MOORE’S RURAL NEW-YOR KER: AN AGRICULTURAL AND FAMILY JOURNAL. 
lo.dic.al 
THE WCRLD HARVEST. 
BY EDITH OAKLY. 
They' are sowing their seed in the dawnhghtfair. 
They are sowing their seed in the noon day’s glare; 
They are sovt ing their seed in the soft twilight, 
They are sowing their seed in the solemn night. 
AVhat shaii the harvest be? 
They arc sowing their seed of pleasant thought; 
In the spring’s green light they have blithely wrought; 
They have brought their fancies from wood and dell, 
Where the mosses creep, and the flower-buds swell. 
Rare shall the harvest be. 
They are sowing their seed of word and deed 
Which the cold know not, nor the careless heed, 
Of the gentle word and the kindly deed, 
That have blessed the heart in its sorest need. 
Sweet will the harvest be. 
And some are sowing the seed of pain, 
Of late Remorse and a maddened brain; 
And the stars shall fall, and the sun shall wane, 
Ere they root the weeds front their soil again. 
Dark will the harvest be. 
And some arc standing with idle hand, 
Yet they scatter seed on their native land; 
And some are sowing the seed of care, 
Which their soil hath borne, and still must bear. 
Sad will the harvest be. 
They are sowing their seed of noble deed, 
With a sleepless watch and an earnest heed; 
With a careless hand o’er the earth they sow, 
And the fields are whitening where'er they go. 
Rich will the harvest be. 
Sown in darkness, or sown in light, 
Sown in weakness or sown in might, 
Sown in meekness or sown in wrath, 
In the broad world-field or the shadowy path— 
Sure will the harvest be. 
THE DROWNED BOY. 
BY IK. MARVEL. 
* * * But there is no future without 
its straggling clouds. Even now a shadow 
is trailing along the landscape. 
It is a soft and mild day of summer.— 
The leaves are at their fullest. A south¬ 
ern breeze has been blowing up the valley 
all the morning, and the light smoky haze 
hangs in the distant mountain gaps, like a 
veil on beauty. Jamie has been busy with 
his lessons, and afterward playing with Milo 
upon the lawn. Little Carry has come in 
from a long ride—her face blooming, and 
her eyes all smiles, and joy. The mother 
has busied herself with those flowers she 
loves so well. Little Paul, they say, has 
been playing in the meadow, and old Tray 
has gone with him. 
But at dinner time, Paul has not come 
back. 
“ Paul ought not to ramble off so far,” I 
say. 
The mother says nothing; but there is a 
look of anxiety upon her face, that disturbs 
me. Jamie wonders where Paul can be, 
and he saves for him, whatever he knows 
Paul will like—a heaping plateful. But the 
dinner hour passes, and Paul does not 
come. Old Tray lies in the sunshine by 
the porch. 
Now the mother is indeed anxious. And 
I, though I conceal this from her, And my 
fears strangely active. Something like in¬ 
stinct guides me to the meadow: I wander 
down the brook-side calling, Paul! —Paul! 
But there is no answer. 
All the afternoon we search, and the 
neighbors search; but it is a fruitless toil. 
There is no joy that evening: the meal pass¬ 
es in silence; only little Carry with tears in 
her eyes, asks,—if Paul will soon come 
back ? All the night we search and call: 
— the mother even braving the night air, 
and running here and there, until the morn¬ 
ing finds us sad, and despairing. 
That day — the next—cleared up the mys¬ 
tery; but cleared it up with darkness.— 
Poor little Paul!—he has sunk under the 
murderous eddies of the brook! His boy¬ 
ish prattle, his rosy smiles, his artless talk, 
are lost to us forever! 
I will not tell how nor when we found 
him: nor will I tell of our desolate home, 
and of her grief—the first crushing grief 
of her life. 
The cottage is still. The servants glide 
noiseless, as if they might startle the poor 
little sleeper. The house seems cold—very 
cold. Yet it is summer weather; and the 
south breeze plays softly along the meadow, 
and softly over the murderous eddies of 
the brook. 
Then comes the hush of burial. The 
kind mourners are there:—it is easy for 
them to mourn! The good clergyman 
prays by the bier:—“ Oh, Thou, who did’st 
take upon thyself human woe, and drank 
deep of every pang in life, let thy spirit 
come and heal this grief, and guide toward 
that Better Land, where justice and love 
shall reign, and hearts laden with anguish, 
shall rest forevermore!” 
Weeks roll on; and a smile of resignation 
lights up the saddened features of the 
mother. Those dark mourning robes speak 
to the heart deeper, and more tenderly, than 
ever the bridal costume. She lightens the 
weight of your grief by her sweet words of 
resignation:—“Paul,” she says, “ God has 
taken our boy!” 
Other weeks roll on. Joys are still left 
—great and ripe joys. The cottage smiling 
in the autumn sunshine is there: the birds 
are in the forest boughs: Jamie and little 
Carry are there; and she, who is more than 
all, is cheerful, and content. Heaven has 
taught us that the brightest future has its 
clouds; — that this life is a motley of lights 
and shadows. And as we look upon the 
world around us, and upon the thousand 
forms of human misery, there is a gladness 
in our deep thanksgiving. 
A year goes by; but it leaves no added 
shadow on our hearth-stone. The vines 
clamber, and flourish: the oaks are winning 
age and grandeur: little Carry is blooming 
into the pretty coyness of gi’lhood; and 
Jamie with his dark hair, and flashing eyes, 
is the pride of his mother. 
There is no alloy to pleasure, but the re¬ 
membrance of poor little Paul. And even 
that, chastened as it is with years, is rather 
a grateful memorial that our life is not all 
here, than a grief that weighs upon our 
hearts. 
Sometimes, leaving little Carry and Jamie 
to their play, we wander, at twilight to the 
willow tree, beneath which our drowned 
boy sleeps calmly, for the Great Awaking. 
It is a Sunday, in the week-day of our life, 
to linger by the little grave,—to hang flow¬ 
ers upon the head-stone, and to breathe a 
prayer that our little Paul may sleep well, 
in the arms of Him who loveth children! 
And her heart, and my heart, knit to¬ 
gether by sorrow, as they had been knit by 
joy—a silver thread mingled with the gold 
—follow the dead one to the Land that is 
before us; until at last we come to reckon 
the boy, as living in the new home, which 
when this is old shall be ours also. And 
my spirit, speaking to his spirit, in the eve¬ 
ning watches, seems to say joyfully that the 
tears half choke the utterance—" Paul, my 
boy, we will be there V ’ 
And the mother, turning her face to 
mine, so that I see the moisture in her eyes, 
and catch its heavenly looks, whispers soft¬ 
ly—so softly, that an angel might have said 
it,—“ Yes, dear, we will be there !”— Rev¬ 
eries of a Bachelor. 
THE FLOWER-GIRL OF WYOMING. 
Jonathan Sturges, Esq., of New York, 
is the propietor of what we have always 
considered a picture of surpassing beauty 
and excellence. It was painted by the dis¬ 
tinguished Ingham, and is the portrait of a 
Flower-Girl, who seems to be standing on 
the threshold of some village mansion, hold¬ 
ing in her right hand a small earthen pot 
containing a rare plant, while from her left 
arm is hanging a basket full to overflowing 
of American flowers. Through the open 
door we have a glimpse of the country, from 
which we gather the idea that summer is 
in its prime. The bewitching creature 
makes her appearance dressed in a neat but 
simple drab-colored gown, and wearing up¬ 
on her head a common black hood, as if 
conscious of the fact that the sunlight of her 
countenance and the beauty and fragrance 
of her flowers would monopolize all the at¬ 
tention of those whom she might meet.— 
But she has a substantial reason for thus 
making her appearance; for she has evi¬ 
dently spent a goodly portion of the morn¬ 
ing among the rose and sweet-brier bushes 
of her father’s garden, and she would not 
spoil the musliu dress which she lately re¬ 
ceived as a birth-day present from her kind 
mother. And, besides, just as soon as the 
beautiful creature has sold that basket of 
flowers, it is her intention to enjoy a ramble 
over the hills after a lot of wild flowers for 
her own particular benefit. 
When we first fixed our gaze upon this 
flower-queen, we were immediately remind¬ 
ed of the following passage by Wordsworth, 
which, with the single exception of the 
“ dusky hair,” is a perfect description. 
“ She was a phantom of delight, 
When first she gleamed upon my sight; 
A lovely apparition, sent 
To be a moment's ornament; 
Like twilight’s too her dusky hair; 
But all things else about her drawn 
From May-time and the cheerful dawn; 
A dancing shape, and image gay. 
To haunt, to startle, and waylay.” 
But the irresistible charmer has now made 
a pause, and, without uttering a word is 
commending us to purchase the flowers.— 
The language of those mild blue eyes, open¬ 
ing upon us with a look made of a “sweet 
accord,” and the marvelous beauty of her 
brow, her flaxen hair and rose-lips, were 
enough to transform even a stoic into a 
worshipper of woman. He who would 
bargain with this fair merchant must speak 
quickly, for she will not brook an admiring 
gaze but a moment longer; she is impatient 
to be away under the open sky, where she 
may sing a loud, clear song with the lark 
that will be her only companion oyer the 
fields. 
Connected with this picture of the Flow¬ 
er-Girl is the following romantic, but really 
authentic story:—Many years ago a gen¬ 
tleman from England was traveling at his 
leisure, in the coaches of the United States 
mail, down the charming valley of Wyom¬ 
ing, and on a certain occasion chanced to 
tarry for a short time in the village of that 
name. It was mid-summer, and while en¬ 
joying his after-dinner cigar on the portico 
of the tavern, a young girl suddenly made 
her appearance, offering for sale, in the in¬ 
nocence and modesty of her heart, a basket 
of fresh flowers. He purchased a hand¬ 
some boquet, and when the coach was 
ready continued his journey. Weeks pass¬ 
ed on, but wherever he wandered he was 
continually haunted by the surpassing love¬ 
liness of the unknown flower-girl of Wyo¬ 
ming, and he soon found himself once more 
a sojourner in the village inn. He had by 
this time become so deeply interested in the 
stranger girl that he made many inquiries 
about her condition, and found that she was 
the only daughter ol poor but highly re¬ 
spectable parents. With these parents he 
finally became acquainted, and in process of 
time obtained permission to place the daugh¬ 
ter at one of the principal female seminaries 
of the country. 
While she was storing her mind with 
knowledge her benefactor was livingin Eng¬ 
land. Time passed on; he returned to 
Wyoming, found the rustic flower-girl an 
accomplished lady, offered her his hand in 
marriage, was accepted and married, and, 
after settling a property on his American 
parents, crossed the Atlantic with his bride, 
and settled in one of the pleasantest vales 
of England, where he now lives in the en¬ 
joyment of every thing which wealth and 
education can afford. The picture in ques¬ 
tion is an actual portrait, and was taken 
from a sketch which the artist painted on 
the very day the English stranger purchas¬ 
ed a boquet of the flower-girl of Wyoming. 
— National Intelligencer. 
A QUAKER WEDDING. 
* * * * After an half hour’s profound 
silence, there was some appearance of un¬ 
easiness among the spectators. We were 
amused at a whispered conversation between 
a country girl and her more knowing city 
companion. 
“ What-do these women wear such awful 
looking bonnets for? They look like half 
hornet’s nests, half coal-scuttle.” 
“ Hush! that’s their fashion.” 
“Where is their pulpit?” said the first 
mentioned. 
“ The Quakers have no pulpits.” 
“ Where is their minister ?” 
“ They have no minister.” 
“ Who preaches, then ?” 
“ All of them, or any of them, just as 
they happen to feel.” 
“ Why don’t the meeting begin?” 
“ Hush up; the meeting has begun this 
half hour.” 
“ Why, nobody has said a word, and those 
men opposite have got their hats on.” 
, “Never mind, somebody will speak soon, 
provided the spirit moves them, and they 
always wear their hats at church.” 
“0,1 know; they are waiting for the 
bride and groom.” 
“No, indeed; they have been here half 
an hour; don’t you see them sitting direct¬ 
ly opposite—that handsome young man in 
gold specks, and the lady beside him, dress¬ 
ed in plain white satin ?” 
“ I want to know if that’s them; they 
don’t look Quakerish a bit. I should like 
to know who’s going to marry them ?” 
“ Nobody ; they’ll marry themselves.” 
“ Marry themselves! Well, why in the 
world don’t they begin? What are they 
waiting for?” 
“ Wailing for the spirit to move.” 
Another half hour was passed in solemn 
silence, at the end of which time the bride 
and bridegroom rose facing the audience. 
The bridegroom pronounced the following 
words: 
“ 1, in the presence of God, and this as¬ 
sembly, take this woman to be my wedded 
wife, promising, with divine assistance, to be 
her faithful and loving husband, as long as 
we both shall live.” 
The bride then, in a voice somewhat fal¬ 
tering, repeated a similar declaration, and 
both sat down. 
Two young men of the society then 
placed before them a small table, contain¬ 
ing a huge parchment scroll, which they 
opened, and in the presence of the assem¬ 
bly the bride and groom affixed their sig¬ 
natures. An elder of the church then 
read the document aloud to the audience. 
It set forth that the parties had, at the 
regular monthly meeting preceding, signi¬ 
fied their intention of marriage, that the 
society had approved of the same, and that 
by their joint declarations and signatures, 
they had arrived at a “ full accomplishment 
of their intentions.” He then stated that 
all the Friends were invited to sign us wit¬ 
nesses after the close of the meeting. 
After a few minutes more of silence, the 
newly married couple suddenly rose and 
left the church, and were followed by the 
whole congregation. The audience was 
well pleased with the ceremony. 
Wanted. —An owner for the following- 
paragraph : 
“ Mr. Smith, you said you once officiated 
i n a pulpit—do you mean to say by that, 
that you preached ? ” 
“No sir; I held the light for the man 
what did.” 
“ Ah! the court understood you differ¬ 
ently. They supposed that the discourse 
came from yourself.” 
“No, sir; I only throwed a little light 
on it.” 
Whereupon the court adjourned. 
minor. 
THE WIFE’S NIGHTCAP. 
Mr. -, who does not live more than 
a mile from the post office in this city, met 
some “ Northern friends with Southern 
principles ” the other evening, and in ex¬ 
tending to them the hospitalities of the. 
“ Crescent City,” visited so many of our 
princely saloons and “ marble halls,” imbi¬ 
bing spiritual consolation as they journey¬ 
ed, that when he left them at their hotel at 
the midnight hour, he felt, decidedly felt, 
that he had a “ brick in his hat.” Now, he 
has a wife, an amiable, accomplished, and 
beautiful lady, who loves him devotedly, 
and finds but one fault with him. That is, 
his too frequent visit to the places where 
these “ bricks ” are obtained. 
After leaving his-friends, Mr.-paus¬ 
ed a moment, took his bearings, and hav¬ 
ing shaped a course, on the principle that 
continued angles meet, made sail for home. 
In due course of time he arrived there, and 
was not very much astonished, but rather 
frightened, to find his worthy lady sitting- 
up for him. She always does. She smiled 
when he came in. That also she always 
does. 
“ How are you, dear E. ? ” she said, “ you 
staid out so late, that I feared you had been 
taken sick.” 
“Ilic—ain’t sick, wife; b-but don’t you 
th-think I’m—I’m a little t-tigbt?” 
“A very little, perhaps, my dear —but 
that is nothing—you have so many friends, 
as you say, you must join them in a glass 
once in a while! ” 
“Wife; you’re too good—th-the truth is 
I’m dead drunk.” 
“ 01?, no, indeed, my dear; I’m sure that 
even another glass would’nt hurt you.— 
Now, suppose you take a glass ol Scotch 
ale with me, just as a night-cap, dear? ” 
“ You are too kind, my dear, by half—I 
know I’m drunk! ” 
“ Oh, no—only a julep too much, love— 
that’s all! ” 
“ Yes—juleps—McMasters makes such 
stiff ’uns! ” 
“ Well, take a glass of ale at any rate— 
it can’t hurt you, dear; I want one before 
I retire.” 
The lady hastened to open a bottle, and 
as she placed two tumblers before her on 
the sideboard, she put iu one a very pow¬ 
erful emetic. Filling the glasses with the 
foaming ale, she handed one to her husband. 
Suspicion came cloudily upon his mind. 
She never before had been so kind when 
he was so drunk. He looked at the glass 
—raised it to his lips—then hesitated. 
“ Dear, w-won’t you just taste mine, to 
make it sweet-sweeter? ” said he. 
“ Certainly, love! ” replied the lady, ta¬ 
king a mouthful, which she was careful not 
to swallow. 
Suspicion vanished, and so did the ale, 
emetic and all, down the throat of the sat¬ 
isfied husband. After spitting out the 
taste, the lady finished her glass, but seem¬ 
ed in no hurry to retire. She fixed a foot- 
tub of water before an easy chair, as if she 
intended to bathe her beautiful little feet. 
But small as were those feet, there was not 
water enough in the tub to cover them.— 
The husband began to feel rather unwell, 
and wanted to retire. 
“ Wait only a few minutes, dear,” said 
his loving spouse, “ I want to read the news 
in this afternoon’s Delta. I found it in 
your pocket.” 
A few minutes more elapsed, and then 
—and then, oh ye gods and Dan o’ the 
lake, what a time. The husband was pla¬ 
ced in the easy chair. He began to un¬ 
derstand why the tub was there; he soon 
learned what ailed him. Suffice it to say 
that, when he arose from that chair, the 
brick had left his hat. It hasn’t been there 
since. He says he’ll never drink another 
julep; he cant bear Scotch ale, but he is 
death on lemonade. He loves his wife bet¬ 
ter than ever. 
Readers, this is a truthful^tory. Profit 
by its moral.— N. 0. Delta. 
GET OUT.-A GOOD ONE. 
Some hard stories are told about slow 
travel on the Detroit and Pontiac Railroad. 
Not long since, a witness being asked if he 
ever knew of any deaths on the road, re¬ 
plied that the only cases he remembered 
was two passengers who started from Pon¬ 
tiac and died of starvation and old age be¬ 
fore they reached their destination! Here 
is another reminiscence from the same road, 
which we find in the Boston “ Carpet Bag”: 
“There is much excitement along the 
railroad, respecting the killing and maiming 
of cattle; and one farmer, who had a valu¬ 
able cow badly injured by a locomotive, af¬ 
ter complaining about the matter and get¬ 
ting grossly insulted by the employees on 
the road, told the engineer that the next 
time he came along he would give him a 
thrashing, which was laughed at. The next 
time the “ iron horse” came snorting along 
by the farmer’s house, the old fellow sallied 
out with a big bull dog, and set him at the 
“ bull gine.” The dog caught hold of the 
cow catcher, held on, and stopped it, while 
the farmer licked the engineer ! when, call- 
ins off his dog he let the train go on again!” 
“ Attempt the end, and never stand to doubt; 
Nothing’s so hard, but search will find it out." 
For Moore’s Rural New-Yorker. 
BIELICAL ENIGMA. \ 
— 
I am composed of 64 letters. v 
My 1,13, IC, 7, 54, 53, 15, 23 was a Roman Gov- i 
ernor. 
My 1, 18, 21, 5, 26, 1,7 was a Queen of Ethiopia, i 
My 2. 3 45, 49 was a Beth elite. 
My 4, 12, 52, 2(3, 54, 24, 51, 41 was Tetrarch of ( 
Abilene. 
My (3, 51, 1, 30, 11, 23 was the daughter of Laban. ' 
My 8, GO, 1, 2, 9 was once king of Egypt. ) 
My 10, 11. 21, 30, 26, 64, 13, 5 was king of Syria. ( 
My 14, 25, 18, 32 was the second son of Judah. 
My 17, 15, 61 was king of Assyria. 
.My 19, 20, 15, 10, 7, 54 was one of the sons of 
Jacob. ( 
My 22, 57, 53 was king of Hamath. 
My 26, 59, 51,23, 15, 45, 63, 15, 41 was king of ■ 
Persia. 
My 27, 11. 10, 10, 20, 15, 52 w as one of Christ’s 
Apostles. 
My 29, 36, 47 18 was one of the judges of Israel. ; 
My 31, 34, 2, 10, 63, 52, 39, 60, 58, 30 was a son \ 
of Saul. 
My 33, 62, 46, 53, 18, 56, 59 was a giant of Gath. ) 
My 35, 20, 23, 58, 15, 52 was a procurator of , 
Judea. ( 
My 38, 50, 37, 51,39 was the son of Nahoe. 
My 40, 64, 5, 63 was a prophet. \ 
My 42, 52, 51, 26, 1 was the son of one of the pa- ) 
triarehs. ) 
Ty 48, 63, 31, 41, 1, 53, 49, 63, 51 was the wife of ( 
Aquilla. ( 
My 55, 18, 26, 61 was the son of Ebed. 
My whole is a passage in Scripture, to which ( 
much regard should be paid by children. 
C. Jacobus. $ 
Romulus, N. Y r ., August, 1851. 
(EF- Answer next week. 
For the Rural New-Yorker. 
MISCELLANEOUS ENIGMA. 
I am composed of 25 letters. 
My 1, 13, 24, 24, 25 is a town in New York. 
My 4, 15, 5, 19 24 is a useful article. 
My 3. 16.16, 9, 8, 10, 21, 6 is one of the U. States. 
My 2, 10, 14, 19, 24 was a poet. 
My 11, 23, 9, 16 is often in use. 
My 15, 4, 5, 16, 19 is a fruit. 
My 23, 24, 14 is a useful article. / 
My 16, 10, 7, 9, 18, 23, 8, 23 is one of the South- j 
ern States. 
My 20, 25, 18, 13, 16, 12 is what people think too ( 
much of. ( 
My 19, 17, 16 is a fish. ( 
My 22, 10, 6, 13 is an important part of the body. \ 
My 13, 7, 24 10, 4, 17 is a nation. 
My whole is an institution of learning in this j, 
State. Henry II. Farr. ( 
Albion, N. Y., 1851. • ) 
O’ Answer next week. ( 
For the Rural New-Yorker. 
A PUZZLE. 
My first is hard to be untied; 
My second rules in frozen weather; 
My whole arrests the public gaze, 
And calls whole multitudes together. 
O’Answer next week. 
ANSWERS TO ENIGMAS, &c. IN NO. 88.. j 
Answer to Enigma.— William Davidson, Rocii ' 
ESTER. 
Answer to Problem.— Eighteen Dollars. 
Answer to Question.— ^ 
Persevere ye perfect men, 
Ever keep these precepts ten. 
- . -:: . ■ — — ; 
EMERY A CO.’S 
Premium Rail Road Horse Power, 
and ; 
THRESHING MACHINE AND SEPARATOR, j 
rTMIE above machines are offered the public this season ) 
I_ at the following prices—being much less in proportion ) 
to cost of manufacting same than any other now in use. ) 
For Two Horse Power,.$110 ) 
“ One do do . 80 ( 
“ Thresher with Separator for 2 Horse Power 
if sold with power $:J5, if without power 87,50 \ 
Thresher for one horse with or without power,.'. 85 ) 
Saw mill complete for use. 35 ; 
Hands for above sett complete with wrenches, &c. 5 ) 
Also Wheeler’s Rack and Pinion Horse Powers of our ) 
own manufacture which we warrant equal to any of the > 
kind made, and which we offer and guarantee the full right 
of use for the following prices: 
Two Horse Power.$180 •> 
One do do . 75 \ 
Thethreshers havingnopatent on them are same asabove ^ 
quoted. For further particulars see descriptive catalogued ; 
Albany Agricultural Works, Warehouse and Seed Store, ) 
furnished gratis on application to the proprietors. 
EMERY & Co., 
No. 369,371 Broadway, Albany, N.Y. ( 
MOORE’S RURAL NEW-Y0RK Eli, 
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. 
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Terms, in Advance: 
Two Dollars a Year — SI for six months. To Clubs \ 
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