■< 
i 
MOORE’S  RURAL  NEW-YORKER 
self.  Wlien  lie  came  to  read  he  was  much  embar¬ 
rassed  and  cast  furtive  glances  and  made  a  dodg¬ 
ing  motion  as  If  he  expected  to  bo  beaten,  which 
pained  mo  exceedingly. 
Ills  spoiling  was  no  better  than  hla  reading.  Ho 
mtssed  nearly  every  word  and  the  two  studies 
were  all  ho  pursued. 
“  Hid  you  over  study  Mental  Arithmetic,  Chau- 
LiE  7”  I  asked. 
“No,  ma’am;  1  halnt  no  book." 
“  Mother  thinks  he  ought  not  to  study  It  till  he 
has  learned  to  road  and  spell  better,”  his  sister 
explained. 
By  this  time  1  had  learned  that  two  neatly- 
dressed,  bright-looking  girls,  one  older  and  one 
younger  than  hlmseU,  worn  his  sisters;  and  a 
little  boy  of  eight  years,  who  could  read  readily 
In  the  Third  Uoador,  was  hts  brother. 
The  third  day  at  noon,  I  sat  down  to  ponder 
what  was  to  bo  done  with  my  dull  scholar.  It  did 
not  seem  to  mo  sti  much  dullness,  but.  I  could  not 
make  out  what  It  was.  lie  had  a  sullen,  dogged 
expression  of  countenance,  which  I  though! 
might  he  the  result  of  the  treatment  ho  received 
—for  It  was  evident  enough  that  the  scholars  (hts 
brothers  and  sisters  not  e-xccpUid)  nil  thought  liim 
but  a  little  removed  ri’om  an  Idiot.  I  resolved  to 
go  homo  wltli  him  that  very  night  and  study  the 
case  there,  While  I  was  musing  the  door  opened 
and  Ou,^Ki.iR  entered  and  advancing  to  tho  win¬ 
dow,  looked  sullenly  out. 
“  Why  are  you  not  playing  with  the  rest  of  tho 
scholars,  Chaki.ie  7"  I  asked. 
“  They  don’t  want  me  with  them,”  he  replied. 
“  And  why  not,  pray7” 
“  I  expect  It  Is  btwause  I’m  so  dull,”  he  an¬ 
swered. 
“  You  nrc  not  really  dull,  arc  you,  Chablie  7”  I 
asked,  a.s  l  came  tb  his  side  and  placed  my  hand 
upon  his  head. 
“  That’s  what  they  all  say.” 
“  All  who?’’ 
“  The  scholars  and  everybody.” 
“  But  you  cUui't  mean  to  bo  dull  7” 
“  I  can’t  help  it.  I’d  give  anything.  Miss  Tbacv, 
If  I  was  like  tho  other  boys,  but  I  ain’t  and  never 
shall  be.  Nobody  likes  mo  and  It  I  tried  ever  so 
hard  to  learn  and  tb  be  good,  they’d  Just  laugh  at 
me  and  knock  mo  round,  and  call  mo  a  booby  and 
all  sorts  of  names,  and  it’s  no  use  trying,”  and  he 
burst  Into  tears. 
I  was  encouraged.  “  There  Is  some  good  In  him, 
after  all,”  I  sahl  to  myself,  “  and  I’ll  see  it  It  can¬ 
not  bo  brought  out." 
“Cdaiimk,"  I  said,  kindly,  “I  know  you  can 
become  a  different  boy,  and  If  you  will  try  I'll  help 
you.” 
“  But  do  you  really  think  that  I  could,  Miss 
Tkacy?” 
“  I’m  sure  of  It.  We  will  see  what  can  be  done, 
anyway.  1  am  going  homo  with  you  to-night  and 
wo  will  talk  about  it,  but  It  Is  school  time  now.” 
Hurlng  the  afternoon  exorcises  I  otUm  encoun¬ 
tered  Charwr’s  eyes  fixed  tipon  me  with  a  wist¬ 
ful,  Imploring  look.  It  was  ovldont  that  he  was 
unused  to  kltuUy  woixls  and  I  took  courage.  But, 
I, bough  he  seemed  to  study  hard,  hla  reading  and 
spelling  wore  not  much  improved. 
I  went  to  Mr.  STEEiiB's  that  night  and  was  very 
kindly  met  and  treated.  I  soon  saw  that  my  dull 
boy  w.aa  treated  as  an  Inferior,  both  by  parents 
and  children.  'I’hat  he  lerta  inferior  In  many  res¬ 
pects  to  the  other  clilldren,  I  did  not  doubt ;  but 
why  that  Itiferlority,  If  It  existed,  sbouid  bo  In¬ 
creased  by  tnjudlclou.s  treatment,  I  could  not 
understand.  Not  that  ho  was  treated  unkindly 
or  with  harshness,  but  he  was  kept  In  the  back¬ 
ground  and  If  hechancixi  tb  speak,  which  was  sel¬ 
dom,  It  was  painfully  evident  that  tho  other  mem¬ 
bers  of  the  family  were  mortified.  And  In  truth 
ills  wonts  and  manners  were  awkward  enough, 
even  more  so  than  at  schord.  If  he  moved,  some 
unlucky  stool  or  chair  was  sure  to  ho  upset,  as  If 
by  magic.  It,  at  the  table,  ho  reached  Ills  plate 
to  be  helped,  over  would  go  some  unfort.unaUi  cup 
of  tea  or  glass  of  water,  greatly  to  tho  annoyance 
of  the  mother,  who  was  constantly  reminding  him 
to  bo  careful. 
In  the  evening  Mr.  Kteele  remarked,  “  I  am 
afraid,  Mias  Tkacy,  that  you  will  have  a  task  with 
our  Chakmb  hero." 
“  I  do  not  think  that  there  is  aaythlng  had  or 
vicious  about  the  boy,”  I  replied. 
“O,  no;  nothing  of  the  kind;  but  he  la  so  ex¬ 
cessively  dull.  No  one  has  ever  yet  been  able  to 
teach  him  anyt.hlng.  The  rest,  of  the  chlldreu 
learn  easily.  Why,  little  Kbeddik  here,  as  you 
must  know,  Is  a  much  better  scholar;  but  Char¬ 
lie  never  seems  ro  make  the  least  advaucomeni, 
though  he  has  been  kept  stbadlly  in  school  ever 
since  ho  was  four  years  old.” 
“Perhaiis  you  sent  him  tb  school  too  young. 
.Many  people  think  It  an  injnry,  instead  of  a  beuc- 
llt,  to  put  children  In  .school  at  such  a  tender  age,” 
I  ventured  to  say. 
“Not  younger  Uiau  the  rest,”  he  replied ;  “ but 
he  seems  to  have  uo  faculty  fur  learning.  I  should 
have  wit  hdrawn  him  from  school  and  set  him  to 
work,  were  he  gixid  (or  anything  In  that  line;  but 
he  dislikes  work  as  much  as  he  does  study.” 
All  this  was  said  In  the  presence  of  t  he  child,  as 
well  as  In  tho  pre.senec  of  the  vv  hole  (iMuUy.  Pres¬ 
ently  I  stole  a  glance  at  Chari, ik,  who  was  iilf,tlnK 
uneasily  In  hla  chair  at  a  little  distance  from  m«, 
and  the  look  of  utter  discouragement  that  rested 
upon  the  face  of  the  neglected  boy  awoke  all  my 
sympathy  ami  sent  the  hot  blood  surging  to  my 
temples,  and  I  longed  to  take  him  by  the  hand 
and  comfort  him. 
I  had  found  the  key  to  the  whole  mystery,  if 
tho  parents  looked  upon  tlie  child  a.s  a  sulwrdl- 
natb  and  treated  him  as  such,  tho  children  would, 
.as  a  matter  of  course  and,  as  a  cousequenee,  oth¬ 
ers  would  do  the  same;  and  It  was  uot  to  bo  ex¬ 
pected  that  teachers  would  Interest  themselves  In 
such  a  uegleeted  specimen  of  humanity  uules.s. 
“  O !  It’S  Chablie  Steele.  He’s  gone  back  homo 
to  get  bis  books;  ho  forgot  them.” 
“He  always  (oiuots  them,  he’s  so  dreadful  dull,” 
said  a  little  girl  who  w.as  standing  near  me. 
“Not  so  very  dull  Is  he  when  ho  has  thought  to 
build  such  a  good  Ilrov”  I  asked,  smiling. 
“O,  teacher,  you  can't  think  how  dull  hols,” 
said  a  t  hird  voice,  which  belonged  tb  a  curly- 
beaded  girl  of  ten.  “lie  roads  In  tho  Bccond 
Header  and  has  to  spell  out  all  his  words,  and  he 
Is  twelve  yeara  old  too  l  O,  my  !  you  can’t  think 
how  dull  ho  Is.” 
“  .\ud  the  more  he  studies  tho  more  ho  doesn’t 
learn,”  broke  In  another  childish  voice.  They 
TWO  LETTERS, 
If  you  were  dead  and  In  some  silent  valley 
A  red  wild  roee  were  blooming  on  yonr  grave, 
In  some  lone  fen  where  idle  breezes  daily 
And  somberly  green  wtUow-brnneheB  wave ; 
BY  IRENE  CUILSON 
With  willing  feet  I  oft  would  stand  above  you. 
And  with  sad  eyes  your  moss-grown  name  speU  out, 
Thinking  that  once  each  said  to  each  “  I  love  you,” 
In  those  far  days  before  we  dared  to  doubt. 
IT  was  a  cheerless  morulng  t  ho  iirst  week  In 
May,  that  I  wended  my  way  to  the  lllUe  school- 
house  in  N - ,  which  was  to  be  the  scene  of  my 
labors  for  the  next  four  mouths.  1  always  drouded 
the  first  day.  and  this  morning  my  mind  seemed 
But  no,  you  are  not  dead ;  the  world  adorns  yon. 
Kneels  at  your  feet  and  calls  your  face  divine ; 
Praises  your  beaut.v,  worships  till  it  bores  you. 
Knoivs  not  and  cares  not  that  you  once  were  mine. 
Edith,  I  c.nre  not  that  your  bhiod  is  Bowing 
In  splendid  radiant  cheek  or  dainty  wrist ; 
That  on  your  suplo  throat  Ihore  still  i«  glowing 
A  queenly  coll  of  pear!  and  amethyst; 
Our  love  is  dead,  so  you  are  dead  thrice  over. 
Though  on  your  face  have  dropped  no  momner’a 
tears; 
And  you  and  I.  who  once  were  maid  and  lover, 
Are  further  sundered  than  the  furtherest  spheres. 
But  stars  and  spheres— 
Oh!  what  a  silly  letter 
A  plain  and  prosy  man  will  sometimes  write. 
I’m  sentimental,  and  you  can’t  do  better 
Than  laugh  at  me,  onco  more,  with  all  your  might. 
Tho  fact,  you  sec.  is  this ;  I  can’t  forgot  you ; 
In  all  oiir  quarrel  I  alone  was  wrong ; 
And  I’ve  been  blue  enough  sLneo  last  I  met  you, 
A  month  ago ;  it  seems  ton  times  as  long. 
Oh  !  Edith,  could  I  only  go  and  see  you. 
And  tell  you  all  tho  things  I  want  to  say  ! 
I  cannot  give  you  up :  I  will  not  free  you ; 
I  love  you,  Edith.  May  I  come  to-day  ? 
HERS. 
Wliy,  Tom,  dear  Tom,  of  course  you  may 
Yon  see  I  call  you  Tom  again ; 
So  please  come  over  right  away. 
You  oddest,  truest,  best  of  men. 
To  toll  the  f  ruth.  I’ve  pitied  you, 
And  you’ve,  most  likely,  iiilied  me ; 
But  then,  you  know.  It  wouldn’t  do 
To  let  the  world  my  pity  see. 
You  men,  of  course,  are  very  wise. 
And  think  you  know  a  woman's  heart ; 
But  bats  and  owls  have  brighter  eyes 
Than  yon  to  understand  her  art. 
You  were  Just  haltful,  though,  that  night ; 
But  I’m  afraid  I  made  you  eo ; 
Tom,  drop  our  quarrel  out  of  sight— 
Forgive,  forget,  and  let  It  go. 
Well.  Tom,  I’ll  not  write  any  more. 
Although,  mdeed,  I’ve  mucli  tn  say ; 
My  music  master’s  at  the  door. 
Ho  iin  rci’oir,  and  come  to-day. 
P.  8.— You  frighten  me  to  death 
With  “willow,”  valley,”  "grave”  and  "fen. 
Dear  me !  1  almost  lost  my  breath ! 
Tom,  don’t  you  dttre  do  so  again ! 
[C.'ias.  F.  Richardson. 
i»i«.  i-irit,Ac;To-c;uNii.r LjUs  win 
In  keeping  w1l,h  the  weather  and  1  could  not  help 
wishing  that  tho  house  would  be  empty  when  I 
arrived.  The  task  would  be  oa.sler  1  thought,  of 
meeting  and  greeting  Che  Hchohars  If  1  could  be 
there  to  meet  them  as  they  came  In  singly  or  In 
little  groups.  But  no ;  as  I  reached  tho  hoitse  a 
chorus  or  youthful  voices  reached  my  ear,  and  as 
1  lifted  the  latoh  and  entered,  a  hush  fell  over  the 
little  circle  which  siirroimdeil  the  stove  and  the 
whispered  murmur,  “  It  Is  (ho  now  teacher— It  is 
tile  new  teacher!”  was  the  only  sound  which 
greeted  me. 
1  bowed  smilingly  to  the  little  group  and  laying 
aside  my  hat  and  shawl,  went  up  to  tho  stove.  In 
which  a  bright  Are  was  glowing,  and  held  niy  lin¬ 
gers  fora  moment  over  It. 
wore  evidently  determined  to  make  mo  under¬ 
stand  tho  hopelc«sne8,s  of  tho  case. 
A  touch  of  tho  hell  brought  the  scholars  to  their 
seats,  and  taking  my  Bible  from  my  basket  I  read 
a  short  lo.ssoii  and  commenced  the  o.xerclacsof 
tho  day. 
Half  an  hoiir  later  tho  door  opened  and  a  boy, 
whom  I  took  at  once  to  bo  Ciiaiihe  Steele,  en¬ 
tered,  and  swaggering  across  the  room,  took  tils 
seat.  A  Hupprcasfld  titter  I’an  around  the  room 
and  knowing  glances  mot  mluo,  which  seemed  to 
say,  “This  lb  he,  this  Is  (!haklik  Stbelk.”  And 
truly,  Ills  appearance  vvas  anyi>hlng  hut  prepos¬ 
sessing.  ills  clothes  were  pitched  on  awry,  his 
shirt  collar  uiiliultoned,  his  hair  tiuconibed,  his 
lace  and  hands  uiiw.ishud.  1  saw  all  this  at  a 
CLOUDS, 
In  some  sections  of  country  where  rain  has 
been  more  •’  honored  in  the  breach  than  the  ob¬ 
servance,”  a.s  It  were,  it  may  revivify  the  memory 
of  the  oldest  luhablLant— not  to  speak  of  the  Using 
generation— to  explain  what  a  cloud  really  Is. 
When  at  last  they  do  make  an  appearance,  they 
will  be  recognlzoil  at  once. 
The  clouds  Illustrated  are  known  sclontlllcally 
as  Fructo-cumiilns,  and  arc  the  forerunners  of  ap¬ 
proaching  storms.  The  arUst,  I  see,  has  desig¬ 
nated  the  clouds  aliihabetlcally  thinking,  per¬ 
haps,  that  he  will  ent  rap  mo  into  a  sctontlttc  ex¬ 
planation,  which  Is  quite  foreign  to  my  Intention. 
1  wish  merely  to  impress  It  on  my  readers  that 
these  Fracto-cumulua,  as  soon  as  an  Invisible 
storm  has  broken  out  In  tho  distance  move  ahead 
with  great  rapidity,  almost  grazing  the  highest 
buildings  and  tallest  trees;  borders  excessively 
torn ;  clouds  of  a  whitlsb  color-  They  are  visible 
day  and  night.  I  n  the  Antilles  they  produce  the 
disagreeable  winter  rains  and  In  Europe  March 
storms ;  In  this  country  they  proiluco  water  in 
large  quantities— In  fact.,  are  quite  wet,  so  to 
speak. 
It  Is  not  generally  known  that  a  cloud  was  the 
first  umbrella,  and  came  between  tho  Sun  and 
Earth  during  a  heated  discussion  between  these 
parlies,  which,  ot  course,  resulted  in  a  decided 
coolness.  Tholr  appearance  at  sea  gives  the  same 
warning  to  sailors  that  a  commotion  In  the  nurs¬ 
ery  gives  to  mothers— that  is,  they  forebode  a 
Hquaiu  1 1  is  superfluous  to  state  that  these  clouds 
are  never  seen  lu  the  Desert  of  Sahara,  and  lor  the 
last  two  moiltus  n*  oomo  ooalloub  of  Vevv  .Ipl'scy, 
a  race  of  skeptics  has  sprung  up  with  mushroom 
rapidity,  who  firmly  believe  there  Is  no  such  thing 
as  rain  clouds;  notlilng  lielng  certain  but  taxes 
and  the  potato  beetle. 
The  Fracto-C’umulus  are  the  only  clouds  which 
do  not  produce  Ixulos ;  but  they  do  produce  com¬ 
plete  coronas,  oi’  segments  of  arcs,  according  to 
the  extont  of  the  fragments  which  traverae  the 
lunar  disc.  These  coronas  are  prismatic,  but  hav¬ 
ing  a  blue  Internal  lint— a  tint  unalagous  to  the 
feelings  of  tho  farmer  when  he  8ee.s  his  corn  turn¬ 
ing  yellow  but  guzes  lu  vain  for  a  glimpse  of  the 
aforesaid  “  Fracto.”  i  w  ish  at  some  future  time 
to  have  Illustrated  and  describe  striking  snow  and 
ice  clouds.  They  are  very  beautiful  and  unique, 
and  Including  an  interesting  work  on  the  Polar  re¬ 
gions  about  tho  most  seasonable,  cool  and  alto¬ 
gether  delightful  reading  and  pictures  that  one 
could  have  at  this  season. 
Fakckub. 
