MOORE’S RURAL NEW-YORKER: AN AGRICULTURAL AND FAMILY JOURNAL. 
'MmWm]. 
[For the Rural New-Yorker.] 
A DAUGHTER’S TRIBUTE. 
Brkathk low ye winds, hush your wild strains, 
Sigh softly as a suniiner gale. 
And bear upon your zephyr wings 
A requium wail. 
(| A'e flowerets bend, in rev erence low, 
I Scatter your blos.soins o'er the sod. 
Hallow the dust of him whose soul 
Now dwells with God. 
Kneel, mourner, kneel— licdew with tears; 
The turf that wraiw the lifeless clay. 
The spirit lives, in realms of light— 
Of endless day. 
C And stranger pause -,—^18 hallow'ed ground— 
) A sacred gem yon casket keeps ; 
^ Within th.at little, lowly mound, 
5 A father sleeps. 
) He rests from cares—^liis bark was tossed 
> Uixm a wild, and troubled sea,— 
J Witli hopeful hearts we now intrust 
i Him, Lord, with thee. R. M. \. 
J IROMIKQUOIT, Dec. 1850. 
>, --- 
> [For the Rural New-Yorker.J 
I BE MODERATE IN EXPECTATION. 
► _ 
! “-Life’s flowers are merely—flowers 
I And tlie shadow of Heaven’s iierlijct bliss 
I Is the sunshine of ours.”—^L doar A. Foe. 
I There is no Heaven on earth. The bliss 
• of the “ unseen land,” transcends our most 
’ glowing conceptions of Happiness. We 
' may call our moments of enjoyment, “a 
I foretaste of Heaven”—our glimpses of beau¬ 
ty, “visions of Paradise,”—but they are far, 
and who shall say how far, from imaging 
the realities of that better world. 
But the pleasures of earth—life’s little 
blisses—are not therefore beneath our no¬ 
tice. Though this be not the best world, it 
is “ next to the best we may ever attain,” 
and it is surely worth our while to enjoy it 
during our stay here. Much that is pure 
and bright, and good, may be found in this 
every-day life—in the common and usual 
routine of existence. And how may we 
best turn this fact to our own advantage ? 
Not, let me answer, by finding fault with 
every thing not exactly to our liking—not 
by looking for perfect happiness in this 
“ world of sweets and sours,” but by enjoy¬ 
ing the honey, and taking the vinegar peace¬ 
ably, as a mere matter of variety. Our 
flowers have beauty and fragrance though 
they be not amaranthine — that they perish 
soon from our sight, should not prevent our 
enjoying their brief season of blooming love¬ 
liness. 
That there is a better world, should make 
us seek “ an abundant entrance” therein— 
and ever live in view of its sublime realities; 
yet surely it need net lead one to deSDlse 
the pathway thither—though brambles en¬ 
cumber, and clouds overshadow it. We 
need not scorn the pleasures accompanying 
the exercise of the “ small, sweet courtesies 
of life,” nor shut our hearts from the simple 
and pure joys of natural affection. We 
may live humble, child-like and happy, even 
in this present existence. 
But the secret of this, is that meek con¬ 
tentment which “ shall inherit the earth.” 
Why storm and fret at that beyond remedy ? 
Why fix your desires on the uncertain and 
unsatisfying—leaving the sure and the suf- 
ficent within your reach, ungrasped ? Why 
not accept the doctrine of moderate expec¬ 
tations—which, if it does no more, will pre¬ 
vent many a bitter disappointment. h. 
Maj)le Hitt, N. Y., 1850. 
THE COMING YEAR, 
Soon will it come, and the welcome 
“ Wish you a Happy New Year ” will glad¬ 
den the hearts of millions. But who shall 
open the future and read to us from its 
scroll all the vicissitudes that await us thro’ 
the coming year? What sorrows—what 
joys are registered for us on its pages ?— 
How much of bliss—how much of misery 
is strown along the path of life, for the next 
annual stage ? These are things to be re¬ 
vealed only by the ever Present. 
Looking back we can see that, in the 
events whioli have stirred the world, there 
has been a marked progress for good. Lib¬ 
eral principles have widened themselves in 
the body politic. Science has improved, 
and the arts have progressed. Benevolence 
has done her work of charity and sent out 
her Good Samaritans along the highway of 
Ufa 
Still, the great field of Progress is far 
from being explored. The tide of Improve¬ 
ment may still sweep on unchecked, and 
the earth see a glory brighter than has yet 
been dreamed of. In life’s drama, each in¬ 
dividual has something to perform, and, 
unless it be done, and well done, there- 
is an essential part lacking. It behooves 
us, then, to strive to know what is right, 
and to work diligently for the universal 
good. Wo should exert ourselves, not only 
for our own happiness, but for those around 
us; and working rightly for it, will give a 
just impetus to progession — aid Benevo¬ 
lence in her holy work, and widen the 
sphere of just and liberal principles. To 
all who shall thus labor and live to the 
golden rule, the New Year will indeed be 
a most happy one. t. e. w. 
‘GIVE WISELY.”-AN ANECDOTE. 
BY CHARLES DICKENS. 
One evening, a short time since, the cu¬ 
rate of B., a small village in the north of 
France, returned much fatigued to his hum¬ 
ble dwelling. Ho had been visiting a poor 
family who were suffering from both want 
and sickness; and the worthy old man, be¬ 
sides administering to them the consolation 
of religion, had given them a few small coins, 
saved by rigid self-denial from his scanty 
income. He walked homewards, leaning on 
his stick, and thinking with sorrow, how 
very small were the means he possessed of 
doing good and relieving misery. 
As he entered the door he heard an un¬ 
wonted clamor of tongues, taking the form 
of a by no means harmonious duet, an un¬ 
known male voice growling forth a hoarse 
bass, which was completely over-screeched 
by a remarkably high and thin treble, easily 
recognized by the placid curate, as proceed¬ 
ing from the well-practiced throat of his 
house-keeper, the shrewish Perpetua of a 
gentle Don Abbondia. 
“A pretty business this Monsieur!” cried 
the dame when her master appeared, as 
with flashing eyes, and left arm a-kimbo, she 
pointed with the other to a^ surly looking 
man dressed in a blouse, who stood in the 
hall, holding a very small box in his hand. 
“ This fellow,” she continued, “is a messen¬ 
ger from the diligence, and he wants to get 
fifteen francs as the price for the carriage of 
that little box directed to you, which I’m 
sure, no matter what it contains can’t be 
worth half the money.” 
“Peace, Nanette,” said her master; and 
taking the box from the man, who at his ap¬ 
proach, civilly doffed his hat, he examined 
the direction. 
It was extremely heavy, and bore the 
stamp of San Francisco, in California, to¬ 
gether with his own address. The curate 
paid the fifteen francs, which left him pos¬ 
sessed of but a few sous, and dismissed the 
messenger. 
He then opened the box, and displayed 
to the astonished eyes of Nanette, an ingot 
of virgin gold, and a slip of paper, on which 
were written the following words: 
“ To Monsieur the Curate of B.: 
A slight token of eternal gratitude, in re¬ 
membrance of Charles F - 
Formerly serjeant-major in the — th regi¬ 
ment ; now a gold-digger in California. 
August 28th, 1848.” 
On the 28th of August, 1847, the curate 
was, as on the evenmg in question, return¬ 
ing from visiting his poor and sick parisllon- 
ers. Not far from his cottage he saw a 
young soldier with a haggard countenance 
wild blood shot eyes, hastening towards 
the bank of a deep and rapid river, which 
ran through the fields. The venerable 
priest stopped him and spoke to him kindly. 
At first the young man would not an¬ 
swer, and tried to break away from his ques¬ 
tioner; but the curate fearing that he med¬ 
itated suicide, would not be repulsed, and 
at length, with much difficulty succeeded 
in leading him to his house. After some 
time, softened by the tender kindness of his 
host, the soldier confessed that he had spent, 
in gambling, a sum of money which had 
been entrusted to him as sergeant-major of 
his company. This avowal was made in 
words broken by sobs, and the culprit re¬ 
peated several times, “My poor mother! 
my poor mother! if she only knew-” 
Tlie curate waited until the soldier had 
become more calm, and then addressed him 
in words of reproof and counsel, such as a 
tender father might bestow on an erring 
son. He finished by giving him a bag con¬ 
taining one hundred and thirty francs, the 
amount of the sum unlawfully dissipated. 
“ It is nearly all I possess in the w'orld,” 
said the old man, “but by the grace of God, 
you will change your habits, work diligent¬ 
ly, and some future day, my friend, you will 
return me this money, which, indeed belongs 
more to the poor than me.” 
It would be impossible to describe the 
young’s soldier’s joy and astonishment. He 
pressed convulsively his benefactor’s hand, 
and after a pause, said: 
“ Monsieur, in three months my military 
engagement will be ended. I solemnly 
promise that, with the assistance God, from 
that time I will work diligently.” So he 
departed, bearing with him the money and 
the blessing of the good old man. 
Much to the sorrow and indignation of 
Nanette, her master continued to wear thro’ 
the ensuing winter, his old thread bare suit, 
which he had intended to replace by w’arm 
garments; and his dinner frequently consis¬ 
ted of bread and soupe maigre. “ And all 
this,” said the dame, “ for a worthless strol¬ 
ler, whom we shall never see or hear of 
again.” 
“ Nanette,” said her master, with tears in 
his eyes, as he showed her the massive in-, 
got, whose value was three thousand francs, 
“never judge hard of a repentant sinner.— 
It was the weeping Magdalen who poured 
precious ointment on her Master’s feet; it 
was the outlawed Samaritan leper who re¬ 
turned to give Him thanks. Our poor guest 
has nobly kept his word. Next winter my 
sick people will want neither food nor med¬ 
icine; and you must lay in plenty of flannel 
and Irieze for our old men and women, 
Nanette.” 
MUSIC OF WINTER, 
I LOVE to listen to the falling of the snow. 
It is an unobtrusive and sweet music. You 
may temper your heart to the serenest mood 
by its low murmur. It is that kind of mu¬ 
sic that only intrudes upon your car when 
your thoughts come languidly. You need 
not hear it if your mind is not idle. It re¬ 
alizes my dream of another world, where 
music is intuitive like a thought, and comes 
only when it is remembered. 
And the frost too, has a melodious “ min¬ 
strelsy.” You will hear its crystals shoot io 
the dead of a clear night, as if the moon¬ 
beams were shimmering like arrows on the 
grouncf; and you listen to it more earnestly 
that it is the going on of one of the most 
beautiful of nature’s deep mysteries. I 
know of nothing so wonderful as the shoot¬ 
ing of a crystal. Heaven has hidden its 
principle as yet from the inquisitive eye of 
the philosopher, and we must be content to 
gaze on its exquisite beauty, and listen in 
mute wonder to the noise of its invisible 
workmanship. It is to find a knowledge for 
us. We shall comprehend it when we know 
how the “ morning stars sang together.” 
You would hardly look for music in the 
dreariness of early winter. But before the 
keener frosts set in, and while warm winds 
are yet stealing back occasionally, like re¬ 
grets of the departed summer, there will 
come a soft rain or a heavy mist; and when 
the north wind returns, there will be drops 
suspended like ear-ring jewels betiyeen the 
filaments of the silver tassels, and in the 
feathery edges of the dark green hemlocks 
and if the clearing up is not followed by a 
heavy wind, they will all be frozen in their 
places like well-set gems. The next morn¬ 
ing, the warm sun comes out, and by the 
middle of the calm, dazzling forenoon, they 
are all loosened from the close touch which 
sustained them, and will drop at the slight¬ 
est motion. If you go along upon the south 
side of the wood at that hour you will hear 
music. The dry foliage of the summer’s 
shedding is scattered over the ground, and 
the hard round drops ring out clearly and 
distinctly as they are shaken down with the 
stirring of the breeze. It is something like 
the running of deep and rapid-water, only 
more fitful and merrier, but to one who goes 
out in nature with his heart open, it is a 
pleasant music, and in contrast with the 
stern character of the season, delightful. 
Winter has many other sounds that give 
pleasure to the seeker for hidden sweetness; 
but they are too rare and accidental to be 
described distinctly. The brooks have a 
sullen and muffled murmur under the fro¬ 
zen Surface; the ice in th^ distant river 
iionvp.s! lip wllli tVio owoll of tUo ourroni 
and falls again to the bank with a prolonged 
echo, and the woodman’s axe rings cheer¬ 
fully out from .the bosom of the unrobed 
forest. These are, at best however but 
melancholy sounds, and like that cheerless 
season they but drive the heart in upon it¬ 
self. I believe it is so ordered in heaven’s 
wisdom. We forget ourselves in the entice¬ 
ment of the sweet summer. Its music and 
its loveliness win away to the scenes that 
link up the affections, and we need a hand 
to turn us back tenderly, and hide from us 
the outward idols in whose worship we are 
forgetting the higher and more spiritual al¬ 
tars.—% N. P. Willis. 
Arrogance.— We never yet found pride 
in a noble nature, nor humility in an un¬ 
worthy mind. It may seem strange to an 
inconsiderate eye, that such a poor violet as 
vittue should ever dwell with honor; and 
that such an aspiring fame as pride should 
ever sojourn with baseness. It is certain, 
we never find the latter but in those who, 
being conscious of their own deficiency, 
think there is no other way to get honor but 
by boldly assuming it. It is he that has 
nothing else to recommend him, who would 
invade man’s good opinions by unbecoming 
haughtiness. If you search for high and 
strained carriages, you shall, for the most 
part, meet with them in low men. Arro¬ 
gance is a weed which grows on a dunghill! 
It is from the rankness of that soil that she 
has her height and spreadings. 
A nickname is the most stinging of all 
species of satire, because it gives no chance 
of reply. Attack a man with specific, point 
blank charges, and he can meet and repel 
them; but a nickname baffles reply by its 
very vagueness, it presents no tangible or 
definite idea of the mind, no “ horn of a 
dilemma” which the victimized party can 
grapple with. The very attempt to defend 
himself, in such a case, only renders him 
the more ridiculous; it looks like raising an 
ocean to drown a fly, or discharging a can¬ 
non at a wasp, to meet a petty gibe with a 
formal elaborate argument. Or, if your de¬ 
fence is listened to without jeers, it avails 
you nothing. It has no effect; does not tell; 
excites no sensation. After the laugh is 
against you, all your protests come, like the 
physician’s pr^jjiption at the funeral, too 
late. " 
A QUEER old gentleman, being asked 
what ho wished for dinner, replied, “An 
appetite, good company, something to eat, 
and a napkin!” 
Matarul listDii]. 
THE CYPRESS. 
The Cypress swamps of Mississippi, Louis¬ 
iana and Florida are the largest forests in 
the world, in which is to be found one kind 
of tree only. Two species are known, the 
Black and White Cedar or Cypress—ow¬ 
ing their principal differences to the amount 
and permanence of the water in which they 
grow. That which flourishes in the deepest 
water has light colored bark—while those 
in dryer situations, are called Black Cypress, 
yielding a firmer and more resinous wood. 
The timber is extremely durable, and in 
high repute for shingles and posts. 
The Cypress Bayous of the Mississippi 
and its branches, are depressions covering 
large areas, through which the water of the 
higher country filters to the streams be¬ 
low. The miry nature of the soil, as well 
as the thick undergrowth, and fallen timber, 
render them difficult of access, and many 
thrilling tales of adventure, are told of the 
“ cypress cutters” of these regions. 
• The character and condition of the tim¬ 
ber varies, as we before remarked, with its 
location. A paper in Silliman’s Journal 
gives the following description of these pe¬ 
culiarities : 
“ The general form of the trunks of bay¬ 
ou timber is represented by the above en¬ 
graving. They swell out toward their base 
and form into large spreading butments, 
curving into lateral roots, strongly fortifying 
their trunks. This is mostly the form and 
character of the timber along the margins 
of all bayous leading from their several 
sourc.es in the cypress basin to their princi¬ 
pal water courses. Its defects in character 
and (rrnwtL iuurease un appioncUlug tlie 
principal streams, and inversely, improve in 
receding from them towards the wooodland 
basins; here it -attains its highjest perfection, 
exhibiting trunks not unusually of enor¬ 
mous proportions. It towers to a height, in 
some instances, of a hundred and twenty 
feet without a limb, with a circumference 
at the top often exceeding sixteen feet, and 
at butt more than twenty feet, and this above 
the usual swell near the base, as shown in 
the figure below. 
These cypress basins or swamps present 
an interminable array of stately columns, 
shooting up their tall and symmetrical shafts, 
and supporting a dome-like ceiling which 
excludes half the light of day. The col¬ 
umns are crowded closely together, and the 
observer is struck with the uniformity of 
elevation which they maintain, although va¬ 
rying much in diameter. These fine cypress 
columns terminate abruptly under a cap 
consisting of a few disproportionate and in¬ 
considerable limbs, altogether constituting a 
kind of vaulted ceiling; and there is so per¬ 
fect a reflection of sound from it, that fal¬ 
ling timber often causes a reverberation 
throughout these silent and sombre shades 
to a distance of ten miles. 
But while the tops of the sypresses are 
so disproportionate, it is not so with their 
roots; for they ramify through the soil in 
every direction, extending from fifty to sev¬ 
enty-five feet from the parent stems; some 
remaining parallel with the surface of the 
ground, whilst others protrude deep into 
the more consolidated subsoil or under stra¬ 
ta of clay; and they are thus so fortified that 
a cypress is rarely torn up from the ground 
in which it grows. The roots assume wave^ 
like flexures with respect to the horizon; in 
a series of perpendicular cone-shaped pro¬ 
tuberances called “ knees,” which rise to a 
height varying from two to ten feet; much 
enlarged beyond the size of the roots. 
From counting the rings made by the 
growth of the tree it is thought that there 
are living cypress trees in the forests two 
thousand years of age.” 
Couiu. 
“ Attempt the end, and never stand to doubt; 
Nothing’s so hard, but search will find it out.” 
For the Rural New-Yorker. 
ENIGMA. 
I am composed of 21 letters. 
My 14, 19, 8, 1, 12, 9, 3, 6, is a river in tile United 
States. 
My 16, 10, 5, 4, is small but troublesome. 
My 2, 14, 15,18,12, 7, 8, were celebrated warriors. 
My 21, 3, 17, 4, 12, is one of the muses. 
My 10, 11, 8, 15, 21, 9, 1, is a name of Bacchus. 
My 4, 17, 3, 5, 20, 11, 8, is a name of Jupiter. 
My 17, 3,19, 12, 13, was a lyric poet. 
My 15, 21, 16, 12, 7, was a famous wrestler. 
My 14, 12, 4, 27, is a river in Europe. 
My 5, 7, 16, 21, 3, 12, 10, 2, is the goddess of si¬ 
lence. 
My whole forms the name of a literary work of 
high repute in the United States. 
IjP Answer next week. Xkrxes. 
For the Rural New-Yorker. 
FUZZLE. 
A father bade his son enter a stage coach already 
crowded with passengers, by simply calling his 
name—a scripture one. What was if’ 
[CF Answer next week. 
ANSWERS TO ENIGMAS &c. IN NO. 50. 
Ans. to Enigma.— Robert F’c'i.ton, Inventor of 
the first steamboat. 
Ans. to Riddle. — Congress of the United 
States. 
Ans. to Rebus.— Nap-kin, Kid-nap. 
Puzzle.—Unanswered. 
ANSWERS TO ENIGMAS &c- IN NO. 51. 
Ans. to Enigma.—A Merry Morning of May. 
Ans. to Charade.— Wo-man. 
Ans. to Rebus.— Dandy-I.io.v. 
Complimentary and Encouraging. 
We may be allowed to say, as our volume draws 
to a close, that many complimentary notices are 
given us by the press, and very flattering and en¬ 
couraging letters received from both near and dis¬ 
tant readers, as well as the substantial incitements 
of large lists of new and renewed subscribers. In 
return for what is being said and performed in be¬ 
half of the Rural, we shall endeavor to introduce 
some improvements not mentioned in the prospec¬ 
tus of next volume. 
Below we give two or three extracts from papers 
and letters recently received: 
Moore s Rural Nf:w-YoRKER.—Xhis journal 
has only been in existence one year, but it has at¬ 
tained a fine year’s growth. Not many papers have 
reached the same maturity of excellence and cast 
of shadow in five years that this has in one. Its 
success is well deserved. It realizes our concep¬ 
tion of a good family paper far more perfectly tiian 
certain self-styled moctet papers, which are inferior 
to this in every particular, except that they display 
a little more amplitude of fold. The departments of 
.Vg«ouituio, iiviu’cuRure, Ooiiifstiu Euunomy Edu¬ 
cation, News, and Miscellany, are all admirably 
sustained. The editor’s page is well-stored, and 
he 18 sustained by a class of correspondents who 
have profited largely by science and experience.— 
I he Rural New-Yorker is a weekly journal; and 
though It gives due prominence to agricultural mat¬ 
ters, it also furnishes a larger and choicer variety of 
reading than does the great majority of journals 
claiming to be ^lewi-papers. 
We can recommend nothing better, in its way 
to farmers; or to farmers’ good wives; or to all 
young ladies who everexpect to become gcod wive.s- 
or to any and nil, of whatever sex or age, engaged 
in rural, ec^ioinical, and industrial pursuits, than 
the Rural New- Yorker, published at Rochester N. Y 
at .$2 a year.—Mich. (Mir. Herald. ' ' ’’ 
iMoore’s Rural New-Yorker.— Published by 
D. 1). T. Moore, city of Rocliester, on the other side 
of tho lines, is one of the prettiest and best Week¬ 
lies that comes to this ollicc. It is emphatiraliy 
the Farmer’s Paper. While it gives, as its name 
imports, due attention to agricultural interests, it 
neglects not the grace of literature, tho skill of sci¬ 
ence, the spice of miscellany, or the fresh budget 
of news. We like it—we read it—which is sayin»’ 
more than we can say in behalf of all papers tliat 
pay us a visit. Read the following from its pros- 
pectu.s and, if so inclined, send your names and 
shillings this w'ay, and tho paper shall be yours 
while the funds \o.al.—Oshawa ( C. W.) Reforvier. 
Moore s Rural New-Yorker. —We w*eIcome 
this agricultural journal to our exchange list. There 
IS no work of the kind that excels it in the country. 
D. U, T. Moore, Rochester, N. Y. is the publisher, 
which is assurance enough for the work that it can¬ 
not be surpassed.—/'oiTag-e Co. (O.) Whi<r. 
MOORE’S RURAL NEW-YORKER, 
PUBLISHED EVERY THURSDAY, AT ROCHESTER, BY 
D. D. T. MOOBE, Proprieter. 
Publication Office in Burns’ Block, [No. 1, 2d floor,] 
comer State and Buffalo streets. 
The New-Yorker contains more Agricultural, 
Horticultural, Scientific, Mechanical, Educational, 
Literary and News matter, than any other Agricul- 
tural or Family Journal published in the U. States. 
Those who wish a good paper, devoted to useful 
and instructive subjects, are invited to give this one 
a careful examination — and to bear in mind that 
the postage on a first class periodical is no more 
than on the smallest sheet, or most trashy reprint. 
■* Terms, in Advance: 
Two Dollars a Year. To Clubs and Agents 
as follows: — Three Copies for i^5 — Six Copies 
(and a free copy to Agent, or getter up of Club,) 
for $10— Ten Copies (and one to Agent,) for 
$1$ —Twenty Copies for $25, and any addi¬ 
tional number, derected to individuals, at the same 
rate. Forty Copies, directed to one person, for 
$40, and any additional number, thus addressed, 
at the same rate. Six month subscriptions at the 
same rates. All moneys received by mail will 
be acknowledged in the paper, and receipts sent 
if desired. O’ No deviation from these Terms. 
Specimen no’s free to all post-paid applicants. 
Post-Masters, Clergymen, Teachers, Officers and 
Members of Agricultural Societies, and otlier influ¬ 
ential persons, of all professions — friends of Mental 
and Moral as well ns of Agricultural Improvement— 
are respectfully solicited to obtain and forward sub¬ 
scriptions to tlie New-Yorker. 
(UF Subscription money, properly enclosed, may 
be sent by mail at our risk. 
