402 
MOORE’S RURAL NEW-YORKER. 
DEC. 49 
stroll serenely; seek some sequestered spot, 
some sylvan shade. Sparkling Springs Bhall 
sing soul-stirring strains; sweet sonagtersshall 
silence secret singings; supei-angclic sylphs 
shall,—Sophia snickered, 30 8am stopped. 
“Sophia," said Sam, solemnJy. 
“Sam," said Sophia. 
“Sophia, stop smiling. Sam Short's sincere. 
Sarn’s seeking some sweet spouse, Sophia.” 
Sophia stood silent. 
“Speak, Sophia, speak I such suspense spec¬ 
ulates sorrow. 
“ Seek sire, Sam, seek sire.” 
So Sam sought sire—Spriggs said “ Sartin." 
brought, and among other bachelor* with 
whom a correspondence was recommended 
was Fitz-Gxeene Halleok. The proposal passed 
as a Jest, but In a few minutes Miss Abby Flan- 
ner, a young woman Of bright and vivacious 
talents, stepped out of the bouse, returned to 
her home, and indited a poetic epistle to Hal- 
leck. It was capped with the words, “New 
Year’s Night—The Merry Mock Bird’s Song,” 
and was really poetic, as these stanzas will 
show: 
“ A* when she roamed, a careless child 
To pinch the forest t>ios*oro# wild. 
Oft climbed some pendant brow 
OX roc* or cliff, to gainer there 
Some templing flower that looked more fair 
'than ali that bloomed below. 
I 
vel I kep' a thiukln’ all the time how glad 
Lot would be to see me to hum aglD, and I 
sighed a sigh of satisfaction when at last the 
inglne stopped rite to the depot whar I got out. 
I am free to confess to ye, gals, that my old 
body was lame and stiff for many a day after 
that trip, and I didn’t keer about goiti’ about 
much, ye see. Lot he was powerful glad when 
I walked In upon him. But he wa* so beat 
when I tolled him my story that tie larfed that 
ore larf of hia'n till I was that riled I well nigh 
slapped him—a thing I ain't done, gals, for this 
twenty year. 
“Wall, gals, I’m done now. S’pose ye'll larf 
a sight when ye git hum ; but ye may ef ye’ve a 
min’ ter. Ill I say is, I’ve seen all of New York 
Town I want ter see, and I do enjoy my vlttels 
a sight better to hum, where I cau eat till I’m 
olean filled up without havin' my plate drawed 
away afore I'm nigh through ; and I feel free to 
confess It's a comfort to git up and smooth 
myself once In a while, without being scart. 
lest a sassy roan behind should draw my chair 
away. I ain’t sot down bard onto the floor 
seuce 1 kem back, and It's a massy my old 
bones waan't bruk that day at the tavern. 
La! how late It Is, to be«ure Good-by, gals. 
My I AUGU8TV Brown, does yor roa allow of 
yer to wear sech long dresses a trailin’ in the 
dirt V Ain’t they orful hard tew wash ?” 
- *■■*■•*■ - 
SIMON SHORT’S SON SAMUEL. 
Wie anticipate a half dozen chiding letters for 
publishing the following “ nonsense,” but the 
little story la at once so flue an example of per¬ 
severance and wit that we shall take the risks, 
recollecting the while that, 
“ A little nonsense, now and then, 
Is relished by the wisest men.” 
Shrewd Simon Short actved shoes. Seventeen 
Summent, speeding storms, Bpreadingaunsliiiie, 
successively aaw Simon’s small shabby ahop 
still standing staunch ; saw Simon’s self-game 
squeaking sign still swinging, si Ion My specify- 
ing;—“Simon Short, Smithtteld’aaolesurvivtng 
shoemaker. Shoes sewed, soled scxperfinely." 
Simon’s spry, sedulous spouse, Sally Short, 
sowed skirts, stitched sheets, stuffed sofas. 
Simon’s six stout, sturdy sons, Seth, Samuel 
Stephen, Saul, Silas, Shadrach, sold sundries. 
Sober Seth sold sugar, starch, apices; simple 
Sam sold saddles, stirrups, screws; sagacious 
Stephen sold silks, satins, shawls; skeptical 
Saul sold sliver salvers; selfish Shadrach sold 
salves, shoe strings, soap, saws, skates; slack 
Silas sold Sally Short's stuffed sofas. 
Some seven Summers since, Simon's second 
sou, Samuel, saw Sophia SofroniaSpriggs some¬ 
where. Sweet, sensible, smart Sophia Sofronia 
Spriggs. Sam soon showed si range symptoms, 
Sam seldom stayed storing, selling saddles. 
Sam sighed sorrowfully, sought Sophia Sofro- 
nia’s society, sang several serenades slyly. 
Simon stormed, scolded severely, said Sam 
seemed so silly singing such shameful, senseless 
songs. “Strange, Sam should slight such 
splendid sales’ Strutting spendthrift! sbat- 
tered-braln simpleton 1“ 
“Softly, softly, sire,” said Sally. “Sam’s 
smitten; Satn's spied some sweetheart.” 
“Sentimental schoolboy!” snarled Simon. 
“Smitten I Stop such stuff.” Simon sent Sally’s 
snuff-box spinning, seized Sally's scissors 
smashed Sally’s spectacles, scattering several 
spools. Sneaking scoundrel! Satn's shocking 
silliness shall suroousel” Scowling, Simon 
stopped speaking, starting swiftly shop ward. 
SaJly sighed sadly. Summoning, flam, she 
spoke sweet sympathy. 
“Sam,” said she, “sire seems singularly 
snappy; so, sonny, stop strolling streets, stop 
smoking segars, spending speoie superfluously ; 
stop spruoittgso; stop singing serenades; stop 
short; sell saddles; sell sensibles; see Sophia 
Sofronia Spriggs soon ; she's sprightly ; she’s 
stable; so solicit; sue, secure Sophia speedily, 
Bam." 
“So soon? 80 soon? said Sam, standing stock 
still. 
“So soon, surely,” said Sally, smilingly; 
“specially alnoe slro shows such spirits.” 
So Sam, somewhat scared, sauntered slowly, 
shaking stupendously. Sam soliloquizes: 
“Sophia Sofronia Spriggs,—Short,—Sophia So¬ 
fronia Short,—Samuel Short’6 spouse,—sounds 
splendidly; suppose she should say,—She 
sha'n’t,—she sha’n't 3” 
Soon Sam spied Sophia starching shirts, stng- 
I ng softly. Seeing Sam, she stopped starching, 
saluting Sain smilingly. Sam stammered shock¬ 
ingly. 
“ Spl-spl-splendid Summer season, Sophia." 
“ Somewhat sultry,” suggested Sophia. 
“ Bar-ssxtin," said Sam (Silence seventeen 
seconds.) 
“Sellingsaddles still, Sam?” 
“Sar-sartin,” said Sam, starting suddenly. 
“ Season's somewhat sudorific," said Sam, 
stealthily, staunohingstreaining sweat, shaking 
sensibly. 
“ Sartin,” said Sophia, smiling significantly. 
“Sip some sweet sherbet, Saul.” (Silence 
sixty-six seconds.) 
“ Sire shot sixty sheldrakes, Saturday," said 
Sophia. 
“Sixty? shol” said Sam. (Silence seventy- 
seven seconds.) 
“ See sister Sudan's sunflowers,” said Sophia, 
specially silencing such stiff silence. 
Sophia's sprightly sauciuess stimulated Sam 
strangely; so Sam suddenly spoke sentimen¬ 
tally. “Sophia, Susan's sunflowers seem say¬ 
ing, “ Samuel Short ” Sophia Sofronia Spriggs ” 
THE BOOK AGENT. 
Ilk was tall and solemn and dignified. One 
would have thought him a Roman senator on 
Ids way to make a speech on finanoe, but he 
wasn't—singularly enough, be wasn't. He was 
a book agent. He wore a linen duster, and his 
brow was furrowed with many care-lines, as if 
Jic had been obliged to tumble out of bed every 
other night of his life to dose a sick child. He 
called Into a tailor shop on Randolph street, 
removed his hat, took his “Live* of Eminent 
Philosophers” from his cambric bag and ap¬ 
proached the tailor with : 
“ J.’d like to have you look at this rare work.” 
“ I haf no lime,” replied the tailor. 
“ It Is a work which every thinking man 
should delight, to peruse," continued the agent. 
“Zo?" said the tailor. 
“ Yes, it is a work on which a great deal of 
deep thought, has boon exponded, and It is pro¬ 
nounced by such men as Wendell Phillips to be 
a work without a rival In modern literature.” 
"Makes anybody laugh when he zees it ?” 
asked the tailor. 
“No, my friend, thlsisadecp, profound work 
as 1 have already said. it. deals with such 
characters us Theocritus, Socrates and Plato 
and Ralph Waldo Emerson. If you desire a 
work on which the most eminent author of our 
day has sponf years of study and research, you 
can find nothing to compare with this.” 
"Does it speak about how to glean cloze?" 
anxiously asked the man of the goose. 
“My friend, this Is no receipt-book, but an 
eminent work on philosophy, as l have told 
you. Years were consumed in preparing this 
volume for the press, and none but the clearest 
mind could have grasped the subjects herein 
discussed. If you desire food for deep medita¬ 
tion you have It. hero.” 
“Does dis pook say sumdlng about der Prus¬ 
sian war?” asked the tailor, as he threaded his 
needle. 
“My friend, this i* not an every day book, 
but a work on philosophy—a work which will 
soon be In the bands of every profound thinker 
In the country. What, is t he art of philosophy ? 
This book tells you. Who were and who are 
our philosophers? Turn to these pages fora 
reply. As 1 said before, I don’t see how you 
can do without it.” 
“ Und he dod’t haf anydings about some fun, 
eh ?" inquired the tailor, as the book was held 
out to him. 
“My friend, most I again inform you that 
this Is not an ephemeral work—not a collection 
of nauseous trash, but a rare, deep work on phi¬ 
losophy. Here, see the name of tbs author. 
That name alone should be proof enough to 
your mind that the work cannot be surpassed 
for profundity of thought. Why, &ir, Gerrlt 
Smith testifies to the greatness of this volume 1 ” 
“I not knows Mr. Schmidt—I make no cloze 
mit him,” returned the tiilor In a doubting 
voice. 
“Then you will let me ie^ve your place with¬ 
out having secured your name to this volume! 
Turn these leaves and see these gems of richest 
thought! Ah! if we only had such minds and 
could wield such a pen 3 But we can read, and 
in a measure we can belike him. Every family 
should have this noble work. Let me put your 
name down, the book is only $12." 
“ Zwelve dollars for der pook 3 Zwelve dollar 
und he has noddiugs shout der war. und no fun 
In him, an say noddiugs how to get glean cloze 1 
What do you take toe for, mister? Go right 
away mil dat pook or I call der bolioe and haf 
you locked up pooty quick." 
A POET’8 MYSTEEY REVEALED. 
Among the love episodes of distinguished 
men, there is rarely one so romantically vague 
and elusive as that of the bachelor poet, Fltz- 
Greena Halleck. His biographer, publishing a 
poem of Halleck's to Ellen, can only regret hts 
Inability to recover the poem to wbioh it was 
a response, and cau give no clew to the Identity 
of the woman with whom tor some time the 
poet carried on an Inti mate correspondence. 
In 1858 . twenty years after the letters ceased, 
Halleck wrote to a friend near the Ohio River, 
that something the latter had said Induced him 
to hope that bis friend would “ hasten to give 
mo happy tidings of the welfare of the lady you 
name, the heroine of my life’s most cherished 
romance, whose memory has heretofore been 
numbered among the dearest of my inconsid¬ 
erable joys.” 
The story is told at last by a correspondent 
of the Indianapolis Journal, A party o£ young 
people of Mt. Pleasant, O., were watching the 
old year out; the ln-oomiug year being 183 ti— 
leap year. Amid the merriment of the occa¬ 
sion, It was suggested that the young ladies 
should avail themselves of the privilege it 
So now, like Eve in Paradise, 
Though numerous offerings round her rise 
Ofkjve and friendship ldamn, 
With many a sober blessing fraught, 
She'd give them all for one kind thought. 
One line from Halleck’* pen.” 
She signed the poem “ Ellen A. F. Campbell,” 
incorporating her initial* with the name of 
Scott’* “ Lady of the Lake," and forwarded It 
to the poet. In duo lime a long time in those 
days of coaching— she received the well-known 
poetic answer, “To Ellen-The Mocking Bird,” 
accompanied by a letter thanking her for her 
beautiful lines—“though they did not Berlously 
intend to make me a happy rnan, they have 
certainly made me a very proud one.” He 
asks her to accept a copy of his poems, and 
close* thus. “ I am, dear Miss Campbell, very 
gratefully, or, If you are in good earnest, as I 
very much fear you are not, I am, dearest 
Ellen, very affectionately yours.” 
The correspondence continued throughout 
the year, growing more and more interesting. 
The gay badinage ceased and was succeeded by 
earnestness on both sidos. Toward the end of 
the year she intimated that her privilege would 
soon expire and the correspondence close, but 
Mr. Huileck was too much engaged to allow 
this, and after a few more letters he aunouuced 
his intention of seeking the homo of his friend. 
This proposal filled Miss Planner with dismay; 
she seut her auswer by moans of a friend from 
Washington, eluded alt his efforts to discover 
her, and remained to hhu alwuys an “ Ellen of 
the mind" “a being of the air.” He never 
married, as we all know; she did marry, late In 
life, a man every way her inferior, and died 
within a year after. At the time of this brief 
romance, Abby Planner was twenty-sfx, tall, 
slender, graceful, with bright, hazel eyes, a 
wonderfully sweet smile, and a most delicate 
and sensitive nature. Her family were of the 
Society of Friends. 
--- 
LITEEARY WORK. 
Writers for newspapers, till they have learn¬ 
ed the ropes, know very little of what is re¬ 
quired to make their writing valuable. Every 
day letters come to us from men aud women in 
diffcieut parts of the country, asking us to ac¬ 
cept contributions for the paper and to remit 
for them such compensation as they are worth. 
Others write trusting to our well-known liberal¬ 
ity, and so forth. We receive poetry without 
rhythm or sentiment; prose devoid of truth or 
x-eaeon; articles that are neither original nor de¬ 
cently written, so full are they of blunders aud 
so illegible in the writing, with request to rs- 
wrlte, correct spelling, excuse mistakes, use 
and pay for them. 
To all person* wishing to write for newspa¬ 
pers we give this advice : 
Never write unless you have something to 
say. Quit writing when you have said it. 
Do not insult an editor or printer by sending 
manuscript written with pencil or ink that does 
not leave plain marks. 
Do not expect an editor to correct your spell¬ 
ing and rectify your errors. 
Never write to an editor that your article 
would have been better only that you had not 
the time to make it perfect. When a person 
writes to us that he or she could or can do bet¬ 
ter, we throw that article aside and wait for the 
better and more perfect one. When an editor 
gives place to articles admitted by its writer to 
be second-rate, he cuts his own throat, weak¬ 
ens his paper, encourages foolishness and helps 
to deteriorate his own products. 
Do not expect pay for your articles till you 
have written something that is worth some¬ 
thing to the editor or his paper. It is easier to 
cut from some other paper a good article full 
of sense t han to earn money to pay for some¬ 
thing merely to fill up. 
Remember that while you may be very proud 
to see your name in print the public cares 
nothing for It unless you say something from 
which the public will receive interest or 
benefit. 
Reputations are often worth more than the 
articles themselves. Often times, when a 
writer commands an audience, when the arti¬ 
cles from his or her pen are looked for and In 
demand, they are worth paying for, never till 
then, unless the article is merely descriptive of 
an event and of the nature of fresh news. 
Never write on more than one side of your 
paper. 
Do not be offended if your ’articles are criti¬ 
cised. The public has a right to ci’itioise what¬ 
ever it pays for. 
D<» not be offended if your articles are not 
read. Do not expect it to be retux-ned to you 
unless you enclose stamps and envelope for 
such purpose. 
Skinner keeps a hotel in Chicago, It is a 
good name to keep a hotel with. 
Sabbath pleading. 
CITY ORPHANS. 
BY S. 8. HAGNER. 
Fatherless, motherless. 
Pity our tears— 
Think of our loneliness all through the years— 
Shelterless, comfortless, 
Out In the Cold- 
Open your heart to us, 
Lovers of gold. 
Born to he buffeted, 
Hunger and Boorn 
Are but our dally bread, 
Children forlorn. 
All who e’er xoved us are under the sod— 
Pity us, pray for us, 
Children of God. 
Lilt your robes daintily. 
’Tls here we dwell. 
Close to the confines 
Of Death and of Hell; 
Narrow and damp with the gloom of a vault,— 
Look not so loathingly. 
Is It our fault? 
Once we were Innocent, 
Long, long ago; 
Only to think of it 
Adds to our woe; 
But vaiDly we lift up our eyes to the light— 
We dwell in the shadow of sin and of night. 
-♦♦♦- 
THE SACKFUL OF EARTH. 
A rich man had by an unrighteous larw-sult 
obtained from a poor widow a small field, by 
the produce of whioh she was just able to 
maintain herself. The Inconsolable woman 
came to tlxe merciless man with the humble 
request that he would allow’ her to take away a 
sackful of curtb from her former possession. 
The rich man consented with a contemptuous 
smile; so the widow went with a large sack, 
and dug and shovelled (ill it was quite full from 
t he bottom to the top. When she had finished, 
she asked her plunderin', who had been looking 
on, to help her to lift the sack upon her shoul¬ 
ders. To this ho also consented, and exerted 
all hi* strength In order to lift the load; but It 
wa* of no use—It was too heavy. 
As he was about to go away to fetch a strong 
laborer to lift It, the widow held him back, and 
said, "Friend! stoyhere; as I a m obliged to 
give up the whole field to you, therefore I will 
leave you the sackful of earth uleo. But can 
1 ou answer me the following questioii, ‘ As this 
sack is uheady too heavy for you, will not. the 
whole field weigh still more heavily ou you be¬ 
fore God’s judgment-seat, and crush you to the 
ground V ” 
The man’s conscience was touched by this re¬ 
proof, and he gave tlxe field up again to the 
widow. 
- »4 » - 
CONTENTED PEOPLE. 
If the old definition of a rich man Is a good 
one “ one who has more than enough for hia 
wants,” some of the richest people In the werld 
are found in Africa. By tbi* definition there 
are two ways of getting rich, one Is to have 
great resource*, the other to havo few wants. 
In the latter line the Africans excel. Cousul 
Livlugatone tell* a good story of a Tribe, among 
whom a Jesuit missionary lived. He was eager 
to Improve their condition, and tried hard to 
persuade them to work a little more and in¬ 
crease their earnings. They wore no clothing, 
and their huts were often only roofs of palm 
branches open on all sides. He said to the 
natives,— 
“If you work a little every day, you can get 
clothes and houses like white people.” 
They were ready with a reply. “We don’t 
want to live inside clothes and houses like 
white men. You white men work aud make 
slaves of yourselves 10 buy clothes and houses; 
we are wiser, and live as God made us, like the 
bli’ds and the beasts.” 
- ■*-*-* - 
PEARLS OF THOUGHT. 
The prosperous man who yields himself up 
to temptation bids farewell to welfare. 
The present evil is often the husk in whioh 
Providence has enclosed the germ of future 
prospei’lty. 
Being positive in judgment to-day is no proof 
that we shall not be of a different opinion 
to-morrow. 
The training of children is a preparation for 
the gravest and most Important relations of 
life, and upon the character of our home-life 
must rest the well-being of our nation, and the 
permanence of all our institutions. 
Kindness is one of the purest traits that 
finds a place in the human heart. It is a part of 
our original constitution, implanted within us 
at the dawn of our existence by our Creator, 
with the command, “Love one auothex-.” 
A person is not worth much that has not had 
troubles. You cannot subdue selfishness with¬ 
out a struggle. You cannot restrain pride with¬ 
out a conflict. You cannot expect to go through 
life without bearing burdens. But you are 
going to have help under circumstances that 
will redeem you from these things. You are 
going to experience more victories than defeats. 
Your suffering will bo only here and there— 
little spots in a whole Held of peace aud joy. 
