“GJS& 
BESPONSES TO JOEL GRIMES. 
A Reply from F. to L. 
To Joel Grimes i thus would say. 
You truly must be quenr. 
To think the modest girl you want. 
In answer, will appear. 
But since you show bo much good sense 
In all tiiat you require, 
I really hope your recompense 
Will be your heart’s desire. 
I know a girl with rosy cheek. 
Queenly, robust and stout. 
Whose laughing eyes Ihut always speak. 
Would put your caudle out. 
And she can make good bread and cake. 
Premium butter, too; 
Can milk a cow or wield a rake. 
And muke your clothes like new. 
In sprightly grace she does not laok: 
Her heart Is good and true. 
She'd cheer yonr life with every act— 
Perhaps she'd do for you. 
And she's hud beaux, you may be sure, 
And lovers good and true; 
But then she always looked demure 
When they began to sue. 
In fnofc, she’s all that you have asked,— 
Her name Is Betsy Sqteeks ; 
She’d know what you are like at IaBt, 
E'er she again appears, 
“ Quiet-nook," Schenectady Vo,, A r . T, 
From Rlioilu ilind-*, Otsego Co., N. Y. 
I want a roan that's true as steel,— 
A man that’s all my own; 
Who’ll chop the wood to cook his meal. 
And pleasant when at home. 
I want a man that will not flirt, 
Nor chide me when alone: 
And if the buttons’ off his shirt, 
He’ll speak In kindest tone. 
A man with eyes blue as the sky, 
A heart that's large and warm; 
Who’ll love me much, and always try 
To shield my tender form. 
I want a man to got me yarn, 
And never break blit vow; 
Ilis socks shall never need a darn, 
And I can milk the cow. 
A gcntlemnn now he must be, 
Possessed of common sense; 
I'll warrant him warm cakes for tea. 
And not at much expense. 
My cheeks are ripe, and rosy bright, 
By washing ne'er have faded ; 
My eyes possess that lustrous light. 
Pray, why can't we be mated? 
Now, Mr. Grimes, you'll And rue all 
That you have advertised: 
I did not grow In u shady hall. 
For work 1 ne'er despised. 
If we on all things can agree. 
And you accept those lines, 
You'll ne’er rag ret ilin day you see 
Your loving ItllODA HINDS. 
From .1 a ue Mali Mil Smith. 
“ You want a wife, a flnt-ruto wife, - 
A girl that’s all your own: 
Who’ll cook your meals and cheer n 11 to 
With smiling words and tone.” 
A fit of musing o'er me steals; 
To make the whole truth known, 
I find I must cook some one’s men is, 
That I may get my own. 
And I'm an ” appley ' girl, you see, 
(Unless you're very blind:) 
I'm writing in an apple tree, 
And am saucily Inclined. 
My cheek’s lre*h glow the June rose mocks— 
(I buy my rouge at " Dills,”) 
And I will gladly “ foot your socks,” 
If you will foot my bills. 
No vows I've ever pledged, but now 
I solemnly agree 
To take the pall and milk the cow, 
While you bake cakes for tea. 
My eyes are not like •* tallow dips,” 
But more like Silver dollars; 
Yet they will quickly notice rips 
In gloves, or coats, or collars. 
I am so graceful, I can dance 
In a III)-bell, nor break it; 
My butter will bring sixty cents, 
(If at tliufc price you'll take it.) 
So lot these words your memory haunt. 
In spite ot kin or kith; 
The very person that you want 
Is Jane Matilda Smith. 
Ashtabula Co., Ohio. 
From Betsy Aim Hoax. 
Dear Mr. Grimes, I’m really glad 
At last I've found a chanoe, 
I always know that time would bring 
For me some sweet romance. 
The neighbors all made fun of me 
For throwing out my bait; 
But l know best wbut I must do,— 
Cast hook and line,—and wait. 
I own I’ve often tried to catch 
" Big fish “ that hove In sight; 
But, strange to say, with all my bait, 
I’ve never had a bite. 
But that you say is what you want; 
(I knew ’twas for the best,) 
No one has ever asked my love, 
So none have I confessed. 
But please don’t think, from what I’ve said, 
I’m old, and gray, and blind, 
I’ve waited all tilts time, you see, 
A better chance to find. 
I’ve found it now, dear Mr. Grimes; 
You’re just the one for mo, 
Dear mo! It’s sud’n, but never mtnd, 
I’m sure we will ugree. • 
I was sixteen when brother Btli. 
Wore frocks and buttoned shoes, 
We’re even now —he’s sixteen past. 
And I am sixteen, too. 
My eyes are just like tallow dips, 
Cargo, round, and creamy white, 
They shine; for William says they look 
Like full moons in the night. 
You say you want an “appley ” girl. 
I’m glad you brought that it); 
I’m fond of apples, and can eat 
With ease, ten or fifteen. 
And as for mending up your clothes. 
Footing your sooks, and that,— 
Law Kikes! that will be fun to do 
Long evenings, while we chat. 
About the rest,—come see yourself, 
Cows, butter, cakes and all: 
Aud see if you don’t think I am 
A very "lovin’gal.” 
Please come some day, dear Mr. Grimes, 
When liu.i. is gone to school, 
Here’s my address, and I will sign 
My maiden name in full. 
F„ S. to Joel Grimes. 
O, listen, girls—he wants a wife! 
Does Joel Grimes,— a combination 
Ol maiden grace and matron skill, 
Thu sweet amt solid of creation! 
I" dinna ” blame him, girls, that he 
Prefer a rosy, rustic beauty. 
Whose “ carmino’8 ” not In “saucers ” found. 
But tn the doing of her duty. 
And do you know such maids dream not 
That they are living conflnmition 
Of proverb old, "That handsome Is, 
That handsome does;”—an Illustration. 
Fair Susie .Toner was very fair— 
In fact, her many suitors ponderod. 
With rapt, absorbed, ecstat ic air, 
If Perl sweeter was that wandered. 
Her dainty hands, like lily leaves, 
Had never soiled themselves with spinning; 
If doing is Hie bo in of sin, 
Her soul was very free from sinning. 
But ah, ah me I one woeful day 
The winds wore worn and wild with sobbing, 
But powerless quite to damp the Joy 
That set young Harry’s heart toth robbing. 
From church-bells sounded out the call 
For wedding guests to gully gather, 
And HARRY SMYTHK saw sunshine fall. 
Despite the sad, foreboding weather. 
That day passed by,—another camo; 
One year of peace ; and then another, 
To HARRY fiMYTIHD SOW) troubles Clime; 
Robbed of Ills birthright by his brother. 
And dainty SUE, with helpless hands, 
And checks where ptnksnnd smiles had faded, 
Sought not to choor him in tits woe, 
But wildly wept, and worse, upbraided! 
Then whom was comfort to tic found 
For Harry Ujiytiik? Believe me, darlings, 
The "wanted ” girl " by Joel Grimes,” 
Would novel’ stoop to sullen snarlings. 
Then, Heaven speed thee, Joel Grimes 1 
If you are truly worthy or tier, 
May soon the "appley girl ” be found. 
Without a tedious, tiresome bother. 
-*-♦-*- 
FEMININE FEUILLETON. 
About Murrying too Young. 
Mrs. Elizabeth Cady' Stanton says: 
“ Girls do not reach their maturity until 
twenty-five, yet at sixteen they are wives 
and mothers all ovyr the land, robbed of all 
the rights and freedom of childhood in mar¬ 
riage, T)rippled In growth and development; 
the vital forces needed to build up a vigorous 
and healthy womanhood are supped and 
pirverted from their legitimate channels in 
the premature office of re-production. When 
tin ’ ody is overtaxed, the mind loses its 
tone ami settles down in a gloomy diacon- 
mnt nt enfeebles the whole moral being. 
' ''ie feeble mother brings forth feeble sons, 
J mother those with morbid uppetiles. 
tin constant demand of stimulants among 
men Is the result of the morbid conditions 
,f their mothers. Healthy, happy, vigorous 
womanhood would do more for t he cause of 
temperance than any prohibitory or license 
laws possibly can. When woman, by the 
observance of the laws of life and health, is 
restored to her normal condition, maternity 
will not bo a period of weakness, but of 
added power. With that high preparation 
of body and scml to which I have referred, 
men and women of sound mind and body, 
drawn together by true sentiments of affec¬ 
tion, might calculate with certainty on a. 
happy home, with healthy children gather¬ 
ing round their fireside. To this end let 
girlhood be sacredly devoted to education, 
to mental, moral and physical growth, to as 
high preparation for personal independence 
and ambition as boyhood is to-day ; remem¬ 
bering that girls, as well as boys, were 
created primarily for their own enjoyment, 
and only secondarily to serve each other. 
Reproduction in the normal condition of 
woman will not lie a period of suffering, but 
of joy and thanksgiving. One of the saddest 
features of woman's present condition is her 
idea that she is cursed of heaven in her 
motherhood; that it is one of nature’s neces¬ 
sities that she should suffer through the 
period of maternity. It is because we ig¬ 
norantly violate so many laws of our being 
that it is so day.” 
How ro Grow 111,1 anil Beautiful. 
A writer iii the Tribune asks:—“ What 
is the reason why our American girls, con¬ 
fessedly in the bloom of youth, the prettiest 
in the world, so soon lose the charms of 
juvenility without acquiring the charms of 
maturity? Some say ‘late hours,’ some 
‘ bad diet,’ some ‘over early marriage,’ some 
this tiling and some that, our climate being 
usually set down as a principal cause. We 
are reminded of the subject by a paragraph 
in a Western newspaper, which avers that 
Mad. Olive Logan, the dramatic reader, 
* wears about her an artless simplicity which 
lessens her apparent years as it. I lightens her 
attractiveness.’ This means no more, we 
suppose, than that Mad. Logan has, by 
cheerfulness, hopefulness and a fair degree 
of freedom from fretfulness, taken good 
care of her face. The same qualities have, 
perhaps, enabled her to assume, without diffi¬ 
culty, a generally youthful manner in public. 
There is a great deal in knowing how to do 
it. The celebrated Mrs. Abinuton played 
Rosalind to the acceptance of crowded 
houses, after she was sixty. The well-known 
Mrs. Geo. Barrett played Juliet , and 
played it, very well, while there were awful 
whispers in the pit about her longevity. 
Everybody, within his own circle of ac¬ 
quaintances, can remember some fine, fresh 
old woman destined to lie active, agreeable, 
conversational, reminiscent and altogether a 
charming companion, with the snows of 
ninety winters upon her head. ' How to 
grow old gracefully ’ is a secret which few 
women find out; hut, all of them may he 
sure that it is not a secret, on sale in the 
shops of cosmetics, of which beant i tiers cold 
water is the only one upon which any re¬ 
liance can he safely placed.” 
Comedy in « Mull'. 
A party of ladies and gentlemen went on 
an excursion a winter’s night. Some of the 
sleighs had to carry three passengers. In 
one case a lady and two gentlemen occupied 
the sleigh. The gentlemen, of course, would 
uot allow the lady to occupy an exposed 
seat; she therefore sal in the middle. As 
the night was extremely cold, gentleman 
No. 1 passed his hand (a remarkably small 
one, by the way,) into the lady’* muff. As 
the muff was not very capacious, I lie lady 
quietly removed one of her hands from the 
same. In a few moments she felt a move¬ 
ment on the other side, and found gentleman 
No. 2. attempting to pass his hand into the 
muff on that side. Bhe then quietly with¬ 
drew her hand from the muff and allowed 
him to do so. What, took place in the muff 
afterward she is unable to say. But each of 
the gentlemen privately reported to a small 
circle of friends how warmly the lady had 
returned the pressure of his hand in the 
muff, while the lady as privately reported to 
a small circle of friends the capital sale she 
had made of both gentlemen. 
Woman's Work and Wastes. 
Wendell Phillips, In a recent speech 
in Boston, said:—“ 1 know a fashionable 
milliner in this city who, i think I do not 
exaggerate when I say, bus earned the hate 
of every rival. She has in her employ from 
thirty to fifty girls. She pays as high wages, 
and perhaps higher, than any other store in 
the city. Mor^jiban a year ago she said to 
her girls, ‘ 1 shall only ask eight hours a 
day of you. Give me eight hours of willing 
work, and there are the same wages.’ After 
trying the experiment for more than a year 
and a half, paying the highest rate of wages 
and exacting but eight hours a day, she says 
to me, 1 1 am perfectly satisfied with the ex¬ 
periment ; 1 can get more out of them than 
I got before. I can better afford to pay 
them their wages for eight hours than I 
could for ton. I am hated by some of these 
other stores, but I am trying an experiment 
of justice, aud it has resulted in profit.’ " 
Tim Office of a Mormon Wife. 
A WRITER ill Lippiucott’s Magazine, who 
spent a week among the Mormons, says: 
“ The place occupied by a Mormon wife in 
her husband’s household is simply that of a 
servant, with fewer privileges than has Jane 
the cook, or Lucy the waiter, in our domes¬ 
tic economy. She has no ‘ afternoon out ’— 
no wages to do as she will with—no ‘ follow¬ 
ers,’ and no chance of a change. But she 
has hard work, unrealizable in our com¬ 
fortable houses; the privilege of waiting 
upon the master of the house when he 
chooses to call upon her services;,and the 
belief that the more patiently she bears the 
cross of the present, the more beautiful will 
be the crown of the future she hopes to 
wear.” 
Two Classc* ol American Girl*. 
A writer fn Putnam says :— “ I daily see 
girls, in their teens, with all the airs and 
much of the way of thinking of old women 
of the world—confident, vain, self-indulgent 
and, withal, blase. True, the exceptions are 
charming. I find them chiefly among fami¬ 
lies in moderate circumstances, but of good 
connection, wherein the daughters havo 
been reared in active, wholesome and re¬ 
sponsible duties—had, in short, to contribute, 
directly or indirectly, to their own support. 
With intellectual tastes and a religious edu¬ 
cation, this discipline in a land where the 
sex is hold in respect—those young women 
are noble, pure, bravo and conscientious, as 
well as aspiring and intelligent,” 
Ludies Bridles. 
I. 
What very pretty things 
Are the bonny bonnet strings 
Of your idol! 
Do you know the technic name 
That Is given to the same? 
’Tis a bridle. 
ir. 
No man should marry till 
He can pay his dinner bill— 
That’s the wit in it; 
Pour vintage of the South ! 
The most loving little mouth 
Wants a bit in it. 
THE PATH THROUGH THE WOODS. 
BY CHARLOTTE N. CORONER. 
An Idle, elflsh little thing, wandered to the gate, 
Tanned and dusty, bonnetless, in u bewildered state, 
There to gluiiee down bill a moment, where the slid¬ 
ing stones 
Chase each other to the valley, in low, grunting 
tones; 
Thon it runoff wtiere the shadows capped It for a 
wtille, 
For the freckles would come ou it, ’neath tiie sun¬ 
beam's smile. 
Naught oared it; for helter-skelter, o’er the feet of 
trees. 
On it went; perverse and saucy, like a little tease, 
(‘urlna nothing, nothing, for their frownings, ortho 
many years, 
They had watched Its path so wayward, often full of 
tours, 
O'er their slippers, once so pretty, now grown worn 
and soiled, 
Over which Hie sun as tanner, many a day had tolled. 
Then It neared some berry bushes, whore it grew 
quite stout. 
Till some childish little grasses gathered round 
about: 
Then it lost its rounded flgura, and beneath the trees, 
Roamed about, quite thin and wiry, looking 111 at 
ease, 
Tillthesun came, pouring oil It tloodsof golden light; 
Then the shadows rolled and vanished, towards the 
realm of night. 
Then u rock whose cheeks were bearded with the 
growth of years, 
Old, gray grasses hanging rmutf it, where (lie wind 
as shears, 
Never dipped it, to make modern lienrcl, which looks 
like moss. 
Woo'd the gypsile, by Its hardness, just to cut across; 
Aud by iixts. and llttlo dances, charm it for awhile, 
,1 ust to see, It by coquotttng, It could raise a smile. 
Many a year the rock bud stood there, growing very 
w i so: 
And the awo that hung about it, from its monstrous 
size. 
Was enough to fright the Pathway, from such flirty 
way*; 
If It oared a bit about, it, and its sober wavs ; 
But Twas during with Its mischief, like a spoiled 
child. 
So It danced and hovered near it, till the old rook 
smiled. 
Quito contented then it sauntered, in a merry, zig¬ 
zag way, 
Where the trees hugged one another, looking full of 
I'lny. 
Homo were oaks whose coats were burnished by tho 
sun, 
With such iota Of buttons on thorn, that It seemed 
like fun 
To stop and watch the fays a moment, bund their 
chubby knees, 
And with needles made of sunbeams, sew thorn on 
tho trees. 
So It skipped and rambled onward, where tho sor¬ 
rel's hair. 
Looked so rod the grass disliked it, thinking brown, 
nr lair, 
Much the nicest shade to havo it; and the Pathway 
smiled, 
That by nonsense, such as this was, grass could bo 
beguiled. 
Then a stylo, with tipsy stagger, on whose wrinkled 
skin. 
Time hud loft tho marks of years, barred our Path¬ 
way in. 
For tiie fluids which lay beyond It, were not meant 
for feet, 
Like this cliln’s, to tread o’er item the golden wheat: 
But for fairies, who so deftly wrap within the grain 
Lumps of sunshine, thoru to glisten bright, ami free 
from stain ; 
This the Pathway sees and watches, with a weird 
surprise. 
As, by the style, ’tis over standing, with Its beaming 
ayes. 
-«.*-+- —- 
PRACTICAL EXPERIENCE. 
A Country Givi Tells the Story of One Buy. 
Before L was quite fifteen years of ago 
1 became a district school teacher, and I 
soon found that practical life hud begun ill 
earnest. Earnestly and heartily did J devote 
my mind and strength to ray chosen occu¬ 
pation, for I loved it, and to-day I "know 
that my efforts were not in vain. But con¬ 
stitution could uot keep pace with ambition, 
and in a few years I was obliged to abandon 
books, school and study, and sacrifice my¬ 
self a martyr to housework; and that alone, 
of all thiugs else, I perfectly-well, I’ll 
not try to think ol' anything bad enough to 
say. " Hate” is a feeble word; “ loathe,” 
" abhor,” “ disgust” are but, tame epithets to 
express what 1 feel. Such a monotonous, 
never-ending, never-changing, useless—that’s 
the word— uselew, routine of hard labor! 1 
don’t wonder t hat. I lie poor, vexed colored 
cook said “It was nothin’ but enty, only, 
washy dishy all do time." 1L is not because 
it is labor that, l dislike it; hill, because one 
can cook and wash dishes three times a day, 
three hundred and sixty-five days in the 
year, and till the years of a lifetime, then 
die, “ unmourned and Unsung.” It is true, 
we must live, and I am willing to gather my 
own manna; but G©d never meant that we 
should sacrifice one-third of our life to 
“style;” another third in stewing up poi¬ 
sons, to render the remaining third useless 
to Him, to our fellow beings, and to our¬ 
selves. 
Notwithstanding all this, I secretly re¬ 
solved, long ago, to understand the techni¬ 
calities of housework, in case mother’s pro¬ 
phecy comes to pass, that l am doomed to 
live and die a “ maid of all work” for some 
shoddy aristocrat; and I also resolved, long 
ago, to rend the powers of—never mind the 
rest—to enable myself to live independently , 
without doing housework. There are those 
who prefer this occupation to any other; 
lint I pity those who have no other means 
of uelf-support; if they hate it as bad as I do. 
I know pretty well what your opinion of me 
is by this time, Mr. Editor, and if Dome 
Hamilton could see this, 1 should expect a 
good sound two-column lecture in the Rural 
New-Yorker for my especial benefit, and 
I suppose L deserve it. But please permit 
me to give just one Saturday’s experience 
out, of the filty-two, leaving out Sundays, 
Mondays—and for that matter, every other 
clay in the year. 
Mother calls me in the morning and says, 
“ Come get up, there is churning and baking 
to he done, the whole house to lie swept, 
windows washed and it hundred other 
things.” My awakening senses soon take in 
the reality and with half open eyes l com¬ 
mence the day. When wo sen the men 
shoulder their implements of labor and march 
off to the field, we make a league between 
ourselves that we will hurry the work out of 
the way and “ get the mopping done before 
the men come in again." 
At it, we go, heart, hands and feet, washing 
dishes, mixing-, washing dishes, churning, 
washing dishes, baking, washing dishes, 
sweeping carpets, up-stairs and down, mak¬ 
ing beds, dusting chairs, tables and windows 
in the sitting-room, adjusting the furniture, 
darkening the room, driving out the flies, 
and we declare ourselves ready to clean tho 
kitchen floor. 
“ Now,” says mother, “ if we can only get 
the floor dry before they come to track it tip 
again.” 
About this time father tliinks he is“ awful 
dry” and guesses he will come to the house 
to get a drink and “take a few breaths,” 
Gus instinctively feels that the Saturday 
baking is about done, and lo 1 here they are 
stalking over our wet. floor, father hurrying 
up the dinner and Gus begging for cake. 
Well by giving them free access to the 
pantry, closet and cellar we may possibly 
get rid of them an hour longer perhaps, then 
they are on hand for dinner. We never 
needed a dinner horn ! Tired and perspir¬ 
ing we serve up the hot dishes and manage 
meantime to cat our dinner and chew it 
afterward. 
The meal finished the men are all glad to 
skulk out of that, “ hot nest” and leave the 
women-folks to clear up things which we 
proceed to do immediately. Having accom¬ 
plished the feat we flee to the sitting-room 
for a few moments to cool off. As we open 
the door, instead of the cool darkness that 
we expect, a flood of light, greets our eyes, 
and one hasty glance takes in the spectacle. 
The front, door is wide open, all the window 
shades are rolled up, the curtains are hitched 
to the most convenient nail; father and the 
hired boy are fast, asleep on the floor with 
the best clean pillows wadded up under I heir 
heads; Gus is in the rocking chair with his 
feet, on the. back of another, and his head, on 
which no two hairs lie parallel, hid behind 
the Rural; the kitten and the (lies are play¬ 
ing catch over the key-board of the melodeon 
aud the pyramid of books on the table, 
Look out for another confession! I’m 
mad then. I don’t know what. 1 might say, 
were 1 not. checked by the thought of a fatal 
day twenty years ago, when the humble 
borne of my parents lay in ashes at their feet. 
Nothing on earth that, they could call their 
own, save me, a helpless burden on their 
hands. And I think of a day not far in the 
future, when our old parental eyrie will he 
broken up. Woe is me, if I am left to sweep 
the gathered dust from that old, unused 
rocking-chair, of sit and listen to the gloomy 
silence of that, forever-darkened sitting-room. 
But 1 am not going to write dreams, Mr. 
Editor. Tin writing stem realities —practical 
experience. 
We proceed to put things in their proper 
places once more, and enough other chores 
present themselves to keep us “ trotting 
around "till tuu-thne; so there is no use to 
think of changing our dresses before tea. 
The after-tea work is a repetition of break¬ 
fast and dinner, and about sunset we wipe 
our hands, give the floor a final brush, smooth 
out our apvons, and sit down on the piazza 
for a rest. 
Here comes father, who thinks he has 
worked hard enough during the week to go 
to the village to-night. (I am glad to any, 
for their credit, our folks are not in this hab¬ 
it, but 1 give this one night in particular, to 
illustrate our trials at homo whenever they 
do go anywhere.) Every article of apparel 
that, he wishes to change, must be placed in 
his bands; and alter he is gone we must 
pick up bis old boots and socks from tho 
middle of the floor, bis bat from under the 
table, bis coat out of the work-box, and his 
cast-off garments from the best bed-room. 
Once more we’re seated, when Gus thinks 
lie will go, too, so the very same programme 
is to tie repeated. No use to remonstrate, for 
words are vain. 
The day is done at last. Welcome, holy 
twilight, and I want something to soothe my 
weary mind and body. What, is so sweet as 
music? I’ll sing and play something. Ah! 
this is just It. I’m glad it don’t require 
much effort. 
“ When the worn spirit wants repose, 
And sin'lln her God to seek, 
How sweet to hn.il the evening's olose 
That ends the weary week.” 
This is Just one day of Practical Experi¬ 
ence. It may look ludicrous on paper, but 
they are truths, sir, practical truths. Since l 
have been silly enough to write this to you, 
I do wish you would print it, just to see if 
any one else in the world has had experience 
like unto mine. If so, let them inform m<\ 
through the Rural New-Yorker, and we 
will condole together. I am neither a “young 
housekeeper” nor an old one, but 
A Troubled Martha, 
-- 
At a recent lecture Professor X-stated 
that Saturn had a ring six thousand miles 
broad. “Be jabers!” exclaimed an Irish¬ 
man who was present, “ what a finger he 
must have t” 
