JAN. i!8 
THE RURAL WEW-YORKER. 
gux ©lomra. 
OOND TOTED BY MISS FAITH RIPLEY 
IRISH AIR. 
faces done up In lemon juice, to make their com¬ 
plexions clear; when she discards a lover because 
he has a wart, on his nose, and marries a dandy 
with a nose the color of a beet. 
some people, go through life without being able 
to do anything they undertake, except In the 
clumsiest manner, and yet they have seen the 
fixed purpose a definite Idea of what we wish to get. 
Not only is It a very excellent plan to have, one 
really good dress, but It Is also equally Important 
to have a good second best to save It. Many poor 
women destroy a best, dress by wealing It at un¬ 
suitable times, simply because they have no other 
presentable on in which to go out. A richer 
THE AUTHOR OF “ SOSOS OF KILLARNEY.” 
•• ’Twas pretty tube in Ballinderry.” 
’Twas pretty to he in Ballinderry, 
’Twas pretty to be in As'Ualee, 
’Twas prettier to be in Uttle Barn's Island, 
Try sting under the ivy tree ! 
Oub hone, oolioue! 
OcL hone, ocbnne! 
For often I roved in little Bain's Island 
Side by side wilh Pbeliioy Hyland, 
And still he’d ocmri me, and I’d be coy. 
Though at heart 1 loved him, my handsome boy ! 
•• I’m sailing," ha sighed. “ from Ballinderry 
Out and across tie stormy sea. 
•' Then if in your heart you love me, Mary, 
Open your arms at last toflue." 
Oeh hone, oehone! 
Qoh houe. oehone! 
I opened my arms how well he knew me ! 
I opened my arms and took him to me, 
Aud there. In the gloom of the sroamug mast. 
We kissed our first aud we kissed our last! 
'Twas happy to be iu little Barn’s Island: 
But now ’tie sad as sad can be • 
For the ship that sailed with Pheliwy Hyland 
Is sunk forever beneath the sea. 
OcU hone, oehone! 
Oeh hone, oehone! 
And ’tie oh! but I wear the weepiug willow, 
Aud wander alone by the lonesome billow. 
Anti cry to him over the cruel sea, 
“PUeliiny Hyland, come back tome!" 
[ (load Words. 
CHINESE EMBROIDERY, 
Citcrarj Ulisttllang. 
I HAVE DRANK MY LAST GLASS. 
No, comrades, I thank you, uot any for me; 
My last chaiu is riven, henceforth I’m free, 
I will go to my home and my children to-night. 
With no fumes of liquor their spirits to blight: 
Anti with tears in my eyes I will beg my poor wife 
To forgive me the wreck I have made of her life. 
“ I have never refused yon beforelet that pass. 
For I’ve drank my last glass, boys, 
I have drank my last glass. 
Just look at me now. boys, all rags and disgrace. 
With my bleared, haggard eyes, and my red, bloated 
face! 
Mark my falteriug step, aud mv weak, palsied hand: 
Aud the mark on my brow that is worse thau Cain’B 
brand. 
See mv crownless old hat, and my elbows and knees. 
Alike warmed by the snn or chilled by the breeze ; 
Wh , even the children will hoot as 1 pass— 
But I’ve drunk my last glass, boys, 
I have drank my last glass. 
Yon would hardly bslievefboys, to look at me now, 
That a mother’s soft hand was once pressed m my 
brow. 
When she kissed ine, and blessed ms. her darling, her 
pride. 
Ere she lay down to rest by my dead father’s side; 
But with love in her eyes she looked up to the sky, 
Bidding me meet her there, then whispered "good¬ 
bye,” 
Aud I’ll do it,God helping ! Your amfie I let pass— 
For I’ve drank my last glass, boys, 
I have drank my lust glass. 
Oh! I reeled home last night—it was not very late. 
For I'd spent my last sixpence, and landlord’s won’t 
wait 
On a fellow who's left every cent in their till. 
And has pawned his l;o<t bed their coffers to fill, 
Oh! the torments I felt, and the pangs I endnrt d! 
Aud I begged for one glass. Just one would have cured. 
But they kicked me out of doors! I let that too, pass 
For I’ve drunk my last glass, boys, 
I have drank my last glass. 
At home, my pet Snsie. with soft, golden hair, 
I saw through the window. Just kneeling in prayer; 
From her pale, bony hands, her torn sleeves were 
strung down, 
While her feet, cold and bare, shrank beneath her 
scant gown; 
And she prayed—prayed for bread- Just a poor crust 
of bread. 
For one crust, on her knees, my pet darling plead; 
And I heard, with no penny to buy one, alas! 
But I’ve drank my last glass, boys, 
I have drunk my last glass. 
For Susie, n»y darling, my wee six years-old, 
Though fainting with hunger and shivering with 
cold, 
There, on the bare floor, asked God to bless me; 
And she said : “ Don’t cry. mamma, he will, for you 
see. 
I believe what I a»k for! ’ then sobered I crept 
Away from the house ; and that night when I slept. 
Next my heart lay the pledge—you smile, let it pass. 
But I’ve drank my last class, boys, 
I have dr.uk mr last glass. 
My darling child saved me; her fuithand her love 
Are akiu to my dear sainted mother above; 
I will make her words true, or I’ll die in the race, 
Aud sober I’ll go to my last resting place; 
And she will kneel there, and weeping, she will thank 
God 
No drunkard sleeps under the daisy-strewn sod. 
Not a drop more of poisou my lips shall e’er pass. 
For I've drank my last glass, boys, 
I have drunk my last glass. 
GRETCHEN’S SONG. 
EBEN E. REXFOK1). 
(iKKii'MKN's home, In the Fatherland, was under 
the shadow or the great pines, standing tall and 
stately, like soldiers, on the mountain-side. Franz 
said he could hear voices In them all day long; and 
the voices were always there In the night time 
plainer to he heard than through the (lay. 
Franz was Greteheu's lover. She was his only 
friend. His only one? Ah.no! I was mistaken 
In saying that, lie had one other, aud that was 
his violin. Such music as he could coax from th 
wonderful Instrument 
one moment Gretch- 
en would cry over it. 
The next he would 
make her laugh, and 
berore she knew what 
she was about she 
would be dancing as 
she listened. 
“ A h, there must be 
a tiv tng soul In It!’ : she 
said. “ I am half afraid 
of It. Franz.” 
" But you are uot 
afraid of me, Gretch- 
eh?” Franz would gay, 
and smile softly to see 
her flax-flower eyes 
droop, and the red 
comp out In her 
cheek. " Surely, you 
are not afraid of me ?” 
"No,” she would aus- 
wer, aud then Franz 
would say " Listen, 
Gretcnen. and hear 
what the soul th the 
violin tells Thee,” and 
he would play little 
harmonies so low aud 
sweet that they seemed like angel voices far 
away. What another would have said In words, 
he made his violin say for lilm. It was the 
strangest, sweetest way of wooing Gretchen 
had ever heard of. she thought, llow pleasant 
to he the sweetheart of such a lover as Franz, who 
could put his thoughts into the most beaulilul lan. 
The cuts at Nos. i and 2 are a center and border 
for a circular cushion or mat, done in Chinese 
embroidery. The foundation of the cushion Is 
ruby satin; It Is worked with gold thread and 
black embroidery silk. The method of working 
Chinese embroidery may he clearly seen In the 
cuts; the gold threads are laid on the design and 
caught down ut Intervals with a long stitch ot 
black silk; a line of back stltclvcs lu black silk Is 
worked round the out line of the center and lu a 
few parts ol the border, a portion or which Is 
shown in No. 2. In order to complete the tracing 
of the circular border, trace first on one side of t he 
tracing-paper and then on the other, matching the 
pattern at the broken llue shown lu the cut. 
GUMPTION. 
MRS. A. K. STORY. 
NOT a high-sounding word, perhaps, hut a very 
expressive one, is Gumption. A man had better he 
born with a good stock of gumption In Ids cranium, 
than with any amount or money in Ids (prospec¬ 
tive) trousers’ pocket. Many a man lias let a for¬ 
tune slip through his fingers Tor the want of It, and 
many a w'omun who might have clothed herself in 
purple and fine linen has been content to weai six¬ 
penny calico for the same lack. 
Gumption in the small, every-day arTairs of life 
Is more than any other quality -the one thing 
needful. Webster makes this word to mean: ca¬ 
pacity, shrewdness, address. It Is all this and 
more. What word have we that cun quite express 
Its lull meaning? 
If we see a man drawing out manure on a stone- 
Ijoat. or wheeling It on a barrow, or damming a 
muddy brook to wash Ids sheep In, Instead of driv¬ 
ing them half a mile to the river, or lilting heavy 
barrels into a wagon instead of rolling them In, or 
cleaning Ills field of stones by carrying them oil lu 
his hat. or mowing the thistles In Ills pasture after 
they have gone to seed, or letting Uls mowing ma¬ 
chine stand out in the weather, while his home¬ 
made contrivance for marking out even ground 
stands under cover, or cutting olT a cow's tall to 
cure her of hollow horn, we are apt to say he Is 
lacking In common sense, but 11 Is only gumption 
he lacks. 
A woman lacks It when she plants small flower 
seeds In the same way 
as her husband does 
melons a n d corn ; 
when she tears her 
dresses into rags for 
her new carpet, be¬ 
cause they are “just 
the color she wants 
when she spends all 
her spare. Lime piecing 
bed quilts and lets her 
children run the 
streets, dirty aud un¬ 
taught ; when slic 
cans fruit In cracked 
jars and expects it to 
keep; when she led 
her luisbandgo abroad 
In patched overalls 
and collarless shirts, 
and then wonders he 
don’t get Into he 
legislature; when she 
tricks her daughter up 
to “catch a beau ’ 
before she Ls fairly lu 
her teens; when she 
talks ’’ to her neigh- 
hoi’s about her hus¬ 
band, and then can’t 
understand why he ls slightingly spoken of. 
when she allows her sons to call theli father 
the “ old man,” and then Is ready to cry her 
eyes out because they cull her the “ old wo¬ 
man:'' when she keeps her children's stomachs 
sturted with itch cake, pies aud pudding, and 
then sends them to bed at night with their 
No. 
work done as It should be, a hundred tunes. These 
have more gumption, however, than another class 
who never attempt, a thing that demands the least 
taste or skill, because they are sure beforehand 
that they “ never could do It.” 
“ Dear me!” sighs one lady, “ If I didn’t have to 
hire so much sewing done for the men folks, I 
might afford something for myself now and then.” 
*• \\ bar Is It now ?” 
“ Overalls.” 
“ Why not majve them yourself. You have time 
aud a machine.” 
“ oh, 1 never could. I tried it once, aud when 
John came to put them on he couldn’t wear them, 
because I’d sewed the fronts together for one leg 
and the hacks tor the other.” 
Another lady wants to go on an excui’slon 
“ dreadfully,” but cannot atTord it. 
•• Fix tbe hat you are going to take to the millin¬ 
er’s yourself. It wants nothing but what you can 
do.”' 
“ 1 wouldn’t dare undertake it for the world. I 
should ruin It.” 
“ Then make over your dress and save the dress¬ 
maker’s bill.” 
“ Oh, you could do It. I dure say; but I can’t. If 
1 ripped It to pieces, 1 should never In? able to get 
It together again.” 
One ot the worst things about women of this sort 
is, that they are forever blaming some one else for 
what they are to blame for themselves. DO they 
want to gel along and up In the world—and often 
they are ambitious In lids respect—they are not 
slow to see that somebody doesn't manage right, 
but never think of taking the blame to themselves. 
They haven't gumption enough for even that. 
FIRST, SECOND AND THIRD BEST. 
J. K. M’O. 
1 wish that every young lady of limited means, 
1 . 
neighbor could save her nice silk ou a rainy day, 
by wearing a coarser and more suitable suit. I 
have a widowed friend who. on a small slated In¬ 
come. manages to dress handsomely on all occa¬ 
sions, going out a great deal In a social circle in 
which hundreds are exp?tided where she has hut 
dollars to lay out. It lakes science, but she is 
equal to it. As she hoards, she has no housekeep¬ 
ing duties to soil her dresses when they are once 
made up. She buys one good dress a year. This 
is made up in the best possible manner and In a 
quiec style suited to her fifty years. This is set 
aside as her very best, tor dinner parties, sunny 
sabbaths and the ILkc. The last year’s best dress 
is remodeled Into an excellent second best, which 
is the most used or the set. It serves tor afternoon 
wear, for general street wear, aud dull Sundays. 
Then comes the third best which Is made, most 
likely, of several old dresses, ripped apart and 
turned to the best account. This is for very com¬ 
mon use, hut looks well eveu on the street, ft r the 
materials or which ills made were ot the best, 
lu tlielr day, and such goods have a perennial 
youth. The other accessories or her toilet are 
always elegant, though 1 should hesitate to tell 
yoti how long they last, for fear you will discredit 
my whole stuteineut. it. does seem as if Aunt E’s 
things never did wear out. 
Another hint, dear girls, save even the little 
pieces. Boll them up smoothly and lay them 
away lu some sare place. A friend who buys an 
elegant out III at Stewart's every season and has 
these twenty years, saves every scrap of her silks 
and rich dress goods and all the odds and ends of 
trimmings, laying them away carefully In boxes. 
Her supplies, when re-making her own or her little 
girl's clothing, seem Inexhaustible. Wastefulness 
generally, is uo mark ot high breeding or refined 
culture, but quite the reverse. 
The Rural of Jan. 25 will contain description and 
cuts of fancy lingerie. 
No. 2. 
lu the country, might read the excellent letter or 
Margaret B. Harvey, “ on dross,” In a laic number 
Of the RURAL. It would also suggest many good 
Ideas to girts who have considerable money to ex¬ 
pend on dress every season. We all know how 
money can be rlittered away on most unsatisfac¬ 
tory x’ urclx? ses, because we set out without a clear, 
CLUB NOTES. 
All contributions for the club must reach this 
office by the 20th or the month. The club meets 
the first week In every month, and aU subscribers 
are privileged to seud contributions to It 
