MOORE’S RURAL NEW-YOIt KER: AN AGRICULTURAL AND FAMILY JOURNAL. 
For the Rural New-Yorker. 
SONG OF LIFE. 
What is our life, but constant strife. 
Maintained at fate’s command. 
While wandering o’er an ocean shore, 
A shore of drifting sand? 
And what our dreams, our fondest schemes, 
Our struggles after fame, 
But toil and care, to grasp the air. 
Or write in sand—a name? 
And yet to live and not to strive, 
’Twere nobler far to die; 
For what doth death, but stop the breath, 
That we, from toil, may fly? 
Each noble mind, must leave behind, 
Its deeds and thoughts to men; 
We close our eyes—an act ne’er dies, 
But lives, and acts again. 
Hearts free from soil—hands full of toil, 
Whatever path is trod— 
’Tis thus we do, deeds that are true. 
To country, self, and God. 
Then be our life, a constant strife, 
Some loftier steep to gain, 
And when we rest, in earth’s damp breast, 
Be not our toil in vain. N. 
A COURAGEOUS WOMAN. 
Near the hamlet of Udorf, on the banks 
of the Rhine, not far from Bonn, there yet 
stands the mill which was the scene of the 
following adventure:— 
On Sunday morning the miller and his 
family set out as usual to attend divine ser¬ 
vice at the nearest church in the village of 
Heassel, leaving the mill, to which the dwel¬ 
ling-house was attached in charge of his 
servant-maid, Hanchen, a bold-hearted girl, 
who had been sometime in his service. The 
youngest child, who was still too little to go 
to church, remained also under her care.— 
As Hanchen was busily engaged preparing 
dinner for the family, she was interrupted 
by a visit from her admirer, Henirich Bot- 
leler; he was an idle, graceless fellow, and 
her master, who knew his character well, 
had forbidden him the house; but Hanchen 
could not believe all the stories she had 
heard against her lover, and was sincerely 
attached to him. 
On this occasion she greeted him kindly, 
and not only got him something to eat at 
once, but found time in the midst of her 
business to sit down and have a gossip with 
him, while he did justice to the fare set be¬ 
fore him. As he was eating, he let fall his 
knife, which he asked her to pick up for 
him; she playfully remonstrated, telling 
him she feared, from what she heard, he 
did little enough work, and ought at least 
to wait on himself; in the end, however, 
she stooped down to pick up the knife, 
when the treacherous villain drew a dagger 
from under his coat, and caught her by the 
nape of the neck, griping her throat firmly 
with his fingers to prevent her screaming; 
then with an oath, he desired her to tell 
him where her master kept his money, 
threatening to kill her if she did not com¬ 
ply with his demand. The surprised and 
terrified girl in vain attempted to parley 
with him"; he still held her tightly in his 
choking grasp, leaving her no other choice 
but to die or betray her master. She saw 
there was no hope of softening him or chang¬ 
ing his purpose, and with a full conviction 
of his treachery, all her native courage 
awoke in her bosom. 
Affecting, however, to yield to what was 
inevitable, she answered him in a resigned 
tone, that what must be, must; only, if he 
carried off her master’s gold, he must take 
her with him, too; for she could never stay 
to hear their suspicions and reproaches, en¬ 
treating him at the same time, to relax his 
grasp of her throat, for she could hardly 
speak, much less do what he bid her, while 
he held her so tight. At length he was 
induced to quit his hold, on her reminding 
him that he must lose no time, as the fam¬ 
ily would be returning from church. She 
then led the way to her master’s bed-room, 
and showed him the coffer where he kept 
his money. 
“ Here,” she said, reaching to him an axe 
which lay in a corner of the room, “ you 
can open it with this, while I run up stairs 
to put all my things together, besides the 
money I have saved since I have been 
here.” 
Completely deceived by her apparent 
readiness to enter into his plans, he allowed 
her to leave the room, only exhorting her 
to be as quick as possible, and was imme¬ 
diately absorbed in his own operations; 
first opening the box, and then disposing of 
the money about his person. In the mean¬ 
while, Hanchen instead of going up stairs 
to her own room, crept softly along several 
passages till she again reached her master’s 
chamber. It was the work of a moment 
to shut and bolt the door upon him; and 
this done, she rushed to the outer door of 
the mill to give the alarm. The only be¬ 
ing in sight was her master’s little boy, a 
child of five years old; to him she called 
with all her might, “ Run, run, to meet your 
father as he comes from church: tell him 
we shall all be murdered if he does not 
come back!” 
The frightened child did as she bid him, 
and set off running on the road she pointed 
out. Somewhat relieved by seeing that 
the child understood her, and would make 
her situation known, she sat down for a 
moment on the stone seat before the door, 
and, full of conflicting emotions of grief 
and thankfulness for her escape, she burst 
into tears. But at this moment a shrill 
whistle aroused her attention; It was from 
her prisoner Henrich, who opened the gra¬ 
ted window above her head, shouted to 
some accomplices without to catch the child 
that was running away so fast, and to kill 
the girl! 
Hanchen looked around in great alarm, 
but saw no one. The child still continued 
to run with all his might, and she hoped 
that it was but a false alarm to excite her 
and overcome her resolution; when just as 
the child reached a hollow in the next field 
(the channel of a natural drain) she saw a 
ruffian start up from the bed of the drain, 
and, snatching up the child in his arms, has¬ 
tened with him towards the mill, in accord¬ 
ance with the directions of his accomplice. 
In a moment she perceived the full exten- 
of her danger, and formed her plan for est 
caping it. 
Retreating into the mill, she double lock¬ 
ed and bolted the door; the only apparent 
entrance into the building, every other 
means of obvious access being prevented 
by strong iron grating fixed up against all 
the windows, and then took post at the up¬ 
per casement, determined to await patient¬ 
ly her master’s return, and her consequent 
delivery from that dangerous position, or 
her own death if indeed inevitable; for she 
was fully resolved to enter into no terms, 
and that nothing should induce her to give 
up her master’s property into the robber’s 
hands. 
She had hardly time to secure herself in 
her retreat, when the ruffiian, holding the 
screaming child in his arms, and brandish-^ 
ing a knife in one hand, came up, and bid 
her open the door, or he would break it 
down, adding many awful oaths and threats, 
to which her only answer was that she put 
her trust in God. Heinrich, who from 
his window was witness to this colloquy, 
now called out to cut the child’s throat 
before her eyes if she still persisted in her 
refusal. 
Poor Hanchen’s bean quailed at this 
horrible threat, but only for a moment. The 
death of the child could be no gain to them, 
while her own death was certain if she ad¬ 
mitted the assailant, and her master, too, 
would be robbed. She had no reason, 
either to suppose that her compliance would 
save the life of the child. It was to risk 
all against nothing, and she resolved to 
hold out to the last, though the villain from 
without renewed his threats?, saying that 
if she would not open the door to him 
he would kill the child, and then set fire 
to the mill over her head. “ I put my 
trust in God,” was still the poor girl’s an¬ 
swer. 
In the meanwhile the ruffian set down 
the child for a moment to look about for 
combustibles to carry out his threat. In 
this search he discovered a mode of enter¬ 
ing the mill, unthought of by Hanchen. It 
was a large aperture in the wall communi¬ 
cating with the great wheel and the other 
machinery of the mill; and it was a point 
entirely unprotected, for it had never been 
contemplated that any one would seek to 
enter by so dangerous an inlet. Triumph¬ 
ant at this discovery, he returned to tie the 
hands and feet of the poor child, to pre¬ 
vent its escape, and then stole back to the 
aperture by which he intended to effect an 
entrance. 
The situation of the building prevented 
Hanchen seeing anything of this, but a 
thought had meanwhile struck her. It 
was Sunday, when the mill was never at 
work; if, therefore, the sails were set in 
motion, the whole neighborhood would know 
that something unusual was the matter, and 
her master, especially, would hasten home 
to know the meaning of anything so strange. 
Being all her life accustomed to the machin¬ 
ery of the mill, it was the work of a mo¬ 
ment to set it all in motion—a brisk breeze 
which sprung up at once, set the sail flying. 
The arms of the huge engine whirled round 
with fearful rapidity; the great wheel slow¬ 
ly revolved on its axis; the smaller gear 
turned, and creaked, and groaned, accord¬ 
ing as the machinery came into action; the 
mill was in full operation. It was at this 
moment that the ruffian intruder had suc¬ 
ceeded in squeezing himself through the 
aperture in the wall, and getting himself 
safely lodged in the interior of the great 
drum wheel. His dismay, however, was 
indescribable when he began to be whirled 
about with its rotation, and found that all 
his efforts to put a stop to the powerful ma¬ 
chinery which set it in motion, or extricate 
himself from this perilous situation, were 
fruitless. In his terror, lie uttered shrieks 
and horrible imprecations. 
Astonished at the noise, Hanchen went 
to the spot, saw him caught like a rat in his 
own trap, from which it was no part of her 
plan to liberate him. She knew he would 
be more frightened than hurt if he kept 
within his rotary prison without any rash 
attempts of escape, and that even if he be¬ 
came insensible, he could not fall out of it. 
In the meanwhile the wheel went round 
and round with its steady, unceasing motion, 
and round and round he went with it while 
sense remained, beseeching Hanchen, with 
entreaties, promises, and wild, impatient 
threats, which were all equally disregarded 
till by degrees feeling and perception failed 
him and he heard and saw no more. He 
fell senseless at the bottom of the engine, 
but even then his inanimate body continued 
to be whirled round as before; for Hanch¬ 
en did not dare to trust appearances in such 
a villian, and would not venture to suspend 
the working of the mill, or stop the mill- 
gear and tackle from running at their full¬ 
est speed. 
At length she heard a loud knocking at 
the door, and flew to open it. It was her 
master and his family, accompanied by sev¬ 
eral of his neighbors, all in the utmost con¬ 
sternation, and wonder at seeing the mill- 
sail in full swing on a Sunday, and still 
more so when they found the poor child 
lying bound on the grass, who, however, 
was too terrified to give any account of 
what had happened. Hanchen, in a few 
words, told all; and then her spirit, which 
which had sustained her through such 
scenes of terror, gave way under the sense 
of safety and relief, and she fell fainting in 
their arms, and was with much difficulty 
recovered. The machinery of the mill was 
at once stopped, and the inanimate ruffian 
dragged from his dreadful prison. Heinrich 
too, was brought forth from the miller’s 
chamber, and both were in a short time 
sent bound under a strong escort to Bonn, 
where they soon met the reward of their 
crimes. 
The story of this extraordinary act'fof 
presence of mind, concludes by telling us 
that Hanchen, thus effectually cured of 
her penchant for her unworthy suitor, be¬ 
came eventually the wife of the miller's 
eldest son, and thus lived all her life in the 
scene of her great danger and happy de¬ 
liverance. 
ows would be yellow and white with the ITlfc xR’ (<€* 
buttercups and daisies, and the forest would JUgIJjIO IJ Z? V AhJ 
be sweet with the delicate anemon.e and ___ 
woodbine; the grass would grow up green “Attempt the end, and neveT stand to doubt; 
and tall and wave in the sunshine, and the Xu! ' mii! ’ 8 80hardt butsearcl1 wiu find 11 out ” 
lark and bob-a-link would fill the air with REPLY TO THE TREE FUZZL^ 
their shrill happy voices, but not for him! * _ 
He might not hope to walk in the old lane Thf. sociable tree is the Tea, I ween, 
under the willow trees again, nor again to The Hop Vine that can dance; 
sit with his little feet gleaming in the brook- The /L-ac/i doth bound the billowy seo, 
let while the ripples flashes over them. But * ou see at a single glance, 
if he might. not look on all those things The M//-spice what can yield like that? 
again with his dimming eyes, or hear all The busiest tree is the Bee; 
those sounds again with his heavy ears, or The Bay is the place where ships can lie, 
feel all those glad throbs again with his And the Pine is the languishing tree, 
young but gushing heart, it would still be The Yew tree ne’er can think of eelf 
pleasant, beautifully pleasant, to sleep the The Fig tree bore the curse; 
long sleep out there. To lie down near the The Date and the Bass are the two nex 
brook-side for the last time, where the Honeysuckle's the “ Irish nurse! ” 
branches were waving, and the sunshine The teli . tnle tree is the ruddy P » ach; 
stole through them down into the grass, jwa,,the traitor tree; 
where the winds were making forever the The Fir is c]ad in the war rnest clothes— 
same old music, and the stream was singing i> ray what is the “ layman’s tree? ” 
the same old song! The housewife claims the Broom, be sun 
It was a bitter thought to die in this hot The c makeg one sad 
And the Pine is the languishing tree. 
The Yew tree ne’er can think of eelf 
The Fig tree bore the curse; 
The Date and the Bass are the two next trees— 
Honeysuckle's the “ Irish nurse! ” 
The tell-tale tree is the ruddy Peach; 
Judas ,the traitor tree; 
Pray what is the “ layman’s tree? ” 
The housewife claims the Broom, be sure; 
The Cy-press makes one sad; 
And lime, it is always nigh. 
Linden the Germans must claim as their own; 
The Box tree fights at will; 
place, where not even the sky is blue, and j) ea th lurks in the deadly Night-shades bloom; 
where the wind is always laden with impu- The Bread tree mates one g ] a d. 
rities; but to be buried here, to lie through . 
, ’ . , .. . ° The O-range invites us all to range: 
long centuries where this unceasing roar The forbids t0 die; 
day and night, shakes the giound and 4/^o^r-wood the hunters resound to the skies, 
drowns the voices of the air and water, or And iime ; t j 8 a i ways n igh. 
worse than this, to lie in the Potter’s Field . 
w.th innumerable strangers, all in the co d *„ii, ; 
companionship of death! this was terrible The lm obeys „ y> „. h0 CBn gl , es3 , 
to the young shrinking heart, which remem- And the tree that 
vever stands still? 
bered the pleasant church yard in the coun- 
i i ,i i „ i i The Rose tree got up, a long time agone, 
try, and a shady corner under the large old _ ° * ’ 6 
. a1 _. j , , ,i c i The Creeper is always lazy; 
trees, within a stones throw of the deep TheP/aweis neithe r up-hill nor down, 
hole in the brook, where the large trout AmJ mips driv(! U8 crazy> 
used to lie! How all these thoughts crowd¬ 
ed on him now, and how happy it would S P™ e « the dandy, and (h) Elm guides the s 
make him, could he but hope to be carried An '^ op ar s 1 ie pe ° p c b lrcc ’. 
1,-1 i , r ■ . The Sycamore needs a tome methinks— 
up the church aisle and rest a few minutes 
Who knows the Northern tree? 
under the pulpit, and have the solemn ser¬ 
vice read over him, and then be laid to the I-vy is truly an emulous vine, 
slumber in that still nook, where the earli- Scrub-Oak is always at work; 
. a , i , ii a i+i. u Tho /L/rMiVes'-BuHh warmeth the mutton when 
est flowers always bloomed! And then to ' , , f T ,. . , 
,i . ,, J .. And the Hazel is brown ns a I urk. 
wake there in the morning! — Jour, of Com 
The Creeper is always lazy; 
The Plane is neither up-hill nor down, 
And Tulips drive us crazy. 
Spruce is the dandy, and (h) Elm guides the ships, 
Anu Poplar's the people’s tree; 
Scrub-Oak is always at work; 
The iLo-wira^-Bush warmeth the mutton when cold, 
And the Hazel is brown as a Turk. 
THE COUNTRY. 
Passing along one flf the narrow streets 
of our city on the hot Sunday afternoon 
two weeks ago, we observed a group of boys 
and girls surrounding a boy of eight years 
old or thereabouts, whose pale face and 
emaciated features indicated that he was a 
sufferer. Poverty was manifest in each and 
all of that collection, but in his case it 
seemed more bitter. He wore but a single 
garment, much like a loose gown, gathered 
at the neck and hanging around him with¬ 
out a belt. He had neither shoes nor stock¬ 
ings. Ilis pale forehead contrasted with a 
mass of dark brown hair, combed back on 
his head, and his thin delicate ears would 
have satisfied the most aristocratic judge of 
high blood. He was seated on the door 
stone of one of those houses in which poor 
families are crowded to suffocation, and the 
other children sat on the pavement, or stood 
around him. 
All this we saw as we approached and 
passed the group, for we did not pause, and 
we heard but a single sentence of their con¬ 
versation. The sick boy was speaking, and 
his voice was very sad and very cheerful 
too, (that indescribable union of cheerful¬ 
ness with sorrow, which all have met in one 
or another instance,) and he was saying, 
“ If I only could be buried in the country, 
I think I should be-” content was 
doubtless the last word of his sentence, but 
we did not hear it, for we had passed on. 
We went to church—but that voice haunt¬ 
ed us, and though the text was a stirring 
passage, and the sermon eloquent, we con¬ 
fess that the ringing of those melancholy 
tones was louder, and we might have as 
well been at home. 
This is a simple incident in itself, not 
manufactured for the occasion, but we have 
related it exactly as«it occurred, and now 
we propose to moralize on it a little. The 
boy was dying. That was clear. His face 
looked like it, and in his soft dark eye there 
was a gleam of light, not earthly, and in his 
voice and his prophetic wish, there was a 
tone like the tones we hear in dreams which 
come across the river. He had doubtless 
lived in the country once; perhaps had been 
born there, and had learned to walk with 
his tiny feet crushing violets. Perhaps he 
had loved the blue sky up among the moun¬ 
tains, and doubtless the trees had often led 
his eyes up from their topmost branches to 
the far hon.' of all our dreams. He had 
slept in some small house by a brook side, 
had been lulled to slumber by the wind, 
making music in the branches of the oaks 
and elms, had been woke every morning by 
the swallows passing’ his window, and the 
whistling quail in the grain fields across the 
valley, or perchance by two robins that re¬ 
turned yearly to their nest in the old apple 
tree, and that sat every morning on the old 
well pole and sang till they roused him from 
his glorious dreams. 
Perhaps—but no. We are unconscious¬ 
ly supposing all country homes alike and 
we confess that we have been thinking of 
our own. Without any perhaps at all; he 
was now “ walking the cold and starless 
road of death.” No more birds would wake 
him to gladness in the morning, no more 
musical waters sing him to slumber at night¬ 
fall ! The spring time had come; the mead- 
A RICH STORY. 
Some weeks ago there was a gathering 
of the alumni of Rockland College, Louisi¬ 
ana, when the following hitherto unedited 
story was told. We are indebted for it to 
a correspondent of the N. 0. Delta: 
Lilac is the tree of (he reddish blue tint, 
And Elder we nil are when old; 
Cork for our bottles, and Smoke for our fog, 
And Bone-set will make a mad scold ! 
The Birch, is the terrible schoolmaster-tree, 
Dam-son, is the mother and child; 
The Slippery Elm is the treacherous tree, 
And the Nettlewood never is mild. 
All wives, we are told like their Will-oio at times, 
And Cit-ron warns townsmen to flee; 
The sandals we bind round our ancles at will, 
The whole tree, the Holly must be. 
A tall, awkward looking chap, just from The a<we tree is sp]it and the Co f./« it is 
the Green Mountains of Vermont, came on 
board of one of the splendid North River 
boats at Albany. His curiosity was amaz¬ 
ingly excited at once, and he commenced 
“ peeping,” as he called it, into every nook 
and corner on the boat. The captain’s of¬ 
fice, the engine room, the water closets, the 
barber’s shop, all underwent his inspection; 
and then went on deck and stood in amaze¬ 
ment at the lever beam, the chimneys and 
the various “fixins,” till at last he caught 
sight of the bell. 
We give to the Doctor’s, when ill; 
The Palm tree we offer to friends when we meet. 
And the As-pen we use as a quill. 
Everlasting’s the shrub that never can die, 
The Ash must pass through the fire; 
The Laurel, both Latin and English have praised, 
And the Locusts in Egypt were dire. 
The tree that is dear is the Silver or Gold, 
The Woodbine doth always entwine; 
The Mace belongs to the Billiards, good sir, 
And the wine, is Madeira vine! NtLT-A. 
This was the crowning wonder, and he ANSWER TO THE ILLUSTRATED CHABADa, 
i r _ __ __j xN NO. IV. 
In the desert, though we were as dry as a block, ( 
Twould do us no good, though we twist off the > ) 
cock. R. s, R. > 
. _ _ — - > 
Groceries at Wholesale. 
SMITH 6c PERKINS, \ | 
I Late E. F. Smith & Co.,—Established in 132(i. | > ) 
viewed it from every position, walked around _1_ ’ . > 
it, got down on his knees and looked up in- The Illustrated Charade we have thought of you ) ] 
to it, and exclaimed, “Wall, raly, this beats see,— ) 
the bell on our meetin house a darned To dine on a mountain we’d feast on a pea, ’ ) 
sight.” By this time the attention of the In the desert, though we were as dry as a block, ( 
captain and several of the passengers was Twould do us no good, though we twist off the > ) 
attracted to this genius. “How much cock - _ K ' ;i ' n - } \ 
would you ask to let afeUerring this bell?” jj roceries at Wholesale. I J 
“You may ring it tor a dollar, sir, said the smith 6c perkins, 
captain. “Wall, its a bargain, all fair and I Late e. f. Smith &co.,—Established in i32fi.i , > 
agreed, and no backing out.” “ It’s a bar- Wholesale Grocers and Commission Merchants, , > 
gain, sir, said the captain. E< smith. | w. h. ferkins. \ j 
Our hero went deliberately and brought wish to call the attention of the trade to the fact, > > 
, i i i i /■ ,i i ii ° i VV that we are engaged in a strictly wholesale business > ) 
a seat and took noJtl 01 tne bell rope, ana and that vve are the only house in this city whose business ; ) 
L„.,; n „ orr-irm-prl r.vprwtliinrr tn lii <5 Kntmfflc- is confined to the wholesale trade. The senior member of { > 
having arranged every tmng to ills sausiac our firm spends the business season in the New York mar- 
tion, commenced ringing slowly at first and ket, and our entire purchases are made from Importers and ( 
, in o , P e .-vi „ „ original holders, from the same sources and upon equally \ ' 
gradually taster and. taster, till every Douy favorable terms with those of New York Wholesale Gro- j 
on board thought the boat was on fire, and cers;Ihence we are enabled to offer all IhnUIn 1 .' 1 nVw ) > 
to . ’ prices as low, and upon terms as favorable as those ol New > ^ 
rushing on deck, screaming With alarm.— York Jobbers. We shall at all times have a stock on hand ) 
rru™ ctfuwl flip contain and tliprp sat the of new and desirable goods, and guarantee that all goods ' , 
there Stood the captain, ana tncie sat me gold by us shall be satisfactory to the purchaser, both in ) 
“Vairmounter,” ringing away, first slow and quality and price. The location of our store and ware- > 
, . , ’ , ", , , houses, immediately upon the Canal, affords us facilities / 
then last, and then two or three taps at a not possessed by any other house in the trade iii Rochester, ; > 
time. The passengers began to erpostu- “,riS.r«Siw.“' y by ! ! 
late; the captain said it was a bargain. u_q ....- ____ ——« j; 
But the passengers become urgent that MOORE’S RURAL NEW-YORKER, 
the eternal clangor should be stopped. All published every Thursday, at Rochester, by 
the while there sat our hero undisturbed, D. D. T. MOORE, Proprietor, 
ringing away more ways than a cockney Publication Office in Burns’ Block, [No. 1, 2d floor, J ; 
Chime-ringer ever dreamt of. At last the cor ner of State and Buffalo s ts. 
Captain began to think it time to stop the Thk New-Yorker contains more Agricultural, ilorti- 
eimnlnicn • bnt bis -lngwpr wfl? “ i fair bar- cultural, Scientific, Mechanical, Educational, Literary and , i 
Simpleton , Out ills answer Y as, u lair oar News matter, than any other Agricultural or Family Jour- \ 
gain and no backing eout,” and he rang nal published ill the United States. Those who wish a ) 
capt’n I guess I sbeant loose nothing if 1 Terms, in Advance : \ 
take five dollars and a free passage to New two dollars a year—»i for six months. To Clubs > , 
York, but not a darned cent less.” “Well, j 
walk down to the office and get your money Jen o>g» A" y C “AttWidSSXSSK" j j 
and passage ticket,” said the captain. at the same rate. Forty Copies, directed to one person, for t ) 
. _ _ S ib, a,1( * a,, y additional number, thus addressed, at the > 
same rate. Six months subscriptions at proportional rates. ’ 
JEWELRY, in some parts of our country, A || moneys received by mail will he acknowledged in t 
is becoming quite fashionable again. An the paper, and receipts sent whenever desired. O 
b - , „ ° . i,„ Post-Masters, Clergymen, Teachers, Officers and Mem- ) > 
editor of an exchange paper says that he bers of Agricultural Societies, and other influential persons > 
met a ladv the Other day who bad a farm of ail professions— friends of Mental and Moral aswuHas > 
mei u iciuyme uliici uy nuv of Agricultural Improvement-are respectfully solicited to 
on each wrist, a lour 'Story house arouna ot)t;i i n and for ward subscriptions to theNKW-Y0RKr.ii. ; 5 
her neck, and at least six life-memberships Subscription money, properly enclosed, may he > } 
to the Bible Society attached to each ear. ■ entb J r mail term? of advertising : 
--*•- A limited number of appropriate advertisements will be > ) 
Tm Iq coir! that onrrn 1 of the landlords in inserted in the New-Yorker, at the rate ol ®1 per square > > 
IT IS saia mail some Ol me ntuuiuius (twelve lines or less,) for the first insertion, and 50 cents for - > 
Boston place an extra fork across the plates each subsequent publication.—To be paid for in advance. . ) 
nf yVion- flolinonent boarders as an illtima- tTW" Notices relative to Meetings, &c., of Agricultural, ) 
Ot their delinquent ooaia.rs, as an muma n “ rt Y cuUurali Mechanlca! and Educational Associations, , 
tion for them to “ fork over. published gratuitously. > ) 
of ffieir delinquent boarders, as an intima¬ 
tion for them to “ fork over.” 
