\vi-ir 
NOV. 44 
©RE’S RURAL NEW-YORKER. 
“THE SAME OLD CROWD.” 
BY CHARLOTTE N. CORDNER. 
Yes, ’tis “the same old crowd,” gathered together 
here, 
The same warm, generous hearts, and faces full of 
cheer.— 
The same, yet each day brings Time, on his noiseless 
wing,— 
Who leaves some silent trace of change in every¬ 
thing. 
Is it of nobler thought, or a more firm desire, 
To live so that each step may only lead us higher 
Till harmonies may flow, from sympathies In tune? 
If so. Time kindly brings us many an unseen boon. 
Day after day with smiles around the board we’ve 
met. 
And at one empty chair we all have felt regret.— 
As if a note was missed from out a wcll-lovod strain— 
The whole seems incomplete till it is heard again. 
What, arguments wo’ve hud, each striving for the 
right; 
While batteries of mirth have stormed the crowned 
bight; 
Till, from the mild affray, a truce has been declared— 
How kindly then we’ve seen all damages repaired. 
Yes, ’tis “ the same old crowd,” but may not coming 
years 
Bring with their share of smiles perhaps to each 
more tears 
Than we’ve together known ? If so, let memory 
turn 
At times to the old loves that in our hearts now burn. 
<$ur 
MY TALENT: 
OR, HOW IT ALL HAPPENED. 
BY MARY D. BRINE. 
On it certain morning, not so very long ago, 
Lou, Deli, and I were sitting in disconsolate 
mood in Lou's room. No word had been spoken 
for some time, but a desperate thinking was 
going on, you may be sure. LoUik had stretched 
herself upon the lounge, while Dull and I, for 
lack of comfortable chairs, were sit,Ling on the 
edge of the bed swinging our feet to and fro 
and staring moodily into the Ore. 
Papa had that morning informed us that he 
really could not struggle against fate any longer. 
We must look poverty boldly In the face and 
meet it bravoly. Whatever talents we possessed, 
he hoped that our good senso would prompt us 
to use for our mutual advantage, etc., etc. Then 
he went down town for un anxious day 
amongst books and papers, leaving us— 
“the girls’’—to plan and fret over what 
could not bo helped. 
Two years previous papa had been quite IS 
a rich man, and we were a happy family |§i 
enough. We talked about “ Our Sot," and if™ 
mamma gavercchcn/ic little dinners which I 
attracted hosts of flattering friends. Lou. * 
Dell and I were called the "Three Graces" 
—a compliment, 1 beg leave to say, not ail 
undeserved, if one might judge our family 
portraits to he correct, and altogether we 
lived, moved ami had our being in a flood 
of sunshine which forbade the very remot¬ 
est anticipation of trouble nr disappoint¬ 
ment. 
But trouble did come, however, and In 
the midst of it dear, gentle mamma was 
taken (tick. We watched her day by day 
gradually growing thinner and paler, and 
weaker too, until one night she kissed us 
all and then went alono across the dark 
river, leaving us on the shore vainly reach¬ 
ing our arms to draw her back to us. But 
we could only kiss the closed eyes and 
quiet hands, and then lay the dear body- 
under the daisies forever away from our 
sight — then, afterwards taking up the 
brokon days—we lived them sorrowfully, 
with a sense of loneliness which almost 
drove us mad, it was so hard to hear with 
the poverty which had come upon us. 
Meanwhile, things kept growing worse 
with papa's business affairs, ai d finally he 
could not conceal the truth from us any 
longer. So now we were sitting, as I de¬ 
scribed in the beginning of my sketch, 
moodily thinking and planning for the fu¬ 
ture. 
Louie spoke first. “What shall we do, 
girls?” she asked, pushing the soft chest¬ 
nut hair wearily back from her forehead, 
and turning her anxious grey eyes to Dell 
and myself. 
“Weil, you can draw and paint, you know, 
Lou, and maybe you can sell your sketches 
for good prices. I can teach singing, I sup¬ 
pose, though it will be an awful bore, and 
I never did have much ptitience with stupid ^ 
children." 
"Yes," replied Louie, thoughtfully. " I 
can at least try and make use of my talent. 
Paintings don’t sell very rapidly, though, 
unless the artist is some very great man !u 
his line. 0. dear! if only the dear old days 
could Come back!” 
Her eyes filled with tears, and I echoed 
her sigh, speaking for the first time. "I 
only wish mamma could come back; I 
wouldn’t mind the poverty so much!” 
“Dearmamma!" murmured Lou; “but 
much as wo want her, It ought to comfort 
us when we think that she is at least safe 
from all that troubles us." 
Dell bit her lips to keep the tears back, but 
in our hearts the memory of mamma kept us 
silent for some time. 
"Well," said l, finally," what can 1 do to help 
along?” 
“You!” replied Dell, "O, you can make 
cookies and go about the streets selling them 
at two for a penny. That is all you seem to bo 
able to do, Nita Sherman ! You never did 
have talents like other people !" 
"Well,"! retorted angrily, "at least that Is 
more of housekeeping than you understand, 
Miss Dell, and I rather think if I didn’t make 
the cookies, you’d have to waul them!" 
Louie looked distressed. “ Do stop quarrel¬ 
ing, girls, and try to realize our position. I shall 
begin to-morrow and paint a little sketch which 
may find a purchaser rnaybo at Mr. Reynolds’ 
art store. But I feel hardly competent to offer 
my productions lor sale.” 
"All right!" said Dell, “and I’ll go out to¬ 
morrow—no, this very afternoon—and hunt up 
pupils. I'll only charge ton dollars per quarter 
and see how I get on. But mercy! don’t I hate 
this kind of thing I” 
“Shall we have to give up Bridget?" 
“ I hope not yet awhile," replied Louie. " If 
we can earn anything for ourselves we can easily 
keep help; don’t you think so?" 
"Andean / do nothing to help?” I sighed, 
conscious how useless I was comparod to my 
talented sisters. 
"You Can be our little housekeeper, NiTA," 
said Lou, smiling her own sweet smile that 
made her face so beautiful. "You shall be 
housekeeper, and while Dell and I are busy 
you can keep things in order at home, and take 
care of papa, you kuow.” 
Dell laughed, sauntered to the small mirror, 
fixed her fair little crimps on her forehead, ad¬ 
mired her blonde beauty, and then sailed out 
of the room to dress for the hunting expedition, 
Louie, our eldest, had just passed Iier twenty- 
first birthday. She was not strong and well, 
like Dell and myself; on the contrary, we had 
every reason to fear that she would be the first 
of the daughters whom mamma would welcome 
to the far off land. A sweet, loveable girl she 
was, and might have been married a yonr ago in 
a rich man who worshipped her, If her heart 
had not been buried In Richard Ware’s grave 
away across tbe water. Dell, aged nineteen, 
was pretty enough but not half s > good and 
true as sister Louie, I thought, but at least 
She could earn something to "keep the pot 
boiling" (excuse the phrase), while I could 
only stand upon the highest point of my seven¬ 
teen years and look longingly up to tho bights 
she and Lou had readied, without being able 
to lift a finger for their aid or my own. 
“Nevermind!" I bought I, "I can do the best 
I can at home, and smooth the wrinkles out of 
papa’s home-life, at any rate! " 
8o, after Dell had gone out, and while Lou 
was arranging her paints and easel, I rummaged 
over papa’s drawers and mended every broken 
stitch visible to the naked eye. Then I hunted 
up a piece of Lou’s old black silk dress and 
made a new necktie for him, because I had 
noticed at breakfast that morning howBhabby 
and white was the one lie wore. As Lou had 
generally attended to papa’s tilings, it seemed 
rather tiresome work to me; but I kept at It 
until the day bad nearly slipped away before I 
was dressed and ready to welcome papa borne 
from his otllco. By-and-by in came Dell. She 
was triumphant, because six pupils had beer, 
promised her: and she was to begin her duties 
fairly the next. day. it hurt her pride (she had 
a goodly show of that article) to be called a 
" singing teacher,” of course ; lmt “ what can’t 
be cured must bo endured," she know, so she 
bottled her pride and put it on the shelf. 
Papa was pleased when our plans were ex¬ 
plained to him, and smiled, I verily believe, for 
the first time in a week. Days passed and Loui u 
painted industriously, and many a “dainty bit 
of color," as the artists say, found its way to 
Reynold's art store for exhibition. The man 
happened to be a good-natured soul, and was 
“glad to interest himself for a lady," he said, 
when Louie went, to see him. Her brush was 
never idle, and the pale cheeks grew paler and 
thinner for all the hard labor. How many 
secret crying spoils I bud over my own Inability 
to help In the work or self-support nobody 
knew,but tears didn't better matters any after 
all. Dell went, her rounds each day, and was 
succeeding very nicely, although terribly bored j 
with tho stupidity of some of her pupils. I 
still busied myself with household matters, but 
it must be confessed, with shame, my appetite 
was unusually sharp (on account of unusual 
exorcise, I suppose.) and I ate more than my 
share of table supplies at every meuJ. Butter 
was tremendously high, and 1 had a perfect 
passion for that article. Tho butcher and 
baker seemed to delight in charging us beyond 
our means to pay. 1 knew thut every hearty 
meal I ate was actually so much money de¬ 
voured ; and yet, while papa, Lou and Dell 
frequently had to coax their appetites, I was 
never at, a loss to dispose of all and more than 
was placed before mo. 
“This will never do," said I to myself one 
day. "Nurt Sherman, you'll eat your family 
out of house and homo If you're not careful, 
you horrible greedy girl! And you not earning 
a cent to pay for all this stuffing! You ought 
to be ashamed or yourself!" And 1 wiis ashamed 
of myself, but that didn't make me any the less 
a great, healthy, hungry damsel. And so one 
-A-W UNEXPECTED GHTEST.-(See ipug;© 333.) 
night after I had gone to bed, I decided that It 
might he possible that Nita Sherman was in¬ 
tended for an authoress. Who could tell what 
hidden talent a little effort on my part would 
bring to light ? i would write an affeotingpoem 
and send it slyly to some editor. What fun it 
would be to surpriso the family with a check 
for—well, surely not less than twenty-five dol¬ 
lars ! 1 had heard that was what some writors 
received; why not I? 
Bo tlio next day l shut myself In my room and 
rubbed up my Ideas to the best of rny ability. 
But somehow they didn't seem to shine partic¬ 
ularly bright, for l couldn’t find a soil able 
rhyme for the second line of my poem to save 
my life! I had alluded to a "pining heart,” 
and tried to make tho verses very effective. In 
vain I said over in my mind, heart, art, dart, 
smart, tart, cart, and goodness knows what 
else. Nothing seemed to give it, quite tho effect 
l desired, and finally I tore the hi tended poem 
into bits and began a story. Thai I considered 
the masterpiece of perfection, and folded my 
M8B. of thirty-two pages with Intense satisfac¬ 
tion. The only fault I believed it to have was 
its brevity; but I bud been quite unable to 
stretch my ideas beyond the thlrty-Becoud page, 
and so my story was reluctantly concluded. I 
took it secretly to the editor of "-Woekly.” 
That gentleman looked at mo through blue 
glasses, removed a. cigar from his mouth, glan¬ 
ced with a business-like air over my MSS., 
coughed,—and "regretted lie could find no use 
for the article." I went into the street several 
inches shorter In my own estimation, but, de¬ 
termined not to give up the ship, proceeded to 
another editor’s sanctum and left my story, 
promising to return next day and learn tho 
result. 
Going down the long staircase my ankle turn¬ 
ed and I slipped unceremoniously into the very 
arms of a gentleman who chanced to be coming 
up. No doubt his timely “catch" saved mo se¬ 
rious injury, and I thanked him warmly. He 
insisted upon putting me in a car, and, with a 
laugh which neither of us could help, we de¬ 
scended tlie stairs together und 1 was soon 
speeding homeward. Lou was busy with her 
easel and Dell was describing her day’s doings, 
and 1 listened to all their talk, keeping my own 
secret locked safely within my heart, but think¬ 
ing meanwhile what a good, handsome face my 
unknown preserver possessed. 
The next day I called for either my check or 
my MSS., and was greatly disappointed at re¬ 
ceiving the latter. As 1 reached tho street this 
time in safety, a voice behind me said, "I hope 
you are quite recovered from your mishap of 
yesterday, madam.” 1 turned to seo my new 
acquaintance lifting his hat, and smiling at me 
from the door of the publishing house. Blush¬ 
ing, (I always do blush like a goose,) I re¬ 
plied, "Thank you,sir, t am quite well!’’ 
** Have 1 the pleasure of speaking to one 
of our contributors?” ho asked pleasantly, 
and I answered confusedly, " I culled on — 
on a friend’s behalf. She wished mo to seo 
—to ask if—to offer some Uti le article sho 
had written. Good morning, sir," and with 
the guilty feeling that a downright fib al¬ 
ways causes, I hurried away. Reaching 
home I went straight to tho kitchen and 
presently my thirty-two pages of rejected 
matter assisted the tca-kottJe in holJlng, 
and with the steam from tho latter away 
up the chimney went my Idea that I was a 
natural-born authoress. The twenly-Qve 
dollar check waa less easily relinquished, 
but. it was a vast comfort to know that no¬ 
body guessed my foolishness. 
Well, days slipped into nights and nights 
into days, and things seemed to tmprove 
but little. Louie’S pictures w’ere terribly 
sacrificed, we thought, and Dell didn’t 
think It paid to fret and fume over stupid 
people for a paltry ten dollars per quarter. 
Besides, it hurt her pride to receive money 
from people who had known her In hap¬ 
pier days. I still mended papa’s things, 
and did what I eoukl about tho house, hut 
many a night my pillow was wet with tears 
because of my uselessness. 
Well, one day Louie slipped and sprained 
her ankle. The accident confined her to 
the lounge, but though she could yet iue 
her brush, there was an end forsotne weeks 
to her moving about. Bo the conundrum 
was propounded, “ O, girls, what shall I do 
now?” 
"Give It up, Lou!” replied Dell, and 
of course if Dell couldn’t guess it I could 
n't presume to try, so I also said, "Give it 
up, Lou 1" 
My sister looked down at her bandaged 
foot disconsolately, theaeald," Nita, dear, 
would you Just as lief take my sketches 
about for me until I am able to walk 
again V" 
"O, yes,” laughed Dell, "you can be 
errand girl, Nita ; there’s talent for you to 
develop!" 
Ignoring Dell’s Bpeeoh I replied to Lou. 
" B.ess you, dear heart, that is just what, I 
triU do, Louie, and thank you for making 
me at last useful!" 
go it was all settled and day after day 1 
trotted back and forth with sketches and 
thB money they brought, never tired of 
serving my patient, sweet sister, who grew 
whiter than any lily as the tiresome weeks 
| went by. Besides, tho art store was right 
close to a certain publishing house, and I 
used to meet somebody every day quite— 
well, tnuyhc it was accidental, but 1 snrne- 
- J times fancied he watched for my coming. 
I had told him cl! about our circumstances 
