Mi 
M00BI1 
SI 
AL. IBV*TOBEI! S 
Rabies’ ^orf'lfclitr. 
JOHN ANDERSON’S ANSWER. 
I cannot kiss thee as I used to kiss; 
Time, who is lord of love, must answer this. 
Shall I believe thine eyes are grown less sweet? 
Nay, but ray life-blood fails ou heavier feet, 
lime goes, old girl, time goes. 
I cannot hold us once 1 held thy hand; 
Youth Is a tree whose leaves fall light as sand. 
Hast thou known many trees that shed them so? 
Ay me, sweethonrt, l know, ay mo, 1 know. 
Time goes, my bird, time goes. 
X ounnot lovo thee as I used to love. 
Age comes, and little Love takes flight above. 
If our eyes tall, have his tiro deeper glow? 
I do not know, sweetheart, I do not know. 
Time goes, old girl, time goes. 
Why, the gold aloud grows leaden as the eve 
Deepens, and one by one its glories leave: 
And, if you press me, dear, why this is so, 
That this la worth a tear is all 1. know. 
Tizuehows and rows and goes. 
In that old day the subtle child-god came; 
Sleek were tils eyelids, but Ins eyeballs dame. 
With sandals of desire his light feet shod, 
With eyes and breath of fire, a perfect god 
He rose, my girl, ho rose. 
lie wont, my girl, and raised your hand and sighed, 
’’ \V ould that my spirit always could abide 1” 
And whispered, *• Go your ways, and playyourday; 
Would l were god of time! but my brief sway 
•s brlefur than a rose,” 
Old wife, old love, there is a something yet 
That makes amend 1 , tbo‘ all the glory set; 
The after-lovn that holds thoo trobly mine, 
Tho’ thy lips fade, inf dove, and we decline, 
And time, dear heart, still goes. 
THE ISAAC T. HOPPER HOME. 
BY MBS. J. it. STUUOES. 
Op “ The Women’s Prison Association and 
Isaac T. Hopper Home,” (How York city,) 
one of its best friends and benefactors lias 
somewhat sadly averred—“ This charity can 
never become a popular one. There are so 
many gentle, interesting beticficiuries—the 
aged, the orphan, the foundling, the inagda- 
len—Unit Society involuntarily yields its 
preference In them." 
We are sure she is right, for the unforgiv¬ 
ing instincts of our race rarely incline lo the 
claiming of brotherhood and sisterhood with 
such unpromising subjects of reformatory 
discipline as these at superficial view appear 
to us to be. Sinters they are, however, in 
sorrow, in suffering, in sin, whether we con¬ 
sider the nature of the offense or not,—sis¬ 
ters in salvalion’s great plan, which bauds 
us nil together without distinction when wc 
pass over the river. 
A sweet-voiced child said the other day,, 
in my hearing, (she stood ill a crowd of little 
girls, w ith tlmir satchels and school hooks, 
clustered together on the sidewalk to let a 
drunken woman stagger by):—“ Ah, maybe 
that’s some poor child’s mother!” 
Why cannot humanity spontaneously re¬ 
flect that those neophytes and veterans in 
offense are somebody’s sister, mother, or 
child—the lost light, of gome household, ex¬ 
tinguished in the repulsive spectacle some¬ 
times presented in another and another of 
these. 
Twenty five years lias this, the benign 
Quaker’s charity, survived its founding, 
never—through evil or through good report 
—shaking the faith of its earliest friends. 
“ I have been present, at all its meetings, 
from the time it. used to take place in my 
father’s parlor,” says its venerable Corre¬ 
sponding Secretary, t he daughter of Isaac T. 
Hopper. “I have watched wlmt it, lias ac¬ 
complished, have compared its achievements 
with the designs held in view by Its found- 
el’s, and never lias my faith in the scheme it 
proposes fl uctuated.’ ’ 
“ I make practical my belief in ft, my be¬ 
lief in the women,” farther says Mrs. Abby 
Gibbons, “ ilm women from the home being 
all the help I ever employ; and Mr. Gree¬ 
ley and his wife, and many others I could 
name, think there are no other servants to 
be had ns good ns these.” 
Tho question was asked if it was not found 
necessary to watch them, considering that, 
among these convicts from the city prisons 
and the islands, petty larceny, and indeed 
every variety of thieving, had its representa¬ 
tive. 
The answer was a negative; and the affir¬ 
mation, that certain articles,—money ami 
jewelry, for example, were best kept locked 
from any and all servants; but that with 
such exceptions, the whole house lay open 
to these reformed and would he reformed 
convicts. No one is ever permitted to ques¬ 
tion the inmates of this pleasant home in 
Tenth Avenue, near Twenty-third street, re¬ 
garding their post, history. Such proceed¬ 
ings, it is wisely said, would he a temptation 
to them, alike to lie and to make heroines of 
themselves. 
A new and very important feature of the 
institution is the school, of comparatively 
recent, establishment; and such as seek a 
refuge here are compelled to attend its exer¬ 
cises, that is, it is made a oondiiion of admit¬ 
tance to the privileges (fl 1 the Home. On 
meeting-day, (meeting-days occur every 
Tuesday at 12 M.,) one of the Directresses 
says to the assembled applicants: 
“ I don’t wish you to answer me at once as 
to whether you will attend the school or not; 
1 have business to look after now, so I leave 
you here; iu an hour or two I will be in this 
room lo see how yon have decided ; think it 
over until I come again.” There have only 
been a few dissenting voices, it is said, and 
once fairly in, with the tact and kindness of 
Miss Wesselhoeft, the Preceptress, it 
would he a more difficult matter to persuade 
them away Ilian it was to prevail on them t o 
subject themselves to the discipline. One 
hour, fr<un five to six each evening, is all 
that is set apart strictly for school exercises 
—for reading, spelling, wviliug ami arithme¬ 
tic; but, the teacher beguiles them of twice 
or thrice the period of time, frequently 
enough, reading Dickens’ genial stories it 
may he, or conversing with them intelligently 
of this, that, or the other topic of the time. 
What a thrice-blessed mission ! Woman, 
ministering to sister woman! 
The Initiates of this institution embrace 
ail grades of society. 1 asked recently, 
“Do you have instrumental music at your 
Sunday services?” 
“ O, yes 1 The woman you saw in the 
upper room just now plays the inelodeou for 
us. Somuot the women are finely educated. 
The one who came to me on a message since 
you’ve been sitting here is said lo be a fine 
Preach scholar. Intemperance is at the 
bottom of all their offending.’’ 
They come and go—go out to service per¬ 
manently, many of them; and many to 
days’ work, weeks’ work, and longer. The 
money they make is their own, with the ex¬ 
ception of fifty cents per week of their earn¬ 
ings; this amount goes to tho benefit of 
the Home, to which they return each Satur¬ 
day evening, like children indeed—the sew¬ 
ing girls remaining until Monday morning, 
and all leaving their soiled clothes to be 
washed and ironed. 
It is said they enjoy this Saturday n.gst. 
goiug home intensely; and one can readily 
believe it, in view of tho fact, that many of 
them have had homes la-fore, where they 
have been perhaps tenderly cured for, and 
where affection has died the death because 
it could not survive the discouragement of 
frequently recurring offense, and apparent 
willful persistence in evi! doing. To such 
as these, this new home is the earnest, of 
that one In the Mansions of the Father 
who wcarieth not though His children offend 
seventy titties seven. 
“ How, when they' come home from these 
down-town dens, do you get their clothing 
or such effects ns they may have? Surely 
you would be afraid to trust them in such 
places alone?” 
“ 0, yes; 1 couldn’t send them, of course. 
I’ve gone myself, on their account, many 
and many a time. Once I entered, ail un¬ 
molested ami peaceably, the stronghold of a 
Cyprian nick - named ‘Gallows Mag.’ I 
wauled the clothes of a girl who lmd come 
CO US’ from thence. The bar-room was the 
entry way from the street., 1 was asked to 
sit there and wait until the girl’s things were 
given me by the proprietress, which I did. 
I hadn’t yet. seen * Gallows Mag,’ and there 
were no men in the room. There were 
numbers of drunken women, however, walk¬ 
ing and sitting about, and to these I ad¬ 
dressed a few remarks on I heir way of life, 
and their prospects or opportunities for re¬ 
formation. One said she guessed she had 
lived this way so long, ’twasno use to begin 
anything else; ami some said they would 
like to lead belter and more respectable lives. 
A shout of derision went up from one and 
all, though, when they discovered on whose 
behalf I had come. 
“It, was ‘Whisky Liz,’they said, and— 
well, if we could do anything towards mak¬ 
ing a solier woman of‘old Whisky Liz,’ 
they would, some of them, come and try it 
at the Home, 
“ By-aml-by the female first named ap¬ 
peared in a towering passion, and poured 
out a volley of abuse. On being threatened 
with the police, she brought poor Lizzie’s 
chest, staved it out on the pavement, and I 
and the girl who accompanied me had to 
buy some old clothes line, tie up the broken 
fragments as well as we could, and get them 
home. The best of * Whisky Liz’s’ story is 
that she became u respectable girl, much 
liked in her home, and that two or three of 
her former confreres followed her here, and 
did well subsequently.” 
It is not intended t.o affirm, by these ex¬ 
amples, that the “ Prison Aid” system never 
fails of accomplishing its end Some have 
been lost to Its guardianship and discipline— 
a few only, Some have hut partially re¬ 
formed, yielding to Lem plat ion on occasions, 
having gained over-confidence in themselves 
because they have gone free from the beset¬ 
ting siu a long while, for them; but these 
instances are such us the most sanguine 
champions of the work might expect, and if 
many are partially, a few entirety reformed, 
is it not encouragement enough lo inspire to 
continued effort ? 
Cases can be recapitulated where these 
children of the Isaac T. Hopper Home have 
been persevering in well-doing for years, 
where, plucked but of the extranest depths 
of degradation, they have entered upon new 
lives, won the affections of households 
whither they have gone, and sometimes lie- 
come centers of happy homes themselves. 
The letters on file here afford good proof of 
the value set by' its reclaimed ones on tho 
discipline of the Home, aud many have 
been the money contributions received in 
token of gratitude. 
The women earn a large proportion of 
the means used to purchase domestic sup¬ 
plies; for, beside washing, ironing, cooking 
and housework, the daintiest of needlework, 
plain sewing and embroidery, is done by the 
inmates here; bridc-s’ outfits, attire for new¬ 
born children, all these and more are exe¬ 
cuted in a beautiful manner; and if the labor 
were paid for on a fair scale of wages, the 
sum earned thereby would lie one-half great¬ 
er than it is; so say those who know. 
O' GS 
or ©ottitg JJcojpk, 
CHRISTMAS IS COMING. 
BY AZA.UA, 
Gkand.ua is busily turning her whoel. 
And it keeps up a cheerful humming. 
11 Such beautiful rolls ns these, 1 ween. 
And such tine, even yarn, wore never seen ! 
Merry Christmas will soon be coming!" 
Grandma says, and lists to the humming. 
Dear little Blue Eyes sits watching the wheel, 
And she hours the sons it is humming; 
A secret it sings, but sho knows as well 
As grandma herself—tho’ she will not tell— 
What it says In Its cheerful humming. 
Merry Christmas will soon be coming! 
Dear little Blue Kyos, watching the wheel! 
What is it she hears In Its humming? 
The spindle Is filling With yarn so white. 
Grandma will dye It in colors bright. 
And then—but glad Christmas is coming ! 
She hears nothing more in its humming. 
Grandma Is busily turning her wheel, 
And it keeps up a cheerful humming ; 
But Blue Eyes guesses the yarn so white. 
Will knit,, by-and-by, some mittens height; 
For the wheel keeps merrily humming, 
Christmas, merry Christmas is coming! 
STREET SCENES IN NEW YORK. 
• ■ . 
BY UNCLE CHARLES. 
The Italian image Venders. 
“ Faitii, an’ lie's a luv of a Bishop, pace 
be to his sowl!” 
Uncle Charles turned to see whence 
this benediction came, anti saw an Image 
Vender laden with his wares presenting the 
image of a Bishop to the Bridget you see 
in the picture. 
y . ." , 
reads this would tell me how to make a 
pretty bracket to keep books, &c., ou.— 
Eleven-Year-Old-.!ennik, Southington, Gt. 
POPULAR SONGS ILLUSTRATED-II. 
qo 
a blurt!) Jlcatring. 
■ 
Cute fellows are these image venders. 
They study your eyes while you study their 
handiwork. They come into your office 
with a sort of timidity, making one think of 
a dog who loves and fears ids master, and 
who hesitates to come into his presence, 
doubting whether he may get a kick or a 
caress. So these image venders, with watch¬ 
ful, questioning eyes, intrude into your pres¬ 
ence aud interrogate you eloquently without 
saying a word. If your eye lingers longer 
on one image than another, or if it returns 
a second time to Its examination, the soft, 
though keen Italian eyes discover where your 
preference is, and you must buy, or exhaust 
all patience in refusing. 
The Bishop was exhibited in the right 
place, Bridget evidently wanted a Bishop 
of her own in the house, and purchased one. 
Some of these images are very graceful 
and beautiful. And Uncle Charles knows 
a sculptor of considerable note, who used to 
play in tho mud sls all sensible naughty boys 
do sometime, in their lives. He used to mix 
clay and water and mold it into all sorts of 
forms, representing animals, birds, &c. But he 
told me that his first success was in attempt¬ 
ing to imitate the image of a dog and cat 
which he bought of an Italian ver. er. Tim 
dog was growling at the cat, and the latter, 
with tail erect, represented in tho act of spit¬ 
ting at the dog. My friend imitated the ex¬ 
pression of the two animals so closely with 
his blue clay, that it was decided he should 
be a sculptor, and he is. 
Boys, if you must play with mud, try to 
make it beautiful aud expressive. So do in 
life, whatever you do. 
-♦♦♦-- 
FROM RURAL BOYS AND GIRLS. 
Jennie Want* to Make a Hvackutt. 
Dear Rural New-Yorker I am a lit¬ 
tle girl who takes a good deal of pleasure in 
reading the little girl’s letters in the Rural. 
When I found so many of them writing to 
the Rural and describing their rooms, I 
thought I would write a letter too, and I 
have taken more pains to make my own 
room look nice. 1 hav’ent it fixed very nice 
yet, but I mean to have it look better soon. 
I want it to look nice enough to tell the 
Rural about it. X wish some one who 
“Break, break, breakTennyson. 
Howto Make Balloon*. 
I will try and tell the Rural Boy what 
I know about making balloons. Take tissue 
paper (red, white and blue looks tho best) 
and cut it in strips forty inches long, twelve 
inches wide in the middle, six inches wide 
at the lower end, and tapering off to a point 
at the other end. Cut eight or nine of these 
strips and paste them carefully together so as 
to have tho points meet well ul the top ; then 
get a hoop about eighteen inches in diam¬ 
eter, or the size of the lower end of your 
balloon, and paste the balloon on to it so as 
to hold it. open ; and when it'is entirely dry 
your balloon is clone. 
The way that I send up a balloon is to 
place a sponge on a wire stretched across 
the hoop; then pour alcohol on the sponge 
and set it on fire, and continue to pour on 
the alcohol until the balloon rises. Tho 
burning alcohol generates gas.—A Rural 
Boy from Ohio. 
IIow to Make a IIug-Me-Tight, 
I have been somewhat interested, and 
profited since the opening of the Girls’ De¬ 
partment in the Rural New-Yorker. I 
have never written for a paper before; bull see 
other girls do,so 1 will, lean tell you some¬ 
thing which I think is very comfortable to 
wear in th<‘ school-room. Il is called a Hng- 
me-tight. In the first place, get seven ounces 
of worsted, of any color you please; crochet a 
piece long enough to reach around your 
waist, ami about five inches wide, or wide 
enough to reach from your waist to your 
arms; then crotchet the hack and fronts, 
something the shape of a d/ i waist, leav¬ 
ing it open for the tirm-hW ; Join together 
on the shoulder, round! n{ the corners in 
front, if you choose; finish with a border 
about two inches wide, of different color or 
colors. 1 took two large buttons and cro¬ 
cheted covers; set one ou each side, and fas¬ 
tened with a loop.— Martha, Mount Mor¬ 
ris, N. Y. 
Bertha and Her Pets. 
Dear Mr. Editor: — I was quite sur¬ 
prised to see my letter published. I am go¬ 
iug to tell you about my pony this time, be¬ 
cause 1 promised to. She is black, and is 
part Indian aud part Shetland; so, of course, 
she is quite small. Sho is very gentle. I 
like to go upon some shady road in the 
country and ride. I have got another little 
dog. My papa likes dogs so well that he 
gets me quite a number; but those that I 
don’t like lie always gives away. This dog’s 
name is “ Fidele.” I have got a pair of dark 
brown canaries and a pair of yellow ones. I 
don’t like to keep them in a cage all the 
time; il seems cruel; so I have a room that 
t’o don’t use, and, as our house is heated 
Ly a furnace, the room is quite warm. 1 let 
them out of the cage in the morning and 
put them back at night. They are very 
tame, and all four of them will fly to me 
whenever I go into the room. I take care 
not to lose them, because I think a great 
deal of them. Bertha. 
A G’nke Opinion. 
I have tried Ella’s receipt, for cake; also 
Clara’s. Ella’s was splendid ; but Clara’s 
was not so good. I must have made some 
mistake. I am twelve years old. I have a 
few plants. 
I have an Irish moss, and I would like 
some of i he girls who have them, to tell me 
if they take them in, in winter. We live on 
a small farm of forty acres. I rather live in 
the village, though.— Mattie H., Waterloo, 
N.Y. _ 
A Puzzling question. 
I am a little girl, nine years old. I live in 
the country. I like to read the letters from 
girls and boys in the Rural. I would like 
to ask them why red cows are not called 
bay, the same as red horses? If some one 
will answer my question I will be very glad. 
—Bell Hill. 
GRANDMOTHER’S BIBLE. 
So worn and old! On the fly leaf, “A 
gift from a friend.” All along, turned down 
leaves, a pressed flower, a bit of yarn, to 
mark places. Worn pages; marred and torn 
pages—perhaps a baby’s hand had grasped 
it; soiled pages — maybe tears embalmed. 
Aud berg is tlic family record of the miracle 
ofiife and death. A long record—the pages 
are full. I think two pages never were so 
full of joy and pain. Tho meek soul that 
lived that record, is gone. The busy hands 
that penned it are quiet; and the dimmed 
eyes that turned to this book through half u 
century of life are closed. 
“Their worksj, do follow them.” Surely 
the words of wisdom, dropped Into young 
sensitive souls, will not die, even if buried 
for a space. Wisdom taught of God; the 
wisdom of love—fruitful of meekness, pa¬ 
tience, helpfulness toward others, long-suf¬ 
fering. Sudi was grandmother’s wisdom; 
and the words and life of such wisdom can 
never die. Now, that meek iige reproves 
self-assertive youth, it seems to pul ils calm 
ChrisUy hand upon feverish ambit ion’s brow, 
and say, “ Child, he still—work and love.” 
And is it not tho true philosophy of life to 
possess the soul in patience, and work, and 
love? Work must bring results; love 
prompts work and makes it holy. Love 
also overcomes the world; it cannot he re¬ 
sisted. In the fable it was the sun, and not 
the wind, that compelled the traveller to 
drop liis coat. But love is the hardest 
weapon in tho world to use. We become 
panic stricken, ami throw it aside, and fall 
hack upon self and are conquered! 
In these moments of humiliation grand¬ 
mother’s meekness is remembered. “More 
than conquerors they stand,” those who 
have learned from the great teacher the les¬ 
son of Love and Labor. 
We tenderly turn the leaves of this yel¬ 
lowed volume, which has taught a soul how 
to suffer, and love, and labor, and die. Here 
is a little poem which her lingers have care¬ 
fully pinned within ils covers: 
PfulHli Thy Work, 
“ Finish thy work, tho time is short; 
Tho sun is Id Clio west; 
Tho night is coming down—till then 
Think not of rest. 
Yes, finish all thy work, then rest; 
Till then, rest never; 
The resf • ) 0 |>aro<l for thee by God 
Is rest forever. 
Finish thy work, then wipe thy brow ; 
Unglid thou from thy toll: 
Take breath, and from each weary limb 
Shako olf the soil. 
Finish thy work, then Bit thee down 
On some celestial hill, 
And of Its (ilrengUi-revlving air 
Take thou thy till. 
Finish thy work, then go In peace; 
Life’s battle fought and won; 
Hear from the throne the Master’s voioe, 
•• Well done! well done!” 
Finish thy work, then take thy harp. 
Give praise to god above; 
Sing a new aOhg of mighty Joy 
And endless love. 
Give thanks to Him who held thee up 
In all thy path below; 
And made thee faithful unto death. 
And crowns thee now.” 
And now she Las finished licr work. Here 
is a poem which other hands have placed 
within tho book: 
“Sncli bou uti t'ul, boauttfat hands I 
They’re neither white nor small; 
And you, I know, would scarcely think 
That they were lulr at all. 
I’ve looked on hands whoso form and hue 
A sculptor’s dre.un might, bo : 
Yet are these aged, wrinkled hands 
More beautiful to me. 
Such beautiful, beautiful bands! 
Though heart were weary and sad, 
These patient hands kept toiling on 
That children might bo glad. 
I almost woop, us looking hack 
To childhood’s distant day. 
I think how these hands rented uot. 
When mine wore at their play. 
Such beautiful, beautiful hands 1 
They're growing feeble now; 
For tlrno and pain have left their work 
On hand, and heart, and brow. 
Alas! alas! the nearing time. 
And the sad, sad day to me; 
When ‘ueutli the daisies, out of sight. 
These hands will folded be. 
But oh, beyond this shadowy land, 
Where all Is bright, and fair; 
I know full well these dear old hands 
Will palms of victory wear. 
Where crystal streams, through endless years, 
Flow over golden sands; 
And where the old grow young again. 
I’ll clasp my mother’s hands.” 
And to-day eyes arc dimmed, and hearts 
are touched and strengthened, when they re¬ 
member those beautiful hands that have fin¬ 
ished their work. e. b. 
-- 
Superior qualitiv*. 
Superior qualities are never conscious of 
themselves. Who ever thought himself 
humble without being made proud by that 
very fact? Does not generosity believe that 
it owes all it, gives; and when did innocence 
ever know itself to be entirely chaste? 
Birth and Life. 
The gift of birth is a very different thing 
from the gift of life. To be born, is to have 
very chance of a blessed immortality; to 
live, is too often to forfeit them all. 
