104 
MOORE’S RURAL NEW-YORKER: AN AGRICULTURAL AND FAMILY JOURNAL. 
^Drfital. 
THE KINGS OF THE SOIL. 
) Black sin may nestle below a crest, 
) And sit beneath a crown ; 
) As good hearts beat ’neath a fustian vest, 
I As under a silken gown. 
Shall tales be told of the chiefs who sold 
Their sinews to crush and kill. 
And never a word be sung or heard 
Of the men who reap and till ? 
I bow in thanks to the sturdy throng 
Who greet the young morn with toil; 
^ And the burden 1 give my earnest song 
( Shall be this — The King of the Soil 1 
) Then sing of the kings who have no crown 
/ But the blue sky o’er their head — 
< Never Sultan or Dey had such power as they, 
S To withhold or to offer bread. 
1 ^ Proud ships may hold both silver and gold. 
The wealth of a distant stAnd ; 
But ships would rot and be valued not. 
Were there none to till the land. 
The wildest heath, and the wildest brake. 
Are rich as the richest fleet— 
For they gladden the wild birds when they wake. 
And give them food to eat. 
) And with willing hand, and spade, and plow, 
\ The gladdening hour shall come, 
( When that which is called the ‘waste land’ now, 
i Shall ring with the ‘Harvest Home.’ 
) Then sing for the kings who have no crown 
( But the blue sky over their heads — 
{ Never Sultan or Dey had such power as they 
> I’o withhold or offer bread. 
< BY MRS. MARY GRAHAM. 
) It was house cleaning time, and I liad 
^ an old colored woman at work scrubbing 
) and cleaning paint 
) “ Polly is going,” said one of my domes- 
\ tics, as the twilight began to fall. 
) « Very well. Tell her that I shall want 
? her to-morrow. 
^ “ I think she would like to have her mon- 
{ ey for to-day’s work,” said the girl. 
( I took out my purse, and found that I 
} had nothing in it less than a three dollar 
bill 
\ “ How much does she have a day ?” 
^ “ Six shillings.” 
; “ I hav’nt the change this evening. Tell 
I her that I’ll pay her for both days to-mor- 
\ row.” 
/ The girl left the room, and I thought no 
> more of Polly for an hour. Tea time had 
I come and passed, when one of my domes¬ 
tics, who was rather communicative in her 
habits, smd to me: 
“ I don’t think Polly liked your not pay¬ 
ing her this evening.” 
^ “ She must be veiy unreasonable then,” 
> said I, without reflection. “ I sent her word 
> that I had no change. How did she ex-^ 
\ pect that I could pay her ?” 
? “ Some people are queer, you know,” re- 
> marked the girl who had made the commu- 
) nication, more for the pleasure of telling it 
) than anything else. 
) I kept thinking over what the girl had 
) said, until other suggestions came into my 
( mind. 
> “I wish I had sent and got the bill 
I changed,” said T, as the idea that Polly 
/ might be really in want of the money in- 
^ truded itself. “ It would have been very 
'{ little trouble.” 
'} This was the beginning of a new train of 
] reflection, which did not make me very hap- 
> py. To avoid a little trouble, I had sent 
> the poor old woman away, after a hard day’s 
) work, without her money. That she stood 
^ in need of it, was evident from the fact that 
\ she had a.sked for it. 
> “ How very thoughtless in me,” said I, 
) as I dwelt longer and longeron the subject 
\ “ What’s the matter ?” inquired my hus- 
} band, seeing me look serious. 
\ “ Nothing to be very much troubled at,” 
] I replied. 
' “Yet you are troubled.” 
“I am; and cannot help it You will, 
/ perhaps, smile at me, but small cduses some- 
) times produce much pain. Old Polly has 
;; been at work all day, scrubbing and clean- 
/ ing. When night came, she asked for her 
^ wages, and I, instead of taking the trouble 
; to get the money for her, sent her word 
I that I had’nt the change. There was noth- 
/ ing less than a three dollar bill in my purse. 
^ I did’nt reflect that a poor old woman who, 
j has to go out to daily work, must need her 
\ money as soon as it is earned. I’m very 
) sorry.” 
) My husband did not reply for some time. 
■ My words appeared to have made consid- 
) erable impression on his mind. 
) “ Do you know where Polly lives ?” he 
\ inquired at length. 
j “ No; but I will ask the girls.” And 
) immediately ringing the bell, I made inqui- 
I ries as to where Polly lived; but no one in 
I the house knew. 
} “ It can’t be helped now,” said my hus- 
I band in a tone of regret. “ But, I would 
be more thoughtful in the future. The poor 
always have need of their money. Theh 
daily labor rarely does more than supply 
their daily wants. I can never forget a cir¬ 
cumstance that occurred when I was a boy. 
} My mother was left a widow when I was 
) but nine years old — and she was poor. It 
s was by the labor of her hands that she ob¬ 
tained shelter and food for herself and three 
little ones. Once, I remember the occurrence 
as if it had taken place yesterday, we were 
out of money and food. At breakfast time 
our last morsel was eaten, and we went 
through the long day without a mouthful 
of bread. We all grew very hungry by 
night; but our mother encouraged us to be 
patient a little while longer, until she fin¬ 
ished the garment she was making, when 
she would take that, and some other work 
home to a lady, who would pay her for the 
work. Then she said we would have a 
nice supper. At last the work was finished, 
and I went with my mother to help carry 
it home, for she Avas weak and sickly, and 
even a light burden fatigued her. The lady 
for whom she had made the garment was 
in good circumstances, and had no want 
unmet, that money could supply. When 
we came into her presence, she took the 
work, and after glancing at it carelessly, 
said: 
“ ‘It will do very well.’ 
“ My mother lingered; perceiving which, 
the lady said rather rudely: 
“‘You want your money, I .suppose.— 
How much does the Avork come to ?’ 
“ ‘Two dollars,’ replied my mother. The 
lady took out her purse; and, after looking 
through a small parcel of bills, said: 
“ ‘I hav’nt the change this evening. Call 
over any time and you shall have it.’ 
“ And Avithout giving my mother time 
more earnestly to urge her request, turned 
from us and left the room. 
“ I never shall forget the night that fol¬ 
lowed. My mother’s feelingsAvere sensi¬ 
tive and independent She could not make 
knoAvn her Avant An hour after our return 
home, she sat weeping with her children 
around her, Avhen a neighbor came in, and 
learning our situation, supplied our present 
need.” 
This relation did not make me feel any 
the more comfortable. Anxiously I waited, 
on the next morning, the amval of Polly. 
As soon as she came I sent for her, and 
handing her the money she had earned on 
the day before, said: 
“ I’m sorry I had’nt the change for you 
last night, Polly. I hope you did’nt Avant 
it very badly.” 
Polly hesitated a little, and then replied: 
“ Well, ma’am, I did want it very much, 
or I would’nt have asked for it My poor 
daughter Hetty is sick, and I Avanted to get 
her something to eat” 
“I’m very sorry,” said I with sincere 
regret “ How is Hetty this morning ?” 
“ She isn’t so well, ma’am. And I feel 
very bad about her.” 
“ Come up to me in half an hour, Polly,” 
said I. 
The old Avoman Avent doAvn stairs. When 
she appeared again, according to my desire, 
I had a basket for her, in which were some 
wine, sugar, fruit, and various little matters 
that I tliought her daughter Avould relish, 
and told her to go at once and take them 
to the sick girl. Her expression of grati¬ 
tude touched my feeling’s deeply. Never, 
since, have I omitted, under any pretence, 
to pay the poor their Avages as soon as 
earned. _ _ 
A SHORT STORY. 
“ When Mary and I Avere married we 
were young and foolish, for Ave had nothing 
to be married with, but Mary Avas delicate, 
and I thought I could take care of her best. 
I knew I had a strong arm and a brave 
heart to depend upon. We rented a cham¬ 
ber and went to house keeping. We got 
together a little furniture — a table, bed¬ 
stead, dishes — but our money failed us be¬ 
fore we bought the chairs. I told Mary she 
miist turn up the tub; for I could not run 
in debt. No, no. 
It Avas not long before our rich neighbor, 
Mrs. M-, found us out, and kindly 
enough she supplied us Avith half a dozen 
chairs. They were old ones, to be sure, but 
ansAvered just as Avell for us. I shall never 
forget the neAv face those chairs put upon 
our snug quarters — they never looked just 
right before. The “ tables are turned” Avith 
Mrs. M-and me, now—she having 
become a poor Avidow. She shall, however, 
never want while I have anything, never!” 
cried the old man, with a beaming face, “I 
don’t forget those old chairs.” 
Ah, noAV the secret Avas out. It Avas the 
interest of the old chairs Avhich mainUiined 
the poor Avidow. She Avas living upon the 
interest and compound interest of a little 
friendly act done years before, and it suffi¬ 
ced for herself and daughter. 
How beautiful it is to see hoAv God bles¬ 
ses the operation of his groat moral law, 
“ Love thy neighbor,” and we should oft- 
ener see it could Ave look into the hidden 
paths of life, and that it is not self-interest, 
not riches, not fame, that bind heart to 
heart. The simple poAver of a friendly act 
can do far more than they. It is these, the 
friendly acts, the neighborly kindness, the 
Christian sympathy of one tOAvard another, 
which rob wealth of its poAver to curse, ex¬ 
tract the bitter from the cup of sorrow, and 
open wells of gladness in desolate homes. 
We do not always see the golden links shi¬ 
ning in the chain of human evenLs; but they 
are there, and happy is he avIio feels their 
gentle but irresistible influence. 
i litunri] Qiib 
IIAT’NT THE CIIANOE. 
A BROKEN LEG CURED. 
AN AMUSING STORY. 
Teciier appeared, at all times and in 
every place, both before and at mid-day, a 
prudent and amiable young man, but after 
dinner and in the evening, he did not al- 
Avays retain these admirable qualities. In 
fact he was a true son of the ancient Ger¬ 
mans, so often reproached for their love of 
drinking, and kneAv no greater joy than that 
of giving, amidst convivial friends, the in¬ 
spiring song, “ With laurels croWn the flow¬ 
ing boAvl,” and of emptying a flask of good 
old Hock, as an accompaniment. Had he 
been satisfied with one flask, nobody would 
have had a right to say aught against him, 
especially as his income permitted it; but 
one flask Avas sure to call for another, and 
not unfrequently, the sixth served as a pre¬ 
lude to the seventh. 
His family had the mortification to see 
him return home six evenings in the Aveek 
completely intoxicated. Their most urgent 
remonstrances proved fruitless, and they be¬ 
gan finally to think his drunkenness incura¬ 
ble. The pretty Frederica thought so too, 
for after innumerable marvels, a breach was 
at length made between the lovers, who 
had long been betrothed to each other. 
Hitherto he had, from a respect to Fred¬ 
erica, maintained at least the outward ap¬ 
pearance of good manners, but now he be¬ 
came a shameless and notorious drunkard. 
Almost every night, he had cither a scuffle 
with a watchman or slept oflf his intoxica¬ 
tion in a round house. His health began 
to be visibly injured, and his fortune to 
melt away, and he was fast nearing the 
brink of ruin. 
Tavq of his friends, Avho, although they 
often drank Avith him, ahvays kept them¬ 
selves within the bounds of moderation, 
Avere much grieved Avith his conduct, and 
resolved to reclaim the drinker through a 
method by no means the most common in 
the world. YYith this vicAv, they one eve¬ 
ning accompanied Techer to a public Avine 
cellar, and appeared in particular high spir¬ 
its. Old Hock Avas called for, and they en- 
com’aged him to quaff as much of it as he 
desired, and that was no small dose. He 
drank himself into the clouds. About mid¬ 
night, the two friends began to yaAvn, shut 
their eyes, and seemed to fall fislcep.— 
Techer Avas delighted, for he could now 
drink another flask without being reproved 
by them. Before, however, he had finished 
it, intoxication had reached its highest pitch, 
and he at length fell, deprived of reason, 
into a sound and deliberate sleep. 
His friends instantly started up from their 
pretended slumber, and after giving him a 
good shaking, found to their joy that he 
exhibited no symptoms of Avakefulncss.— 
As was previously <tgreed upon, they noAv 
called in a surgeon Avho Avas Availing in an 
adjoining apartment. He immediately en¬ 
tered, bringing Avith him splints, and other 
implements for a broken leg, and soon laced 
up the right limb of the sleeper as tightly 
as if it had been most dangerously frac¬ 
tured. They then dashed Avater in his face, 
and gave a fearful, thundering cry. 
The sleeper started up — seized instant¬ 
ly his leg Avhich the splints squeezed, and 
Avished to rise from the chair. His two 
friends, hoAvever, held him fast, crying out, 
“ Unfortunate man, stir not; you have re¬ 
ceived a most dangerous contusion. We 
had scarcely fallen asleep, when attempting 
to go doAvn stairs, you fell, broke your leg, 
and fainted. The noise awakening us, we 
brought you up here again, --and had it 
dressed.” Then cautioning him -not to stir 
for his life, they promised to obtain a litter, 
and by this means to conv'ey him immedi¬ 
ately home. 
Techer Avas delirious — his fancy magni¬ 
fied the pressure of the splints, to the pain 
of a real broken limb, and never once im¬ 
agining that he Avas the victim of deception, 
he permitted himself to be bonie home, 
lamenting most bitterly his affliction. His 
family received him there, as was concerted, 
with tears and Availings. For a fidl month 
he continued to be visited by a surgeon, 
Avho kept his leg squeezed into a case so 
tight, that he could not move himself, and 
did not doubt the reality of the alleged ac¬ 
cident. So long an imprisonment Avas in¬ 
tolerable ; he cursed Avine as the cause of 
his misfortunes, and made a solemn voav 
never to get drunk in future. 
At the expiration of a month the surgeon 
announced the cure as complete. He went 
as if upon eggs to save his broken leg, and his 
first visit Avas to the house of his sweet-heart, 
Avhom he anxiously entreated to forgive the 
past, and once more to reinstate him in her 
affections.. She promised both, on condi¬ 
tion of a temperate year’s probation. He 
kept it most heroically; and then became 
the husband of the pretty Frederica, and 
continued during the rest of his life, an or¬ 
derly espectablc man, who never at any 
time drank more than he could carry. It 
Avas not until several years afterwards, that 
Techer discovered the trick that had been 
played upon him, Avhen he thanked his 
friends heartily for it, and began once more 
to tread firmly on his right leg, the strain¬ 
ing of which he had alAvays, until then, 
most carefully avoided. ■ 
Better be alone than in bad company. 
MAKING AUGER HOLES WITH A GIMLET. 
“ My boy, Avhat are you doing Avith that 
gimlet ?” said I to a flaxen haired urchin, 
who was laboring Avith all his might at a 
piece of board before him. 
“Trying to make an auger hole,” was 
the reply, without raising his eyes. 
Precisely the business of at least two- 
thirds of the world — this making auger 
holes with a gimlet 
Here is young A. who has just escaped 
from the clerk’s desk behind the counter. 
He sports his moustachios, his imperial, 
carries a rattan, drinks champaign, talks big 
about the profits of banking or shaving 
notes. He thinks he is really a great man 
— but every body around him see that he 
is only making auger holes with a gimlet 
Mr. B. may be put down as a distinguish¬ 
ed professor of the gimlet He was a far¬ 
mer. His father left him a fine farm, free 
from incumbrance — but he Avouldn’t be 
content Speculation in corn and flour 
arose before him — fortunes were made in 
a twinkling; so he sold out — bought large¬ 
ly— dreamed of the riches of Astor and 
Rothschild — no more work. But at last 
the bubble burst. The Irish woiddn’t all 
stay starved — prices fell, and noAv Mr. B. 
has found out that it is difficult to make 
auger holes with a gimlet. 
Miss C. is a nice, pretty girl, and might 
be very useful, too, for she has intelligence 
— but she must be the <or— goes to plays, 
lounges on sofas, keeps her bed till noon, 
imagines that she is a belle, disdains labor, 
forgets or tries to, that her father Avas a 
mechanic — and all for Avhat ? Why, she 
is trying to Avork herself into the belief, 
that an auger hole can be made with a 
gimlet. 
DECIDEDLY GOOD. 
We never heard the anecdote of the old 
Avoman and her turkies until yesterday. It 
is good. An old lady, resident of a neigh¬ 
boring place, kept a large family of turkies, 
perhaps sixty. She, like a great many oth¬ 
er people, thought a great deal of her tur¬ 
kies, consequently valued them highly.— 
Opposite her door Avas a “ We.st India goods 
store.” The man Avho kept it, one day 
emptied his casks of cherries, intending 
to replace Avitl^ new. This old lady being 
economical, thought it a great pity to have 
all these cherries wasted, and in order to 
have them saved, she Avould just drive over 
her turkies and let them eat them. In the 
course of the day, the old lady thought she 
Avould look after them and see they were 
in no mischief. She approached the yard, 
and lo I in one comer lay her turkies in one 
huge pile, dead. Yes, they were “stone 
dead.” What Avas to be done? Surely 
the old matron could not lose all the feath¬ 
ers. She must pick them I She called her 
daughters to help her pick them, intending 
to have them buried in the morning. Morn¬ 
ing came, and behold, there were her tur¬ 
kies sUdking about the yard featherless 
enough, (as may be supposed) crying out 
“quit, quit;” feeling no doubt mortified that 
their drunken fit had been the means of lo¬ 
sing their coats. Poor things, if they had 
said “ quit ” before they had begun, they 
Avould not have been in this “ bad fix.” 
We Avould advi.se all young men who are 
in the habit of drinking, to leave off before 
they get picked ; and to those Avho do not, 
let every young lady say “ quit! ” 
A Lesson for Scolding Wives.— “And 
I dare say you have scolded your Avife very 
often, Newman,” said I, once. 
Old NeAvman looked doAvn, and his Avife 
took up the reply. 
“ Never to signify — and if he hfus, I 
deserved it! ” 
“ And I dare say, if the truth were told, 
you have scolded him ejuite as often.” 
“ Nay,” said the old woman with a beauty 
of kindness which all the poetry in the 
Avorld cannot excel—“How can a wife 
scold her good man, Avho has been working 
for her and her little ones all the day ? It 
may do for a man to be peevish, for it is 
ho who bears the crossness of the Avorld; 
but who should make him forget them but 
his own Avife ? And she had best, for her 
OAvn sake — for nobody can scold much 
when the scolding is all on one side.” 
A Noble Brother. —I was once in a. 
garden with a little boy, who was shoAving 
me the parts allotted to himself and his tAVO 
brothers. As I passed on, I stopped to 
gather a feAv cui'rants from a bush—he ask¬ 
ed me not to do so. “ These,” said he, “ belong 
to Frederick, and those to Charles, who are 
noAv from home, and I wish them to have 
the fruit when they return; but here you 
see, mine are quihi ripe; please take some 
of these.” Everybody loves such boys. 
A Wise Laaa’.—I t was one of the laws 
of Lycurgus, that no portions should be 
given to young women in marriage. When 
this great laiv giver Avas called upon to jus¬ 
tify his enactment, he observed, “that in the 
choice of a Avife, merit should only be con¬ 
sidered ; and that the law was made to pre¬ 
vent young Avomen being chosen for their 
riches, or neglected for their poverty.” 
Speaking without thinking is like shoot¬ 
ing before taking aim. 
^outlys Coratr. 
“ Look to the end, nor stand to doubt, J 
Nothing so hard but search will find it out.” ) 
POETICAL ENIGMA. 
Hear ye who boast from ages dark, 
A pedipee to Noah’s ark, S 
Painted on parchment nice; ) 
I’m older still, for 1 was there, ' 
As first of all I did appear , 
With Eve in Paradise. > 
And I was Adam, Adam I, > 
And I was Eve, and Eve was I, ' 
In spite of wind and weather ; ) 
Yet mark me, Adam was not I, ) 
Neither was Mrs. Adam I, > 
Unless we were together. ' 
Suppose then Eve and Adam talking — ) 
With all my heart— but were they walking ; 
There ends all simile : ) 
For though I’ve tongue, and often talk ; ( 
Legs too, yet when’er I walk, _ S 
That puts an end to me. ; 
Not such an end but that I’ve breath, ( 
Therefore, to such a kind of death ( 
I make but small objection ; j 
For soon again I come to view, ; 
And tho’ a Christian, yet ’tis true ; 
I die by resurrection. s 
Answer in two weeks. ) 
MATHEMATICAL QUESTION. 
At the close of day as home I strayed, ^ 
I overtook a rosy maid ; > 
Her form was fair, her step was light— ) 
Her eyes shone like the stars of night— t 
Her words were mild, and sweetly fell; \ 
Her laugh was like a silver bell. > 
Well pleased was I with her to wallr— ^ 
More pleased still with her to talk— c 
We talked of birds, and bees, and boi,wers, s 
Of shady trees, and blooming flowers ; i 
Thus talked on just ns we chose, ) 
When suddenly our ages rose. ; 
“ How old are you ?” she said to me. ^ 
I quick replied— “ I’m twenty-three ; ) 
And now would it be more than fair, ) 
If you should tell how old you are?” 
She looked at me, then shook her head, / 
And ’tween a smile and laugh she said — < 
“ One-half my age, and four times four— ^ 
Plus just by three, and one-half more ; 
Extract the cube root, it will be i 
■ ’One-fifth my age, as you will see ? 
And then she turned and said “ good bye,” < 
And went her way, and so did I. \ 
' Come now, ye tyros, toll, I pray, S 
How old she was, by Algebra. ; 
[O^Answer in two weeks. S 
ARITHMETICAL QUESTION. j 
A. lends $200 to B., to be paid back in two equal | 
annual instalments, adding principal and interest to- / 
gether — interest 5 per cent. What amount should S 
A. receive at each payment ? ) 
[U’ Answer in two weeks. S 
Atiswe)' to Charade in.No, 11: 
Yes ! happy is the winged bee, 
To roam at large from flower to flower ; 
.\nd gathering honey o’er the lea, 
’Mid perfume spend each summer hour. 
But with that bee I would not change. 
While I can feel that I am loved; 
I would not wish the field to range, 
To lose .aflection tried and proved. 
Yes, let misfortuHe on me rain 
T'he direst griefs that man can know; 
Whilst I’m beloved, and love again. 
I’ll care for nought its rage can do. 
Artswer to Rebus in No. 11: ^ 
WARM. > 
ARNO. ^ 
RKUUCTION. S 
R A C K R. ) 
K O. 
N J E C K. 
Answer to Geograjjhical, Enigma m No 11.— 
Washington Irving. Answered by N. Reed, of 
Greece, I). LoVejoy, Miss F. C. W., and Miss A. J. 
B., of Rochester. 
Answer to first Arithmetical Question in No, 11. 
—Twenty-two feet six inches. 
Answer to second Arithmetical Question in No. 11. 
—A.’s, $401,70; B.’s, $370,.50, 
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