J 
MOORED RURAL NEW-YOR KER: AN AGRICULTURAL AND FAMILY JOURNAL. 
<* |J made — the solemn contract, which, (I whis- 
-0 A JUvAlA♦ pered my conscience,) was not binding, be- 
*__ _ cause it had not been made in the set terms 
THE FIRST FALL OF SNOW. of speech. . 
__ “ Loving Julia still—knowing that see 
i love to watch the first soft snow, loved me — feeling that I could never love 
As it slowly saiieth down, more strongly, or be more devotedly loved 
Purer and whiter than the pearls —J same time sacrificed everything 
? ha ! grnce a to my fondness for fashion—I broke the un- 
Though winter wears a freezing look, J , 
And many a surly frown. uttered oath of love which my heart had 
It lighteth like the feathery down, solemul} made. 
upon the naked trees. To be brief, 1 married another!” ex- 
And on the pale and withered flowers claimed Mr. Atherton, in a tone of bitter 
That swing in every freeze: Self-reproach. 
And they are clothe i m such 1 right robes “You loved her, of course,” suggested 
As summer never sees. T . 
Hiram. 
it bringeth pleasant memories, “ That other ? Evelina? Yes; oh,yes! 
Of n rigid n g” steed s^n n d j high in g bells, J loVcd Ve *T well J she W3S SUCh a fine 
in the happy long ago-, lady—such an excellent match! I was so 
When hopes were bright, and health was good, fortunate, it was said, to win the hand of 
And the spirits were not low. such a magnificent creature! But how dif- 
And it giveth many promises ferent was my second love from my first! 
of quiet joys in store-, It was composed of passion, admiration, 
Of bliss around the blazing hearth, and pride; I adored Evelina; I thought it 
When daylight is no more— j • , , td . 
such bliss as no where else hath lived a condescension in her to love me. But 
since Eden-days were o'er. ^ where was the purity, the unselfishness, the 
God bless the eve that views with mine " ‘deep devotion, to which my heart had not, 
The failing snow to-day; formerly, been a stranger? Alas! where 
May truth her pure white mission spread was my first love ? 
Before its scorching ray, “ Julia was not forgotten. I said to my- 
And se lf-‘ 1 love her a little yet, but it was 
Julia h. Scott. impossible for me to marry her.’ Ihen my 
_ — -— — — heart was so puffed with congratulations 
4 *-? < ( i Q * and flattery, on the occasion of the grand 
(Jh £ lltU II La DDL* wedding which came off that I scarcely had 
/ y room in it for anything but vanity. 
“ Well, I was married. I had the satis- 
LQVE KRSUS FASHION faction of knowing that fifty fashionable 
- fellows envied me the possession of so fair 
BY PA UL cr eyton. an d accomplished a bride. I knew, too, 
“Be candid with me now,«iram,” said lh » l 1 had . i™' 4 •» ST'* 
Atherton, addressing his gay nephew; i;u "’ i ’ 1:1 le - . a . . 'i UJ , ' L,b ru 
„d tell me hew lung before you intend naenwl.ty of my fashionab.e wife 
....i.u. Soul,In rJdf. s - “ And she loved me, too, as well as peo- 
LOVE VERSUS FASHIOS. 
BY PAUL CREYTON. 
Mr. Atherton, addressing his gay nephew; 
“ and tell me how long before you intend 
making the amiable Sophia your wife ? ” 
making tue < J™ " T ‘ pie of fashion usually love. 1 had nothing 
Hiram looked serious, perplexed. Hi- U . . . , r , & 
ram heaved a sigh. At length, scratching^ 10 of on that score. Much as ev- 
his ear, he answered in a low tone— 
“Never! ” 
The old gentleman echoed the word in 
astonishment 
“Never! In the name of reason, tell me 
why! I know she loves you.” 
“She does—I do believe! ” 
“And you”— 
“ There is no occasion to deny the truth,” 
said Hiram. “ 1 love her dearly. She is 
good, and affectionate, and true. I shall 
never find a person to love better—more 
to complain of on that score. Much as ev¬ 
erybody admired her, I had no occasion for 
jealousy.” 
“ Then,” said Hiram, timidly, “you must 
have been satisfied with the match ? You 
should have been happy.” 
“ Perhaps I should. And for a long 
time I was. I could afford extravagance— 
I had time for dissipation—and my Eveli¬ 
na and I led a gay life for five years. But 
gradually I grew thoughtful. Day after 
day I felt more and more that I was drink¬ 
ing the cup of folly. A wrinkle in Eveli¬ 
na’s brow frightened me. Every gray hair 
ourelv ” . . &“v “““ 
* ,.t,‘ , ■ i , i i which silvered the darkness of my locks, 
“ Then explain this paradox! louhave ’ A , • , . J 
I _ 1 .. . a thmicnmi RinliQ A n'P annparpn t.n 
taken no foolish oath to live a bachelor? cost mo a thousand sighs. Age appeared to 
You are not vainly ambitious of marrying dreadM ' M 7 eelmgs on tills subject 
j. 9 „ 1 J 0 convinced me oi the truth of what con- 
a or une . _ _ science had so often whispered—that my 
“No, no, uncle. But—1 am almost T A;, w J 
■, i r C 1! wav UI nit; was Ollliui. a oaiu tv jJVCiiua — 
ashaihed to confess my feelings — you _ J . . . , .. a , 
,„ J o j , Lgj us g lve over this butterfly s existence, 
■'“W well went is it’ ” in wllich onl 7 tlle y outhful should indulge.’ 
“ if i must speak !t-I desire a wife to She sighed, and repaired her fading beauty 
make a_littlc mire show in the world, than ^Xessity of the peace 
way of life was sinful. I said to Evelina— 
4 Let u's give over this butterfly’s existence, 
in which only the youthful should indulge.’ 
She sighed, and repaired her fading beauty 
Sophia.” 
“ Boy! ” exclaimed the old gentleman, 
with a gesture of impatience. 
“ She is not—not exactly—fashionable,” 
murmured Hiram, blushing. . A 
“Insane!” ejaculated his uncle. 
“Too, retired—too careless of appearan¬ 
ces too—in short —too”— 
of home to the heart of man. I felt bun- 
’ gry for the happiness of the household 
„ hearth. But Evelina had no sympathy 
’,. with my longings. She answered my sighs 
with hollow laughter. Home possessed no 
1 delights for her. She led me in the same 
cheerless chase after gayety, when I was 
5 IUU 111 BllUI l— IUU • i . t .1 t 
“Too sensible! 1 know it! To good weary-weary-weary nigh unto death! 
for a vain fellow like you! ” cried Mr. Ath¬ 
erton, sternly. “ I am glad you know it.— 
Her feathers are not gaudy enough to com¬ 
pare with yours—you insipid peacock! ” 
“Uncle!” interrupted Hiram, his lips 
quivering, “ you are too severe.” 
“And who has a better right? You 
“ We lost our only child. Heart-broken, 
humble, dying for want of sympathy’in my 
desolation, I prayed Evelina to withdraw 
with me from the world, and from that time 
of sorrow, to know its hollowness and heart¬ 
lessness no more. She could not deny her¬ 
self! The intoxication of what is falsely 
would have no patience with a man who called pleasure, was necessary to her exist- 
talks such nonsense as jou do—if you had ence. from that time I lea a hfeof loneh 
had my experience. I mean to be severe; wretchedness. 
I always will be severe; I will be savaged “ The next 
on this argument. No, I won’t, either. I P ass over 
“ The next crisis in my existence I wili 
pass over briefly. Evelina’s health failed 
will tell you a story. Sit down. I want ^ iei% s ^ ie U P> and struggled with 
your entire attention. You are well aware strength of the destroyer, until one fa- 
that, in my day, I have had some domestic tai night. She took cold, coming irom a 
trouble ? ” 
“Yes, uncle.” 
“ Well, sir; I’ll tell you about that.— 
Forty years ago I was a single man— 
young, gay, and foolish as yourself. From 
ball. In one week she was— 
“ I was a widower,” said the old gentle¬ 
man coughing. “ A sad widower, too— 
one whom affliction had taught a terrible 
lesson. I was plunged deep in desponden- 
my childhood, I had loved the best, the cy, when I heard from Julia. 
most amiable of God’s creatures. Unwor- “People told me she was ill. 
People 
Some said 
thy as I was, she loved me with an exalt&i.^ ie was d yi n g- I - 5aa not seen ner in ten 
ed affection. I believe she would hav’J|py ears—m y a ff ecd on for her had smouldered 
laid down her life to make me happy. j n ashes—-she had become like a sweet vis- 
“ For five years,” pursued the old gen- ' 0I v°f which I had sometimes dreamed but 
tleman, with emotion, “ she had held such dimly yet when the news of her Alness 
possession of my heart. All my dreams of came t° me > ad the past came with it, and 
future happiness had been inspired by my m y heart-strings vibiated wit.i passionate 
affection for her. She was indeed a portion sorrow—rwith the sadness of lost love, 
of my existence. “I hastened to see her. I arrived in 
“ But—I went into the world. I became time to hear from her own lips, so cold and 
infatuated with fashion; I learned selfish- and pale, that her heart had been faithful 
ness, vanity, deceit. Julia was never quite to me ever—that, cruel as I had been, she 
forgotten: but after a separation of a few had never ceased to love me. I arrived in 
months—when I had acquired a taste for, time to know that my folly had cost me a 
gay dissipation—I began to fear she would :< -priceless jewel—the pure love of a true- 
not compare favorably with the brilliant com- . hearted woman. I arrived in time to con- 
pany into which I had become introduced, fess my faults with heart-breaking sorrow, 
and the admiration which I courted. and to be forgiven, in time to see her— 
“ Although a future union had always die! 
been considered, as a matter of course by “ It was that grief which knows no con- 
both Julia and myself, we had never made solation, that had worn out her life. She 
a formal engagement to each other. The had rejected the best offers of marriage, 
greatest folly—the greatest crime I ever because, loving me, she could love no oth- 
committed—was the mean advantage I took er; and without loving, she could never 
of the peculiar nature of our agreement, to imarry. 
break the contract which our hearts had Ah, my nephew! I have no words to 
express the bitterness, the sharpness of my 
regrets. Remorse, grief, despair urged her 
near to the grave—but—I have lived to 
REMEMBER AND TO MOURN 1 . 
“ Shall I tell you more ?” 
With trembling fingers, the old gentle¬ 
man brushed a tear from his eye; while 
Hiram, pale, thoughtful, agitated, regarded 
him earnestly. 
“ No,” murmured the young man, in a 
deep voice, as he pressed his uncle’s hand. 
I am convinced. There is no true happi¬ 
ness in married life, except that which 
crowns the domestic hearth. Fashion is 
folly—worldly show is hollow—you have 
proved it to me. I will be weak and vain 
and foolish no longer. God bless you, 
uncle!” 
A few weeks later, the old gentleman 
attended a wedding; and he was happy in 
the thought that his sad experience had 
been the means of uniting the youthful 
Hiram and his true-hearted Sophia.— Home 
Gazette. 
THE CAPTAIN AND THE DYING MAN. 
A correspondent of the Blair county, 
Pa., Whig, furnishes that paper with the 
particulars of an interesting incident, of 
which he was an eye witness. It occurred 
a few years ago on the line of the great im¬ 
provements of that State. It is one of those 
scenes of genuine kind-heartedness which 
tills the mind with the involuntary con¬ 
sciousness that there is “ something of the 
angel still” in our common nature. 
At the point this side the mountain, 
where occurred the trans-shipment of pas¬ 
sengers from the *west, was moored a canal 
boat, awaiting the arrival of the train ere 
starting its way “through” to the east.— 
The Captain of the boat, a tall, rough, sun- 
embrowned man, stood by his craft, super¬ 
intending the labors of his men, when the 
cars rolled up, and a few minutes after a 
party of about a half a dozen gentlemen 
came out, and deliberately walking up to 
the captain, addressed him something after 
this wise— 
“Sir, we wish to goon east—but our 
further progress to-day depends on you.— 
In the cars we have just left is a sick man, 
whose presence is disagreeable. We have 
been appointed a committee by the passen- 
engers, to ask that you will deny this man 
a passage in your boat. If he goes, we re- 
main-^what say you ?” , 
“ Gentlemen,” replied the Captain, I 
have heard the passengers through their 
committee. Has the sick man a represen¬ 
tative here?” 
To the unexpected interrogatory there 
was no answer, when, without a moment’s 
pause, the Captain crossed over to the car, 
and entering, beheld, in one corner, a poor, 
emaciated, worn-out creature, whose life 
was nearly eaten up by that canker worm 
—consumption. The man’s head was bow¬ 
ed in his hands, and he was weeping. The 
Captain advanced, and spoke to him kindly: 
“ Oh! sir,” said the shivering invalid look¬ 
ing up, his face now lit with trembling ex¬ 
pectations—“are you the Captain—and 
will you take me ? God help me! The 
passengers look upon me as a breathing 
pestilence; and are so unkind. You see, 
sir, I am dying—but, oh, if I am spared to 
reach my mother, I shall be happy. She 
lives in Burlington, sir, and my journey is 
more than half performed. I am a poor 
painter, and the only child of her in whose 
arms I wish to die!” 
“ You shall go!”' replied the Captain, “ if 
I lose every passenger for the trip!” 
By this time the whole crowd of passen¬ 
gers were grouped around the boat, with 
their luggage piled up in the path, and they 
themselves awaiting the decision of the 
Captain, before engaging their passage. 
A moment more and the decision was 
made known as they beheld him coming 
from the cars, with the sick man cradled in 
his arms. Pushing directly through the 
crowd with his dying burden, lie ordered a 
mattrass to be spread, in the choicest part 
of the boat, -where he laid the invalid with 
all the care of a parent. That done, the 
Captain directed the boat to prepare for 
starting. 
But a new feeling seemed to possess the 
astonished passengers—that of shame and 
contrition at their inhumanity. With one 
common impulse, they walked aboard the 
boat, and, in a few hours after, another com¬ 
mittee was sent to the Captain, entreating 
his presence among the passengers in the 
cabin. 
He went, and from their midst rose a 
white haired man, who, with tear-drops 
starting in his eyes, told that rough, sun- 
embrowned man, that he had taught them 
all a lesson—that they had felt humbled 
before him, and that they asked his for¬ 
giveness. It was a touching scene. The 
fountain of true feeling had been broken up 
in the heart of nature, and its waters well¬ 
ed up, choking the utterance of all present. 
On the instant, a purse was made up for 
the sick man, with a “ God speed!” on his 
way home to die with his mother. 
This true-hearted Captain of the boat was 
Gen. Samuel D. Carnes, and the above in¬ 
cident is worth remembering. 
In characters, in manners, in style, in all 
things, the supreme excellence is simplicity. 
JOHN G. SAXE.-AN EPIGRAM. 
BY C. S. PERCIVAL. 
Whoever the wine of wit would drink 
Oft Saxe’B flagon smacks on, 
Wherever the Anglo-Saxons think. 
They think New England Saxe on. 
But though, with a new and sparkling zest, 
His racy words are quaffed at. 
I’m sorry the trutli must be confessed— 
Wherever lie’s read, he’s laughed at! 
(Louisville Journal. 
WINNING A BET. 
Those of our readers who have never 
heard how Diarmuidh O’Shaughnessy won 
the great bet from an Englishman, about 
swimming, -without being able to swim one 
stroke, will be amused in reading the fol¬ 
lowing : 
It was as cute a turn as ever was done. 
Diarmuidh had the bragingest tongue that 
ever wagged in a man’s head. If he heard 
tell of any great doings by anybody, he 
could not rest easy, without swearing that 
himself would bang the haro out and out, 
whoever he was. Well—there was an 
English footman once at Ballymore—as 
fine a swimmer a Ballyshannon salmon. 
He’d swim out of sight into the say, and 
come back in a couple of hours as fresh as 
if nothing had happened. One day he was 
boasting how far he could swim, “I don’t 
care how far it is, ” says Dairmuidh, says he, 
“ for whatever it is, I’ll double it.” “ Will 
you make a bet upon it?” says the English¬ 
man. “ I ill,” cries Diarmuidh, very 
stout entirely. “ Done for a goold guinea!” 
says the Englishman. “ Done!” says Diar¬ 
muidh. 
So the two shook hands upon it, and the 
neighbors wondered how Diarmuidh would 
get out of the bet, for they all knew he 
couldn’t swim across a horse-pond; but they 
said nothing. “ Strip off!” says the English¬ 
man, throwing off his clothes. “Stop a 
bit,” says Diarmuidh; “ Halloo, Padhre!” 
he calls out to his son, “run home and 
bring me down the maulieen wid a couple 
of oat cakes and some cold mate in it 
—I’ll strap it across my back, for it’s like 
we’ll be swimming till night, and I might 
be hungry.” “ What’s that you’re say¬ 
ing?” says the Englisher, getting quite 
frightened. “ That we’ll make a race in 
earnest of it,” answers Diarmuidh; “ I don’t 
know how long we’ll be on the water, so 1 
am victualling myself.’.’ “ Oh, by gor, I 
won’t swim against the likes of you," says 
the Englisher, says he; “ we’ll draw stakes 
if you plase.” “ Divil a bit,” says Diar¬ 
muidh; “we’ll see it out if you plase.— 
Didn’t I say 4 Done,’ and didn’t you say 
Done ?’ and isn’t 4 done ’ and 4 done ’ as 
tight as a bond between two jintleraen?” 
“Faix, it isn’t ‘done’ but wjdone I should 
be at this rate,” thinks the Englisher.— 
“ Suppose now, Mr. O’Shaughnessy,” says 
he, “ we swim for a perticlar distance—say 
a mile—or ..two miles—or to Carrigamurra 
and back—or the likes of that.” 44 Blura- 
nagers! is it child’s play you want?” cries 
Diarmuidh, mighty bould; “ why, I thought 
it was a man I had to dale wid!” 
So he frightened the Englisher out of 
swimming against him at all at all, and 
more by token he blustered him out of his 
guinea into the bargain, saying, “ If you are 
afoard to try, after shaking hands upon it, 
why your bet is lost all the same, honest 
man.” Ah, them, O’Shaughnessys had 
ever and always the cuteness, along wid a 
good twist of roguery; and Miss Judy is 
her father’s own daughter. 
A Good Joke. —The Expositor (Adrian, 
Mich.,) is accountable for the following: 
“A tall, keen-eyed countryman stepped 
into the court room at Detroit, during the 
progress of the Railroal Trial. Stepping up 
to a spectator, he requested that the pris¬ 
oners might be pointed out to him. The 
man he accosted, being something of a wag, 
pointed to the jury. The fellow scanned 
the twelve with his interesting eye; when 
satisfied with his scrutiny, he turned to his 
informer, and whispered: 
“ ‘Well, they are a hard-looking set, ain’t 
they ? I know by their looks they ought 
to go to State Prison every one of themV" 
Mrs. Partington, on reading an account 
of a schooner having her jib-boom carried 
away in Long Island Sound, one night last 
week, wondered “ why people would leave 
sech things out o’ doors, nights, to be stolen 
when there was so many buglers about fil¬ 
tering every thing they could lay their 
hands to.” 
The “ spirit of the age” is beginnig to 
develope itself in Indiana, where one of the 
boys unburthened himself of the following: 
The Hoosier boys so fast do grow. 
That stages now are all too slow; 
The teams are good, and shine like stars. 
But they're much too slow for the railroad cars. 
Then get out of the road with your snail-like stages— 
They’re only fit for darker ages. 
Editors, however much they may be 
biased, are fond of the word impartial. A 
Connecticut editor once gave an 44 impartial 
account of a hail storm.” 
“ Attempt the 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 30 letters. 
My 1. 7, 23, 14 is the name of one of the months. 
My 9, 18, 8, 16 is what commands a great price. 
My 3, 28 is a word of negation. 
My 2, 29, 6 is a conjunction. 
My 20, 26, 17 is a part of the human body. 
My 19, 24, 22, 9 is a part of a boat. 
My 13, 18, 25, 19 is a vehicle of conveyance. 
My 30, 28, 7 is either singular or plural. 
My 21, 28, 15, 28, 23 was a wise man of Greece. 
My 12, 10, 17, 2, 13 is the name of a female. 
My 27, 26, 29, 8, 28, 8 is a dangerous weapon. 
My 17, 28, 5, 4 is the queen of flowers. 
My 11,9, 18, 2, 22 is a carpenter’s tool. 
My whole is the authoress’ name and place of 
residence. Evelyn. 
[O 3 Answer next week. 
For the Rural New-Yorker. 
ALGEBRAICAL PROBLEM. 
A gentleman has a circular bowling-green, con¬ 
taining 5,149 and 7-10 square yards; which lying 
low, is is incommoded by water in the winter, and 
he finds it necessary to raise it two yards higher, 
by tho earth to be digged from a ditch around it, 
whose breadth at bottom shall be 4 yards, and the 
inner side or circumference of which is perpendic¬ 
ular, but the outer one to slope at an angle of 22 
deg. 30 min. The depth to make the ditch, and the 
expense of building a wall one yard thick around 
the inner side of the same, from the bottom to the 
raised surface of the bowling-green, at 20 cents the 
solid yard is required. Asher B Evans. 
West Somerset, N. Y., 1851. 
O 3 Answer next week. 
For the Rural New-Yorker. 
ARITHMETICAL PUZZLE. 
In what way can a problem be solved, so that 
the last product will be the same as any given 
number that a person may specifiy? uu-uu. . 
Er’ Answer next week. 
ANSWERS TO ENIGMAS, &c. IN NO. 97. 
Answer to Geographical Enigma.— Wesleyan 
University, Lima, N. Y. 
» 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 farm, in the family, or 
even in the school room, it will hold a position as a jour¬ 
nal of a high order. Jt 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 both useful and entertaining. 
—Cayuga Chief. 
Independent of its being the very best agricultural paper 
that has ever come under our no'icc, its literary merits are 
unsurpassed. No farmer can take into his house a paper 
that will be of more benefit to himself, or a more delightful 
drawing room companion for his wife and daughters. It 
is certainly the cheapest, as well as the best and most use¬ 
ful paper of flic kind we have ever seen. Each No. con¬ 
tains forty columns of original or well selected Agricultu¬ 
ral, Horticultural, Scientific. Mechanical, Literary and 
news matter. It has a large list of well known an i cele¬ 
brated contributors and correspondents. To such of our 
readers as wish to have a paper of this kind, we can truly 
and conscientiously commend it.—Somerset (Pa.) Whig. 
Take it all in all, we think the Rural decidedly one of 
the best newspapers published in the country. It has va¬ 
riety and talent, wit, humor and storv, and is always a 
welcome visitor to the 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 flic 
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. 
It is one of the papers, and no mistake! Jt is of mam¬ 
moth size, quarto, and got up a little ahead of any other 
weekly in the country.—[Mich. Expositor. 
Moore’s Rural New-Yorker is a beautifully embel- 
li died and richly filled Agricultural, Horticultural, and Pic 
torial weekly journal. It enjoys a wide circulation.— 
[Rocli. 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 Telotaller. 
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 be 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 Paper in the United States.—Mich. Tel. 
MOORE'S RURAL NEW-YORKER, 
PUBLISHED EVERY THURSDAY, AT ROCHESTER, BY 
D. D, T. MOOES, Proprietor. 
Publication Office in Burns’Block, [No. 1,2d floor,] 
corner of State and Buffitlo sts. 
The New-Yorker contains more Agricultural, Horti¬ 
cultural, Scientific,Mechanical, Fducational, 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 
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