MAY 27 
Citmvn(, 
THE STORY OF STONY BROOK FARM; 
HENRY STEWART. 
CHAPTER I. 
It was iu a plain, modest, but comfortable 
looking dwelling in one of the quiet streets of 
Bostou, that a small family party was gathered 
in the recess of a bay window, from which, at 
times, one or another looked expectantly up 
the street. It was evening, and the setting 
sun, enveloped in clouds of crimson and gold, 
threw its brilliant rays along the street and 
into the window, lighting up the handsomely 
furnished room with a warm and cheerful 
glow. There were three persons—a mother, 
daughter, and a son Mrs. B ites was the wife 
of a retired lawyer of Boston, commonly 
known as Judge Bates. Emily Bates was a 
bright, handsome, petite girl of 20 years, and 
George Bates, her brother, a tall, well formed 
young man of 20. The trio were engaged iu 
a bantering sort of conversation, indulged in 
for the purpose of passing the time while wait¬ 
ing for some expected arrival. In course of 
time, however, the conversation gradually 
turned towards the subject of employments 
for women, and was eagerly pursued by Emily 
Bates in spite of repeated interruptions by her 
brother. 
“What can a woman do in Boston, mamma,” 
said Emi'y, “to occupy her time profitably ? 
It seems as though one was doomed to perfect 
uselessness here. Of course, there are ways 
of making a living by work of one sort or an 
other, but none in which one is independent of 
other persons, or in which one cau gain more 
than a mere pittance. I wonder bow all the 
women and girls manage to live in the city i 
“Oh, some of them have rich fathers, you 
know, and some paint, and some teach, and 
some work at trades, and some do housework, 
and some-well, some starve, poor creatures, 
and I fear some die without any one knowing 
how they have suffered,” said George. 
“Yes, I know,” replied Emily; “but all 
these are depending upon other persons for 
their support, and at a day’s notice may find 
themselves helpless. Tbatis what I tbink is 
so dreadful; there must always be a fear aud 
dread, a sort of ever present anticipation of 
some disaster coming, 1 y which one may be 
reduced to poverty and want; now, if there 
were any way by which a woman could find 
some business or employment in a city that 
would make her independent of accidents, as 
one could be in the country, how much better 
it would be. And then how tiresome and 
dreary it is for me, who has positively nothing 
to do but to employ the time, iu a city. How 
dull the streets are; how doleful it seems as 
the sun seta and darkness comes on 1 I con¬ 
fess I am thoroughly tired of the city and wish 
we lived in the country, like Uncle John.” 
“ What would you do in the country, Emi¬ 
ly?” retorted her brother. Yon would make 
but a poor shepherdess or dairy maid; and 
don’t you think it is dull in country, too ? 
Why, people say the farmers’ wives aud 
daughters are nearly all insane because they 
are so isolated and lonesome; and those who 
are not sensitive enough to feel their Ionesome- 
ness, are brown and round-shouldered and 
horny-handed with hoeing corn and potatoes 
and other coarse hard work.” 
“ I don’t believe that, George, whoever says 
so. I was born and brought up on a farm and 
so was your papa, and I am sure we never ex¬ 
perienced anything of the kind,” said Mrs. 
Bates. 
“Yes; but. mamma, you and papa never 
knew what the majority of country people 
feel, at least I don’t think you ever did,” re¬ 
plied George. “ So far as I can understand 
it, farmers know nothing but their farms, and 
some don’t even understand them, but seem to 
work in the dark and live the life of animals 
to a great extent, w ithout the insensibility of 
animals, and so must necessarily feel a very 
inconvenient sense of wanting something they 
don’t possess, aud out of this comes that com¬ 
mon feeling of isolation and lonesomeness 
which is so much talked about.” 
“ Why, George! What nonsense you talk!” 
said Emily. “Look at Uncle John and his 
family ; they have always something to do 
that Is pleasant and agreeable, and I am sure 
our cousins are neither round shouldered nor 
sun-burned, nor do they hoe corn; why, the 
time passes so quickly there that a month 
seems only a day, and they have all the enjoy¬ 
ments that we have in Boston—books, papers, 
music, and many that we cannot have.” 
“Uncle John is not an ordinary farmer, you 
know, and the girls don’t have to do anything 
unless they wish, although I will say they do 
as much in a week as you do in a year; that 
is, of useful work,” replied George. 
“ But I have no chance to do anything, and 
I want something to do to occupy this weary 
waste of time. Now, at Uncle John’s 
farm-” 
“ Who’s talking about Uncle John?” said a 
THE RURAL NEW-YORKER. 
cheery voice at the door, which had been 
opened unperceived. 
“ Why, Uncle John! we were talking about 
you. I’m so glad you’ve come, and so unex¬ 
pectedly: and here’s papa, too;” and the three 
arose and greeted the arrivals with many 
demonstrations of gladness and affection. 
“ Well, Emily, what is there at Uncle John’s 
farm that troubles you?” asked her uncle, 
when the greetings had subsided. 
“Nothing at all, uncle; on the contrary, I 
was just then wishing we lived in the country 
as you do, and were out of this dull, dreary 
city.” 
“You can have your wish, then, I think, as 
soon a 9 you like; for I have just come, with 
your father, from examining a farm which 
can be purchased or procured iu exchange for 
a mess of rocks belonging to your mother up 
on the Housatonic.” 
“Oh ves, I know; mamma’s wood lot, we 
call it.” 
" Mamma’s wood lot has turned out some¬ 
thing more than a wood lot,” said Mr. Bates; 
“ there’s an iron ore bed on i , and the Salts- 
burg people want to get it. I am offered a 
farm in Stony Brook valley for the wood lot, 
and if your mother likes to make the exchauge 
after hearing Uncle Johu’s report, you can 
have a country home in a picturesque spot in 
the mountain, and all the comfort you can get 
out of it, without any extra charge for that.” 
“Oh, how lovely 1 Toll us all about it, Uncle 
John.” 
“The property is an abandoned farm; that 
is, its owner died recently, and his sons are all 
in the West aud fixed on farms of their own, 
and Mr. Barney, of the furnace at Saltsburg, 
has taken it from these boys in exchange for 
some Western land, aud he now offers it to 
your mother—75 acres in all—for her 11 acre 
wood lot. I asked your uncle to go with me 
to look at it, and he thinks it a good exchange. 
And so do I,” said Mr. Bates. “Now your 
uncle will tell you all about it; ail about the 
mowing aud the pasture and the intervale and 
the orchard; aud the stone spring house, over¬ 
grown with moss, and having a deliciously 
cold spring rippling over the stones across the 
floor.” 
“ The farm is in very poor condition, no 
doubt,” said Uncle John, “ because it has been 
idie for several years; but the land is not bad, 
and can easily be made good; there is a good 
natural meadow on it, out of order,course; 
a beautiful stream and springs, and some fine 
woods; a real good house, which can easily be 
remodeled and made picturesque, as well as 
made comfortable; and there is one of the 
best views iu that part of Connecticut.” 
“ Could a person make a living on it, uncle?” 
asked George. 
“The right person could; the last owner, I 
am told, reared a large family on it, and was 
himself born in the old house more than 80 
years ago. It is called the “ Stone house farm,’' 
I suppose, because it has the only stone house 
in that part of the State. All the farms near 
it and up and down the valley for miles are 
iu the dairy business, and this can easily be 
made a good dairy farm. Tnesoil is light, but 
is very easily worked and for a wonder, all 
the stone there is on it is in the house and the 
spring house. ” 
“ Uncle, do you think I could make a living 
on it?” asked George, with much emphasis on 
I. 
“ Without doubt you could; and, I warrant 
you, a more satisfactory, comfortable and 
healthful occupation you would have than in 
business here in Boston. You would want 
some money to start it, of course ” 
“I think I could, too,” replied George. 
“ Mamma, you had better Jet your 11 acres go 
and take this farm, and let me and Emily go 
and look after it for you, and then Emily will 
have her wish ” 
“But that reminds me,” said Mr. Bates; “ I 
have not told you the whole of the bargain. 
Mr. Barney offers me, in addition to the land, 
25 ceuts fur every ton of ore taken out of the 
bed, to be pai l yearly, and he expects to mine 
10,000 tons a year.” 
“Why, that’s simply magnificent!” ejacu¬ 
lated Emily. “Only think of it, mamma; 
not only a farm and a stoue house, with a 
beautiful view thrown in for nothing, but a 
respectable income for you besides." 
“ You will want it for a year or two, every 
dollar of it,” said her uncle; “a poor farm 
cannot be made rich or profitable and stocked, 
without spending money on it, or otherwise 
spending labor and time, perhaps for years, 
before it can l>e made to pay its way. But it 
won’t be so bard if the work is done judi¬ 
ciously and without extravagance.” 
“ 1 t hink we should take the offer, my dear," 
said Mrs. Bates to her husband. “ I have long 
wished to have something of my own that 
would be a secure independence against any 
reverse of fortune that might come to us at 
any time; and something which would afford 
us not only a home but an income, and it 
seems a providential circumstance that just 
at the time when Emily and I were both wish¬ 
ing for a change, this opportunity should 
come.” 
“But what are we to do with it?” asked 
Mr. Bates,—LTo be continued. 
BOOKS RECEIVED. 
What is Brtoht’s Disease? Its Curability. Fhlla. 
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Halcyon days. By Wilson Flag*, pps. 331; size 4?fx 
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How to Paint in Water Colors. By Lavlnla Steele 
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A neat, little book, very plain in its teach¬ 
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CONDUCTED BY MISS P.AY CT.ARK. 
ONLY A SMILE. 
Only a smile that was given me 
On the crowded street one day! 
But it pierced the gloom of my saddened heart 
Like a sudden sunbeam's ray. 
The shadow of doubt hung over me, 
And the burden of pain I bore, 
And the voice of Hope 1 could not hear, 
Though I listened o'er and o’er. 
But there came a rift In the crowd about, 
And a face that I knew passed by. 
And the smile I caught was brighter to me 
Than the blue of a Summer sky; 
For It gave mo back the sunshine, 
And It scattered each sombre thought, 
And my heart rejoiced in the kindling warmth 
Which that kindly smile had wrought. 
Only a smile from a friendly face 
On the busy street that day ! 
Forgotten as soou as given, perhaps, 
As the donor went her way. 
But straight to my heart It went speeding, 
To gild the clouds that were there, 
Aud I found that of sunshine and life’s blue skies 
I also might take my share. 
. —< ». ♦ — — 
HATS. 
Perhaps one of the most bothersome things 
to do, when one is not accustomed to such 
kind of work, is trimming a hat or bonnet. 
But if we can only see one, after it is trimmed, 
it is not such a difficult matter to follow copy. 
The two cuts given, may seem at the fi rst glance 
to be too showy for church wear and not at all 
serviceable. But the result, if an attempt is 
Fig. 172. 
made to trim one, will prove satisfactory we 
think. The hats are larger this season, and 
require a great deal of trimming else they 
will look bare. Feathers are worn more than 
flowers, and those of all colors. But we would 
not advise those residing in the country, 
where the dampness arises after sundown to 
use feathers, because damp air, takes out all 
the curl, and then they look forlorn. A hand¬ 
some spray of flowers are always pretty, and 
while they will fade some, at the close of the 
season no one will doubt their having had the 
worth of their money. 
Fig. 172 is a coarse straw turned up all 
around the edge, the width of three braids. 
The trimming is of silk, loosely laid against 
the side and crown, by gathering one end and 
sewing it to the hat on the front; covering 
where it is sewed on with the flowers then 
fasten the other end at the back neatly, with a 
jet pin. A spray of roses or white field daisies, 
makes a stylish trimming. Fig. 173 is a split 
straw, the brim Jiued with velvet and turned 
up on the left side. Two large feathers put 
on with the stems crossing each other on the 
front, one falling over the side which is 
Fig. 173. 
turned up, and the other gracefully laid 
against the brim. Either of these are very 
easily copied after and we hope that many 
of our readers will find both cuts and de¬ 
scription of service. 
--- 
SOME OF LIFE’S PICTURES. 
There is a story told of an old man who 
had kept his kitchen fire always alive for 
fifty years, and from the day when he first 
went to housekeeping, so that his wife might 
never have occasion to complain of having to 
kindle a fire. We know of a young couple 
who promised each other when they married, 
that they would not both get angry at the 
same time, for they had strong wills aud quick 
tempers which were controlled only by the 
love they had one for the other. The effect 
of this resolution, can be traced to day, al¬ 
though made 20 years ago. Now they are 
seldom angry, and when so, the quiet, patient 
forbearance, exhibited has helped them to al¬ 
most overcome it entirely. 
“ Small matters" you’ll say, “ keeping a fire 
all the year round ” and, “ only the husbind 
or wife angry at once.” Yes they are; but 
the mustard seed was the “smallest of 
all seed,” and when grown, “ becometh 
greater than all herbs;” serving as a shade for 
the fowls of the air, to rest under. 
So does our influence spread out, and 
reach further than we ever will know here. 
To anticipate each other’s wants; provide for 
them before they occur; smooth the rough 
spots in the road of life in anticipation, and 
before they are rrached, is the way to live 
happily. Keep the fire on the hearth always 
alive;when it is not blazing have the coals cov¬ 
ered so that they will not go out; do this not 
only literally but figuratively; keep all 
sweet and pleasant memories alive; keep up 
the manifestations of affeptiou as in your 
courting days. What more beautiful sight, 
than that of two aged people, walking ride by 
ride the downward slope of life’s pathway 
towards the setting sun, after spending fifty 
years together. And the love they have 
given each other, has been so steady and con¬ 
stant, that they have actually grown to look 
alike. We have seen this, (though seldom) 
and it always reminds oue of the eternal life, 
with its peaceful serenity. 
Faith Sherman. 
—--- 
I like Mary Wager Fisher's article in 
Dec. 3, concerning the care of children, 
and endorse it in all points except one which 
is the first. She speaks of the child being 
served with rich food, chow chow, coffee, etc., 
the same as an adult. Now one is led to in¬ 
fer that these articles of diet are proper for 
adults, while not so for children, but I do not 
believe it. While I believe with her that they 
are not fit for children, I claim that they are 
no more fit for adults, and what is not fit for 
the children should be left out of the bill of 
fal-e for all. If the adults would live on the 
diet which she prescribes for the children, we 
should not hear so much of these Spring fevers, 
etc., and liver pills and pads, and dyspepsia 
cure-alls. Children are natural imitators and 
if they see the old ones stuffing themselves 
with rich foods will naturally want to do the 
same, aud will think it hardly fair if they are 
refused; and it will be easier to make them 
think that oatmeal, etc. is the thing for them 
if they Bee the older ones using the same. 
Everett E. Brown. 
