URAL NEW-YORKER. 
salutary Influence on the mind, by occupying the 
attention and keeping the mental and physical 
faculties In healthful play. What the French 
call ennui Is a very undesirable sensation, and 
represents an abnormal condition or the whole 
system when overcome with the weariness aris¬ 
ing from lack of occupation, or a glut of dissipa¬ 
tion. Pope tells us that— 
“ Absence of occupation is not rest; 
A wind quite vacant a mind distreat." 
IMPORTANCE OF THE TEACHER’S WORK. 
BY GERALDINE GERMANE. 
LOVE AND FOLLY. 
FROM LA FONTAINE. 
Love’s worshipers 3loue can know 
The thousand mysteries that are his: 
His blazing- torch, his twanging bow, 
His blooming age are mysteries. 
A charming science—but tlie day 
Were all too short to eon it o’er; 
So take of mo this little lay, 
A sample of its boundless lore. 
The rank and Importance of the teacher’s du¬ 
ties and profession are much overlooked and sadly 
underrated. The doctor, the minister, the law¬ 
yer, the statesman—In fact, all Other professional 
workers—have their position In usefulness, their 
standing In the world and In society; but the 
common school teacher Is uncousldered. Shifted 
about rrora place to ptace, staying the longest 
where they work the cheapest and are the most 
govern! d by others, a little looked up to by the 
lower, and a good deal looked down upon by the 
higher classes, they are regarded as a sort of In¬ 
dispensable beings, whom everybody is ready to 
dispense with upon LUo slightest provocation, 
whoso duties consist lu keeping children lu the 
school-room, out of their parents’ and other pu¬ 
pils’ way, pourlug lulo them as much Grammar, 
Geography and Arltli iucI Ic aj they will possibly 
hold, without any facilities for performing the 
operation, without much effort on the part of the 
recipients, and living upon the smallest possible 
allowance. 
Men wilt handsomely support the merchant, 
thinking his wares Indispensable, and would not 
think of retuslog to pay the minister, since he 
must have his living. They will spend their last 
farthing In lawyers’ fees, to obtain redress Tor 
some real or fancied wrong; will pay enormous 
sums for the enacting of laws and the building of 
Jails for those who violate them—but when It 
comes to paying the teacher, bow t.hetr pocket- 
books are thrust far down into their pockets, and 
how the clasps are tightened 1 And yet the mer¬ 
chant denis in food and cloiuiog for the body, 
while the teacher feeds and clothes the Immortal 
soul of which the body Is but the fragile and 
shortlived casket. Moreover, there are many 
more hungry souls than bodies In the world, es¬ 
pecially among the children. 
The minister meets one day of the week a con¬ 
gregation upon whom his words and influence 
fall as watei s upon the rock, while the teacher 
meets ttve or six days of the week with a congre¬ 
gation upon whom his or her influence falls as 
falls the rain upon the soft clay, each drop to 
leave an Impress that shall remain throughout 
the life of the Individual. 
The greatest statesmen frame and enact laws, 
and the common school teacher holds in his hands, 
fashions and molds the material which Is to re¬ 
tain and utilize them or set them at defiance, on 
every side, men are demanding political reform; 
are took lag for It. In the platform or this or that 
party, but they will look In vain. If ever found, 
It will be in the education of the coming genera¬ 
tion, In the family and the common school, and 
In no other place. 
Those who have stood the test of war and revo¬ 
lution, who have remained ilrm and steadfast, for 
Truth and Freedom, were not the people who 
stood the highest In art and culture, but the peo¬ 
ple lu whom the education of the masses was the 
most prevalent. Here was tbo secret of the sub¬ 
jugation of France. Though she possessed beau¬ 
tiful Farls, though she led the world In art and 
fashion, at least thirty per cent.—nearly oue- 
thlra of her population—could neither read nor 
write, while with the solid and more practical 
Germans, education was compulsory and uni¬ 
versal. 
Teachers themselves, oftttmes forget the im¬ 
portance of their work. It is such a hum-drum, 
tiresome routine, when you look at It from a ma¬ 
terial standpoint, calling up the first Reading 
class, the ABC and Arithmetic «lsses, the ditto 
Geography and Spelling classes, with perhaps a 
different book and class for every two or three 
scholars; looking at the same races, some clean 
and bright, others dirty, prematurely old and 
sad, enforcing the same monotonous rules and 
regulations, listening to the same blundering 
recitations, day after day. But when you remem¬ 
ber that Ma by, with her unwashed face, her frow¬ 
sy red hair and rough, unmannerly ways, Is some 
day to become a woman, with all a woman’s in¬ 
fluence for good or ovll; that .Joitnn y, whom you 
tell fifty times a day to sit still and study his les¬ 
sons, who gets into fights with the other boys at 
every recess, and Is the plague of your lffe—Is to 
become either a useful, respected member of so¬ 
ciety, or something to be ashamed of and avoided; 
that some of the little ones who come to you each 
day are from houses of drunkenness, where love, 
order and decency are unknown; that some are 
from homes of avarice and parsimony, where the 
beauty and sweetness of life arc not found; that 
others are from thB abodes of false appearance 
and dishonesty, where Truth and r pl ight ness 
dwell not—and, that they all arc looking to you 
lor ihat which they miss elsewhere, tour duties 
seem something more than an equivalent for the 
paltry dollars you are paid, and It seems worth 
while to have some other aim and object than to 
get through the day, the week, the term, merely 
to receive your salary and take the long-contem- 
plated pleasure trip. Your work takes on a gran¬ 
deur and sacred ness wort hy of the greatest, prep- 
As once beneath the fiawrant shade 
Of myrtles fresh in heaven’s pure air. 
The children Lovo and Folly played_ 
A quarrel rose betwixt the. pair. 
Love said the godn should do him right, 
But Folly vowed to do it then, 
And struck him, o’er the orbs of sight, 
So hard he nevor saw again. 
His lovely mother’s grief was deep, 
She called for vengeance on the deed; 
A beauty docs not vainly weep, 
Nor coldly doe« a mother plead. 
A shade came o’er the eternal blisB 
That fills the dwellers of the skies; 
Even stony-hearted NcmcMs 
And Rhadatunnthus wiped their eyes. 
“ Behold," she said, ** this lovely boy," 
While streamed afrosh her graceful tears, 
“ Immortal, yet shut out from joy 
And sunshine all Ids future years, 
Tho child cau never take, you see, 
A single step without a staff— 
The hardest puninhmont would bo 
Too lenient for the crime by half.” 
All said that Love had suffered wrong, 
And well that wrong should be repaid; 
Then weighed the public interest long, 
And loug the party’s interest weighed. 
And thus decreed the court above: 
Since Lovo is blind by Folly’s blow, 
Lot Folly be the guldo of Lovo, 
Whcro’cr tho boy may choose to go. 
[IF. G. Bryant. 
TWO GIRLS. 
BY MARY A. E. WAGER-FISHER. 
a rollon, faithfulness, Industry and sacrifice. 
During an arternoon recently spent In the In¬ 
dustrial Palace (the now name for tho Main 
Building of “ Centennial " fame.) I was attracted 
by two girls, who were “doing” tho wonderful 
place—nearly as woederrut and beautiful ns last 
year, and far more agreeable to visit. There are 
plenty of seats where one can sit and hear the 
finest musical selections well interpreted on the 
great Roseveli, organ, and observe, as every lover 
of live people loves well to do, the pin-sera to and 
fro In tho broad aisles, of whom there are always 
a, goodly number of various nationalities. 
Oue of these girls was English, sixteen years 
old perhaps, the other American, older by two or 
three years. The English maiden personified an 
Idea that William Pbnn put In that most excel¬ 
lent letter which ho wrote to his wife when 
ubout to leave England for A mertea—that In 
simplicity of dress can tho real nobility of the 
wearer best be revealed. The girl was a vision 
of delight Ixi my eyes, so unaffected and pure did 
she appear with the simplicity of dress and man 
ner that Invariably accompanies persons of good 
birth and good training. This waS her costume: 
a coarse straw hat. well shading her face; a gray 
dress, n«arly devoid of trimming reaching duly to 
the tops or her croud, solid, low-heeled boots; 
about her shoulders was a small cape like her 
dress lu stuff, and on her hands were gray 
Uale-ihread gloves very neatly fitting. Her rrock 
had some little ornamentation of gray silk about 
It, but tho whole cos turn o was of such modesty as 
to bo dubbed by the average American girl as 
"frlghlfulty plain.” But tho wearer wore her 
garments with an ease that plainly said her 
olothes were tor her and not she for her clothes. 
Her waist and feet had been allowed to grow and 
develop naturally, and she had what the girls 
call an “air," born of her freedom that endowed 
her with a style of exceptionally fine character. 
It was simply an expression of the real nobility 
of the girl. 
Tho American girl hud on a silken frock all fur¬ 
belows ami flounces; there were rings in her ears, 
a chain about her neck, a bracelet on one arm, 
her hair was frizzled and puffed, her hounet, 
which was a bewilderment of feathers and roses, 
might as well have rested on Bike’s Peak as on 
her head, for all the protection It gave her; her 
hands were stuffed light lu kid gloves, her feet 
likewise In hlgh-heelul boots, t wo sizes too small 
for her, and she had on a corset under her basque, 
laced so close at the bottom aDd all the way up 
and down, That her back from her neck io her 
belt reminded me most unpleasautly of a coffin 
lid. Of course, she was not ror five minutes at a 
time unconscious of the r ict that, she had hands, 
feet and a body, for wl. it she had on both by 
pressure and weight con.Mantly reminded her of 
them. Vim lever real nybUlly of person the girl 
possessed was completely i-mothercd by her 
costume, for her body seemed of far less conse¬ 
quence than her raiment. I also felt sure that 
the English girl could talk accurately, (a rather 
rare thing in women) and intelligently of what 
she bad learned and seen in the world that have 
some real importance, and Uiat. the other girl 
with the coffin-lid back, could tell me how to do 
up the back hair In the latest siyle, the details of 
the latest “secret, ’ (a boy mend of mine says he 
desplsts girls for they always have “secrets” to 
tell!) and all the mysteries of a fashionable lady’s 
“get up.” For this last named ability I have an 
amazing respect, for the knowledge Is truly 
varied and wonderful to say nothing of the 
ability to put It, Into execution. One may under¬ 
stand the secret of the ebb and tlow of the sea, the 
courses of the stare, and even married women’s 
property laws, and yet be utterly Incapable of 
understanding how the human form divine Is 
transformed Into the mysterious moving creatures 
that make Broadway and Chestnut Street so be¬ 
wildering and so gay. 
But to go back to ray “ mouton ” as the French 
say: I told Anaximander about my strings at the 
Exhibition, when we were both home tor the 
evening, and at one point In my narrative, he. 
rose up as it to enjoy greater freedom of speech 
and said:—“ I can’t understand why any woman 
should think lr, a fine thing, or even a pretty 
thing, to have a small waist, or a small fool.” 
“Why, don't men as a rule admire them? T 
suppose they pinch both to win the admiration 
of the stronger sex. 1 have heard of meu going 
fairly daft at the sight of a little foot and—” 
“Oh, nonsense Mary 1 If you wish to talk of 
fools, all well aud good; but no man, worthy of 
the name ever loved or honored a woman because 
Her waist or her feet were small, cither naturally 
or through distortion.” Of course T knew that 
Just aa well before, as after, hla outburst, but I 
thought maybe that a mannish man s assertion 
about his own sex would have greater weight 
with the fair Rural maidens, than would that 
of a woman, so I give It. 
A very charming writer (Joitn Burroughs I 
think) In discoursing about English women 
Including their feet, says that no person, truly 
great, ever yet had small feet, meaning by that 
feet disproportionately small to the rest of tiie 
body, but that on the contrary tlielr foot were 
what a finical person would style as '‘Immense." 
So far as my own observation has gone, English 
women have Just as handsome feet as have 
American women. The difference lies In the 
shoeing. The English woman’s shoe la made to 
accommodate her foot, while the American 
woman’s feet, are forced to accommodate them¬ 
selves to the shoes she puts them In. People 
talk of a beautiful foot, when they see nothing 
but the shoe or boot, when the foot Itself, ugly 
with distorted toes, is quite another thing. The 
prettiest, woman's foot I ever saw rilled a number 
flve-and-a-half-boot, 
I see so many country girls, and city girls too, 
who nave the pinched waist, and tho pinched 
foot manta, that l long for some angel with ono 
foot on the sea and the other on tho land, to cry 
out in a Gabrlcl-llko voice: “Don't! Nobody, 
except It be yourself, cares whether your feet be 
large or small, and a pinched llttlo waist Is so in¬ 
artistic and unnatural as to bo paluful to behold. 
Grow as largo and free as you can and don’t spoil, 
burden, or weary your bodies ror toggery’s sake, 
lot a cheerful and free spirit cannot abide where 
Slip s pinch etc, etc.," an oi which Is not a very 
angelic speech, according to the popular Idea of 
angelic parlance, nut will it not do ? 
FARM LIFE FROM A WOMAN’S POINT OF 
VIEW. 
What Tabitlia Trimsharp Thinks of It. 
by a, is. s. 
“Farmers, my dear,” said Aunt Tabitha, as 
she spread a rug In the ohlmney corner Tor her 
favoilte, the cat, “ are, take them all around, a 
pretty contented set. They like tlielr business— 
those who don’t lL':e It, you see, drop out of the 
harness before they’re fairly broken in—there’s 
something In In, you see, that flatters their self- 
love, makes them feel consequential, and when a 
man feels Ills consequence In the world, ho isn’t 
likely to fall out with ills business. But the wo¬ 
men ? Ah! there’s a difference. They’re as hard- 
worked and discontented a lot us you'll find, and 
ten times to one, It’s their own fault, too. They 
think, poor dears I there's nothing for them but 
hard work, and are forever drawing unfavorable 
comparisons between their own lot and that of 
the wives of tradesmen, a dozen of whom they 
could buy out and never feel It. 
it never seems to occur to these women that 
one pair of hands are not required to do every¬ 
thing. They see the men rolks, when their work 
begins to drive them, hire additional hands and 
get It out of the way. They see them always with 
tlielr eyes open tor every labor-saving contrivance 
that can he got hold of; but they never seem to 
think there is any other way for them than to do 
everything themselves and do It by the hardest. 
They take no personal pride In the crops or In 
the stock. 1 know a number of farmers’ wives 
who don’t know their awn cows from their nclgh- 
bore*; and as to the young stock—well, r doubt It 
they ever saw them after they were weaned, Such 
women soon come, (and naturally enough, too,) to 
consider themselves merely as a sore of domestic 
machine, which can readily he replaced whenever 
tlielr labors shall have worn them out. 
Now this slate of tilings, as 1 said before, Is 
mainly the fault of the women themselves. A 
man maybe indifferent In a matter where he is 
not Intentionally cruel. Ho may see hla wife 
working far beyond her strength; having no 
thought for tho cultivation of her own or her 
children’s mlnds;'stuylDg at home when she ought 
to go abroad and take a rest; sitting up till long 
after he has gone to bed, to make or mend, and 
think very little about It, for the roifrn that It Is 
Just what he has always been accustomed to. 
The fact Is, farmers’ wives begin tlielr married 
lives in a wrong way—they begin by taking too 
much work upon themselves. They do this out 
of a mistaken economy that, amou nts to downright 
stinginess. 
320 
A few sentences from Swift’s famous letter 
"To a young Lady on Her Marriage” will indi¬ 
cate to what Btage the education of women had 
advanced In the age of <iueen Anns. He says: 
“I t Is a little hard that not one gentleman's daugh¬ 
ter in a thousand should be brought up to read 
or understand her own natural tongue or to Judge 
of the easiest books that are written In It, as any 
oue may find who can have the patlenco to hear 
them when they are disposed to mangle a play or 
a novel, where the least word out of the common 
run Is sure to disconcert them, and it, is no wonder 
when they are not so much as taught to spell In 
their childhood, nor can they ever attain it In 
their whole lives. I advise you therefore to read 
aloud more or less every day to your husband, It 
he will permit, or to any other friend who is able 
to set you right, and as for spelling, you may com¬ 
pass It In time by making collections from the 
books you read. Your sex employ more thought 
and application to be fools than to be useful. 
When I reflect on this, T cannot conceive you to 
be human creatures but a certain sort of species 
hardly a degree above a monkey, who has more 
diverting tricks than any of you, Is an animal 
less mischievous and expensive, and might In 
time be a tolerable critic In velvet and brocade 
for aught l know.” 
Wit Is a weapon which sometimes bursts In the 
hand. Sir Henry Wooton, a diplomatist of the 
reign of James the First., wrote in a friend's al¬ 
bum, “Ambassador; an honest man appointed to 
lye abroad for the benefit of his country;” and 
he lost his place through It; the king being of 
opinion that tho witticism was a reflection upon 
his own political morality—such as it was. 
m 
IE I 
It Is said that women are more economical than 
men. That I believe; and : believe, too, that of 
all women In the world, farmers' wives are the 
most narrowly economical. Aud their closeness 
tells harder on themselves than on anybody else. 
They will wear their finger-nails to the quick, 
carry water and wood, and wash and scrub till 
lame backs and sides aro as common as untidy 
and flowerless door-yards-n ud all to save u little 
money. They do tlielr own house-cleaning, tak¬ 
ing up and putting down carpets, white-washing, 
papering, painting, &c., with the same object In 
view, and when tlielr husbands or sons desire to 
go to the tullor’B for a suit of clothes, Insist on 
making It themselves, to save the expense. 
They buy hats and shoes for their children two 
or three years behind the times, because they 
come cheaper, and makeover tlielr own homely 
dresses for their daughters, to save buying new 
ones, and then complain that “ Somehow, farm¬ 
ers’ children never do look spruce, like other peo¬ 
ple’s,” and declare that. If they had their Uvea to 
live over again they nevor would marry a farmer, 
no, not they i They complain of the work—at 
least lu their thoughts—every hour In the day, 
and yet keep on pace, pace, pacing, und trot, trot, 
trotting, rrom morning till night, aa though their 
lives depended on tlielr taking Just so many steps 
lu the course of the day'. 
Now, It may he that in some cases tho man o’- 
the-house Is at the bottom of this everlasting 
tread-mill life to which so mutiy women are 
doomed, and where they are, hanging is too good 
for them, for they are murdering their wives by 
inches. With such a man, the more a woman 
does, the more she map do. lt’n atl taken usu 
matter of course, no questions asked, and no 
thanks bestowed. A f tor all, though, i don’t know 
but I pity tho bright young daughteis of these 
selfish fathers, and close-fisted mothers, the most. 
They haven’t yet learned the wisdom of patient, 
waiting, and when they want a thing, they want 
It, gtrl-fashlon, from the depths of tlielr souls, 
so that, the disappointment when It comes, 
must sink deep. Farmers, like other mon, give 
their sous spcndlng-money -sometimes more than 
Is good for them—to do with aa they like ; but who 
ever heard or oue of thorn giving Uls daughters a 
shilling without first knowing just what it was to 
go for. The egg-money, anil butter-money, espe¬ 
cially Where these prmuets are not considered of 
much account, go to the mistress of the house, 
and the daughters never see a dimo or it, unless to 
purchase actual necessities, if tills girl, feeling 
that what Is yielded to her brother ns a right, 
ought also bo given to her, applies to her father 
for money, she meets the question at once, 
“ what do you want of It?” or is told to go to her 
mother. But sho understands the incomes and 
outgoes ot her mother’s narrow purso loo well to 
do that, and so t,Ua magazine she has hoped for 
so long, or the few packet of flower seeds sho 
wanted so much, or tho new ribbon for her hair, 
or tho pretty vase for the mantel-shelf goes uu- 
purchased, and that daughter goes about her 
daily tasks with a seusoof being unjustly treated. 
Then her little efforts at making the bouse bright 
and cheerful, particularly when some ono for 
whom sho may care something Is expected, aro 
ridiculed by the male members of the family. Sho 
is told to “ never mind tho bouquet, for he don’t 
know a posy from a, pig's tall;” or they have got 
a big “ v'W»J” for him, and he don’t cure a snap 
tor anything else, or, “ they should think a girl 
Who had 8U0h a tulip for a b 9 au might be satis- 
tied.” Now, coarse remarks like these, coming 
from members of one’s own family, where one's 
feelings should be respected, are apt to Jar upon 
the fibres of any sonslllvo and I'etlned girl's na¬ 
ture, and when this style of thing is kept up, as It 
often Is, aa a sort of tel out to the boy’s spirits, 
It is no wonder the girl’s seize, upon tho first op¬ 
portunity that, offers them a clerkship In a city 
store, or something of that kind, where they can 
earn money and be free from the thraldom which 
enslaves them while It makes domestic lonlllngs 
of their brothers. a. e. s. 
m 
