0rt'3F0licr* 
MEDORA HART’S OPINION. 
I sat among the trembling shadows 
Away in my Dixie home. 
On« lovely September evening, 
Watching the moonbeams come 
In at the open window, 
And nestle on the floor. 
While some in the vines were dauoing. 
That clustered 'round the door. 
And 1 thought about ” Job" In Kansas, 
And about that” Joei. Grimes,” 
As I watched the dancing moonbeams 
Playing among the vines; 
And I laughed so loud as I sat there, 
Thai ma came running to see 
What could be the mutter 
With the sweet moonshine and me. 
So I read tier Jqel’ 8 letter. 
And the one from JosKf’U JOE, 
And who laughed louder than she 
I would he glad to know ? 
And my little sister asked me 
(Her third year Is Just begun) 
“If be wants his 'lockings mended, 
Why don’t he hire it Uouo?” 
That Is what, T was thinking, 
As I road his letter too; 
Wouldn't some daughter of Erin, 
With bright eyes and red cheeks do? 
I shim hi prefer a cabin. 
As .Vilas KnoDA will surely do. 
To marrying half a million, 
Aud marrying Joel too. 
I love to live in the country, 
And make both butter and cheese. 
Yet 1 also love my freedom, 
And tnlyhtity love my ease; 
I cun spin mid Unit my stockings, 
And wash and Iron “ right smart,’ 
But no such genL us Joel 
W ill suit Medora Hart. 
WHAT RURAL WOMEN WRITE. 
Protest Against Profane Help. 
Haying been a reader of your most, valu¬ 
able paper for several years past, I have 
looked with no slight degree of interest, to 
see from some one a comm unication relative 
to out-door help, particularly farmer’s, which 
it seems to me lias degenerated of late years; 
aud the cause must certainly rest with the 
employers, it should he the duty of every 
man who employs help, and especially so if 
lie has a son or sons, who are to work on the 
farm, to question said applicant in regard to 
his habits,—if be is addicted to using pro¬ 
fane and vulgar language,—a wicked, idle 
practice which such persons too often in¬ 
dulge in. These queries should be put, and 
no help hired that could not recommend 
himself; if he should deceive, let him he dis¬ 
charged on the first, offense, as not suitable 
to be an innmte of any respectable family. 
This would soon bring about, a better con¬ 
dition of things, and our ears and nerves 
would not so often he shocked with such 
profane and obscene language ns is too often 
beard now. 1 hope some accustomed to 
writing will Agitate this most important sub¬ 
ject.—A Farmer's Wife. 
A Picture to Ilimg I!rsi(le ill it rt Ini 'w. 
Permit me to sketch a picture, which 
might do to hang by the side of the one 
painted for the Ritual New-Youkeii some 
time ago, by “ A Troubled Martha.” It 
was one of these splendid, early fall days, 
when the air seems full of life and joy that 
we went to call on a sick girl, who lives “on 
the hill,” some five miles out of the village. 
Our road wound along under silver poplars, 
the sunlight glancing from their quivering 
leaves; under the shade of fragrant lurch 
and oaks, loaded with their young acorns, 
the sunshine sifting through, dancing on the 
mosses and ferus, oil wintergroeu and arbu¬ 
tus, till we came to a little weather-beaten 
house, perched high up above its neighbors. 
There, in a bare, tlncarpeted room, we found 
the sick girl. She has a spinal complaint, 
and one side has become paralyzed. For 
five years she lias lain there, suffering more 
than she can tell. It was a pale, sweet face 
that lay on the pillow; no trace of fretful¬ 
ness, or impatience could be seen, but a 
bright smile, quick to come for any little at¬ 
tention or bit of jest. Still young—not more 
than twenty-five—she may linger and suffer 
thus for twenty years; no “ mopping floors ” 
for “men folks” to track up again with 
muddy feet, for her. She cannot use her 
hands to sew or knit; cannot even read: 
nothing but to be still and suffer. 
And there are other dark shades in the 
picture, which it would be cruel to show to 
strangers. Not poverty alone, in her family, 
but sorrows which must add tenfold to her 
sufferings. We spoke of her being so far 
from neighbors, and she said, when she was 
moved up there three years ago, where she 
could not bear jl carriage pass, or see any 
one only very seldom, “ 1 thought I should 
die.” And the pale lips quivered a moment- 
only a moment—and then came the bright 
smile, as she glanced at the flowers we had 
brought her, and she whispered, (she cannot 
speak aloud,) “How kind to think of me! 
How good God is to me!”— M. S. Rowell. 
Htill Another Martha. 
Permit me to cast in my mite. It may, 
perhaps, prove a benefit to some of the 
troubled Marthas who read the Rural 
New-Yorker to hear a small part of my 
experiences. My parents were old-fashioned 
farmers, who believed in carrying on the 
farm and doing the work in the same old- 
fashioned way as their great grandfathers 
and mothers did before them, keeping up an 
endless trotting from early dawn until dewy 
eve. Then exhausted nature, the weary, 
over-tasked body, the aching limbs, the 
heated brain, many a time refusing to be re¬ 
freshed by sleep until near early dawn, just 
as one is lost in slumber, the blast of the 
well-known horn bids the sleepers arise and 
hasten to the laborious drudgery of another 
day. 1 love to work; hut drudgery I do 
hate. Farmers’ wives and daughters who 
are not pampered city-like, Understand that 
the work of the farm and dairy is a never- 
ending drudgery, wearisome toil, toil with¬ 
out recompense—perhaps receiving a cheap 
calico gown, with numerous grumbles at 
that expens , for their year’s labor. 
My father’s family at the lime 1 date my 
first experiences, numbered ten living chil¬ 
dren, ages ranging from one year to thirty; 
my age at that time being exactly twelve 
years, eight months and a few days. As is 
the case in nearly every family, so in ours— 
there were willing workers, struggling to 
bear the heat aud burden of the day, also 
shirks. So mother—always a true wife and 
kind and loving mother—although an in¬ 
valid from my earliest recollections, had a 
care for her family, abiding by the old es¬ 
tablished law of the household, that of 
“ taking weeks ” to keep the work more 
evenly divided, and at the same time mak¬ 
ing the shirks work as well as the willing 
ones. 
Perhaps the readers of the Rural New- 
Yorker do not understand what is meant 
by “ taking weeks.” It is simply this: My 
week I do all the dairy work for twenty 
cows or over, skim the milk, carry the sour 
milk in pails by hand and empty it into a 
swill tub several rods distant beneath a 
broken shed, wash and scour the pans and 
palls, put the cream in one of the latest im¬ 
provements—a barrel chum with a dash 
heavy enough for one to lift—at least one of 
my size and strength at that time. All tilings 
ready, then splash, dash, churn away until 
the butter comes; look after the butter until 
it is packed away into the tub; sen that the 
tubs already filled are not leaking or mold¬ 
ing; carry out the buttermilk; wash and 
scald the churn to keep it sweet; added all 
of the cooking, boiling, baking, table-setting 
and dish-washing, for from twelve to twenty 
hale and hearty eaters, including visitors, of 
which there was always a good supply on 
hand; floor-sweeping, mopping and scrub¬ 
bing, from early Monday morning (as the 
Sabbath was considered God’s holy day, and 
generally kept us a day of rest,) until Satur¬ 
day night twelve o’clock, and after, accord¬ 
ing to the tact employed to get work out of 
the way. 
The two weeks of rest (as there were three 
of us put. into such service) were filled up 
with such work as this—milking seven cows 
mornings and evenings; the Monday’s wash¬ 
ing; the Tuesday’s ironing; working in the 
garden; working in the fields with father 
and the hoys; raking, pitching, loading, mow¬ 
ing away; continually filling up the spare 
moments with spinning, weaving, sewing, 
mending, darning ami knitting. 
Tt is said that the mind needs food as well 
as the body. Many a time, when my mind 
hungered and thirsted for food, 1 was point¬ 
ed to the Bible, that inexhaustible mine of 
wealth ; that was all I needed—ail that any 
one needed ; too much book knowledge was 
hurtful; all the book knowledge girls need¬ 
ed, besides the Bible, was to know how to 
read and write their own names, in case 
they should chance to have to sign them to 
some valuable papers. The dear old Bible ! 
how I hated it then I Besides this blessed 
book, tiiere were a few old English Readers, 
Cobh’s spelling Books, a county paper, and 
several almanacs. 
My estimable parents have for several 
years been sleeping in the quiet old church¬ 
yard, their souls gone back to Him who 
gave them. They were pious and devoted 
Christians from their childhood up. I have 
no complaints to offer as to the slovenly, 
slatternly ways of my father as Martha No. 
1 has. He was a very neat and orderly man. 
He had a place for every thing, and kept 
every thing in its place. 
The nail where his hat used to hang, the 
place where his boots used to stand, are still 
sacred in my memory, although my child¬ 
hood’s home has passed into the hands of 
strangers, and I am left to tread life’s rough 
and thorny paths alone, fitted for no posi¬ 
tion except one of menial service and 
drudgery, which a shattered and broken- 
down constitution will no longer allow me 
to fill; truthfully it can he said, hopelessly, 
aimlessly drifting through life. 
. You may think this story looks rather du¬ 
bious, and that It is impossible for any wo¬ 
man to do such an immense amount of 
work, day after day. And vet it is true; it 
is simply facts without the fiction that usual¬ 
ly accompanies stories. How thankful 
then, ought those to be who have good 
homes, a where to lay their head and are 
amply provided for in both body and mind 
even if they do have to work hard. 
Jefferson Co., N. Y„ 1870. Leroy. 
“GRAN’MA AL’AS D0E8.” 
I wants to mend my wagon, 
And has to Iwtvn aonie nails ; 
Jus’ two, free will be plenty, 
We’re going to Haul our rails. 
The splendldest nob fnnoea 
We’re making ever was ! 
I wls’ you’ll help us Bml 'em, 
Gran’ma ul’as does. 
My horse’s name Is Betsey— 
She Jumped aud broked her head ; 
I put her in the atable, 
And fed hor milk and bread. 
The stable's In the parlor. 
We didn't make no muss ; 
1 wls' you'd let it stay there, 
Oran'miinCas doos. 
I’s jfoln' to the eorntleld, 
To ride on Charlie's plow ; 
I spent he’d like to have me, 
I wants to go right now. 
Oh, won't I" gee up” awful. 
And “ whoa” like Charlie’s “ whoas !’’ 
I wls’ you wouldn’t bonzer. 
Grun'mu never does. 
I wants some bread aud butter— 
I’s hungry worstest kind ; 
But Taddie mustn't have none, 
‘Cause she wouldn't mind ; 
Hut plenty sugar on it, 
I tell you what, I knows 
It's right to put on sugar— 
Grun'ma nl'ns does. 
[A, II. Por, In The Bright Side. 
- 
LETTERS FROM GIRLS. 
Skeleton Lenvea. 
Miriam did not ask about preparing 
skeleton leaves early enough in the season. 
The leaves should be picked between the 
20th of June and the 10th of July. Pick a 
great many, for it is not at all likely you can 
save every tenth one. I had the best luck 
with cherry and pear tree leaves. Do not 
put too many kinds in one dish ; put fruiL 
tree leaves in one, forest leaves in another, 
and so on. Forest leaves contain more tan¬ 
nin thuu the others. Put into crocks, cover 
with water; then put a brown paper over 
the water and it will sink aud keep the 
leaves down. Sot out of doors ; keep cov¬ 
ered with water. Let them macerate in this 
way. In about three weeks it would be well 
to try the most delicate ones, hut others will 
take five, six, or seveu weeks. 
Remove the paper, and take out a few of 
the leaves as gently as possible into a dish 
of water, if they are ready, the green part 
of the leaf will he pulp, and slide around un¬ 
der the outside coating. When this outside 
coating or skin is removed, the green will 
mu out, leaving the network of fibers form¬ 
ing the skeleton of the leaf. 
I have received numerous directions for 
taking this off, but find common sense will 
teach any one better than anything else. I 
gently rub them while underwater; thor¬ 
oughly rinse them in cold water, using a 
pasteboard to lake them out, for their own 
weight will often tear them; keep as straight 
as possible. Make a solution of chloride of 
lime—a piece as largo as a pea in a tumbler 
of water, I should think would be enough; 
soak the leaves in this until they are pure 
white; this will take from two to six hours; 
soak agaiu in clear water for two or three 
days, changing the water often. 
1 prepared some four years since, and did 
not get all the chloride of lime out, and they 
turned yellow after a year or so. Last year 
1 dyed thorn green; they are quite pretty. 
When the leaves are ready, remove to a sheet 
of blotting paper ; keep them straight, and 
do not dry too fast. 
I formed mine into a wreath, with white 
wax berries; but after dyeing them 1 put 
them up (in a wreath) with rose color and 
white aerocliniuiUH, a very pretty kind of 
everlasting flowers. Skeleton leaves should 
always he kept under glass. Care must be 
tuken iu bleaching and soaking the leaves, 
not to crowd them. I think I have givou 
you all the directions necessary. —Loretta. 
Plant a ill Rooiiim. 
Dear Mr. Editor;—I believe plants in 
a sleeping room to be healthful for this rea¬ 
son :—We take the fresh air into our lungs, 
where the blood absorbs the oxygen, and we 
exhale carbonic acid gas, which is very un¬ 
healthy. Plants absorb carbonic acid gas, 
and exhale the oxygen that we must have, 
and I think the plants, as well as ourselves, 
are benefited by their presence in our sleep¬ 
ing-rooms. Am I right, Mr. Editor?— 
Minnie. 
In your issue of the 10 th, I notice a letter 
from Kitty, in which she said she thought 
hanging baskets in sleeping rooms were not 
healthful to the occupant. I think Kitty 
is mistaken, because, as the air we breathe is 
composed of oxygen twenty-one per cent., 
nitrogen seventy-five per cent., a small 
amount of carbonic acid, and more or less 
watery vapor. Now, as we breathe the air 
of the twenty-one parts of oxygen, only 
eighteen are breathed out, and the carbonic 
acid is increased in the same proportion; 
well plants breathe the air through their 
leaves, much in the same way as we do 
through our lungs; but instead of taking I 
up the oxygen as we do, they take up the 
carbonic acid, which is a very violent poison 
when breathed in large quantities by men 
or animals, as you will see by the story 
told in Cutter’s “ Anatomy." 
In the “ Black Hole" of Calcutta, one hun¬ 
dred and forty-six Englishmen were shut up 
in a room eighteen feet square, with only two 
windows to admit, air. Upon opening this 
dungeon ten hours after being shut up, only 
twenty-three wore found alive. All this fVom 
breathing impure air, in which was a large 
amount of carbonic acid from being breathed 
so many times. 
Now, I think the sleeper and the plants 
will both he benefited by being in the 
same room. If 1 bavo made any mistake, 
will some Rural boy or girl correct me, as 
this is my first attempt of this kind? I 
never wrote an article for publication.— 
Lucy W. Johnson. 
Lucy and Minnie are right. 
HimUet for Center Table. 
As 1 thought some of the girls would like 
to know how to make a very neat little bas¬ 
ket for a center table, I will tell them how to 
make a very cheap, and a pretty one too. It 
is made of pasteboard, scraped horn, and 
ribbon. Get an old horn, scrape it with a 
piece of glass till it is perfectly white; then 
scrape oil' some of the white — enough to 
cover your basket. Cut out six scollops, sew 
them together; bind it with red or blue rib¬ 
bon. Glue it on. For the handle, take a 
strip of pasteboard half an inch wide, 
wrapping with the same kind of ribbon, cut¬ 
ting the bottom piece round, so us to have it 
fit nicely. Then sew on the horn, taking 
care not to have the thread show. Then fill 
it with flowers, and you have a pretty bas¬ 
ket— Hattie W., Smith River Valley , Cal. 
lluiiging ItnnkclH. 
Emma, T have one hanging basket, with a 
dew plant in it, raised from the seed last year, 
and now some of the branches are over a 
yard long, with the prettiest little gems of 
scarlet flowers imaginable. I have another, 
with an ever-blooming vine, called Tulip of 
Manas.ses. This will sometimes grow three 
or four yards in a year. It lias a thick, 
green leal’ and a thrifty look, and is about as 
pretty a plaut as 1 know of.—L oretta. 
LETTERS FROM RURAL BOYS- 
A Houlhern Huy nud Ilim Crops. 
As the boys (according to your account) are 
behind the girls, I will give the former a lift 
this time, although I much prefer lifting the 
latter (into the saddle) when 1 get a chance. 
Well, T live away down South among the 
pines; am sixteen years old, and have a 
crop consisting of cotton, corn, ground peas, 
sweet potatoes, etc., and expect to clear- 
well, l won’t say how much until 1 get if, 
and then 1 promise to let, you know. 
I have not much time to hunt and fish, 
but expect to enjoy myself that way a little 
in the fall and winter. We think a great 
deal of your paper, and I feel that if it were 
better circulated here, a different kind of 
farming would come In vogue. As it is, we 
are slightly tinged with the “Buster” com¬ 
plaint, for the definition of which I respect¬ 
fully refer you to Dr. Phillips of the 
“ Southern Farmer.” 
1 want to save money enongh to go to 
school fora year, and should feel obliged if 
you can toil me if anywhere, in addition to 
regular studies, something is taught of fann¬ 
ing or gardening. 
Iu the meantime, if Jem Decker or Wil¬ 
lie Cooley wish a correspondent, ltd. them 
address me at Amite, Louisiana, and they 
shall have an early reply. One more ques¬ 
tion. I want to have ripe tomatoes and 
cucumbers at, Christmas by forcing. When 
shall I plant, in what soil, and what is the 
best bight to have a hot-house ?— Willie 
Allen. 
Where is the boy horticulturist, who can 
answer Willie Allen s questions? 
luquirie* from Little Folkg. Fenelon, Omaha, 
Neb., says:—" Will not Borne of the young folks 
Kivo me a kind of an idea how to keep speci¬ 
mens of flowers and leuvos? I want, to gather 
some and I want to know how to keep them." 
It. asks for a recipe for marble cake. Jennie 
has some beautiful verbenas in tier flower tied 
which she would like to keep through the win¬ 
ter. She asks some of the little folk a to toll her 
how to do It.—N ed naks aonic of the boys to tell 
him how to tun muskrat skins with the fur on. 
RURAL FOUR -YEAR-OLDS. 
Mothers of Smart Children are invited to contri¬ 
bute to this Departments 
An Inquiring Mind.-A correspondent writes: 
“One or my little hoys asked me, “ Did God 
make the, block man in the dark !" lie hud hoard 
thorn called “darkies;” so I suppose he connect¬ 
ed blackness with darkness. 
Double Me.—My Utile HaKvky, three years 
old, wanted to learn bis letters. I said, pointing 
to It on a card, “That Is double u." Ho replied, 
“b that, double me?” 
Wind Full*.— Willie was forbidden to pull 
apples from thu trees, but could have those that 
were blown off by the wind. Coming in with a 
flne apple, his mother said, “Willie, did that 
apple blow off the tree?" 
“Oh, yes, mamma ; me blow edit off." 
He did blow it off with his straw tint.— c. it. m. 
Why the Mlnlater Wore n Wig.—A little girl, 
some nine years of age, was adjusting her doll’s 
hat, she olmnced to t hink of the minister’s wig. 
Turning to her mother, she asked, “ Mu, what 
makes our minister wear a wig?” Her little sis¬ 
ter, some two and n-half years her Junior, Indig¬ 
nant and disgusted at her ignorance, hastily re¬ 
plied, “You little goosey I—don’t you know? 
How he'd look yotny to Heaven ivithout any hair on 
hie head I” 
tabtnq. 
EARNEST ACTION. 
BY J. MARION PALMER. 
All the mighty thoughts of ages. 
Borne down the stream of time. 
All the burning words of sages, 
Tend to make tho world sublime. 
On their banners, Right and Duty,— 
This It is that onwnrd elieors; 
Not the dreams of coming beauty, 
Floating on the tide of years. 
In the hottest of the battle 
Have we time to think of life? 
Are we, spltu the cannon's rattle. 
Eager for the coming strife? 
Do we think of any other 
But the present, Fierce and strong? 
Do we teacli our hearts to smother 
All the iusult of a wrong? 
When the watchword,- Truth rorever,— 
Shall Impel the world along. 
Then the bravo hearts’ strong endeuvor 
Shall be crowned with victory’s song. 
Not lu Idle thought and dreaming 
Can we right a grievous wrong; 
Not by any out ward seeming, 
Though our faith lu good be strong. 
But by earnest thought and action 
Wo shall roll away the stone, 
Quell the tumult of the fuctlon, 
Hurl the giant from his throne. 
Thus shall we use all our power. 
Take the truth from ages sent; 
Culminating for the hour. 
Shall our uncrgles be spent. 
-- 
HOME TO PRISON. 
BY A. ZALIA. 
“ So I was had home to prison.” 
It is only a line taken from the life of 
Hunyan —a simple narrative written by him¬ 
self in the old English style, telling of the 
commencement of his long imprisonment, 
during which lie wrote the “ Pilgrim’s Pro¬ 
gress.” Yet who can fail to discover the 
sublimity of his nature in those simple words, 
“Home to prison 1 " I suppose he never 
thought of anything grand in them. He 
wrote it as unconsciously, ns naturally, as if 
it had been home to a palace. But what a 
cheerful, humble, submissive spirit shines 
through those words ! A spirit like his could 
not he otherwise than happy. It is sweet to 
think of Heaven as a home; but Munyan 
could find his home in a prison. His spirit 
could be joyful under any circumstances. 
No cloud so black, hut he could find its sil¬ 
ver lining; no day so “ dark and dreary,” 
but the sun shone for him; no night so long, 
but lie could look forward to a glorious 
dawn. To him God’s will was law, and lie 
rejoiced in it. To repine at his lot seemed 
never to enter his heart, and he asked not 
for greater happiness; joy enough for him 
to live, and in living, to serve Ids Gun; joy 
enough for him to feel his Saviour’s pres¬ 
ence, in never so bumble a spot. 
“ Home to Prison !” He accepted the sen¬ 
tence without a murmur. Goo had placed 
him there, and the thought of a way of es¬ 
cape never entered his mind. Some one has 
said that “ home is where the heart is.” Ah, 
a prison must be a cold place for a human 
heart; no kind friends or smiling faces; no 
words of comfort and sympathy. Yet John 
Bunyan was at home—at home as truly, as 
contentedly, as if loved forms had hovered 
about him, loving voices fallen Upon his ear, 
and loving hands ministered to his every 
want, lie had a “ Friend that stieketh closer 
than a brother;” one who was more to him 
t han father, or mother, or sister, for God was 
his friend. Can we wonder, then, that .John 
Bunyan became so great and good a man ? 
With such a soul, can we wonder that his 
name is become a “ household word,” and 
will live as long as the world shall stand ? 
Oh, that, wo might all partake of his noble 
spirit! that we might learn a lesson from his 
simple but glorious life; learn in “whatso¬ 
ever state we are, therewith to be content.” 
“Ami thou, too, whosoe'er thou art, 
As one by one, thy hopes depart, 
Be resolute and strong; 
O, fear not, In a world like this, 
And thou shall know ure long. 
Know how sublime a thing it is 
To suffer, and be strong.” 
- — — - -♦-»» 
Need of n Homo tor tlie Soul. 
The author ol’ the Draytons and Daven- 
nnts says:—“ The barest Sabbath which was 
ever fenced round with prohibitions by the 
most rigid Puritanism, looking rather to the 
fence than the enclosure, rather to what is 
shutout than to what is cultivated within, 
is a boon and a blessing compared to the life 
without pauses, without any consecrated 
home for the soul, built out of time, without 
silences wherein to listen to the Voice that 
is heard best in silence,” 
Comfort nml Counsel. 
It is a comfort to Christians apart to think 
that their prayers meet before a throne of 
grace, and their persons will meet before a 
throne of glory. 
What we do for ourselves must perish 
with us; what we do for others may outlive 
us ; what we do for God, shall remain for¬ 
ever ! 
