THE RURAL MEW-YQRHER. 
HERE is a right way and a 
wrong way to blow out a 
Some people never 
down the light before 
blowing it out. They just 
^ blow down the chimney as 
hard as they can. Some day 
they will blow the light down 
into the oil and blow them¬ 
selves up at the same time. The safe way to 
put alight out is to turn dowu the wick and 
blow across tie* top of the chimney. It takes 
a little more work perhaps, but it would pay 
better to follow this practice for 5iKJ years iu 
safety, than to have oue explosion as a result 
of the wrong way. 
Last Summer 1 saw a man doing a good 
business at selling ice cream to newsboys. He 
had a I>ox on wheels in which were two large 
cans for the cream. This cost two cents per 
glass. The glasses were pretty small, too. 
No spoons were provided. The boys licked the 
cream out with their tongues. They seemed 
to enjoy it too. This week 1 saw the same 
man with the same I six on wheels. Instead 
of the cream be had a large can of baked 
peas. These w ere sold at two cents per plate. 
Each boy had a tin spoon and n little plate 
and the way the peas went out of sight was a 
wonder. The box was surrounded by a crowd 
all through the dinner hour. Most of the 
boys held their spoons in the pioper way. and 
none of them ever tried to cheat. Baked peas 
are good. Many people prefer them to baked 
beans. 
While 1 was waiting fora train at a little 
station on one of the great rail-roads, I 
noticed a young maxi, evidently not used to 
traveling, who was also waiting for a train. 
When the train came along, we both got on 
board. Pretty soon the conductor passed 
through the train collecting the tickets. When 
he reacued this young man he said: ‘'You are 
on the wrong train, you want to go West, and 
you arp going East at the rate of 40 miles an 
hour.*’ At the next station lie gol off. saying 
that he would find out where a train was going 
before he got on board again. I could not 
help thinking that a good many people were 
just like him, on the wrong train and being 
hurried in a direction they did uot w r ant to go. 
I wish all my boys and girls would ask them¬ 
selves what direction they want logo, and then 
ask themselves if they are on the right train 
if not, don’t lose auy time in getting right. A 
good many folks get started iu life the wrong 
way, just because they don’t look ahead a lit¬ 
tle. Keep your eyes open. 
THE STORY OF A DISTRICT SCHOOL. 
A COLLEGE BOV’S DIARY. 
( Continued.) 
“The worst about this is,” said Johnny, with 
a choke, “that I figgered on helpin’ my mother 
big sonic day. When I gut big ’nuff 1 wuz 
gouter take her outer the County house an’ 
sorter start a new home. Me an’ her w-uz 
gouter to keep house—now we can’t do noth¬ 
in.’ ” 
“That’s so,” said the director, kindly: “but 
here’s something else. She had a hard time 
here—now she has a good deal better place 
than you could give her. She can see you, 
too, an<l when you come to be a man she’ll 
kuow it all, and yon can fix things just as you 
think she’d like to have them. You wouldn’t 
want her to wait iu the County house till you 
got to be a man, would you; - ’ 
“l reckon not,” said Johnny, after a long 
study. 
There was no danger of our riding by the 
County house. We knew it at once. There 
was no look of the home about it. It seemed 
as though the peoplethat lived there had given 
up all hope. The blinds at the front were ali 
closed—paupers had no need of parlor or sit¬ 
ting room. There was no path up to the front 
doin'. Paupers must go in at the back door. 
They could not lie choosers. The ft nee was 
falling into mins. Two black hogs and an old 
cow went wandering about the yard. Several 
ragged men stood about the door as tve drove 
up. There was no mistaking the place surely. 
A little white-hair<?d man came hobbling down 
the worn steps as we halted. He beckoned to 
us with oue hand and pointed over his shoul¬ 
der with the other. 
“Walk right inside.” he said in a squeaky 
voice, ‘the mourners is all on hand, an’the 
funeral's gut ter begin to ouet, 'cause Mr. 
Jones lie aint no hand for waitin’.” 
He stood by while we fastened the horse, 
and then hobbled back to the door and ushered 
us into a large bare room, where the funeral 
services were to be held. Johnuy kept close 
by the director. He did not cry any more. 
He took off his hat and let the great white 
brush of hair stand up about his face. We 
sat down on some rough looking chairs at the 
front 
A pau|Kx’s funeral! It. is hard to flunk of 
anything more sad. more desolate, and yet 
with less to regret. There were sincere 
mourners in this bare room. These jioor, 
childish, wrecked paupt rs, children of charity, 
mourned the loss of their friend. They could 
uot ask her to come back, t hey could only feel 
glad that she had escaped the wretchedness () f 
their lives, and yet her death had taken some 
thiug away from them—they could uot tell 
what it was. 
The rude coffin was placed on two chairs iu 
the center of the room. The sun straggled iu 
through the broken blinds and fell upon the 
thin white face that looked up at us from the 
coffin. Thepaujiers were crowded around the 
room. They were mostly old men and women. 
What a place iu which to pass the years of 
life that ought to be the best of all. There 
were a number of children too—like Johnny, 
ragged and unkempt, A foolish girl sat on a 
seat by the door and giggled and cried by 
turns. At one cm) of the room sat the keeper 
of the County house and his family. He was 
evidently in a hurry to have the services con¬ 
cluded, for he looked at his natch several 
times and at last nodded a little impatiently 
to the minister who sat by the side of the 
coffin. 
I did not like what the minister said very’ 
well. His great desire seemed to be to make 
everybody cry. He seemed to lie well satisfied 
when the paupers began to sob. It seemed to 
me that lie made death appear just as sad and 
bitter as lie eon Id. I don’t think that is right. 
At such times people iced strong ami hopeful 
words that will not make them cry, but will 
give them courage. 1 was surprised that 
Johnuy did not cry with the rest,. He sat and 
watched the minister with his eyes wide open. 
At last the minister paused, and nodded to an 
old man who sat near him. At this motion 
the old jumper rose and came feebly tottering 
forward, fie placed his hands on the side of 
the coffin to steady himself, bowed his head 
till the long, white hair nearly touched the 
white face so near him, and in a voice that 
trembled with age prayed as only a pauper 
with his past dead, bis life a wreck, his only 
hojie in death could pray. The sun glittered 
on his white hail', and seemed to surround his 
face with a glory. The paupers hid their 
faces in their hands in the hopelessness of their 
grief, and even Mr. Joues forgot the pressure 
of his business and listened attentively After 
the prayer, the old man who had met us at the 
door, stood up He seemed to consider himself 
manager of the services. He wiped his red 
eyes with one sleeve of his ragged coat, while 
the other brushed hack his white hair. As be 
did this, he said in his squeaky voice, “Them 
as wants to look at the remains will w'alk 
’round this way an’ out yon chair.” 
He indicated the direction by limping over 
the desired route himself. The others fol¬ 
lowed him. We went last of nil. The direc¬ 
tor lifted Johnny up a little so that ho could 
see better. Johnny reached out his hand as 
if to touch the thin face, and then suddenly 
withdrew it. He looked wistfully at, us and 
then slowly followed us out of the room. 
On the way back to Bear Creek Johnny sat 
studying and pondering over something. 
“What are yon thinking about?” said the 
director at last. 
“I wuz thiukin’ of somethin’ that happened 
onct. Ez long ago ez l kin remember, I gut 
sorter hurt an* run iu ter my mother. I 
found her asleep and 1 hated so ter wake her 
up that I didn’t say nothin’, and found out I 
want, hurt much after all. My father, he said 
I must alluz do that—sorter make it as easy 
for her ez I could. When 1 coin© to that 
coffin it, ’jieared ter me jest ez ef she wuz 
asleep agaiu, an’ ez if it would a ben sorter 
ineau fer me ter wake her up in that County 
house. So I didn’t say ner do nothin’. I ex¬ 
pect that’s the best, way.” 
That night Old Johnson did much to atone 
for his treatment of Johnny. He fed the 
calves himself, brought in some of the wood 
and never once joked the little boy. He gave 
him the largest piece of pic. too. 
The next mornin’ as we went to school to¬ 
gether, Johnuy said in confidence: “I don’t 
reckon I’ll lick old Johnson after all. Like 
enough be don’t mean nothin’." 
- - 
LETTERS FROM THE COUSINS. 
Dear Uncle Mark: Our first snow fell to¬ 
day and I have the whoopiug cough so I 
could not go out nnd play in the wet suow. 
My brother Georg© and I topped six barrels 
of carrots. I learned to milk this Summer. 
The Garden Treasures did uot do well as it 
was so dry. Oeorge is seven years old nnd 
wishes to know if he can join the club or is lie 
yet too young? Your nephew, 
JOHN 8CHOENFELD. 
[George can join. I am glad you kept out 
of the wet. snow. I guess your wrists ached 
when you began milking.—U. M.] 
Dear Uncle Mark: It is a long time since 
I wrote to you. I planted the sweet peas you 
seut me in a bed of loam. They grew to lie 
about three feet high. The flowers were very 
nice through the Summer. The corn did not 
do very well. We are setting out an orchard 
of ajijile trees, when is the best, time to set it 
out, now or next Spring; We have a dog 
named Prince and lie will sneeze for life die¬ 
tin'. I have a eat named Mollie, and she will 
sit on a chair and rub her nose on the hack ot 
it, when she is hungry. 
Wolf Island. byron irvine. 
[It is pretty late to jilant the trees now.— 
V. M.l 
Dear Uncle Mark: As f am uot going to. 
school 1 will write to you this afternoon. We 
have trouble in our school. The two direct 
ore hired a teacher anil nobody else wanted 
her. The whole District was against her. 
Uncle Mark, do you tbiuk that was right? 
My brother started for Nebraska Monday 
evening; he is going to school this Winter. 
We are having lieant.iful weather now. My 
other two brothers are husking corn. Ma 
and I have been busy cleaning house, but it is 
done now. 1 amt Sunday, after church, I saw 
a couple of young ladies baptized iu the Mis¬ 
sissippi River. Yours respectfully. 
Hendei'son Co.. 111. bertha L. banta. 
[Uncle Mark couldn’t say about the school 
without knowing more about, it. Sorry the 
trouble occurred. You ought to have a good 
school.] 
Dear Uncle Mark: I received the sweet 
IK*a seed you sent me and return thanks for 
them. They bloomed a little about the first, 
of July, but the} - were not. very pretty, and 
there were not many blooms. I do not think 
they will do well iu this climate because wo 
tried some Indore and they did not do much. 
My father gave me one Bird Cantaloupe hill, 
and I raised one melon that weighed 11 
pounds. I thought that was too light to get 
the prize but I see in the Rural that the 
heaviest one only weighed nine pounds. 1 
sold £1.46 worth of Cantaloupes this year. 
We have been pretty well shaken up down 
here by the earthquakes. 1 raised some jiop- 
eoru this year and it turned out pretty well. 
Y our nephew, 
Heudersou N. C. arram h. prince. 
[The prizes have not been awarded yet. You 
will see about them December 1. I guess 
you bad a pretty hard shaking.—u. m.] 
Dear Uncle Mark: I have read the let¬ 
ters of the Cousins with much interest, and I 
thought it was time to add my mite, and so l 
come kunekiug for admission into the Y. H. 
C. Will you let me contein? Perhaps, Unde 
Mark, you have ti<>t heard of the famous 
Cheshire Decorated Cart and the Cheshire 
Grange Statue; at least, all of the Cousins have 
not, so I will write and tell them about it . The 
Cart belongs to the Farmers’ Club of this 
place, and was made for exhibition at the 
Connecticut State Fair at Meriden, where it 
took first, premium. The design was an im¬ 
mense horn of plenty with vegetables of all 
descriptions pouring from its mouth. It rest¬ 
ed on a bed of flowers, and was surrounded 
with all kinds of vegetables. The sides of the 
Cart were fringed with grain, and festooned 
with strings of apples, and ears of coni. It 
was considered very fine. The Goddess of 
Grain was sent to the State Fair by the Cheshire 
Grange (of which I mil it mcmteri nnd was 
thought the most artistic work of the kind 
ever seen in New England. The statue stood 
ou a pedestal which rested on bales of hay, 
and was 15 feet high The Goddess held a 
sickle in her right baud, and in her left a 
wreath, all made of grain. Her robes were 
made of heads of grain. Her face and arms 
were covered with very tine seeds, and her 
hair was made of corn silk. The pedestal was 
covered with oars of corn split in two, and 
tucked on. It had also figures worked ou it 
with different kinds of seeds. The Cart and 
Statue were invited to the New England Fair 
at Boston, aud also to several fail's in this 
State. Uncle Mark, you ought to have seen 
the Cart and the Goddess. 1 would like to 
say to N. C. Rigg, that if he would like me for 
a correspondent, and will write, that I will re 
ply, as I live in a distant State and am about 
his age. m. e. hotchkiss. 
West Cheshire, Conn. 
[I wish we could see that Cart.—u. M.] 
Dear Uncle Mark: My Grandpa has taken 
the Run At, longer than I can remember. 1 
have been reading the letters from the Cous¬ 
ins for smile time. We live on a farm of 88 
acres. It belongs to my Grandpa. My Pa 
farms it on shares. Our corn was good; 
the oats were a fair crop; wheat was poor ou 
account of freezing out iu the Winter. Pa 
has a Jersey heifer. We call her Nelly. I 
have one bird, two rabbits aud five bantam 
for pets. We raise Plymouth Rocks and Wy 
andotts and Black Javas. and Rouen Ducks. 
Yours truly. edna vorhes. 
Harrison Oo., Ohio. 
Dear Uncle Mark: My Papa takes your 
jiajier, and I would like to be a Cousin. I live 
10 miles below Parkersburg on the Ohio 
River. It is just a little way to the river from 
our house. I live on a large farm iu the 
country. My Papa had about 1,500 bushels of 
apples this year. I have three little sisters, 
and they are all full of mischief as they can 
ho. I go to school. Our teacher’s name is 
Miss Mary Ames. 1 have a cousin from Park¬ 
ersburg visiting me now. I planted the Gar¬ 
den Treasures, but few came up, I am 12 
years old. I took music lessons this Summer 
and I had to go three miles to my teacher’s 
house. I want to be a music teaeher if I can, 
for I like music so well. We have a melo- 
dion. Your niece, coua oakes. 
[I am glad you like music. If you are going 
to lie a teacher be sure and make a good one. 
—IT. M.] 
Dear TJnule Mark: I am 18 years old amt 
live on a farm of HI acres. We have 18 cows, 
and four calves, two horses and about, 25 hens. 
I live 2 1 miles from school and have only 
missed two days since Sept,. 7th, 1885. I like 
to read the Cousins letters, also The Story of 
a District School. In the seeds that were seut 
to Papa, there were some Cantaloupe seeds, 
which wen 1 planted and wc had one weighing 
HI 1 , pounds. The watermelon seeds did not do 
very well. There were eight kinds of flower 
seeds that came up. The Alaska peas did well; 
the Angel of Midnight field corn did well, 
there was one car of the corn which measured 
at. husking time 12 inches (but now only 11L 
inchesi and containing 456 kernels. I want 
this to be entered iu for the prize. Out of 60 
kernels sent us there were 105 ears 20 of 
which measured over 10 inches long and the 
remainder over six inches long. 
Yours truly. 
Vestal. N. Y. BERTIE la grange. 
[I will enter the corn.—u. M.J 
Dear Uncle Mark: I am a little boy 10 
yarn's old and would like to joiu the Y. H. C. 
I am much pleased in reading the letters from 
the Cousins. Papa takes the Rural and 
likes it very well We planted the corn and 
one ear measured 12 *>• inches. We planted 
the Garden Treasures and they were very 
nice. We have five head of cattle and nine 
pigs. Papa has taken two cows for a year 
aud they give but little milk. I don’t think it 
pays, do you? 1 have five sisters. Ma has 
boon sick for two months and I hope she will 
get well before long. If you think this is 
worth putting in your paper, I will write 
again. 
Grant Co. Dak. sears w. bardine. 
[I don’t think those cows will pay very well. 
1 do hope your mother will get well soon. 1 
guess she will, too.— u. M.] 
inpwUancoua 
Catarrh Cured 
Catarrh Is a very prevalent disease, with dis¬ 
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purifies the blood ami tones up the whole system. 
“ I suffered with catarrh 1ft years. 1 took Hood’s 
Sarsaparilla nnd now l am not troubled any 
with catarrh, and f my general health Is much 
better.” I. W. Lillis, Chicago, I1L 
“I suffered with catarrh six or eight years; 
tried many wonderful cures. Inhalers.etc.,spend¬ 
ing nearly one hundred dollars wiibout benefit. 
1 tried Hood’s Sarsaparilla and was greatly im¬ 
proved.” 51. A. Abbey, Worcester, Mass. 
Hood’s Sarsaparilla 
Sold by all druggists. £1; six for $5. Made 
only by C. I. HOOD & CO., Lowell, Mass. 
IOO Doses One Dollar 
Brewster’s Patent Rein Holder. 
Your lines are where you nut them- not under 
horses’ feet. One mout sold Wdost. In live days; 
one denier sold six iloz. iu 15 (lays. Samples 
worth $1.11 met.. Write for terms. 
K. K. IIKEWr'TKU. llolly, Midi. 
farmers; 
Send your utldress on postal for a Free 
Specimen copy of 
The Ohio Farmer, 
A Nath ma I Weekly Agricultural, Live Stock nn<1 
Family Journal, established forty years. The largest 
and btii t in America at only 
One Dollar a Year. 
Address The Ohio Farmer, Cleveland, Oh 1 ** 
Ufiur STUDY . Book-keeping, Business Forms, 
|| o Iwl C. Penmanship. Arithmetic. Short-hand, etc., 
thoroughly taught by MAIL. Circulars free. 
IIRYANT& HfRATTOVS, Buffalo, N. Y. 
