MOORE’S RURAL NEW-YORKER; AN AGRICULTURAL AND FAMILY JOURNAL. 
For the Rural New-Yorker. 
THE BLESSINGS OF WATER. 
BV E. C. WILBUR, 
IIow great are the blessings of water— 
Ah I few indeed can tell; 
But ask of Araby’s daughter. 
She knowcth its value well. 
Her eye with pleasure beameth 
To catch the sparkling cup, 
As over the well she lenneth 
To draw the crystal up. 
She handeth it to her lover, 
To cool his parching lips ; 
And gladly the Bedouin rover 
The priceless nectar sips. 
For he knoweth well its value 
Who roameth o’er the waste. 
And its blessings he can tell you, 
That hath felt the Kaimau’s blast. 
There’s not a pearl in the ocean. 
So pure as the crystal drop. 
Which with gentle, waving motion 
From the spring comes gurgling up. 
And thou whose lips have tasted 
The cup that worketh ill, 
O, let not thy life be wasted 
By the demon of the still. 
But leave yon den of slaughter. 
And cool thy fevered brain 
With a draught of sparkling water, 
’Twill make thee whole again. 
In youth ’twill make the stronger 
Life’s dangers to withstand ; 
And in age ’twill make thee younger. 
And nerve thy trembling hand. 
Avon, N. Y., 1850. 
Bbtauj anb Hiscellantoe. 
SOMETHING OF 
A ROMANCE IN REAL LIFE. 
[From the Watchman and Reflector.] 
In one of the largest of our commercial 
cities there lived a few years since a rich 
old merchant by the name of Bremen. He 
was considered “ good,” in mercantile phra¬ 
ses “ for half a million ” or so. Now, he 
had not acquired all this by any sudden 
and unaccountable freaks of fortune, but 
by a long and persevering course of indus¬ 
try. He had attended closely to his busi¬ 
ness, had practised at the outset the most 
rigid economy, had been punctual to his 
engagements, had dealt honestly with buy¬ 
ers and sellers, had entered into no hazard¬ 
ous speculations, and, thougli he had met 
Avith disappointment and reverses like many 
others, he found himself at the sixty-third 
year of his age, in possession of an annual 
income of some thirty thousand dollars. 
The residence of Mr. B. was, at the com¬ 
mencement of his mercantile career, not 
far from his store; but as time is continual¬ 
ly bringing about changes, he eventually 
took his abode “up town,” some two or 
three miles from the noise and turmoil of 
business. He Avas one of the most regular 
of mankind in all his habits. At just such 
an hour he ate hiS breakfast, took liis ivory 
headed cane in hand, threaded his Avay 
either on foot or in a “bus” through the 
great thoroughfare of the city, and present¬ 
ed hiniself to his clerks and porters. At 
just such an hour he returned to liis domi¬ 
cil, to repose and refresh himself after the 
toils of the day. 
Our old friend was regarded by some as 
rather odd in his ways. He generally talk¬ 
ed but little, yet always to the point. He 
hated long stories with perfect hatred, and 
was more than once knoAvn to interrupt an 
agent in his rehearsal of the Avants of some 
benevolent society, by placing a ten or 
twenty dollar bill over his mouth, and then 
turning quietly round to his desk. Nobody 
found fault with him for such things. “ It 
was Paul Bremen’s way,” people said— 
“ every one has his peculiarities.” At home 
he had a way of looking his Avants, which 
was perfectly understood by his Irish ser¬ 
vant At some peculhu’ expression of coun¬ 
tenance, James would say to himself, “faith, 
and that means the shoes I’ve blacked,” or, 
“and now he’s wanting the great coat,” or, 
“ sure, he’s looking the umbarcll—a rainy 
day it’s to be.” The old gentleman Avas 
not morose or sour; ho Avas simply a silent 
sort of a man, saying no more than was 
really necessary for tlm transaction of the 
business of life. AVhat a short session a 
Congress of such men Avould make. (1 
throw in this obser\Htion gratis.) 
The house of Mr. B. Avas rather a modest- 
looking tenement considering his income 
and the expectations of a certain class of 
people called “ the Avorld,” though it com¬ 
prises in reality only a very small portion 
of mankind. It was large enough, he said, 
and good enough, for himself and daughter 
—an only child, reader, and the only ten¬ 
ant of his really line dwelling, besides him¬ 
self and servants. Years had passed away 
since the wife and mother had departed.— 
She had time, hoAvever, to sow good seed 
in a good soil; and as the daughter grcAV 
up into life, the fruits of a Christian moth¬ 
er’s care and prayers were seen in all their 
richness and beauty. 
And now, after this general introduction, 
I must make you more particularly ac¬ 
quainted with Annie Bremen. Of course 
you will want to know a great many things 
about her, and I will do my best to afford 
you satisfaction. 
I cannot tell you whether her eyes were 
black, blue or grey; whether she Avas of a 
dark or light complexion. People differ so 
much as to Avhat and who may be beauti¬ 
ful, that I shall not undertake to express 
any opinion in regard to this matter so far 
as Annie is concerned. Those who knew 
her best, said that she was beautiful—very 
beautiful; but they may have been par- 
j tial friends. Of one thing I am certain ; 
I she was good; and if beauty and goodness 
■ are synonymous terms, (which some will 
i deny,) then she was beautiful. She Avas 
good—she Avas a sincere Christian^the 
highest form of goodness in this Avorld.— 
Like her father, she Avas accounted some¬ 
thing of an oddity, but not by those who were 
well acquainted with her. That she should 
move in the sphere of the millionaires and 
half millionaire.s, and yet manifest anytlung 
like a Christian character, would by some be 
accounted suffiiciently odd without any¬ 
thing else to add to it. One Avho well 
' kneAV human nature, once said, that they 
I who have riches enter the kingdom of God 
“ hardly.” But Annie had entered it, and 
thus fulfilled those other Avords Avhich fell 
from the same lips, that “ with God all 
things are possible.” That she should be 
no slave of fashion, that she should dare to 
dress to suit herself, that she should look 
far beyond the circle in AVhich her father’s 
wealth had placed her^ out into the wide 
Avorld, and in the midst of her own plenty 
think of others’ poverty; in short, that she 
should be a really sensible, serious-minded 
girl, may be regarded as a thing that one 
does not see every day. It is true, she 
Avent out into fiAshionable societ}^ she min¬ 
gled with the gay crowd that ascmbled in 
the halls of Avealth; but there Avas also the 
poor and the needy, who, as often as they 
thought of her, (and that was not seldom,) 
exclaimed, “ bless her kind soul!” She 
might be seen almost daily, to enter the 
dAvelling of poverty, and dispense kind 
Avords and smiles, worth far more, after all, 
than the silver and the gold Avhich she 
always carried Avith her—and all this with¬ 
out ostentation; nay, almost Avithout obser¬ 
vation. Her father, who had some idea of 
her habits in connection Avith the.se matters, 
Avas well contented to let her become his 
almoner, as he said to himself. Ho gave 
her most freely all that she asked of him, 
Avithout so much as a single question as to 
the use to be made of it. There seemed 
to be a tacit understanding betAveen them 
in regard to this. 
Annie possessed a mind well cultivated. 
She had read much and thought much ; 
and though not learned, slie Avas intelligent 
and in company might usually be found, 
by a natural attraction, in conversation 
with the most intelligent gentlemen present. 
Annie had arrived at the mature age of 
(do not start, reader,) twenty-seven, and 
Avas yet in a state of single blessedness.— 
SomehoAv or other she had not even fallen 
in love as yet. “ Had she no offers ?”— 
What a simple question! Did you ever 
knoAV half a million of dollars to go a beg¬ 
ging? Offers? Yes, scores of tliem. It 
may be accounted as one of her oddities, 
perhaps, but whenever the subject hap¬ 
pened to be touched upon by her father, 
Annie Avould say that she Avanted some one 
Avho could loA’e her for herself, and she 
must have the assurance of this, and hoAv 
could she in her present position ? Hoav 
could she knoAv positively that herself Avas 
sought, and not the estate to Avhich she 
Avas sole heiress? If she could only be 
divested of eATrything but Avhat she Avas in 
herself ; if she could actually be poor— 
ah I she often thought thus. If you please 
to call this a mere whim, so be it; it kept 
her single till her twenty-eighth year. The 
old gentleman did not urge the matter very 
strongly, as may be well supposed. A 
father is not likely, in his circumstances, to 
drive his daughter into matrimony, unless 
he Avishes to enter it himself Thus mat- 
I tors stood, Avhen Annie Avas led to form and 
; to execute Avhat Avill appear a very strange 
I I'esolution; but she was a resolute girl.— 
I Wo must now go back six years. 
I One dark, rainy morning in Nov'cmber, 
I as our old friend Avas looking composedly at 
; the cheerful fire in the grate of liis count- 
i ing-room, and really indulging in some se- 
j rious reflections on the past and the future 
I —the far future, too—a gentleman present- 
I ed himself and inquired for Mr. Bremen. 
I The old man uttered not a Avord, but merely 
boAved. There was that in his looks which 
said, “ I am he.” 
'The stranger might have been some 30 
years, or so, of age. He Avas dressed in 
I black, a mourning Aveed was on his hat, and 
there Avas something in his appearance 
Avhich seemed to indicate that the friend 
whose loss he deplored had recently depart¬ 
ed. The letter of introduction Avhich he 
presented to Mr.*B. Avas quickly yet care¬ 
fully perused, and as it Avas somcAvhat 
unique, I shall take the liberty of submit¬ 
ting it to the insjiection of the reader. 
“-, 11 mo. 18—. 
“FiiiKNO Paul,—T his will introduce to 
thee friend Charles Copeland. He has 
come to thy city in pursuit of business. I 
have known him from a youth up. 'J’hou 
mayest depend on him for aught that he 
can do, and shall not lean as on a broken reed. 
If thou canst do anything for him, thou 
mayest, peradventure, benefit thyself, and 
cause to rejoice 
“ Thy former and present friend, 
“Micaii Loomis.” 
“ It is not every one who can get old 
Micah Loomis’ endorsement on his charac¬ 
ter,” said Paul Bremen to himself, as he 
folded up the letter of a well known associ¬ 
ate of former days. “ Old Micah is good 
for a quarter of a million, or for anything 
else —it will do—I want him—seems a sen¬ 
sible, business like man—getting old—busi¬ 
ness increasing—must have some more 
help—noAV as Avell as any time.” 
The old gentleman looked all this, as he 
stood gazing in perfect silence on the man 
before him. At length he opened his lips. 
“ Mr. Copeland, you know all about books ?” 
“ I have had some few years experience.” 
“Any objection to a place here—pretty 
close work—thousand a year ?” 
“ None in the world.” 
“ When can you beuin ?” 
“ Now.” 
A real smile shone upon the old man’s 
face. It lingered there like the rays of the 
setting sun among the clouds of evening, 
lighting up those seemingly hard, dark fea¬ 
tures. A stool was pushed to the new 
comer, books Avere opened, matters explain¬ 
ed, directions given, the pen was dipped in 
the ink, and in short, before an hour had 
passed away you would haA'e thought that 
the old man and the young man had knoAvn 
each other for years. 
In reference to our ncAv frignd, it will be 
sufficient to remark, that he had been lib¬ 
erally educated, as the phrase goes, and tho’ 
he had entered early into business, he had 
not neglected the cultivation of his mind and 
heart. He had found time to cherish a 
general acquaintance w'ith the most note- 
Avorthy authors of the day, both literary and 
religious, and with many of past times.— 
After a few years of success in the pursuits 
to Avhich he had devoted himself, misfor¬ 
tunes came thick and fast upon him. He 
found himself left Avith scarcely any proper¬ 
ty, and alone in the Avorld save his two 
daughters. He Avas soon settled in the 
great city to which he had betaken himself, 
and lived in a very quiet Avay Avith his in¬ 
teresting charges, Avho were fast growing up 
into life. How many SAveet and pleasant 
evenings did he enjoy in his not very spa¬ 
cious but neat and comfortable dAvelling, 
after the toils of the day of business Avere 
over. 
As year after year passed away, he greAv 
steadily in the confidence of his employer, 
who felt, though he said it not, that in liim he 
possessed a treasure. Very little indeed 
Avas said by either of them not connected 
with the routine of business, and there had 
been no intercourse Avhatsoever between 
them save in the counting-room. Thus six 
years Avent by, toward the close of Avhich 
period old Mr. Bremen was found looking 
with much frequency and earnestness at the 
younger man before him. Something Avas 
evidently breAving in that old head. What 
could it be? And then, too, at home he 
looked so curiously. The Irish servant Avas 
puzzled. “ Sure,” said James, “something’s 
acoming—that’s clear as a gla.ssof whiskey.” 
Annie, too, Avas somoAvhat perplexed, for 
those looks dAvelt much on her. 
“ What is it, father ?” she said to him one 
morning at the breakfast table, as he sat 
gazing steadfastly in her face; “ Avhat is it ? 
Do tell me.” 
“ I Avish you’d have him,” burst forth like 
an avalanche. “ KnoAvn him for six years 
—true as a leger—a gentleman—real sen¬ 
sible man—don’t talk much—regular as a 
clock — prime for business—worth his Aveight 
in gold.” 
“ Have Avho, father ? What are you talk¬ 
ing about?” 
“My head clerk—Copeland—you don’t 
knoAv him—I do—haven’t seen anybody 
else worth an old quill.” 
Annie Avas puzzled. She laughed, how¬ 
ever, and said, “ Marry m}'^ father’s clerk— 
Avhat Avould people say ?” 
“Humbug, child, all humbug—Avorth 
forty of your whiskered, lounging, lazy gen¬ 
try-say ?—say what they please—Avhat do 
I care? —what do you care?—Avhat’s mo¬ 
ney after all?—got enough of it—Avant a 
sensible man—want somebody to take care 
of it—all humbug.” 
“What’s all humbug, father?” 
“ Why, people’s notions on these matters 
—Copeland’s poor—so was I once—may 
be again—world’s full of changes—seen a 
great many of tliem in my day—can’t stay 
here long—got to leave you, Annie—wish 
you’d like him.” 
“ Father, are you serious ?” 
“ Serious, child 1” And he looked so. 
Annie was a chip of the old block—a 
strong minded, resolute girl. A neAV idea 
seemed to strike her. 
“ Father, if you are really serious in this 
matter. I’ll see this Copeland; I’ll get ac¬ 
quainted Avith him. If he likes me, and I 
like him. I’ll have him. But he shall love 
me for myself alone; I must know it. Will 
you leave the matter to me ?” 
“ Go ahead, child; do as you like. Good 
morning.” 
“ Stop a moment, father. I shall alter 
my name a little—I shall appear to be a poor 
girl—a companion of our friend Mrs. Rich¬ 
ards, in H. street—she shall know the whole 
affair—you shall call me by my middle 
name, Peyton—I shall be a relation of yours 
—you shall suggest the business to ^Ir. 
Copeland, as you call him, and arrange for 
the first interview. The rest will take care 
of itself.” 
“ I see, I see”—and one of those rare 
smiles illumined his whole face. It actually 
got between his lips, parted them asunder, 
glanced upon a set of teeth Jiut little the 
worse for wear,- and Avas resting there Avhen 
he left the house for his counting-room.— 
The twilight of that smile Avas not yet gene 
when he reached the well-known spot, and 
bowed, and looked “good morning” to those 
in his employ, for old Paul Avas after his 
fashion a polite man. On the morning of 
that day Avhat looks Avere directed to our 
friend Charles!-so many—so peculiar— 
so full of something —that the head clerk 
could not but notice them, and that too Avith 
some alarm. What Avas coming ? At last 
the A'olcano burst forth. 
“ Copeland, my good felloAV, Avhy don’t 
you get a wife ?” 
Had a thunderbolt fallen at his feet, he 
could not have been more astounded. Did 
Mr. Bremen say that—and in the counting- 
room, too? The vei-y legers seemed to 
blush at the introduction of such a subject. 
He actually, for the first time, made a blot 
on the fair page before him. 
“Isay — Avhy don’t you get a Avife?— 
know just the thing for you—prime article 
— poor enough to be sure—what of that? 
—a fortune in a Avife, you know —a kind of 
relation of mine — been thinking of it some' 
time—don’t Avant to meddle in other peo¬ 
ple’s affairs—knoAv your OAvn business best 
—can’t help thinking you’ll be happier— 
must see her.” 
Noav the fact is, that Charles had for 
some time past thought so himself; but how 
the old man should have so completely di¬ 
vined his feelings was quite a puzzle to him. 
In the course of the day a note Avas put in¬ 
to Mr. Bremen’s hand, by James, his Irish 
servant, the contents of which produced an¬ 
other grim sort of smile. When the mo¬ 
ment I'or his return home arrived, Mr. B. 
handed a sealed document, of a rather im¬ 
posing form, to Charles, saying, “Copeland, 
you’ll oblige me by leaving that at Cl H. 
street. Place it only in the hands of the 
person to Avhom it is directed—don’t Avant 
to trust it to any one else.” 
The clerk saw on the outside, “ Mrs. 
Richards, 67 11 street." The door-bell 
was rung. The servant ushered Copeland 
into a small, neat parlor, where sat a lady 
apparently tAventy-five or thirty years of 
age, plainly dressed, engaged in knittilTg a 
stocking. Our friend bowed and inquired 
for Mrs. Richards. 
“ She is not in, but is expected presently 
—Avill you be seated ?” There Avas an ease 
and quietness, and an air of self-command 
about this person, Avhich seemed peculiar to 
Copeland. He felt at ease at once; (you 
ahvays do Avith such people;) made some 
common-place remark, which was immedi¬ 
ately responded to; then another: and soon 
the conA'crsation greAv so interesting that 
Mrs. Richards was nearly forgotten. Her 
absence Avas strangely protracted, but at 
length she made her appearance. The 
document Avas presented—a glance at the 
outside. 
“ Mr. Copeland.” Charles bowed. 
“ Miss Peyton.”- The young lady bow¬ 
ed ; and thus they were introduced. There 
Avas no particular reason for remaining any 
longer, and our friend took his departure. 
That night Annie said to Mr. B., “ I like 
his appearance, father.” 
“ ForAvard—march,” said old ].^aul, and 
he looked at his daughter Avith vast satis¬ 
faction. 
“ The old man’s as swate to-night as a 
new potato,” said James to the cook. 
The next day Charles Copeland came 
very near Avriting, several times, “ To Miss 
Peyton, Dr.” as he was making out some 
bills of merchandize sold. 
“Delivered the paper last ev'ening?” 
Copeland boAved. “ Mrs. Richards an old 
friend—humble circumstances—the young 
lady—Peyton—Avorth her Aveight in gold 
any day—have her myself if I could.” 
“Ah—this is your ‘prime article,’ Mr. 
Bremen.” The old man looked —no one 
can tell how he looked. 
When did a man ever fail find pre¬ 
texts to cultivate the acquaintance of a lady 
in Avhom he was interested ? Copeland ' 
found himself quite often at 07 H. street. 
He Avas sometimes disappointed in not see¬ 
ing Miss Peyton. She Avas out, or had an 
engagement in another part of tho city.— 
He saAV her very frcquentl}'-, however, and 
matters Avent on to the entire satisfaction of 
both parties. 
“ Hoav much you remind me of Mr. Bre¬ 
men,”—said Charles, one evening, to Annie 
—I think he said you Avere a relation of his.” 
“ I am related to him through my moth¬ 
er,” Avas'the grave reply. Mrs. Richards 
turned away to conceal a smile. Somewhat 
later than usual on that day Annie reached 
her father’s house. There Avas no mistak¬ 
ing the expression of her countenance.— 
Happiness was plainly Avritten there. “ I 
see, I see,” said the old man—“the ac¬ 
count’s closed—books balanced—have it all 
through now in short order. • You’re a 
sensible girl-^si^o foolish puss—just Avhat I 
Avant—bless ydu, child, bless you.” The 
next day Old Paul came, for almost the 
first time in his life, rather late to his count¬ 
ing-room. Casks and boxes, and books, 
seemed to be staring with Avonder. 
“ Copeland, you’re a fine felloAA'—heard 
from Mrs. Richards—proposal to my relation 
—Peyton—all right—done it up well.— 
Come to my house this evening—never 
been there yet, eh?—8 o’clock precisely— 
Avant to see you—got something to say.” 
“ Hoav much interest he seems to take in 
this matter,” .said Charles. “He’s a kind 
old fellow in his Avay—a little rough, but 
good at heart.” Yes, Mr. Chas. Copeland, 
even kinder than you think for. 
At 8 o’clock precisely, the door-bell of 
Mr. Bremen’s mansion rung. Mr. Charles 
Copeland Avas ushered in by our friend 
James. Old Paul took him kindly by the 
hand, turning round abruptly, introduced 
him to “ my daughter, Miss Annie Peyton 
Bremen,” and immediately Avithdrew. 
“Charles, Avill you forgive me this?”— 
He Avas too much astonished to make any 
reply. “ If you knew all my motives and 
feelings, I am sure you Av^ould.” 
That tho motives and feelings Avere soon 
explained to his entire satisfaction, no one 
Avill doubt. 
“ Copeland, my dear fellow,” shouted old 
Paul, as he entered the room, “ no use in a 
long engagement.” 
“Oh, father!” 
“No use, I say—married now—get ready 
afterAvards—next Monday evening — Avho 
cares? Want it over—feel settled. Shan’t 
part with Annie, though—must bring your 
daughters here—house rather lonesome— 
no Avords—be still—must have it so—part¬ 
ner in business—Bremen and Copeland— 
got the papers all drawn up to-day—can’t 
alter it. Be quiet, will you? —won’t stay 
in the room.” 
I have now finished my story, reader.— 
I haA'e given you facts. I cannot say, how¬ 
ever, that I approve of the deception prac¬ 
ticed upon our friend Charles. As, how¬ 
ever, our Lord commended the “ unjust 
steward because he acted wisehj," so I sup¬ 
pose the good sense shoAvn by the young 
lady, in choosing a husband for the sake of 
what he was, and not for the sake of Avhat 
he might hav'e possessed, merits our appro¬ 
bation. It is not every one who has moral 
courage enough to step out of the circle 
which surrounds the wealthy, and seek for 
those qualities of mind and heart Avhich the 
Avorld can neither give nor take aAA'ay. 
WHAT “THEY” SAY OF THE RTJRAL. 
Moork^s Rural INrw-Yorkkh.— VVe ore in tho 
regular receipt of this valuable Agricultural News¬ 
paper, and consider it by far the best work of tho 
kind with which wo have any acquaintance. 'I’he 
indefategable proprietor has taken just the right 
course to make it exceedingly useful, and also ren¬ 
der it very popular, as he has called to his aid in tho 
Editorial Deiiartment several gentlemen of the first 
order of talent. The jiapcr, though apparently 
dear, is nevertheless, cheaper than any other Ag¬ 
ricultural Journal ]uiblished in the country.—//«•- 
atd, Greencnstle, Pa. 
* * ^ It is a journal of which VVesrorn New 
Y^ork may well be proud, for no State can boast of a 
superior one. .Such a weekly family visitor cannot 
fail to prove'benolicial to the members of families 
that receive it. Its literary department is conduct¬ 
ed with tlie ability and care, that make it interest¬ 
ing to those who may not care so much about 4,h© 
information it contains on other subjects. We com¬ 
mend it to the cheerful support of all who want a 
good Aveekly paper.— Niag. Democrat. 
It is not only a beautifully printed paper, but is 
filled with reading of an attraetive, substantial and 
useful character. It can scarcely fail to take rank 
as one of the best family and agricultural journals in 
the country, and to exert a salutary influence in tho 
departments to Avhich it is devoted.— Roch. Dem. 
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