There ia a fragrant smell of bread and butter 
crumbs and a musical hum of the children’s 
voices, mingled perhaps with the hum o>‘ 
son.** bumble bee that has strayed into the 
institution. 
Here it is nothing uncommon to have a 
thunder storm in dry weather, when the 
earth is parched for want of moisture. The 
storm is made thus:—The pupils all sit per¬ 
fectly still for the calm; they then make a 
sissing noise through their teeth for the 
gale; next they tap (very lightly at first 
with their fingers on the desk for the rain; 
then harder and harder, while some one of 
the number taps with a pencil to represent 
bail; lastly, they all stamp with their feet 
on the floor for thunder; this, with all the 
rest, constitutes the hurricane. 
The girls in their teens sit under the trees 
at noon, crocheting, sewing, and telling each 
other's fortunes in different ways, while some 
of the boys are foolish enough to play ball in 
the hot, sun. This is a genuine District 
School of the North. 
I have a seat under the trees in our door 
yard, on which 1 read the Kukai. New- 
Yorker, which 1 take first of eight news¬ 
papers, because the editor is so kind as to 
print the girls’letters. 1 think it would be 
a novel idea to correspond with a girl away 
down in Georgia; and 1 hope you will an¬ 
swer this and tell about your pets and flow¬ 
ers.— Cora, Batavia, A. )'. 
-emtio llnyes’ Cnlte. 
I have tried Ada’s cake recipe, and like 
it, very much ; hut I added two tablespoon* 
fuls of butter. T will tell you how to make 
a splendid cake. The ingredients used are : 
Three eggs, One-lialf teacupful of blitter, 
one and a-hnlf do. of sugar, two and a-half 
do. of flour, one-half cupful of sweet milk, 
one teaspoonlul of cream tartar, one-half 
teaspoonful of soda, a little salt, flavored 
and frosted It, is good loaf cake, or baked 
in shallow pans it is nice for jelly cake. I 
would like to have all the little letter writers 
try it.— Jennie Hayks. 
they would not deem it so as regarded tlieir 
feelings and capabilities.” 
“ Yet, women often do it, working as I 
have, until to sit upright longer seemed im¬ 
possible, and then continuing their labor in 
a horizontal position,” returned my friend. 
“ Did you ever think of the difference?” I 
said, after a moment’s thought. “ Man is 
generally considered physically stronger 
than woman, yet women will work from the 
were well, she would he unutterably thank- 
fid, and she did. She never lias any female 
help outside her family, and her eldest girl 
is now sixteen. It is an impossibility for 
her to do her housework and sewing too, in 
daytime, and so she sits up every night, until 
ten, eleven, twelve, and even two o’clock, 
sewing. Mr. Parker rarely sits up later 
thau nine o’clock. And yet people—friends, 
neighbors, and acquaintances—are forever 
PROM RURAL BOYS AND GIRLS 
HE’S CHANGED 
Cora to Trixie A School Hurricane. 
Dear Mr. Editor:-—1 will tell Trixie 
something about life in the North. I live in 
the country, and employ my time when not 
BT CLAIRE MASTKUSQX. 
In peaceful summer weather. 
The blissful long ago, 
We roamed through purple heather, 
And felt the west wind blow. 
You praised my eyes and brow, love, 
Admired my gleaming hair; 
They have not changed, but now, love, 
They surely seem less fair. 
Music by DORA WHEELOCK, for “ Moore’s Rural New Yorker 
For yestermnrn and eventide 
I roamed the heather through, 
And saw the girl to be thy bride 
Look lovingly on you. 
Up through the Uni: 
Ab, Jbanxik ! Jkannie! dear, take care 
The man you're trusting now 
Once praised another’s eyes and hair, 
Once kissed another’s brow ; 
•ive home the coW3 from tho pas ture, 
Once kissed another brow, dear- 
Pereluince a half a score; 
Olr, I’m contented now, dear, 
To think he’s kissed one more, 
For love, with such a changeful wiU, 
Was scarcely worth the taking; 
Illy foolish heart, at lust grown still. 
Now wonders at its aching. 
But one pure pvav’r to heav'n ascending, 
A blessing asks for you, Jka.V— 
That you may find the love contending 
Now grown forever true, Jean. 
WHAT RURAL WOMEN WRITE, 
About Rciiia Alone. 
TnERE must he some people in the world 
who have no idea of the enjoyment there is 
in being alone, or they would certainly not 
so constantly he boring some one with their 
incessant chatter. When I first read of 
D’Israeli and his grand solitude even 
among the many, the first impulse of my 
silly girlish head was, “Oh I wish I could 
know and conquer him; it would be worth 
working half a life time for to make him 
talk." But I have since come to the sage 
conclusion that if I knew him I would just 
let him alone. At most I would put my 
linger upon my lips and step behind him, 
and look daggers over his shoulder at any 
intruder, just for the. sublime satisfaction of 
being let alone myself. That is, I would if 
I were a man, and tormented as some of 
them are, especially those in high positions, 
who belong to the public, and are expected 
to have gained and retained all they do or 
ever need to know by a sort of natural inex¬ 
pensive and unavoidable process like breath¬ 
ing, for Instance, so that they have no need 
of anything more only earn. How fortunate 
that some of them seem fully supplied with 
that appendage. 
It is not to be supposed for nn instant that 
a woman can he tired of talking and being 
talked to. or that an hour of solitude can he 
to her anything more than a vacuum unless 
spent in sleep or over a novel; hut if it were 
possible to imagine one whose tongue did not 
hang upon a pivot iu the center with words 
rolling off both ends of it., whose ear-drums 
sometimes fairly ached with the pressure 
upon them of full accounts of the last wed¬ 
ding and speculations upon the next, or 
somebody’s funeral in detail; and, by the 
way, if there’s ono thing l particularly dis¬ 
like, it is dressing up dead people in tho last 
fashion aud putting them on free exhibition 
inside of church doors, to furnish employ¬ 
ment for the gossips for the next week. 
Why, Mr. Editor, you’ve no idea how many 
calls there are made on the strength of that 
one thing. “ It. gives one something so 
morally interesting to talk about.”—one who 
sometimes longed for an hour alone with 
God and her own soul, who looked up to 
the clouds so far away against the blue sky 
and envied them for a short while, their 
silence and their deafness from the world’s 
din and discord—if, I say, you can imagine 
such an one, and that you could have mercy 
upon her, do please, the next time you find 
one who in any outward manner seems to 
approximate toward such a state of feeling, 
think of this, and not even sit and stare at 
her because she doesn’t seem chatty, but say 
little, and that little low ; shorten your call 
and leave her all alone to grow rested and 
strong, and happy, and good, in her heart-sol¬ 
itude, and the next, time you see her she will 
thank you sweetly with her eyes and her 
fresh face, and you may think that she isn’t 
so disagreeable and haughty, and all that sort 
of thing, as you used to think she was.— 
Grace Glenn. 
Where the scar - let - lipped straw - her - ry grows ;1 
About I'l'i'tw'il HVrii* mul Leaves from 
Nhie-Ycui'-OI<l Alice. 
I live in the country all the year, and 
like all the seasons; hut now autumn is 
come, I think I like that best. There are 
the bright leaves and ferns in autumn, and 
it is about those ferns and leaves that I am 
going to tell you. If you will take the 
trouble to go into the woods and collect the 
leaves and press them carefully, they will 
look very pretty in the winter. I will tell 
you how to do it, though I dare say you 
know already. All leaves are pretty, but 
especially the maple. Press them between 
the blank leaves of a hook (it must be soft 
paper) under a weight. Be very careful 
about putting them straight on the paper. 
1 must tell you about the ferns in autumn. 
All hough there arc not any fresh, green ferns 
at that time, there are plenty which perhaps 
you would think faded when you first saw 
them; but they look even prettier than the 
green ones, when they are pressed, and they 
are all shades of brown, yellow, and even 
white. They require pressing about a week; 
indeed, so do all leaves. These look very 
pretty made up in a bouquet, with the bl ight 
leaves of the maple; and even in winter, 
when we have plenty of flowers from the 
green house, mamma likes to have one of my 
dried bouquets to put in her vase.— Alice. 
wav - mg 
ernn - sou 
snow 
They gather the beautiful sea weed; 
They build tiny castles of sand; 
They pick up the beautiful sea-shells, 
Fairy harks that have drifted to land. 
They wave from the tall rocking tree-tops, 
Whore the oriole’s hainmook-aost swings 
And at night-time are folded in slumber 
By a song that a fond mother sings. 
Those who toil bravely are strongest; 
The humble and poor become great; 
And from these brown-hauded children 
Shall grow mighty rulers of state. 
The pen of the author and stnt smun, 
The noble and wise of the land, 
The sword and the chisel and pallette 
Shall he held in the little brown hand. 
They toss the new hay in the meadow, 
They gather the elder-bloom white ; 
They know where the dusky grapes purple 
Iu the soft-tinted October light; 
They know where the apples liang ripest, 
And arc sweeter thau Italy’s wines; 
They know where the fruit hangs the thickest 
On the long, thorny blackberry vines. 
GAME FOR CHILDREN, 
Of Wliut tlic Bliio Conies Loaded With 
All the articles that come in the ship 
must begin to spell with one letter. A par¬ 
ticular one is selected—the letter B we will 
suppose. 
T he company then sit in a circle, and, to 
illustrate: — IIarry takes a handkerchief 
knotted up into a hall, and throws it at 
Jenny, who instantly gives the name of 
something beginning with B. “Boxes,” 
perhaps, she says. She then picks lip the 
ball and throws it at Charley, who says 
“Bats.” Charley throws it at Tom, who 
says “ Beggars.” Tom throws it at Maggie, 
who says “ Boards." Then the hall is thrown 
to Susy, who says “ Biscuit;” then to Dick, 
who says “ Boobiesthen to Chari,ey, 
who says “ Blue-bugs;” then to Fanny, who 
says “ Batchelors;” then to Mary, who says, 
“ Bumble-bees,” and so on. 
Laura Southgate. 
remarking about Mr. Parker being such a 
hard-working man. ‘ He works so hard to 
support his family.’ lie does work hard, 
but I ask if his wife does not work hard 
also? Yet I have never heard any one re¬ 
mark It. 
“ It appears to be the general opinion that 
a woman’s power of endurance has no limit 
—the more required of her the more she can 
do; hut an extra heavy burden is a terrible 
thing for a man to hear. The poor overbur¬ 
dened masculine has the sympathy of the 
whole world, at once." 
As my friend concluded she dragged her¬ 
self off the sofa and went to the kitchen to 
feed the kittens, leaving me to ruminate on 
the difference at my leisure.— Lettie A. 
Irons. 
in school in helping about the house (as we 
keep no Biddy) and studying my lessons. I 
generally wash the dishes three times a day, 
but I don’t like to very well. The school- 
house iu which I attend school is a small 
red building, with white blinds and door. 
POPULAR SONGS, ILLUSTRATED. 
moment of arising in the morning until the 
one of retiring nt night, and men work until 
dark at night. No one thinks it hard for a 
woman, hut if any contingency makes it nec¬ 
essary for a man to labor during the evening, 
every member of the family, he it great or 
small, thinks it is * too bad that he should 
have to work in the evening, after working 
hard all day!’ ” 
“ I have thought of it often," she replied, 
“ and in most .farmer’s families the wife is 
far more exhausted when the hour for retir¬ 
ing comes thau the husband. What is it 
that, enables women to work, year after year, 
in a state of health that no man, or at least 
very few men, would think possible for 
themselves? This, too, when they have not 
the advantages of free clothing and fresh 
air which men have. Is it wil.1 power, or 
spiritual strength, or what is it?” 
“I cannot tell. It puzzles me. It is not 
bodily strength, since in any hard labor a 
man can outdo a woman, can lift greater 
weight, and continue to exercise actual 
strength of muscle much the longest." 
“ 1 often think of the Parkers,” she said. 
“ They have twelve children, and have been 
married thirty years.” 
I involuntarily uttered an exclamation. 
“Twelve children! What a tax on one 
woman’s strength! Think of the weary 
days and restless nights 1" 
“ I know. Seven of the children had the 
diphtheria, one after the other, and when the 
last one was convalescent Mrs. Parker her¬ 
self had it. She said that, she had thought 
if only she could keep up until the children 
Rejfflwl Suitor. 
No one cau he iufldeieuougli to doubt, that 
ladies whose unlucky lot it is to reject the 
affections they have wou, feel all the sym¬ 
pathy they profess for the sufferings of which 
they have been the cause. Yet, with its re¬ 
grets and remorse, it is not in the most an¬ 
gelic feminine nature to he insensible to the 
glory of involuntary triumphs; to think, 
without some thrill of plcuso’--, on the sor¬ 
rows of its victims. There are women, of 
course, who hunt down hearts for the sheer 
pleasure of the sport, aud parade their bruised 
and bleeding trophies as a veteran Indian 
carries at Ids belt the scalps he has torn away 
in a score of razzias. We suspect there are 
few of the sex who can resist, gratifying a 
pardonable vanity, by taking some one into 
the secret of the tribute paid their fascina¬ 
tions; who have the strength of kindness to 
do the best they can for their lover, next U> 
accepting him, and consign to oblivion tho 
episode he unpleasantly figured in. 
RURAL FOUR-YEAR-OLDS 
Motheks of Smart Children are Invited to contri¬ 
bute to this Department.] 
Impatient K a ly.—-Little Katy C-'s father 
was a minister, and officiated at a Christmas tree 
festival, whore throe-year-old Katy had been 
promised a doll. When in lbo middle of the 
lirst prayer her eyes vested on the mueli-Covetcd 
treasure. She called out, “Amen! Amen! 
Amen I Don't pray any more, Pa, I want my 
doll." 
“ ifnndM nil Moon."—Three-year-old Jennie, 
who lives in Northampton, is a very dainty littlo 
lady, and very much afraid of soiling her hands. 
Ono evening, while walking With her papa, the 
moon nttmeted her attention, upon which ho 
asked liorif she would like it to play with. After 
irntvely deliberating the question, she replied: 
“ No, papa, I am afraid I should get my hands 
all moon 1" 
The Difference. 
“ I wonder if the time will ever come when 
women will work no more hours a clay than 
do men ?” 
I laid down my book at the remark, and 
turned toward the speaker. She was lying 
on her hack on the soft, knitting. 
“ Not likely,” 1 replied. “ It seems impos¬ 
sible ; the nature of their work is so different.” 
“ IIow many men,” she went, on, “ would 
think they could work lying down, when 
they felt unable to sit up ?” She held up her 
knitting as an illustration. 
“Very lew,” was my reply. “If their 
Work was of a nature to render it possible, 
“The Light of Other Days.” 
The walls are made to look cheerful by the 
pictures drawn on the whitewash with a 
lead pencil by the young people, who no 
doubt intend to become artists at some future 
day. The desks are ornamented with dif¬ 
ferent devices by the boys’ jack-knives. 
