270 
THE RURAL NEW-YORKER. 
APR 20 
tomb. Flowers grew outside of the coping. 
Above Charles Sumner’s grave grew an oak. 
His parents lie buried near him, his mother’s 
name being Relief Jacobs Sumner. The 
monument to Margaret Fuller has a long epi¬ 
taph. Only the boly of her child lies here, as 
neither hers nor her husband’s body was re¬ 
covered from the sea in which they were 
drowned near Fire Island, off New York. 
The child’s grave was covered thick with 
Lilies of the Valley. Charlotte Cushman, in 
accordance with her wish, was buried in a 
spot overlooking Boston. A tall marble 
obelisk marks her grave covered with a mat 
of periwinkle. Nathaniel P. Willis, who wrote 
prettily in his day, lies in a plot filled with 
members of his family of whom “Fanny 
Fern” was his sister. The monument to 
Edward Everett is the on'y one among 
these graves of noted men that I remember 
as even so much as hinting at their services. 
On his are recorded a list of the important 
offices he filled. An interesting monument is 
that to the memory of Harndon, the founder 
of the express business in America. A text 
on the stone is an illustration that something 
applicable to everything may be found in the 
Bible. “ The king’s business required haste, ” 
which with the aid of a concordance can be 
readily found. 
Before leaving the grave of Longfellow I am 
tempted to refer to the death of the mother of 
his children, as latterly an article has been 
going the rounds of the newspapers concern¬ 
ing it, which differs very materially from the 
account given me by a connection of the 
Longfellow family, who was with them all 
the morning of that fatal day. It was at the 
outbreak of the Secession War, and Mr. Mot¬ 
ley, the historian, who was just home from 
Europe, spent the morning there and dis¬ 
cussed the state of the nation—the all-absorb¬ 
ing topic. “It was an exceedingly warm 
day,” said my informant, “and Mrs. Long¬ 
fellow was very lightly clad in a white gown. 
I remember the dress perfectly, and how 
pretty she loomed in it. It was flounced to 
the waist and had flowing or loose sleeves. 
She was tall and slender and had a very 
stately and dignified manner. It was little 
Edith’s birthday, and her mother cut off a 
quantity of her golden hair, which, after din¬ 
ner, she put in envelopes to send around to 
the child’s playmates. Mr. Longfellow sat 
half dozing in his chair in his study adjoin¬ 
ing the room where she was arranging the 
letters. She used wax to seal them, and 
while melting it in the flame of a candle, the 
sleeve of her gown caught fire, and from the 
lightness and dryness of the fabric she was 
instantly in flames. At her cry Mr. Longfel¬ 
low sprang to ner side, wrapping his coat and 
a rug around her, but in her agony she broke 
away, and so terribly was she burned that 
she died on the following day. The poet was 
never the same man afterwards, and never 
after shaved his beard.” 
That a prophet hath not honor in his own 
country was exemplified in Cambridge, by 
Anaximander asking where Mr.Higginson liv¬ 
ed. The laddie greatly liked his History of the 
United States, and in many ways we knew 
him as a charming writer, but no one whom 
we asked knew him. One said, “Is he a store¬ 
keeper ?” Anotoer, “Does he keep a saloon ?” 
A year or two later we met the object of our 
inquiry, and telling him of our non-success in 
finding where he lived in Cambridge, he 
said laughmgly “If you had asked for Colonel 
Higginson, every one would have known,” 
so much do titles become a part of one’s name. 
When Sunday came we went to hear 
Phillips Brooks preach in bis magnificent 
church, which forms one of a group of su¬ 
perb buildings, including the Museum of the 
Fine Arts with its striking facade,which form 
in a way, the initial letter, of the most aristo¬ 
cratic quarter of Boston,called tbe“Back Bay. ” 
The entire superstructure of earth in this 
neighborhood of monied nabobs, has been art¬ 
ificially produced by “filling in” the Back Bay. 
Money can accomplish a very great deal, but 
the old part of Boston, with its narrow, wind¬ 
ing streets, is to my soul the ideal of munici¬ 
pal attractiveness, and of course it is not nec¬ 
essary to remark that the really great and 
famous ones of Boston do not live in the Back 
Bay. 
The Church of the Trinity, in which Mr. 
Brooks preaches, is as ornate inside as it 
could possibly be. If there was a square foot 
in it left undecorated I failed to see it. Mr. 
Brooks preaches under a big sounding-board, 
but his speech rushes out of his mouth in a 
torrent, so that it is no easy task to under¬ 
stand and follow him. He is a very large 
man and in his black gown makes a striaing 
figure in his pulpit. He is a Low Church Epis¬ 
copalian and has strong apd decided opinions 
about things to which he gives a vigorous ex¬ 
pression, and for these reasons hw exerpjses a 
very considerable influence even outside of hjs 
church. The Spiritual Temple is not fur from 
Trinity and i« e striking and beautiful exter¬ 
ior, and we were sorry that it was closed, as 
we had heard much of its interior finish. It 
is by far the finest temple or church owned by 
spiritualists in the United States, not because 
spiritualists abound more particularly in Bos¬ 
ton, but because one of them who was wealthy 
chose to build this temple in honor of his be¬ 
lief. which ought to be a very comforting one 
in this materialistic and doubting age. 
As we were not likely to indulge in much 
loafing with the attractions of Boston all 
around, we decided to go to Plymouth for a 
mouth and enjoy sight-seeing at our leisure. 
We went by rail via the South Shore R. R, 
Passing through Quincy, a gentleman pointed 
out to 'us the low, slanting-roofed, red brick 
house in which John Adams lived and in 
which John Quincy Adams was born. And 
then on we went through the beautiful village 
of Hingham, which, like all the towns, looked 
very attractive. The houses were mostly of 
wood, often covered all over with shingles, 
the foundations generally of brick. The stone 
walls were lichen-grown, apple ana pear trees 
were laden with fruit, and the great elms 
were girdled with tar. There is a certain 
candor in the blue-eyed, fair haired New Eng¬ 
land girls, that is very winsome, and every 
one, rude or cultivated, speaks with the broad 
“a” which, of course, is the correct pronuncia¬ 
tion, and as much as I have heard all classes 
of people talk in New England, I have never 
yet beard one give “ a ’’ the sound the many 
do who pronounce psalm, “sam.” 
GOSSIP AND GOSSIP. 
G OSSIP is worthy of all reprobation; cer¬ 
tainly every man has bis fling at it, 
and we of the talking sex are oft chidden for 
our indulgence in this pursuit. But all the 
same, whatever should we do without it? Of 
course, we ought not to say anything either 
untrue or ill-natured, but there is no doubt 
that the brightest conversation we bear is 
gossip, pure and simple. That is to say, it is 
about people—a healthy-minded man or 
woman always finds humanity more enter¬ 
taining than any abstract subject. But such 
gossip need not be about our neighbors. 
There is no doubt that a nimble tongue, both 
truthful and good-tempered, will win more 
friends than genius or beauty. The most 
popular woman we know, often holds that 
position merely because she knows how to use 
her tongue, and also how to govern it. So 
there is the chance that we may all be equally 
charming. 
The first qualification if one would have 
one's conversation appreciated, is to suit the 
listeners. One would not talk ribbons to a 
man, or guns and boats to a woman. Another 
tl ing neglected by many bright talkers, is to 
give the listeners a chance. Always remem¬ 
ber that others have something to say, prob¬ 
ably something worth saying, too. And 
while one may say a little about friends and 
their ways, it is a good deal better to let per¬ 
sonal gossip chiefly consist of chat about 
prominent people, who seem to be more pub¬ 
lic property. For tnis reason, a woman who 
reads the newspapers always makes the 
brightest talker. Wit comes by nature, but 
a witty turn of speech may be cultivated, al¬ 
ways remembering that wit wnich wounds or 
ridicules others shows lack of that true good 
breeding and courtesy which is simply the 
golden rule in every-aay use. A great many 
women are deficient in natural sense of 
humor, but it is certainly to be cultivated. 
How can any ordinary girl become an 
agreeable talker? By the cultivation of 
sympathy and kindliness towards all, coupled 
with thorough truthfulness; add to this con¬ 
stant miscellaneous reading, books, newspa¬ 
pers, and magazines, and a little practice—an 
attempt to be pleased with others, and to 
please, and your charming talker is made. 
COTTAGE MAID. 
GOLDEN GRAINS. 
B USSUET asserts that the spirit of the 
world includes four kinds of spirits dia- 
meti ically opposed to charity—the spirit of re¬ 
sentment, the spirit of aversion, the spirit of 
jealousy, and the spirit of indifference. 
Good nature is the very air of a good mind, 
the sign of a large-and generous soul, and the 
peculiar soil in which virtue prospers. 
Man’s character is an element of his wealth, 
and you cannot make him rich in what he 
has except as you teach him to be rich in what 
he is. 
Whkn obstacles and trials seem 
Like prison walls to be, 
1 do the little 1 can do, 
And leave the rest to Thee. 
--Faber. 
PfiYPEN SAIP: <‘ Ret gr*iee and guodnesa be 
the principal lodestone of thy affections. For 
Jove Wbipb bafcl) ende where¬ 
as that which is founded on true virtue will 
alwa/s continue.”..... 
“ I never complained of my condition,” 
said the Persiau poet Sadi, “ but once, when 
my feet were bare, and I bad no money to 
buy shoes; but I met a man without any feet, 
and became contented with my lot.”. 
4 life of duty is the only cheerful life, for 
all joys spring from affection, and it is the 
great law of nature that without good deeds 
all good affection dies, and the heart becomes 
utterly desolate. The external world then 
loses all its beauty; poetry fades away from 
the earth; for what is poetry but the reflec¬ 
tion of all that is pure and sweet, all high and 
holy thoughts?. 
The Shoe and Leather Reporter says 
that bad luck is simply a man with his hauds 
in his pockets and a pipe in his mouth, look¬ 
ing on to see how it is coming out. Good 
luck is a man of pluck, with his sleeves rolled 
up, and working to make it come out all 
right. 
By the words of our mouth we may affect 
to adore religion, but it is by the work ot our 
lives that we adorn religion. 
The Boston Record tells of a four-year- 
old boy whonad been in thehabit'of repeating 
a formulated prayer every evening and sur¬ 
prised his parents the other night hv saying: 
“ Oh, God, I wish you would make the trees 
walk.” When remonstrated with for his 
singular request, he replied: “ You say that 
God can do anything, and I want to see the 
trees walk, and I shan’t pray for anything 
else until they do.”.... 
Comas tic 0jc.an.0mij 
CONDUCTED BY MRS. AGNES E. M. CARMAN. 
N OW is the time to simplify the house. 
work; to go without the toothsome 
dainties that consume so many hours in their 
preparation, and to do less sewing by wearing 
plainer-made clothing. The time you have so 
gained spend out-of-doors, on your potato 
plot if you like, but out-of-doors iu the blessed 
sun aud air and away from the kitchen. If 
you do not care to work in the soil, study, 
read, mend or rest in some shady spot, but do 
you spend a portion of each day out-of-doors! 
Your nerves will be stronger, your health 
will be better and you will be happier for it 
aud so ought the members of your family. 
A TALK ABOUT SEWING. 
Ur N ye olaen times” a girl was looked 
I upon as being very ignorant if she did 
not know how to hem, fell, darn, cat-stitch, 
knit or crochet. The sewing machine has 
done a%vay with “ hand work” to a great ex¬ 
tent, but still there are some things which 
must be done with hand. 
The foreigners keep to the practice of teach¬ 
ing the children these things far more than 
do our own people. I remember seeing little 
German girls going to and from school with 
their knitting—working as tney went. Some 
of them were tiny tots not more than six or 
seven years of age. They looked like some 
quaint old pictures come to life—with their 
little red or buff dresses, made very short and 
plain in the waist; with the skirts full and 
long, nearly touching their shoe tops; the 
hair combed backed smoothly from the face, 
plaited in two tight pig-tails behind, either 
hanging down or coiled around and pinned. 
In days of yore each girl began, as soon as 
she learned how to sew, to make things 
“ ’gainst the weddin’ time.” If she could not 
bring a well-filled “chest” or “box” as her 
dowery, it was considered a disgrace. 
It is well for our girls to learn to sew, but 
when I think of the hours those poor little 
girls of the past spent stooping over their 
sewing or “ sampler’’and missing thereby the 
delight and joy of God’s air and sunshine, I 
heave a sigh for the poor little things. But 
there is mezzo termine, or in other words, a 
middle course or a happy medium. Every 
girl should learn to handle the needle to such 
an extent as to be able to keep her own clothes 
in order. It may be necessary for foreigners 
to drill their little girls into the art, but not 
so with the average American girl. If she is 
bright at all, she has Yankee ingenuity 
enough to do almost anything if necessary. 
I remember when we were young wnat 
pains my mother took to instruct her children 
as she had been taught herself. How my 
eldest sister could sew 1 When she was 
twelve years old she stitched the bosom of 
every shirt my father wore, She braided and 
embroidered the babies’ clothes, she crocheted 
lace for their underclothes; ia fact, she did 
alfnust everything that * gfrj could do in that 
lint*. Next to b?l ! g fwj, that) your 
humble servant who was always “ a thorn in 
the flesh.” 1 had one accomplishment in the 
way of needle-work, and one only. I could 
dam , and that’s all. I rather liked to see a 
piece of cloth, as it were, grow ’neath my fin¬ 
gers. Then again, I could use a coarse needle, 
and didn’t have to wear a thimble. Besides, 
my brother had to have some one to play 
with, so I gradually relinquished my place to 
the younger girls, who also learned to ply the 
needle with deftness They always were such 
“ pinks of propriety,” never were up to the 
mischief that I got into, never came home 
with their ruffies tied in “lover’s knots” 
around their heels, never had the gathers out 
from the waist. But poor little me! I was 
always in some such plight. At last mamma 
decided that each of us must mend her own 
clothes or wear them as they were. I couldn’t 
sew ! But I could darn. So I used to darn 
the girls’ stockings if they would mend my 
frccks. But this arrangement did not last 
long, for they soon found that they had the 
worst of the bargain. Then what was I to 
do ? I finally bribed them. 
“Say,if you’ll mend my blue dress I’ll give 
you my new hair ribbon—Will you ?” or 
“If you’ll mend the lace on my petticoat I’ll 
give you my ‘Uncle Tom’s Cabin' ” and in 
this way I was kept from tumbling apart. 
But after awhile I had bargained away every¬ 
thing I had worth giving except my “Life of 
George Washington.” One day I said, “Ger¬ 
tie will you mend my dress ?” “What’ll you 
give me ?” she answered. But all I’d offer 
wouldn’t tempt her—she would answer: 
“Give me ‘George Washington?”’ No, I 
couldn’t do that, so I’d go to another sister. 
Same result. 
Then I tried to do my own sewing. I 
managed fairly well (only my back ached 
and I ran the needle under my nails till my 
fingers were sore), for a little while, but I 
finally determined that “George” wasn’t so 
precious after all and struck up a bargain 
with one of my sisters. She was to have the 
book which had belonged to my father and 
was a very handsome one, if she would mend 
my clothes for a month. She agreed, and 
kept her agreement and so did I. 
But as I merged into womanhood I found 
that I must learn to sew, so set about it. As 
I have said, American girls have Yankee in¬ 
genuity enough to do almost anything they 
undertake,if they are earnest and determined. 
So I learned to do my own sewing and have 
made all my own clothes, dresses included,for 
years. Not ouly that, but my sisters always 
want my advice and opinion in regard to their 
new gowns, and “If I do say it myself as 
hadn’t orter” I can sew just as well as any of 
them. 
But I didn’t want to talk so much about 
myself, only I wanted to show that it is all 
nonsense making little girls sit still and sew 
for hours, while they ought to be out in the 
fresh air; ought to be enjoying a good romp 
and frolic. No wonder boys, as a rule, are 
stronger than girls. They play ball, cricket, 
leap frog and kick-tbe-wicket to their heart’s 
content. They use their muscles, they ex¬ 
pand their lungs, they become strong and 
robust, while their sisters sit on their little 
stools, perhaps in a close room without any 
ventilation, and stitch, stitch, stitch. Their 
backs may ache, their eyes may be weary, 
but they must do their “ stint.” Then when 
that is over they may take a walk, “ like a 
lady.” No wonder the poor little things are 
pale and delicate! No wonder they make 
sickly frail women! Are they fit to be 
the mothers of our coming generations? No 
wonder there are so many miserable creatures 
dragging wretched, ailing bodies about! If 
you want healthy, hearty, men and women 
in the future, give your girls proper care. 
Teach them to frolic and play out-door games 
as well as the boys. This practice, I am glad 
to say, has, within a comparatively few 
years, become more fashionable than it used 
to be When a girl has “gotten her growth,” 
as the old-fashioned people say, it is time 
enough for her to learn to do fancy-work. 
Of course, I think, as I said, that they ought to 
be taught plain sewing enough to enable them 
to keep themselves neat and tidy—but what’s 
the use in teaching them to fell aud hem, em¬ 
broider, crochet, etc., and neglect their health 
thereby? A good plan would be to let the 
girls have one afternoon a week iu which to 
sew; they could be taught all that is necessary 
in that time, aud then when indulged iu only 
PilttUftMHtj* gulvcrtiainjj. 
When Baby wa* sick, we gave her CastorUt, 
When she was a Child, she cried for Castoria, 
When she became Miss, she clung to Castoria, 
Whuo *09 !)!0J CW ( jf8S, she g-n Y« Duinj peatuyj# 
