MOORE’S RURAL NEW-YOR KER: AN AGRICULTURAL AND FAMILY JOURNAL. 
WASHINGTON. 
Cheat were the hearts, and strong the minds 
Of those who framed, in high debate, 
The immortal league of love that binds 
Our fair broad Empire, State with State. 
And deep the gladness of the hour, 
When, as the auspicious task was done, 
In solemn trust, the sword of power, 
Was given to glory’s unspoil’d son. 
That noble race is gone: the suns 
Of fifty years have risen and set; 
But the bright links those chosen ones 
So strongly forged, are brighter yet. 
Wide—as our own free race increase- 
wide shall extend the elastic chain, 
And bind, in everlasting pence, 
State after State, a mighty (train. Bin 
\)t Sluklj 
THE TIMELY WARNING. 
A LESSON FOR YOUNG LADIES. 
BY MRS. M. A. DENISON. 
The village clock had struck nine, and 
aunt Nell)’, a dear, middle aged maiden 
lady, who was almost the idol of the circle 
in which she moved, carefully raked up the 
coals upon her glowing hearth, placed the 
silver watch in the little china case on the 
mantel, and taking from the small book 
case in the corner the family bible that had 
been in use for five generations, sat herself 
down in the old arm chair to meditate and 
read, as was her nightly custom. 
The wind moaned without, the heavy 
plashing of the rain fell dismally against 
the windows, the grocer’s huge sign, oppo¬ 
site, shrieked and whistled as the blast 
shook it upon its hinges; but tranquil and 
undisturbed sat the good Christian, her 
meek brow growing brighter as the words 
of inspiration soothed her spirit. Return¬ 
ing the time-worn volume, after she had 
read her chapter, she moved with a light, 
quick step towards an adjoining apartment, 
her neat and tasteful bed-room. Gather¬ 
ing back her yet dark tresses, with the se¬ 
renity of a holy faith she knelt down to pray. 
Remembering the wildness of the storm, at 
the close of her petition, she murmured, 
“ Father, pity the friendless and forsaken,” 
when she was startled by loud and repeat¬ 
ed raps at the door, and a shrill voice cried 
above the raging of the element—“ aunt 
Nelly, let me in, oh! let me in.” 
Wondering and fearful, yet obeying the 
prompting of her benevolent heart, she 
snatched the lamp and throwing a shawl 
about her shoulders, hurried to the door, 
and tured the key with a trembling touch. 
“ Mary, Mary Graham,” she exclaimed, 
as a light figure sprang into the hall, bon¬ 
netless, and with her wild locks streaming- 
in disorder, while her choked sobs would 
not be repressed“ Mary Graham, my poor 
child, why are you here ?” 
“My mother, my father,” she half shriek¬ 
ed, frantically following aunt Nelly into the 
room; “they have cast me out; disowned 
me; ruined me; cursed me;” and she fell 
upon the little sofa, convulsed with the ter¬ 
rible emotion that denied her farther utter¬ 
ance. 
Aunt Nelly, kind creature, stood, a pic¬ 
ture of distress, above her prostrate form; 
but, with a true insight into human nature, 
forebore to say a word until the violence of 
her grief was spent. 
Presently she ceased sobbing, and rais¬ 
ing her head threw her damp and heavy 
locks from her forehead. A flash of anger 
brightened her passionate, dark eyes, and 
she murmured with clenched teeth, “cruel, 
unnatural parents.” 
“ Mary,” said aunt Nelly, “ I know not 
what to think of this strange conduct, but 
your clothes are damp child, you so delicate 
to be exposed thus; stay, I will kindle the 
fire in a moment.” 
“No, no, aunt Nelly,don’t trouble your¬ 
self for me; I care not whether I live or 
: e; yes, my clothes are wet through, but 
that is nothing; my heart is broken; my 
heart is broken, aunt Nelly.” 
“ Poor child,” said the good woman hur¬ 
rying to relight the uncovered embers, 
“tell me your trouble, Mary; I will advise 
you and comfort you the best I can.” 
“I have nothing to tell beyond what 
you know,” said the girl mournfully; “ I 
was to meet Beverly to-morrow, and my 
parents say he shall never enter their door. 
I told them I loved him, and would marry 
him; that I was engaged—as I am. My 
father turned pale with rage, and declared 
he would bury me rather than I should 
wed him; my mother was very firm—and 
denounced him as an unworthy wretch; 
she judges ouly by his face and his manner, 
when I am sure both are perfection. My 
father told me he would no longer consider 
me his daughter if I took this step; do you 
think I would stay another minute after 
that? No; I would have slept in the road 
rather than have rested another night un¬ 
der my father’s roof. My noble, brave 
Beverly! I will show them what love can 
do.” 
“ But, Mary, they would not denounce 
him without cause; you are very young my 
child; you should at least wait until they 
feel better disposed towards him. The doc¬ 
tor, and your mother, are neither of them 
rash, my dear; if this man is worthy of you, 
he will be willing to wait.” 
“No, no; they are striving night and day 
to turn my heart against him; they are de¬ 
termined to unite me with Frank Raymond, 
and him I hate. No,” she added, with 
fierce energy, and springing to her feet, “I 
will marry Beverly if I lose my soul for it.” 
Aunt Nelly shrank back with an ex¬ 
clamation of horror; a dirge-like wail sound¬ 
ed on the air, as the wind lifted its tempest 
voice, an unusual gust shook the creaking 
sign till it groaned again. 
“ You will repent that speech, my dear 
child,” mournfully murmured the good wo¬ 
man, her eyes filling with tears—“ remem¬ 
ber, the holy book says, ‘the eye that 
mocketh at his father, and despiseth to obey 
his mother, the ravens of the valley shall 
pick it out and the young eagles eat it.’ ” 
Affected by her solemn manner, the 
beautiful head of the young girl drooped 
again, and she gave way to another violent 
outburst of grief. Suddenly she exclaim¬ 
ed, starting to her feet, “ A horse’s hoofs; 
they are his, they are Beverly’s; oh! let 
him come in, let him come in, aunt Nelly; 
he said lie should be here to-night,” and 
she almost knelt at her feet. 
The good woman had not time to reply, 
before the steed was reined up before the 
door. Mary Graham hastened herself to 
give the new comer entrance; the wind 
threw a sheet of spray in her face, but she 
cared not for that; she seized the extended 
hand of her lover, and pressing it to her 
lips, led a tall figure into the sitting room. 
He had Hardly entered, the bright rays of 
the little lamp had but lightly pencilled his 
face against the dark background, when 
Mary sprang from him wildly, and aunt 
Nelly exclaimed, “Frank Raymond! how 
pale and fearful you look; Mary, child, do 
not faint, or 1 must send for doctor Graham. 
Sit down Frank; 1 know something unu¬ 
sual has happened.” 
“ You have not injured him,” said Mary 
in a low’, exhausted tone. I know you 
hated him, but you cannot have injured 
Beverly.” 
The young man bent upon her a glance 
of the most mournful eloquence—his lips 
were white and they trembled as he essay¬ 
ed to speak. “ Mary,” he exclaimed, in a 
thrilling, startling tone, “ I would not have 
harmed a hair of his head to save my life 
—the knowledge that you loved him would 
ensure safety, even in mortal combat; but 
Mary, I have bad news to tell you, though 
I would have waited till the morrow —but, 
but I was exhausted—I could go no far¬ 
ther towards home.” 
Spectral-like looked poor Mary, as she 
sat in a distant corner, her cheeks of a 
deathly hue, her eyes shining with excite¬ 
ment, and the heavy waves of black hair 
falling in wet masses on each side of her 
face—she fixed her glance upon him, her 
lips parted, but she could not speak; she 
would have lost all self-command but for 
the dread that her parents would be sum¬ 
moned. Placing her hands hard against the 
arms of the old-fashioned chair in which 
she sat, like an immovable statue, she nerv¬ 
ed herself to listen. 
“ Will you hear what I have to tell you, 
or shall 1 first speak to doctor and Mrs. 
Graham ?” 
“To me, to me,” she articulated, while 
her lips scarcely moved. 
“Well then, Mary, pardon me that I 
must wound your feelings; this Beverly is 
not worthy of you—worthy!” he again ex¬ 
claimed almost fiercely, “he is a villian of 
the deepest, blackest dye!” 
Mary sank back in her chair, but her eye 
flashed fire. 
“ He has a wife—a dying wife,” his voice 
grew husky; “ I saw her, spoke with her; 
I beheld the tears fall drop by drop upon 
that marble cheek as she told me of her 
husband’s desertion; told me—to save you, 
Mary, from disgrace and infamy; for if she 
had not heard of you, no power could have 
wrested the fearful secret of his cruelty 
from her breast. 0! my God! to see a 
woman, a fragile, gentle, angelic being, 
wasting hour by hour—an orphaned, friend¬ 
less woman, dying with the slow torture of 
a breaking heart—Mary,” and his voice 
grew awfully calm—“would you, the fair 
and pure, consent to wed one with such 
guilt upon his soul ? Never wept T, a man, 
such bitter tears, as when I stood beside 
the couch of that sufferer. 0! the lines 
upon her face were not made by toil, by 
care, they were graven by the hand of the 
oppressor; her husband, her murderer, ex¬ 
ults in the thought that the sods will soon 
hide her in the grave.” 
If Mary had before assumed the attitude 
of immobility, this information had struck 
her speechless and powerless. She did not 
move until aunt Nelly said very softly, “ my 
dear Mary, you see now that your parents 
knew best;” then she slowly raised her 
hands to her face, and bowed her head up¬ 
on them. 
The young man sat upon the little sofa, 
watching her intently; his eyes looked 
heavy, and his brow haggard; a short cloak 
which he generally wore was wrapped 
tightly around him, and its ample folds 
pressed against his left side in a somewhat 
strange manner. 
“ I knew that Beverly would return to¬ 
night or to-morrow,” he continued faintly, 
“ so since day before yesterday, I have rid¬ 
den day and night that I might arrive first; 
and I assure you I can prove all I have 
said.” ^ 
While he spoke, Aunt Nelly had been 
looking fixedly on the floor at his feet; now 
she rose, came nearer with a light, and ut¬ 
tered an exclamation of horror. Blood was 
there. “Frank, where are you wounded? 
tell me, child; how ghastly you look. I did 
not see before, how came this blood here ? 
you are certainly suffering.” 
“ It is not much,” he answered in a faint¬ 
er tone and striving to smile, “ lie—inter¬ 
cepted—me; caught the reins, swore I 
should fight him; I urged Nelson—the no¬ 
ble creature sprang from his grasp; I should 
have escaped unhurt, but he fired after me, 
and—and my left arm is—powerless I be¬ 
lieve.” He ended the last word with a 
heavy sigh, and clutched vaguely at the 
air, then exhausted with loss of blood, sway¬ 
ed and fell heavily back upon the sofa. 
To throw on cloak and hood, and fly 
across the street to the grocer’s house, 
where a young student was spending his 
vacation, was with Aunt Nelly but the work 
of a moment. Mary stayed behind, moan¬ 
ing piteously, as she walked the floor, wring¬ 
ing her hands, occasionally pausing to cast 
a fearful glace upon the pallid face of the 
man, who had indeed, proved his true de¬ 
votion. 
“ 1 am not worthy of him, of any one,” 
she murmured; “1 am a passionate, way¬ 
ward, wicked girl, and oh! Father, I am 
rightly punished—yet that one so seeming¬ 
ly perfect should be so depraved, oh! God, 
help me to cast his image from my heart. 
If I had only trusted father and moth¬ 
er, all would have been well; fearful, fear¬ 
ful, lesson—if poor Frank should die.”— 
And then she would sob hysterically, 
wholly unmindful of the student, who had 
entered with Aunt Nelly, and with her 
assistance, had loosened the cloak, and suc¬ 
ceeded in restoring the poor young man to 
consciousness. 
“He should be under the care of a skill¬ 
ful surgeon,” said the student; “this arm 
is badly shattered. His home is too dis¬ 
tant—and,” 
“ Can we get him to father’s,” asked 
Mary in a subdued tone. “ He would know 
what to do.” 
“ I could walk there if it was not for 
this deathly faintness,” said Frank, feebly, 
as he turned a look of deep gratitude up¬ 
on Mary. 
“That would never do; I will just go 
over and harness up; you must ride;” and 
the student after staunching the blood, and 
carefully binding up the arm, hurried back 
home. 
At midnight Mary slept uneasily; tears 
stained her fair cheeks, and her hand was 
locked in that of her mother, who sat be¬ 
side her only, but wilful child, her heart 
beating high with joy, that thus she had 
been snatched from an awful and untimely 
fate. Neither she nor the doctor had 
known of their daughter’s absence, until 
young Frank Raymond was brought to 
their door. True, they had remonstrated 
with her, and her father’s warm temper 
Imd led'him to say some things harshly, but 
they did not dream of her desertion. 
The next morning Dr. Graham wore a 
serious face at the breakfast table; Frank’s 
fever was high, he said, and the wound a 
dangerous one; he glanced at Mary; she 
was in the act of conveying a cup of coffee 
to her lips; she sat it down untasted, the 
color left her face, and rising from the table 
she hastened to her room. Her mother 
started to follow her, but Dr. Graham laid 
his hand upon her arm, saying, “my dear, 
let her go alone; she needs all this disci¬ 
pline—let her settle between her God and 
herself; she has been very headstrong, and 
no doubt but for this timely warning, would 
have eloped with the wretch who won her 
heart, in spite of our warnings.” 
Three weary, weary weeks passed by, 
and Frank Raymond, but a shadow of his 
former self, for the first time in his long- 
sickness, crept down to the parlor: but up¬ 
on whose arm ? and whose eyes looked so 
lovingly in his face? Mary Graham sup¬ 
ported him; she had been a faithful nurse; 
in his delirium she had learned how fervent 
and deathless was his affection; she saw 
with a renewed vision; she remembered 
many things that were grossly inconsistent 
with the supposed purity of her former 
“ adorer” as he styled himself. Often, with 
much sorrow, had she regretted that she 
had deemed herself so much wiser than 
her parents; and now that she is the hap¬ 
py and loving wife of Frank Raymond, she 
looks back with almost mortal terror, on 
her intimacy with a man against whom her 
parents had repeatedly warned her; for he 
who left a dying wife to snatch an only 
child from a happy home, lies convicted of 
the basest crimes, in a prison cell. 
Moral. Parents are generally good 
judges of what will best constitute the hap¬ 
piness of their children; and passion is 
blind.— Olive Branch. 
Prospectus of Volume III, for 1852. 
A WEEKLY NEWSPAPER, IN QUARTO FORM, 
DESIGNED FOR BOTH COUNTRY AND TOWN RESIDENTS. 
“PROGRESS AND IMPROVEMENT.” 
The Rural New-Yorker for 1852, will exhibit sotno “progress anti improvement” in both 
Contents and Appearance. The Proprietor is determined not only to maintain the high reputation 
of tlie paper, but to introduce such improvements as must increase its popularity and useful¬ 
ness — and make it, in fact, what it is so generally pronounced by its Readers and the Press, 
THE BEST RURAL AND FAMILY JOURNAL IN AMERICA! 
To accomplish this object, Time, Labor and Money will he freely and cheerfully expended. 
New Type, and other material, paper, &c., to match, will enable us to “get up” the Third Volume 
in a most attractive and presentable style. In typography, illustrations, &c., we hope to surpass 
our previous efforts, and all similar journals. In this, as in other respects, our motto is “ Excelsior.” 
Each number vvill be neatly printed, arid 
EMBELLISHED WITH BEAUTIFUL AND APPROPRIATE ENGRAVINGS! 
Rut the Contents are most important, and here our greatest care will bo bestowed. Guided 
by past experience,— catering for. and stimulated by the approval of increasing thousands of readers,— 
the Editors 1 will labor more earnestly than ever before to make the New-Yorker a Reliable Guide 
on the important Practical Subjects discussed in its pages — to (ill its miscellaneous departments 
with a choice and interesting variety, and yet keep the entire paper free from anything injurious 
to mind or morals. The paper will also be enriched with practical essays and literary articles 
from a large corps of contributors and correspondents, (not unknown to the reading public.) men and 
women of the right stamp, who are capable of adding'interestand value to the pages oPany publication. 
Indeed, we are resolved to spare no reasonable effort to render eacli number Useful, Pure, Inter¬ 
esting and Attractive — to make the Rural, in truth, 
A MODEL HOME NEWSPAPER, FOR THE MILLION! 
And our readers need not be reminded that we perform all we promise — and generally with interest. 
In order to enhance its value, each of the various Departments of the Rural vvill receive due 
care and attention. After filling up the Practical, Instructive and Miscellaneous Pages — in which 
each reader may find something adapted to his or her taste — we shall briefly post up to the moment 
of going to press, 
THE LATEST FOREIGN AND DOMESTIC INTELLIGENCE, 
Including a synopsis of all important events, Congressional Proceedings, and Reports of the Grain, 
Provision and Cattle Markets, &c. — thus making it the most complete Agricultural, Family, 
Literary and General Newspaper published in this Country. Remember the New-Yorker runs 
counter to the trashy, immoral, so-called, cheap literary and family papers—that it excludes all 
vulgarity, profanity and quackery—and embraces as great a variety of useful and interesting reading 
matter as is usually given in several ordinary papers. Bear in mind also, that it is not a monthly of 
twelve issues yearly, but 
A LARGE AND BEAUTIFUL WEEKLY, OF FIFTY-TWO NUMBERS! 
And gives the proceedings at State and County Fairs, and similar agricultural intelligence, weeks 
and even months (in some instances.) in advance of the monthly journals. 
In conclusion, our best endeavors will, as heretofore, be devoted to the work of furnishing such 
a paper as will prove acceptable to the progressive, moral, right-thinking portion of community. 
And we again invite all who approve its character and objects, to lend their kind offices by introducing 
the Rural to notice and support in their respective localities. Though our main reliance is upon 
the merits of the paper itself, we offer in the annexed Premium List, liberal inducements to all 
disposed to aid in extending its circulation. 
TERMS, IN ADVANCE — TWO DOLLARS A TEAK. 
To Clubs and AgentsThree Copies, one year, for ©5—Six copies for ©10-Ten copies for ©15- 
Twenty Copies for ©25, and any additional number at the same rate. Six month subscriptions in 
proportion. Names of subscribers written on the papers, if desired, however largo the club. 
Subscribe Early ! Remember that our terms are in advance — and that at the expiration of 
the time paid for, the paper is stopped, unless the subscription is renewed. Those who wish to begin 
with the new year and volume, siiould subscribe or renew at once, to secure the first number_and 
if agents will forward early, it will enable us to judge in regard to the edition thatmay bo necessary. 
Subscription money, properly enclosed, may be sent by mail at our risk. 
November, 1851. Address D. D. T. AIOOKE, Rochester, N. Y, 
NEW AND LARGER PREMIUMS-FOR 1852! 
The large and rapidly increasing circulation of the Rural New-Yorker induces the proprietcr 
to make slill greater exertions to furnish the best Agricultural and Family Newspaper in America. 
He is also disposed to amply remunerate all who may have ihe kindness to aid in extending its cir¬ 
culation and usefulness, by bringing the paper to notice and support in their various localities. Sat¬ 
isfied with offering more liberal inducements than any other agricultural publisher, he invites your 
attention to the following 
Premiums for Subscribers to Vol. Ill, 1852, 
To the person or persons who shall send 11 s the greatest 
number of yearly subscribers to the Rural New-Yorker 
from any one town, in proportion to its population, 
(according to the U. S. Census,) previous to the 1st of May, 
183-2, forwarding payment according to our terms, WE 
WILL SEND THIS NUMBER OR COPIES SO OR¬ 
DERED ANOTHER YEAR, FREE OF CHARGE! 
1st. To the person sending us the greatest number of 
yearly subscribers (six month subscriptions to be counted 
proportionally,) within the period aiiove specified, and for¬ 
warding payment according to our terms, we will give a 
Premium of FORTY DOLLARS, in CASH ! 
-2nd. To the person sending the next (second) greatest 
number, within same period, and on like conditions, we 
will give THIRTY DOLLARS, payable in BOOKS or 
AGRICULTURAL IMPLEMENTS, as preferred. 
3d. To the person sending us the next (third) greatest 
number, as above, we will give TWENTY DOLLARS, 
in BOOKS or IMPLEMENTS. 
4th. To the person sending the next (fourth) greatest 
number, as above, we will give FIFTEEN DOLLARS in 
Books or Implements. 
5th. To the person sending us the next (fifth) greatest 
number, as aiiove, we will give TWELVE DOLLARS in 
Books or Implements. 
Cth. To the person sending the next (sixth) greatest num¬ 
ber, as above, we will give EIGHT DOLLARS in Books. 
7th. To the person sending the next (seventh) greatest 
number, FIVE DOLLARS in Books. 
8th, 9th, 10th, 11th and 12th. To each of the five per¬ 
sons sending us the next (8th, 9th, 10th, 11th, and 12th,) 
greatest number, THREE DOLLARS in Books. 
[The Books and Implements to he such as may be se¬ 
lected by the persons entitled.J 
PREMIUMS TO TOWN CLUBS! 
In order to aid in establishing Town Agricultural Li¬ 
braries we make the following offer to Town Clubs or 
Socieiies (not competing for our other premiums) whose 
objects are the promotion of improvement in Agriculture, 
Horticulture, Sec. , 
1st. We will give a Library worth TWENTY-FIVE 
DOLLARS to the Society sending us the greatest number 
of subscribers within the period and on the conditions 
above specified. 
2nd. FIFTEEN DOLLARS, in Library Books, to the 
Society sending us the second greatest number, as above. 
3d. TEN DOLLARS, in like manner, to the Society 
sending us the third greatest number, as above. 
We shall keep a correct accouut of the subscribers 
sent us by individuals and Town Societies. After the first 
of February, we will publish as often as once a month, un¬ 
til May, a fist of the principal competitors in the order in 
which they may stand. The premiums will he announced 
as soon after the first of May as possible—probably the 
second week—and paid on the order of those entitled. 
JANUARY PREMIUMS! 
1st. We will give TEN DOLLARS in Cash, to the per¬ 
son who sends us the greatest number of subscribers be¬ 
tween this date and the first of January, 1852. 
Moore’s Rural New-Yorker, is one of the very best 
family journals with which we are acquainted. Its me¬ 
chanical execution, its illustrations, and the arrangement 
of its contents are complete. The character of its editori¬ 
als, communications, and selections are of the highest 
order, it must obtain a wide circulation.—[Louisville 
Journal. 
We can recommend nothing better, in its way, to farm¬ 
ers; or to farmer’s good wives; or to all young ladies who 
ever expect to become good wives; or to any and all, of 
whatever sex or age, engaged in rural, economical, and in¬ 
dustrial pursuits, than the Rural New-Yorker.—[Christian 
Herald. 
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 story, 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 host 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. 
It is one of the papers, and no mistake! It is of mam¬ 
moth size, quarto, and got up a little ahead of any other 
weekly in the country.—[Mich. Expositor. 
2nd. SEVEN DOLLARS, in books, to the person send¬ 
ing the second greatest number as above. 
3d. 'I HREE DOLLARS, in Books, to the person send¬ 
ing the third greatest number as above. 
ZW Persons competing for these premiums must mail 
their orders on or before the 31st of December ensuing.— 
They will also bear in mind that the oilier large prizes (ex¬ 
cept those to Town Clubs,) are open to them. 
SPECIFIC FREMIUM3! 
To those who do not compete tor any of the preceding, 
we oiler the following liberal Specific Premiums: 
Eor a remittance of #2, within Ihe time above specified 
we vvill send the New-Yorker one year, and a volume ol 
the Gen. Farmer for either 1849, ’48, ’47 ’40,or ’45, stitched 
and bound suitable for mailing—or, if preferred, a volume 
of the Wool Grower for either 1849, 185U or 1851. 
For #5, as above, three copies of the N ew-Yorker, and 
two volumes of the Farmer or Wool Grower. 
For #10, six copies of the New-Yorker, and an extra 
copy, and a vol. of either the Farmer or Wool Grower. 
For # 15, ten copies of the New-Yorker, and an extra 
copy, and two volumes of either Wool Grower or Farmer 
—or, instead of W. G. or F., a copy of Rodgers’ Scientific 
Agriculture. 
For a remittance for 30 subscribers, or over, according 
to our terms, we will give an extra copy of the Rural, 
Barry’s or Thomas’ Fruit Book, Rodgers’ Scientific Agri¬ 
culture, and 2 vols. of Farmer or Wool Grower—or, a copy 
the Rural and #3 in such Books as may be preferred. 
To every person remitting for 50 subscribers, or over, 
as above, we will give a copy of WEBSTER’S UNA¬ 
BRIDGED DICTIONARY (a #0 work.)—or the same 
amount in such Books as may be preferred. 
ZW In order that Post-Masters, Local Agents, subscri¬ 
bers and others may have a fair and equal chance to ob¬ 
tain the Premiums, traveling agents, post-riders,ami-res¬ 
idents of Rochester are not included in our oilers. 
All competitors for Premiums are expected to adhere 
strictly to the following 
TEEMS IN ADVANCE: 
Two Dollars a Year. Three Copies, one year, 
for ©5—Six Copies for ©10—Ten Copies for ©15- 
Twenty Copies for ©25, and any additional innr 
her at the same rate. Six month subscriptions 
in proportion. Names of subscribers written on 
th papers, if dssired, however large the club. 
Subscriptions may commence with any number. Those 
who wish to begin with the new volume, should send in 
their orders at once to secure the first number; and if 
agents generally will remit early, it will enable us to judge 
in regard to the edition that may he necessary. 
{("ip” Specimen numbers, prospectuses, &c., furnished 
free to all disposed to compete for our Premiums, or lend 
a portion of influence in behalf of the paper. Subscrip¬ 
tion money, properly enclosed, may be mailed at our risk. 
Address to D. D. T. M00PJ3, 
November 1, 1851. Rochester, N. Y. 
We have before us a pictorial number of Moore’s Rural ( 
New-Yorker, a paper valuable for its numerous illustra- ( 
tions. and for its fidelity as an organ of the country —its < 
peculiar interests and pursuits. * * * r i'jj e best ( 
feature of the Rural New-Yorker is the fact that it lays a ( 
mass of agricultural knowledge within the reacli of its ( 
readers. Mr. Moore ought to make a fortune out of his s 
Journal, and we trust he will, for he is helping to make \ 
the fortune of the country. We bid him “God Speed.” ) 
—Ohio Statesman. ) 
We think it a model paper for the farmer’s family,and of ? 
a kind much more likely to he generally patronised, than i 
those purely agricultural. If we were to start a peri- ( 
odical again, it would be in imitation of the Rural New- < 
Yorker.—[American Agriculturist. < 
We have been a faithful reader of the closing volume, ) 
and must say that we know of no paper which comes ) 
nearer to our ideal of what a Rural and Family paper ) 
should he, than the “Rural New-Yorker.”—[Adrian ) 
(Mich.) Watch Tower. ) 
We say again, this Rural New-Yorker Is as interesting < 
a paper as can be found in the State or Union. This is no < 
puff, but our real sentiment, and expressed because it is ( 
justly demanded.—Sackett’s Harbor Observer. V 
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. ) 
