NOV 25 
804 
THE RURAL NEW-YORKER. 
■when he has enough he stops; and I guess we 
have enough for to-day.” 
“Yes, and to-morrow; and I want to go 
to morrow and show you some iron I found 
last Winter,” said Barley. 
“Last Winter? Oh, yes, certainly; last 
Winter it was, surely. Wbat was I thinking 
about. Let’s go now and get a first-ratedinner 
for these Boston—I mean these surveyors; I 
take them to be Bostou folks, anyhow, as it’s 
a Boston company I hear is going to build a 
railroad here. I guess w t o ean beat their East¬ 
ern hotels, with broiled trout and these ducks 
and some venison steaks, and I bet they ’ll be 
hungry enough.” 
(To be continued.) 
- 1 ♦ ♦-- 
ATOMS. 
Thu mightiest potentate never wore such a 
mantle as that which clothes the modest lily 
of the valley. The great sunflower may stare 
you out of countenance with its huge black 
and yellow e}’e, but the daisy by the river’s 
brink is more seductive and lovely. 
In eating n lettuce-salad, you have probably 
crushed a thousand tiny beings, who, if you 
had inspected them with a powerful magnifier 
would have fascinated you with their soft, 
pleading, gazelle like eyes, and spoiled the 
appetite for your salad. A little speck of 
mold may encompass a world of beauty, 
hedges and forests, and sylvan retreats, peo¬ 
pled with happy beings, playing among the 
fields and pastures, which our gross visions 
never detect. A drop of water may contain 
another world of living things, full of grace 
and action, and jeweled like the rainbow 
seemingly moved by the same passions which 
inspire our more pretentious race. After all, 
everything is comparative, and, for aught we 
know this great globe that we inhabit, as 
compared with the unbounded universe, may 
be to that only what this drop of water is to 
the ocean. 
Then see what may come of a little thing. 
A spaj k, blowu by the wind, lays a great city 
in the dust, wiping out in a day the work of 
many a weary year, treasures of art which 
nothing can replace—scattering in an hour 
great pictures which bad been long accumu¬ 
lating, and leaviDg the busy streets a wilder¬ 
ness. The air is full of seeds of life and death, 
but no eye ever saw them, and they cannot be 
weighed or measurrd or detected by any instru- 
mentmade by man. And these invisible germs, 
or spores, may take the kiog from his throne, 
and the beggar from his hovel, and lay them 
down to sleep together in their common bed 
of eaith. 
You take au acorn from your pocket; it is 
very symmetrical in its form, and the color 
is pleasing to the eye, but it is small and 
fragile, and you might easily crush it with 
your teeth. Instead of doing that, you lay it 
in the soft and fertile soil, two or three inches 
derp, and leave it there. This is the last you 
see of it, and perhaps you never think of it 
again. A hundred years hence, long after 
you are dead and forgotten, a weary traveler 
ties down to rest nndor the shadow of a mighty 
oak; long branches are waviug in the wind, 
birds have made tbeir nests there, a world of 
foliage is blooming over his head, and he is 
glad of, and grateful for, the cool and shady 
retreat. Sotnew hat later on, the mighty tree 
has vanished from its place, and far off on the 
shore they are building a great ship, ribbed 
with oak, which, after it is launched, goes off 
upon the sea. carrying from port to port the 
spoils of every clime. Or they may have con¬ 
verted the old tree into a bridge, that spans 
some broad river, across which the tide of 
travel flows, generation after generation. Or 
it may have become the frame-work of a 
stately mansion, that will brave the storms of 
centuries, und where children, in loeg succes¬ 
sion, will be born, and live and die. And 
all this was latent in that little acorn, which 
you once buried in the earth. 
A w ord is only a breath, and it may he ut¬ 
tered while the ptidnlum is swinging once 
but that quiet “yes” or “no”—that “go” or 
“stay,” may determine the destiny of the 
man who speaks it—if be Ire a king or war¬ 
rior it may detei mine the destiny of nations. 
“And many a word at random spoken 
May soothe or wound a heart that's broken.’’ 
Once spoken it can never be recalled; it has 
gone off into spsce to do its work for good 
or evil, and y cu can no more bring it back 
than you can stop the stars in their courses. 
How much vain babble might cease if men 
consul end this! 
Some small words are very significant, and 
a n an’s whole character may be uncon¬ 
sciously betrayed by a single word. 
A thought is more attenuated than a breath; 
it may never find any outward utterance, aud 
>et. what is so potent as a human thought? It 
is the fountainhead cf everything that 
makes existence desirable, or converts it into 
a curse. A snowflake is not much in itself, 
but if the flakes fall thick enough, they can 
check the movement of the mightiest engine 
that man ever made. A drop of water is tt - 
very insignificant thing, but there is nothing 
that can resist its influence when it keeps on 
dropping persistently. It is not so long since 
a single grain of sand blew a powder-mill to 
atoms. Little things are not to be despised, 
for life is made np of them. The loftiest 
mountain is only an aggregate of grains of 
sand. The atom is the basis of everything 
that exists. 
CONDUCTED BY MISS RAY CLARK. 
TRIBUTE TO THE DOCTORS OLD 
HORSE. 
Our Fanny that carried us so faithful and fleet, 
Through the rain and the sunshine the mud and the 
sleet, 
Howe’er dark the night Or heavy the load, 
Has stopped on the way—has gone from the road. 
The lilt, and the bridle and hatter she wore, 
Are now uselessly hanging just out by the door, 
And her stall It Is empty, and nothing her load, 
For she’s stepp’d on her way-lias gone from the road 
We’ve planted an elm where the meadow grass 
grows, 
And the brook Is murmuring "good by” as It flows; 
It Is there our Fanny Is free from her load, 
For she’s stopp’d on her way-haa gone from the road 
Twenty years together we traveled, how short th> 
day, 
Yet time did change the mane and locks from brown 
to gray; 
Together we grew old with life’s weary load, 
Now she’s stopp’d on the way. and—gone from the 
road. 
Rut nothing she owes us, for her debts were all patd f 
When In blanket and box ’neath the ground she was 
laid; 
And we felt that a rrlend who once carried our load- 
Left us ou the way, and had gone from the road. 
But her picture we have and It’s gracing our wall. 
It looks as If It would start at our call 
To resume any Journey, whatever the load, but— 
She’s stopp'd ou the way and gone from the road. 
Martlnsburgb, N. Y. M. N. 
-- 
ONE THANKSGIVING DAY—ITS JOY 
AND SORROW. 
BY THE DEPOT CLOCK. 
It was the night before Thanksgiving. The 
depot was looking unusally bright and clean, 
for Peg Lofer—the woman who tidies things 
had scrubbed tbe floor until it shone, and 
Simons had hung evergreen upon the walls. 
The six o’clock train was nearly due and the 
room was crowded with passengers going to 
spend Thanksgiving with their friends. Their 
faces were bright and happy with anticipa¬ 
tion and it made me feel cheerful to look at 
them. Whenever a child’s merry laugh rang 
out, I fe'.t just like joining in it. “ Ah ! J ’ 
thought I. “how happy they all are aud 
what a good time they willhave to-morrow. 
I wish I was something more than a depot 
clock.” 
Just then the west door opened and a poor 
old man limped in supported by two canes. 
He took his seat in a corner and began 
watching the gay crowd. A little distance 
from him sat a fat woman looking as com¬ 
fortable as possible. She took up a good deal 
of room and talked very loud, but it was all 
in such a good natured way that the people 
felt inclined to humor her. She was convers 
ing with a very leau woman beside her and 
quite a crowd of the passengers bad gathered 
about to listen to her. “Yes,” said she "I 
am a powerful way from home. You see, 
I’ve set out to visit my sod Ezek’L who lives 
iu Chicago. He’s rich, made a fortune there 
in no time. While father lived I alius said 
that there wam’t no airtbly power to drag 
me away from hum but now he’s ded (the fat 
woman wiped away a tear) Ezek’l wont take 
no for an anser but I must corue right to Chi¬ 
cago. He sent me the money a week or so 
ago and said I must get there by Thanksgiv¬ 
ing sure, as be was a goin’ to nave a party, 
I writ andasthim if he wouldn’t be ashamed 
of his old mot er among so many grand folks, 
but he said no, he’d be as proud of me as if I 
was the Queen of Sheby. A powerful good 
son Ezek’l is 1” 
“ Aud I’m going to visit my daughter said 
the lean woman; she’s just married and settled 
in the cosiest house 1 and she wrote, ‘ Thanks¬ 
giving wouldn’t be Thanksgiving to her with¬ 
out mother and father,’ so we set right out. 
That'smy husband standing over there.” 
During this conversation I noticed a tear 
slide down the cheeks of the old man. He 
looked so wistful and careworn that I was 
filled with pity. “ All his children must be 
dead,” thought I, “or he would not look so 
sorrowful.” 
Boon more people joined the little group, 
and the times expected ou the following day 
were iully discussed. But I had no heart to 
listen; I could not keep my eyes off that poor 
old face in the lonely corner. Presently the 
fat woman seemed to notice him, also, for she 
spoke a few words to the lean woman, then 
srot an and waddled towards him. 
“ A pleasant good evening to you, sir,” she 
said in her cheerful voice. “ I suppose you 
are on your way, like the rest of us, to spend 
Thanksgiving with a good son or daughter.” 
The tears fell thick and fast from the old 
man’s eyes. “Ah, madam,” he faltered, “I 
have been listening to yonr conversation and 
thinking what a blessed thing it must be to 
have a son like yours. I have four children— 
two boyBand two girls—all grown up; but 
they thought so little of their poor old father 
that I am going to spend my Thanksgiving in 
the poor house,” and sobs choked his utterance. 
“ Land! bow cruel,” began the fat woman; 
but there was no time for consolation, for the 
six o’clock train came puffing in just then and 
Simons shouted “ all aboard for train going 
west.” 
In an instant the fat woman forgot all else 
and made frantic dives for her band boxes 
and bundles. The old man raised himself 
slowly on his canes and prepared to hobble 
away. Just then I noticed a richly dressed 
lady, beneath me, give something to a beauti¬ 
ful golden-haired child, and point towards the 
old man. It approached the bent figure and 
slid the gift, which was a shining gold piece, 
into the withered hand, and tbe baby voice 
lisped, “Ise so sorry for oo poor old man!” 
Then the crowd bore them away and the de¬ 
pot was empty. All that evening I thought 
of him. It seemed to me the deserted corner 
looked doubly lonely now—haunted by the 
memory of that Bad, old face; and the baby’s 
voice kept ringing in my ears, “Ise so sorry 
for oo, poor old man! Ise so sorry for oo." 
At last the ticket agent spoke up to Simons, 
“ Did you notice that old gentleman over in 
the corner, this afternoon ?’ 
“Yes." 
“Well, he was ticketed for the poor-house, 
up the road. A jolly place to spend Thankp. 
giving! I know his children well; every one 
of them rich, and could afford to take good 
care of their old father, but who are now 
greedy for wealth, and so selfish in its posses¬ 
sion that they have ceased to care for him.” 
“ Yes,”commented I, the rock of Gibraltar 
is soft compared with the heart of a man or 
woman who can turn a dear old father or 
mother from their door, whose only error was 
in being too indulgent to those whom they 
dearly loved. 
- ♦♦♦ -- 
A VISIT TO THE SHAKERS. 
There seems to be a strong liberalizing ele¬ 
ment pervading all religious denominations, 
political parties and social forms, and so con¬ 
tagious is this spirit or element that even 
those retired, unworldly people, the Shakers, 
have felt it greatly. Of course it has been 
gradual—of slow growth, but it has reached a 
degree that is quite remarkable to those who 
know of the former austerity of their lives. In 
our recent visit to this people Sister A-, of 
the Church family, went with us to call on the 
other three families or villages—the North, 
South and West families. The North family 
is so far from the main road, and so nearly 
surrounded by woods, that I was not before 
aware of its existence. Here we found every¬ 
thing deserted, the brethren being off at their 
farm labors, the sisters, with those of the 
West family, were having a picnic near by in 
tbe woods. So we were informed by a tall, 
slender, black eyed sister whom Sister A- 
found somewhere on the premises. 
This young sister kindly offered to show us 
over tbe place, but we spent the most of tbe 
time in a pretty parlor at the back of the 
dwelling house. People of the world who 
have heard of the severe plainness of r.be sur¬ 
roundings of these people would be some¬ 
what astonished if they could view this room. 
It is large and light, the floor covered with a 
handsome Brussels carpet, the chairs were 
of their own manufacture, with cushions and 
tidies; pictures on the walls, albums on the 
tables, filled with photographs; stereoptic 
glasses and views, fancy lamp shades, mats, 
etc.; in fact, just such things as we find in 
cosy, home parlors out in the world. 
But the crown of all this was the handsome 
cabinet organ in one corner of the room, the 
top of which was covered with music books. 
There I found the “Gospel Song Book," and 
many others, besides some sheet music (vocal). 
We had quite a raiisieale, the young sister sang 
to my accompaniment, and played on the in¬ 
strument in a manner quite creditable. It 
seemed rather a descent after that to go out 
and view the kitchen, etc,, immaculate and 
sweet as they were. 
In the office building the parlor or reception 
room waB another surprise. It contained a 
handsome parlor set, Brussels carpet, etc.; 
close to a large, light window was tbe work- 
stand of the office sister. These stands or cab¬ 
inets are rather pretty, very strong, and emi¬ 
nently useful to a woman, alaiunding in 
drawers and all sorts of conveniences, and are 
made by the second elder ol the ministry, a 
man past 60; strong, straight and calm-faced, 
who scarcely looks to be fifty. 
After that we gave the “ picnickers” a call 
and they very hospitably treated ns to ice 
cream, cake and lemonade, all of their own 
manufacture and accordingly delicious. 
There was quite a number of young girls 
here, who were amusing themselves mostly 
with a large swing, much the same as any 
other lot of young girls would do. They 
looked so quaint and demure, in their plain 
dresses, capes and white collars, their hair 
confined in nets, only a few wearing the little 
white caps that are worn by the older sisters. 
Over at the West family we found only one 
sister at home. She showed us many inter¬ 
esting things, but I best remember two, viz., 
an old-time “arch” for cooking, that has been 
in use a great many years. The other was 
the floor of the hall or chapel (as it would be 
called, out in tbe world) which is certainly 
the most beautiful floor I ever looked at. It 
is the natural wood and has never had a drop 
of water on it. I have forgotten the process 
employed for cleaning it, but if I remember 
rightly, only white sand and brushes are used. 
Leaving the West family we passed the 
cemetery which is on tbe main road. For¬ 
merly it was merely a fenced-in lot, the graves 
not bring raised and nothing to mark them. 
But during the past two years a new fence 
has been put up, the graves raised, and a 
neat marble slab, bearing age, and name, 
marks each one. In the center of the lot is 
one that is a trifle larger than the others and 
this marks the resting place of “Mother Ann 
Lee,” the founder of Shaberism. 
It was now too late to visit the South fam¬ 
ily, so we drove on to the Church family, 
where we bid Sister A- good bye. We 
had had a delightful day with our quiet 
friends who always give us a warm welcome, 
and treat us so hospitably during our stay. 
There are many very aged people among 
the 8hakers, but they are surprisingly well 
preserved and vigorous. One sees no worried, 
feverish, irritated faces here. All have a 
calm, serene expression. The chief aim in 
life of a true Bhaker or Shakeroes, is to sub¬ 
due all anger, all passion, in whatever form 
it may appear. I presume there must be 
times when there are slight discords, but they 
are only human beings, and some fail here, as 
some do in every condition of life. 
I never go there and see them pursuing 
their quiet, calm lives, surrounded by peace 
and plenty, but that 1 contrast them with 
those whi/ have been tossed by the rough 
waves of life, aud have seen their hopes slowly 
fading away, whose dear ones have left them 
to “wander In sadness alone.” w. v. a. 
*• GIVE THE GIRLS A CHANCE.” 
Yes, indeed; I’d like ter know how this 
“givin them girls a chance” works anyway! 
I mean does it work, or is it only another of 
them flne-spuu theories that’s no good any¬ 
where only on paper. Now, I’ve my opinion 
about this matter, and I’d like to bear tbe 
opinions of other Rural women—them that’s 
right-down workin’ women, and can make 
butter and eheese, and knows how to knit, and 
can pick a goose, and all those things. Yes, 
I’d like to hear their say, and if they have any 
experience to tell it wouldn’t be bad to have 
it told. That article in the Rural read good; 
but, as I was say in’ up to John’s (l was there 
visiting when I saw it), how can it workf 
that’s what I want to know . Now, I’d like 
to Bee my Sally going out as ’prentice. 
Guess she’d want to 'tend the calls at the 
front door while somebody else sweat in the 
kitchen. At least that’s about the way It 
goes at home. And there’s my near neigh¬ 
bor’s gals, Bet and Nan, if anything they’re 
ahead of our Sal, as far sb not wanting to 
work goes; ’cause work roughs the hands and 
makes the face red, and you can't dress up to 
work. Then, who can say “Give me this lily- 
white hand and face so fair,” all of some fine 
evening—not the judge. Another neighbor’s 
gal, Carrie Hague, I must say, wears a linen 
collar, a nice calico dress, and a big gingham 
apron everyday to work in, and looks as neat 
as a bran’-new handkerchief; but then, she, 
they say, she's awfully stuck up. She don't 
go with a young fellow who smokes or drinks 
the least, no matter if he’s the Senator’s son, 
and may be his ma’s been to Washington too. 
She says them's her principles, and she sticks 
to 'em, too; l oun tell you she does. But, lal 
she’s dreadful handy doin’ housework, and 
can sing and play the planner first-rate, they 
say. The fact is, she’s accomplished. 
****** 
I’ve put in a few stars to show I’d been 
digressing like, and was going to stop off and 
go back to the subject again. But my old 
man says I put ’em in ’cause what I’d said was 
too weak to stand. He said it just as he was 
closing the door after him, though. He has a 
way of saying Bueh things; howsomever, when 
be finds I've put him In print he’ll tack about 
and be awfully good, for a while at least, so 
—there, now. 
But, as I was saying. It would be just too 
nice for anything if we could manage to get 
the girls Interested doin’ housework. But, lal 
