THE RURAL NEW-YORKER. 
pairing for % gating. 
BABY MARION IN CHURCH. 
Baby Marion wont to meeting 
To hear her grandpa preach; 
** Tis ’Tismas time, I must be dood, 
I mustn’t laugh nor skeetch. 
I’ve got my new boo dess on. 
And my petty foddered hat, 
And my han’chiof iu my 'ittle muff 
That’s tike Aunt Jane’s white cat." 
So Marion went to meeting. 
As a rosebud sweet and l air. 
She piped up in the Binging, 
And bowed her head in prayer. 
She waved her wee laoe handkerchief 
To her httle playmate Grace, 
And tried to wipe a sunbeam 
From off her mamma's face. 
She threw kieses to a lady 
Who sat across the aisle; 
■Gave Dr. Meade some candy, 
Which made the Deacon smile. 
!She climbed ui>on a footstool, 
Whispering, “ Danma, ain’t I tall t 
I wish danpa’d look down here, 
But then, perhaps he’d fall." 
'Then Marion went home again 
And Jumped on papa’s knee; 
1,1 We all have been to meet in’ 
’Cause we are dood, you see, 
And danpa preached: * A ’ittle baby 
Slept in the barn with cows; 
And men came and div him presents. 
And then they made him bows.”’ 
IChrlstu in Register. 
Tub iafl'ticlo e» "rocket Money for Young Peo¬ 
ple," wMtsh oppesj-sthis week is the nrstol a series 
which I hope will (prove not only Interesting but of 
real value to my young relatives. There can be 
no reason why the farm aud home should not 
become places ot absorbing Interest to young 
people, and not the ■sources of discontent that, 
unfortunately, is too frequently the case. It is 
Intended that these articles shall bo practical In 
scope, and show the way to the profitable em¬ 
ployment, for tbelr Own account., of the super¬ 
abundant energy of our young agriculturists. 
Mrs. Jack’s article will be followed by others 
from her own facile pen, In addition to the con¬ 
tributions from writers whose experience makes 
them trustworthy teachers. The Incentive, 
pocket money. Is secondary. It Is hoped that ex¬ 
perience, self-reliance and the formation of hab¬ 
its or observation will be the finer fruitage which 
will fit. the young farmer to prosecute with iu- 
cireaslng intelligence as he grows older, one or 
rateaaGBtcomplex, least popularly understood of 
the etucuees, farming. If more detailed informa¬ 
tion Is requisite by those who propose to try 
for "pocket money," any questions bearlDg on 
the subject will be cheertully answered by 
Uncle True. 
ROCKET MONEY FOR YOUNG PEOPLE. 
ANNIE L. JACK. 
Gardening ! The blight May days bring fresh 
energy, and the desire to plant and sow that we 
may reap, becomes an epidemic with us. For 
years the children have had each their plot of 
ground where they grow whatever they choose 
for pleasure and profit; and an apple tree, the 
fruit of which Is all their own. But during the 
last few years these ambitious boys and girls 
have required wider scope fer their increasing 
needs as regards pocket money, and take part of 
the garden for different crops as they may de¬ 
termine on ■“ opening day." For the first day of 
seed sowing is really an era in the year, and of 
course the whole family must assemble to assist 
by advice a nd labor. 
We proceed to divide the land, laying off the 
hillside into ridges. Jamie wishes to try 
SQUASHES, 
of which we have plenty of seed of June Hubbard, 
procured from Gregory. He knows that we can 
sell them in autumn to advantage, aud also that 
the seed, if carefully washed and dried, sells to 
the seedsmen of the city, who take our word for 
It tuat they are not mixed. Seventy-five cents a 
pound will pay Jamie well for all the labor ex¬ 
pended, which Is hoeing the hills and keeping off 
the squash hug; for the work Is chleily done by 
horses, the hills being eight, feet by six apart. 
Butin winter be will have to clean the seed, and 
to watch that mice do not eat them before mar¬ 
keting. These are slight cares for a boy of ten 
who can easily realize a dozen dgUars from a 
small plot of ground. 
Our twelve-year-old daughter perseveres in 
SAGE, 
and all the savory herbs. The ground must 
be raked fine and seed got in early, for it takes 
quite a Willie to start; but there are dollars in a 
sage bed, a»d since It has been recommended as 
a hair restorer it is in greater demand than be¬ 
fore. When cut. at the right season, and neatly 
packed In boxes tor market, it brings about $1 .go 
per hundred bunches, and, if kept over until 
spring, often double that price. 
Willie thinks be will stick to 
I'OTATOES, 
although they ai e just now a drug on the market. 
Last spring the crop of the previous year sold at 
nearly a dollar per bushel, while this spring thirty 
cents Is the average. 
It so happened that late In Juno, is7fi, there 
was a piece of grass laud which we intended as a 
future bed for small fruits. So tbo boys took it, 
from papa on shares and planted potatoes on the 
sod,—the work being satisfactorily done,—even 
little six-year-old trying his best to put In a few 
rows for pocket money. Long before the shcots 
were seen above ground, the land was harrowed, 
then on the appearance of the shoots the culti¬ 
vator was run between the rows, the hoe applied, 
and by a little attention weeds were kept down 
and a fine crop of potatoes the result. Tn autumn 
papa refused bis store, and the boj -3 counted joy¬ 
ously 120 bushels of fine, large. Early Rose pota¬ 
toes put into the barn cellar, where they kept 
firm and sproutless till the following spring, at 
which time they were well reworded for their In¬ 
dustry. Ifow many things were bought with 
potato money l girts to us and to each other, a 
trip to the city with money In the pocket, and 
the eldest ambitious youth gave his order to tho 
cabinet maker, with an air of supreme Import¬ 
ance, for a brand new cabinet—long coveted—In 
which to keep his collection of Insects. 
The family poet cultivates 
FLOWERS, 
not for sale as bouquets, but one ridge of ground 
Is given to the growing of ornamental grasses 
and Everlasting flowers, and this la the poet’s 
province,—with an eye to money making. The 
flowers are as simply grown as any of the annu¬ 
als, and must be cut frequently, which Is pleasant 
employment. They are hung In a dark room, 
head downwards, the stalks tied together In little 
bunches, and here they remain until early De¬ 
cember, at which time we collect In the woods 
the various Lycopodiums, and use the flowers In 
the tasteful arrangement of winter decorations 
tor Christmas. Poetry, good taste and close 
working tor a fortnight, will result In a Hne 
assortment of wreaths, crosses, stars and sprays. 
These are put into barrels and sold to city deal¬ 
ers at the rate of seven or eight dollars per bar¬ 
rel. Two years ago, by constant application 
through the last two weeks of December, three 
little girls of this household made six barrels of 
this D imming, and thoroughly enjoyed their well- 
earned pocket, money. 
Next week I will tell you or other things wo 
have tried In vegetables and fruit and round suc¬ 
cessful, for the simple reason that we did not 
shirk, and were not afraid to work. 
--- 
THE PRIVATE HISTORY OF AN EAR OF 
CORN.—No. 2. 
BY TUK COB. 
The worst member of a family Is commonly 
held in the most affectionate esteem. We always 
have the redeeming qualities of a prodigal placed 
lathe most attractive light, while the ralthlul, 
trustworthy, elder brother remains in a sort of 
trance of perpetual goodness and no praise ac¬ 
crues to him. It was so with our poor sheep. 
John was always full of spirit. It proved his 
destruction, alas! When he parted irom me he 
dropped, his warlike title and became plain Mr. 
Corn— or as the register has It, Jobn Barley 
Corn, lie went to Chicago and became known to 
a distiller. Being young, full of spirit, as I have 
mentioned, and withal confiding, this bad man 
soon “wormed" bis inmost soul out of the boy 
and converted him Into lilgh-wmes—something 
very bad ludeed, I arn told. 
It was long before I heard from hint again. 
When the news came that be had been “recli¬ 
ned,” which I understood as meaning corrected, 
or set right. I took heart. But I was not long in 
finding out that this "rectification ” was only 
another step In his distressing career. It was 
merely gliding retl nod gold—making him more 
seductive, that he might the more easily Involve 
others In his ruin: A siren always sings sweetest 
when bent on thorough destruction, so our poor 
John was none the less daugorous to himself and 
society because of being placed in a cut-glass 
bottle and prowling about under the alias of 
“Maryland Club Whisky.” He was sold Into 
slavery: a bright young man, the sole dependance 
of a loving mother and charming sister, paid a 
sum and took John Into his family. 
Each day John and this young man became 
more Intimate, until at last they became In¬ 
separable. John was none the better for this 
companionship, and the young man was decided¬ 
ly the worse for it. And they did not agree very 
well together at first, either. After having “made 
a night of It ’’ as the young man explained, he 
found fiimseir possessed of a violent headache and 
other Ills too Indelicate to mention. But a resort 
to John Barley corn “toned him up," he said, 
until Anally this •• toning up ’’ process becamo 
habitual and the baleful friendship was cemented 
beyond dissolution. 
TUen the misery began. Night after night 
these two made the earth hideous with their 
orgies. They called it having fun. 1 said it was 
slow and painful self-destruction; it was more, 
because their ruin Involved the down-fall of tho 
innocent, protesting, heart-broken mother and 
sister. 
They became the fast friends of vice, and her 
handmaiden, drunkenness. They postured as or¬ 
namental monstrosities, pendant from lamp¬ 
posts. TI 10 gutter was their not unfreqnent 
abiding-place, and when by chance they went 
reeliug home at three in the morning, tipsy, jocu¬ 
larity suggested that it was early, as three was 
only a quarter of twelve! 
It was not long before this young man, the only 
support of his mother and sister, lost the power 
of being useful to his employers, and with It his 
income. But, the •• fun” went on all the same, 
only now the sister was made to exchange places 
with the dissolute brother, becoming the bread¬ 
winner tor the family; and it was little more than 
act ual broad that was gained, A woman’d work 
Is rarely rewarded In proportion to her endeavor. 
The young man and John had their good time 
nevertheless, which accounted tor tho gradual 
trausfer of everything negotiable to tho pawn¬ 
shop, until the destitution, moral and physical, 
was indeed extreme. The fast wbltemug hair or 
the mother, and the broken health of the daugh¬ 
ter, should have given pause to their besotted 
career; but no, the fiend had them firmly, and 
merely grinned when the sheriff dispossessed the 
family of the trifle that remained. 
I know I will be excused from continuing this 
painful history, it is not the pleasantest task In 
the world to record the destruction wrought by 
one’s kin, and I somehow feel a part of the odium 
or having ruined a young man, driven a desolate 
mother to the poor-house, and consigned a sister 
to worse than death. If 11 were not that John s 
brother, of whom I shall next speak, tried to 
atone for such destruction by a life of usefulness 
I should be disheartened Indeed. Even at the 
sacrifice ot family pride I assert, that I see no 
reason for the existence of John b. Corn ; he was 
as useless as a grave-stone after the resurrection, 
and Infinitely more harmful.—To be continued. 
®l)c f ugltr. 
CURTAILMENTS. 
1. Curtail a river of Scotland, and leave an In¬ 
sect’s egg. 
2 . A tree, and leave a pronoun. 
3. Damp, and leave a pronoun. 
4. A Maine county, and leave the noise of a 
dove. 
G. Profound, and leave a river of Great Britain. 
0 . A Confederate general, and leave a noble 
title. 
7. A garden pest, and leave tiny. 
8. A masticator, and leave to blow a horn. 
9. A twist of rope, and leave consanguinity. 
10 . A tumor of the lingers, and leave wholesale 
lighting. 
11. What keeps us from despair, and leave to 
Jump. 
12 . A cape of South America, and leave a moun¬ 
tain of Syria. 
13. A city of France, and leave a libertine. 
u. A pronoun, and leave emaciated. 
15. A game of cards, and leave an exclamation. 
i«. Plunder, and leave the covering of a man’s 
foot. 
17. A goddess, and leave a waistcoat. 
18. One of the Hebrides, and leave a cane. 
19. A character of SUakspeare, and leave a city 
of Italy. 
20 . A verb, and leave a small speck. 
21 . A fruit,, aud leave a vegetable. 
22 . A bird, and leave a brave man. 
23. Carne together, and leave a pronoun. 
24 . A vegetable, and leave an insect. 
25. A wager, aud leave a verb. 
*7?” Answer In two weeks. Little One. 
m 
TRANSPOSITION. 
Si tl ont weste, evolbed hoyut, 
Ot over ghourt.h rudesonltl robswe, 
Dan lucl bet logend surfit to hurtt, 
Nad tarheg seyanf brltlnall slofrwe? 
Answer in two weeks. s. 0 . 
PUZZLER ANSWERS.-April 27. 
PqlysyjxA me Anagrams.- i, Bubtillxation; 2. 
S 11 pe rinnu rn be lit: J. Suporoionoj-j ; l. Supernatural: 
i!'', 7 . aru K’hernalla; 0 , Membrauaocou*; 7. Mensuni- 
billty ; 8. Mediatorshlp; 11. Mineralization . IU. Fulsi- 
flCftiinn; ll, l' lnnaiuenlhl; 12, Fundamentally : 13, 
Gnlttctometer; 14. Newfoundland: 15. Archnplsco- 
pal: lo, Deliberate : 17, Aristocrat; 18, Theiopeutios: 
i.l, incantation; 2 U, Incomprehensibility; 21 , cam- 
piensurability 22. Equinoctial; 23, Agglomeration : 
24. Administratorship; 25, Adjustment. 
Miscellaneous Enigma.— Honor thy father and 
thy mother. 
Double Acrostic.- Initials, David Copperfleld; 
(Inals, Old Curiosity Shop. 
WORD.SQUARE K.V lOMA.— 
URGE 
REEL 
O K Rif 
ELMO 
»a(rtrat!j grafting. 
NOT MINE, ;BUT THINE. 
Thy way, not mine, O Lord, 
However dark it be; 
E'er lead me by thine own right hand. 
Choose out the path for me. 
Smooth let it be or rough. 
It will be still the best; 
Winding or straight, it matters not. 
It leads me to thy rest. 
I dare uot choose my lot, 
I would not if I might; 
But ohoortu thou for me, O my God, 
Sol shall walk aright. 
The kingdom that I seek 
Is thine; so let tho way 
That leads to it, 0 Lord, be thine, 
Else I must surely stray. 
Take thou my cup, and it 
With Joy or sorrow fill: 
As ever best to thee may seem, 
Choose thou my good and ill. 
Choose thou for me my friends, 
My siekueBS or my health; 
Choose thou my Joys and cares for me,. 
My poverty or wealth. 
Not mine, not mi no the choice, 
In things or great or small; 
Be thou my guide, my guard, my strength 
My wisdom and iny all. 
COMMUNION WITH GOD. 
Psalm xxvli4. 
lAnion'- 
J. n. NEWMAN. 
What the Psalmist desired, we Christians en¬ 
joy to the full,—the liberty of holding commun¬ 
ion with Godin His Temple all through our life. 
Under the Law, the presence of God was but lii 
one place; and therefore could be approached 
and enjoyed only at set times. So, for the greater 
part ol^thetr lives,;'thelchosen people were in 
one sense “cast out of, the;sight ot His eyes;” 
and the periodical return to It which they were 
allowed,'wa3 a;prtvtlege.highly.coveted and earn¬ 
estly expected. -,Muoh more precious was tUe 
privilege of continually dwelling In his sight, 
which Is spoken of In the text. He desired to 
have continually ;that communion with God In 
prayer, tpratse, and timeditation, to which His 
presence admits the soul; and this, I say. Is the 
portion of Christians. Faith opens upon us 
Christians the Temple of God wherever we are; 
for that Temple Is a spiritual one, and so Is every¬ 
where present. "We have access,” says the 
Apostle, “by faith into this grace wherein we 
stand, and rejoice In hope of the glory of God.” 
Prayer, praise . thanksgiving, eontempalatlon, 
are the peculiar privilege and duty of a Christian 
and that for their own sakes, from the exceeding 
comfort and satisfaction they afford him, and 
without reference to the answers which are prom¬ 
ised to It, from a general sense of the blessed¬ 
ness of being under the shadow ot God’s throne. 
What, then, Is prayer? It Is (If It may be said rev¬ 
erently) conversing with God. We converse with 
our fellow-inen, and t hen we use familiar lan¬ 
guage, because they are our fellows. Wc con¬ 
verse with God, and then we use the lowliest, 
awrullest, calmest,, conclsest. language we can, 
because He is God. Prayer, then, Is divine con¬ 
verse, differing from human as God differs 
from man. Thus St. Paul says, “Our conversa¬ 
tion Is In heaven,”—not indeed thereby meaning 
converse of words only, but Intercourse and man¬ 
ner of living generally ; yet still In an especial 
way converse of words or prayer, because lan¬ 
guage is the special means of All Intercourse. 
Our Intercouse with our fellow-men goes on, not 
by sight, but by sounJ, uot by eyes, bur, by ears. 
Hearing is the social sense, and language Is the 
social bond. Prayers and praises are the mode 
by bis Intercourse with the next world, as the 
converse of business or recreation is the mode 
of which this world Is carried on In all Its sep¬ 
arate courses. He who does not pray, does not 
claim his citizenship with heaven, but lives, 
though an heir of the klndom, as If he were a 
child of earth. 
No, It Is not surprising If that duty or privi¬ 
lege, which is the characteristic token of our 
heavenly inheritance, should also have an es¬ 
pecial Influence upon our tltness tor claiming It, 
ne who does not use a gift, loses It; the man 
who does not. use hla voice or limbs, loses power 
of them, and becomes disqualified tor the state 
of life to which ho 18 called, in like manner, he 
who neglects to pray, not only suspends the 
enjoyment,but Is In a way to lose the possession, 
of his divine citizenship. We are members of 
another world; we have been severed from the 
companionship of devils, and brought Into that 
invisible klndom of Christ which faith alone dis¬ 
cerns,—that mysterious Presence of God which 
encompasses us, which Is In us, and around us, 
which Is In our heart, which enfolds us as though 
with a robe of light, hiding our scarred arid dis¬ 
colored souls from the'sight of Divine Purity, 
and making them shining as t Ue Angels; Faith, 
I Bay, alone apprehends all this; but yet l here Is 
something which Is not leu to faith,—our 
own tastes, likings, motives, and habits. Of 
these we are conscious la our degree, and we 
can make ourselves more and more conscious; 
and as consciousness tells ns what t hey are, rea¬ 
son tells us whettun they are such as become, 
as correspond with, that heavenly world Into 
which we have been translated. 
I say then. It Is plain to common sense that 
the man who has not accustomed himself to the 
language of heaven will be no lit inhabitant of 
It when, in the Last Day, ft la perceptibly re¬ 
vealed. The case la liko that of a language, 
or style of speaking of this world; we know well 
a foreigner from a native. Again, we know those 
who have been used to educated society from 
others. By their voice, accent and language, 
and not only so, by their gestures and gait by 
their usages, by tbelr mode of conducting them- 
relves and their principles of conduct we know 
well what a vast difference there Is between 
those who have lived In good society and those 
who have not. What Indeed Is called “good 
society” Is often very worthless society, I am 
not speaking ot It to praise it; I only mean, that, 
as the manners which men call refined are gained 
only by Intercourse with polished circles, and 
a9 the Influence of the words there used (that Is, 
of the ideas whtch those worda, striking again 
and again on the ear, convey to tho mind), ex¬ 
tends in a most subtle way over all that men do, 
over the turn of their sentences, and the tone' 
of their questions and replies, and their general 
hearing, and the spontaneous flow of their 
thoughts, and their mode of viewing things 
and the general maxims or heads to .which they 
refer them, and the .motives .which , determine 
them, and tbelr likings and dlsllkings, hopes 
and fears, and tbelr relative estimate of persons, 
and the intensity of tlietr perceptions towards 
particular objects; so a habit of prayer, the 
practice of turning to God and tho unseen world, 
In every season, in every place, In every emer¬ 
gency (let alone its supernatural effect of pre¬ 
vailing witn God,)—prayer, l say. has what may 
be called a natural effect. In spiritualizing and 
elevating the soul. A man Is no longer what he 
was before; gradually, Imperceptibly to himself, 
he has Imbibed a new set of ideas, and becomo 
imbued with fresh principles. He Is as one 
coming.from kings’ courts, with a grace, a deli¬ 
cacy, a dignity, a propriety, a Justness^)! thought 
ana taste, a clearness and flrmnesa of principle, 
all his own. Such la the power of God’s secret 
grace acting through those ordinances which 
Ue has onjolued us; such the evident fitness of 
those ordinances to produce the results which 
they set before us. As speech la tho organ of 
human society, and theimeans of human civll- 
zatloN, so Is prayer tho Instrument of divine 
training. 
