DORS’S RURAL WEW-YORKER. 
and I cannot explain to you exactly how It 
was beautiful.” 
“Ah, 1 understand now," Baid hor grandrooth- 
er, dryly, and with this the recital ended. 
But when Anna came, looking rather jaded, 
with her hair very much oat of curl,and retired 
with MaUTRA to her little room, t hen there 
was plenty to tell. Martha, it is true, would 
not betray her sweet secret, and those words ■ t 
parting so full of meaning, hut Anna guessed 
so much and took bo much for granted, that 
she brought Martha'S castle In the air into 
stronger, bolder relief than sho bad dared to do. 
“ He told mother ho should only remain here 
six days, and he has been here six weeks! Of 
course, that is out of love for you.” 
“ Do you think so? No, no, I will never be¬ 
lieve that!” 
“This evening ho spends his last evening 
with us, you will come too ?" 
“If grandmamma will lot mo.” 
“ Oh, sho will not object." 
Hut she did object; the old lady, who hith¬ 
erto had denied Martha no small pleasure, de¬ 
clined the invitation this time most decidedly. 
“There has bceu so much visiting, skating, 
and then the ball—that must be enough for the 
present." 
“.lust this once, Mrs. VeiiwalTPRIN !" 
“Martha 1 b much obliged to your mother 
for her invitation, and will call another time to 
thank her, hersoif.” And bo the matt er ended. 
M artha thought herself the most unfortu¬ 
nate, misused creature in the whole world. Sho 
did not chooso to complain of her grandmother 
to Anna, but alone 1st her own room sho cried 
bitterly and felt utterly wretched. Tills once 
—tliis last, time—that she could not see him—it 
seemed too hard Her grandmother took no 
notice of tbo tear-stained checks, and the 
mournful resignation with which Martha pur¬ 
sued her accustomed tasks. On the contrary, 
she spun ns if nothing had happened. It is re¬ 
markable how heartless old people arc. 
I3y the time Martha brought the lights in 
the evening, tho violence of her grief was abat¬ 
ed, but the sight of the Mofrath’s brlghlly- 
ligbtcd windows over tbo way awoke it anew. 
Without seeming to notice it, her grandmother 
proceeded to settle herself comfortably for the 
evening. 
“Move a little nearer, dear; It. ir. long since 
we have sat so quietly together. An:.A is a 
good girl, but this incessant whispering and 
bustle is too much forme. Ia there not a fare¬ 
well party over t he way to-night,?” 
“ I believe so.” said M arth a, blushing. 
“ All, Indeed ; in my t ime it was not the cus¬ 
tom to invite ladles to moot a .gentleman ; then, 
/vc let the gentlemen seek out the ladles." 
“ Yes, but—that is not always possible.” 
“ 'Cot always, and It, i • also not necessary; but 
bo sure of this: if a man is In earnest in bis de¬ 
sire to meet a young girl, he will And out a way 
to sec her; and this Is the only proper and nat¬ 
ural state of things You have seen such an 
Instance in the c.aseol Elm a and t ho merchant, i 
It, is bett er a thousand times to bo an old maid 
than to beckon a man on, even though It should 
bo with the litt le Anger only—at least I t hought 
so when I was young; even when I fell, myself 
not a little attracted by my Into husband." 
Martha spun on with great onorgy and did 
not once look up. 
“ I once had a good friend,” continued her 
grandmother, “who thought quito otherwise; 
no bold, thoughtless girl, but a woman of quick, 
Impatient disposition, who wished to make hor 
own destiny. II <r father was head forester to 
a nobleman, and lived in a lonely little place in 
tbo country. 
“A young assistant name to live with them, 
and, as often happens when two young people 
arc thrown much together, they took a fancy 
to one another. This did not please tho old 
people, however. They were ambitious for 
Julie, who was not, pretty, but a sweet-, talented 
girl. 
“The young people wrote love letters to each 
other, though they could have said all they 
wanted to one another without tho medium of 
pen, ink and paper. JOI.LR wrote versos to tho 
young assistant. lie did not attempt any , 
rhymes in return, but wrote the usual love let- t 
ter of a man somewhat given to repetition, and 
nothing to boost of in the way of originality, 
but still very loving. 
“ Julie'S parents sent her away on a visit in 
order to separate them. This always seemed 
to me a most comical resort of helplessness, 
for tho love which can bo dispelled by travel 
will find an end qui fitly enough at home. But 
for Jultk, an ambitious match Ijad no attrac¬ 
tions, aud she thought only the moro of her 
Rosier, as the assistant was called. 
“ ItoiiEK, meanwhile, did not write to her. 
His sllenco Julie attributed to manly pride. 
The very depth of his lore it was, she said, 
which caused this conduct, and sho grievod 
therefore only so much the more for tho loss 
of her life’s happine&a. I however, thought., il 
sho was as dear to him as ho to hor, ho would 
try 1.0 see her again by some means. But sho 
would sigh when I said this, and talk of hearts 
which hud broke:* in silence. .Men are not so . 
cosily discouraged, believe mo, child.” 
Martha sighed. 
“ Eight years after the forester died. Jules, 
moan while, had passed hor time in filling whole 
hooks wit h verses, and Homer was district for¬ 
ester somewhere. Now JUMK persuaded her¬ 
self that as he wes an old acquaintance of hor 
father's, it was her duty to inform him of her 
parent's death. ‘ t would not do if said 1: ‘he 
has seen it in the papers. If he still loves you. 
1 he will coroe of his own accord ; if not, I would 
not force him.' 
“She lived at that time with an old maiden 
aunt In our village, it was there that 1 knew her. 
“ Well, to make my story short. Julie would 
not heed my advice. She insisted that “imple 
politeness required her to communicate the 
news of her father's death to Homer. What, 
cannot wo Include under the head of duty when 
wo wish ! Sho had been hitherto a sufficiently 
sensible girl, but the heart is like a willful 
child, if one once indulges It one Is no longer 
master. At length she went so far ns to think 
it her duty to invite him to the old homestead, 
before she left it finally. What can one do but 
accept when one is so prefeslngly invited? 
“ Rome ii came ; what afterwards occurred, I 
do not know. I only know that it was thus 
they mot. When they called to sec me as bride 
and groom one bright morning, I could not feel 
quite satisfied about JULrr.; a mischievous 
friend repeated half aloud as they left t he room, 
Goethe's couplet, ‘ IT alb zog fhm, hall/ tank 
crfiln,' I could only hope that it did not, roach 
her car. She was nut a happy bride after ail. 
Sho always tried to prove to mo that she had 
done nothing to bring about, tho match, and 
that Homer's former apparent coldness had 
been nothing mere than manly pride and bash¬ 
ful love; but she looked so very sadly at him 
sometimes, and would take pains to render 
conspicuous those little tendernesses wbic.i a. 
happy v.ife loves best to keep to horsolf. Ah, It 
has often made my heart heavy to watch her !” 
“ And how did it end ?” asked Martha, Boo¬ 
ing that hor grandmother was lost in painful 
recollections. 
“My child, a man is seldom so modest as not 
to observe when a raaidon meets him halfway, 
as It wore, and still so! do mar Is ho noble enough 
not to hold a love cheaply which comes to him 
unsought. Ten years later I saw Jut. in again; 
she was a good, true wife, who did everything 
in her power to please her husband, but not a 
happy one. Romrr had by this time become 
head-forester; but his poor wife was none the 
happier for his advancement. He was at no 
palps to conceal from her that her society was 
not necessary to him, and that he did not core 
to have her accompany him to those social 
gatherings which he ■••till frequented and en¬ 
joyed. She had suffered too much from mental 
disquietude to retain her youthful freshness 
long, and soon looked much older than her 
husband, although they were the same age. 
She consulted all sorts of books, in order to dis¬ 
cover the proper method of treatment by which 
to retain a man's love when it is on the wing. 
It seems to me a very sad state of things when 
n wife needs any other guides for this t ban her 
Bible and her heart. 
“ Sometimes sho thought sho showed her lovo 
too plainly, then again not enough. Never in 
my life before had I appreciated what a thing 
of complications Matrimony is, my own ex¬ 
perience had been so uneventful. It grieved 
mo to tho heart when I hoard with what disre¬ 
spect ho treated her. Sho had far moro intel¬ 
lect and cultivation than be, but wbon a loving 
wife fools that she tl not properly appreciated 
by her husband, she fast loses all life and spirit. 
Poor Jflie became so timid and uncertain of 
herself that thero woo hardly a trace of hor 
former self. Tho servants—indeed, her own 
children—did not treat her with deference, and 
yet sho felt she bad dona her duty towards 
them. In spite of alt this sho never complained. 
Oneo only she said to me, “Ob, Marie, the 
man whom a wnnian once seeks, she must seek 
her whole life through J" 
Martha was very quiet after the story was 
ended: nothing was heard in tho room save 
tho humming of the wheels and tho monoto¬ 
nous whizz of tne spindle. She was glad now 
that she had not gone to Hie Hofrnth's, and 
was pleased when she remembered that she 
hud not given him tho crown in the “ German” 
the preceding night. She would even have been 
glad if she could have taken back tho flower 
which she gave him yesterday. And sho would 
have liked to have soon him once more—only 
once more.—[To be continued. 
-♦+♦- 
SPARKS AND SPLINTERS. 
Love at two-and-twenty is a terrible intoxi¬ 
cating draught..— Lufflnt. 
Captain Jack's widows have shaken off 
their mourning, and now stand out arrayed in 
sixteen yards of rod and orange flannel aud 
number nine cavalry boots. 
The four hundred girls at Vassar College 
are obliged to rise at 5 o’clock in tho morning, 
and arc not allowed ito have beaux except in 
tho presence of threo old women. 
Fashionable young ladies are reported to 
be going through a series of dumb-bell exer¬ 
cises in order to give their wrists tho strength 
necessary to wield the largo Spanish fan now 
coming generally into use. 
A genius was expatiating upon tho utility of 
nn India rubber ship which he was inventing, 
when an old sailor exclaimed :—“No, no 1 It 
will never do; an India rubber ship would ruh 
out all the lines of latitude and longitude, to 
say nothing of the equator! ” 
A dashing belle of Green Bay, a Miss Ruth 
Taylor, a few days since, was presented with a 
silk dress for her gallantry In taking hold of n 
spanner and helping pull the engine to a fire. 
The firemen have had to add two hundred feet 
to the rope since then. All the girls want silk 
dresses. 
Social topics. 
A TALK WITH THE NEW YEAR. 
MV MRS- HATTIE P. BELL. 
You come with rejoicing and song, New Year, 
And your face It is merry and bright. 
You wrap your brisk form in your snow-mantle 
warm. 
And chuckle with all of your might. 
But wait, giddy year, you are young now, my dear. 
You’ro young and you don't feel the cold. 
But Just wait. I ray, till t welve months pass away. 
And you’ll shiver because you arc old. 
That's the way with the world, that’s the way. New 
Y car, 
You haven’t yet learned how it goes: 
If you're young, bright and gny. yon may have your 
cum way, 
Rut if old folks will trend on your toes. 
You will find this is so when your time comes to go. 
And you hear them all wishing you dead, 
Aa they watch the last breath that shall tell of your 
death, 
And anothar stops up in your stead. 
Ah ! you’ll be the Old Tear, then, my dear: 
Your face will lo wrinkled and seamed, 
I As you com" from the strife In the battle of life— 
'Tis harder than ever you’re dreamed. 
| Don’t laugh then, my dear, sweet, happy New Year, 
J Don’t laugh at the Old Year more. 
1 For 'twill soon come about, that you’ll follow him 
out. 
And another walk in at tho door. 
-♦■».» 
THE EFFECTS OF WORRY. 
That the effects of worry are more to bo 
dreaded than those of simple hard work, is 
evident from noting the classes of persons who 
suffer most from the effects of mental over¬ 
strain. The eaae-bookAif the physician shows 
that It Is the speculator, the betting man, tho 
railway manager, the great merchant, the 
superintendent of largo manufacturing or 
commercial works, who most frequently ex¬ 
hibit tho symptoms of cerebral exhaustion. 
Mental cares accompanied with suppressed 
emotion, occupations liable to grave vicissi¬ 
tudes of fortune, and those which Involve the 
bearing on the mind of a multiplicity of intri¬ 
cate details, eventually break down the lives 
of tho strongest. In csi imating what maybe 
called thu staying powers of different minds 
under hard work, it Is always necessary to take 
early training into account. A young man 
oust suddenly into a position involving great 
care and responsibility, will break down in cir¬ 
cumstances in which, had ho been gradually 
habituated to the position, lie would have per¬ 
formed Its duties without difficulty. It is prob¬ 
ably for this rensou that tho professional 
classes generally suffer lees from tho effects of 
overstrain than others. They have a long 
course of preliminary training, and their work 
cotncs on them by degrees; therefore when il 
doc* come in excessive quantity, It finds them 
prepared for It. Those, on the other hand, 
who suddenly vault into that position requir¬ 
ing severe mental toll, generally die before 
their t.lm o.—thainbcns' .Journal. 
-■ - 
A LADY ON SLEEPING CARS. 
A lady traveler writing about sleeping cars 
and her experience in tho same says“ A wo¬ 
man’s toilet, to be satisfactorily performed, 
demands some other position than prone upon 
the face. Likewise, ft is somewhat moro agree¬ 
able to perform portions of the toilet unob¬ 
served by the multitude. Men either are nof 
burdened with modesty, or they havo minds 
that soar 6o far above the feminine that they 
give uo thought to the embarrassment attend¬ 
ant upon the method and manner of disrobing 
one's self in those ctoso quarters. A woman 
carefully extinguishes herself behind the cur¬ 
tains, slyly unloosens a lace, envelopes herself 
decorously In a large waterproof, not daring to 
lay aside her chignon for fear of a surprise, and 
proceeds to stow herself away uncomfortable 
and depressed. The stranger in tho bunk above J 
leisurely divests himself of his outer garments, 1 
pulls off boots, loosens suspenders, and bounds 
into bed with graceful ease, rat her enjoying the 
situation 1 I think if thero could bo a lady's I 
ear for sleeping and toilet, exclusive of gentle¬ 
men, it would be a great advancement in way¬ 
faring civilization. 1 thought so this morning, ■ 
especially, when I awoke frocymoasy slumbers 
to find tho foot-board fallen, und a group of 60 - . 
rene-browed men gazing smiling upon my 1 
sleeping beauty. Let us havo separate cars, j 
good people, and we can ask nothing more of 
vou in the way of luxury and restful case.” 
-- 
DOMESTIC HAPPINESS. 
The great end of prudence is to give cheer¬ 
fulness to those hours which splendor cannot | 
gild and accumulation cannot exhilarate. 
Those soft Intervals of unbended amusement, 
in which a man shrinks tc his natural dimen¬ 
sions and throws asida the ornaments and dis¬ 
guises which he feels in private to bo useless 
incumbrances, and to lose all effect when they 
become familiar. Tube mpy at homo ia the 
ultimate result of all :ni a: ton, :|:o end to 
which every enterprise ana labor tends, and 
of which every desire prompts the execution. 
It is, indeed, at homo that every man must bo 
known by those who would have u just estimate 
of ids virtue or felicity; fot smiles and em¬ 
broidery are alike occasional, and t he mind is 
often dressed tfor show in painted honor and 
fictitious benevolence.— Johimon. 
jsablMt iic;u!iwj. 
THE CHEERFUL HEART. 
’ The world is ever ns we lake it, 
And life, dear child, ir. what we make it.” 
Thus spoke a grain tain bent with care. 
To little J label, flushed on<! fair. 
But Mabel mok no heed that day 
Of what she beard her grandam say. 
Years after, when no more a child, 
Her path in life sec mod dark and wild. 
Back to herbeart the memory cume 
Of the quaint utterance of the dame: 
“ The world, dear child, is as we tako it. 
And life, bo sure, Ib what we make it.” 
She cleared her brow, and smiling thought 
“ ’Tis even as the good soul taught! 
’“ And half my wees thus quickly cured. 
The.other half may bo endured." 
No more her heart its shadow wore: 
She grew a little child once more. 
■ A little child in love and trust. 
She took tli •> world (as we, too, must) 
In ho ppy mood; an/1 lo ! if grew . 
Brighter and brighter to her view. 
Sho made of life (as we. too. should) 
A joy; and lo ! all things wore good. 
And fair to her, ns in God’s sight, 
When first Ho raid, “ I.ct there be light,” 
THE MORAL [HERO. 
It is easier to fulfill tho greatest than tho 
smallest task. It is easier to perform tho 
moral deed which the world must witness than 
to crush the small temptation which comes in 
our private hours, inviting to a little sin which 
the world can never know. Ho is the moral 
hero how few who can chullcngo tho title.'— 
that can resist the almost harmless Impulse of 
selfishness, like that which prompted tho mind 
of ChrlBt to turn the stones to bread ; who can 
go through tho day and feci that ho has been 
faithful to every’ call of every moment, and has 
lived in Christian relations with every man 
whom he has met. And, therefore^ small 
duties are the real test of power. You cannot 
know a man’s temper In company; aoc him at 
home. You cannot Judge his piety at church ; 
observe him through tho business hours of a 
single day. You cannot infer Ids benevolence 
from hie public charities and largo subscrip¬ 
tions ; watch his Intercourse with the poor. It 
is the frequent gifts,—yes, it is the manner of 
giving more than the charity, the sweet expres¬ 
sion, the cordial sympathy, the tone of kind¬ 
ness which makes tho peony of more value 
than tho. coldly give n pound; it is these, and 
tho frequency of those, that determine the 
purity and love of a person's soul.— Kina. 
■» »■»- 
THE SOUL OF GOODNESS, 
To express the whole matter in the homeliest 
form, one might say that goodness is paying 
debts. To pay debts is to bo good. Hut to pay 
debts is a groat matter, even in the easiest of 
times. To owe no :nnn anything, to discharge 
in full all obligations, to meet all claims, to 
answer nil demands from all quarters, above, 
below, nround; to fulfill all righteousness to¬ 
ward the strong who help and the weak who 
depend, tho great who lift i nd the small who 
must he lifted, too wise who tench iw and the 
simple who look to us for teaching; to dis¬ 
charge indebtedness toward parents who give 
un life, and children who receive life, from us, 
toward friends who give uo love and enemies 
who require love from us, toward the wealthy 
and capable who supply our eternal needs and 
the lmtnbla toilers who supply our eternal 
necessities, toward tho family whereof wo aro 
members and tho comrnuulty whereof wo aro 
portions, toward tho saints who Ides.- us by 
feeding our souls and the sinners who bjuss us 
quite as much by training them,—this Is cer¬ 
tainly a great thing to bo done justice to in a 
sermon or in a life.—O. Tl. FratMnQtw.m. 
-»-*~o-— 
Your True Religious Life consists in 
standing where God has put you, and exercis¬ 
ing Christian qualities. It consists in showing 
pity where pity Is called for; in manifesting 
patience where patience is required; in exhib¬ 
iting gentleness where gentleness !, needed. 
It consist; iii forbearing with other* ; in bear¬ 
ing others’ burdens * in not being easily pro¬ 
voked; in thinking no evil, when vl! things 
are brought to you; in loving, where other 
men would bate; in doing, where other:, would 
sit still. In other word . it is indispensable 
tiled, the mathematician -houid make aa appli¬ 
cation of his problem, o it is necessary that 
the thci theory of religion should be aoptied to 
life,—H. W. Jlccrh-rr. 
-- 
There U no doubt of the essentia! nobility 
of that 5-ntin who pours into his life the honest 
vigor of his toil, [over ther e who compose the 
feathery foam of fashion that r weeps along 
Broadway; and who ignoring the family his¬ 
tory. paintcoats-of-arms to cover up the leather 
of their grandfathers. --Chaph i. 
Useful industry does not so much consist in 
being continually busy a ir, doing promptly 
those t hings which are of the first Importance, 
and which will eventually prove most profits 
