280 
MOORE’S RURAL NEW-YORKER: AN AGRICULTURAL AND FAMILY JOURNAL, 
“NOT TO MYSELF ALONE.” 
" Not to myself alone,” 
The little opening flower transported cries ; 
“ Not to myself alone I bud and bloom; 
With fragrant breath the breeze I perfume, 
And gladden all things with my rainbow dyes. 
'J’he bee comes sipping, every eventide, 
* His dainty fill; 
The butterfly within my cup doth hide 
His liome on high.” 
“ Not to myself alone.” 
The circling star witli honest pride doth boast -, 
“ Not to myself alone I rise and set; 
I write upon night’s coronal of jet 
His power and skill who formed our myriad Iwst; 
A friendly beacon at Heaven’s open gale, 
I gem the sky. 
That man might ne’er forget, in every fate. 
His home on high.” 
“ Not to myself alone,” 
The heavy-laden i)ee doth murmuring hum ; 
“ Not to myself alone from flower to flower 
I rove the wood, the garden, and the bower. 
And to the hive at evening weary come ; 
For man, for man the luscious food I pile 
Witli busy care, 
Content if this repay my ceaseless toil — 
A scanty share.” 
‘‘Not to myself alone,” 
The soaring bird, with lusty pinion, sings : 
‘‘ Not to myself alone I raise the song ; 
I cheer the drooping with my warbling longue, 
And bear the mourner on my viewless wings ; 
I bid the hymnless churl my anthem learn, 
And God adore; 
I call the worldling from Ins dross to turn, 
And sing and soar.” 
‘‘ Not to myself alone,” 
The streamlet whispers on iu pebbly way : 
‘‘ Not to myself alone I sparkling glide; 
I scatter life and iicalth ou every side. 
And strew the fields with herb and flow’rt gay ; 
I sing unto the common, bleak and bare. 
My gladsome tune: 
1 sweeten and refresh the languid air 
In droughty June.” 
“Not to myself alone.”— 
Oh, man, forget not thou—earth’s honored priest. 
Its tongue, its soul, its life, its pulse, its heart— 
In earth’s great chorus, to sustain Uiy part. 
Chiefest of guests at love’s ungrudging feast. 
Play not the niggard, spurn that native clod. 
And self disown ; 
Live to thy neighbor, live unto Uiy God, 
Not to thyself alone. 
litnari] anh ’MmiWmmm. 
FANNY CAY’S DECISION. 
“1 LIKE her! ” exclaimed a young mian, 
■with no inconsiderable degree of ardor. 
“ But can you support her in the style to 
which she has been accustomed ? It costs 
something to get married now-a-days. We 
have to begin where our fathers ended,” 
said his companion. 
“ True Ned, if she would only begin with 
me—why she’s poor herself.” 
“Yes, and proud too. The fact is wo¬ 
men require so much waiting upon, or fash¬ 
ion requires it—so many servants, just such 
a style of living—that, for my part, I have 
given up all thoughts of marrying.” Ned 
said this with some bitterness, as if he had 
good reason for feeling it 
“ My business is good,” pursued the oth¬ 
er, intent upon his own affairs, “ and uqcle 
thinks my prospects pretty fair, if I live pru¬ 
dently. It cc sts a round sum at the hotel, 
—I might support a snug little establish¬ 
ment at the same expense.” 
“Yes, if snug little establishments were 
in fashion, Charley.” 
“She is amiable and intelligent; she 
must be economical, because she has always 
been obliged to be,” declared Charles, ab¬ 
ruptly stopping, as if a new thought had 
struck him. 
“ Perhaps so—but shall you both be in¬ 
dependent enough to begin in a small way 
—in short, to live within your means—for 
if you expect to get along in the world, you 
must live within your means.” 
“ Well, it’s a pity,” said Charles, some¬ 
what dampened by the inquiries of his 
friend,—“ think what charming quarters I 
might have. I am heartily sick of the off¬ 
hand bachelor life we now lead. What! 
must I wait till I make a fortune before I 
marry ? ” 
“ Or be over head and ears in debt,” sug¬ 
gested Ned. 
“ That will never do,” exclaimed Scott, 
right earnestly; and it is to be regretted 
that every young man does not make a like 
determination, with independence and judg¬ 
ment enough to keep it. 
Here the two came to a turn in the 
street, where they took different directions. 
Charley bent his steps towards the store, 
in no merry mood, Ned—I know not where 
Charles Scott entered the counting room 
and shut the door. The bu^ness of the. 
day was over, and the clerks were beginning 
to leave as the early shades of an autumn 
twilight were fast gathering round. He 
stirred up some dying embers, then throw¬ 
ing himself listlessly into a chair, and pla¬ 
cing his feet upon ‘the iron fender, he soon 
became wonderfully absorbed in his own re¬ 
flections. He was a young man of excel¬ 
lent tactics and excellent habits—remem¬ 
bered with joy his father’s fireside, and all 
the sweet sympathies of that dear home 
circle, of which he was once a loved and 
loving member. They had passed away, 
and he had lived upon the cold bounties of 
a boarding house. His heart yearned with 
unspeakable desire for a place to call his 
own, the delightful peculiarities, my wife, 
my fireside, my table. It does not appear 
to what conclusion Charles came, or wheth¬ 
er he .came .to any at all. Evening found 
him at his toilet, preparing for a party. 
Long before the hour, he was ready, and 
waiting the tardy movement of his watch. 
Though no one knew better how to fill up 
niches in time with something useful and 
pleasant, there was now a restlessness of 
spirit which refused to be quiet. He sal- 
r lied forth into the street, and after various 
turns, at length bent his steps toward the 
Clarks’—music and mirth met his ear, and 
bright lights streamed from the windows. 
Making his greetings to the ladies of the 
house, and uttering a few agreeable truisms 
to those about him, he sought among the 
bevies of fair women one pretty maiden 
named Fanny Day. She bade him a wel¬ 
come which seemed to say “ come hither.” 
He stood aloof in no seeming hurry to seek 
a place by her side, already half occupied 
by another, while his eye discussed, with 
keenest scrutiny, the to^^t ensemble of Fan¬ 
ny’s dress. Conscious of his earnest, ad¬ 
miring ( ?) gaze, Fanny seemed to hear the 
quick beatings of her own heart, and hope, 
and fear, and love, came and went, and 
went and came, like smiles and shadows 
across her spirit. 
“ A new and splendid silk,” thus ran 
Charley’s thoughts, “ that looks very extrav¬ 
agant; and that bracelet, too, I never saw 
that before, I wonder if she is fond of such 
gewgaws? What Ls that dangling from 
her hair ? A gold pin or gold tassel ? I 
should like to know how much it cost.” 
Not very love-like comments it must be 
confessed; but he was looking beyond the 
betrothed and the bride, to what signified a 
great deal more; he was looking for a help¬ 
mate—one for dark days'as well as bright. 
“ I am afraid she won’t do forme; and this 
is her uncle’s house, she will want to live 
just so.” Something like a sigh escaped 
him as he walked away to the other part of 
the room. Fanny watched his departure, 
wondering when he would return. She 
was sure he would rejoin her by and by; 
he always had of late. But no return.— 
Had he only known that Fanny’s silk dress 
was not a new one; newly turned and new¬ 
ly fitted as it had indeed been, by her nee¬ 
dle and her skill, so as to make it quite as 
good as new—how prudent and thrifty that 
was! Had he only known that the brace¬ 
let was a gift two years before, and the gold 
pin, why it was a decoration-borrowed to 
please his eye; so Fanny was not so culpa¬ 
ble after all. I say, had Charles known all 
this he had not stayed so strangely and 
coolly all that live long evening, while Fan¬ 
ny’s heart was sinking. Mournfully did a 
tear gather in her eye, as she beheld him 
depart, without a parting glance or a fare¬ 
well word. 
Charles Scott was not quite satisfied.— 
He really loved Fanny, but he was afraid 
to marry her. It was i*t a sickly, senti¬ 
mental love. It counted the costs and cal¬ 
culated the chances; albeit, love, it is said 
understands no arithmetic and knows no 
reason. He had fixed principles of action, 
and settled rules to govern his choice of a 
wife; he did not mean that love should 
laugh him out of them, or blind him to 
their value. No; he determined to abide 
by them. 
Some time passed away, and never was 
a man more devoted to business. Perhaps 
he dreamed of Fanny, but did not visit her. 
Behold a gathering of friends, a pleasant 
little company; Charles is there, and Fan¬ 
ny, too. He thought she never looked so 
charmingly, with her simple braid of hair, 
and her modest, fawn colored dress. There 
was something sad and reproachful in her 
eye, which smote him to the heart — 
“ Dear Fanny, how can she interpret my 
coolness,” was the question of returning 
fondness. I mean to see her and explain 
to her all my views—if she is a girl of 
sense she cannot but approve, if she is not, 
— such a contingency remained unprovided 
for. An excellent resolution; Charles abi¬ 
ded by it It so happened, or was contriv¬ 
ed (love changes are not always scrutable) 
that the two found themselves threading 
their way alone through the streets at an 
early hour. Now for Charley’s resolution 
— yes, he kept it 
r “ But Fanny,” he continued, with remark¬ 
able self possession, after a few prelimina¬ 
ries not to be repeated, “ I want you to un¬ 
derstand exactly my situation, how I intend 
for the present to live, and what plans we 
must pursue. I must live within my means 
— and just starting in life, my means are 
necessarily small. I am liable to the fluc¬ 
tuations of the business world, and we must 
begin with what we can independently af¬ 
ford—no dashing out with borrowed capital 
for me. 
“ You must take all these considerations 
into account before you answer. Perhaps 
you may feel that you cannot conform to 
such humble circumstances. I will not dis¬ 
appoint or deceive you.” 
At the moment, Fanny thought she could 
decide instantly, for she saw only a rose- 
tinted future. 
Now Fanny listened. 
“ Do not decide now. Fanny, think this 
all over,” was his parting injunction at the 
end of this long walk, during which, though 
he had said a great deal, he had a great 
deal more to say—" and then decide care¬ 
fully and conscientiously.” 
Fanny did think it all over; much that 
he had said was quite new to her. To be 
married! to be married, it must be confess¬ 
ed, had implied to her mind what it does 
t6 thb minds of too many young ladies— 
gay visions of wealth and independence— 
doing everything one wished—a lover in 
the husband—amusement in the parlor.— 
Fanny belonged to that class of females 
who, Avithout fortune or expectations, had 
been brought up amid the appliances of 
wealth. She was an orphan, and lived in 
the family of an uncle. With a few parlor 
duties, and none in the kitchen, she had liv¬ 
ed an easy, independent life, floating on so¬ 
ciety, with untried energies and undevelop¬ 
ed powers. Rich men did not seek her, be¬ 
cause rich men generally seek to increase 
their wealth with matrimonial cares; a poor 
man might fear, and justly fear, as Charles 
Scott did, because females thus educated 
often shrink from the exertions and cares of 
household employments; they are slow in 
finding out that hands are made to Avork 
with, and they are apt to regard labor as a 
menial service. If all young men would do 
as Charles Scott did, frankly unfold to wo¬ 
men their real situation and their true inter¬ 
ests ; explain to them the use and dignity 
of labor, and encourage and stimulate ex¬ 
ertion, there Avould be fewer ill-regulated 
households and thriftless wives. Fanny di¬ 
gested the whole matter, weighed it all, and 
decided. 
Behold, not many months afterwards, 
Fanny in her new home. It Avas indeed a 
snug home, full of comforts and blessings. 
There was a pleasant little sitting-room, with 
sunbeams and smiles, with Kidderminster 
and flag bottoms, unadorned by ottomans 
or divans, astral lamps or marble tables.— 
Her kitchen, too, was near by, where Fan¬ 
ny was not a.shamed to spend her morning 
hours, 
“ Do not come in the morning,” said Fan¬ 
ny to a gay acquaintance, “ you may per¬ 
haps find me making bread or ironing 
collars.” 
“ Doing your girl’s work ? Ugh! ” ex¬ 
claimed the lady distastefully. 
“ Oh, I am my own girl,” replied Fanny, 
“ with the exception of Nancy Drew, Avho 
comes in when I want her. I can make a 
soup, and roast a turkey, and I dare say I 
can teach you a thousand interesting things 
that you don’t know anything about.” Flo¬ 
ra did not wish to be taught 
“I really pity Fanny,” said this same 
Flora, passing by her door one day, weary 
and dispirited with the frivolities of a series 
of fashionable calls. 
Pity Fanny! She had no need of such 
pity; Avas she not spreading the snowy 
cloth upon the.dinner table? cutting sweet 
white loaves of her own making ? fetching 
sauce of her own stewing ? bringing pieces 
of her OAvn baking? all products of her 
own skill; and did not the hearty “ I am 
glad to see you Charley,” and her nicely 
broiled steak, quite compensate for the per¬ 
plexities of his morning business ? True, 
Fanny had her trials; the cakes did some¬ 
times burn, and the potatoes were not al¬ 
ways done—but then she did not have the 
blues—they swiftly sped away before early 
rising and employment She had no time 
for yawning or ennui, and neA’er cried out 
“ Oh, I’m dying for the want of exercise! ” 
Her chamber must be cared for, her pan¬ 
try looked after, and the flour sifted. Yes, 
Fanny knew how to use her hands. She 
was a producer as well as a consumer.— 
What delightful evenings did they pass to¬ 
gether, sewing and reading, or enjoying the 
.society of dear friends. Charley, cheerful 
and happy in the consciousness that his re¬ 
ceipts exceeded his expense.s, was pleased 
Avith nothing so much as his wife; and Fan¬ 
ny rejoiced in^the consciousness of bearing 
her burden, of contributing her share to 
family comforts, enjoying an elasticity of 
spirit, and vigor of health, of which the in¬ 
dolent and unoccupied can scarcely con¬ 
ceive. 
More than this,, there were blessings this 
family could impart. 
“ I really cannot afford to do anything,” 
replied the mistress of a splendid mansion, 
to a solicitation in behalf of the suffering 
poor. “ I have so many uses for money— 
and I have paid away the last farthing this 
morning.” 
It was very true; her rose and ice creams 
and cut glass must be promptly paid for, 
while the poor seamstress to whom she did 
not pay her last farthing that morning, had 
been soliciting her just dues for weeks, and 
suffering in consequence of their long de¬ 
lays. 
“ Will you not do something ? ” conclud¬ 
ed the same collector, timidly, after explain¬ 
ing the object to Mrs. Scott. 
“I shall be very happy in the privilege 
of doing it,” answered Fanny, placing a bill 
in the hand of the thankful woman. Yes, 
and Fanny felt that the pleasure of having 
fine clothes, and costly furniture, and many 
servants could be no fair equivalent to the 
satisfaction of being able to lend timely aid 
to the poor, and carrying the balm of re¬ 
lief to suffering hearts. 
* * * * St * 
“ Ned, how is it with you ?” asked an old 
friend, Avhom he unexpectedly met some 
years afterwards in the city; “and where is 
Charles Scott?—a fine fellow. Why, you 
are looking well—I am for the Wesi” 
“West! Why so?” 
“ Oh! I can’t get along here—hard times 
—family expenses are enormous!” 
“You won’t do any better at the West 
—be independent enough to endure one- 
half the privations here which you must 
endure there, and you will get along clev- 
erjy,” said Ned, in his adA’ice-giving Avay. 
“ Yes, yes, I dare say—but it’s the fash¬ 
ion there, and it’s not here. I have had a 
hard time of it since we were boys together,” 
continued the gentleman, bitterly; “ sleep¬ 
less nights, devising plans to make both 
ends meet; aud when I could’nt, why, Avhat 
would I do ? Get involved and bear it like 
a gentleman—hard work.” Poor fellow! 
How many there are in the same deplora¬ 
ble situation. “ But tell us of Charles 
Scott,” he exclaimed, dashing aAvay memo¬ 
ries of the piist, “ Good fellow hope he is 
doing well.” 
“ Doing well, capitally! He has such a 
wife!” cried Ned, with a relish—“a wife 
worth having. She’s not a tax upon her 
husband, she’s an intelligent, refined woman 
—with independence enough to begin 
housekeeping Avith him in a small, econom¬ 
ical way — did her owjj work—managed her 
own concerns—let him always have ready 
money enough to meet all his emergencies, 
and (pretty trying ones Avill occur in the 
business world) without spending it upon 
fashion and shoAv—and noAV,” said Ned, en¬ 
thusiastically, “he’s the most flourishing 
man in town—really flourishing, well 
grounded, and they have got the best fam¬ 
ily of children I ever saw. Af:er all, ev«- 
rything depends upon a good wife. Why, 
I would get married myself, if I could get 
another like Fanny,”—a great remark for 
EdAvard Green to nuike, confirmed bache¬ 
lor as he Avas. The old fritnd sighed, as 
he repeated, “ yes, everything depends upon 
a wife.” 
luniornus aiiit fmuaing. 
TAKING IT COOLLY. 
“We country doctors,” writes a friend of 
the Knickerbocker, “ have to be dentists as 
Avell as druggists. Our saddle-bags are our 
shops, and the turnkey a daily Aveapon. A 
few days ago a hearty young Avoman call¬ 
ed, with another like her, and asked me to 
pull a tooth, Avhich with much reluctance I 
did, and with less reluctance took the usual 
fee of twenty-five cents. Her companion, 
pleased with the operation, said she had a 
tooth that sometimes ached, and she would 
like to have it out now. I told her she had 
better wait till it ached again; but she said 
no; she xvoxdd have it pulled; and so I took 
it out. She promised to call soon and bring 
the pay, as she did not expect to have her 
tooth drawn when she came, and she was 
not prepared Avith the ‘quarter.’ So, a day 
or two after, she called and offered me half 
a dollar; but fortunately I had no change, 
and she said it made no difference, for I 
could just take it out in pulling another j 
tooth, Avhich she knew Avould ache, and she | 
Avould a great deal rather have them pulled 
before they had a chance to ache. So I 
took out another, and made the change!— 
Wasn’t that girl a philosopheress, and would¬ 
n’t she make a capital martyr ?” 
Fops and Fools.— We once heard an 
English gentleman remark that “ the lowest 
style of a civilized man is found in a British 
soldier,” but we incline to think that he had 
forgotten, for a moment, that there was such 
a thing in Christendom as a dandy. Ex¬ 
cept as a subjei^ for jesting, the poor 
creature is absolutely good for nothing.— 
Here is an old epigram on him that is very 
good considering the poverty of the sub¬ 
ject:— 
“ Your boots my friend, nnlike to mine, 
AVith jtolisiied lustre brightly shine; 
Had you bestowed such studious pains 
To gloss the dullness of your brains. 
It would not then by all be said, 
‘ How much his feet eclipse his head!’ ” 
A Long Credit. — One day a fashiona¬ 
ble tailor took unto himself a wife—the next 
day the city crier came to get measured for 
a pair of pantaloons. 
“ How would you like to make me a pair 
of pants for trade?” said he. 
“ What kind of trade have you on hand ?” 
inquired the man of shears. 
“ Why, you can let me have a pair of 
pants, and I will pay you by crying out your 
lost children when they have strayed from 
home!’’’' 
The tailor said it was a long credit, but 
he went home to ask his wife. 
The Vicar of Bray.— Although no 
phrase is more common than the “ Vicar of 
Bray,” few, we believe, are acquainted with 
its real origin, which is this:—“The Vicar 
of Bray in Berkshire, was a Papist under 
the sway of Henry VIII, and a Protestant 
under Edward IV; he was a Papist again 
under Queen Mary, and again a Protestant 
in the reign of Queen Elizabeth. When 
he was reproached for his frequent aposta- 
cy, he answered, ‘ I cannot help it, but if I 
change my religion, I am sure I keep true 
to my principle, which is to live and die Vi¬ 
car of Bray.’ ” 
The Knickerbocker’s table, for August 
has the following conundrum,.which is new 
to us and good to every body: 
“ Can you tell me,” asks a pundit, “ why 
a conundirum that nobody can guess is like 
a ghost? Shall I tell you now or next 
month ?” “ Now, if you please.” “ Well, 
sir, because sooner or later eveiy body must 
give it up!” 
CDrilH. 
“ Attempt the end, and never stand to doubt; 
Nothing’s so hard, but search will find it out.” 
GEOGRAPHICAL ENIGMA. 
1 am composed of 21) letters. 
My 1, 5, 3, 17, 12 is a county in Ohio. 
My 2, 10, 4, 15 is a cape of South America. 
My 3, 20, 13, 14, 7 is a range of mountains in South 
America. 
My 4, 2, 18,15, 6 is a river in France. 
My 5, 10, 20, 13, 18, 15 is a town in England. 
My 6, 5, 8, 14 is a river in Germany. 
My 7, 3, 11, 18 is a town in Maine. 
My 8, 14, 17, 15, G is a capital in Europe. 
My 9, 14, 13 is a river in the United States. 
My 10, 19, 14, 20 is a county in Indiana. 
My 11, 14, 13, 3, 9 is a county in Iowa. 
My 12, 3, 5, 5, 3 is a lake in Russia. 
My 13, 18, 20 is a river in Russia. 
My 14, 17, 15, 6, is a lake in Ireland. 
My 15, 14, 5, 7, 10, 20 is a county in Kentucky. 
My )6, 3, 13, 6, 15 is one of the German States 
M/17, 10, 7, 7 is a county in Ohio. 
My 18, 13, 6, 7, 7, 3 is a town in Russia. 
My 19, 3, 9, 14 is a county in Georgia. 
My 20, 3, 7, 2 is a county in North Carolina. 
My whole was one of the earliest and greatest of 
American authors. 
[0= Answer in two weeks. 
ACROSTICAL ENIGMA. 
I arn composed of 12 letters. 
My 1 is an English consonant. 
My 2 is the most frequent vowel in the English lan¬ 
guage. 
My 3 is a nasal letter. 
My 4 is of the first person. 
My 5 has but one sound. 
My 6 is a vowel. 
My 7 is used as a key in music. 
My 8 has five sounds. 
My 9 is nearly allied to F. 
My 10 is used as an abbreviation. 
My 11 is silent before K. 
My 12 is a numeral for one. 
My whole was in a celebrated letter written by 
Caesar to the Roman Senate. 
[Uf’ Answer in two weeks. 
RIDDLE. 
I’m small of body, yet contain 
The extremes of pleasure and of pain; 
I no beginning have, nor end. 
More hollow than the falsest friend. 
If I entrap some heedless zany, 
Or in my magic circle any 
Have enter’d, from my sorcery 
No power on earth can set them free,— 
At least, nil human force is vain. 
Or less than many hundred men. 
Though endless, yet not short, nor long; 
And what, thoueh I’m so wondrous strong, 
The veriest child, that’s pleased to try, 
Might carry fifty such as I. 
Answer in two weeks. 
POETICAL ENIGMA. 
There is a tiring that nothing is. 
And yet it has a name; 
'Tis sometimes tall and sometimes short, 
It joins in walks, it joins in sport, 
And ploys at every game. 
[nF” Answer in two weeks. 
ANSWERS TO Q DESTION S, &c. IN No. 38. 
Answer to Astronomical Enigma.—[Not answer¬ 
ed.] _ 
Answer to Riddle.— Eyes. 
Pure White Lead. 
T he ROCHESTER WHITE LEAD MANU¬ 
FACTURING COMPANY beg to offer their 
brands of pure lead to the attention of agricul¬ 
turists and horticulturists for painting permanent 
structures of every description. 
This article has been thoroughly tested by the 
best judges in this city and pronounced a genuine 
article. Persons desiring to test the purity of the 
lead, may have it analyzed by a chemist, and if in 
any cas^it should be found impure, we will pay the 
price of analyzing it and refund the money for th^ 
lead. 
Be particular about the brand; “ Moulson’s, 36 
Front street, Rochester,” is marked on every keg. 
Purchasers of lead have occasionally been deceived 
in buying lead branded as Rochester lead. Mark, 
we are the only manufacturers of lead here. There is 
however a large quantity of lead '‘fixed over” here. 
Nevertheless, we wish our lead not to be confound¬ 
ed with that or any other, and therefore desire all 
consumers to give us a trial. 
SAMUEL MOULSON, 
No. 36 Front street. 
Rochester, May 20, 1850. [22tf.] 
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,] 
comer State and Buffalo streets. 
Terms, in Advance: 
Two Dollars a Year — $1 for six months. To 
Clubs and Agents as follows; — Four Copies for $7; 
Seven 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. 
[UP Subscription money, properly enclosed, may 
be sent by mail at our risk. 
TERMS 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 ad vertisments to be paid for in advance. 
Advertisements not accompanied with special direc¬ 
tions, will — at the option of the Publisher,— be in¬ 
serted until forbid, and charged accordingly. 
10= Notices relative to Meetings, &c. of Agricul¬ 
tural, Horticultural, Mechanical and Educational 
Associations, published gratuitously. 
Publishing Agents, 
JIO WILL RECEIVE BUB8CR1PTION8, ANP FURNISH COVIBM 
or THE RURAL NEW-YORKER: 
ELON COMSTOCK, Rome, N. Y. 
Mr. C. is also general agent for Oneida Countf. 
T. 8. HAWKS, Buflhle. 
W. L, PALMER, Syracuse, N. Y. 
L R. TREMBLY, Dansv^. 
Also Agent (or Naples and HomeUsviMe. 
E. HOPKINS, Lyons, N. Y, 
BTEAM PRBBB OF A. STRONG A 00. 
