K? 8 
pairing for t|t gotntg. 
TO THE SONS OF THE FARMER.—No. 3. 
KEV. A. W. MANGUM. 
In justice to you I assume that you realize to 
some extent, the Importance ol selecting a special 
calling In Ute. Permit me to urge this matter up¬ 
on you, as one Involving your Interest in every 
sense. It you have no detinue object In view, 
your preparation will he uncertain, at the best; 
much valuable time wtu probably be lost; your 
aimless efforts may be misdirected and compara¬ 
tively wasted ; and your energies, without the In¬ 
spiration of a worthy, commanding aim. will be 
apt to slumber or languish. Your vocation once 
calmly, clearly decided, your character im¬ 
mediately begins to put on a more distinct In¬ 
dividuality. Y'our tastes, your habits, your con¬ 
versation, your plans, your associations, are all 
Influenced continually by your choice. Your mind 
thus tixed, you will be comparatively tree from 
the danger of moving hither and thither In fitful 
undertakings and pitiable Instability, and you will 
also be saved from that more disreputable fate 
of squandering your precious spring-time In fruit¬ 
less dreams and enfeebling Indolence. If you 
have not a worthy something to do, you are very 
apt to do nothing—or, rather, worse than nothing. 
So you must, as soon as you well cau, choose your 
vocation. 
or course I do not advise you to be hasty or In 
uuy respect presumptuous In making your choice. 
In that great work you not only can afford, but 
duty requires, faithful deliberation, l.et your 
first aim be to obtain all possible Information of a 
useful character. Learn to care for your health. 
Do the dally duties that demand attention. Cul¬ 
tivate a habit ot close observation. Get. knowl¬ 
edge of all that you use arid all the work you en¬ 
gage In. Strive to acquire skill In your occupa¬ 
tion, whatever It may' be. Make It y our constant 
aim to be thorough in all that you do. Give care- 
iul notice to details—to Utile things. Do not be 
coutent to move along the beaten path, without 
Inquiry and Investigation. Ask questions till you 
learn what fellow-laborers know; and then study 
and seek till you know more than those around 
> ou. Store your mind in every legitimate way. 
It may be your destiny to remain on the farm; 
or it may be that some more public field awaits 
you. In either case, you will need muscle. In¬ 
tellect, stores of learning. Working on, watching 
ever, you may confidently' expect the not distant, 
day when duty, with the authority of the master 
and the gentle sweetness or the loving maid, will 
present to your eager mlud the Ideal of the voca¬ 
tion you should follow. 
Though 1 repeat, I must urge you to consider 
that the work you do, the knowledge you acquire, 
while you are undecided as to your life-work, Is 
lu no sense, necessarily and absolutely lost to your 
ruture calling. Until the ultimate choice Is made, 
be governed by immediate duties and alms. It is 
shown, by many facts aud by most distinguished 
illustrations, that farm life lu youth is peculiarly 
favorable to success lu high literary professions. 
In both Europe and America, the loftier plane of 
letters, statesmanship and oratory has often been 
occupied by those who spent their early years In 
toll and seclusion on the country-farm. Indeed, Is 
It not a mat ter or observation that the country ex¬ 
cels the town In furnishing men who rise to emi¬ 
nence and maintain great Influence through a 
long life ? 
Furthermore, in the frequent contact between 
tbe practical and the professional American life; 
lu the Intimate Interdependence of various voca¬ 
tions; and In the accidents which are not uncom¬ 
mon to the most Clearly defined and most scrupu¬ 
lously restricted proiesslous ; In these there Is 
sufficient proof that a knowledge of those Indus¬ 
trial exercises that are familiar to the farmer may 
not only be made auxlllaiy. but may become 
actually Indispensable to the highest success In 
any even literary career. In my youth I worked 
on the farm aud became well acquainted with 
those peculiarities about horses and harness and 
implements of labor that are known thoroughly by 
none but those who learn by such experience. In 
the immediate pursuit of my profession as a min- I 
later, I have had abundant need of the very lufor- j 
■nation I got on the farm. Well do I remember one 
occasion, when, In discharging my duty as a min¬ 
ister, It became necessary for me to drive a pair 
of horses, one of which had been bought from a 
circus company, and had “ ways that were dark, 
aud tricks that were vain.” My best skill In driv¬ 
ing wa3 demanded and expended; my profoundest 
philosophy as to horse-nature was called Into play ; 
my utmost ingenuity and all my means of mending 
were most studiously appropriated; and, finally, 1 
was forced to what, in military parlance, might be 
called a cony tic main , in order to escape without 
a ducking or a worse disaster from a cold, wide, 
deep stream. What my final resort was. I will not 
tell now; but I learned it on the farm, aud, In after 
years, It proved a happy deliverance from my 
embarrassment. 
But apart from the advantage that the practical 
knowledge obtained on the tarm secures to the 
individual himself, It often renders him of special 
■service toothers. This may, and probably will be, 
the case In the ordinary relations of life and on the 
most common or the most unexpected occasions. 
It is a matter of history, how Louis Napoleon 
alighted from his splendid carriage and went to 
the relief of a poor market-woman whose cart was 
overturned in the environs of Paris. I knew a 
venerable and distinguished bishop of whom the 
following Is told: One day, In traveling profession¬ 
ally, (while a fine-looking young minister) he came 
to a hill upon whose steep side a lone wagoner was 
vainly trying to make Ills team pull the heavy 
load, ne drove his sulky by, and went on his 
way; but he was so affected by the wagoner’s 
helpless difficulty, that he leaped down, hitched 
his horse, returned to the hill, and offered to re- 
THE RURAL NEW-YORKER. 
lleve t he stranger, If permitted to drive. He was 
soon lu the saddle, with Hues and whip In hand ; 
and. talking In gentle aud assuring tones to the 
horses, “gave the word,” and easily drove them 
up the hill. The wagoner walked near him, looked 
at him with astonishment and admiration, and 
said : “ Sir, you are dressed like a gentleman; 
you talk like a gentleman ; you look like a gentle¬ 
man ; and I know you are a gentleman; but one 
thing Is certain, you’ve druv a wagon before to¬ 
day.” Was he not the more of a gentleman be¬ 
cause he could drive? Certainly, his knowledge 
of the wagoner s skill enabled him, doubtless, with 
pleasure, to show the genuine Impulse of the true 
gentleman. 
-♦-*-♦- 
TRIXIE’S FIRST TOOTH. 
Tkixie was being dressed for Sunday-school 
when she made an Important discovery; one ot 
her little white teeth was loose. 
“Oh! I’m so glad!” she oiled. “All the other 
girls had loose teeth a long time ago, aud once 
Jennie Potter had one, and she was eating a:i ap¬ 
ple, and her tooth came right out lu the apple, 
llow soon do you blieve I can have mine pulled, 
mamma? Will I have to go to the dentist?” 
Her mother said it was not loose enough yet, but 
when the time came they would make every effort 
to find some one tilted to extract the tooth In a 
skillful inauuer. 
Although she said this very gravely, Trixie had 
a suspicion that her mother was laughing at her; 
so when her sash was tied she hurried off to tell 
Ned. But that young gentleman had been through 
the tooth-pulling operation so rnauy times that It 
had ceased to be a novelty, and he did nor prove a 
very agreeable confidant. But Trixie did not mlud. 
She was as proud as ir the whole world rejoiced 
with her. 
She felt of the wee tooth every other minute on 
their way to Sunday-school; but they were late, 
and In the bustle of getting seated, the pleasant 
lesson, the singing, and the fact that her teacher 
had a new hat with a lovely feather on it, Trixie 
torgot her new dignity, and was only reminded of 
It when her cousin, the librarian, brought the books 
to the Infant Class. He was a tall young man who 
was studying dentistry, and his small kinswoman 
naturally thought he would be Interested In the 
communication she hud to make. 
As he was passing by she stood up and said, in a 
loud whlspjr, “Oh, t’ouslu Nelson, do you know 
I’ve got a loose tooth ?” 
“Have you?” asked the youth, blushing, and 
conscious that the young ladles lu t he next class 
had heard the questlou. 
•• Yes. This is It—this one right here,” and as 
slie spoke she opened her mouth to Its widest ex¬ 
tent, and moved the tooth backward and forward. 
cousin Nelson's race was scarlet as he heard a 
suppressed laugh from Miss Montgomery and a 
faint titter from Miss t ailisle, and he hastily re¬ 
treated to his library, wishing that lie could pull 
out every tooth T rixie possessed. 
“ Let's see,” said the little girl who sat next her, 
so she displayed It again, but kept wondering why 
c ousin Nelson should hurry off so fast, not even 
giving her time to ask how soon he thought it 
might be pulled. 
Every day or the following w r eek Trixie torment^k 
ed the family about her tooth, aud when her father 
came home from the store Saturday afternoon she 
said, “ Papa, 1 just know my tooth Is loose enough 
now. I can't eat with a bit of eomrort, and 1 wish 
you'd pull It out to-day.” 
Her father looked at It and said, " Well, puss, I 
think It Is reaily to come out;” so she wheeled the 
big arm-chair nearer the window, climbed into it, 
and watched him while he twisted some thread 
luto a cord. 
“ 'l eu me when you’re all ready, papa.” 
He finished twisting, passed the cord around the 
Utile tooth and Ued it firmly ; then he said, “ Now, 
Miss Beatrice, everything is ready.” 
“ Gall In the boys, then,” she replied with great 
dignity. 
A tew weeks before Ned had had a tooth ex¬ 
tracted, and Trixie remembered that she had seen 
tears In his eyes. The fact that it was a large 
double tooth made no difference to her. The 
Starkweather boys were over playing with Ned 
this afternoon, aud she would show them all how 
brave a girl could be. No tears should be seen In 
her eyes! 
The boys came in, wondering somew hat at the 
Imitation, but when they saw the little figure In 
the easy-chalr r.uey guessed the reason, lor every¬ 
one In the neighborhood had heard ol Trixie s 
tooth. So with many a chuckle they waited to 
“see the show.” “Iknow Trix ’ll holler!” whis¬ 
pered Ned. 
But It wasn’t much of a “ show ” after all; papa 
gave a jerk, and the little tooth was dangling on 
the cord. 
“ Is It truly out V” gasped Trixie. 
“Truly”—and her father laughed as he cut the 
string and gave the tooth to her. 
•• What a cunning, little thing! I’m going to 
keep it always. Aud 1 didn't cry one bit, dm I, 
papa?” she asked, with an exultant look at Ned. 
“ Not one bit. Now for the pay.” 
“ llow much will it be V 
“Twenty kisses”—which were promptly paid 
with accompanying hugs, much to the detriment 
of papa’s collar and tie. 
Trixie kept her tooth a long time, but one day 
her box of treasures upset, aud the wee bit of ivory 
must have rolled down a crack, ror she never 
could find It. She regretted this very' much, as 
she “ always meant to keep It for her grand chil¬ 
dren !” Alice P. Adams. 
Los Angeles Co., Cal. 
-tAA-- 
LETTERS FROM BOYS AND GIRLS. 
Leak Uncle True Again 1 write, from River¬ 
side, to the little cousins of the Rural. I wish 
this letter to be an early spring-time greeting to 
you all. The winter Is over sooner here than 
where many of you live, and although, even In the 
month of April, we may have some cold rains, still 
all nature gives us tokens of tne approach of spring; 
and we have early' flowers lu bloom, and are 
cheered by the songs or birds long before that 
time. This past, week we have had a lew bright 
and balmy days tbatseemed to whisper of the glad 
springtime; and I have heard a few bird notes, 
which sounded so new and sweet, that 1 concluded 
the little warbler must have learned them In a 
sunny clime, w here he has been spending the win¬ 
ter and Is now Just returning to practice for spring 
moral ugs. Tills little bird sang as though he were 
glad (o be back again, and 1 do not think he has 
been happier than we all are here, though he may 
have spent the last tew months among the orange 
trees, and where rlowers bloom the whole year 
round. 1 like to live where I can watch the sea¬ 
sons come and go; then we can better appreciate 
each. You know it Is said. “ spring would be but 
gloomy weather if we had nothing else but spring.” 
The buds on the trees are swelling now, and ere 
long the pretty pink and white peach blossoms 
will beautify' the landscape. The air will be sweet 
with the perfume of the early hyacinths, “the 
crocuses will put up their little heads, and the 
pink spires jieep from their chilly beds.” Even 
now the violets arc looking with their sweet blue 
eyes from the winter covering of leaves, and seem 
to say, “ We need your protection no longer, for 
the spring time is coming." Here and there the 
green grass Is covering the bare, brow n earth, and 
making ready a rich feast for the little lambs. Are 
you, little cousins, getting ready lor the spring 
time ? Have you learned anything new during the 
long, dull winter, when you were housed up by the 
fires? Like the little birds, have you tuned your 
t hroats to sing glad songs, w hen the spring comes 
indeed ? Songs of praise to Him, who glveth us all 
our days; whose mercy hath been over us all 
through the winter, and who hath promised to lie 
with us u tv ays ? Let us not forget that His loviug 
hand sends us the. spring; and shall wc be less 
grateful than the birds, which sing for a few 
mouths only, while our songs may'echo through a 
long eternity? 
1 thank you for giving space to my last letter, 
sometime 1 will lie glad to write you a letter to fill 
up a blank that may otherwise occur. Thus, would 
1 ever like to fill up the blank spaces in the lives of 
those I love, so that, when l am gone, they may- 
note my absence and think a shadow has fallen 
across their w T ay. With many good wishes for you 
ulL 1 remain, Cousin Emi-sie. 
“ Riverside,” N. C. 
Dear Editor and cousins:— I live on a farm In 
Illinois. We keep four cow's, one pig, aud one 
home, and have two canaries, which slug beauti¬ 
fully wlille hanging lu the window among the 
Mowers. .My brother and I do chores, study at 
home, knit, sew and draw. T am nine years of 
at”*. We are now waiting for spring, so we can 
begin to garden. I noticed a letter from a Swiss boy, 
lu which he told how r they farm in Switzerland. 
Ills letters are very' Interesting, I wonder what 
has become of Young Tom, we have heard nothing 
from him lately. 1 would like to kuow if he takes 
the It lira l. such leUers as those of Barney Black- 
stone, Solomon Sap and Slayerofeoacelt used to 
write are precious, but scarce, ivy says Rural 
Lover is entirely wrong about the girls driving the 
boys from the field. 1 think Ivy Is right and Rural 
Lovers sympathy uncalled for. 1 wrould like to 
have all of the boy's aud girls write more; it would 
be more interesting and w ould be more like past 
times. Uncle Mark tells how to catch tigers, that 
Is a pretty good plan, I should think. We have 
caught quite a number ot rabbits this winter, lu 
traps so contrived that they do not hurt the ani¬ 
mals. We have had sleighing about all winter, 
and the snow Is still falling fast. Bon Wnnsu 
Winnebago i' 0 „ III. 
P.S.—Mb. Editor: Will you please imormme, 
through the Rural, where 1 cau get a few cuttings 
of the best kinds of basket willows. My grandpa 
proposes to give me a piece of land to plant them, 
so I may have some willow cuttings when I become 
a man and able to use them. 
[From any nui-sery nearest you. I noi.k Mark.) 
Dear Uncle Mark : I accept the kind offer you 
made the Rural cousins to write about their pets. 
For two years past 1 had a pair of tame raccoons, 
which 1 named Jim aud Betsy. They were very 
playful and would not bite. I sold them this winter 
and with the money bought a I Alices ter ewe lamb, 
the profits of which, like Mis. Purdy’s Parquisltes 
of Rural of Nov. lotto, shall be my *• Parquisltes " 
with which to take the Rural for uryself. My 
Christmas presents consisted of a set or double- 
plated spoons and a butter-knife; they take the 
“shine” all of mamma’s real silver. If any of the 
girls would like to see them, they' will please in¬ 
vite me to their wedding, I will then bring them 
along to grace the table. Our teacher gives me 
fifty cents for the use of my Cricket dock this win¬ 
ter; It looks well in the school-room aud gains 
many friends by always telling the truth. 
Tuscola Co., Midi. Mary K. WkIBHt. 
“Moke Mortar.”— Parrots very soon learn to 
repeat words and sentences that they frequently 
hear, thereby otteu giving rise to laughable jokes. 
The following story Is told of a parrot: 
Opposite his owner’s residence there were some 
buildings in course of erection, and the men at the 
top of the scaffold were In the habit of calling to 
those below for such material as they wanted,— 
“More brick,’ - “Mure mortar,” and so on. 
“ In a very short time, Polly had these terms by 
heart, as well as the gruff tones in which they 
were uttered. No sooner did the Irish laborer re¬ 
lieve hlmsdf of a load, than the everlasting cry, 
“ More mortar!” assailed his ears. 
He bore it with exemplary patience till the mor¬ 
tar board at the top of the scaffold was piled up; 
but once more the order tor “ Mortar—more mor¬ 
tar 1” was given. 
Then, to the delight of the parrot’s master, who 
was standing by, the Irishman fiungdown his hod, 
and making a speaking-trumpet of his hands, 
bawled to the bricklayer above, “Is It mor-r-tar- 
rnad that ye are ? Sure a man may- have as many 
legs as a centerplg [centipede] to wait on the likes 
o’ yes!” 
abbath pending. 
EDIFYING PRAYERS. 
Prkachlng Is one thing and prayer Is quite 
another. An address In a prayer-meeting Is one 
thing and a prayer there Is another. Sermons 
and addresses are for Instruction and exhortation ; 
the soul of prayer Is adoration, praise including 
thankfulness, aud petition, sermons aud addresses 
are addressed to men, prayer to God. A preaching 
prayer is neither one thing nor the oilier; is of 
very doubtful profit to meu and not acceptable to 
God. Men are Indeed to pray In public assemblies 
to the edification of those who listen, but, that 
does not mean that they are to preach to them 
through the supplications. The listener Is edified 
by the prayer that leads him to adoration, to 
praise, to pour out Ills wants before the throne of 
grace. If ihe prayer la delivered to men the hearer 
Is led to look 10 the arm of flesh, and is not lifted 
out of Ids worldUness; but It the prayer Is ad¬ 
dressed to God the hearer is lifted up to communion 
with the high and holy One, and Is Inexpressibly 
bcnefltted by It. 
Very sw'eet and precious to God is the adoration 
and praise and petition of Ills creatures. How He 
pleads for such offerings! What Infinite pathos In 
the yearning of the great heart of love as expressed 
In Ills Invitations! When He chides men for neg¬ 
lect to praise Him, to acknowledge His mercies, to 
cast their care upon Him, what tender, affection¬ 
ate grief the language seems to convey I God 
speaks as though ills heart had been wounded, as 
though the expectations of his love had been dis¬ 
appointed. It Is not much one can say on such a 
theme beyond what was said a moment ago, that 
the praises aud petitions or Uls creatures are very 
sweet and precious to God. Whoever bears such 
tribute to His throne receives a blessing words 
cannot carry, and whoever leads others In the 
sanctuary or prayer-meeting to bring such offer¬ 
ings leads them to an action, and disposition, and 
relation, that Is heaven begun below, Such pray¬ 
ers edify; open the eyes or the soul to a region of 
beauty and glory like that of Paradise, a region 
perhaps never seen and therefore never known be¬ 
fore, but never thereafter to be forgotten. May 
the Holy Spirit help us to pra y\—Christian Intelli¬ 
gencer. 
-♦ - 
THE VICE OF COMPARISON, 
one of the commonest aud worst of the vices is 
the vice of comparison. There Is good authority 
Tor saying that those who measure themselves by 
themselves and compare themselves among 
themselves are not wise. The Pharisee who went 
up Into the temple to pray fell Into this snare, 
“ God, I thank thee that I am not as other men 
are. 7 ' ’That Is the language of spiritual pride and 
of censoriousuess. ’Thinking in this strain he 
Is sure to paint others as black as he can In order 
that he may show himself to the better advan¬ 
tage ou this background- It would have been 
well to thank God lor not being suffered to 
fall into grlev'ous siu; but the comparison between 
himself aud other men w as sure to bring with It 
many harsh Judgments and many hateful passions. 
Such a comparison, moreover, puts the true stand¬ 
ard of character out of sight; for that Is the law 
that demands perfection. God’s requirement is 
not, “ Be ye good as other menIt Is, “ Be ye 
perfect, even as your Father In heaven Is perfect.” 
Besides, such a comparison Is very likely to be 
unjust. How do you know that you are better 
than “ this publican,” sir Pharisee? Perhaps bis 
life may outwardly seem worse than yours; but it 
may be that he, though vicious and unprincipled 
and degraded In the eyes of men, is a better man 
than you are In ihe sight of God. It may be that 
lie has been crippled from infancy with a heritage 
of bad passions. It may be that he was born with 
an organization that Inclined him to indulgence. 
It may be that his environment rrom his earliest 
life has been evil. Aud it may be that against all 
these hindrances he has striven bravely—rar more 
bravely than you have ever striven; and though 
his achievements, so far as mau can see, have not 
been remarkable, God may credit this man. who 
has lived a bad life, with more real moral heroism 
than you have ever shown. You had better not 
thank God that you are better than other men, 
for God knows both you and them; and He may 
know that they are better than you .—Sunday 
Afternoon. 
■ -- 
SELF RELIANCE. 
Men must be taught self-reliance. They must 
also be taught to look to God for help, and to rely 
on his helping them. Both should go together, 
We think we have discovered a tendency In the 
prevailing teaching at Beforin Club meetings to 
altogether ignore the gospel or self-reliance, man¬ 
hood and courageous self-preservation, while 
properly exalting the gospel of hope In Christ 
and reliance on God. No person Is lu the way of 
overcoming any evil habit, or any sinful practice, 
so long as he Is made to feel that lie is wholly 
given over to the care of another party. In his 
thought, the other party at once becomes respon¬ 
sible for his conduct. if he rails, it. is his mlsfor- 
fortune, but the other party’s blame. Teaching 
men that they ure weak, only confirms them in 
W'eukuess. Teach them that they may be strong 
through the grace of God and the exercise of the 
faculties that he has given them, and they have 
already passed the Red Sea walls and are advan¬ 
cing towards the promised land of redemption.— 
Horning star. 
