looked at it for a long l ime, then leaned her 
head on her hand, as if thinking. 
Seth knew the time had come for speak¬ 
ing of the past. 
“ As I came home from the mills one day, 
I heard some one fall iuto the water. It was 
a woman. I hurried home with htsr as fast 
as I could for Margery’s care, and, after I 
could not find you anywhere about the house, 
found you, wet and nearly drowned, in my 
own arms.” 
Margery smiled in spite of herself; yet 
her face, eagerly scanning his, asked the 
question her lip3 could not utter. Seth 
read it in her eyes, and while his arm drew 
her head upon his breast, he touched her 
lips with a tender kiss, and replied to her 
unspoken question: 
“ Yes, Margery, I know it all. Your let¬ 
ter told me how you had grieved and lived 
all alone in your heart, right here with me, 
but you are not goiug away from me again. 
I could not get along without you. You are 
all the world—more than life lo me, my 
Margery. You loved me all the while, 
better than I deserved. Don’t you know 
that you did ? If you are ever sad or in 
doubt again, come right here to your hus¬ 
band’s heart for rest and comfort, my 
darling.” 
Margery had hid her face on Seth’s 
shoulder, and his ear detected the sound ot 
a sob. 
“ What are these tears for?” he asked, ten¬ 
derly lifting her head and holding her face 
before his own. “ There are to be no more 
troubles between us now. Tell me all that 
grieves you.” 
“ I am only so very glad and happy,” she 
sobbed. Then she told him of the past, even 
to the time when she looked up from the 
foot-bridge and, seeing him, was so startled 
that she missed her footstep and fell. 
“ When I found myself falling I felt sure 
I should he drowned, and that I had lost 
you forever. Oh Seth! my heart cried out 
after you then. I prayed in one agonizing 
thought for Got> to save me; for as l was 
just losing siglit of you il seemed as though 
I could not die and leave you. I knew in 
that instant that I loved you with all my 
soul. I think God let it all happen, and 
brought you there to save my life, and that 
it, was all to make us understand each other 
better.” 
“ Then we will reverently thank Him for 
the lesson, and pray for grace so to live 
henceforth that we may never need such a 
one again. What would life have been to me, 
Margery, if you had gone?” 
“ But I have not gone. I am almost well 
now. I am afraid that I have been such a 
very child while 1 was ill that you have 
spoiled me. It was good to be petted and 
treated so tenderly; and then, Beth, since I 
have been getting able to sit up and talk a 
little, and you have staid with me so much 
of the day, it has seemed like a love-making, 
a new courtship; and you have been the most 
charming lover one could possibly wish.” 
“ Have I ? Do you accept me ? Silence 
is consent.” 
Margery’s great trouble was ended. 
There, was no doubt in her heart thereafter. 
The next summer came, with its birds and 
blossoms, richly laden with all the sweet 
promises of the year. With it came to 
Margery a treasure more precious than all 
the treasure of kingdoms. It lias the gift of 
enchantment., and as Margery looks upon 
it, her eyes grow soft, and lustrous, and a 
holy light is in them, such us not even a 
glorified angel might wear. This light 
brightens the whole house, A little child 
trusts her with its innocent and loving heart, 
and into her purified spirit Margery has 
imbibed the loving trust of the little child, 
mingled with the perfected character of the 
self-reliant, yet dependent and trusting 
woman. 
- 
SECRETARY FISH’S BORES. 
A story is told of a prominent Wisconsin 
politician, who visited Secretary Fish to 
secure certain appointments in' his Stale. 
Mr. Fish was very polite, and the eloquent 
Madisonian was squaring off for a clinching 
consideration in favor of Ins men, when an 
attendant of the Secretary appeared and an¬ 
nounced— 
“ Mr. Thornton, the British Minister.” 
“ Mr. Thornton ? ” thought K - 
“ Thornton’s a great man ; it won’t do for 
me to detain the Secretaiy away from him," 
“Mr. Thornton?” said the Secretary, 
“ it is true ; I hud almost forgotten my ap¬ 
pointment with him.” 
And, of course, K-lost no time in 
bowing himself out. But on the way through 
the ante-rooms—Ihe hall—everywhere—Tie 
kept a sharp eye Out for Thornton —just 
from curiosity. But no Thornton appears. 
Down at the gate there is no carriage; in 
fact, no sign of any Minister Thornton. At 
this moment It happened to dawn upon the 
mind of our Wisconsin politician bow it 
came about that Minister Thornton was 
announced when no such personage was 
present. The Secretary had a secret spring 
and wire connected with his table. When 
it became desirable, for any reason, to get 
rid of a visitor, the spring was touched, the 
servant or clerk with whom it communicated 
was thus summoned, and, coming forward 
according to previous instructions, an¬ 
nounced 11 Minister Thornton.” 
So, after all, instead of a miuister in gold 
lace, the Secretary’s distinguished visitor 
Avas only a “ man in buckram.” 
latrus' 13 otrt-3r alter. 
TO JOEL GRIMES. 
.loMepli Joe SsiM-aks for a Hecoml Choice. 
That’s the way It always happens. 
In this funny world of ours ; 
One is always finding thistles 
And another Hrirting Mowers; 
And If there is anybody 
Who particularly needs 
Just one solitary posy. 
He finds nothing else but weeds. 
Now I pick up Moohe's New-Youkek, 
And 1 reud the racy rhymes 
Of the blue-eyed little poetesses 
Going down tor GRIMES; 
And I feel that Grimes is gathering 
More blosBOtus than he needs ; 
And 1 wish ho d share the flowers, 
for I'm only finding weeds. 
Way out here In Sunny Kansas , 
There ain't any girls, you see ; 
Now I am not choice like you are; 
What you won't have may suit me: 
And I won't he disappointed 
If the maiden of my hope 
Can't darn stockings, can't hoe cabbage, 
Can’t make butter, can't boll soap. 
Though she's not a skillful housewife, 
It whl give me no concern ; 
If she’s only got the Intellect 
1 know that she can learn. 
Good hard woman—sense and judgment 
Suit me belter far than baking; 
And if she will keep my company 
I will do the money making. 
I have got four hundred acres, 
With a cabin on f.lie ground, 
“ Single men ” ure very plenty 
And the girls won't near go round; 
So that Business here is. Business, 
And I send you. Grimes, these lines, 
Just to say if you don’t want her 
I will speak lor Ruoda HINDS. 
And now, Joel, don't you ask her! 
You'd be better suited with 
That’ar girl from Ashtabula— 
jane Matilda Smith. 
And, Miss UuoriA. don’t yon have him! 
If he asks you, tell him No ! 
And you’ll get a sealed proposal 
From your darling 
Joseph Joe. 
WHAT RURAL WOMEN WRITE. 
Another Country tJirl’n Experience. 
An article in your paper of August; UJtli, 
by “ A Troubled Martha ” suits me exactly. 
If 1 had’nt known better 1 should have 
thought, one of our hard working Saturdays 
was meant, so minutely was it described. All 
farmers’ daughters will agree with me in 
saying it was not an exaggerated account* 
but a truthful picture of what wo have to 
endure, year in and year out. 1 sometimes 
think I have more to do than other girls. I 
will try and give you a faint idea of what / 
call work. 
There are eight children in the family, 
five of them at home, of which I am the 
eldest; also father, mother, grandma, and 
two hired men, which make ten in the fam¬ 
ily all the time. In addition to that, extra 
help for harvest, haying, &c.; also ten or 
twelve men during peach season, for we 
have an orchard of forty acres. 
That is one of the greatest trials of my 
life. We have to keep the dinner table 
standing around until two or three o’clock, 
waiting for the men who are taking peaches 
to town, which is five miles from our farm. 
And after the last dish is washed and dish- 
pan hung in its place, we have to set down 
to that delightful occupation of peeling 
peaches for drying. I think that goes ahead 
of “Martha.” Just imagine, if you can, 
how much fuming , stewing and baking it 
takes to keep such a family going. 
In spite of my trials and troubles, I (Jo 
take some comforts in country life, especial¬ 
ly in niy beautiful garden. It rests me after 
a bard days’ work to go among my flowers, 
my graceful fuchsias, fragrant heliotropes 
and glowing verbenas. I don’t like farming 
one bit, but I try and submit gracefully to 
my lot, thinking “ Home is woman’s king¬ 
dom,” and my duty is there. 
I hope you will publish this, Mr. Editor, so 
“Martha” can see she has the sympathy 
and condolence of at least one —“ Country 
Girl.” 
the idea of continually revolving from 
kitchen to pantry, from pantry to cellar, 
and back to the kitchen again; from thence 
to the dining apartment, and through the - 
back door to the wood-pile and watering 
place, traveling miles every day, in order to 
satisfy the craving appetites of our stalwart 
brothers and as many hired men. Nor is 
this all; we must wash, starch, iron and - 
patch every week two shirts apiece, be¬ 
sides one for Sunday. With all this revolu- . 
tion, day after day, week in, week out, from • 
oue year’s end to another, I wonder how we 
ever manage to acquire the requisite mate- ■ 
rial for brain food, with but little time to ( 
read the Rural even, save while we churn. 
Perhaps my friend will conclude that I am 
not over sympathetic; but 1 think 1 have 
picked up old hats and carried away old 
shoes enough to try the patience of a saint. 
When morning dawns, and daylight 
comes peeping through the curtained win¬ 
dows, and 1 am fast, locked in the arms of 
sweet slumber and sweeter dreams of an 
imaginative paradise, there all at ouce comes 
a tap, a rap, and that unwelcome call for 
breakfast. I sally forth, repair to the kitchen, 
kindle the fire, get the necessary edibles half 
cooked, then comes, what ? Bustling Harry, 
running in from the barn, with “Sis, will 
you milk one cow ? I must go to plow.” 
Thus, another day begins with such a 
multiplication of duties that dear only 
knows how it will end. With all this bur¬ 
den of responsibilities resting on my weary 
shoulders, who need be surprised if L, too, 
am a “ Troubled Martha?” But I will be 
resigned to my fate, and wait, with a longing 
heart, to see thrown wide open the pearly 
gates of paradise, with the spirit of the 
sainted Mary to lead me triumphantly in.— 
Anna. 
-«“*-♦- 
FEMININE FEUILLETON. 
How Euudisli Ladies Paint. 
The London News says“ During the 
last eight years the odious practice of paint¬ 
ing the face has been steadily growing until, 
in the most conspicuous classes of society 
the practice has ceased to be the exception, 
and has become the rule. Once more, as in 
the time of Steele, we have a race of Piets 
among us. Formerly, an old harridan, if 
she spread a little cautious rouge over the 
cheeks that age would have spared, had un¬ 
remitting excitement not been superadded 
to years, was pointed out with the finger, 
and was in a double sense a marked woman. 
Now-a-days the youngest fingers dabble, in 
the pigment. The disease has spread from 
the cheeks to every portion of the face. 
The mouth, which one would have tbought 
the last to catch the infection, has taken it 
in the most violent form, and hundreds of 
women in London go about, with a perpetual 
lie upon their lips. Pencils for the eye¬ 
brows and even for the eyelashes, arc com¬ 
mon wares on a modern toilet table.” 
Feminine Athletics. 
Six Charlestown young women challenged 
an equal number of Boston beauties to a 
, swimming race for a prize of $100. The 
latter accepted, hut, when the appointed time 
came, did not appear on the ground. So the 
spunky Charlestown girls resolved to get up 
■ a race among themselves for the champion- 
I ship of the Charles River. Preliminaries 
over, the six dived gracefully at the word and 
started together. But, alas! before they 
reached the turning-stake, four out of the six 
, “ weakened,” and paddled exhausted to shore. 
. Miss Lizzie Kerrigan turned the. stake in 
. advance, closely followed by Miss Lizzie 
Kane. On the home-stretch, the latter, who 
! was swimming nobly, suddenly threw up 
r her hands, crying, “ I am sinking; for God’s 
* sake, help me!” and Miss Kerrigan had all 
. she could do to keep the auburn head of her 
exhausted adversary above water until aid 
j arrived. A similar contretemps interfered 
, with the success of the recent ladies’ foot- 
{ race in the West., where one of the ladies 
withdrew in a fainting condition. 
jorial topics. ^abbatb 11 cubing. 
More about “Practical Experience.” 
A contributor to the Rural New- 
Yorker wishes to know whether there are 
any more “Troubled Marthas?” I, for 
one, can answer, Yes, dear, yes! and am 
ready, with a sympathizing heart, tocondole 
with my unknown friend. As I eagerly pe¬ 
rused the communication from her pen, I 
thought, “ O, how that coat fits me !” For 
I, too, am a country girl; I, too, found my¬ 
self the mistress of a district school before I 
arrived at the age of sixteen. But, alas! I, 
like too many others of our sex, found my¬ 
self—when just in the bight of my glory, 
when crowning with success the efforts of 
my growing mind—the unlucky possessor of 
more ambition than bodily strength, and 
must relinquish all ideas of any great scho¬ 
lastic attainment, to succumb to the common 
household duties of every-day life. 
After all, I would be loth to convey the 
idea that I detest, or abhor, the work or 
daily rounds and routine of kitchen labor; 
rather the contrary, for I understand the 
essentials and appreciate the usefulness of 
honest labor. And yet, here again comes 
Uirl and Woman. 
Eyes like blue violets, glauming gold hair. 
Farted red lips and wondering uir, 
Fresh rounded cheeks and innocent brow 
Of a child to whom grief is a stranger now. 
Sad faded eyes and silvery hair. 
Brow marked with many a cross and care, 
Thin hands whose labor Is nearly done, 
Cairn smile of happiness lost and won. 
Closely they sit as the twilight grows. 
The opening blossom, the withered rose. 
O, say, for which shall I pity find— 
Her life all to come, or her’s left behind ? 
A Farmers’ Daughter and Husbandry. 
We see in the dailies that in Sullivan, 0., 
is a distinguished young lady but thirteen 
years of age whose father, a thrifty farmer, is 
very proud of her achievements. For three 
years past she has of her own choice been 
engaged in regular farm work, in plowing, 
sowing, reaping, mowing, and harrowing, as 
well as in driving and managing horses. 
“Haying” is to her no holiday work; last 
summer she raked about forty acres of hay, 
beside doing her share toward mowing, load¬ 
ing, and “pitching” it. Already the boys 
of the neighborhood are speculating whether 
the future years of Estella Whitcomb will 
develop such superiority in wifehood as her 
childhood has in husbandry. 
TOO LATE. 
" Ah si lajmnessf samit—rt la vldesse pouvait.” 
There sat an old man on a rook. 
And musing bewailed him of Fate— 
That concern where we all must take stock. 
Though our vote lias no bearing nor weight; 
And the old man snug him an old, old song, 
Never sang voice so clear and strong 
That It could drown the old man’s song, 
For lie sang Lite song, " Too late !’’ 
When we want, wc have for nur pains 
The promise that If we but wait 
Till tlie want had burned out our brains 
Every means shall bo present to sate; 
While we send for the napkin the soup gets cold, 
While the bonnet Is trimming the face grows old; 
When we've matched our buttons the pattern is sold, 
And everything cornea too late. 
When strawberries seemed like red leaves, 
'Terrapin stew a wild dream. 
When rny brain was at-sixes and sevens, 
If my mother had *' folks " and Ice-cream, 
Then l gazed with n UckertDg hunger 
At the restaurant man and fruit-monger; 
But all! how I wish that I were younger— 
When the goodies all camo in a stream. 
I've a splendid blood horse, and a liver 
That it Jars Into tortures to trot; 
My row-boat’s the gem of the river— 
Gout makes every kntiekle a knot; 
t can buy boundless credits on Paris and Rome, 
But no palate for menu *—no oyos for a dome! 11 
Those belonged to the youth wtio must tarry at home, 
When no home but an uttio he'd got. 1 
i 
How l longed in that lonest of garrets, 
Where the tiles baked my brain In July, 
For ground to grow two pecks of carrots, J 
Two pigs ot my own in a sty, ^ 
A roso bush—a little thatched cottage, 
Twospoous—love—ft basin of pottage!— 1 
Now in freestone I sit—and my dotage, t 
With a woman's chulr empty close by. 
All I now, though I sit on a rock, j 
l have shared nur seat, with the great; 
I have sat knowing naught, of the clock, f 
On Love’s high throne of state ; I 
But the lips that kissed, and the arms that caressed, ( 
Ton mouth grown stern with delay were pressed, 
Anti circled a breast that their clasp bad blessed, 
Had they only not come too late! j 
-—- 
A COMMON MISTAKE. 
Here is a picture which some husbands 
could study with probable advantage. We 
find it in Life at Home, by Dr. Airman: 
Many a man seems to regard these house¬ 
hold duties of the wife as not to he com¬ 
pared for a moment with those which en¬ 
gross his attention. He expects, if business 
haB perplexed or made him anxious, to have 
his wife’s sympathy when becomes home at 
night, but never imagines that during the 
day anything could have occurred to trouble 
that wife. He returns from bis workshop or 
counting*room soured, perhaps, by some 
bad bargain, annoyed by a stupid workman 
or unreasonable employer, morose from some 
ill-spoken word, and expects to be received 
with smiles; it matters not how surly may 
be his looks, Ids wife must he, in dress, in 
countenance, in word, ail sweetness and 
amiability. He may have no pleasant word, 
may take his place moodily at his table, but 
bis wife’s words must be affectionate, and 
bis wife’s looks full only of gladness. What, 
he thinks, lias she to trouble her ? And this 
when the poor wife has, through a long and 
weary day, been toiling with family work 
and vexatious cure till her head is aching, 
and foot and hand and heart are sore with 
tiie worry. The tea is dispatched silently, 
very likely with somber complaints over the 
trials lie lues had during the day, or the bad¬ 
ness of the times; and then the evening 
paper is taken in hand and pored over until 
: the very advertisements arc devoured, or the 
reader’s face is bowed upon the crumpled 
page in sleep. 
; Or, if he be not weary enough for that, 
» he seizes his hat and rushes for the rcading- 
i room, or more probably for the louugiug- 
i place where such as he do congregate; there, 
l with a fragment of cigar in his hand and 
r desultory talk from his lips, he Ungers till 
l t he noise of the closing shutters warns him 
l to leave. He goes at last home again, bc- 
- cause he can go nowhere else. Meanwhile 
3 the wife has, with a heavy heart and 
tired step, got the little ones iuto bed, and, 
as best she could, has worn away the long 
hours of the evening in silence and loneliness. 
Should a thought of his selfishness or in¬ 
justice cross the mind of the husband, be 
responds, with ready self-complacency, “ 1 
require relaxation, and must see my friends.” 
The night is witness of the same or greater 
lack of sympathy. Perhaps the babe is not 
well, and is restless. But that is not bis 
business. It matters not that the poor pale 
wife has had the child in her arms through 
the long day — a day’s work with a sick 
babe, one of the weariest of mortal toils—he 
must not be disturbed. I have known such 
i a husband provide a distant sleeping apart- 
H ment that he might not be disturbed, and lie 
e snoring in leaden unconsciousness while a 
|. 1 frail wife, with swollen eyes, and limbs that 
” almost refused to obey an iron will, was 
* walking to and fro with his child. 
It -^- 
T A Meeting. 
L One hour, 'mid laughter and festal light, 
A look, a softly-spukon word : 
S The next, ere day spring hath mastered night, 
i* The short dry speech or sword to sword. 
With morn cornel ending ot sport and strife, 
;j- And daily wont bears rule again 
But one hath passed from the paths of life. 
And one hath fled the face or men. 
CKYSTALIZATION. 
CRYSTALS'—In silent realms—afar 
From ways that humun foot hath trod. 
Dorp in the wonder house of God, 
Shutout from sun, or moon, or star, 
Crystals are forming, forming slow : 
Long to the dally quest no change appears, 
But hardening, hardening through the years, 
True udumautat last they grow. 
Crystals nre forming. Spirits wise 
Watcli over them With loving care, 
“Say sister spirit, do you dare 
Believe that, our unsleeping eyos 
Shull be rewarded by a sphere 
Of solid light, pure an tin; gem 
That on a queenly diadem, 
The central brilliant doth appear ?” 
Crystals! nay. characters, are forming fast, 
Meanwhile above tlielr angels keep 
dose watch, and oft are fain to weep, 
And question, “Oh at. lust, 
Say sister spirit, shall we bring 
This soul without a Haw nr stain, 
Or aught the purest eyes may pain. 
Into Lbo presence of our King?” 
f Mrs. B. L. Cnistyy, Bangor, Me. 
-♦♦♦-- 
THOUGHTS BY THINKERS. 
Huiv to Look lit Sin. 
Spurgeon says in one of bis sermons:— 
“ Sin, somehow or other, desperate evil as it 
is, will he overruled to display God’s good¬ 
ness. Just as the goldsmith sets a foil 
around a sparkling brilliant, even so the 
Lord bus allowed moral and physical evil 
to come into this world to cause his infinite 
wisdom, grace, power, and all his other at¬ 
tributes, to ljo better seen by the whole 
intelligent universe. Let us look at it 
in this light, and the next time wo see 
suffering wc shall say, “ Here is our oppor¬ 
tunity of showing what the love of God 
can do for these sufferers ” The next time 
we witness abounding sin let us say, “ Here 
is an opportunity for a great achievement of 
mercy.” 
Hpurgcuu Urges Christian Activity. 
Young man, is it thy morning ? Art 
thou just converted? Is the dew of peni-« 
tence still trembling upon the green blade? 
Hast thou just seen the first radiance which 
streams from the eyelids of the morning? 
Hast thoil heard the joyous singing of birds? 
Up with tliee, mail, and serve thy God with 
the love of thine espousals 1 Berve him 
with all thine heart I Or hast thou known 
thy Lord now so long that it is noon with 
thee, and the burden and heat of the day 
union thee? Use all diligence, make good 
speed, for thy sun will soon decline. And 
hast thou long been a Christian ? Then the 
shadows lengthen, and thy sun is almost 
down. Quick with thee, man, let both thine 
hands he used. Strain every nerve, put 
every sinew to the stretch. Do all at all 
times, and in all places, that thine ingenui¬ 
ty can devise, or thy zeal can suggest to 
tliee, for the night comelh wherein no man 
can work. _ 
Christian Union. 
The Congregationalist thus defines true 
Christian union: 
Christian union is the oneness of Christ’s 
people in aim. The last clause expresses 
that, which distinguishes that from every 
other union. It is the oneness of believers, 
not in external organization, not in methods 
of work, hut in Christ. It is the oneness of 
the branches in the vine. It is the oneness 
of all parts of the tree in the. root. It is not 
au external, mechanical tying together of the 
branches; it is an internal and vital union ; 
a union of the brunches produced by their 
deriving tlielr life and beauty from one com¬ 
mon source. Christian union is that one¬ 
ness of believers which is caused by their 
being “in Christ,” and Christ “in them.” 
Jesus prayed, “That they may be one, even 
as wc are one; I in them, and Thou in Me, 
that they may he made perfect in one.” And 
again, “ That they may be one in us." This 
. kind of oneness is not an external, artificial 
[ unity; it is not such a union as may be pro¬ 
duced by constitutions and creeds and or- 
! ganizations. It is not the binding of believ¬ 
ers, one to another, by some external liga¬ 
ment, as you might bind all the branches of 
the tree together in some futile attempt to 
' make them one. It is the union of believers, 
, not directly with one another, but in and 
. through Jesus Christ. 
Wlmt is Real Prayer. 
Beecher says :■—“ Real prayer is not 
mere begging. The convicted thief docs 
not pray when he asks to be let off from 
punishment that he may go and steal more 
adroitly another time. The sluggard docs 
not pray who cries for bread, but will not 
work. The poor man does not pray who 
clamors ignorantly for the spoliation of the 
rich. They rather pray, who, acknowledg¬ 
ing their ill-desert, and using all readiness 
to do daily duty, ask for daily bread, in the 
belief that man doth not live by bread alone, 
but by every word which proccedeth out of 
the mouth of God. In a word, faith rests 
not in itself, but in God; not in human wis 
dom and desire, but in the all-seeing, per 
fectly pure, and almighty Love. Prayer 
promises to be content with whatever au 
awer Infinite Wisdom shall give.” 
