£ 
dibits’ flort-31-oIici. 
FAST ASLEEP. 
BY JEAN FLOYD. 
Her empty room Is sacred now, 
We only enter it to weep; 
A shadow lies on every brow. 
For, covered dreamlessly and deep, 
She lieth fast asleep. 
Her empty chair before os Btands, 
Her harp its wonted place doth keep. 
Alas! the small, delicate hands 
Will never more its sweet chords sweep,— 
She lieth fast asleep. 
The clover wnB in blossom then. 
And now the snows are drifted deep, 
But never our sad hearts again 
To olden hopes and Joys shall leap,— 
She lieth fast asleep. 
Asleep so soundly, sorrow now 
Can never through the silence creep. 
Nor time nor care her youthful brow, 
As ours are bent, can ever bow— 
She lieth fast asleep. 
And this shall sweeten all our tears, 
A golden talisman to keep: 
Through chance and change of coming years, 
Safe sheltered from till atorills that sweep, 
She lieth fast asleep. 
AUNT RACHEL. 
BY PEN DENNIS, 
Do you know her, my reader ? 1 lmrdly 
need to ask that question, for-’tis quite un¬ 
likely that you iiavo ever seen her little 
house near the sea. It is just such ti box of 
a cottage as you may have read of many 
times, till you concluded it was a mere crea¬ 
tion of faucy, so if it ever dawns upon your 
mortal vision, it will be the more charming 
trom its unexpectedness. It scorns hardly 
large enough lor a family of fairies, over¬ 
shadowed as it is by great lithe-limbed wil¬ 
lows, beautiful in the barren winter and 
glorious in the summer sun; and yet, besides 
little Ruth and Letty, Aunt Rachel Inis- 
a faculty for making comfortable the many 
who visit tier each season. 
The cottage is a miracle of neatness, but 
then Letty was “brought up” under her 
eye, and even Ruthie’s childish plays are 
almost 03 orderly and quiet as the dear 
grandmother’s movements. 
It is really delightful to sit at the round 
table, whose appointments speak so,stnmgly 
of the past. The linen is exquisitely tine and 
white—she wove it long years ago—and the 
pattern is far more beautiful than anything 
made in our poor day. The china is almost 
a century old; so are t.ho teaspoons; the 
teapot, you will notice, is not of modern 
make, but it will interest you to know that 
it once held the cups that cheered General 
Washington idler a hard day’s work. If 
you care to hoar them, she can tell you many 
a story of those dark days, and she will tell 
them as thrillingly as if the events occurred 
but yesterday, so vivid is her remembrance 
of them. 
There are flowers all about the cottage— 
old favorites of her father and mother, per¬ 
chance. The purple-vased morning-glory 
drapes the pantry windows, and blush roses 
bloom beside them. There are more of their 
sisterhood in the garden that slopes to the 
edge of the shining Neversink. The rough 
fence glows with the fiery eyes of the nas¬ 
turtium, and sweetens the air with the 
breath of flowering peas. Down the walk 
are bunches of grass pinks, tall spikes of 
lavender, tufts of velvet marigolds, and old 
fashioned peonies; then there’s always a 
carefully tended bed of mignonette, “ be¬ 
cause Alice loved it so.” 
But there's no use in trying to describe 
these tilings to you; much more shall I fail 
if 1 attempt to picture aunt Rachel, her 
pale, sweet face, whitened hair, and quiet 
Quaker garb. Go for yourself and hear her 
patient voice narrating the events of the 
past. She will tell you, doubtless, of her 
happy girlhood, the serene wedded life, full 
of brightness and harmony till the blow 
came that left her at once without parents 
and husband, with nothing but the baby 
Alice to live for—how the darling grew to 
youth and beauty and then went home to 
the others. Her beauty and brightness live 
again in little Ruth, whose childish ways 
and merry laugh keep the memory of her 
mother green. 
If you have grief in your heart because 
some one you loved has been removed from 
out your life, you may wonder bow she can 
speak so calmly of her departed and of her 
trials, which have not been few. She will 
tell you that the discipline was needed—that 
we forget, God in our happiness, and some- 
WHAT RURAL WOMEN WRITE. 
A Remedy lor “Troubled Wnrilia.” 
Reading “ Troubled Martha’s" t rials, my 
first feeling was pity. But a different stand¬ 
point showed much for which to be thank¬ 
ful. First, that she had a father and mot her, 
a brother and a home; that her father was 
willing to provide the necessaries from 
which good dinners spring; that a good, 
kind mother was at the household helm, 
managing as only a mother can; that Brother 
Gcs had digestive organs equal to her rich¬ 
est pies; and lastly, that there were several 
rooms in the house to keep in order. 
There once lived as neighbors to us, a 
family of ten. The mother sometimes be¬ 
came discouraged, and wished a half-dozen 
of the young oues were out of the way. 
Scarlet fever came, and day after day, for 
six successive days, they carried a little cof¬ 
fin to the graveyard, and on the seventh day 
two; then all were gone. Side by side they 
slept, and pattering feet, no longer tracked 
the clean-mopped floor; no hungry hoys, 
with wishful look, stood watching for some 
pie; no old shoes were strewn about; no 
dirty pinafores to wash and mend ; no heads 
to comb; no hands and faces to wash ; no 
more stockings to darn ; no more new suits 
to make. Everything was done for the last, 
time. And when every relic of every loved 
one had been laid away, the mother’s heart 
was broken, and that which she hoped to 
take pleasure in, if the young ones were 
only out of the way, had disappeared with 
the children, and left her nothing to live for. 
More than eighteen hundred years ago a 
“ troubled Martha ” had a brother. When 
her cares were lessened by his death, she 
cried In anguish, “ Lord, if thou hadst been 
here my brother had not died.” 
That father will have left his old boots for 
the hist time, all too soon, If you have not 
found that sphere for which you sigh. 
Though your fame may not be sung for 
washing dishes, respect and love for your 
parents may win the highest encomium—a 
model daughter. If you have real genius, 
you will not long remain “ little and un¬ 
known.” But if no definite object presents 
itself, no goal to which you aspire, save a 
vague one, then stop aspiring; stop dream¬ 
ing, and go to work. 
Iu these days of women’s rights, we sigh 
lor—we know not what. We want not this 
thing exactly, or that thing quite, or the 
other, iiuij list something—not helpingmoth- 
er, or wailing upon father, or pleasing broth¬ 
er; this Is all too tame. Wc want to he 
widely known; and if some of the troubled 
Marthas can discover an elixir by which 
they can change the laws of our existence, 
and preserve us on this mundane sphere 
without eating, they will render themselves 
immortal where all else is mortal.—A Farm¬ 
er’s Wife. _ 
Letter of Condolence by Another “Martha.” 
The “ St-ory of One Day,” by “A Troubled 
Martha,” has, I believe, touched nil answer 
ing chord in many hearts. At least, 1 can 
aver that it lias in my own. Perhaps the 
monotonous round of plodding, so vigorous¬ 
ly, yet, truthfully described by her, has its 
admirers as well as any Other avocation. 
But aside from those who delight in concoct¬ 
ing pies and puddings and scouring tin pans 
and pails, until they reflect iu no very flat¬ 
tering proportions, the “ human face divine " 
there are some who do not enjoy such duties 
and exercise.. 
Perhaps housework has a good moral ef¬ 
fect, if self-denial and perseverance are con¬ 
sidered moral qualities; but it makes shock¬ 
ing work with the intellect, unless one pos¬ 
sess more than the usual amount of combat¬ 
iveness. 
What wonder that the opposite sex regard 
themselves as superior in mind to us, when 
generation after generation, our grandmoth¬ 
ers and great-grandmothers have baked, 
roasted, and stewed their physical food for 
them, while they, with sublime indifference, 
were preparing or masticating intellectual 
food. How vexing, when father sits down 
to tea some evening, when the boys have 
“stepped out,” (?) to have him inquire 
“whether we bad an interesting lime at the 
last ‘ sewing society ?’ ” and “ whether Mrs. 
B. had really left her husband?” 
The idea never once enters his innocent 
head that we had consumed the “ midnight 
oil" (or caudles) after many a tedious day of 
washing, ironing or baking, until we could 
talk with him about the price of produce, 
the European war, and other newspaper 
topics as intelligently as the boy. 
Well! friend Martha, let us’ take heart, 
and pray for the speedy coining of Mr. 
Beecher’s “culinary milleuium,”' (?) when 
viands arc to he served up to the brain, as 
well as to the body. Will not that be a glo¬ 
rious time for us, who haye so long and so 
faithfully wielded the spoon and saucepan? 
I imagine housework will he a more agree¬ 
able task, when we understand how to cook 
up a dish for father’s and the boys’ break¬ 
fast,—some days when we have more to do 
than we can turn our hands to,—that will 
f lioice Miscrllann. 
c£>p & 
MEMORIES OF THE HEART. 
_ i 
WE may shred the tuOBS-veil from the rose, 
The blossom from the spray; 
The bloom that pearls the lusoious grape 
A touch will brush away. 
The vine may loosen from the tree 
Which once It clung to fast; 
But the heart will koep Its memories 
Till life Itsolf be passed. 
The gold must die from sunset skies, 
The purple from far hills; 
The foam-flowers fade from opal waves; 
Drought hush the babbling rills 1 
The earth grows cold and passionless 
’Ncatli winter's bitter blust; 
But the heart will keep Its memories 
Till life itself be past. 
The flush will mdo from cheek and brow; 
The sweet smile ware and die; 
The freshness leave the coral lip; 
Tours dim the brightest eye. 
Youth, beauty, hope, and happiness, 
And love, may die at last; 
Hut the heart will keep Its memories 
Till life Itself be past. [Selected. 
-- 
A CHILD’S DREAM OF A STAR. 
[Not one of our readers will fall to read wit h 
emotion the fob owing from i le pen of Charles 
Dickens.—Eds. Rural Nkv-Yorkek.I 
TUere was once it child, and he strolled 
shout a good deal and thought of a number 
of tilings. lie had a sister, who was a child 
too, and his constant companion. Those 
two used to wonder nil day long. They 
wondered at the beauty of flowers; they 
wondered at, the bight and blueness of the 
sky; they wondered at the depth of the 
bright water; they wondered at the good¬ 
ness and power of God, who made the love¬ 
ly world. 
They used to say to one another, some¬ 
times, “Supposing all the children on the 
earth were to die, would the flowers and the 
water and the sky be aorrv?” They believed 
they would be sorry. For, said they, the 
buds are the children of the flowers, and the 
little playful streams that gambol down the 
hillsides are the children of the waters; and 
the smallest bright specks, playing at bide 
and seek in the sky all night, must surely be 
the children of thu stars; and they would all 
be grieved to see their playmates, the chil¬ 
dren of men, no more. 
There was one clear star that used to come 
out in the sky before the rest, near the church 
spire, about the graves. It was larger and 
iviivi’u IwMinti fhiiil Ji.11 t.ltO. 
and it was night; and the star was shiulbg 
into his room, making long rays down to¬ 
wards him as he saw it through his tears. 
From that hour forth the child looked out 
upon the star as on the home he was to go 
to, when his time should come, and he 
thought he did not belong to earth alone, 
but to the star, too, because of his sister’s 
angel gone before. 
There was a baby born to be a brother to 
the child ; and while he was so little that he 
had never yet spoken a word, he stretched 
his tiny form out on the bed and died. 
Again the child dreamed of the opened 
star, and of the company of angels, and the 
train of people, and all the rows of angels 
with their beaming eyes all turned upon 
those people’s faces. 
Said bis sister’s angel to the leader: 
“ Is my brother come ?” 
- And he said, “ Not that one, but another.” 
As the child beheld his brother’s angel in 
her arms, he cried, “ Oh, sister, I am here! 
Take me!” And she turned and smiled 
upon him, and the star was shining. 
He grew to he a young man, and was 
busy at his books when an old servant came 
to him and said: 
“ Thy mother is no more. I bring her 
blessing on her darling son.” 
Again at night he saw the star, and all 
that former company. Said his sister’s angel 
to the leader: 
“ Is my brother come ?” 
And he said, “ Thy mother.” 
A mighty cry of joy went forth through 
all the stars, because the mother was re¬ 
united to her twochildren. And he stretched 
out his arms and cried, “ Oh, mother, sister 
and brother, 1 am here! Take me 1” And 
they answered, ‘^Not yet,” and the star was 
shining. 
He grew to be a man whose hair was turn¬ 
ing gray, and he was sitting in his chair by 
the fireside, heavy with grief, and with his 
face bedewed with tears, when the star open¬ 
ed again. 
Said Ida sister’s angel to the leader, “ Is my 
brother come ?” 
And he said, “ Nay, but his maiden 
daughter," 
And the man who had been the child saw 
his daughter, newly lost to him, a celestial 
creature among those three, and he said, “ My 
daughter’s head Is on my mother’s bosom, 
and her arm is around my mother’s neck, 
ubbittb Reabing. 
spire, about the graves. It was larger and and at her feet there is the baby of old time, 
more beautiful, uiey^'-mugla’f than all the and l can bear the parting from her, God fie 
others, and every night they watched for it, praised 1” 
times He sends us the thick darkness, so that take i ramediate Tendering them so in- 
«!" ,o Hii “ io “' r n? ssssrter iskewse 
heai t brimming over with sympathy, leads able fact that another dose is waiting, 
her to many kind deeds and words; and as But jesting aside, how many lives of 
I view her daily worth I question why the noble, quiet, self-sacrifice there are of which 
same quiet may not brood over many a 
mourning one—why each may not learn for 
himself that— 
” There is no sorrow to the earnest soul 
That looketh up to God with perfect faith.” 
only God and the angels know. Some day, 
when the fire upon the home-hearth has 
burned itself into ashes, never more to be 
rekindled by the hands of our loved ones, 
will our sacrifice seem great then?— An¬ 
other Martha. 
standing hand iu hand at the window. Who¬ 
ever saw it first cried out, “ I see the star l” 
And often they cried out both together, 
knowing so well when It would rise, and 
where. So they grew to he such friends 
with it that before laying down in their 
beds, they looked out once again, to bid it 
good night; and when they were turning 
round to sleep, they would say, “ God blesB 
the start” 
But while she was still very young, oh, 
very .young, the sister drooped, and came to 
be so weak that she could no longer stand in 
the window at night; and then the child 
looked sadly out by himself, and when he 
saw the star, turned round to the patient, 
pale face on the bed, “ I see tlm star 1” and 
then a smile would come upon his face, and 
a little weak voice used to say, “ God bless 
my brother and the star!” 
And so the time came all too soon, when 
the child looked out alone, when there was 
no face on the bed; and when the) e 
was a little grave upon the graves not there 
before; and when the star made long rays 
down towards him, as he saw it through his 
tears. 
Now, these rays were so bright, and they 
seemed to make such a beautiful, shining 
way from earth to Heaven, that when the 
child went to his solitary bed, he dreamed 
about the star; and dreamed that lyiug 
where he was, he saw a train of people 
taken up that shining road by angels. And 
the star, opening, showed him a great world 
of light, where many more such angels 
waited to receive them. 
All these augels, who were waiting, turned 
their beaming eyes upon the people who 
were carried up into the star; and some 
came out from the long rows in which they 
stood ami fell upon the people’s necks and 
kissed them tenderly, and went away with 
them down avenues of light, and were so 
happy in their company, that lying in the 
bed he wept for joy. 
But there were many angels who did not 
go with, them, and among them one he 
knew. The patient face that had once lain 
upon the bed was glorified and radiant, but 
hiB heart found out liis sister among all the 
host. 
His sister’s angel lingered near the en¬ 
trance of the star, and said to the leader 
among those who had brought the people 
thither— 
“ Is my brother come ?” 
And he said, “ No.” 
She was turning hopefully away, when 
the child stretched out his arms, and said, 
“ Oh, sister, 1 am here ! Take me I" And 
then she turned her beaming eyes upon him, 
And the star was shining. 
Tims the child came to be an old man, and 
his Once smooth face was wrinkled, and his 
steps were slow and feeble, and his back was 
bent. And one night as he lay upon his bed, 
his children standing around liim, he cried as 
he cried so long ago: 
“ 1 see the star l” 
They whispered to one another, “ He is 
dying.” 
Anti he said, “ I am. My age is falling 
from me like a garment, and I move toward 
the star as a child. And O, my Father, now 
1 thunk Thee that it has so often opened to 
receive those dear ones who await me 1” 
And the star was shining; and shines upon 
his grave. 
—- 4 -++-- 
CARELESS WORDS. 
How frequently, in a thoughtless moment, 
or in sport, we utter words which sink deep 
into some heart, inflicting untold anguish, 
and blotting the pages of its life-book with 
burning tears. Time inuy heal the wound ; 
the troubled waves may he hushed into 
quietness; the fire that scorched the quiver¬ 
ing heart-strings may be quenched, but hit¬ 
ter ashes will ever mark the pathway of 
those careless words. It may he, that a 
weight of sorrow that bowed the fainting 
spirit to the earth was rendered heavier to 
he borne by the added grief of a thoughtless 
word. Perhaps an unguarded expression 
has been uttered, and the tongue ol malice 
repeats il with a new coloring, and a mean¬ 
ing never intended, and thus the strongest 
ties of affection have been severed. 
“Hearts the world In vain bad tried, 
And sorrow but more closely tied,” 
have been estranged, and are 
“Like broken clouds, or like the Stream 
That Btuiljug left the mountain's brow. 
As though its waters ne’er GOUldsever; 
Yet, ere it reach the plain below. 
Breaks into Hoods that part forever.” 
How a word will sometimes recall memo¬ 
ries which were slumbering in the dim re¬ 
cesses of the past, causing the flush to deepen 
on the cheek, and the eye to flash vviLh a 
new brilliancy, as visions of past joys come 
again, in all the freshness tlmt was theirs, in 
the hours of “ long ugo ; ” or.il may open 
a font of long-sealed grief and buried memo¬ 
ries to mar our present joy. 
“ ’Tin a strange mystery, thu power of words I 
Life is in them, and death. A word can send 
The crimson color hurrying to the chock, 
Hnrrifing with many meanings; or can turn 
The current cold and deadly to the heart." 
flow careful, then, should we ho lest our 
words should embitter our own happiness or 
that of others. When those we love may 
have closed their eyes in dreamless repose; 
when the ear is dulled ulike to words of ten¬ 
derness or unkindness; when the lips that 
might have whispered the accents of for¬ 
giveness are forever sealed, then how bitter 
will be our unavailing tears! —Jetna, Meno¬ 
monee Falls, Ifw. 
OVER THERE. 
Just beyond the shadowy valley, 
Where the dreaded billows roll, 
There awaits n glorious future 
For the weary, earth-worn soul. 
Just within the shining portal 
On the other, hotter shore, 
We shall meet, our own beloved oues 
Not one lost, but gone before. 
Whore the flowers sweet mill vernal 
Crown the never-fading years. 
There our hopes will bloom eternal. 
All uudlmmud by doubts and fears. 
Glory, glory ! God will guide us 
Safely through the icy tide, 
■Till wo stand with the immortals, 
Hand In hand and side by side. 
-- 
THOUGHTS BY THINKERS. 
How to Carry our Trouble*, 
Here is a good thing to remember, by Jno. 
Newton:—“I compare the troubles which 
we have to undergo iu the course of the year, 
to a bundle of fagots, far too large for us to 
lift. But, God docs not require us to carry 
the whole at once. He mercifully unties the 
bundle, and gives us first one stick. This 
we might easily manage, if we could only 
take the burden appointed for us each day ; 
but we choose to increase our troubles by 
carrying yesterday’s sticks over again to-day, 
and adding to-morrow’s burden to our load 
before we are required to bear it. 
Wlint I* Religion < 
A writer in the Christian Advocate 
says:—“The kingdom of God is not meat 
and drink, hut righteousness and peace, and 
joy in the Holy Ghost.” Religion does not 
consist in merely decent observances of 
forms and ceremonies, but in a heart bound 
anew in its allegiance to God, the putting 
off of the old man, Christ Jesus ; the for¬ 
saking of the world and all the vain pomp, 
glory, and pleasures of the same; and it is, 
in its outward manifestations, benevolent, 
and involves the visitation of the widows 
and the fatherless in their affliction, and of 
| course all the correlated duties which a be¬ 
neficent spirit will suggest.” 
“Lny Aside Every Weight,” 
Barnes says:—“ As applied to Chris¬ 
tians, it means they should remove all which 
would obstruct progress in the Christian 
course. It Is not the same thing in all per¬ 
sons. In one it may be pride; in another 
vanity; in another worldliuess; in another, 
a violent and ungovernable temper; in an¬ 
other a heavy, leaden, insensible heart; in 
another some Improper and unholy attach¬ 
ment. Borne persons would make much 
more progress if they would disencumber 
themselves of the heavy weight of gold 
which they are endeavoring to carry with 
them. Even a feather, or a ring, may be¬ 
come such a weight, that they never will 
make much progress toward the prize." 
The Wav with McIIImIi Instinct*. 
E. S. L., in Liberal Christian, says :—“ The 
most arduous conflict man can engage in is 
the warfare with the selfish instincts of bis 
own nature, which are ever prompting him 
to take unfair advantage of the ignorance 
and weakness of bis fellow creatures. They 
who, by determined and persistent efforts, 
succeed in obtaining a thorough victory 
over tlmir evil propensities, will receive in 
reward a crown of glory more bright and 
beautiful than mortal powers can conceive 
of. Battle, then, oh weak-sighted man, not 
so much with outward foes as with the more 
, dangerous enemies lying concealed among 
; the thickets of thine own uncultivated be- 
» ing. ” 
“Our Father*! Bminess.” 
1 Dr. Swaste says:— “Our Father’s busi- 
[ ness I How vast its scopq! How magnifl- 
t cent its ends! now glorious its methods 1 
How rewarding its results 1 What business 
that does not fall in with and into this is worth 
doing? And how is all the business of life 
redeemed from its littleness, its mechanical 
routine, its narrowing influence; how is it 
ennobled, exalted, and glorified, when it is 
made God’s business, begun, continued, and 
ended in Him, and all tending to the con- 
, summation of his stupendous purposes of 
i grace and redemption for man. And as 
‘ there Ls no business so worthy of our doing, 
1 so there is none so urgent, none so all- 
1 engrossing, none so imperative. Christian, 
are you about your Father’s business?" 
Clmevt’uIncN* Taught by Reason. 
I think wo are too ready with complaint 
In this fair world of God’s. Had wo no hope 
Indeed, beyond the zenith and the slope 
Of yon gray blank of sky. we might be faint 
To muse upon eternUy’n constraint 
Hound our uitpirant souls. Hut Since the scope 
Must widen early, i» It, well to droop? 
O pusillanimous heart, be comforted! 
And, like it eheerxul traveler, Dike t he road. 
Singing beside tlio hedge. What If the bread 
Be bitter In thine Inn, and Bhoes unshod 
To meet the flints 2 At least it may be said, 
" Because the way i» short, 1 thank thee, God ! ” 
IJSlimheit i Barrett Browning. 
