MOORE’S RURAL NEW-YORKER 
•39 
NEVER AGAIN. 
BY DE FORREST P. GUMMERSON. 
Never again, as once wo two have strolled 
Through mountain passes, and through valleys 
fair— 
Never again, until the stone is rolled 
From off out hearts, and wo are freed from care. 
Never again,—by silvery running streurus. 
We two shall gather violets blue and sweet 
Never again, save perchance in our dreams, 
Shall hear the tread of once familiar feet. 
Never again will fall upon mine oar 
Thy voice, In fond and tender tone 
Never again. Throughout each weary year 
My t'oet must wander on alone, alone ! 
For thou are gone: and what Is life to me? 
What is there left to free me from my pain t 
Naught but the thought that., in the life to be, 
) shall Ip fairer scenes find thee again. 
•-♦♦♦-- 
LETTER FROM PARIS, 
June 12,1874, 
Two days ago a young woman of beauty, dis¬ 
tinction and wealth, came to see me. She is a 
relative of tlie Princess Dora ijTstiua, whose 
portrait many readers may remember to have 
seen In the Rural a few years ago. “Have 
you dined ?” she asked, after our lirat greeting. 
'* No : It Is scarcely live o'clock, and you?" “ I 
dined at four. 1 came for you to ride with me 
In the Champs Ely secs and llois do Boulogne at 
six o’clock. Can you be so kind? 1 will wait 
until you have dined.’’ 
No at six, calling a carriage, we were soon 
whizzing up tlie Champs Elysoes, that wonder¬ 
ful avenue of trees, of splendid equipages, of 
thousands of chairs occupied by elegantly 
dress people, and hundreds of promenaders. 
“ You come here often," I remarked. 
“ Oh, yes, evory day." 
“And you always see the same sights, do you 
not ?” 
“Always; it Is very stupid. I am always 
hoping to lind you here, but you so rarely 
come. Why do you not come oftener?" 
“ 1 always like some amusements in reserve, 
chere amir. If I name every day, like you, I 
should find It stupid too.” 
“Do you know, dear Ainericulne,”»he sighed, 
crossing her Saxon gloved hands, “ that I And 
everything stupid ! I And nothing that inter¬ 
ests me. I sleep and eat, order new hats and 
costumes; my maid dresses me and reads to 
me, and in the afternoon 1 take a promenade 
with my uncle, and In the evening wc go to the 
theater or concert. I am too lazy to study. 1 
have no special talent for anything. I would 
give all my fortune for a spark of real genius. 
Tell ine what I must do to And content and 
pleasure." 
“We will note all the faces we pass," 1 sug¬ 
gested, “and the first one that looks happy and 
contented we will stop and inquire the secret.” 
She laughed an odd little laugh, and ordered 
the coachman to reverse Ills route. After 
making the round of the llois and the Boule¬ 
vard, we alighted In the Champs Klysees and 
took chairs. After a minute or two, a wee bit 
of an Italian boy with a forlorn looking fiddle 
ran up to us in a way at once insolent and 
charming, and begged for some sous. 
“ You shall have some sous, my child, if you 
will;play us something and tell us why you 
play. Give us* Lit Villa de Madame Agnot,’ if 
you can," I said, and quite to our surprise he 
played the familiar air very well indeed. Wo 
began to ask him questions, whereupon wo 
learned that he was eight years old, that his 
brother had taught him to play, that Ids fiddle 
cost him five francs, and that he hoped one day 
to become a great musician and enter the Con¬ 
servatoire de Musique. With a quaint little 
salutation in accepting his sous, and a“grazle, 
signora,” he scampered away. 
"The child has real talent,”- remarked my 
friend. “What a pity that lie should be 
obliged to stroll the streets like that. If some 
one would only give him a chance to study! 
He really had a happy, contented face.” 
“That la because lie has no aim in life," I 
said. “ It was only yesterday that I read in the 
confession of a grand Parisian dame, who had 
lavished at her feet all woulth, admiration and 
honor, that, aside from the pleasures of affec¬ 
tion, she had found her only and highest de¬ 
light in work. Accept her experience for a 
month, my dear girl, and begin work.” 
“ But I don't know bow,” she said despair¬ 
ingly. “ I don’t oven know how to sew.” 
“ But you know how to be generous?" 
“ My heart teaches mo that.” 
" TbOD you have only to help some poor and 
lagged child to do his work,” was ventured. 
“Ah, I see," she said slowly. “Why should 
I not help that poor little Italian boy In his 
struggle. That would give me an aim, an ob¬ 
ject in life, something worthy to think of and 
to do. T[wonder If he was well born?" she 
added thoughtfully, for she herself belonged 
to the miiikw. 
“ You ask a question Con never seems to ask 
when He endows people with genius,” I re¬ 
plied. “The Port Beranger, wbosc^aongs are 
sung in every cottage and palace in France, 
was asked if he was not of noble birth. “I 
noble ?” he said; " no, gentlemen, I only know 
how to love my country 1" (Je lie mis qu'aimer 
via patrie.) 
Our talk was interrupted by the arrival of 
her unde with a party of gentlemen with 
whom he had been (lining, and all noblemen, 
three of whom were poor and one of whom 
was wealthy, w'Ah an income equal to a hun¬ 
dred thousand dollars a year. His father had 
been reigning prince of an Eastern principality, 
and he himself was on his way to share a heri¬ 
tage that would make him a millionaire; a 
young man of thirty-five, perhaps, with an 
English type of face and a serious look. Some 
flower airls came up with roses to sell. He 
selected a half-opened moss rose bud for my 
friend and myself, and tossing a silver coin at 
one of the girls, he bade her give half of it to 
her companion and “ be off.” 
“ How happy you made the poor flower girls," 
I said. 
“Do you think so?" lie asked, with trifling 
interest. 
“ I do; happiness costs so little.” 
“And yet I am not rich enough to buy it, 
mademoiselle.” 
“But you are happy and amused here at 
Paris, 1 suppose? It seems to be the paradise 
of strangers.” 
“ Yes, I like Paris; but a few days are enough. 
I tire of it," and lifting his hat he drew his 
hand across his brow with a weary movement. 
"I think, mademoiselle," lie added after a 
pause, “that if people only did what, really 
amused and interested them that nine-tenths 
of the pleasure-seeking portion would do very 
differently from what they now do. We are 
continually fatiguing ourselves in doing what 
we fancy am usee us, but which In reality is 
most unsatisfactory and stupid. Just what is 
the richest and best thing in life to live for T 
have failed to learn, and I would give much to 
know." 
After some further talk my friend, with her 
uncle and the rich nobleman, accompanied me 
borne, and as we sat talking in the salon an 
American letter was handed to me. The bright 
stamps on it attracted the gentlemen’s atten¬ 
tion, and the nobleman begged the privilege of 
looking at them. Rather singularly t he three 
stamps were of different color—blue, green, 
and red, and bearing respectively the portraits 
of Franklin, Washington, and Lincoln. 1 tore 
off the envelope and gave It to him, with Hie 
remark that lie might contemplate the history 
of those men, In whose lives the richest and 
best tilings to live for had been to serve /<• 
patrle, arid each in a different way; he might 
judge If they found life stupid and uninter¬ 
esting. Ho smiled as he placed the portraits of 
my Illustrious compatriots in a sliver mono- 
grained case of Russia leather that he took out 
of his breast pocket; then they eacli said good 
(light, and I was alone to read my letter. 
“Dear Mary,” it began, “It Is an age since t 
wrote you, and longer atlll since I saw you, and 
I've changed considerably. 1 have been in col¬ 
lege a year, out a year, and back again ; saw the 
hollowness, and uselessness, and stupidity of 
that way of getting an education, and I Left, 
deciding never to go back. 1 have placed 
myself under the tutorship of 8w kdenroro, 
Roi.i.in, Carlyle, Gibbon and Hume, Dick¬ 
ens and Schiller, and 8n akspk ark —in short, 
the greatest minds that have lit the world 
with genius, and, what, is more, 1 have “struck 
out,” as wo say in the West, to work out my 
own education and solve the problem, “ What 
shall I do?" Where I shall land, or whether I 
shall land at all. Heaven only knows; hut I’m 
launched, and that’s a satisfaction." There 
was much mure about the aimless life he had 
led—this young fellow of twenty-three, the 
petted and idolized child of wealth, who had 
left home and ease behind him to battle with 
life and hunt for the great universal want. 
Satisfaction. I folded the letter, which had 
such a delicious ring of young-hearted manli¬ 
ness in it, ami rang for a domestic. A bonne 
with smiling face answered. “ You always look 
happy and contented, LlSKTTE,” I said, “and 
yet you are poor, and work hard from early 
morning until late at night. You never seem 
to suffer from ennui, like some rich and grand 
people I've seen to-day." “ Ah, no, mademoi¬ 
selle, I never have time for that. There is 
always something to do for somebody, which 
keeps me continueUement occwpee." 
The poor servant and the rich grand dame 
who wrote her confession joined hands over a 
common conclusion, which 1 believe to be a 
universal truth, that the grand elixir of life is 
work-all of which is not much about Paris. 
But the succeeding Incidents of the evening, 
that embraced persons of both sexes, age, 
wealth, position and nationality, all differing, 
impressed tuo as being worthy to recount, Inso¬ 
much as the faithful experiences of one soul, 
its trials and triumphs, may aid and console 
another. Moreover, all of us who ore toilers in 
life are apt to forget that the greatest and 
noblest privilege any mortal Is permitted to 
enjoy Is that of Work a privilege to which no 
other may be compared, not even that of spend¬ 
ing a year “ abroad." Mary A. E. Wager. 
-- 
OPR Ills are not so many. 
Nor so hard to bear bolow. 
But our suffering, In itrcart of the future, 
Is (tore than our present woe. 
We »<‘o, with our vision Imperfect, 
Such causes of doubt and fear. 
Some yet that are far In the distance, 
And some that may never be near, 
When, If wc would trust In His wisdom, 
Whose purpose we may oat see, 
Wo should Uud, whatever our trials, 
As our day our strength shall be. 
[ Vhtxbe Cary. 
■ ♦ » »- 
How many troubles might mankind be spared 
if they would only atop to hear each other's 
explanation! 
Heading for the §mtng. 
DON’T LET MOTHER DO IT. 
Daughter, don’t let mother do It! 
Do not lot her slave and toll, 
Whlln you ait, u useless idler, 
Fearing yonv soft, hands to soil. 
Don't you sec the heavy burdens, 
Dully she Is wont to bear, 
Bring the linos upon her forehead— 
Sprinkle silver In her hair? 
Daughter, don't let mother do it! 
Do not let her ba ke and broil; 
Through the long, bright sntnmor hours 
Share witli tier the heavy toll. 
See, her oye Ins lost Its brightness, 
Faded from her cheek the glow, 
And the step that, once was buoyant, 
Now Is feoble, weak and slow. 
Daughter, don’t let mother do It I 
She has cured for you so long. 
Is It right, the weak and feeble 
Should be biding for the strong I 
Waken from your listless languor; 
Seek her side to ehner and bless ; 
And your grief will be less bitter 
When the sods uhove her press. 
Daughter, don’t let mother do It! 
You will never, never know 
What, were home without a mother 
Till that mother lleth low— 
tow beneath the budding daisies, 
Free from earthly care or pain - 
To the home so sad without her 
Never to return again. [Rural Sun. 
LETTERS FROM BOYS AND GIRLS. 
From a Virginia Farmer’s Son. 
Dear Mr. Editor :—As you were so kind as 
to publish my flrat letter, and t promised to tell 
you something more concerning the farm on 
which we live, 1 thought l would write again. 
Those Afty-two barrels of potatoes I mentioned 
that my father planted are looking beautiful 
and ready for shipment. Ba says he will com¬ 
mence digging them In a few days. He is very 
busy now shipping cabbages, strawberries, tur¬ 
nips, &r., to your city and Philadelphia. My 
father Is a very successful farmer; lie has a 
large and prosperous crop of snaps, beets, to¬ 
matoes and other vegetables for the Northern 
markets. We have two little white rabbits 
hero; people say they are very tame, but 1 have 
them to catch and put up every night, and I 
tell you, Mr. Editor, they give me a good chase 
before I got them. I walk into the city to 
school every day. I have very strict teachers, 
but I manage to get off without a “ licking,” us 
we boys call it, for my mother teaches me my 
lessons every morning before I go to school. 
Well, 1 think this will do for this time. I will 
try and make my next more interesting. —John¬ 
nie B. F., Until/ Point Farm, Norfolk Co., Va. 
From a Northern New York Girl. 
Dear RtnrtALSince I have never written 
for the boys and girls I thought I would try. 1 
do not go to school now, but get lessons at 
borne. 1 am eight years old. Pa lias taken the 
Rural ever so many years, and J like it very 
much. We have had (lowers In blossom all 
winter. I live on a farm near Lake Ontario, 
and sometimes they catch a great many white 
fish there, Last summer one seine caught 1R,- 
000 in one night. In the summer there are a 
great many wild flowers in the woods near our 
house.— Stella A. P., Pulaski , N, V. 
From a Young Ceorglan. 
Mr. Moore— Dear Sir: I saw a copy of your 
paper the other day, and read the Boys' and 
Girls’ Letters, which pleased me very much. I 
hope I will be able to take It and get some of 
my friends to tako it. We have had a Jolly 
time here this spring going to picnics and the 
like. About sixty of us boys go in bathing in 
Hie river every evening and liuve a splendid 
time. Fruit has been ripe here for about two 
wooks; plums, apples, black and whortleber¬ 
ries, dewberries, watermelons and peaches soon 
will be. T am thirteen years old.—G. R. L., Co¬ 
lumbus, Oa. 
From a Virginia Malden. 
Mu. Editor —Hear Sir : I think that Young 
Bach hat a bad opinion of the women, and I 
would say to him that some of the women 
have got a bud opinion of him. 1 for one think 
that bachelors are very disagreeable folks, to 
say nothing of young baches; and, besides, he 
says that, ladles “wag their tongues so much.” 
I think that it is a great deal pleasanter to have 
some talking going on than getting off in a cor¬ 
ner and not saying a word unless tome one asks 
a questlou, and then answer as cross as a cross¬ 
cut saw.-J essie .1., Fairfax C. H„ Va. 
From a Central New-Yorker. 
Dear Rural COUSINS:—1 have long been an 
interested reader of the numerous letters which 
you have written, but have never before ven¬ 
tured to write one, and should not probably 
now, were It not that the audacious offering of 
Young Bach, in my mind, merited a response. 
I hope those of the “ male persuasion ” whom 
lie addresses will have common sense (n virtue 
of which Y. B. seems mi mini enough not to 
credit his wild assertion. Suppose we look his 
letter over again. He says, “There’s a lady 
‘going for’ Young Naturalist.” He cannot 
be very well learned or he would not use s ang; 
and if lie wero much acquainted with ladies lie 
would know they did not “go for" gentlemen. 
Undoubtedly he's been Jilted and thought to 
revenge himself on all the sex—a nolde mode 
of vengeance, to be sure. Aren’t there, among 
the RURAL boys, those who have sisters? 1 am 
sure we shall soon hear some proclaiming that 
there are such, and that they have no truer 
friend, no more gentle counselor (one “ Who 
knows how much to say, and hoiv not to say 
too much ") than woman. Dew Drop, please 
write again and show’this saucy Y oung Bach 
that he has not frightened you in the least by 
his flattering comments. Probably it will be 
thought that this writer tins a fieri) tongue, so 1 
will say adieu.—\V., Moreland, N. Y. 
From Mad Cnp, of Somewhere. 
Dear Rural:— I Vivo been wanting to write 
a letter to you for ever so long, but was afraid 
you would not think it worth printing, yet l 
will write ami see if you do. In one of the 
papers there was a letter from Wild Western 
Giul, nud I just know 1 would like her from 
the way she talks to Y. B. And, by the way, 
young boy, f would like to nee you „ome time 
and give you a good, sound talking I... Young 
I tOOfUKR Is very much mistaken about none 
but Ldg-foellng girls wearing hustles. 1 wear 
one BomotUnos, and i know T don’t fed very 
large. I would like W. W. Girl to write again. 
Good-by.—M ad Cap, Apple Collage, Somewhere. 
From a Buckeye Boy. 
Mr. Editor: — I am a little boy, eleven years 
old. 1 live on a farm In the Buckeye State, and 
my papa was a soldier and l glory In the old 
flag. 1 have hecn going to school the past win¬ 
ter ; can read, write and cipher. 1 had a good 
teacher, arid 1 will have the same one this sum¬ 
mer. I have two ewes and they have each a 
lamb. I have lived on a farm for live years and 
like it better than Iti town, We have plenty of 
fruit the year round. This is my first and per¬ 
haps too lengthy letter; so good-by.- W, K. lL, 
Pull llill, Ohio. 
From a Colorado Girl. 
Dear Mr. Editor I am going to write you 
something about Colorado this time, and 1 hope 
you will be kind enough to put it in your excel¬ 
lent paper. I think Colorado is the nicest coun¬ 
try I ever lived in, and I have been in Illinois, 
Iowa, Kansas, Missouri, Minnesota, Wisconsin, 
Nebraska, Arkansas and Wyoming, in Colo¬ 
rado the air la pure and made odorous by the 
fragrant pine, spruce juniper and cedar. We 
call our place I’lue Grove. We think it Isa real 
pretty place. There are wild flowers here of 
various and different kinds ; many are equal to 
tauie ones.— Ida M. S., Deer Valley, Colorado, 
From n Western New York Boy. 
Dear Rural : I am a Lyons boy, ago eleven 
years. Father lias taken the Kura Lover 'twenty 
years. We all prize It highly. We live on a 
farm. My advantages have not been very good, 
but J Intend to be a scholar yet. 1 like to read 
the Boys’ and Girls' Letters. I like Cousin 
Johnnie.—Frank F., Lyons, N. V. 
@Itc fluidcr. 
HIDDEN RIVERS. No. 1, 
1. With gold at par a nation thrives. 
2. Be upright and win a good name. 
3. To oat with hands foul with dirt is heath¬ 
enish. 
4. When your face is dirty wash it at once. 
6. Each day do some good ere the sun goes 
down. 
6. Choose in every case business before pleas¬ 
ure. 
7. Time wasted Is total loss. 
8. Could one keep a Modoc on eels ? 
9. Many a zoologist has visited Africa. 
10. Burns sang among the hills his sweetest 
songs. 
11. Fortune favors the industrious. 
12. Hate no one, for anger is an enemy to 
peace. 
Answer in two weeks. *** 
-m- 
CROSS-WORD ENIGMA. No. 1. 
My first is in black but uot In white. 
My second la in dark but not In light ; 
My third is in silver but not in gold, 
My fourth is in storm but not in cold ; 
My fifth is in cream but not in milk, 
My sixth is in satin but not in silk; 
My seventh la in lion but not In lamb. 
My eighth Is in oyster but not in clam ; 
My ninth Is in every land and nation. 
My whole is the name of the last sensation. 
8SgT* Answer In two weeks. s. 
■ • *♦«- 
PROBLEM,—No. 1. 
A live poultry dealer in New York pays 15 
shillings apiece for extra large turkeys, and 11 
shillings for common ones; also 7 shillings and 
6 pence for geeso and 3 shillings and 6 pence for 
hens. After a while he discovers that he has 
laid out just $1.70 In purchasing some of each 
kind, and that they have cost him, oh an 
average, $1 apiece. He finds, moreover, that he 
has purchased just 75 of the cheapest and dear¬ 
est varieties. How many has he purchased of 
each kind? B. F. Burlf.son. 
(ST Answer In two weeks. 
