MOORE’S RURAL NEW-YORKER: AN AGRICULTURAL AND FAMILY JOURNAL 
gifts that were stowed there! And how 
oveijoyed was he, to see his mother offer 
the sick woman work, and a new home, and 
to see the sick woman grow suddenly strong, 
and almost well, under the influence of their 
kind offers! He wondered if their happi¬ 
ness could possibly be as deep as his own; 
if their new year’s was as bright to them 
as was his to him! He knew not how any 
one could be happier than he was, at that 
moment 
Years have rolled away into the silent 
past That little girl—Elsie Gray—is a 
lady. Not a lady only in name, but one in 
very deed, in heart in conduct! She dwells 
in a sweet suburban cottage, and her hus¬ 
band is devoted only to her. That husband 
is no other than the generous little boy, 
who on the new year’s festival accosted her 
so tenderly in the street and went home 
with her! Her poor mother sleeps quietly 
in the little church-yard; yet she lived to 
know that God had-provided for her child. 
She died, resigned and happy. 
Are there coins, either of gold or silver 
that must be locked away from sight on 
this day of the new year ? Are there any, 
containing within their depths such sweet 
visions, such happy sights, that must lie 
under lock and key all this day, lest happi¬ 
ness and comfort may become too universal ? 
Here is one, wkc*e comes another ? 
low, chanced to pass her, as she walked 
and wept, and stopped. He caught the 
glitter of those tears in the sunshine, and 
the sight smote his angel heart He knew 
not what want and suffering were. He had 
never known them himself; never once 
heard of them; knew not even what a real 
bejggar was. He stopped suddenly before 
Elsie, and asked her the cause of those 
tears. She could make him no reply; her 
little heart was too full. 
“ Has anybody hurt you ?” asked the 
feeling little fellow. 
The girl shook her head negatively. 
“ Have you lost your way ?” he persisted. 
“ No,” answered the child, quite audibly. 
“What is the matter, then?” asked he. 
“ Mother is poor and sick, and I am cold 
and hungry. We have nothing to eat.— 
Our room is quite cold, and there is no wood 
for us. 0, you do not know all ! you can¬ 
not know all!” 
“ But I will,'” replied the manly boy.— 
“ Where do you live ?” 
“Will you go with me?” asked Elsie, 
her face brightening. 
“Yes; let me go with you,” said he; 
* show me the way!” 
Through street, lane and alley she guid¬ 
ed him. They reached the door of their 
hovel. The cold breaths of the wind whis¬ 
tled in at the cracks and crevices, and the 
key-hole before them, as if inviting them 
in. They entered. A sick woman feebly 
raised her head from her pillow, and gave 
her child a sweet smile. “Elsie, have you 
come ?” she faintly said. 
“ Yes, mother,” answered the child, “ and 
I have brought this boy with me. I do not 
know who he is, but he said he wanted to 
come and see where we lived. Did I do 
wrong to bring him, mother ?” 
“No, no, my child,” said the mother, 
“ if he knows how to pity you, from his lit¬ 
tle heart;—but he cannot pity me yet; he 
is not old enough.” 
The bright-faced, sunny-hearted boy 
gazed in astonishment upon the mother and 
child. The scene was new to him. He 
wondered if this was what they called pov¬ 
erty. His eyes looked sadly upon the 
wasting mother, but they glittered with 
wonder when turned towards Elsie. Sud¬ 
denly they filled with tears. The want, the 
woe, the barrenness, the desolation, were 
all too much for him. He shuddered at 
the cold, uncovered floor. He gazed mourn¬ 
fully into the empty fireplace. His eyes 
wandered wonderingly over the naked 
walls, looking so uninviting and cheerless. 
Putting his hand into his pocket, he grasped 
the coin that his mother had that very morn 
given him, and drew it forth. “ You may 
have that!” said he, holding itout to the child. 
“ 0, you are too good! You are too gen¬ 
erous, I fear!” broke in the mother, as if 
she ought not to take it from him. 
“ Mother will give me another, if I want 
it,” said he; “ it will do you a great deal 
of good, and I know that I don’t need it 
Take it, take it! you shall take it!” and he 
was instantly gone. 
It was a gold coin, of the value of five 
dollars! 
Mother and child wept together. Then 
they talked of the good boy whose heart 
had opened, for'them on that new year’s 
day. Then they let their fancies run, and 
grow wild, and revel as they chose. They 
looked at the glistening piece. There was 
bread, and fuel, and clothing, and every 
other comfort in its depths. They contin¬ 
ued to gaze upon it. Now they saw with¬ 
in its rim pictures of delight and joy; vis¬ 
ions of long rooms, all wreathed and deco¬ 
rated with evergreens and flowers; visions 
of smiling faces, and happy children; sights 
of merry sleigh-rides, and the glistening of 
bright runners over the smooth-worn snow. 
They listened ; they heard the mingled 
sounds of merry voices, and the chiming of 
musical bells ; the accents of innocent 
tongues, and the laugh of gladsome hearts. 
Ah! what a philosopher’s stone was that 
coin! How it turned everything, first into 
gold, and then into happiness! How it 
grouped around them kind and cheerful 
friends, and filled their ears with kind voices! 
How it garlanded all the hours of that day 
with evergreens and full-blown roses! How 
it spread them a laden table, and crowded 
it with merry guests! and those guests, too, 
all satisfied, all happy! 0, what bright 
rays shone forth from that same trifling coin 
of gold! Could it have been as bright in 
the child’s or the man’s dark pocket ? No; 
else it had before then burned its very way 
throuo-h, and lent its radiance to others!— 
O / m .... 
Could it have shone with such visions m 
theiich man’s hand? No; else his avar¬ 
ice would have vanished at once, and his 
heart have overflowed with generosity!— 
No, no: it was only to such as the widow 
and her child, that it wore such a shine; 
and emitted such brilliant rays; and reveal¬ 
ed such sweet and welcome visions! Only 
for such as they! 
That night returned this angel boy to 
the bleak room, then filled with happiness, 
and lighted with joy; but he was not alone; 
his own mother was with him. Blessed 
boy! He had passed the whole of new 
year’s day in making others happy! And 
how much happier was he himself ! How 
his little heart warmed and glowed, to see 
the child uncover the basket he had brought 
with him, and take out, one by one, the 
itmor 
“ Attempt the end, and never stand to doubt; 
Nothing’s so hard, but search will find it out.’ 
CONSOLATION-AN EPIGRAM, 
THE DAYS THAT ABE NO MORE 
A prim city girl, 
With a frswn, and a curl 
Of her Up that proclaimed her a scoffer, 
Wag quite in a panic 
Tliat John — a mechanic — 
Had affro ited her pride with an oiler. 
‘ 1 ’Tie exceedingly queer, 
1 acknowledge, my dear,” 
Retorted her sorrowing brother — 
“ But you may depend, 
To your very life’s end, 
You’ll never be pained with another 1” 
BY TEHNIS0N. 
For the Rural New-Yorker. 
GEOGRAPHICAL ENIGMA. 
Tears, idle tears, I know not what they mean ; 
Tears from the depth of some divine despair, 
Rise in the heart, and gather to the eyes, 
In looking on the happy Autumn fields, 
And thinking on the days that are no more. 
Fresh as the first beam glittering on a sail, 
That brings our friends up from the underworld, 
Sad as the last which reddens over one 
That sinks with all we love below the verge ; 
So sad, so fresh tire days that are no more. 
Ah sad and strange as in dark summer dawns, 
The earliest pipe of half awakened birds. 
To dying ears, when unto dying eyes. 
The casement slowly grows a glimmering square ; 
So sad, so strange the days that are no more. 
Dear as remembered kisses after death, 
And sweet as those by hopeless fancy feigned 
On lips that are for others; deep as love, 
Deep as first love and wild with all regret; 
O death in Life, the days that are no more. 
* Hr. Poe, has declared this song unsurpassed by any 
piece of the same length in the language, and it is in truth 
a gem of uncommon beauty. 
I am composed of 18 letters. 
My 1, 16,11, 18, 3 is a river in Virginia. 
My 2, 6, 12, 9 is a river in the United States. 
My 3, 16, 7, 8, 18 is a cape in North America. 
Aly 4, 13, 14, 17,16,13, 15 is a country in Europe. 
My 5, 16, 11, 7, 9 is a town in South America. 
My 6, 18, 13, 8, 9, 5, 4, 13 is a cape in Delaware. 
My 7, 16, 13, 15, 10, 13 is a town in Ireland. 
My 8, 2,14, 16, 13 is a county in Virginia. 
My 9, 7, 18 is a river in Siberia. 
My 10, 13, 4, 14, 16 is a town in Russia. 
My 11,12,17, 10 is a town in Yates county, N. Y. 
My 12, 13,^5, 1J, p is a river in Sweden. 
My 13, 16, 5, 8, 4; 3 is a town in Italy. 
My 14,12, 8, 4, 3 is county in Tennessee. 
My 15, 16, 13 is a river in Virginia. 
My 16,13,15,18, 3 is a chain of mountains in South 
America. 
My 17, 18, 10, 13 is a county in Florida. 
Aly 18, 8, 7, 16 is an island in the Mediterranean. 
My whole is the name of a school teacher in 
Yates county, N. Y.. w. w. m. 
Benton, N. Y. 
O 3 Answer next week. 
A CAPACIOUS THROAT. 
The Cincinnati Star relates the following 
anecdote of a 3 7 oung gentleman of the south, 
who expended a large fortune — money, 
lands, negroes, every thing, in a course of 
intemperance and profligacy. 
He had just paid a last year’s grog bill 
of $800. One day he was walking in the 
street very leisurely, when seeing a physi¬ 
cian on the opposite side, he called out to 
him to come over. 
“Doctor,” said he, “I wish you’d just 
take a look into my throat.” 
“ I don’t discover anything, sir,” said the 
doctor. 
“You don’t!” said he, “ why that’s strange; 
will you be just kind enough, sir, to give 
another look ?” 
“ Really, sir,” said the doctor, after a sec¬ 
ond look, “ 1 don’t see anything.” 
“No! why doctor there is a farm, ten 
thousand dollars, and twenty negroes gone 
down my throat!” 
TO-MORROW. 
Whatb’er the grief that dims the eye, 
Whate’er the cause of sorrow, 
Wc turn us to the weeping sky, 
And say we’ll smile to-morrow ; 
And when from those we love, we part. 
From hope we comfort borrow, 
And whisper to our aching heart. 
We’ll meet again to-morrow. 
But when to-morrow comes, 'tis still 
An Image of to-day ; 
Still tears our heavy eye-lids fill. 
Still mourn we those away 
And when that morrow, loo, is past, 
(A yesterday of sorrow,) 
Hope, smiling, cheats us to the last 
With visions of to-morrow. 
In every-hedge my second is, 
As well as every tree; 
And when poor school-boys act amiga, 
It often is their fee. 
My first, likewise, is always wicked, 
Yet ne’er committed sin: 
My total for my first is fitted, 
Compos’d of brass or tin. 
(LP Answer next week. 
THE QUAKER’S INSURANCE. 
Everybody has heard something about 
Jacob Barker, the famous Quaker and finan¬ 
cier of New York State. He has placed 
on record ample evidence of his shrewdness 
and business tact 
It is stated that old Jacob suddenly heard 
one morning of the total loss of one of his 
vessels and cargo. He had hinted careless¬ 
ly, a day or two before, to a broker in Al¬ 
bany, that he thought of taking out a policy, 
but the matter had not been concluded, 
when the unwelcome news reached him in 
Now York city. He sat down at once, 
however, and wrote to the lynx-eyed broker, 
as follows: 
Friend Sharpe: —It matters not about that pol¬ 
icy I spoke to thee about on Saturday last. Thee 
need not fill it up, if thee hath not already done so, 
for I have heard from the vessel this morning. 
Thy friend, J. Barker. 
“ Friend Sharpe” had not filled up the 
policy, at all, for the ship had been out a 
good while beyond her time, and Sharpe 
didn’t like the risk. The moment he got 
Jacob’s note, however, presuming of course 
that the ship was safe, (from the wording 
of the Quaker’s communication,) though he 
had not filled the policy, he immediately 
executed it, dating it back to the Saturday 
previous, and replied to Jacob, as follows: 
Friend Barker: —Your favor came to hand, 
duly—but the policy was completed on Saturday, 
as you will see. I enclose it, herewith, and have 
drawn on you at sight, for the amount of premium 
and policy, (say fije hundred and three dollars,) 
which please pay as advised. 
Yours faithfully, Luke Sharpe. 
The temptation of the broker to handle 
his commission was too great to resist; and 
he had thus overstepped the mark! The 
following note from the Quaker, however, 
put “ a stopper” upon the broker, and closed 
the correspondence between Messrs. Barker 
and Sharpe: 
Friend Sharpe: —Thy kind favor, covering 
No. 6,241, for $20,000, with bill of expenses, came 
to hand. The latter was duly honored at sight, 
as per request. Thy foresight proved most com¬ 
mendable. 
P. S.—In my last note did I state to thee, that 
the vessel teas lost ? J. B. 
Upon consulting the morning paper, Mr. 
Sharpe discovered the mistake he had made, 
in attempting to overreach Jacob; and at 
the same time, he appreciated the full mean¬ 
ing of the Quaker’s first note, in which he sta¬ 
ted that “he had heard from the vessel!” 
ENIGMA. 
THE YANKEE AND THE LAWYER. 
Form’d half beneath and half above the earth, 
We, sisters, owe to art a second birth; 
The smith’s and carpenter's adopted daughters, 
Made on the earth to travel o’er the waters. 
Swifter we move, as tighter we are bound, 
Yet neither touch the water, air, nor ground. 
We serve the poor for use, the rich for whim, 
Sink when it rains, and when it freezes, swim. 
[LT Answer next week. 
A native of the United States (says the 
Montreal Herald,) some time ago, having 
employed a lawyer in this city to do some 
business for him, was leaving the office with¬ 
out offering him a fee, when the lawyer 
observed, 
“ My good sir, you should give me a fee; 
you should act towards your lawyer as you 
do toward your horse—you should give him 
a feeding at starting, if you wish him to 
perform his journey.” 
“Well, squire,” answered Jonathan, “I 
always use my lawyer as I do my hogs; 
when I want them to go to the other end 
of the yard, I put the food there, and they 
gallop to it.” 
The answer was so ready and so drolly 
delivered, that the lawyer galloped (like 
the hog) to his feed, and was well fed by 
his client 
THE GOLD COIN: 
OR, THE LITTLE STREET BEGGAR 
A STORY OF “HAPPY NEW YEAR.’’ 
BY GEO. CANNING HILL. 
I am found in jail; I belong to a fire, 
And am seen in a gutter abounding in mire: 
Put my last letter third; and then ’twill be found 
I belong to a king, without changing my sound. 
O" Answer next week. 
It was the morning of a new year that 
had just set in; bright, golden and beauti¬ 
ful. The snow glittered like a bejewelled 
raiment in the cloudless sun. The chiming 
of the silvery sounds of bells struck joyful¬ 
ly upon the listener in every street The 
air was cold, though not piercing; bracing, 
though not biting; just cold enough, in 
truth, to infuse a life and elasticity into ev¬ 
ery one that moved. 
There was a little girl, a child of pover¬ 
ty, on that beautiful new year’s morning, 
walking the streets with the gay crowds that 
swept past her. Her little feet had grown 
so numb, encased only in thin shoes, and 
those badly worn, that she could but with 
difficulty move one before the other. Her 
cheeks shook at every step she took, and 
her lips looked truly purple. Alas! poor 
Elsie Gray! She was a little beggar! 
Just like the old year was the new year 
to her. Just like the last year’s wants, and 
last year’s sufferings, were the wants and 
sufferings of this! The change of the year 
brought no change in her condition with it! 
She was poor; her mother was a widow 
and an invalid; and the child was a beggar! 
In the old and cheerless room gleamed 
no bright fires of a happy anniversary.— 
No evergreens, no wreaths, no flowers, save 
a few old withered ones, decked her time- 
stained walls. There was no sound of mer¬ 
ry voices in at the door, to say to the wid¬ 
ow Gray—“A Happy New Year to you, 
Mrs. Gray !” Heaven seemed to have 
walled her and her abode out from the hap¬ 
piness that was all the world’s, on that fes¬ 
tive day of the year. It had provided, to 
all appearances, no joys, no congratulations, 
no laughter, no gifts, no flowers for them! 
Why ? Were they outcasts ? Had they 
outraged their claims on the wide world’s 
charities ? Had they voluntarily shut them¬ 
selves out from the sunlight of the living- 
creatures around them ? No ! a shame 
take the world, that it must be so answered 
for them. Mrs. Gray was poor! 
Little Elsie stopped at times, and breath¬ 
ed her hot breath upon her blue and be¬ 
numbed fingers; and stamping her tiny feet 
in their thin casements, with all the force 
left in them; and then big tears stood trem¬ 
bling in her large, blue eyes for a moment, 
and rolled slowly down her purple cheeks, 
as if they would freeze to them. She had 
left her mother in bed, sick, exhausted, 
famishing! What wonder that she cried, 
even though those hot tears only dropped on 
the icy pavement! They might as well fall 
there as elsewhere ; the many human 
hearts that passed her, were full as icy and 
hardened. 
She would have turned back to go home; 
—but she thought again of her poor moth¬ 
er, and went on; though tv here to go, she 
knew not. She was to become a street 
beggar! Where should street beggars go ? 
What streets are laid out and named, and 
numbered for them ? Surely, if not home, 
then where should they go? It was this 
thought that brought those crystal tears; 
that started those deep and impressible 
sobs;—that choked her infant utterance. 
A young boy,—a bright-looking little fel¬ 
A Puzzle. —Eleven great men; fifteen celebrated 
women; twenty-three extraordinary children; thir¬ 
ty-two fine pictures; a new manner of cooking oys¬ 
ters; the best way of making eoffee; a great im¬ 
provement in the cultivation of grapes; ten fash¬ 
ionable bonnets; and the substance of a hundred 
books—may all be expressed by a liquid in common 
use, and of only one syllable 1 
A Sign.— “ Caesar, who you be mournin’ 
for?” queried an ebony individual of a 
brother darkey, one morning, who was 
sporting a crape upon his felt of ample di¬ 
mensions. “ I isn’t mournin’ for nobody, 
Pete; you see, de fac is, my wife am run 
away wid Bill Mungo, de black-leg nigger, 
and ye secs as how I jes wares dis here 
crape to let de colored gals know I haint 
got no wife!” 
Snap-Apple. —This is a Christmas sport, and is 
played as follows:—An apple is fixed upon one end 
of a short stick, to the other extremity of which is 
fastened a lighted candle. A string is then tied to 
the middle of the stick, by which it is suspended 
from the ceiling at such a height that the young 
people may catch or “ bob” at it with their mouths, 
their hands being tied behind their backs. 
ANSWERS TO ENIGMAS, &C., IN NO. 53. 
Ans. to Enigma, No. 1.— William Shakspkare. 
Ans. to Enigma No. 2.— Lyman B. Langwortiiy. 
Ans. to Charade.— Corn-wall, famous for its 
Tin (tea-eye-hen.) 
Ans. to Puzzle.— 
SUBLIME. 
They tell me I am handsome yet, 
And all the ladies say: 
“ Do look at him, the dear old man 
Grows younger every day:” 
And when each friend asks: “ At your age 
How came you free from ills?” 
1 always answer: in my youth 
I paid my Printer’s Bills ! 
An Irishman, one evening, at a certain 
theatre, came before an audience, consisting 
of three persons, and made the following 
announcement: 
' “ Ladies and Jintlemin—As there are no 
ladies and nobody ilse here, I’ll dismiss ye 
all; the performances of this night will not 
be performed ; but the performances of 
this night will be repeated to-morrow eve¬ 
ning.” 
Shoemaker’s spouses should be Peggies, 
gambler’s ladies Bets, and Sue would be 
just the wife for an attorney. Sophies 
should be of a sedative disposition, and con¬ 
fectioners’ wives should always be Patties. 
Sometimes a name will excite remark; all 
the papers copied the marriage of Henry 
Apple and Sarah Apple, but we could see 
no impropriety in the making of two apples 
into one pair. 
PUBLISHED EVERY THURSDAY, AT ROCHESTER, BY 
D. D. T. MOORE) Proprietor. 
Publication Office in Burns’ Block, [No. 1, 2d floor,] 
corner of State and Buffalo sts. 
DOCTOR’S VISITS. 
It is not only for the sick man, but for 
the sick man’s friends, that the doctor 
comes. His presence is often as good for 
them as for the patient, and they long for 
him yet more eagerly. How we have all 
watched after him! What an emotion the 
thrill of his carriage wheels in the street, 
and at length at the door, has made us feel! 
How we hang upon his words, and what a 
comfort we get from a smile or two, if he 
can vouchsafe that sunshine to lighten or 
darken! Who hasn’t seen the mother pry¬ 
ing into his face to know if there is hope 
for that sick infant that cannot speak, and 
that lies yonder, its little frame battling with 
fever ? Ah! how she looks into his eyes! 
What thanks if there is light there; what 
grief and pain if he casts them down, and 
dares not say “ hope!” Or it is the house 
father that is stricken. The terrified wife 
looks on, while the physician feels his pa¬ 
tient’s wrist, smothering her agonies, as the 
children have been called upon to stop their 
plays and their talk! Over the patient in 
fever, the wife expectant, the children un¬ 
conscious, the doctor stands as if he were 
fate, the dispenser of life and death; he 
must let the patient off this time, the wo¬ 
man prays so for his respite! One can 
fancy how awful the responsibility must be 
to a conscientious man; how cruel the feel¬ 
ing that he has given the wrong remedy, or 
that it might have been possible to better; 
how karrassing the sympathy, for survivors 
if the case is unfortunate; how great the 
delight of victory. 
The New-Yorker contains more Agricultural, Horti¬ 
cultural, Scientific, Mechanical, Educational, Literary and 
News matter, than any other Agricultural or Family Jour¬ 
nal published in the United States. Those who wish a 
good paper, devoted to useful and instructive subjects, are 
invited to give this oue 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. 
“ Susan,” said an Irish gentleman to his 
servant, “wliat are the bells ringing for?” 
“ In honor of the Duke of York’s birth 
day,” was the reply. 
“ Be easy, my jewel,” rejoined Pat, “none 
of your tricks upon travelers; and ’twas the 
Prince Regent’s on Tuesday, and how can 
it be his brother’s four days after, unless 
indade, they are twins?” 
Terms, in Advance: 
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Post-Masters, Clergymen, Teachers, Officers and Mem¬ 
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of all professions — friends of Mental and Moral as well as 
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obtain and forward subscriptions to the New-Yorker. 
Subscription money, properly enclosed, may be 
sent by mail at our risk. 
A young lady once hinted to a gentle¬ 
man that her thimble was worn out, and 
asked what reward she would receive for 
her industry. He made an answer the fol¬ 
lowing day by sending her a new one with 
the following lines:— 
“ I send you a thimble for fingers nimble, 
Which I hope will fit when you try it; 
It will last you long, if it’s half as strong 
As file hint which you gave me to buy it.” 
TERMS OF ADVERTISING : 
A limited number of appropriate advertisements will be 
inserted in the New-Yorker, at the rate of $1 per Bquare 
(twelve lines or less,) for the first insertion, and 50 cents for 
each subsequent publication.—To be paid for in advance. 
Notices relative to Meetings, &c., of Agricultural, 
Horticultural, Mechanical and Educational Associations, 
published gratuitously. 
A landlord recently called out to a 
temperance man—“ Why you are looking 
yellow with your abstinence.” “Yes,” said 
the man putting his hand into his pocket, 
and pulling out some eagles, and my pock¬ 
et is looking yellow, too.” 
KPT This number of Die Rurai. New-Yorker will be 
sent to many fanners and others who arc not subscribers, 
in the belief that its objects and character will meet their 
approval. We respectfully ask all who thus receive the pa¬ 
per, to lend their kind offices toward giving it a general in¬ 
troduction in their res|>ective localities. We print several 
thousand extra copies, and can therefore supply the first 
number to all who desire to commence with the year and 
volume. 
A schoolmistress asked a child what 
S-e-e spelt The child hesitated. “ What 
do I do when I look at you?” said the 
mistress. “ Thquint replied the pupiL 
