Democratic Sentinel, Volume 4, Number 16, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 28 May 1880 — Write a. Helptul Word. [ARTICLE]

Write a. Helptul Word.

Each one in tins world has a work to do—a mission to fill. If God has placed any task before uh, it is our duty to accomplish it, and the hand of Providence will convey it where it is most needed. We may never know its good influence here, but it may win for us a Htar-gernmcd crown in heaven. Many of us never miss the time we use ; and if we have responsibilities crowding upon us we must try to find time to do some good in the world, and an hour spent in writing, though it contained but one encouraging word, would in the end be far more profitable than if spent in some giddy, gossiping throng that could have no refining infiuenee whatever upon our natures. We cannot all expect to become bright constellations in the litI erary world, neither do all aspire to it. Others I may marry, and bury their genius forever beI ncath the .thousand petty cares of life. But i yet each has his part to perform ; and, though | we may be but a small, lusterless star, or only a darting meteor, let uh endeavor to reflect the faint ray of light that God has given us upon • the hearts of our fellow-creatures that tread a darker pathway than ours. Perhaps many that ■ enjoy our literary productions would fail to appreciate the deeper works that have been handed down to them by the inspired bards of the past. 1 have known ministers of the gospel, men of learning, men of talent, and gifted with oratory, to go out into secluded localities and deliver their beautil’ully-worded, gilt-edge 1 sermons to illiterate congregations. I Were they fully comprehended? Were they fully appreciated? The old brothers would shake their heads ;nd say : “Ah, I came here i to-day with the expectation of hearing some- , thing that would do my soul good, but I have been sorely disappointed. No doubt the good ; brother meant well, but religion is not what it , used to be : oin- putting on too miicn style, too hyferlutin entirely.” ' Ana uiv . old sisters would put their heads together and whisper, “I wouldn't give old Parson Smith for forty like him. Why, my sister, if he’d a bin here to-day, with his good, old-fashi me-1, plain talk, thar wouldn't a bin a dry eye in the house, and tlwir’s nary a doul.t in uiy mind but what some of us would have girt ter shouting.” And now, dei'r friends, if we are not gifted with the flowery eloquence that some admire let ns be content with satisfying the thirst of humbler minds, and. like good Parson Smith, we will, receive our just reward here, or hereafter.

I will here relate to wu a bit of my own experience. Al <uit two years ago, I was requested io read an original essay upon the subject of temperance before the Temperance Union of our city. I very is luetantly complied with the request, but yet I will assure you that I did my very best upon the occasion. I dislike to hear people say. “ I could have done better if I had tried.” and I think it the poorest excuse every muttered by mortal lips. If I attempt to do anything, body, mind and soul are thrown into the one great effort ; if I fail it is a total failure. Consequently I wrote the essay and I read it. Many of my friends were delighted with it, and insisted upon it being published. I yielded to gratify otliers, as I considered the whole affair of but very little consequence. A short while after, an old man bent with age, liis locks frosted by the bleaching hand of time —a stranger to me, one that I had never known —approached my husband on the street, and, pointing to the little blue badge pinned on the side of liis coat, said, “My friend, see here I This is your wife’s work : tell her forme that her temperance essay put that ribbon tin re.” “ Did you hear her read the essay ?” inquired mv husband.

“No, nor I have never seen her: but, away out here in my little country home, I read it in the newspaper. Every word of it spoke in thunder tones to my soul ; and tell her for me that I have taken the pledge. I have joined the ‘Murphys,' and intend, so help me God, to lead a new life, to drink no more whisky, and try to get to heaven in the end And tell her tlr t [ hope some day to meet her there.” Had the intelligent masses of our community brought bright garlands to twine my brow, strewn nature’s fairest flowers for my feet to press, and sung my name throughout the land, it would have failed to have brought the thrill of joy to my soul that this simple message from that hoary-haired man awakened there. And, with tears of joy streaming from my eyes, I poured forth the deep gratitude of my soul, fervently thanking my Heavenly Father that He had opened the way before me, and given me the power by which I might be the instnim< ntality of saving one soul from the eternal horrors that hang around n drunkard’s death. Steele. COBIXTH. Miss. Women and Children. In some society, where people meet on equal footing in regard to culture, it may bo well to be free and easy. At other times and in other places one cannot be too reserved, and, in my humble opinion, 'tis better to err on the prudish side than on the reverse. You know yourself that a modest, dignified girl or woman is more respected by even the worst specimens of manhood than is her rattle-brained swtor who makes free with everyone. Is it not true ?

Some one has been holding “slouchy wives ” over the coils, and comparing them to the careless Miss who had little to do but keep herself sweet looking. The two should not be compared. Not that I admire slouchy women. Ido not. I know (not by experience, though.) that many a farmer’s wife does all her own housework, keeps two or three children in clean aprons and faces, rocks baby, helps pa do the chores, etc. It is hardly reasonable to expect her to be the pink of propriety in regard to dress, is it ? Do not think for a minute that any lady prefers to look “slouchy.” No, indeed ; that is not our greatest fault. Still, I maintain, though I may be ostracized for the opinion, that in cleaning house, and doing such work, the older the dress the better the work. I fancy if you “starchy” gentlemen happen to call on a friend and find pa’s slippers, surmounted by an old felt skirt, surmounted by an old plaid polonaise, without a ruche, surmounted by the red face and frowsy head of your friend: I say, if you find her with upturned eyes and rapt gaze, busily engaged with whitewash brush on the woodshed ceiling, don’t condemn her, but call egain in the evening. Sometimes pater familias and the boys are so busythat,unless the “ women folks ” took hold, such work would remain undone.

Anna does not seem to share the opinion that children are cherubs. Well, Anna, they are not—now are they?—as demoniac as you portray them, but a mixture of both. In short, they are human, only they are purer and more teachable than we, who are grown. Those who have charge of children are intrusted with something very precious. Young natures are so easily molded that bad as well a i good impressions arc readily’ grasped by the eager little child. How -carefully should we guard our words in the presence of children. When we realize how they hang on our words and imi-

! tat® much that we do and say, wc should always be On onr guard, I oilee read (ill Swedenborg's wofks) that we are all the Image of our loves. If we love the beautiful we become beautiful, and vice versa. If we admire a per1 son, we become like him. Children, I think, are influenced most by their mother. If she is a true, refined lady, they will, in all probability, be refined and gentle like her. lam afraid we do not always realize the full weight of our responsibility in teaching little children. Let us ever keep this tru'h before us, that the child of the present is the man of the future, capable of becoming either an angel of light or of darkness. I love my calling as a teacher, and though it has many cares attending it. and weary limbs and achiiig throat is the rule when dismission conies, a pair of little arms about one's neck, a flower presented by a baby hand, or a soft voice saying “Teacher, 1 love yon,” is rich reward for one’s efforts. Roxy Gi.EN. ——, Wis. Farm Cife. These drizzing, rainy days are not the most enjoyable seasons on a large farm. Neighbors are too distant to be very social, and the mud is so deep that we cannot get about much, and the winds are enough to scar on e to death. We have ilot always lived Ona farm, and hope the time will come when we will not have to live so far from the conveniences and comforts of city life. To be sure, in some respects, the farmer’s life is very independent. If we till the soil, and sow the seed, we are sure of plenty to cat, and good fresh butter, rich cream, and fresh eggs are a luxury. Spring chickens are pretty good eating, but, Oh, dear! there is lots of hard work for the women folks, and there is very little sight-see-ing ; the vivid extent of prairie becomes monotonous ; wc wish we could put our Eastern hills on rollers, and drop them here and there, and that we could only, by some magic power, remove some of the beautiful forests, and place them just where wc would like to have them. Father thinks his farm is wonderfully nice. He stands upon the porch and views the landscape o'er, exclaiming, “ I’m monarch of all I survey,” and thinks he can count millions in what may be ; but I say to him : “ Come, father dear, don't count the chickens before they are hatched; for the grasshoppers may come!” and he goes into the sitting-room, and says to mother: “I guess Peggy don’t fancy farm-life altogether.” And this is another thing I don't exactly fancy—that is the name of Peggy. My name is Margaret ; and at boarding-school, and in my old “ Home,'' I was known by no other ; but, I guess, maybe it is one of the peculiarities of farm life, and I would like, if ever Rover should see this, for him to know that I do not like the name. Father and mother may call me Peggy, but no one else must. I have a friend whose father has recently removed from a city to a beautiful country seat, and she writes that her special work is the care of the chickens. She has names appropriate for them all, and her letters afford us rare fun. Now 1 am going to name our chickens. Map.'’.ahet. No Town, Kan.