MOORE’S RURAL NEW-YOR KER: AN AGRICULTURAL AND FAMILY JOURNAL. 
For the Rural New-Yorker. 
THE FARMER. 
’Tis morn. A farmer brave and true, 
Is ramblin'* forth his farm to view, 
Ilis flocks are crazing in the fields. 
His pastures, rich, green verdure yields. 
The sun just rising in the east, 
A golden hue doth round him cast, 
And lighting up his sunburnt face, 
A pleasant smile we there may trace. 
He gazes o’er his fields so fair, 
He breathes the sweetly scented air, 
He feels the.sun’s bright warming rays, 
And breathes to God a prayer of praise. 
Orungeport, Oct. 0, 1851. 
THE TOOK RELATION. 
A TRUE STORY, WITH A WISE LESSON. 
On a cold, dark winter’s morning, just 
as the train was starting from E-sta¬ 
tion, a gentleman, who from appearance, 
might have been about thirty, unencum¬ 
bered with any. other luggage than a very 
small carpet bag, bu- ileu up to the cars, in 
one of which he foumi a seat. What with 
unmuffiing his chin from the coat collar 
which shrouded it, and depositing the above 
mentioned carpet bag to his own satisfac¬ 
tion, under the seat, the train had iani) 
started before he could look around at his 
traveling companions. They were for the 
most part, of a very ordinary description, 
and apparently rather cross and fidgetty 
than otherwise, probably from the dispirit,, 
mg effect of having uristn in the middle of 
the night— i. e. by candle light. Opposite 
to our hero was seated a female figure, who 
it was fair to infer, was a lady; the expres¬ 
sion of the countenance, as well as every 
gesture, sanctioned the inference, though, 
must the point have been decided by her 
dress, it would have admitted of some dis¬ 
pute. Her mantle was of common mate¬ 
rials and shabby; and her bonnet was un¬ 
becoming, which was worse than being 
shabby. 
Nothing happened particularly to mark 
the journey. The most important occur¬ 
rences which might have been noticed, 
were the avidity with which the two gen¬ 
tlemen discussed politics, being happily of 
the same way of thinking; the temporary 
popularity gained by an old lady, who, 
about mid-day, drew forth and offered for 
general consumption, certain delicate edi¬ 
bles and lady-like cordials; and the childish 
distress of her little grand-daughter, at the 
long, dark tunnels. This, under different 
circumstances, might have annoyed the 
politicians; but in the height of their pres¬ 
ent good humor, they vied with each other 
in assuaging the child’s fears, by caresses 
and droll stories; and the only taciturn 
travelers, were our hero and his vis a vis. 
One of the former made a movement as if 
to take out his watch, but started, surprised 
and annoyed at something, and certainly no 
watch was forthcoming. Alas! the young 
lady did not possess a watch, or I am sure 
she would have told him the time; and 
she was the only one who noticed the move¬ 
ment. 
Arrived at the Grand Junction, where 
many lines meet, the passengers quickly 
alighted, and the greater part disposed of 
themselves, in one way or another, in an in¬ 
credibly short space of time. The young 
lady, however, was evidently disappointed 
and pefplexed, having expected that a ser¬ 
vant would receive her; and the gentleman 
without a watch, who followed her into the 
office in which she had asked permission to 
wait, became suddenly in a state of pertur¬ 
bation. The truth was, that in haste, or 
excitement of mind, he had not only left 
his watch behind him, but had lost his purse. 
After a moment’s hesitation he advanced 
towards the person who received the fares 
for the line of road on which our traveler 
had about thirty miles to proceed, and evi¬ 
dently with some repugnance, mentioned 
the predicament in which he was placed. 
“ My mission is most urgent,” he exclaim¬ 
ed, “ having been called to attend most 
probably the death-bed of a relative whom 
I have not seen for the last dozen years.— 
I had my purse when I paid my fare hith¬ 
er in London, and in rqy haste—for the 
train started earlier than I expected—I 
must have dropped it instead of slipping it 
into my pocket. If you will allow me to 
give you my name and address, and suffer 
me to go as far as R-, you may rely on 
my sending the money to you immediately 
when I arrive. It is of the utmost import¬ 
ance that I should not be detained here, 
which otherwise must be the case until I 
can hear from my friends.” 
“ Should be happy to oblige a gentleman 
I am sure,” said the man, “ but it is quite 
against our rules; perhaps, however, you 
have something of value you could leave 
as a sort of deposit—otherwise I assure 
you, I dursn’t Be so good as to step on 
one side; here are two or three gentlemen 
waiting for their tickets.” 
The stranger paused till the office was 
again free; and then, with a flush that might 
have been taken for guilt he continued, 
“ My good man, I grieve to say that I 
inadvertantly left my watch in London— 
nor can I much wonder in the agitation of 
my mind at the hasty summons—” 
“Oh! he! he!” cried the man, with a 
laugh that he intended to be very expres¬ 
sive, “ it wont do in our part of the country 
—very sorry, but the sooner you make 
yourself scarce, the pleasanter it will be for 
yourself, I’m thinking.” 
There was an insolence implied in the 
man’s tone far beyond the expression of Iris 
words; but the short pause was broken by 
a sweet voice, which trembled as if almost 
frightened at its own boldness, and the 
words— 
“ I will lend you a sovereign, sir,” fell 
upon the strangers ear, as the sweetest mu¬ 
sic he had ever heard. 
“ God bless your young, unsuspecting 
heart!” he exclaimed with emotion as tak¬ 
ing off his hat, his eyes met those of his 
fellow traveler; and certainly at that mo¬ 
ment, he wondered that he had not before 
observed their marvelously sweet expres¬ 
sion. Meanwhile, the ungloved and deli¬ 
cate, but ringless fingers of the young girl 
dived into a purse that looked strangely 
long because it was so nearly empty, and 
drew from it one of the two sovereigns it 
contained. 
“ To whom am I indebted for this time¬ 
ly and generous loan, and where can I have 
the pleasure of returning it?” 
“I am goin<r to reside, i believe, within 
a few miles of this place, at my aunt’s, Mrs. 
Lawford; if you direct it to Mary—to 
Miss,” she added, as if doubtful if she 
dared realty assume the spinsterial appella¬ 
tionto Miss Marston, it will reach me.” 
“But your aunt’s address,” said the 
stranger, “1 am so ignorant as not to know 
it;—oblige me by writing it, that there may 
be no possibility of a mistake.” 
And drawing a card from his pocket, he 
asked the money-taker, in the frigid accents 
of contempt “ if he would furnish the lady 
with a pen and ink.” 
“ Oh, certainly, my dear, if >you wish it,” 
said the insolent fellow, addressing himself 
to Mary. She, however, had found a pen¬ 
cil, and the pen and ink were unnecessary; 
but the red spot of anger burnt on the 
stranger’s cheek, although he had sufficient 
mastery of himself to conceal the verbal 
expression of it. And he gave the wisest 
reproof to the menial’s impertinent famil¬ 
iarity, by offering his arm to Mary Marston, 
and conducting her to a seat, at some dis¬ 
tance, saying as he did so, 
“You must allow me the honor of re¬ 
maining at your side till your servant ar¬ 
rives.” 
Mary would not have been a true wo¬ 
man, had she not been touched by the del¬ 
icacy of the stranger’s attention; but tho’ 
gentle and refned, and well born as many 
of her sex’s paragons on whose brows gleam 
the coronets of rank, she was a portionless 
orphan over whose youth hung the dark 
threatening cloud of poverty; or in more 
expressive phrase, she was a poor relation 
accustomed to slights and neglect, too tri¬ 
fling to be made matter of complaint, and 
yet sufficiently palpable to have marvel¬ 
lously depressed a naturally sensitive heart. 
No wonder, then, that she sensibly felt his 
defqfential manner, w’hen she reminded 
him that the train by which he desired to 
reach B-, was on the point of starting. 
“I can wait half an hour for the next!” 
he exclaimed, “such a delay would be 
very unimportant, compared to that from 
which your confiding goodness has saved 
me.” 
But his politeness—or that something 
better, of which politeness is only intended 
to be the outward sign — was spared the 
test; for at that moment a servant bustled 
into the office in which they were waiting, 
and after making some short apology to 
Miss Marston for his negligence, led the 
way to a carriage, into which the stranger 
handed her, remaining himself uncovered 
until it turned a corner and was hid from 
his view. 
The eyes of eighteen, however bright, 
are apt to see matters through a lens pecu¬ 
liar to youth; and if the truth must be 
owned, to them the shady side of thirty 
appears the very sere of life; but though 
the stranger had evidently passed that 
brighter barrier which divides a glittering 
from a golden decade, the outline of his 
noble figure, and finely moulded features, 
was more firmly impressed in Mary’s mem¬ 
ory, than that of any other living person. 
PART II. 
Mid-winter had passed a7/ay; for though 
snow lay on the ground, the days had 
lengthened, and a bright sun gleamed upon 
the icicles which hung from the verandah 
of Mrs. Lawford’s drawing room, retained 
probably in their fantastic pendules by the 
keen easterly wind, which seemed to pene- 
etrate through every crevice. In an easy 
chair, drawn close to the blazing fire, the 
old lady sat knitting, while her two daugh¬ 
ters were busily occupied with the many 
tinted Berlin wools. At a table near the 
bay window stood Mary Marston, in the 
midst of her morning duties. She had 
conferred with the cook, touching the state 
of the larder, she had combed the poodle 
and dusted the china, and now she was 
tending some rare hyacinths, much prized 
by Mrs. Lawford, who had a passion for 
floriculture. But a sad accident had hap¬ 
pened— One of them had slipped from her 
cold fingers, (she had not been near a fire 
that morning) and the flower snapped from 
the stem. A bright drop stood in each of 
her soft dark eyes—for she had been chid¬ 
den somewhat harshly for her carelessness. 
Her heart was to full of regret too make 
excuses, and she only murmured, “ I am 
most unlucky.” 
“ Now I don’t think you are,” said Ma¬ 
tilda Lawford, who was a good natured girl, 
and wished to bring round the mind of her 
mother who was a most irritable tempered 
woman, to a pleasant subject. “I know,” 
she continued, “ we all thought you were 
lucky to have a present of that splendid 
boquet the very night of our ball. Was it 
not a piece of sheer luck to come so apro¬ 
pos? And you were a dear girl to divide 
it between us. Everybody thought the 
flowers were from our own conservatory.” 
“ Surely you were not so silly as to un¬ 
deceive them,” chimed in the matronly la¬ 
dy, who, besides being ill tempered, was 
one of those weak and narrow minded 
mothers, whose children, if they have good 
qualities, possess them in spite of evil cul¬ 
ture: “We should have had quite as 
fine a show,” she continued, “if that stupid 
Ellis had not let out the fire on Christmas 
eve., and there’s no use proclaiming one’s 
mortification. ” 
“ I think, Mary, the greatest piece of luck 
was getting back your sovereign with the 
flowers!” exclaimed Hannah in a tone that 
proclaimed her to be a great deal more her 
’ mother’s daughter,’ than Matilda. “ I am 
sure I never expected you would see it 
again. And the white and silver purse in 
which it was returned, was a love of a 
thing, just fit for a card purse.” (Miss 
Lawford was just eight-and-twenty, and had 
lately grown a desperate whist player,) 
“ 1 don’t think you ever use it, do you 
Mary ?” 
This was not the first “gentle hint” her 
cousin Hannah had given her with regard 
to the white and silver purse; but Mary, 
usually as quick at understanding as ready 
to yield, seemed unaccountably dull or un¬ 
complying whenever this was named. But 
the arrival of the postman changed the 
conversation—and among the letters was 
one for Mary, which, being rather an un¬ 
usual occurrence, excited a proportionate 
degree of interest. 
The contents were scanned in a few mo¬ 
ments; but short as they were, they alter¬ 
nately blanched and flushed the cheek of 
Mary Marston. Then bursting into tears 
she dropped the letter, and exclaimed— 
“ It is a hoax; a cruel hoax; it cannot 
be real!” 
But that official letter was no hoax; in¬ 
deed, the steady old firm, who signed them¬ 
selves her “ most obedient servant,” would 
have Shuddered at the perpetration of any¬ 
thing so outrageous. No, no: the fact was too 
well authenticated for doubt or hesitation 
on the subject; Mary was no longer poor 
and dependent—old Sir Digby Randall, 
known throughout the country as a most 
eccentric character, and whose death had 
been chronicled three days before in the 
“N- Herald,” had bequeathed Mary, 
by a codicil to his will, the sum of ten thou¬ 
sand pounds, in trust, for her sole use, till 
she should become of age, when it should 
pass into her own hands! The strange part 
of the story was, that not to her knowledge 
had Mary ever seen, or been seen by her 
kind benefactor. 
The icicles had all departed, and the 
frost bound streams were again ebbing 
gently along as they sparkled in the sun¬ 
shine ; the birds were trilling merrily, and 
the trees were unfurling their pale green 
leaves; hoar winter had departed, and the 
spirit of youth was abroad again in the 
world. 
On a morning in early May, Mary Mars¬ 
ton commenced her journey, by railroad, to 
the metropolis. But though a few months 
older than when we introduced her to the 
reader—though her knowledge was some¬ 
what increased, and her purse extremely 
well lined, it was not considered proper, ex¬ 
pedient or safe, for her to travel, as she had 
done before, unprotected. Accordingly, an 
old dependent of the family, whose office 
was something between a nurse and house¬ 
keeper, was deputed as her attendant to 
London, where she had other relatives to 
receive her. We do not attempt to account 
for this remarkably different arrangement; 
we but state the fact, and shall only observe 
that on this occasion she wore a remarkably 
pretty bonnet, one, indeed, which was quite 
the chef d'ouvre of a country milliner. A 
strange coincidence, however, occurred, for 
she was handed into the carriage by the 
very same gentleman to whom she had lent 
the sovereign on the former occasion, and 
who, it appeared, was returning to town by 
the very same-train as herself, indeed he 
took bis seat as before, exactly opposite to 
her; but after a smile of recognition had 
passed between them, Mary observed an 
expression half-mirthful, half-scornful pass 
over his face, as the old nurse entered the 
carriage—but it was evidently not occasion¬ 
ed by patrician distaste at the prospect of 
having a plebeian fellow traveler, for he 
paid tbe respect due to age, and assisted 
her in with care and attention. It was 
somewhat remarkable that no attempt was 
made to admit any other passengers into 
the vacant seats of the carriage our travel¬ 
ers occupied; what passed on the journey 
has, therefore, never been clearly ascer¬ 
tained, for the old nurse pleads guilty to 
having fallen asleep, and the other parties 
to this day refuse to give any account of 
their conversation. 
About a month after this event, Matilda 
Lawford received a long letter from her 
cousin Mary. It treated of divers matters, 
and near the end, on the corner of the pa¬ 
per, communicated the fact that she, the 
writer, was engaged to be married—of 
course, to the handsomest, cleverest, and 
most delightful person in England. 
She added, however, that he was not rich, 
being yet “struggling upwards at the bar,” 
and expressed in touching language her 
own thankfulness to Providence which 
would always relieve them from the pres¬ 
sure of poverty. The postscript, however, 
contained the pith of the letter. It ran 
thus:— 
“P. S.—I may as well tell you at once 
what you must know sooner or later—don’t 
quiz me, but Mr. Raymond is the stranger 
who sent me the beautiful boquet, and the 
white silver purse. He managed to pro¬ 
cure an introduction to Uncle William, who 
knows him very well by report, and has 
visited here constantly since I came to Lon¬ 
don. Mary.” 
One surprise, however, was to mount on 
another, for the next morning’s post bro’t 
a short and most incoherent letter from 
Mary. From it enough w r as gathered to 
contradict some of the assertions contained 
in the other epistle, for it stated that though 
Mr. Raymond had been for some years 
“ struggling at the bar,” he was no longer 
a poor man, but an heir—after the payment 
of a few eccentric legacies—to the immense 
wealth of Sir Digby Randall, who it ap¬ 
pears, was his mother’s elder half brother. 
“ Slanderous tongues had poisoned truth,” 
and they had been for years separated; but 
on a sick bed the heart of the old man 
yearned for his only relative—and when 
they met, and the past was explained, the 
pent up feelings of Sir Digby gushed forth, 
and he seemed anxious only to live long 
enough to make amends for past neglect, 
by granting, almost forestalling every wish 
of his nephew. What induced him to 
leave Mary Marston a legacy, or how Mr. 
Raymond discovered the precise hour of 
Mary’s return to London, and how’ he con¬ 
trived that the remaining seats in the car¬ 
riage should be unoccupied, we pretend not 
to determine; but we know that love or 
money can perform wonders. Why he 
passed himself off as a “struggling barris¬ 
ter,” is another affair; but it was just the 
conduct that might have been expected 
from a man who having found a heart which 
poverty had failed to render suspicious and 
selfish, and knowing its priceless value, was 
inclined once more to test it, but—by the 
opposite ordeal. 
mtir £)nnwx. 
For the Rural New-Yorker. 
EPIGRAM. 
I wrote, one day a sonnet, 
Upon a lady’s bonnet, 
A straw one ’twas, and on it 
She wore a ribbon blue. 
Now which was straw, the sonnet? 
Or was’t the lady’s bonnet 
With ribbon blue upon it? 
Can any tell me true? 
Rochester, N. Y. Timon, Jr. 
CHOPPING LOGIC AND CUTTING ANSWERS 
Dr. -, called upon a Southern stu¬ 
dent one morning in the recitation room to 
define logic. The question was something 
in this form: 
“ Mr.-, what is logic ?” 
“ Logic, sir, is the art of reasoning.” 
“ Ay; but I wish you to give the defini¬ 
tion in the exact words of the learned 
author.” 
“Oh, sir, lie gives a very long, intricate, 
confused definition, with which I did not 
think proper to burden my memory.” 
“ Are you aware who the learned au¬ 
thor is ?” 
“Oh yes; your honor, sir.” 
“ Well, then, I fine you one dollar for 
disrespect.” 
Taking out a two dollar note, the student 
said with the utmost sang froid — 
“ If you will change this, I will pay you 
on the spot.” 
“ I fine you another dollar, sir,” said the 
Professor, emphatically, “ for repeated dis¬ 
respect.” 
“ Then ’tis just the change, sir,” said the 
student coolly. — College Words and Cus¬ 
toms. _ _ _ 
An ingenious fellow who owned some 
hogs, so lean that they crawled though the 
cracks in the pen, “ stopped that fun ” by 
tying knots in their tails. 
Are ladders used to get “ up to snuff?” 
“ Attempt tbe end, and never stand to doubt; 
Nothing’s so hard, but search will find it out.” < 
For the Rural New-Yorker. 
MISCELLANEOUS ENIGMA.. 
I am composed of 32 letters. 
My 11, 17, 3, 25, 1, 30 is the name of a savage ( 
chieftain. ; 
.My 29, 25, 32, 31, 30, 10 was an object of religious '■ 
worship. 
My 6, 15, 29, 11 is a place of classic name. 
My 12, 21, 2. 14 is anything and everything. 
My 31, 21, 25, 27 is real estate. 
My 9, 2, 17 is the situation of persons when there < 
is nothing between them and the sky but an < 
umbrella. j 
My 32, 25, 23, 22, 14, is the name of an ancient ( 
city. < 
My 7, 25, 10, 5 is a bad thing to bite. 
My 3!, 4, 30, 29, 26 is what we are frequently at- < 
tended by. 
My 29, 21, 32, 5, 31 was a great statesman. 
My 12, 30, 14, 17, 26, 31 is a town in France. \ 
My 4, 15, 5 is used by farmers. 
My 11, 19 is a Latin preposition. 
My 20, 5, 26, 28 is an essential part of a clarionet. ' 
My 21, 31, 25, 5, 16 is a kind of willow. 
My 11, 25, 10 is a name for pain. 
My 1, 9, 11, 14 is what few like to ask, and still : 
fewer like to grant. 
My 29, 15, 3.1, 15 is an expression of pain. 
My 29, 11, 12 is an animal of the biped species. I 
Ms whole is the name and native place of the 
author. < 
Barre Centre, Oct., 1851. 
DU’ Answer next week. 
For the Rural New-Yorker. 
I UZZLaN or QUESTION. . 
What is that which was the ruin of Eve, and is 
the bane of the fair sex, is mostly found in courts, ; 
and though its poison is of the most dangerous na- 
ture, yet it is administered under so pleasing and , 
alluring a disguise, that it is easily if not greedily 
swallowed by most people. a. j. b. 
Romulus, N. Y., Oct., 1851. 
DU Answer next week. 
For the Rural New-Yorker. 
.CHARADE. 
My first reversed doth oft appear, 
On fields and flowers both bright and dear; 
My second’s binding power is great, 
My whole is an united state. 
William Davidson. 
DU Answer next week. 
ANSWERS TO ENIGMAS, &c. IN NO. 95. 
Answer to Miscellaneous Enigma.— William S. 
Lobdell, Romulus, N. Y. 
Answer to Geometrical Riddle.— Tobacco. 
Answer to Arithmetical Question.—One-fourth 
of a kernel to a square foot. 
VOICE OF THE PRESS. 
Moore’s Rural New-Yorker.— It is with pleasure that 
we call the attention of those who wish a most excellent 
paper, to this publication. On the firm, in tbe family, or 
even in the school room, it will hold a position as a jour¬ 
nal of a high order, it is chiefly directed to the agricultu¬ 
ral interest, but is an admirable general and family news¬ 
paper. It is conducted with enterprise and ability—ever 
filled with the best of matter botli useful and entertaining. 
—Cayuga Chief. 
Take it all in all, we think tbe Rural decidedly one of 
the best newspapers published in the country. It has va¬ 
riety and talent, wit, humor and story, anil is always a 
welcome visitor to tbe fire-side or the study. We think 
every body ought to take the Rural, it will pay with 
compound interest.—[Penn Yan Democrat. 
Decidedly the best agricultural paper with which we are 
acquainted is Moore’s Rural New-Yorker, it is worth 
more than ©10 invested in the cheap newspapers of the 
cities. It is a complete Farmer’s Library, and possesses 
sufficient interest to make it valuable for reference hereaf¬ 
ter.—Cattaraugus Sachem. 
We know of no weekly in New York conducted with 
so much talent, and such a versatility of talent too. * * 
In short Moore’s Rural New-Yorker is human life 
“ right out,” from beginning to end, and its literary merits 
are of the most exalted kind.—American Miller. 
Moore’s Rural New-Yorker is a beautifully embcl- 
li hed and richly filled Agricultural, Horticultural, and Pic 
torial weekly journal. It enjoys a wide circulation.— 
[Roch. Daily American. 
The Rural New-Yorker published at Rochester, N. 
Y., by our friend Mr. Moore, we consider the best agri¬ 
cultural newspaper in America.— Ladies’ Repository, 
Cincinnati. 
To farmers and mechanics, and indeed to all classes 
and occupations, its columns afford a fund of reading of 
the utmost value. It is worthy of an extended circulation. 
—Christian Ambassador. 
It is every way worthy the unexampled success which 
has attended its publication. As an agricultural journal 
it is not excelled.—Utica Tefotaller. 
A deservedly popular journal. As a family, agricultu¬ 
ral, educational and literary periodical it can hardly be 
surpassed.—Canada Christian Advocate. 
Mr. Moore gets up the best paper of its class in the 
Union.—Chardon (O.) Democrat. 
The Rural New-Yorker may he set down as the best 
Farmer’s Journal in the land.—Mich. School Miscellany. 
Moore’s Rural New-Yorker is the best Agricultural 
and Family Pa per in the United States.—Mich. Tel. 
MOORE’S RURAL NEW-YORKER, 
PUBLISHED EVERY THURSDAY, AT ROCHESTER, BY 
D. D. T. MGOEE, Proprietor, 
Publication Office in Burns’ Block, [No. 1, 2d floor,] 
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News matter, than any other Agricultural or Family Jour¬ 
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