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SEMI-CENTENNIAL: 
An Old Fellow Hears the doleful Soliloquy, 
and Hastens to Reply. (See last Rural 
New-Yorker.) _ 
BY CHARLES BARRET. 
No, you’re not what you were, and you never were 
much. 
With your Bimp’ring ways 
And your dawdling days: 
’Twas a sorry mistake th.nking men married such. 
They are tools. It is true. 
And truer than true; 
But never the fools to want such as you. 
Your “ feminine arts," paint, powder and pad. 
Your perfumes and laces 
From Stewart's or Mace’s, 
Or any less fashionable shop, can be had; 
For a hundred or two, 
Cun be bought. It is true. 
By the vulgarost boors that walk the streets through. 
" Accomplishments 1” bah 1 there's professors for 
those: 
While flirting and dancing, 
Pouts, smiles ar.U arch glancing. 
Are all to he had at theatrical shows; 
Where T«nt, Bill and 3 am, 
With a spoony sulunm. 
Are “jockey." "beast,” “cur," in the Impudent jam. 
Now listen, 1 pray; men are thoroughly human ; 
No " niigul ” they seek. 
Submissive and meek, 
But a loving-eyed, true-hearted, sensible woman. 
And flity years old. 
If the truth hut he told. 
Such a creature is not to be purchased with gold. 
Her youth is not given to trapping an " oak 
For her womanhood line. 
So high, so divine. 
Is not lo be dwarfed by that “general Joke.” 
She grows strong and sweet, 
With thick slums on her feet. 
Her head all her own and her heart most complete. 
If a king conies apace, with a heart for her heart, 
(From below or above. 
Nothing short of true love. 
Can give the right course to Cupid’s sweet dart;) 
Shu will never refuse, 
Nor muke use of a intsr,' 
Be ho builder of temples or maker of shoes. 
But you silly old fright, with a pain in your side; 
If her John proves a myth. 
And comes never a Smith, 
And Bhe’s always a maid and never a bride; 
The dear little elf 
Keeps her sweet to herself, 
A darling old maid on the floor or the " shelf." 
--- 
DIED OF TRIMMINGS. 
BY FANNY M. BARTON. 
But what of the days of querulousness 
after those nights of sewing ? What of the 
impatience, the weariness that defrauded 
the little ones of their rightful claim on 
mother’s resources of heart and brain ? If 
children possess any right, the most natural 
is that which gives them the tenderness and 
patience of their mother in the relations ol 
moral and intellectual growth. The mother, 
of all others, should understand her child; 
his little sorrows should be soothed in her 
bosom ; his first Teachings after truth should 
be answered in the tender mother dialect; 
and all this not primarily for the present 
happiness of the child, though that is im¬ 
portant, but that his soul may so grow to 
his mother’s soul that no temptation cau 
wrest him from this anchorage. 
This cannot be where trimming reigns. 
Be content to he plain outwardly, so that 
you and your children may have the greater 
inward riches, and he one to protest against 
the fearful sacrifice of time, health, strength, 
morality even, that is involved in the pre¬ 
vailing devotion to trimmings. 
-- 
WHAT RURAL WOMEN WRITE. 
A cemetery is the last place where one 
would go to find the truth; if this were not 
so, we should see on many a marble slab the 
above inscription. 
I crossed u ferry the other day, and oppo¬ 
site to me sat a faded, worn-out woman, one 
of the “ bony, scraggy” sort that, according 
to innocent Bohemians, compose all the 
gatherings of the great strong-minded. 
There was no freshness of tint, no round- 
ness of contour; the sldu was drawn tightly 
over the brow, the cheeks were hollow, the 
lips thin, the expression painful. The dress 
of this woman was wonderful for elaborate¬ 
ness of trimming. Scallops and poiuts mul¬ 
titudinous, rows of braid Innumerable cov¬ 
ered the suit that inclosed this bloodless 
body. 
Now, there are certain struggles that en¬ 
noble and refine a man or woman—that, 
give them strength and spiritual insight., 
aud the beautiful seal of these trials is set 
upon the face, to be seen and admired of all 
men. But the struggle with trimmings is 
not one of these. The martyr to trimmings 
dies ignobly, and neither deserves nor re¬ 
ceives canonization. One has a respect for 
a woman whose blood is drained by her 
children, whose freshness turns to pallor 
over sick beds. We all remember dear 
faded mothers, whose wrinkles are far more 
beautiful to us thau any perfection of color 
or form. But this tolerance ceases when 
the cause of the wrinkles is less noble— 
when we know that the woman has lost 
health and strength iu a vain struggle to 
compete with her richer neighbors in the 
matter of trimmings. 
Do we realize the immense disadvantage 
at which women put themselves by this de¬ 
votion to trimming ? A woman is the wife 
of a man whose whole income is a thousand 
doll am. There are three or four children, 
estimating moderately, to look out for—that 
is to feed, to clothe, to educate, to influence. 
During their early years the mother, if she 
does her duty, must impress herself on these 
children—must, expect them to absorb from 
her spiritual force; for the mother is not, in 
the true sense, delivered of the child till he 
is strong enough to make his way success¬ 
fully among all the evil forces of llie world. 
But iu her devotion to trimming, this woman 
with the narrow income, is not satisfied un¬ 
less her pretty little daughters wear as many 
yards of ruffling, and as much embroidery; 
unless her boys are as dainty in their baby¬ 
hood ; unless she herself is glorious in as 
many frills and flounces as her neighbor who 
keeps a seamstress the year round and em¬ 
ploys a fashionable dressmaker at will. 
Her neighbors praise her dress and her 
children's, and she says with pride:—“ 1 did 
„ it all myself, every stitch of it; I sat up every 
night last week till twelve o’clock, for I was 
determined that the children should have 
their new suits to wear to Sunday school.” 
A Jlarllia who Will Not be Troubled. 
1 have been interested, amused, and final¬ 
ly considerably excited, or “stirred up,” 
over the many and different troubles of my 
Rural Bisters; aud though I am not a tired, 
overworked farmer girl, nor yet a “ Troubled 
Martha,” the spirit moveth mo to speak, 
too. Long ago, when a mere child, 1 heard 
the old maxim, “ man's work is from sun to 
sun; but woman’s work is never done;” and 
with childish lips compressed, I resolved 
that if my work was to be a life-long job, 
there should he plenty of resting places scat¬ 
tered through it. That resolution is bright 
and unbroken to-day. 
There is no iiced of crowding so much 
work on farmers’ wives and daughters. They 
owe themselves something, as well tvs work. 
There is plenty to do the wide world over, ; 
as well as at the farm-house. Everywhere i 
we cau, if we will, see I he fields walling for i 
the workmen ; and shall this one class alone 
toil on and rest not? Is it economy for them 
to do so? It seems to mo it is burning Llm 
“ candle of life at both ends.” 
Injustice that can no longer he endured, 
must of necessity he cured, and a little more 
spirit, decision, or backbone, on our part, 
would do more toward righting our wrongs, 
thau bushels of essays, tears, weak expostu¬ 
lations, etc. 
We read and hear constantly of those an¬ 
gelic (impossible) women who work on and 
on, meet their husbands always with a smile, 
pick up their old “duds,” wherever they 
happen to drop them, never scold, Complain 
nor even look unpleasant. We hear of them, 
but like the fabled “ Out West,” they are al¬ 
ways found a little farther on, and 1 hope 
the time Is coming when they will be entire¬ 
ly “ extinct.” 
But I was to give my experience too. Do 
not think my path is all sunshine and flow¬ 
ers. I sometimes thiuk not a ray would bill 
as a rose blossom if I did not take the mat¬ 
ter in niy own hands, aud say you ** shall,” 
and “ must.” I have not been through the 
mill, but I am going through it now, and am 
bound uot to be crushed either. Our Tom, 
Dick and John are akin to others, I think; 
I frequently hear such invitations as these ; 
“ Now, Ann, l have got to plow to-day, 
and you just milk aud turn the cows in the 
pasture.” 
“ No, sir; I have all the work I can do in 
the house, this warm day;” and he knows I 
will not do it. 
Or from Dick:—“ Annie,( very affection¬ 
ate,) we have to get in the hay from the 
south meadow to-day, and you cau pick up 
wood to bake and iron with ; we can’t have 
time to split a stick.” 
Sister Annie sweetly replies:—“ Of course, 
then, you won’t have time to eat any dinner / 
and I will go over and visit Cousin Jim.” 
With a muttered something that girls arc 
not supposed to understand, Dick makes for 
the wood-pile, and in a few minutes there is 
wood enough to last all day. At noon a 
good dinner is cooked for them,and the hay 
is all right. I might make a martyr of my¬ 
self every day, and then uot lie appreciated. 
They don’t think so. I have to think for 
them, though they are not always grateful 
enough for it. 
. You may think it takes a strong will to do 
. no more than you think you ought; well, it 
does, and a strong won’t, too 1 
, I would say to Anna, of September 17th : 
. work less. You have a right to rest and 
r happiness. Read t he Rural New-Yorker 
; and other papers. You say you have not the 
. time. Take it! Prepare one less dish for 
1 dinner, for instance. You can work faster 
j and better when cheerful and happy. Take 
plenty of papers, read, laugh, and even play, 
and get as much bona fide happiness from 
life as possible. Dou’t believe the nonsense 
r that one is to gather all thistles and another 
\ all flowers; skip over the thistles and cull 
r the flowers. Don’t wait for “The pearly 
gates of Paradise to be opened,” but take 
s some happiness as you go along. I would 
2 like to hear from other Rural sisters.— 
Ann Dare. 
tears and the faint trembling round the 
ftCtnl (fc ODICS mouth, indicative of hardly-suppressed emo- 
** (3) X* * lion, he stooped down aud said, iu gentlest 
__ accents, “ Little girl, I am going out now ; ; 
„ " but I cannot do so until i tell you how sorry 
A MESSAG E. p fool for you to-night.” 
“After the battle of Fohrbach, a French officer No response — only a glance half depre- 
f Cuirnsslers was found dead, with a letter, which q.^Hh'V and half indignant, 
e copy,crum"led in hU hand,’--do/m Bull. Sept. 3. „ jj p Unow j ugt flow mean and 
It was only a crumpled letter, 
iu a careless, girliBh hand ; miserable you will feel when you come to 
It was only a childish message think over what you have done." 
it wTo!!5 ‘ A moment’s silence, then he spoke again 
Of the tear* the absent slied; more cheerfully: — “But I know it is the 
It wus a trifle from the hvlng, ^ u vy j)j ever p uvc to reproach 
But a message to the dead! , V 
yourself for this fault; ami with a smile 
“ father, dour, you are gone to huttle, that was a benediction lie passed quickly Ollt. 
As 1 miss yotir morning blessing, 1 tUlttk that yOlUJ^ Will llttViM toig( t 
What your Bufferings uus* be!” her lessou, and very likely she may live to 
‘TmTSXS ZltVL,- «P*»t a lo children and grandchild,on, for 
When the tofeen of the living no action ends iu Itself, blit is the germ of 
Was a message to the dead 1 infinitely extending influences and ivsponsi- 
“ I’m so good, dear,—oh. so steady— bllities. Wlio, limn, dare Stty that the text 
You would wish me to bo so; was trivial uf conventional, tuul the sjrmon 
If l’ui quiet half your dangers .. _ 
Dour mamma need never know. n °t Obligatory i 
So, good-by, pupa! God bleua you! " ll' >ve could look into the seeds of time. 
Guard end keep you evermore:— And say which grain will grow, and which will 
See! I send you fifty klbites not,,” 
From an ever-reudy store!” iheuwc might decide on what faults were 
It was only a crumpled letter important, ami what duties were imperative. 
In a dead man's hand that day. Opportunity is a little angel, and her call 
Just to show how hearts were aching , 11 , 
In bis own laud far away. I lie V01C6 Of H Gt>» ; 1111(1 blessed 13 Lie WllO 
it was only a loving message “ In the morning sows Ids seed ancl in the 
From u loving child that sped, . , , . , , ,, 
But tlie words the living pencilled cvciuug withholds liot his band. 
Were a message to the dead! “Of COUl'SO tllO gentleman WHS a clergy- 
Tako it not from his Ungers,— n,an ‘ 
Lay it with him in the graveScarcely; there were no traces of band or 
if it be a consolation, cassock, either physical or mental, about 
Tis this latest he will have. , , ’ 1 , , ... , 
Par l think the bullet reached him lutil. IIu wus it lioUCCflblC lUiin, "With huge 
As the tender words wore road; gray eyes,” and 1 am sure there IS out: per- j 
*)■> who will ever forgot the mute do-1 
_- qtienco of their appeal and reproof. And to 
IN A THIRD AYENUE CAR. such ministry us this every one has “ a call.” 
_ The world is the church. “ The Lord 1ms 
by amelia E. barr. given the Word, and great is the company 
- of Preachers,” if only each one would take 
In this great and busy city the Book of the text that Providence provides them.” 
Life lies wide upon. “ Millions of surprises” -- 
A MESSAGE. 
“After the battle of Fohrbach, a French officer 
of Cuirassiers was found dead, with a letter, which 
we copy, crum-fled in hi* hand."— John Bull, Sept. 3. 
IT was only a crumpled letter, 
lu a careless, girlish hand; 
It was only a childish messuge 
From the sun-hissed, southern land. 
It was only a brief memorial 
Of the tears the absent shod; 
It wus u trifle from the living. 
But a messuge to the dead! 
“ Father, dear, you are gone to battle. 
But I think incessantly. 
As I miss your morning blessing, 
What your sufferings must be I” 
So she wrote, and so hold it. 
With n blessing oil her head,— 
When the token of the living 
Was a message to the dead 1 
“ I’m so good, dear,—oh. so steady— 
You would wish me to be so; 
If I'm quiet half your dangers 
Dear mamma need never know. 
So, good-by, papa God bless you! 
Guard and keep you evermore:— 
See! i send you fifty kisses 
From an ever-reudy store I" 
It was only a crumpled letter 
In a dead mun's hand that day. 
Just to show bow hearts were aching 
In his own laud far away. 
It was only it loving message 
From u loving child that sped, 
But the words the living pencilled 
Were a message to tho dead! 
Take it not from his Angers,— 
Lay It with him in the grave,— 
If it be a consolation, 
Tis the latest he will have. 
For l think the bullet reached him 
As the tender words wore read; 
So that when the angels told It 
’Twus no message to the dead! 
-- 
IN A THIRD AYENUE CAR. 
BY AMELIA E. BARR. 
Utibbatl) Kcabing. 
await those who keep eyes and hearts at- 
fout, for God takes many a text by the way¬ 
side still, and churches are not the only 
places in which a sermon may be beard ora 
lesson learned. No one would be likely to 
call a Third Avenue car consecrated ground, 
unless the care and sorrows and patience 
which have passed in and out have hallowed 
it; yet. a few nights ago a little incident oc¬ 
curred in one, which may well make us all 
reflect how often Opportunity and Duty or¬ 
dain us priests, aud we ignore or reject the 
dedication. 
Any one to whom space and comfort have 
a recognized relationship, would have said 
this car was already too full; but the pa¬ 
tience and complaisance of the New-Yorker 
is remarkable, and no one grumbled when 
the Conductor stopped, and look iu a little 
troop of young girls, evidently just released 
from toil aud confinement,and fell of laugh¬ 
ter and conversation. One soon learns, in 
New York, to accurately classify the social 
status or occupation of the people whom 
we habitually meet, and there is no difficulty 
at all in Identifying the girls employed in 
stores, either as manufacturers or saleswo¬ 
men. As a general rule, they are bright and 
pretty, with a wide-awake bearing and a 
quick intelligence, which argues “ brains to 
the linger ends,” and these girls were fair 
representatives of their class. 
Presently the car stopped again, this time 
for an old woman, heavily loaded with 
basket and bundle, and utterly tired and ex¬ 
hausted. Seeing no seat for her among the 
crowd, she said, wearily “ Let me out; I 
am too tired to stand, and I will wait for the 
next car.” Instantly a gentleman, sitting 
near the door rose, saying pleasantly, “ Take 
my seat, madam.” He moved a few steps 
forward, but was surprised to see the woman 
for whom he had made the sacrifice turn 
round and walk out with that air of submis¬ 
sion to adverse circumstances which is per¬ 
ceptible on the faces and in the gait of thou¬ 
sands who have virtually abandoned the 
struggle with evil fortune. 
A keen, quick glance backward revealed 
to him at once why his kindness bad been 
unavailing. One of the young girls, before 
alluded to, immediately on his vacating his 
seat had slipped triumphantly Into it, and 
she looked up now with a saucy, defiant 
air into ihe grave, reproving face, which 
mutely questioned tier right. She evidently 
considered she had done a “ smart ” thing, 
and the tittering admiration of her compan¬ 
ions supported her for a few moments, even 
under the steady fire of the bright, search¬ 
ing gaze that was gradually confounding 
and humbling her. The gentleman, defraud¬ 
ed alike of his seat and his effort to do a 
kind action, leaned now against the closed 
MARRIAGE. 
The dominion of a man over his wife is 1 
no other than as the soul rules the body; I 
for which it takes a mighty care, and uses it 1 
with a delicate tenderness, and cares for it ' 
in all contingencies, and watches to keep it 1 
from all evils aud studies to make for it fair 1 
provisions, and very often is led by its inch- 1 
nations and desires, and does never contra¬ 
dict iis appetite*; hut when they are evil, 
and then also not without some trouble aud 
sorrow; and its government comes only to 
this, it furnishes the body with light and un¬ 
derstanding, and the body furnishes the soul 
with hands and feet; the soul governs be¬ 
cause the body cannot else be happy, but tho 
government is no other than provision; as a 
nurse governs a child when she causes him 
to eat, aiul to be warm, and dry, and quiet. 
And yet even the very government itself 
is divided; for man and wife iu the family 
arc as the sun and moon in the Armament 
of heaven; he rules by day and she by night, 
that is, in the lesser and more proper circles 
of her affairs, in the conduct of domestic 
provisions unci necessary offices, and shines 
only l>y Ids light, and rules by his authority. 
And as the moon in opposition to the sun 
shines brightest; that is, then, when she is 
in her own circle* and separate regions; so 
is the authority of the wife then most con¬ 
spicuous when site is separate and in her 
proper sphere; “ in gymceo," in the nur¬ 
sery aud officers of domestic employment. 
But when she is in conjunction with the sun, 
her brother, that is, in that place and em¬ 
ployment in which his care and proper 
offices are employed, her light is uot Been, 
her authority hath no proper business. 
But else there is no difference, for they 
were barbarous people among whom wives 
were instead of servants; and it is a sign of 
weakness to force the camels to kneel for 
their load because thou hast not strength 
and spirit enough to climb; to make the 
affections and evenness of a wife bend by the 
flexures of a servant, is a sign the man is not 
wise enough to govern when another is by. 
And as among men and women humility is 
the way to be preferred, so it is lu husbands, 
they shall prevail by cession, by sweetness 
and counsel, and charity and compliance. 
So that we cannot discourse of the man’s 
right, without describing the measures of his 
duty .—Jeremy Taylor 
-- 
Popular Errors. 
To think that the more a man eats the 
fatter and stronger he will become. To be¬ 
lieve that the more hours children study the 
A LOST CHORD. 
Seated one tiny at tho organ, 
I was weary and ill at ease. 
And my Augers wandered idly 
Over the uulsy ke> s. 
I do not know what. I was playing. 
Or what l was dreunnitit then; 
But I struck one chord ol music. 
Like the sound of a grout Amen. 
It flooded tlie crimson twilight, 
Like the dose of an augers Psalm, 
And It lay on my favored spirit 
With a touch of IntlnUc calm. 
It quieted pain and sorrow, 
Like love overcoming strife; 
It seemed the harmonious echo 
From our discordant life. 
It licked all perplexed meanings 
Into one perfect ponce, 
And trembled away Into silence 
As If It were loth to cease. 
I have sought, but I seek It vainly, 
That one lost chord divine. 
That came from tho soul of the organ 
And entered Into mine. 
It may bo that death’s bright angel 
Will speak In that chord again. 
It muy be that only lu Heaven 
I shall hear that grand A men. 
[Adelaide Anne Proctor. 
THOUGHTS BY THINKERS. 
How Faith i« iHutle Available. 
James William Kimball says:—Only 
believe what God says of faith, and you will 
own that faith is tho most, potent, tlie most 
beautiful, tlie most desirable thing in tlie 
whole round of human acquisitions. Alad¬ 
din’s lamp was but. a child’s toy to it. Sup¬ 
pose for a moment that there were such a 
lamp; suppose it to possess all the extraor¬ 
dinary powers ascribed to it.; would lids en¬ 
sure to its owner the wisdom needed to make 
tlie best, use of those powers? Could it bring 
him peace of mind, freedom from curd, ador¬ 
ing reverence for God, ami good will toman V 
But all these are indispensable to our happi¬ 
ness ; and what ■would life be without hap¬ 
piness? Wo need to face the fact that a 
man’s life consisteth not in t he abundance of 
the things which lie possesselh, but. in the 
ability to make the best use of all things; 
and this ability faith supplies. Faith lias 
subdudd kingdoms, removed mountains, 
wrought, righteousness, made heroes of com¬ 
mon men, obtained promise* and the posses¬ 
sion of all things. To the children of faith 
it is said, “All thing* arc yours.” To every 
praying man Jesus says, “According to your 
faith tie it unto you.” “ Whatsoever ye shall 
ask in my name, that will i do, If ye shall 
ask anything, 1 will do it.” This includes 
little Hungs, large things, all things. “Ask 
what ye will, and it shall be done unto you.” 
Why then does not everybody exercise iiiitll ? 
Wluii Hubert Coilyer Thinks ol tho Bible. 
I hold the Bible to be of authority us a 
revelation of spiritual truth above all other 
books. I find in it many errors, many things 
that are not spiritual truth at all; mythical 
legends, also, as you say, and tilings that are 
simply infernal. With all these tilings I 
try to deal truthfully, to call them liy their 
right name frankly, as I would if I found 
them in an encyclopedia. But, besides Ibis, 
I find in the Bible such religious truth as I 
find nowhere else ; and this is how I know 
it. This truth comes home to my own soul 
as no other ever does. The life and light of 
it seizes and holds me as I am not held by 
that of any other written word. I have 
been reading tlie Bible now about forty years 
—as a child in the Sunday School, as a 
youth seeking knowledge, as an acolyte in 
the Methodist Church, as a Methodist local 
preacher, and now these twelve years as 
what is called a free-thinker. 1 can only 
say tliis:—That to-day 1 feel tlie force of 
the Bible truth as I never did before. It is 
perfectly inexhaustible, full of fresh sur¬ 
prise*, and leads me captive with a far more 
wonderful masterhood than it ever did when 
i was bound to accept every word within 
the lids of the Book as a ‘ thus sailh the 
Lord.’ That is my personal experience 
about the Bible.” 
i'earls iu Christ’s Crown. 
Some writer thus consoles Christian suf¬ 
ferers :—O, tlie wisdom, goodness ami mercy 
of God! lie can take the pains and agonies 
of the sick one, and work them all into 
jewels, which will sparkle in the crown oi 
Christ forever! All our sorrows and suffer¬ 
ing, and our very tears, will thus become a 
part of Ilia own glorious crown. We won- 
ami bumbling her. Tlie gentleman, defraud- faster they will learn. To conclude that, if der olleu that the good, the meek, are made 
cd alike of his seat and his effort to do a exerc * 9e * H # 00 '*’ 1001 e violent it is the d> BU Q , £ . r go long and so fearfully ; but when 
kind action, leaned now against the closed more good is done To imagine that every we U , ok upon the jewels Which He thus 
door, steadily watching the countenance oi hour tsken huW 8ltje fy 13 an l,our gained. To ma kcs up, we shall cease to wonder. Not 
came,” dyeing her cheeks with shame, and 
making her seat as intolerable as such seats 
of repentance generally are. Perltaps if ibis 
silent reproach had lasted long there would 
have been a reaction; but this judge of 
human nature knew just Juno far to go, and 
i when he saw the eyes bright with unshed 
one to feel immediately better is good for 
the system, without regard to more ulterior 
effects. To eat without an appetite, or to 
continue to eat after it has been satisfied, 
merely to gratify the taste. To eat a hearty 
supper for tho pleasure experienced during 
the brief time it is passing down the throat, 
at the expense of a whole night of disturbed 
sleep and a weary waking in the morning. 
makes pearls for the crown of earthly mon¬ 
arch*; and, in the same way, lie is fitting 
thee to lie a crown of glory in His own dia¬ 
dem. Patiently, patiently suffer Hi* will 
and thou wilt hereafter see that it. was all to 
make thee more glorious iu the eternal 
kingdom.” 
