aivl 
through the head and hammer it into the 
bench; then take a sharp knife and cut the 
skin through around the eel below the gills; 
then take a pair of pincers and draw tiie 
skin back about an inch; then take a dry 
cloth and pull the skin off over the tail. 
The Avay my mother cooks them is: cut 
them up into pieces about three inches long 
and fry them as you would other fish. After 
eating them this Avay once, I don’t think 
you will want them smoked ! 
Will Sam pie ise inform me how he caught 
that big one lie wrote about ? also, how to 
catch snapping turtles, and ivhat kind of 
bait to use? If be can not answer this, 
Avill some other reader of the Rural do it 
who can ? and I will answer any question 
you may ask, if it be in my power.— Jim 
Decker, Lancaster Co., Pa. 
