MOORE’S RURAL NEW-YORKER 
AUG. 8 
THE LOVE TEST, 
It was the eve of Jack Hudson’s wedding day 
and I was enjoying a bachelor pipe and a glass 
with him. Perhaps with a praiseworthy desire 
to see me a Benedict, Jack had been ox pat la- 1 
ting on t ho merits of several young Indies of our t 
acquaintance, when, leaning back in hie chair, 
puffing hissegar, lie said, Botisal iously, "My dear p 
Ned, they talk of women’s coquetry, but I be- 1 
lievo men to be every biL as conceited as I was 
at one time. I'll toll you how I had lt.aken out 
of me. 
“ As you are aware, I and rny father’s ward, 
Dora, wore betrothed at an early age. She 
loved me; I reciprocated the affection. Brought ’ 
up, however, as we were, together from child- } 
hood, it was not displayed Iti the usual fashion. 
As a boy. 1 adored Dora with a species of awe; 1 
but as a fining, conceited sprig from college, 1 
rather patronized her. Every young fellow goes 1 
through these phases of existence, as be emer¬ 
ges from Jackets to tail coats. I am sure I was ‘ 
as absurd as most young fellows; spent an hour 
over my toilet, two with rny tailor, and run up 1 
a bill for gloves and perfumery with Incredible ’ 
rapidity. 
" strong upon.the elegance of my appearance ' 
and graceful manners, I found constant occa¬ 
sion to correct Dora (one of the wildest, merrl- 3 
esi girls in existence) for her childish, mad-cap 
ways: in return for which, she drove me to dcs- 1 
peration by her mimicry of my grand airs. 
" I own never was a girl more irritating. As 
surely its I iirnwifuil my hair to the best ad van- j 
tage, an antimacassar was abruptly twisted, ( 
turban-fashion, about my brows, to the utter 
annihilation of tne choicest curls ; while once 
I found her clog. Beau, fastened In a Chair 
before my toilet-table, attired in my best cravat 
and collar, a scented handkerchief on his paw ^ 
and panting insanely at hia own image in the ) 
glass. In fact, I was a dandy;she » lively, ( 
unconceited girl; and each carried the game 
too fur. I certainly did ; for one day, when ’ 
stung more than usual by her gay jests, leaping 
up in anger from the sofa, I roared, furiously, 
‘ I tell you what it is. Dora, you would not dare 
to act like this if you didn’t know 1 must marry 
you 1 am confoundedly sorry for It! 
“ Her face was grave in asocond. Raising up, 
she stared Uxedly at me, then slowly exelamed, , 
‘ go you are sorry for It, Jack !’ , 
" * Who wouldn’t be, unless he were a saint?’ , 
I rejoined. Hinging about the sofa-cushions. 
‘If you plague my life like this now, what will 
it be when WO are married? I may expect a 
pleasant existence truly!' 
"She looked intently at me, with blanched 
cheeks; then covering her face with her hands, 
n1 shed from the room. I nad half a mind to go 
after her and beg her pardon, but conoeH in¬ 
tervened. 
“ i thought I’d see her at dinner, and put. all 
right. In truth, 1 would do anything rather 
than paimhor. 1 never knew 1 had loved her so 
much till I saw misery in her pretty face. 
“Well, dinner came, but no Dora appeared. 
She was not to bo found. The tea hour arrived ; 
Still no Dora. 
" The neighbors wore interviewed. None had 
seen her; and, finally alarmed, we searched the 
grounds. I, knowing what had passed between 
us, felt like a madman. A terrible dread pos¬ 
se sed me. and wildly 1 ran from spot to spot. 
At last I came to the bank of the river which 
goes through the plantation, when a white 
object attracted my attention. 1 rati forward. 
It was Dora's scarf. In horror I read the I ruth, 
without the aid of the little glove and hat 
tangled among the reeds. 
“ A cry escaped my lips. J stood paralyzed ; 
then flung myself upon the ground, in an agony 
of despair. In doing sol perceived a note on 
tre grass. It was addressed to myself. J tore 
it open, and read t hese words: 
" DEAR, pea it Jack : I love you far too f •nd- 
lv t■-> makeyourllfo miserable. You weresorry 
for our betrothal, i release you ; for could 
not live, aud see you another’s, farewell! 
“Doha.” 
“ I kissed the letter a thousand times, address¬ 
ing it in words or affect ion—calling on Dora to 
return. Never had I known sueh wretched¬ 
ness-how passionately, devotedly 1 worship¬ 
ped her. 1 groaned, I wept—indeed under the 
circumstances, l behaved like a fool, when I 
recognized the trace of tears on the letter, as 
the out pour of a broken heart. 
" l resolved not to survive her. I knew after 
so many hours,rescue was impossible; there¬ 
fore I determined that the death I had driven 
her to should also be mine. 
“Springing to my feet, l looked upon the 
calm, placid river, glittering with moonbeams, 
that, robbed death of Its horror. 
"» Dora, dear!’ I cried, passionately ; * if it is 
out of my power to lot you know on earth my 
sorrow how I would have suffered anything 
rather than to lose you—at least, darling, I 
will toll you in the next, i will not survive 
you!’ 
“ | bad already sprung forward, when two 
fair arms clasped me from behind a merry, 
penitent face, looked over my shoulders and 
a familiar, welcome voice fell on my ear. 
“‘No; please don’t, dear .Tack. Do forgive 
me! rr 1 have played Ophelia, Instead pf Juliet, 
don’t you play Romeo; for, like the fair Capu- 
let, 1 am not dead!’ 
“ • Dora’ I cried, * Oh, is it possible you are not 
drowned ?’ 
“ ‘ Not quite, Jack. But if you had taken my 
disappearance coolly, I think I should have 
been by this time. It was, however, only a ruse 
to see if you really were sorry you had to marry 
me.’ 
“‘Sorry, my darling? I was a foql-f-an idiot 1’ 
“‘Then I am forgiven ?’ 
“ ‘Dearest, fed how my heart b»ats with joy; 
let that be my answer,’ I replied, pressing her 
to my heart. 
“ Well, Ned, after that—our wedding seemed 
so far off—we hurried our nuptials; and, as you 
know, are to be married to-morrow.” 
-<►*-*- 
MR. GILES’ HOME. 
“You have done the chores, haven’t you, 
wife?” said Mr. Giles, coining in one night 
about sundown. » 
“ No, dear, T had supper to get, and the baby 
was so cross." 
“You haven’t been getting supper all the 
afternoon, I hope." 
“No, 1 had some washing to do, and the win¬ 
dows to clean, and pies to bake, and"— 
“ Oh, stop that, please. To hear you talk, one 
would think you had more than your share of 
work. I’m sure there is no man tries harder 
than 1 do to save his wife steps, and this Is all 
the thanks 1 get for It. Don’t go to contradict¬ 
ing mo. Give me the milk buckets; ir I ask 
you to milk, you will have a dozen excuses. I 
want Katie to go with me, to keep the hogs off 
while T milk." 
Katie goes, and her father keeps her three- 
quarters of an hour, and then tells her she can 
go and take care of the baby while her mother 
attends to the milk. In about live minutesMr. 
(Hies comes in to supper. His wife is down in 
the cellar. 
“ Bay, wife, ain’t supper ready?" 
“In just a minute." 
“Just a minute ! Everything Is done in just 
a minute. Another night, 1 suppose, I will 
have to come in and get supper for myself, 
after working hard all day. 1 f you tried as hard 
as I do to make home pleasant, we would get 
along a great deal better than wc do. You are 
always behind with everything, and then you 
grumble because you have so much todo. Well, 
supper is ready at last, is it ? It is about time, 
I think.” 
They sit down to the table. 
“ O Lord, we thank thee for this and all other 
blessings ; feed us with the bread of life, and 
save us In heaven. Amen. Is this the best 
table-cloth you have got ?" 
•* Yes.” 
“It is? Why don’t you buy another ? Ain’t 
you got any money? What did you do with the 
money you got for those eggs ?” 
" Bought a hat for Katie.” 
“Bought a hat for Katie, and me needing I 
don’t know how many larm implements. 1 
never knew such extravagance in ray life. It 
would please me exceedingly if you would con¬ 
sult me about such things after this. 1 guess 
I’ll go to bed. 1 can’t have any peace up. Wife, 
before you come to bed, just patch that rc.nl in 
my coat: and oh ! I wore a hole in my sock to¬ 
day. You must either mend it, or get mo out. a 
clean pair. There is a chicken in the barrel by 
the hen-house; I want that for my breakfast. 
Como children, come and kiss papa. Good¬ 
night, and don’t forget to say your prayers.” 
-♦♦♦- 
COURTSHIP FAIR AND SQUARE. 
One long summer afternoon there came to 
Mr. Davidson’s the most curious specimen of 
an old bachelor the world ever hoard of. lie 
was old. gray, wrinkled and odd. He hated old 
women, especially old maids, and wasn’t afraid 
to say so. He and A unt Ratty had It hot when¬ 
ever chance threw them together; yet still he 
came, and it was noticed that Aunt Patty took 
unusual pains with her dress whenever he was 
expected. 
One day I he contest waged unusually strong, 
and Aunt Patty left in disgust aud went out 
into the garden. 
“The bear I” she muttered to herself, as she 
Stopped to gather a flower which attracted her 
attention. 
“What did you run for ?” said a gruff voice 
behind her. 
“ To get rid of you.” 
“You didn't do ft, did you?" 
“ NO ; you are worse than a burdock burr.” 
“ You won't got rid of me, eitner.” 
“I won’t, eh?” 
“ Only one way." 
“ And that?” 
“ Marry me." 
“What! us two fools get married! What 
would people say ?” 
“ That’s nothing to us. Come, say yes or no; 
I’m in a burry.” 
"Well, no, then,” 
“ Very well; good-by, I shan’t come again." 
“Stop a bit -what a pucker you’re in.” 
“ Yes or no!” 
“I must consult—” 
“All right; I thought you were of ago. Good- 
by.” 
“Jabez Andrews, don't be a fool. Como 
back, I say. Why, I believe the critter has 
taken me for earnest. Jabez Andrews, I’ll con¬ 
sider.” 
"1 don't want any considering; I’m going. 
Becky Hastings is waiting for me. I thought 
I'd give you the first chance, Patty. All right; 
good-by.” 
"Jabez! Jabez! that stuck-up Beck Hast¬ 
ings shan't have him! Jabez, yes! Do you 
hear—Y-e-s,“ 
A RAILROAD SCENE. 
“ Burleigh” write* from Washington to the 
Boston Journal:—An amusing Incident occur¬ 
red the other day on one of the trains from 
Boston to this city. The cars were very crowd¬ 
ed. An elegant ly-dressed woman occupied an 
entire seat. Her blindleB, bandbox and bag 
Were piled artistically. She was oblivious to 
the fact that passengers were rushing back and 
forth to obtain sittings. More than one gentle¬ 
man drew himself up in front of the Imperious 
dame, silently pleading for the vacant spot. 
She fanned herself leisurely, lolled in the seat, 
and evidently thought things were very com¬ 
fortable, as they were. “ Is this seat occupied, 
madam ?" asked a well-dressed gentleman, very 
politely. “ Yes, it is,” was the snappish reply. 
The man walked on. In half an hour the door 
opened, and In walked a tall, rough fellow, 
coarse as a Polar bear. His huge beard was 
uncombed and stained with tobacco juice. 
His clothes were 111 put on, and smelt of the 
stable. Ho was ungloved and brawny, and 
weighed full two hundred. Ho ran his eye 
along the ear, and caught the seat on which 
our lady was sitting. He made for It. With 
great deliberation ho seized bundle, bandbox 
and hag, put them plump into the lap of the 
lady, and eat. down in the vacant spot like one 
who intended to stay. If looks could have 
annihilated a man, there would have been a 
corpse In that car about, that time. The man 
seemed very much at homo. He whistled ; he 
spit; he stroked his beard; he threw around 
his huge arms, and chuckled inwardly at the 
evident rage of the woman. She left the care 
at New Haven, and had hardly gone before the 
gentleman who was refused the seat reappear¬ 
ed. To some gentlemen, who seemed to take 
a great interest in the proceedings, he said: 
“Did you see how that woman treated me?" 
“Yes." “Did you see how she was come up 
with?” “Well, that man was a horse doctor 
that sat down beside her. He belongs to Bull’s 
Head. 1 gave him $1 to ride with that woman 
as far as she went." The car roared. 
--- 
THE VAGABOND SAGE. 
An old man of very active physiognomy, an¬ 
swering to the name of Jacob Wiimot, was 
brought to the police court. His clothes looked 
as if they might, have been bought second hand 
in his youthful prime, for they had suffered 
more from the rubs of the world than the pro¬ 
prietor himself. 
” What business ?" 
“ None; I'm a traveler.” 
“A vagabond, perhaps?” 
“ you are not far wrong. Travelers and vag¬ 
abonds are about the same tiling. The differ¬ 
ence is that the latter travels without money 
and the former without brains.” 
“ Where have you traveled ?” 
“ AH over the Continent.” 
“ For what purpose ?” 
“ Observation.” 
“ What have you observed ?” 
“A little to commend, much to censure, and 
a great deal to laugh at.”- 
“ Hump! what do you commend ?” 
“ A handsome woman that will stay at home, 
an eloquent preacher who will preach short 
sermons, a, good writer that will not write too 
much, and a fool that has sense enough to hold 
his tongue." 
" What do you censure ?” 
“A man that marries a girl for her flue cloth¬ 
ing, a youth who studies medicine while he 
has the use of his hands, and the people who 
will elect a drunkard to office.” 
“ Wlmt do you laugh at?" 
“ I laugh at a man who expects his position 
to command that respect which his personal 
qualifications and qualities do not merit.” 
He was dismissed. 
SPARKS AND SPLINTERS. 
Brides call it Nee-ag-ry. 
The latest thing in hats—Heads. 
A gushinq MiBS—The Mississippi. 
A cooi. request—Please pass the ice. 
Paternal acres—The old man’s corns. 
Of whal trade are bees? Comb makers. 
Misery— Pleasure at. the summer resorts. 
Where do the centuries Bit? In the lapse of 
ages. 
Short crops—The Bowery style of hair-cut¬ 
ting. 
“The cause of woman suffrage.”—Scarcity of 
husbands. 
The man who carries everything before him 
—The waiter. 
Why is a mosquito like charity ?—Because it 
begins to hum. 
Now the green apple doubles the little boys 
into quarto form. 
Somebody defines flirtation to be attention 
without intention. 
A TEXAS man knows himself well. He sat 
down on a hot branding-iron. 
Wanted—A Sing Sing convict who don’t 
know all about the Nathan murder. 
Jones claims to be a Granger because he 
raises corns and is the owner of many achers. 
Civil rights.- Blackberries are called colored 
berries in Virginia, I ut the more highly col¬ 
ored they are the higher they sell. 
MAGDALEN. 
UY KISF.N K. REX FORD. 
Lift her up, men. from the water. 
Lift her up gently. I pruy ; 
Once she was stainless and lovely, 
Sinless, and fair as the day. 
But, in the wav* of the erring 
Early her footsteps were led. 
And her life's pathway was downward 
Now she’s at rest with the dead. 
Turn the white face to the sunlight !— 
Ah ! what cold beauty is there ! 
Pale as a statue in marble,— 
White, and exquisitely fair. 
Who, if they looked at the features 
Hiding the darkness within,— 
Oh, who would think of such beauty 
Linked to such hideous sin ? 
Smooth back the hair from her forehead 
Vcilnw and shining ns gold. 
Beethrough its soft, silken meshes 
Sunshine wove in with each fold. 
Somewhere i have seen, 1 remember, 
A face that was strangely like this. 
Held up. In a moment of parting, 
To be given a mother's sweet kiss. 
oh what a story of sorrow 
Clings to this wreck of a soul; 
Trial, temptation, and struggles 
'Gainst fate too stern for control. 
Cover the face from the sunlight,— 
Hide it away from the day ; 
GOD, In His merciful pity. 
Grant her His pardon, I pray. 
A NORTHUMBRIAN SERMON. 
Tn the Atlantic Monthly for August is a 
sketch of “A North Northumbrian Village” 
which contains some Interesting facts about 
the Ignorance of the poor fishermen of that 
country, and the slow process of civilization 
among them. The most interesting portion of 
the article, however, is the following account 
of the five or six devout fishermen who leavened 
the lump of Northumbrian sin : 
Two were Baptists, one a Swedenhorgian, one 
an Irvinglte, and one stood alone, calling him¬ 
self a member of the Church of Christ. What 
was very remarkable, the society of these pious 
fishermen, who, divested of their religion, were 
nothing more than poor, ignorant, men, was 
sought, by some or the most eminent divines of 
the mother country, including Cummings of 
London, Lee of Edinburgh, Cairns of Berwick- 
on-Twecd. Mureell, the Manchester Spurgeon, 
and hosts of others. Ignorant of every ether 
class of literature, these men were t horoughly 
conversant, with the Holy Scriptures and the 
best theological works. So extensive was their 
knowledge, so vast their Comprehension of 
truth, so subtile their reasoning, that the most 
learned divines were bumble before them, and 
listened to them in wonder. The Rev. John 
Cairns, 1). D., a rnan as remarkable for Ills pro¬ 
fundity as for his eloquence, had a handsome 
church built, by his congregation. When it was 
finished, he invited one of these fishermen—he 
who called himself a member of the Church of 
Christ—to examine R. Arm in arm the doctor 
of divinity and the North Sea fisherman walked 
through the richly carpeted aisles, examined 
the gorgeous pews, gazed upon ihe carved pul¬ 
pit, the lofty ceiling, the stained glass windows. 
“What do you think of it, brother?" asked 
the doctor. 
The rugged North Sea fisherman raised his 
eyes to the celling, drew his rough fustian 
jacket closer around him, and folding his arms 
upon Ids breast, said in reverential tones: 
“ llowbeit the Most High dwelleth not in 
temples made with hands.” 
The divine gazed upon thd*fisherman, an ex¬ 
pression of admiration on his face, and laying 
his hand on the latter’s shoulder said,— 
“ Brother, you have preached the first and the 
grandest sermon that Will ever be heard with¬ 
in these walls.” 
JEWISH SUNDAY-SCHOOLS. 
In Jewish Sunday-schools generally the 
teaching Is thorough and reviews are highly 
valued. Tbo Sunday-School Companion, a 
Jewish Sunday-school paper, says as to the 
mariner of conducting the o tests of teaching: 
“ If examination means anything, it shou.d 
be conducted fairly and thoroughly. Then can 
be ascertained the merit of teacher and taught. 
Then can lie discovered tlie progress of the 
school. It is no child's plav—Sunday-school 
work. It has to be conducted with vigor, with 
earnestness, for we do not jant to iiavo a 
careless generation grow up. There lias been 
carelessness enough shown. These children 
who attend the school in ten years' time, per¬ 
haps, will rule the synagogue,and it isessential 
that now they should learn thoroughly the 
lessons which then they will be called on to 
apply. Let teachers see the necessity of a 
strict examination. Let parents be satisfied 
with nothing else. We have had sufficient dis¬ 
play and emptiness. Let us see substance and 
merit instead." 
-♦♦♦-— 
The essence of true nobility is neglect of 
self. Let the thought of self pass in and the 
beauty of a great action is gone, like the bloom 
from a soiled flower. 
