MOORE’S RURAL NEW-YORKER: AN AGRICULTURAL AND FAMILY JOURNAL. 
FABMEE’S SONG. 
BY W. L. EATON. 
‘ A RURAI, life is the life for me,’ 
Awny from the city’s strife, 
Where the breath of Heaven is pure and free. 
And nature’s full of life; 
Wlicre the earth is cloth’d with a lively green, 
The flowers smiling and fair. 
And the wisdom of God is distincly seen. 
In all that flourishes there. 
We do not envy the man of trade. 
Whoso life is with cares oppressed. 
Who only is ha[)py as wealth is made, 
And not when others are blessed; 
His life bound up in his merchandise. 
His heart absorbed in his gains. 
The beauty of earth shut out from his eyes. 
But not from his soul, its pains. 
We have nothing to do in ambition’s ways, 
And we do not envy the great. 
Puffed up with the hollow voice of praise. 
And perplexed with the cares of state. 
Elated with hope or depressed with fear. 
They must run when the people rail; 
We are happier far in our humble sphere. 
Than they in the Nation’s hall. 
The gifts of Heaven are freely bestowed. 
The harvest our labor crowns; 
No despot can reach our peaceful abode. 
We quail at no tyrant’s frowns. 
A rural home is the home we love, 
Away from the city’s strife. 
We bow to none but the God above— 
None know a happier life. 
liferiin] anb 
' THE RUIN. 
1 AN INSTRUCTIVE SKETCH. 
• “ Why do you keep me for so long a time 
! at the door ? ” said Edward F-passion¬ 
ately, to his wife. The night passed, but 
its cold winds had entered the house, as 
Mrs. F-with a sorrowful heart, un¬ 
bolted the door. 
“ It is late, Edward, and I could not keep 
from slumbering.” 
He said nothing in return to this, but 
flung himself into a chair, and gazed intent¬ 
ly on the fire. His son climbed upon his 
knee, and putting his little arm around his 
father’s neck, w'hispered— 
“Papa, what has mother been crying 
for?” 
Mr. F-started and shook off" his boy, 
and said with violence — 
“ Go to bed, sir: what business has your 
mother to let you be up at this late hour of 
the night ? ” 
The poor child’s lower lip pouted, but he 
was at the time too much frightened to cry. 
His sister silently took him up, and, when 
he reached his bed, his heart discharged it¬ 
self in noisy grief. The mother heard his 
crying, and went to him — but she soon re¬ 
turned to the parlor. She leaned upon her 
husband, and thus addressed him— 
“Edward, I will not upbraid you on ac-, 
count of your harshness to me, but I do 
implore you not to act in this manner be¬ 
fore your children. You are not, Edward, 
what you used to be. These heavy eyes 
tell of wretchedness as well as bad hours. 
You -wrong me—you wrong yourself, thus 
to let my hand show I am your wife, but 
at the same time let your heart know sin¬ 
gleness in matters of moment. I am aware 
of the kind of society in which you have 
lately indulged. Tell me, Edward, for 
heaven’s sake tell me! we are ruined; is itt 
not so? ” 
Edward had not a word to say to his 
wife; but a man’s tears are more awful 
than his words. 
“ Well, be it so, Edward!—our children 
may sufier from our fall—but it will re¬ 
double my e.xertions for them. And as for 
myself, you do not know me if you think 
that circumstances can lessen my feelings 
for them. A woman’s love is like the plant 
which shows its strength the more it is trod¬ 
den on. Arouse yourself, my husband— 
leave the course you have lately pursued— 
it is true your father has cast you off—it is 
true that you are indebted to him in a se¬ 
rious sum—but, Edward, he is not all the 
world—only consider your wife in that 
light.” 
A slight tap was now heard at the door, 
and Mrs. F-went to ascertain the cause. 
She returned to her husband. 
“ Mary is at the door—she says you al¬ 
ways kissed her before she went to bed.” 
“ My child,” said the father, “ God bless 
you—I am not very well, Mary. Nay, do 
not speak to me to-night Go to rest now; 
give me one of your pretty smiles in the 
morning, and then, my child, your father 
will be happy][again.” 
Mr. F-was persuaded by his affec¬ 
tionate partner to retire; but sleep and rest 
were not for him—his wife and children 
had once given him happy dreams; but now 
the ruin he had brought upon them was an 
awakening reality. When the light of the 
morn faintly appeared above the tops of the 
opposite houses, Mr. F-arose. 
“Where are you going, Edwai-d?” said 
his watchful wife. 
“ I have been considering,” he said calm¬ 
ly, “ and I am determined to try my father. 
He loved me 'when I was a boy, he was 
proud of me. It is true I have acted dis¬ 
honorable by him, and should no doubt 
have ruined him. Yesterday I spoke harsh¬ 
ly of him, but I did not then know myself, death had directed their murderous arms 
Your deep affection, my dear wife, has com- upon the unfortunate band, deprived of 
pletely altered me. I will make up for it hope, and expecting only death. 0, hap- 
— I will, indeed I will. Now don’t grieve piness! O, surprise! What strength is 
me in this way —this is worse to me than thine, 0 holy sentiment of nature! 
I will be back soon.” 
At the moment of the signal for the dis- 
cast us off forever.” 
The distressed man scarcely said this, 
when a person rudely came in. The pur- 
she shall perish with the author of her ex¬ 
istence. 
“0! my daughter! —0! my child! the 
they let us go too ? 
godly placed himself in a chair. 
“ You shall not take my papa away,’ 
cried out the little boy to his grandfather. 
BY LAURIE TODD. 
of his own thoughtless years.’ 
rpi ^ i.T i. j 1 • 1 , store of John Mowatt, an extensive dealer 
f in shoes. His foreman was John Pelsue, 
. room. e len s ow y an ner- j ^ behind the counter, stitching shoes 
vously answered— 
“ Madam, I have not forgotten my own 
and -w^aiting on customers as they stepped 
in. One day a corpse was found in the 
thoughtless day& I have not forgotten that dock at the foot of the street. The coroner 
I once had a wife as amiable and noble- took the jurymen from the neighborhood, 
minded as yourself, and I have not forgot- ^nd among them John Mowatt, and his fore- 
your husband was her favorite man, John Pelsue. The corpse lay on a 
child. An old man hides his sorrows, but table in the centre of the room. Some of 
let not the world think him unfeeling, es- the jurymen remarked that as soon as John 
pecially as that world taught him to do so. Pelsue looked on the corpse he started, 
I The distress that I have at this moment turned pale, and looked as if going to faint 
caused was premeditated on my part. It pje rallied, however—but his subsequent 
has had its full effect A mortal gets vice movements occasioned some curious re- 
by single steps, and many think the victim marks. The jury having rendered a verdict 
must return by degrees. I know Edward’s of death by drowning, were discharged.— 
dispositon, and that with him a single leap Mowatt turned around to look for his fore- 
was sufficient That leap he has taken. — man, but behold, he was not there. We 
He IS again in my memory as the favorite’ stepped out of doors, and saw him high up 
of his poor mother; the merry laughing- street, on a half run, when he quickly 
eyed son of a ^pshaw! of a—a—old turned a corner. All sorts 'of inquiries 
fool! for what am I crying ? ” ttcic made, but nothing could, be heard of 
Little Mary had insensibly drawn herself him. This, with his turning pale at the 
towards the old philosopher, and without first view of the corpse, occasioned some 
uttering a word pressed his hand and put strange surmises among the jurors for many 
her handker^liief to her eyes. The boy, days afterwards. John Mowatt was a bach- 
also, now left his parents, and walking up gior of thirty-five, and Pelsue had seen 
• about thirty summers. 
“ Then you won’t take papa away ? ” On a certain day, about one month there- 
“ No, you impudent little rascal; but I’ll after, a lady in deep mourning stepped into 
take you away, and when your mother Mowatt’s store, and asked for a pair of shoes. 
comes for you, I Avill treat her so well that While John was trying how the shoes fitted, 
TMl T7/Nnv* TofRnV •fXIl/N'ITT i1 1 1 • • 1 
I’ll make your father follow after.” 
Thus came happiness at the heels of ruin. 
the lady inquired: 
“ You had a man in your store, John Pel- 
If husbands more often appreciated the ex- sue by name—what has become of him? ” 
quisite and heaven-like affections of their “ Yes,” said Mowatt, “ but what has be- 
wives, many happy firesides would be seen, come of him I would give a good deal to 
“ One in love and one in mind,” should be learn.” He then related the story as above 
the motto of every married pair. And 
fathers would many a time check improvi¬ 
dences, if they were to make use of reflec¬ 
tion and kindness, rather than prejudice and 
strictness. 
THE CREOLE’S DAUGHTER. 
Some time after the horrible massacres 
which signaled the commencement of the 
stated. 
“ Strange,” replied the lady. “ And you 
have not seen him since ? ” 
“No,” replied Mowatt, “I have not seen 
him since.” 
“Yes you have seen him,” replied the 
lady. 
“ I certainly,” said Mowatt, “ would not 
contradict a lady of your appearance; but 
French Revolution, the contagious example ^ ’1,“™ f “.h™ to my knowledge.” 
extended itself to the new wo?ld, and res5t- UT ’, ““ f 
edinthe deatli and destruction of multi- and tlmt subject on whom we held the 
tudes of men and wonlfen, who, that they I'"? “Tv ^ 
might be destroyed at a blow cn maJ, ^°T‘n ’’*7 “me is 
without judgment, were a^embled togeth- . j ^ 
er m groups, when suddenly cannons, load- 4 , shoemaker We liv¬ 
ed with old iron and brass, opened upon ^ , -i V ' ur + i < a • i 
.1 T XT 1 f 1 xt- ed happily for two years. Hetooktodrink- 
them, and the work of death and nun was • ^^ixit--l- a x i 
neglected his business, and once struck 
' Ti/>, nrt • me, while in liquor. We had no family, so 
An honest old Creole of St Domingo, j resolved, while we were stitching shoes 
who had comrnitted no other crime than together, to learn his trade and leave him. 
that of preserving the heritage of his fath- j made a passable shoe, when I assum- 
ers, and of being rich, was in consequence the male attire, came to New York, and 
insmbed upon the list of proscription; the yQ^ prayg work as a journeyman. The 
profligate soldiery, who, while they bathed j,ggt yQ^ know.” John told the present nar- 
their hands in the blood of the most hon- j.^tor'; some days aftef| that on hearing this 
est citizens, claimed the name of patnote, fie was completely dumb-founded. « 
denounced him as an enemy of the public « Well, madam,” says John, “ what are 
weal, and he was condemned to perish with yo^j. pj^ns for the future ? ” 
numerous others. u j ^^j^yg formed any plans.” 
Happily for this old colon, he was a/a<A- “Well,” says John, “I liked you as a 
er; and above all, the father of a little girl journeyman, and when foreman, I was 
full of tenderness, courage and energy.— pleased, suppose we go into partnership for 
When the father was torn from the bosom life ? ” 
of his family, his child resolutely followed In forty-eight hours thereafter they were 
him, determined to participate in his desti- married. She was a fine looking woman 
ny, however frightful and horrible it might and might have passed for twenty-five. 
This perhaps is the first instance on re- 
The old Creole was placed in the front cord of a woman’s sitting as coroner’s jury- 
rank among the victims about to be immo- man on the corpse of her husband. The 
lated; already his eyes were bandaged, and above is a simple tale of truth. I was wit- 
his hands tied; already the satellite# of ness to all the facts. 
HuniDrDus anh Imasrag. Cnrau. 
The children appeared in the breakfast charge of the artilleiyu a little girl ran in 
room—Mary was ready with her smile, and among the devoted group, exclaiming, “ 0! 
the boy was anxious for the notice of his my father—0! my father! ” In vain they 
father. In a short time Mr. F-returned, strive to withdraw her from the danger; in 
“ We must sink, my love! he will not as- rain they menace her; nothing ari*5'i her, 
sist me. He upbraided me; I did not, I nothing intimidates her. She advances to- 
could not answer him a word. He spoke ward her father, and clasps him closely in 
kindly of you, and our little ones, but he her little arms, and awaits the moment when 
port of this visit was soon perceived. In only hope of a weeping and almost widow- 
the name of F-’s father he took posies- ed mother,” exclaims the father, trembling 
sion of the property, and had the power to and melting into tears; “ leave me, return 
make F-a prisoner. to thy mother,! entreat—I command thee!” 
“ You shall not take papa .away,” said “ No, my father,” said the daughter, “per- 
the little son, at 'the same ^^time kicking* at mit me to die with thee.” 
the officer. Ah! what empire hath virtue even over 
“ Mamma,” whispered little Mary, “ mam- the most ferocious souls! This incident dis- 
ma, must my father go to prison ? Won’t concerts the commander of the massacre; 
doubtless he also was a father ! The voice 
“ Here comes my authority,” said the of admiration and of pity rose at once from 
deputy sheriff. The elder Mr. F-dog- the depths of his heart. He alleges some 
specious reason for withdrawing the Creole 
from the place of death, and orders that he 
be reconducted to prison wdth his child.— 
“ Whatever may have been my conduct, A moment of delay is sometimes very pre- 
sir,” said the miserable Edward, “ this is cious. Affairs having suddenly changed, 
unkind in you. I have not a single feeling the old Creole was set at liberty, and from 
for myself; but my wife—my children, you that happy day he ceased not to relate, with 
have no Kght to harass them with your the most tender emotion, the heroic deed 
presence.” ‘ ‘ of his little daughter of only ten years. 
“ Nay, husband,” responded Mrs. F-, __ ___—_ 
“ think not of me. Your father cannot dis- A ROMANCE IN REAL LIFE, 
tress me. I have not known you in child- —T 
hood, as he has done, but he shall see how l aurie todd. 
I can cling to you in porerty. He has for- York, in ^96, my store tvas in 
gotten ns youthfal days: he has lost sight three doors of the 
THE BETTING DANDY. 
A YOUNG gentleman — with a medium 
sized light brown moustache, and suit of 
clothes such as fashionable tailors some¬ 
times furnish to their customers, “on ac¬ 
commodating terms,” that is, on the inse¬ 
cure credit system — came into the hotel in 
Race street, one afternoon and calling for 
a glass of Maderia, turned to the company 
and offered to bet with any man present 
that the Susquehannah would not be suc¬ 
cessfully launched. This “banter” not be¬ 
ing taken up, he proposed to wager five 
dollars that Dr. Webster would not be hung. 
• This seemed to be a “stumper” too for no¬ 
body accepted the chance. The exquisite 
glanced around contemptuously and re¬ 
marked:— 
“ I w'ant to make a bet of some kind. I 
• don’t care a fig what it is. I’ll bet any man 
from a shilling’s worth of cigars to five 
hundred dollars. Now’s your time, gentle- 
, men; xvhat do you propose ?” 
Sipping a glass of beer in one corner of 
; the bar-room, sat a plain old gentleman who 
, looked as if he might be a Pennsylvania far- 
; mer. He sat down his glass and addressed 
. the exquisite — 
“Well mister— I’m not in the habit of 
making bets — but seeing you are anxious 
about it I don’t care if I gratify you. I’ll 
bet you a levy’s worth of sixes that I can 
pour a quart of molasses into your hat, and 
turn it out a solid lump of molasses candy 
in two minutes by the watch ?” 
It was a real Florence hat, a splendid 
article and -shone like black satin. The old 
gentleman took the hat, and requested the 
barkeeper to send out for a quart of molas¬ 
ses — “ the cheap sort for six cents a quart 
—that’s the kind I use in this experiment,” 
said he, handing over six coppers to the bar¬ 
keeper. 
The molasses was bought and the old 
farmer, with a very grave and mysterious 
countenance, poured it into the dandy’s hat, 
while the exquisite took out his watch to 
note the time. Giving the hat two or three 
shakes, with a Signor Blitz-like adroitness, 
the experimenter placed it on the table and 
stared into it as if watching the wonderful 
process of solidification. 
“ Time’s up,” said the dandy. The old 
farmer moved the hat. 1 
“ Well I do believe it ain’t hardened,” I 
said he, in a tone expressive of disappoint- 
mfent; “ I missed it somehow or other, that 
time, and I suppose I’ve lost the bet Bar¬ 
keeper, let the gentleman have the segars 
—twelve sixe§, mind and charge ’em in the 
bill.” 
“ What of the cigars,” roared the exquis¬ 
ite. “yoii’v(» Bpoilocl iny hat, that cust me 
five dollars, and you must pay for it” 
“ That wasn’t in the bargain,” timidly 
answered the old gentleman; “ but I’ll let 
you keep the molasses — which is a little 
more than we agreed for.” 
Having drained the tenacious fluid out of 
his beaver, as best he could, into a spit-box, 
the man of the moustaches rushed from the 
place, his fury not much abated by the 
sounds of ill-suppressed laughter which fol¬ 
lowed his exit. He made his complaint at 
the police office, but as it appeared that the 
experiment was tried with his own consent 
no damage could be recovered. — Penn¬ 
sylvanian. 
A Fee-ling Sentiment.—A t the New 
England Supper, at Chicago, John Y. Scam- 
mon. Esq., one of its first citizens and ablest 
lawyers, being called upon for a sentiment, 
gave the following. Belonging, as he said, 
to the profession which had the reputation 
of being fond of fees, he offered the follow¬ 
ing lines: 
Fee simple and simple fee, 
And all the fees in tail, 
Are nothing when compared to thee. 
Thou best of fees — Fxe-malk. 
Murder of the King’s English.—A 
. good story is told of an odd genius, who was 
making a political harangue on the corner of 
a street, and in the course of his high flown 
diatribe, pronounced the word curiosity 
curosity. A ragged philosopher in the 
crowd screamed out, at the top of his voice, 
•‘Murder!” 
“Oh no!” quickly replied the orator, “I 
have only knocked out an i !” 
Mrs. Partington in Distrss. — “ Now, 
girls,” said our friend Mrs. Partington, to 
her neices, the other day, “you must get 
husbands as soon as possible, or they’ll all 
be murdered.” 
“ Why so, aunt ?” inquired one. 
“ Why, I see by the paper that we’re got 
a’most fifteen thousand post-offices, and 
nearly all on ’em dispatches a mail every 
day — the Lord have mercy on us poor 
widows and orphans!” and the lady stepped 
briskly to the looking-glass to put on her 
new cap^__ 
Refinement. — A lady recently having 
occasion to inquire for a cat-tail pillow, went 
into a store and inquired of the young clerk 
in attendance, “ If he had any pillows made 
of feline continuations.” 
“ Attempt the end, and never stand to doubt 
Nothing’s so hard, but search will find it.out.' 
Young ladies are like arrows—they can’t 
be got off without a beau. 
MOORE’S RURAL NEW-YORKER, 
PUBLISHED EVERY THURSDAY, AT ROCHESTER, BY 
D. D. T. MOORE, Proprieter. 
Publication Office in Burns’ Block, [No. 1, 2d floor.] 
corner State and Buflalo streets. 
Terms, in Advance; 
Two Dollars a Year — $1 for six months. To 
Clubs and Agents as follows; —Four Copies for $7; 
xSeven Copies for $12; Ten Copies for $15. All 
moneys received by mail will be acknowledged in 
the paper, and receipts sent whenever desired. 
Post-Masters, Clergymen, Teachers, Officers and 
Members of Agricultural Societies, and other influ¬ 
ential persons, of all professions —friends of Mental 
and Moral as well as of Agricultural Improvement— 
are respectfully solicited to obtain and forward sub¬ 
scriptions to the New-Yorker. 
(O’ Subscription money, properly enclosed, may 
be sent by mail at our risk. 
TFxRMS OF ADVERTISING; 
A limited number of appropriate advertisements 
will be inserted in the New-Yorker, at the rate of 
50 cents per square (twelve lines or less,) for the first 
insertion, and 25 cents for each subsequent publica¬ 
tion. Casual advertisments to be paid for in advance. 
Advertisements not accompanied with special direc¬ 
tions, will — at the option of the Publisner,— be in¬ 
serted until forbid, and charged accordingly. 
[O’ Notices relative to Meetings, &c. of Agricul¬ 
tural, Horticultural, Mechanical and Educational 
Associations, published gratuitously. 
Publishing Agents, 
WHO WILL RECEIVE SUBSCRIPTIONS, AND FURNISH COmSS 
. OF THE RURAL NEW-YORKER: 
ELON COMSTOCK, Rome, N. Y. 
Mr. C. is also general agent for Oneida County. 
T. S. HAWKS, Buflhlo. 
W. L. PALMER, Syracuse, N. Y. 
I. R. TREMBLY, Dansville. 
(O’ Also Agent for Naples and Homellsville. 
E. HOPKINS, Lyons, N. Y. 
STEAM PRESS OF A. STRONG A 00. 
For the Rural New-Yorker. 
GEOGRAPHICAL ENIGMA. 
I am composed of 15 letters. 
My 2, 5, 9 is a rape on the eastern const of Mass. 
My 6, 8, 1 is a mountain in Mass. 
My 8, 11, 15, 5 is a county in Indiana. 
My 3, 15, 4, 3 is a sea in the north of Arabia. 
My 3, 8, 9 is a river in Europe. 
My 3, 12, 7, 8, 1, 15, 13 is a state in Guinea. 
My 1, 2, 7, 16 are a group of Islands in the Indian 
Ocean. 
My 11, 8, 8, 3 is a county in Ohio. 
My 11, 4, 10, 14, 15 is a county in Indiana. 
My whole is a familiar title applied to one of the 
bravest Generals of the American Revolution, and 
one who gained great renown in the battles of 
Germantown and Brandywine. Kate. 
[O’ Answer in two weeks. 
POETICAL ENIGMA 
In every small village you’ll see 
My first in a prominent place; 
You’d ne’er find it in city or town. 
If you’d every part of them trace. 
My fifth and my second too, 
I will tell you are ever the same; 
If you do not soon puzzle them out, 
I shall certainly think you’re to blame. 
The months of the year which you know 
Are rolling so rapidly round; 
Not one of them yet has e’er passed. 
Unless my third with it was found. 
My fourth, second, third, and my sixth. 
Will spell you an animal’s name. 
Which by nature is savage and wild; 
Though, when young, ’tis easy to tame. 
The whole formed together will spell 
A musical instrument grand; 
Which is noted for sweetness of tone, 
But uncommonly hard to command. 
Answer in two weeks. 
ARITHMETICAL QUES’nON. 
A CERTAIN man went out with the intention to 
buy a drove of animals, taking $500 with him; he 
bought horses at $50 a piece, oxen at $20 a head, 
swine at $2 a neck, sheep at $1 per fleece, turkeys 
at 50 cents each, and geese at 25 cents per life.— 
When he had thus laid out his $500, he found that 
he Imd bought 501 animals, (thus one animal more 
than he hhd paid dollars for the whole drove of 
them.) The number of each sort is required. 
Qj’ Answer in two weeks. 
CHARADE. 
To get a solitary, poor repast. 
My first poor Johnny spent, it was his last. 
What was my second, then? youneeds mustguess. 
Was it a pound? a dollar? — no, ’twas less. 
'To be my whole, alas! is offthe fate 
Of those who place dependence on the great. 
ANSWERS TO QUES'nONS, &c,, IN NO. 23, 
Answer to Biographical Enigma: — Mis* Mary 
Bloomer, Sheldrake, N. Y. 
THE AIKERICAN SEED STORE, 
No. 4, Main Street, Curtis’ Block, 
ROCHESTER, N. Y. 
T he subscriber, (formerly Proprietor of the 
“ Rocheetor Bccd Store,'') has recently open¬ 
ed tlie above establishment, where he will keep 
constantly on hand a large, various, and general as¬ 
sortment of 
CHOICE GARDEN SEEDS, 
principally raised by himself, in his Garden near the 
First Lock, in the town of Brighton. Those who 
desire to purchase good seeds, which ran be relied 
upon with perfect safety, will do well to call on the 
subscriber. 
Ho also keeps Clover and Timothy Seed, early 
and late Peas, Beans, Potatoes, Corn, and all other 
kinds of Field Seeds, that are worthy of cultivation. 
Also, Green House and Hot-Bed Plants, Fruit and 
Ornamental Trees, in their season. 
All articles sold will be warranted as represented. 
N. B.—The subscriber is the Agent for Ross & 
Smith’s justly celebrated and unnvalled Mineral 
Composition Machine Bolting, the best and cheap¬ 
est article in use. C. F. CROSMAN. 
[18-tf.] _ 
OX YOKES. 
O x YOKES, large, medium and small sizes, 
complete with patent bow pins. Also, OX 
BOWS, finished and unfinished ; YOKES without 
Bows, at very low prices, at No. 65 Buffalo street, 
Rochester, by 
[19] RAPAUE & BRIGGS. 
