364 
MOORE’S RURAL NEW-YO RKER: AN AGRICULTURAL AND FAMILY NEWSPAPER. 
a; 
“GO FORTH INTO THE COUNTRY.” 
Go forth into the country, 
From n world of care and guile, 
Go forth to the untainted air, 
And the sunshine’s open smile. 
It shall clear thy clouded brow— 
It shall loose the worldly coil 
That binds thy heart too closely up, 
Thou man of care and toil! 
Go forth into the country, 
Where gladsome sights and sounds 
Make the heart’s pulses thrill and leap 
With fresher, quicker bounds. 
They shall wake fresh life within 
The mind’s enchanted bower; 
Go, student of the midnight lamp, 
And try their magic power. 
Go forth into the country, 
With its songs of happy birds, 
Its fertile vales, its grassy hills, 
Alive with flocks and herds. 
Against the power of sadness 
Is its magic all arrayed— 
Go forth and dream no idle dreams, 
Oh, visionary maid I 
Go forth into the country, 
Where the nut’s rich clusters grow, 
Where the strawberry nestles ’mid the furzo 
And the holly-berries glow. 
Each season hath its treasures, 
Like thee all free and wild— 
Who would keep thee from the country, 
Thou happy, artless child ? 
Go forth into the country, 
It hath many a solemn grove, 
And many an altar on its hills, 
Sacred to peace and love. 
And whilst with graceful fervor 
Thine eyes its glories scan, 
Worship the God who made it all, 
Oh 1 holy Christian man. 
[Dublin University Magazine. 
$toral 
THE TREASURE. 
A CHOICE STORY,-FROM TEE FRENCH. 
BY ANNE T. WILBUR. 
A young girl and an old man wcro seated 
in a little attic, the furniture of which, more 
than modest but carefully preserved, reveal¬ 
ed the efforts of a poverty which had not 
lost its self-respect. Order, taste and neat¬ 
ness gave to tho poor chamber a sort of ele- 
ganco. Every article was in its place ; the 
bricks of tho hearth had been carefully 
washed, tho tapestry was unspotted, and 
tho window adorned with little curtains of 
coarso muslin, on which numerous darns had 
formed a species of embroidery. Some pots 
of common flowers ornamented tho sill of 
the half-opened window and perfumed tho 
room with their sweet odors. 
It was nearly sunset; a purple ray illu¬ 
mined tho humble dwelling, lighting up the 
charming countenance of tho young girl, 
and playing among tho white locks of tho 
old man. Tho latter was half-reclining in 
an arm-chair of rushes which an industri¬ 
ous solicitude had adorned with cushions 
stuffed with tow, and covered with pitch.— 
An old tabouret sustained his mutilated feet, 
and his only remaining arm was resting on 
a little stand on which lay a pipe and a 
tobacco pouch embroidered with colored 
beads. 
Tho old soldior had one of those bold and 
furrowed facos, in which frankness tempors 
rudeness. A gray moustache veiled the 
half smile which dwelt upon his lips, while 
his glance rested as if in abstraction on tho 
young girl. 
The latter might have been twenty years 
of ago ; she was a brunotto with winning and 
changeable features, on which emotions were 
expressed by sudden and rapid transitions. 
Her clear countenance resemblod those 
pure waters which roveal all that lies in 
their inmost depths. She was holding in 
her hand a newspaper, and reading to tho 
old invalid; suddenly, she paused and 
listened. 
“ What is the matter ?” said tho old man. 
“ Nothing,” replied tho young girl, whose 
countenance expressed disappointment. 
“ You thought you heard Charles ?” re¬ 
sumed the soldior. 
“ It is time,” said the reader, blushing 
slightly; “ his day’s work must bo ended, 
and it is the hour for his return.” 
“ Whon ho does return,” finished Vincent, 
in a tone of vexation. 
Susanna was about to defend her cousin ; 
but horjudgment doubtless protested against 
this intention, for sho stopped embarrassed, 
then fell into a reverie. 
The invalid passod his remaining hand 
over his moustache, and began to twist it 
impatiently; this was his habitual gesturo 
in his fits of dissatisfaction. 
“ Our recruit plays a bad march,” said ho, 
at last; “ he roturns homo sulky, ho neg¬ 
lects his labor to frequent taverns and fetes 
—all this will end badly for him and for us.” 
. “ Ho not say so, uncle,” replied the young 
girl. “ My cousin has lost his courage for 
labor, because, as ho says, ho has nothing to 
expect. He thinks he can never lay up 
anything, and that tho most ho can do is to 
livo from day to day without anticipation 
and without hope.” 
“ Ah, is that his plan ?” returned tho old 
man ; “ well, ho has not tho honor of invent¬ 
ing it. Wo had once a regiment of roason- 
ers who excused thomselves from starting, 
on the plea that the route was too long, and 
who were lingering about the barracks while 
their comrados wore entering Madrid, Ber¬ 
lin and Vienna. Your cousiu does not 
seom to know that by putting ono foot be¬ 
fore the other tho smallest feet can travel 
to Romo.” 
“ Ah, if you could make him comprehend 
that!” said Susanna, with solicitude. “ I 
have tried to persuade him that a good 
binder like himself could economize; but 
when I reach the sum total, he shrugs his 
shoulders, and says that women do not un¬ 
derstand calculating.” 
“ And then you are in despair, poor girl,” 
continued Vincent, with a smilo of tender¬ 
ness ; “ I see now why you so often havo red 
eyes.” 
“Uncle, I assui'e you—” 
“ Why, you forgot to water your pretty 
flowers, and no longer sing.” 
“Uncle—” 
Susanna, confused, cast down her eyes 
and rolled tho corner of the newspaper.— 
Tho invalid placed his hand on her head. 
“Do not think mo scolding,” he resumed, 
with a friendly smile; “ it is very natural 
that you should be interested in Charles, 
who is now your cousin, and who will one 
day bo, I hope—” 
The young girl made a movement of im¬ 
patience. 
“ Well, wo will not talk of that,” said tho 
invalid. “But to return to this cousin, for 
whom you have a friendship—that is tho 
word—and who has also a friendship for 
you.” 
Susanna shook her head. 
“ That is to say ho formerly had,” said 
sho ; “ but for somo time past, if you know 
how cold he is—how uninterested in every¬ 
thing at home.” 
“ Yes,” replied Vincent, pensively: “ when 
ono has tasted exciting amusements, house¬ 
hold pleasures appear insipid; many of us 
have experienced this.” 
“But they have been cured,” observed 
Susanna; “so Charles may bo cured. It 
will perhaps suffico for you to speak to him, 
undo.” 
Tho old man made a gesturo of incre¬ 
dulity. 
“ These infirmities are not to be treated 
with words,” replied he, “but with acts.— 
Your cousin is wanting in will, because ho 
has no object in view; we must show him 
one which will renew his courage ; but this 
is no trifling affair. I will think of it.” 
“ This time it is ho !” interrupted tho 
young girl, who had recognized the rapid 
step of her cousin on tho stairs. 
“ Then silence in the ranks,” said tho in¬ 
valid, “ and resume your reading.” 
Susanna obeyed, but tho trembling of her 
voice would easily havo revealed hor emo¬ 
tion to an attentive observer. While her 
oyos followed the printed lines, and her 
mouth mechanically pronounced the words, 
hor ear and her thoughts were wholly with 
her cousin, who had just opened tho door 
and deposited his cap ,011 the table in tho 
middle of the room. 
Authorized to silonco by tho non-inter¬ 
ruption of tho reader, tho young workman 
saluted neither his uncle nor his cousin, and, 
approaching tho window, loaned upon it, 
with his arms folded. 
Susanna continued without understand¬ 
ing what she was reading. After several 
announcements of thefts, fires, and acci¬ 
dents, she came to tho following article : 
“ A poor pedler of Besancon, named Pier¬ 
re Lefevre, determined at any risk to make 
a fortune, conceived the idea of setting out 
for India, which he had heard cited as tho 
country of gold and diamonds. Ho there¬ 
fore sold the little bo possessed, reached 
Bordeaux, and embarked as an assistant 
cook in an American ship. Eighteen years 
rolled away without bringing any news of 
Pierre Lefevre; at last, his parents received 
a letter announcing his approaching return ; 
it informed them that tho ex-pedler, after 
inexpressible fatigues and unheard of re¬ 
verses, had arrived in France, blind of one 
said 
“ I have something to say to you, 
ho, seriously. 
Charles, who expected reproaches, re¬ 
mained standing before tho old man ; but 
the latter beckoned him to sit down. 
“ Are you capable of making a long ef¬ 
fort to secure a fortune ?” said he, looking 
fixedly at his nephew. 
“ I ! can you doubt it, undo ?” replied 
Charles, surprised at the question. 
“ So you would consent to bo patient, to 
labor industriously, to change your hab¬ 
its 
eye and with but one arm, but proprietor 
of a fortune valued at two millions.” 
Charles, who had listened to this article 
with increasing attention, could not sup¬ 
press an exclamation. 
“Two millions!” repeated ho, in amaze¬ 
ment. 
“ That might servo to buy him a glass eye 
and a wooden arm,” observed tho old soldier, 
ironically. 
“Eighteen years of inexpressible fa¬ 
tigues !” repeated Susanna, emphasizing the 
expressions of tho newspaper. 
“ What matters it, when there is a for¬ 
tune at the end ?’ roplied Charles with vi¬ 
vacity. 
“ So,” rusumod tho young girl, raising 
her oyes timidly on her cousin, “ you envy 
the fate of the pedler ; you would give all 
your youth, ono of your eyes, ono of your 
hands—” 
“For two millions,” interrupted Charles ; 
“very cortainly. You have but to find me 
a purchaser at that price, Susannah, and I 
will insure you a dowry for pin-money.” 
Tho young girl turned away hor head 
without replying ; her heart was full, and a 
tear stood in her eye. Vincent too was si¬ 
lent ; but he was twisting his moustacho 
with a morose air. 
There was a long silonco ; each of tho 
three actors in this scene was jiursuing a 
train ot thought inwardly. 
Tho sound of the clock striking eight 
roused Susanna from her pre-occupation. 
She hastily rose and preparad tho tablo for 
tho evening repast. 
It was sad and short. Charles, who had 
passed tho last third of tho day at tho tav- 
orn with his friends, would eat nothing, and 
Susanna had lost her appotite. Vincent 
alone did honor to the frugal supper; for 
the experience of war had accostomed him 
to eat amid all omotions; but he was soon 
satisfied, and regained his cushioned arm¬ 
chair near the window. 
After having arranged everything, Susan¬ 
na, who felt the need of being alone, took a 
light, ombraced the invalid, and withdrew 
to. the little room sho occupied above.— 
Vincent and the young mochanic found 
themselves alone together. The lattor was 
also about to bid his undo good night, when 
the old soldier beckoned to him to draw 
the bolt and approach. 
“ If all this would profit me anything.— 
But why ask such questions ?” 
“ You shall know,” said tho invalid, open¬ 
ing tho drawerof a little commode, in which 
ho kept tho old papers lent him by one of 
the lodgers. He searched for somo time, 
among tho printed loaves, took one, opened 
it, and showed Charles an article markod 
with the nail. 
The young mechanic read aloud : 
“Application has just been mado to tho 
Spanish government, in reference to a de¬ 
posit buried on the banks of the Duoro, af¬ 
ter the battle of Salamanca. It appoars 
that during this celebratod rotreat, a com¬ 
pany belonging to the first division, which 
was commissioned to guard several chests, 
was separated from tho body of tho army 
and surrounded by a force so superior, that 
every attempt at resistance was impossible. 
Tho officer who commanded it, seeing that 
no hope remained of being ablo to oscapo 
tho enemy, profited by tho night to cause 
tho chests to bo buriod by somo soldiers in 
whom ho had the most confidence; then, 
sure that no person could discover them, he 
orderod his little company to disperso, that 
each might attempt to oscapo singly througl 
tho enemy’s ranks. Some did indeed suc¬ 
ceed in regaining tho division; but tho offi¬ 
cer and tho men who knew the spot where 
the chests were buried, perished in their 
flight. Now wo are assured that theso 
chests contained the money of the army, 
that is to say, a sum of about throe millions.” 
Charles stopped and looked at tho inva¬ 
lid, his eyes sparkling. 
“ Were you one of this company ?” ex¬ 
claimed he. 
“ I was,” replied Vincent. 
“You know of tho existence of tho de¬ 
posit ?” 
“ l was ono of those commissioned by tho 
captain to make it, and the only one among 
them that escapod tho balls of enemy.” 
“ Then you could give indications, aid to 
find it,” resumed Charles with vivacity. 
“ The moro roadily, that tho captain 
mado us observo, that wo might recognize 
tho spot, tho line formed by two hills and 
a nook; I could discover the place as cor¬ 
tainly as that of tho bed in your room.” 
Charles sprang from his seat. 
“ But then your fortune is made,” ex- 
claimod ho enthusiastically; “ why havo 
you not spoken of it ? Tho French gov¬ 
ernment would havo accepted all your 
propositions.” 
“ Porhaps so,” said Vincent, “ but in any 
case they would havo been useless.” 
“ How so ?” 
“ Spain rofused the authority solicited; 
seo.” 
He handed to the young mechanic a 
second newspaper, which announced that 
the demand relative to a search for a de¬ 
posit buried by the French in 1812, on tho 
banks of tho Duoro, had boon rejected by 
tho government of Madrid. 
“But what need of permission ?” objected 
Charles; “ where is tho necessity of at¬ 
tempting officially a search which might bo 
made in secret and in silence ? Once on 
tho spot, and tho laud purchased, who could 
hinder the search? Who would suspect the 
discovery ?” 
“ I havo thought of it often for thirty 
years,” replied tho soldier; “but whore 
should we got tho sum necossary for the 
journey and tho purchase ?” 
“ Can we not apply to somo rich persons, 
and lot them into the secret.” 
“ But how shall wo induco thorn to bo- 
liovo it ? and if chance should provont suc¬ 
cess ? If wo should succeed, it might be 
liko the fable you were reading tho other 
day to your cousin, in which at tho momont 
of division, the lion claimed tho wholo ! It 
would thon be necessary, besides the fatigue 
of the journey, and tho uncertainty of suc¬ 
cess, to contend with tho vexations of a law¬ 
suit. I havo a pension of two hundred 
francs ; that sufficos for my maintenance— 
I havo no desire for moro.” 
“ Then you will allow this opportunity to 
escapo you,” resumed Charles with feverish 
animation ; “ you refuse riches.” 
“ For myself I do,” roplied tho old man ; 
“ but for you it is anothor thing. I havo 
just seen how ambitious you are, and that 
nothing will satisfy you but to bo a million¬ 
aire. Woll, collect the sum necossary for 
our journey, and I will start with you.— 
Earn two thousand francs—at this price I 
will give you a treasure.” 
“Agreed, undo!” exclaimod Charlos.— 
“ But how am I to get so much money ? I 
can never earn it.” 
“ Work courageously, and bring mo your 
wages regularly each week. I promiso that 
you shall havo it.” 
“Romomber, uncle, how small must be 
tho savings of a mochanic 1” 
“ That is my concern.” 
“ How many years will be necessary ?’ 
“Youjust now offered oightoon with an 
eye and an arm besides.” 
“ Ah, if I was sure of it.” 
“ Of acquiring a treasure ? I swoar it to 
you on the ashes of the little corporal.” 
This was the grand oath of the soldior; 
Charlos was compelled to regard the thing 
as serious. Vincent oncouraged him anow, 
ropoating that he had his future fortune in 
his own hands, and tho young man retired, 
rcsoluto to mako every effort to succeed. 
But tho confidonco of his uncle had 
awoke in him hopes too magnificent to al¬ 
low of his sloeping. He passod tho night in 
a sort of fover, calculating tho means of 
earning sooner the sum which was needed, 
regulating tho employment of his future 
wealth, and recalling one after another as 
realities, all tho chimoras which ho had 
pleased himself horetoforo with imagining. 
Whon Susanna descended in the morn¬ 
ing, he had already gone forth to his labors. 
Vincent, who saw the surpriso of tho young 
girl, shook his head smilingly, but said 
nothing; ho had recommended secresy to 
tho young mechanic, and intended to keep 
it himself. It was desirable to soo whether 
Charles would porsevoro in his now resolu¬ 
tions. 
[ C oncluded 'next week. ] 
PUBLIC DINNERS. 
Public dinners aro public nuisances — 
flagrantly so. Thoy aro a relic of out¬ 
grown barbarism which esteems eating and 
di inking tho chief ends of lif’o, and would 
show affection as Joseph did to his brother 
Benjamin —by giving him three times as 
great a mess as was apportioned to his half- 
brothers. It is ovory way unworthy of our 
ago to attompt to honor, reward or show 
admiration for a public benefactor by feast¬ 
ing him, even whon (as at Boston) intoxicat¬ 
ing liquors aro excluded. But an ordinary 
public dinner, “ with a stick in it,” is essen¬ 
tially a bostial performance. Two or threo 
hundred peoplo are assembled to eat an in¬ 
ordinate meal, at an unusual and unseason¬ 
able hour, paying for it a sum that many of 
them cannot really afford, and washing it 
down with incessant libations of villainously 
druggod cider and cockroach Madeira, 
which gets steadily worso as tho company 
get moro and more enthusiastically and ob¬ 
viously drunk— then the spoeches, begin¬ 
ning with tho prosy and foggy, and ending, 
somowhoro in the infancy of tho small 
hours, with tho tipsy and the nasty — then 
tho leathory cloud of cigar smoko which, 
for tho last hour or two, is battoned down 
upon the whole concern, afflicting, torturing, 
demoralizing all well-bred, cleanly, uncor¬ 
rupted senses—and ah 1 tho sick headaches, 
tho days of misery, and often tho fatal ill¬ 
nesses that follow, as Death on the Pale 
Horse was followed—on tho wholo, we con¬ 
sider the public dinner tho absurdest, stu¬ 
pidest boro of tho nineteenth century.— H. 
Greeley. 
m mttr Imnor. 
New Spelling. —A now juvonilo paper, 
“ 1 he Youngster,” has the following contri¬ 
butions to a proposod spelling-book on a new 
plan, nover thought of oither by Dilworth 
or Wobstor: 
80 you be—A tub. 
80 oh 1 pea—A top. 
Bo 80—Bat. 
See 80—Cat. 
Pea 80—Pat. 
Aro 80—Rat. 
Seo O 1 double you—Cow. 
Soo you bee—Cub. 
Seo a Bee—Cab. 
Bo you doublo tea—Butt. 
Be a double ell—Ball. 
An editor of a Western paper, whilo ta¬ 
king a snooze after dark, traveling in a rail¬ 
way carriage, had his pocket pickod. The 
thiet next day forwarded tho pocket book, 
by express, to the editor’s office, with the 
following note : 
“ Y r ou mizerabil skunk, hears yor pockit 
book. I don’t keep sich. Fur a man 
dressed as well as yeu was to go round with 
a wallit with nuthing in it but a lot of noose 
paper scraps, an ivury tooth cumb, two 
noosepaper stamps, an’ a pass from a ralo- 
road diructur, is a contempterblo impersi- 
tion on tho publick. As I boor your a ed¬ 
itor, I return yer trash—I novor robs any 
only gentlemun.” 
servant, “ is vour master 
A man asked a 
at home ?” 
“No, sir, he’s out.” 
“ Your mistress ?” 
“ No, sir, she’s out.” 
“Well, I’ll just go in and tako tho air of 
tho fire till thoy come.” 
“ Faith, sir, that’s out too,” ropliod the 
servant. 
“ That is the remarkableist thing I ever 
heard of” said Aunt Hannah looking over 
her spectaclos from tho papor sho was 
reading. 
“ What is it so romarkablo Aunt Han¬ 
nah ?” inquired hor niece. 
“ Why, tho papor says thoy have indictod 
a man in Massachusetts for manslaughter 
for killing his wife.” 
Corner, 
“Attemptthe end,and never stand to doubt; 
Nothing’s so hard, but search will find it out.” 
For the Rural New-Yorker. 
POETICAL ENIGMA. 
Before creating Nature willed 
That atoms into forms should jar, 
By me the boundless space was filled; 
Ou me was hung the first-made star. 
For me the Saint will break his word. 
By the proud Atheist Pm revered : 
At me the coward draws his sword. 
And by the hero I am feared. 
Scorned by the meek and humble mind, 
Yet often by the vain possessed. 
Heard by the deaf, seen by the blind, 
And to the troubled conscience rest. 
Than wisdom’s sacred self Pm wiser, 
And yet by every blockhead known ; 
I’m freely given by the miser, 
And kept by prodigals alone. 
As vice deformed, as virtue fair; 
The courtier’s loss, the patriot’s gain; 
The poet’s purse, the coxcomb’s care;— 
Read, and you’ll have me for your pains. 
Anon. 
Answer next week. 
F’orthe Rural New-Yorker. 
REBU 
A German name ; the title of an officer in Queen 
Victoria’s household ; a vegetable; a bird ; the 
name of a celebrated navigator; one of Shak- 
spear’s characters ; a celebrated garden. My ini¬ 
tials form the name of a prominent Government 
officer,—and my finals the name of a chief in the 
camp of the Adamantine Democracy. 
Donald. 
Answer next week. 
For the Rural New-Yorker. 
A QUESTION. 
A merchant having a 40 lb weight, by accident 
let it fall and broke it into four pieces, but on trial 
found that the accident had resulted in his favor, 
for he could then weigh any number of pounds 
below 40. V hat was the weight of each piece. 
Gorham. H> w s _ 
Answer next week. 
ANSWER TO ENIGMA, &c., IN NO. 44. 
Answer to Chemical Enigma —Light Carburet¬ 
ed hydrogen gas. 
Answer to Charade— Wed-lock. 
Correction.— The correct answer to the Poeti¬ 
cal Enigma in No. 43, is —A Mirror. Of course 
what was given as the answer in our last num¬ 
ber, was wrong. 
NEW IORK STATE AGitlCUETLHAE 
COLLEGE. 
yY T a meeting of the Trusteesof the State Agricultural 
College, ou tho 21st Sept., 1853, it was resolved, to 
arrange and prepare the Veterinary department of the 
College, simultaneously with the earliest courses of in¬ 
struction ; and that every subscriber to the funds of the 
College be and hereby is declared to be entitled to the use 
of the Hospitals of the said department, for all Medical or 
Surgical treatment, necessary and proper for such diseases 
or accidents us may afflict any animal belonging to tin- said 
subscriber : to be subject to such rules and regulations as 
the Trustees may from time to time appoint and direct. 
No cost or charge shall be made for Medical or Surgical 
advice or treatment. The necessary expense for the sus¬ 
tenance of animals received into the Hospitals under this 
resolution, shall be paid by the proprietors of the animals 
respectively. By Order. 
197-4t J. W. BACON, Sec’y. 
TO BOOK.BINDERS.—FOR SALE 
—The Tools, Stock and Fixtures in a well 
established BINDERY, now doing a good 
business. The owner has been in it for 
the last twelve years, and only wishes to leave to do other 
business that will be better for his health. 
For particulars concerning the business,address Demo¬ 
crat Oliicc, Rochester, N. Y., or to the subscriber, 
F. II. MARSHALL. 
Rochester, July 21, 1853. 187-tf 
MOORE’S RURAL NEW-YORKER: 
A WEEKLY HOME JOURNAL, 
For both Country and Town Residents. 
PUBLICATION OFFICE, 
Burns’ Block, corner State and Buffalo Sts., 
Rochester, N. Y. 
Queer Advice.— They have a rich joke 
on Dr. Egan, of Chicago. He is a great 
land oporator, as well as a most successful 
physician. The Doctor prescribed some 
pills for a lady. She askod “ how thoy wore 
to be taken ?” “ A quarter down,” said tho 
Doctor, “ and tho balance in ono two and 
throo yoars.” 
An Irishman was brought boforo a justice 
on tho charge of having six ’wives. Tho 
magistrate askod him how ho could bo so 
hardened a villian as to delude so many.— 
“ Ploaso yer worship,” said Pat “ I was only 
thrying to got a good ono.” 
One of tho host “ hits ” ovor mado at an 
impropriety in a lady’s dross, was mado by 
Talloyrand. During tho revolution, when 
asked by a lady his opinion of hor dross, ho 
ropliod, “it begun too lato and ended too 
soon.” 
It is rumored that an exporioncod phre¬ 
nologist has boon invited to examino tho 
“head of navigation.” 
TERMS, IN ADVANCE s 
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Agents as follows:— Three Copies one year, for $5; Six 
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for $25, and any additional number, directed to individuals 
at the same rate. Six months subscriptions in proportion* 
Subscription money, pi.'iperly enclosed, may be 
sent by mail at the risk of the Publisher. 
Terms of Advertising 
One Dollar per square (ten lines—100 words, or less,) for 
each insertion,— in advance. Jpgf" The circulation of the 
New-Yorker is much larger than that of any other news¬ 
paper published in the State, out of New York city. Only 
a limited space, however, is devoted to advertisements, and 
hence preference is given to those most appropriate—such 
as the cards and notices of dealers in Agricultural Imple¬ 
ments and Machinery,—Horticulturists and Seedsmen,— 
Booksellers and Publishers,—Inventors, etc. All orders 
by mail should be accompanied with the cash. 
To enable us to accommodate as many as possible, brief 
advertisements are preferred. Patent medicines, &c., will 
not be advertised in this paper on any terms. 
ffHf 0 All communications, and business letters, should 
bo addressed to D. D. T. Moore, Rochester, N. Y. 
THE WOOL GROWER AND STOCK REGISTER. 
This Is the only American Journal primarily devoted to 
the interest of Wool and Stock Growers, and should be in 
the hands of every oioner of Domestic Animals. It is ably 
conducted, published in the best style, and finely illustra¬ 
ted. Each number contains a careful Review of the Wool 
and Cattle Markets, and much other useful and reliuble 
information which can be obtained from no other source. 
Tho Fifth Volume commences with July, 1853. 
Terms:— Fifty Cents a Year; Five Copies for $2 ’ 
Eight for $3; Eleven for $4. Back volumes, bound in 
paper, at 40 cts. each,—unbound at 35 cts., or three for $1. 
Published monthly, in octavo form. Specimen numbers 
sent free. Money, properly enclosed, at our risk. 
Address D. D. T. MOORE, Rochester, N. Y. 
