MOORE’S RURAL NEW-YORKER. 
SEC. 42 
cy of birth and position, not In that of wealth, 
Mr. Hastings?" questioned Patience. 
“Oh,no! A man maybe so poor that he doe* 
not know where to find hie next dollar, and It * 
all the same to roe, If he's a gentleman born. 
Why, Miss Patience, 1 was very much interest¬ 
ed in the new minister, last Sunday, till Mr. F— | 
leaned over and whispered, * lie’s a brother of 
Mr. Stone, the tailor,’ and I was utterly disen¬ 
chanted. A minister, with a tailor for a broth¬ 
er ! -the ninth part of a man ! Think of It I” 
“ A further development of your loTty ideas!” 
said Patience, sarcastically. “ Then, Mr. Has¬ 
tings, you consider a trade so little honorable, 
you would have no relations In It?" 
“That is Just It,” he replied. "It Is degrad¬ 
ing to a man of good family to enter into busi¬ 
ness, even If he could make a fortune out of It. 
If I had a dozen sons, each of them should study 
a profession, enter the army or navy, or he a 
writer—nothing lower." 
“ But the professions are overcrowded in this 
country," said Patience. “Would you have 
them starve? Besides, your son’s mental cali¬ 
ber might he better adapted to business—what 
then?" 
“ I should not compel them, of course, to he 
what they could not; but I should use all my 
influence, as I have said. You worship the 
greenback too devoutly In this country. It is 
better to struggle with poverty than to descend 
In the social scale." 
"And I, Mr. Hastings, say that my washer¬ 
woman’s son, If he is a man of genius, Is Infin¬ 
itely superior to one of your namby-pamby 
heirs of the nobility, who is a contemptible 
hanger-on upon life, with desires ranging no 
higher than the last races and his coming of 
age," returned Patience, Indignantly. “And 
if the two are peers in Intellect l believe that 
they are equals in position. You say to me 
boldly, that If that boy should work and strug¬ 
gle and rise to fame, Influencing the nation by 
his mighty words, you would not admit him 
Into your charmed circle? In America, that is 
more than foolish." 
"It may he owing to my early Ideas that I 
think as l do. You are a thorough democrat, 
MissSTUAiiT—l am not. But 1 grant you more 
than l said. I would he willing to meet such 
an one, In this part of the world, on equal terms 
even admit him to my table; butlf itcameto 
marriage with any of mine, there would be an 
insupeiablo bar that he could not pass. No sis¬ 
ter of mine should marry a man in trade nor 
one who was not her equal In birth." 
“If you put up that brrrler you put up all," 
said Patience. "A half-way admittance is 
worth nothing. Genius Is alwayB to he rever¬ 
enced, of whatever order It Is. You receive, the 
honor instead of conferring it, when you meet 
one of these noble men. More than this, 1 be¬ 
lieve a man, a true, honorable gentleman, apart 
from histrade, be that what It may ; and again, 
trade itself is honorable. It calls forth differ¬ 
ent. powers of a man’s mind from a profession ; 
but there are mechanical geniuses, whose wis¬ 
dom has been a blessing to the world. Degrees 
infinite of glory there are ! Besides, One above 
worked here as a carpenter, which shows to me 
that, he dignified all labor—that of the hands as 
well as that of the brain." 
Gordon looked at her thoughtfully a mo¬ 
ment, for she spoke as If repressing much she 
would say, “ I did not mean to make my an¬ 
swer to your question such a serious thing,” he 
said, abruptly. “ But we are forgetting there 
is another feast than that of reason," as his 
father came toward Patience, with a spark¬ 
ling ire " Exeuso me a moment." 
He was surprised, almost angry; he was not 
used to have his opinions disputed, though 
when he thought it over he liked Patience 
none the less for it. His prejudices had been 
shaken from tlioir strong foundation, and the 
children came to school when the new term 
opened. What ho had said gave Patience a 
deeper insight Into his character, and she an¬ 
swered the question she had asked herself that 
afternoon No; one whose cherLshei opin¬ 
ions run counter to all of mine could never be 
to me what I dreamed and then she put the 
thought of him by. 
When he came buck with good things for her, 
Patience did not take up the thread of their 
earnest talk, and It went on by snatches, both 
conscious that a disturbing element had come 
between them. It was growing irksome, and 
Patience was glad to hear voices near her. 
“Did you know that John Binney had come 
home?” said the first; “Mrs. Hastings asked 
him here to-night, but he must have been too 
tired." 
"Yes, I knew he had come. He was Pa¬ 
tience Stuart’s sweetheart years ago. I won¬ 
der if the youthful affection Is dead?" 
The bright color flushed up Into Patience’s 
face, and she moved quickly from her nook, 
before she should hear more, just as Mr. Hast¬ 
ings, the elder,said, “My young friends, I have 
brought you an unexpected guest, who claims 
kinship with many of you, and who will close 
our entertainment in dramatic style. Allow 
me to introduce Aunt Nan," and a tall, mascu¬ 
line figure strode into the middle of the room, 
dressed in a long gray cloak, completely envel¬ 
oping her, so that the face could hardly be seen. 
Aunt Nan was a privileged character in the 
neighborhood, though those who did not know 
her well stood rather Sn aweof the wild-looking 
creature, half Indian and half civilized, whose 
history was hedged about with mystery from 
the time she first came to Winston. She hud 
groat faith in her own powers of healing and 
prophecy, and, attracted by the bright light 
from Mr. Hastings’, she had stepped in her 
wanderings and offered to add to the general 
good time by telling the fortunes of the merry 
company. 
“ I can tell ye all, ray clears, what has been," 
she said. In a deep, muffled voice, “ and what, 
the future has in store for ye," as the girls, 
eager and curious, pressed around her. 
“ A strange addition,” said Gordon to Pa¬ 
tience ; “ I don’t like it. Bee those girls drink 
In every word, and yet they will all devoutly 
declare they don’t pay a hit of attention to it." 
So Aunt Ann passed from one to another, 
with her long descriptions of the promised one 
—ids beauty, bis wealth and Ills wondrous en¬ 
dowments ; her ui falling predictions of Joy and 
grief, near at hand, or far off, the older people 
listening, meanwhile, with an amused smile at 
the linie variation in the monotonous tale. As 
she took Patience’s hand Bhe said, "Yours 
has been a checkered life; you-" 
“ You know what’s past, Aunt Nan,” inter¬ 
rupted Patience; “it’s the future I am most 
concerned about. 8o be sure mine is good.” 
“ As good as your dear heart can wish," was 
the reply; “ but there are two of tiietn, and 
you must make your choice. If you fake the 
wrong one, woe betide you ! He is rich, ho is 
handsome, but you are not for him. Be sure 
you think long. Do not choose hastily. The 
eternal stars have decreed that the faithful 
heart shall bo rewarded, iiun not counter to 
their decrees. Here Is vexation -here is wait¬ 
ing," as she bent her eyes upon the hand she 
held . “but. trifle not with the love that is long 
tried. Light is gleaming around you. Walk no 
longer In darkness. I can tell no more,” and 
swiftly as she came Aunt Nan went. 
"She played the mysterious to perfection," 
said Patience to Mr. Hastings on their way 
homo. “I was half inclined to believe it was 
not. A nut Nan, after all, there was something 
so very strange about her to-r.lght." 
“ 1 wish she had not come in," replied Gor¬ 
don. “ You arc going homo now to dream and 
plan till you make her words true." 
"What nonsense" was the answer, as Pa¬ 
tience said good night. 
“ The old-fashioned sociable was "splendid,” 
the girls said "the best time they’d had for 
over so long;" but they waited for their for¬ 
tunes In vain, for only one came true. * * ♦ 
Patience began the term in a brighter mood 
than before; t hings seemed to go more smooth, 
ly ; the scholars behaved better; she was hap. 
pier, for her old friend had come hack to Trim - 
ton. John bad been more to her in the old 
days than she ever owned, and now Ids presence 
stirred chords in her heart long silent. She be¬ 
gun to watch for his coming when the huur 
grew too late—to listen for Ids footstep and to 
know it among a thousand ; to weave strange 
fancies when she heard it at the end of the long 
garden walk; that It was coming on steadily 
and truly Into her life; that she was no longer 
alone, and that her love greeted him ere she 
saw him and told him the Bocret. Yet it was 
soberly, almost sadly, they talked—In very deed 
like long-parted friends who find something 
strange about each other since their paths di¬ 
verged, and who vainly strive to bridge over the 
emptiness by recounting in short, broken sto¬ 
ries all that has passed since they were to¬ 
gether. 
Sometimes they spoke upon indifferent mat¬ 
ters, and still John’s worda had a sweet, be¬ 
wildering charm Tor her. One night he told 
more of himself, what he had written since he 
left college, and how he had dreamed of suc¬ 
cess almost, tremblingly; but It had corne, and 
was she glad of It ? 
“Oh! so glad, John!"— and then she could 
not tell him any more; for she had built this 
castle for him, never thinking he would come 
to live in it. So she said good nighty and went 
away to think of all hia fame and honor. 
With his old boyi&h passion for machinery, 
John had invented a patent, since ho came 
back, that marvelously lightened the work in 
Winston and induced the directors to urge him 
to take charge of the mills. Patience won¬ 
dered what he wmuld say. Sho wished he 
wouldn’t accept, for he might do something so 
much better; but, of course, she could not in¬ 
fluence him. But she did, and she had not. long 
to wait. 
The sun was sinking low in the west in ablaze 
of crimson and purple, the last urchin had 
straggled out of the school-room, when John 
canie In to Uts old, familiar seat. “ What shall 
I do about this. Patience?" he said, after a 
while. “ How shall I decide? I should like It 
for about sir months for the novelty and to 
find out about the work, in case 1 should over 
need to fall back upon it In my old ago. 1 be¬ 
lieve, like the Jews, in men learning a trade, 
whatever else they design to be.” 
“How can I tell you, John ?" 
“ But you must, darling; it’s all for you and 
to please you, either w ay. I have wondered if 
you could love me ever since I went away, and 
I hoped, now that 1 had tried to show you what 
I was doing and what 1 meant to be, a little bit 
had sprung up In your heart. I would never ask 
this of you if I was not sure l could make your 
life happier and be, myself, some day, more 
worthy of you." 
John was always straightforward, and as he 
talked on in lover's teuder, earnest words, Pa¬ 
tience lifted those true, wonderful eyes to his, 
revealing their secret ere she said, “ John, I 
think I must have loved you alw’ays.” 
He took her In his arms, laid her weary head 
on his shoulder and they sat there, unconscious 
of the world, of the fading sunlight, of aught 
but the love that made them one forever. It 
would not grow old. They had no fear for the 
future. This moment of their lives was one 
that no trouble could reach. * * * * 
“But why, dear, do you care for this ppsi- 
tion ?>’ 
“I will tell you, Patience. Though I have 
met some little success, though my sketches 
have been accepted here and there, yet 1 have 
faint trust in the future, and i would have this 
other stronghold to flee to If poverty should 
ever threaten you, my darling. The life of an 
author is hard. Thera Is ever present with him 
the fear of disappointment and the doubt 
whether this is the work God meant him to do. 
Upon his success depends his belief in himself, 
and often be works on with a despairing sense 
of failure, alter he has reached one coveted 
goal. Even 'great men have an under.sense of 
powerlessuess, feeling that the greatness is not 
in them but through them, and that they could 
not do or he anything else than God made 
them.’ How much more do I fee] this when I 
am just beginning! Unwearied patience, cease¬ 
less effort—these are what a man must have. 
Yet the struggle makes id in strong, teaches 
him to estimate his own powers—to know what 
he can do by what he has done.” 
“John, dear, I can't help thinking how much 
nobler all you say Is than Hastings’ talk about 
trade and position. ! want you to accept the 
directors’ offer now for more than one reason — 
to show that I am not ashamed of you, what¬ 
ever you might, choose to he." 
Just then a rap was heard at the door and a 
small boy handed a note to Patience, saying 
he would wait for an answer. “ Prom Mr. Has¬ 
tings," said,P atience, with some surprise; 
but her color deepened as she read oil. " Would 
you have thought It, John?” she whispered. 
“ What a mighty stoop for his pride! lint, 1 
suppose I should be raised if 1 married him. As 
I am not a man the theory does not hold good 
in my case." 
John's faeo shone with amused delight as he 
said:- “ Patience, you have a grain of super¬ 
stition in you, I know. * He is rich, he is hand¬ 
some, hut lie is not for you.’ You don’t dare 
choose him aftur Aunt Nan’s warning. 1 leave 
you full power to do It, If you will." 
“ Why, John, how did you hear that foolish 
fortune? You were not there." 
“Aunt Nan, at your service, my dear!” he 
replied, with a respectful how. “The veritable 
fortune-teller was some ten miles away on that 
eventful evening when 1 came, incognito, to get 
a glimpse of my little sweetheart and see if she 
cared for that other one, as report said." 
"And you went away satisfied, Mr. Impu¬ 
dence?" 
“ Yes, in part; but 1 thought It safe to throw 
n warning damper on any possible flame.” 
"Well,” said Patience, with mock resigna¬ 
tion,"! cannot‘run counter to the decree of 
the eternal stars;'’’ and she caught up her 
pencil and wrote the laconic reply : 
“With many thanks, I miiBt decline your visit, 
this evening. 1 have chosen the trade .. 
“ Patience Stitaiw." 
So Patience left her school for the sweet 
home life she longed for; and years after, wiien 
John had written many books and was famous, 
they never regretted bis short apprenticeship 
to the trade. 
-- 
SPUNKY SALLY ANN. 
To the Public Whereas, my husband, Ed¬ 
ward H. Jones, has falsely adveitised that I 
have left his bed and board, and that he will 
pay no debts of my contracting, &c. This Is to 
inform the public that the aforesaid Edward 
H. Jones had neither bed nor board for me to 
leave, he having been living at the expense of 
my father; and further, under pretense of pro¬ 
curing money to pay his way to Birmingham, 
Conn., ho borrowed a dollar of my father, and 
with that he paid for his lying advertisement 
against me ; and even after that dastardly act 
he took all the money l hud and borrowed every 
oent In my mother's possession, arid left town. 
For the past three months he has been kept 
from nakedness and starvation by the exertions 
of myself and relatives. He squandered in dis- 
sipatlon all the money his inborn laziness 
would allow him to earn. 
The scamp need not have advertised that he 
would pay no debts of my contracting, for the 
public well know that he could not pay even 
his own. 
He Is a lazy, ungrateful, loafing scoundrel. 
Not content with living at the expense of my 
relatives and borrowing their money, he pub¬ 
lishes an outrageous lie. life bed and board, 
Indeed! If left to himself, his bed would be 
nothing but a hoard , and I should not be sur¬ 
prised If the bed he dies on were made of 
boards, with a strong cross-beam overheud. 
Sarah A. Jones. 
-- 
A Regular Habit.— Doddington fell asleep 
one day after dinner, with Sir Richard Temple, 
Lord Cobham, and others, and was reproached 
for his drowsiness. He denied having been 
asleep, and to prove it, offered to repeat all 
Cobham had been saying. Cobham challenged 
him to do so. Doddington repeated a story, 
and Cobham owned he had been telling it.— 
“ Well,” said Doddington," and yet 1 did not 
hear a word ot it; but, 1 went to sleep, because 
that I knew about this l ime of the day you would 
tell that story.." 
-:-♦♦♦- 
Let the ideals of us, in the hearts that love 
us, he prophetic of what w e shall become. 
^atrkth Reading. 
SWEET ALYSSUM. 
- i 
BY AI.IQUA. 
It was autumn when she wandered from-our vision,— 
As the summer green took on a russet shade,— 
Passing out from earth unto the Helds elysian 
Where the beauty and the brightness never fade. 
The sweet tiny lips were icy as we kissed them, 
And the baby hands lay still In death’s embrace : 
All about her thon we wreathed the sweet alyssum. 
Just a spray of waxen buds beside her face. 
When death leads away the children how we miss 
them! 
What a brightness can a baby presence shed! 
Now whene’er I catch a breath of sweet alyssum 
I think only of our darling who is dead. 
In the Saviour’s garden where the Life stream 
flowing 
Waters all the perfect blossoms fair and sweet. 
I love to fancy our little one is growing 
Jtist the fragrant sweet alyssum at His feet. 
Newark, N. Y..187L 
- * » » 
• “MY MASTER IS ALWAYS IN.” 
One day a lady came home from shopping. 
Her little boy did not meet, ber and throw his 
arms round her neck, ms he was In the habit, of 
doing, to show how glad bo was to have her 
come homo again, instead of this, ho soeraed 
to bo afraid to look his mother in the face, and 
kept out of her way as much as ho could all 
day. His mother thought it very strange, and 
wondered what was the matter. 
At the close of the day she found the reason. 
When she was undressing him to go to bed, he 
said. 
“ Mother, can God see through the crack in 
the closet door? ” 
“Yes,”said his mother. 
“And can he see when it is all dark there?" 
“ Yes," Bhe said : “ ho can see us at all times 
and at all places.” 
"Then God saw me," said the littlo fellow. 
“ When you were gone out, 1 got into the closet 
and ate up all the cake. 1 am very sorry. 
Please forgive me," and he laid his bead on his 
mother’s lap, and cried bitterly. 
"Johnny," said a man, winking slyly to a 
clerk of his acquaintance in a dry-goods store, 
you must give me extra measure. Your master 
is not in." 
Johnny looked up In the mail’s face very 
seriously, and,said, “ My Master is always in." 
Johnnie's master was the all-seeing God. Let 
us all, when we are tempted to do wrong adopt 
Johnnie’s mottoMy Master is always in." 
It will save us from many a sin, and so from 
much sorrow. 
-♦♦♦- 
PEARLS OF THOUGHT. 
Every morning is a sort of resurrection. At 
night wo lay us down to sleep, stripped of our 
garments, as our souls w ill be of their bodily 
array when we come to die; hut the morning 
wakes us, and if it be a Sabbath morning, we 
do not put on our work-day clothes, but flud 
our Sabbath dress ready at hund; even thus 
shall we be eatirlled w hen w’o wake up in our 
Master’s likeness, no more to put on the solid 
garment of earth, but to find it transformed 
into a Sabbath robe, In which wo shall be beau¬ 
tiful aud fair, even as Jesus our Lord Himself. 
Spwrown. 
A holy life is made up of a number of small 
things. Little words, not eloquent speeches 
or sermons; little deeds, not miracles nor bat¬ 
tles nor one great, heroic act, or mighty martyr¬ 
dom, make up the true Christian life. The lit¬ 
tle, constant sunbeams, not the lightning; the 
w'aters of Siloam, "that go softly" in their 
meek mission of refreshment, not the waters 
of " the river, great aud many,” rushing down 
iu torrent, noise and force, are the true symbols 
of a holy life.— Rona/r, 
Mental Prayer, when our spirits wander, is 
like a watch standing still, because the spring 
is down; wind It up again, and it goes on regu¬ 
larly. But In vocal prayer, if the words run on 
and the spirit wanders, the clock strikes false 
the hand points not the right hour, because 
something is in disorder, and the striking is 
nothing but noise.— Jeremy Taylor. 
LOOK above you, and in the overarching 
firmament read the truth of an all-pervading 
Providence. Yon sky is God’s outspreaeij^and, 
and the glitteriug stars are the jewels on the 
fingers of the Almighty. Do you not see that 
His band closes round you on all sides, and 
that you cannot go where universal love shines 
not?— OUl. 
Reverence the highest, have patience with 
the lowest. Let this day’s performance of the 
meatiest duty be thy religion. Are the stars 
too distant, pick up the pebble that lies at thy 
feet and from it learn all. 
God is not only the rewarder, but is Himself 
the reward of Ills saints. A king may enrich 
his subjects with gratuities; but he bestows 
himself upon his queen. 
No one should be satisfied who is not daily 
adding to his stores of knowledge, and at the 
same time increasing his facility in using what 
he has. 
Seclusion from the world prepares us for 
i communion with God ; and communion w r ith 
God prepares us for intercourse with the world. 
