MOORE’S EURAL NEW-YOB KER: AN AGRICULTURAL AND FAMILY JOURNAL. 
yourself; and I will enable you to do it, at 
least for the present.” 
He drew a lous d’or from his purse and 
placed it in the old man’s hand. Words 
cannot describe the burst of gratitude with 
which it was received. 
“ You have saved my life!” cried he.— 
“ Mine, did I say ? Ah, a life a thousand 
times dearer than mine. My child, my. 
For the Rural New-Yorker. pmvcu u m uiu urn mail b nan 
“LITTLE BEBTIE” cannot describe the burst of gra 
which it was received. 
“ Death found strange beauty on that cherub brow, “ You have Saved my life!” ( 
“ Mine, did I say ? Ah, a life 
A little child, that in our home, made sunshine day by .. , . , r 
. times dearer than mine. My 
Whon autumn flowers were blooming went to his home poor Julia, will HOW have food. 
lie attempted to move, but 1 
On 3 sunny morn his infant voice was singing like abird, ^ wou]d p fa ] len had not 1 
Another hushed the music which we ever gladly beard. , . . l i l l 
We saw them bend with tearful eyes around his little bed, ported Jiim, nor would lie leave 
We saw them fold his dimpled hands, we heard them call had conducted him to Ills dwcl 
him dead: was at no jrreat distance : and 
awn y- lie attempted to move, but he tottered, 
01.3 sunny morn his infant voice was singing like abird, an( j wou]d haye fa ] len ] lad not Villars Sup- 
Another hushed the music which we ever gladly beard. . . . . . . . . . / 
We saw them bend with tearful eyes around his little bed, ported him, not would lie leave him till tie 
We saw them fold his dimpled hands, wc heard them call had conducted him to his dwelling, which 
him dead: was at no great distance ; and as he went 
Then they bore him from our sight to a still and darkened he look the precaut i 011 t 0 provide a bottle 
Whore no glancing ray of sunlight might steal athwart ^ aG and cl few biscuits. 
the gloom; Never did. succor come at a more season- 
As if ihe soft light might unseni ins blue eye from its close; ab ] e moment. The daughter of the old man 
Or the sounds of life awaken the sleeper from repose. , , , , • . ° i c • 
Then first I seemed to wake-to know beside his shrouded redu , ccd at , once h Y Slckne ^ and famine, was 
f 0nili nearly exhausted; m a few hours relief 
That nevermore the touch of life, his pulseless heart might would have been too late. VillarS left his 
wnr,n - purse, and taking the direction of the old 
That the voice we loved, might answer the mother’s call man , hastene(1 to send a physician to his 
no more, ' . i i r J 
As the tiny feet in music, came pattering through the door; SUltei ing daughter. 
Or the hair upon his forehead, so still and sadly bright, Villars had that night a sound and tran- 
J nattnevo.ee we .oveu, mignt answer me momer s can man hastened to Send a physician to his 
As the tiny feet in music, came pattering through the door; SUIlei ing daughter. 
Or the hair upon iiis forehead, so still and sadly bright, Villars had that night a sound and tran- 
iieneath tiie glowing summer sky, give back the golden quil sleep, the first he had enjoyed in a long 
„ , _ iii ., , lime. The next day he visited the old man, 
Iiut oh! such tliouglits were agony—I could have wished . , . , J , , . , , 
t0 dle whom he found greatly restored; and he 
Might l hut bring the light again, to kin lie his dim eye. heard with extreme pleasure that the phy- 
„ , _ iii ., , lime. The next day he visited the old man, 
Rut oh! such tliouglits were agony—I could have wished . , . , J , , . , , 
t0 dle whom he found greatly restored; and he 
Might i hut bring the light again, to kin lie his dim eye. heard with extreme pleasure that the phy- 
Too well I knew it might not he—that he wa* surely gone; sician had declared that quiet and good 
Too earthly love hath ne’er recalled one from that “un- nourishment were all that were wanting to 
known bourne.” , , ,, , D T 
Then I thought of him an angel, and tried to kneel, and ^“P 1 ® 4 ® the young woman S recovery. In 
pray, spite of the wretchedness of his appearance, 
For the peace that’s like a river—yet passeth not away. the manners and language of the old man 
Too earthly love hath ne’er recalled one from that “un- nourishment were all that were wanting to 
known bourne.” , , ,, , D T 
Then I thought of him an angel, and tried to kneel, and ^“P 1 ® 4 ® the young woman srCCOVCry. In 
p ra y t spite of the wretchedness of his appearance, 
For the peace that’s like a river—yet passeth not away. the manners and language of the old man 
And now they’ve gently laid him in his green and quiet wer(i tllOSO of a gentleman. His gratitude 
bed; had in it nothing servile; it seemed the 
Where the golden-tinted shadows, rest o’er his weary frank emotion of a generous mind ; and, be- 
. J , hR!,d * ,, . fore Villars quitted him, he determined to 
And beauty round it hngereth—but leaf, nor wind, nor , . ,, r . , r 
wnve secure Ins old age from the attack of pen- 
Nor voiceless summer biossoms ever whisper of the grave, iwy. Hut, on returning home, he found a 
Rut our daily paths are lonely—there’s a shadow o’er them letter, which, for the moment, fit least, drove 
tf,rovv "’ everything from his mind; his mother, whom 
Since ou.r^‘ littie Bertie” comoth no more to bless our hg tender]y Joyed, was taken suddenly and 
Rut the thought is ever-rising like incense in n.y heart dangerously ill, so dangerously that it was 
thrown; everything from his mind; his mother, whom 
ncc home! * iUle n * rtiU ” C0ra0th *° ,n0rc ‘° bfesH 0Ur he tenderly loved, was taken suddenly and 
Ut the thought is ever-rising like incense in n.y heart dangerously ill, so dangerously that it was 
Not lost, hut gone before,” and soon from earth must requisite for him to set out immediately, if 
we depart, he hoped to find her alive. 
He waiteth now our coming in the far-off world of light TT , , . • , , • , ,, 
Where the ties that here are broken—shall forevcrre-unlte. e os ^ R°t an instant in obeying the 
Camiiius, Nov. 8,1851. . c.'S. Brooks. summons; but just as he was on the point 
!3-3— 1 * of departing, he recollected the poor old 
7T\ iSTl , t i man. He wrote a hasty line for not seeing 
vL-uC ZtntKl) him a g a j n >g avG him hisaddress in England, 
' ' and desired to hear how he went on. He 
- enclosed a bank note of a thousand francs, 
THE GENEROUS STRANGER. and sent the letter by his valet, with direc- 
- tions to deliver it to the old man himself. 
George Villars, r young Englishman, The crisis of his mother’s disorder was 
of good birth, and large fortune, inherited over when he arrived; she was pronounced 
from nature all the qualities which, properly out of danger. He stayed till he saw her 
cultivated, can render a man esteemed.— perfectly recovered, and then, unable tpre- 
Life opened upon him in dazzling colors; main in a place which brought to his mind 
rich, amiable and handsome, he was univer- the most painful recollections, he returned 
1 sally courted. Wherever he went the hand to France. 
of friendship was extended to him, and the Although surprised, and in some degree 
smile of welcome hailed his approach.— offended at not hearing from his old ac- 
Warm-hearted and confiding, he entrusted quaintance, Villars still' felt an interest in 
entirely to appearances, and soon became his fate. He went to inquire after him, and 
the dupe of an unfaithful mistress and false was told that he had quitted his lodging 
friend. Pride sustained him outwardly un- suddenly, and no one knew whither he was 
derthe blow, but it prayed upon his spirits; gone, his daughter accompanied him, bolli 
he became disgusted with life and lost all were in perfect health, 
confidence in his fellow creatures. Had he .. He is likc the rest> .. said villars to him- 
consulted his inclinations alone, lie Would sclf ,. n0 6incOT il y , no gratitude. What a 
have buried himself in solitude ; hut his fool wa8 [ t „ cxpcet i t P> and for a few days 
pride forbade a step which would have pro- he was raore ^ than usuaI . Some 
claimed h,s wretchedness He must live m months had e i a 5 8ed> £, d he had neariy fo r . 
the public eye; he must show his contempt, Uo „ the adven t U re, when one day in 
his indifference for her whose remembrance ° r08B j n „ , he galleries of the Tuilleries lie 
was still agony. He went to Pans, was .. P., Iv ,i“„ „ hsndkorc.hief_he .ton- 
i } consulted his inclinations alone, he w'ould 
; l have buried himself in solitude; but his 
i \ pride forbade a step which would have pro- 
seen constantly in the best society, and in 
crossing the galleries of the Tuilleries he 
saw a lady drop a handkerchief—he stop¬ 
ped to present it to her, and as he did so, a 
all fashionable public places and while eve- {j ttle j* which was runnin r on before her 
ry day deepened his disgust for life, he was turae d back, and springing up to Villars 
envied and admired, as the favorite of na- b to carcss him with great fondness. 
envied and admired, as the favorite of na¬ 
ture. 
One night as he was returning home 
earlier than usual, and on foot, in passing 
the Pont Louis XVI., he perceived a man 
seated on the parapet holding a dog upon 
his knees, which he seemed to be fondling, 
“ Come away, Azor,” cried the lady. 
“Azor” repeated Villars, “ can it be ?” 
He looked up as he spoke, and met the 
eyes of a beautiful girl fixed upon him with 
a look in which joy, timidity and surprise, 
for he was stooping over it. Just as Villars were blended. She advanced eagerly, as 
came up, he suddenly rose and threw the lf to 8 P e f’.^ ut sto PP ea short suddenl y and 
animal into the river; but he had scarcely rem!dn( ' d sd( ‘ nt - 
dune so, when he staggered and fell. Vil- 1 , c,m " 0 , 1 bo Villars, 
lars hastened to the spot, and found him in “ lhls 'J°S bel “”S 8 t0 “ I )ere<>n whom 1 llHVC 
a swoon. He tried for some moments inef- once T , nown .‘ T . . . 
factually to restore him to his senses; at last f knl!w ,t - 1 , was 6urn of “ ! ™ 
he had the satisfaction to to see life slowly ; !l1 th<i f ou are m y felher s 
return, and at the same instant a dog drip- ! >ene f acior ■ . . , , . 
ping with water, run to the sufferer, am! be- “ Jull “t “X dea 5 ! s, “ d , l,lc otl,cr lad y ln 
gaii to carcss him. It waa indeed the faith- a ‘ omi °! bu . her aaoa ? t8 wl : re 
ful creature whom he had attempted to ahkc unl ’ eeded J “ lla and Vdlars, who 
destroy ; but the stone, which he had lied "T ea ° h ,!°° ^ , CX P UriaUoa not 
round iiis neck with an unsteady hand, was t0 bc r lckl >’ 6al,sficd thal conjectures 
so badly fastened, that the dog shook it off w ' :r ej l ' st - .. 
. . • ° U I » hAtrt honmr xn thia moko rvxir fnfh 
without difficulty.’ r °’ .how happy will this make my fath- 
, ... . , , , er!” cried the delighted Julia; “how often 
it would haye been a harder heart than ha8ho lamentcd t ,° at hc could nol disoover 
that of Villars to see the caresses which the one to w|l0m he owcd s0 
affectionate creature lavished upon Iiis mas¬ 
ter, as he strove by plaintive means, to call 
“How! has he not received my letter!” 
“Never,sir—from the moment you quit- 
him back to life At last he opened his fced ug we have never heard of you; but 
eyes, and lined them wildly upon the dog. not t0 sce m father We live 
r pf ! m y,r or f mr , cr ' cd ba ’ b,,r8t '"6 so nLr, so very near!” 
into tears, “have I not destroyed thee?” vi|lars wan £ d „ 0 Kcoad invitation; he 
“ He has escaped a death which you do accompanied his fair guide to her habita- 
not appear to have inflicted willingly.” hon—but what a different habitation from 
“Willingly! ah, no, no! But I have no that in which he had before found her. 
means, none, none on‘earth! I could not In an elegant apartment of one of the 
see him die of hunger, and I have offered handsomest hotels in the Rue Rivoli, Vil- 
him in vain to different persons. Will you j ars wa s received by the object of his bounty 
take him, sir? Do, I beseech you, do!” w jth the most lively joy, and the most 
Touched at once by the wretched ap- touching gratitude. Far from having for- 
pearance of the poor sufferer, and the des- gotten his benefactor, Delmont had made 
pair of his tone, Villars said, in a soothing every effort to discover him, though he had 
voice, “ I would not refuse your dog, did 1 never received the least proof of his regard, 
not think you would like better to keep him for the valet had kept back the letter for 
the sake of appropriating to himself the 
bank note it contained. 
They passed the day together, and in 
the course of it Villars learned from Del¬ 
mont the vicissitudes of his life. We shall 
give them in his own words: 
“ A few years ago I was one of the rich¬ 
est merchants of Lyons, and one of the 
happiestYnen in France—perhaps I ought 
to say in the world. Everything prosper¬ 
ed with me, I enjoyed excellent health, 
and, as I thought, many sincere friends, 
and a beautiful and affectionate child, who 
was at once the pride and joy of my life. 
Next to that dear daughter was a friend in 
whom I placed implicit confidence; I had 
known him more than thirty years; I had 
often served him, and I always found him 
punctual in his engagements. One day he 
came to ask me for a sum of money much 
larger than any I had before lent him. I 
complied and he went away, promising to 
return to supper. 
We waited for him for some time; at 
last we sat down to table, and as we did 
so one of our neighbors entered with hor¬ 
ror in his countenance. 
“ Ah Heaven!” cried he, abruptly, “ poor 
Mercer liafc just shot himself!” 
Never shall I forget my feelings in that 
terrible moment. The fatal news was in¬ 
deed true. The unfortunate man had been 
for a long.time addicted to gamling. See¬ 
ing himself on the brink of ruin he deter¬ 
mined to make a desperate effort to retrieve 
his affairs; he failed, and wanting the cour¬ 
age to face ignominy in this world, he rushed 
into the presence of an offended Deity. 
This was the beginning of my misfor¬ 
tunes; grief and horror overwhelmed me; 
I sunk under the weight of my feelings, 
and a violent fever reduced me to the brink 
of the grave. While I was suffering under 
it losses came thick upon me, and with the 
return of my health, I found myself a beg¬ 
gar, nay worse, for I owed a large sum of 
money which 1 could not pay. My Julia 
inherited her mother’s fortune, it was set¬ 
tled upon her out of my power to touch; 
but no sooner did she learn the state of my 
affairs, than, unknown to me, she surren¬ 
dered every shilling to my creditors.” 
“ Noble girl!” cried Villars. 
“ Noble, indeed; but how was her con¬ 
duct appreciated where most it ought to 
have been felt? She had a lover: they 
were brought up together, and 1 believed 
him truly attached to her. I knew that 
her affection for him was only that of a 
sister; but she acceded to my wishes, and 
consented to give him her hand; the day 
was fixed—when my illness delayed the 
marriage; but neither Julia nor myself ever 
doubted his truth. No sooner did lie learn 
that she had given up her inheritance, than 
he wrote her an eternal farewjell.” 
“ The scoundrel!” 
“ So 1 called him. Julia uttered no re¬ 
proach; her cheek was pale: but her voice 
did not falter—when throwing herself into 
my arms she exclaimed, * Father, from this 
moment we have nothing in the world but 
each other.’ We quitted Lyons. I sought 
employment in Paris; I found it; my salary 
was scanty; but Julia’s industry at the 
needle added a little to it; and if we were 
not happy we were at least content. 
“ But fortune had not done persecuting 
me; the loss of my place, and the illness of 
my daughter, reduced us to the state in 
which you found us. Your beneficence 
relieved us from certain death. All, nev¬ 
er from that hour, have we addressed a 
prayer to Heaven, in which you were not 
remembered! 
“ A few days after Providence had sent 
you to our assistance, we received intelli¬ 
gence of a most unhoped for reverse of 
fortune. The lover who had so cruelly 
deserted my child was dead; and repent¬ 
ing of his conduct had left her the whole 
of his immense property. He had no near 
relative—thus nothing hindered us from 
profiting by his will; but we lost no time 
in returning again to Paris, where only we 
could hope to discover you. Till to-day 
our researches have been unavailing.— 
Thank Heaven we have at last found you; 
it was the only thing wanting to our felicity.” 
Villars replied only by grasping with fer¬ 
vor the band that Delmont extended to 
him, and from that day they were insepa¬ 
rable. 
Treated by Julia with the easy freedom 
of a sister, Villars believed, during some 
lime, that he regarded her with an affec¬ 
tion merely fraternal. Happy in her so¬ 
ciety, he never thought of asking himself 
whether he could be happy without it;but 
the moment came, in which he was obliged 
to put the question to his heart. 
One morning when he went as usual to 
Delmont’s he found him alone and more 
thoughtful than common. 
“ Have you not something on your mind, 
my dear sir, which renders my company 
just now importunate to you? If so, tell 
me at once to be gone.” 
“ On the contrary, I shall tell you to 
stay, for I want to consult you about a 
proposal I have just received for Julia.’ 
“A proposal for Julia!” 
“ Yes,-j-what is there in that to surprise 
you ?” , 
“ Nothing, nothing,” stammered Villars; 
“ only I thought—that is I did not think 
_ ff 
He stopped: Delmont looked at him in¬ 
quiringly, and finding that lie did not pro¬ 
ceed, he finished the sentence in his own 
way. 
“ You did not think, I presume that my 
child ever meant to marry. Well, what, 
her determination may be I can’t tell you; 
but at any rate, the Count St. Maux is 
very anxious to learn it. You know more 
of him than I do; tell me what you think 
of him. 
Villars hesitated; he knew nothing but 
good of the Count, and yet he could not 
bring himself to say so. At last lie uttered 
with effort: 
“ I believe him to be a worthy man, but 
who is there that can deserve Julia?’ 
“ You are partial, Villars; my daughter 
is a good girl, but there arc many who de¬ 
serve her.” 
“ I don’t know one ?” cried Villars warm- 
“I do; there is a man whom I would 
select for her from all others—but I do 
not know that she would be his choice, 
and I own it would hurt me that my child 
should be refused.” 
“Refused! Julia refused! impossible!” 
There was no need of more; the look 
and the tone was sufficient. 
“ She is yours,” cried Delmont! “ why 
did you not ask for her at once?” 
But what said Julia! Her tongue said 
nothing, but her eyes and her blushes 
spoke sufficiently. Villars received her 
hand, and declared himself the happiest of 
men. It is what all newly married men 
say; but the husband who repeats it as our 
hero does, at the end of ten years, has a 
right to be believed. 
SONNET. 
BY TIIE BACHELORS. 
The girls arc lovely, fair in form and features, 
Ry all men voted most angelic creatures; 
They all make conquests by some witching grace— 
A splendid fignre, or a beauteous face: 
Ry ruby lips or eyes that mock the sun, 
There’s ne’er a wight but soon or late is won. 
And should perchance a nymph appear less neat 
Than others round her—then her temper's Bweot, 
Or she is gifted by n taste refined, 
A skill in music, or a well stored mind. 
They’re lovely all—creation’s boast and glory, 
The soul of song, and theme of every story! 
If this he true of maidens—for our lives 
We can’t conceive— whence come the scoldino wives. 
INFORMATION WANTED. 
A school teacher down South, in a com¬ 
munication to the Mt. Sterling Democrat, 
on the subject of “Public Skules,” winds 
up as follows: 
“ let me klose this ere Artikel By axin 
sum kwestshuns in the Sack Rack Tick 
stile. 1st had a child ort to go tew Skule 
when it kant keep its noes kleen? 2nd 
which is the best a lowd skule ur a still 
wun. 3rd how long will it take an apt 
teetcher tew larn a Skoller to Bilker kum- 
mensin at the rudyment uv A ? 4th Ort 
a teetcher ever hike a short nap in time uv 
Skule. 5th Ort a teetcher olwaze tew du 
as the Directors sa? Gth and lastly whats 
a good remmedy fur the Each & ef so had- 
dent teetchers ort olwaze tew kepe it about 
cm ? ide like tew heYe from the fackulty 
on these pints, i no therres mutch in the 
kind uv booxs we use yet the fundymentle 
principul uv teechin lize in pursuin a kur- 
rect sistum.” 
A Ducking. —A New-York Editor on 
reading that the Academy of Medicine 
was established at the suggestion of Dr. 
Drake, came out with the following im¬ 
promptu : 
“ How strangely apropos the turn 
That things will sometimes take? 
Heboid our biggest herd of quacks 
is marshal’d by a drake 1” 
Raising the Rent.—“ How do you con¬ 
trive to raise your rent?” said a lazy tavern- 
lounger to an industrious, thriving farmer. 
“ Why sir,” said the latter, “ I put the 
plow into the ground, and after it is well 
broken up I drop seed, and raise jlbtatoes, 
wheat, corn, cabbages, parsnips, and— the 
rent!" 
“Molly,” said a lady to her servant, “I 
think you’ll never set the river on fire.”— 
“ lndade, mar’m,” innocently replied Molly, 
“ I’d never be after doing anything so wick¬ 
ed—I’d be burning up all the little fishes.” 
A traveler, writing home from the 
coast of Africa, says:—“ The people die 
very fast, and the sheep have very long 
tails.” Sufficiently concise for any class of 
readers. 
What is the difference between the trunk 
of a tree and the trunk of an elephant?— 
One leaves in the spring, and the other 
leaves whenever the menagerie does. 
“ Wiiat branch of education do you have 
chiefly, in your school ?” “A willow branch, 
sir: the master has used almost a whole 
willow tree.” 
“ Attempt the end, and never stand to doubt; 
Nothing’s so hard, hut search will find it out.” 
For the Rural New-Yorker. 
MISCELLANEOUS ENIG&A. 
I am composed of 28 letters. 
My G, 11, ], 21 is a Take in Africa. 
My 21, 24 , 7 , 21, 3, 13 was an English poet. 
My 4 , 3, 14, 3, 17 was the first king of Egypt. 
My 10, 9, 20, 2G, 3, 17 is a river in Hindoston. 
My 21, 22, 20, 11, 12, 14 was king of Scotland. 
My 8, 7, 24 15, 20 was an English poet, 
My 11, 10, 13, 28, 1, 8, 24, 25, 0, 14 is a range of 
mountains in Spain. 
My 3, 22, 23, 27, 24, 10, 16, 3, 17 is a river in 
Turkey. 
My 11, 7, 5, 24, 22, 17 is an islurid in the Mediter¬ 
ranean sea. 
My 4, 22. 24, 0, 18 was one of Napoleon’s mar¬ 
shals. 
My 4, 24, 15, Jl0, 3, 22,17 was king of Egypt. 
My 11, 27, 3, 2, 0, 20, 10, 15 is a county in this 
State 
My whole is a mnxim of Dr. Franklin. 
Elbridge, N. Y., Nov. G, 1851. Will B. 
OIF Answer next week. 
For the Rural New-Yorker. ( 
GEOGRAPHICAL ENIGMA. 
I am composed of 17 letters. ) 
My 4, 2, 13, 3 is a county in Tennessee. ) 
My 11, 4, 13, 6, 17, 0 is n county in Missouri. 
My 1^3, 17, 15, 1G, 17 is a village in New York. ) 
My 4, G, 17, 14, 7, 9, 12, 3, 13 is a county in N. Y. S 
My 5, 13, 6 is a county in Georgia. ) 
My 8, 0, 17, G, 1, 3 is a county in New York. £ 
My 1G, 4, 3, 17, 10, G is n county in Vermont. 
My whole is the name of one of the Faculty of / 
Ealley Seminary. k. l. S 
Elbridge, N. Y., Nov., 9, 1851. 
QU^Answer next week. 
ANSWERS TO ENIGMAS, &c. IN NO. 98. 
Answer to Miscellaneous Enigma.— Jane S. ' 
Dunlap, Sheldrake, Soneca Co., N. Y. ( 
Answer to Algebrmcal Problem.—The depth of ) 
the ditch is G yards, and the expense of building s 
the wall, $346,85.‘ 
Answer to Arithmetical Puzzle.—By multiplying > 
the given number by three, and if the amount bo c 
odd, add one to it; then divide that product by ) 
two; then multiply this product by throe again, ( 
and if its product be odd again, a.Id one ns before / 
nnd divido by two; divide this last product by j 
nine, nnd by getting tho number of nines only ) 
and multiplying by four, and adding one for ) 
tho first odd number, and two for tho second s 
odd number above, your product will bo same- \ 
ns tho given number. If tho numbers are neither , 
of them odd, then nothing nood bo added to tho < 
number of nines. s 
VOICE OF- THE PRESS. j 
Rural Nf.w-Yorkf.r. —Among our exchanges, there is t 
none more welcome than the Rural New-Yorker. Tho <j 
variety bad freshness of its columns, constantly remind 
one of the green hills, luxuriant meadows and flowery < 
gardens to which they are mainly devoted. One of its : 
leading features, and one we deem important in all agri- S 
cultural publications, is an attractive simplicity of style,, \ 
an entire absence of scientific aflectation on tiie part of its ^ 
correspondents. The selected matter shows a sound judg- ) 
meat and keen discrimination on the part of the enterpris- ‘) 
ing publisher, that cannot fail to command the respect of ) 
his contemporaries. Sluggish, indeed, must lie tiie mind ) 
that rises from tiie perusal of its pages, without new ideas ) 
and a consciousness of improvement. If our farmers arc / 
desirous of procuring a sheet devoted to agriculture and t 
its kindred subjects, we know of no journal we could ( 
more cordially recommend to their attention.—Chenango ( 
News. 1 
Moork’s Rural Nkw-Yorkkr.— It is with pleasure that ) 
we call tiie attention of those who wish a most excellent t 
paper, to this publication. On tiie farm, in tiie family, or / 
even in the school room, it will hold a position ns a jour- ? 
nal of a high order, it is chiefly directed to the ngricultu- ( 
nil interest, but is an admirable general and family news- ( 
paper. It is conducted with enterprise and ability—ever ( 
filled witli the best of matter both useful and entertaining. ( 
—Cayuga Chief. \ 
Independent of its being the very best agricultural paper ) 
ttiat lias ever come under our notice, its literary merits are ) 
unsurpassed. No farmer can take into Iiis house a paper ) 
that will he of more benefit to himself, or a more delightful ) 
drawing room companion for iiis wife and daugiiters. It ) 
is certainly the cheapest, ns well ns the best and most use- ? 
ful paper of tiie 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 lias a large list of well known an ! cede- ( 
hrated 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 (I’a.) Whig. S 
Take it all in all, we think the Rural decidedly one of ) 
the best newspapers published in the country. Jthasva- ) 
ricty and talent, wit, humor and story, and is always a ? 
welcome visitor to the fire-side or the study. Wc think ? 
every body ought to take the Rural. It will pay with ( 
compound interest.—[Penn Yan Democrat. ( 
Decidedly the best agricultural paper witli which wo are ) 
acquainted is Moore’s Rural New-Yorker. It is worth S 
more than ® 10 invested in the ciikap newspapers of the ) 
cities. It is a complete Farmer’s Library, nnd possesses ; 
sufficient interest to make it valuable for reference hereaf- ) 
ter.—Cattaraugus Hachcm. } 
Moork’h Rural Nkw-Yorkkr is the best Agricultural < 
and Family Paper in the United States.—Mich. 'Pei. , 
MOORE’S RURAL NEW-YORKER, 
PUBLISHED EVERY THURSDAY, AT ROCHESTER, BY 
D. D. T. MOORE, Proprietor. 
Publication Office in Burns’ Block, [No. 1, 2d floor,] 
corner of State nnd Buflulo sts. 
This New-Yorkek contains more Agricultural, Horti¬ 
cultural, Scientific, Mechanical, Educational, Literary and 
News matter, than any other Agricultural or Family Jour¬ 
nal published in tiie United States. Those who wish n 
good paper, devoted to useful and instructive subjects, are 
invited to give this one a careful examination—and to hear 
in mind Hint the postage on a first class periodical is no 
more than on the smallest sheet, or most trashy reprint. 
Terms, in Advance: 
Two Dollars a Year — #1 for six months. To Clubs 
nnd AgentB ns follows Three Copies, one year, for 
Hix Copies (and one to Agentor getter up of club,) ior 810; 
Ten Copies (nnd one to Agent,) for #15; Twenty Copies 
for #!i5, and any additional nu»her, directed to individuals 
at the same rate. Six months subscriptions in proportion. 
All moneys received by mail will be acknowledged in 
the paper, and receipts sent whenever desired. 
Post-Masters, Clergymen, Teachers, Officers nnd Mem¬ 
bers of Agricultural Societies, and other influential persons 
of all professions — friends of Mental and Moral as weft rb 
of Agricultural Improvement—are respectfully solicited to 
obtain and forward subscriptions to theNsw-Y orkicr. 
(TjF Subscription money, properly enclosed, may be 
sent by mail at our risk. 
TERMS OF ADVERTISING : 
A limited number of appropriate advertisements will he 
inserted in the New-Yorker, at the rate of #1 per square 
(twelve lines or less,) for the first insertion, nnd 90 cents for 
each subsequent publication.—'To he paid for in advance. 
fy Notices relntive to Meetings, &c.,of Agricultural 
Horticultural, Mechanical and Educational Association* 
published gratuitously. 
