MOORE’S RURAL NEW-YORKER: AN AGRICULTURAL AND FAMILY NEWSPAPER. 
AUGUST 2. 
Gjjoaitt 
A DUE AM OP SUMMER. 
BY JOHN G. WHITTIER. 
Bland as the morning breath of June 
The south west bieezes play ; 
And through its haze the winter noon 
Seems warm as summer day. 
The snow-plumed angel of the north 
Has dropped its icy spear ; 
Again the mossy earth looks forth, 
Again the streams gush clear. 
The fox his hill side cell forsakes, 
The muskrat leaves his nook, 
The blue-bird in the meadow brakes 
Is singiDg with the brook. 
“Bear up, 0 Mother Natuie, cry 
Bird, breeze and streamlet free ; 
Our winter voices prophesy 
Of summer day to thee I” 
So in these winters of the soul, 
By bitter blasts and drear 
O’erswept from memory's frozen pole, 
While sunny days appear. 
Receiving Hope and Faith, they show 
The soul its living powers, 
And how beneath the winter’s snow 
Lie germs of summer flowers ! 
The night is mother of the day, 
The winter of the spring, 
As ever upon old decay 
The greenest mosses cling. 
Behind the cloud the starlight lurks, 
Through showers the sunbeams fall ; 
For God who loveth all his works, 
Has left his hope with all ? 
ife’s imw. 
Written for Moore’s Rural New-Yorker. 
ALICE GREY. 
BY MISS EMILY 0. HUNTINGTON. 
Night in the great city, dull and gloomy 
•with a slow, sobbing rain. In the broad streets 
it is dark for all the gas-lights, darker in narrow 
streets and alleys, where the children of misery 
live and die. In a bare, unligbted room, unfur¬ 
nished save a bed upon the floor and a few 
broken chairs, two persons are sitting. One 
with a white, wasted face, and great shadows 
of pain about her eyes; the other a pale girl 
with such a weary look, it makes your heart 
ache to see her. Mother and daughter, you can 
see that at once, and what need have I to tell 
you more. Alany a mother sits thus now with 
her child, listening for footsteps coming through 
the gloom, yet they are not waiting for any one. 
Their world is all in that narrow room where 
they two sit alone. Two, said I ? Ah, there 
was another there—one whose footfall wakes 
no echo on the threshhold— Azraf.l, Angel of 
Death, and ere the morning he will go forth, 
but not alone. 
__“ Alice, my child, have we no light ?” 
« None, mama," and the girl sighed a half- 
stifled sigh. 
“It will not matter long; there is light 
enough there, thank God. Come here to me, 
Alice, and lay your head in my bosom once 
more. Oh ! Alice, darling, this will never be 
again, never again” — then checking herself 
with a strong effort she went on calmly. “I 
am going to die, my child; you have known 
long that this must be so, and you can bear 
now to hear me say it,—but before I leave you 
I have something to say to you that you must 
always remember. When you have no mother, 
Alice, you must not let your heart fail in de¬ 
spair, and feel all alone in the world. You 
know of One, darliDg, who careth tenderly for 
all, whose strength is made perfect in weakness. 
Fourteen years ago, I took you, my first born, 
in my arms, and standing before the great con¬ 
gregation, I gave you into the keeping of Israel’s 
Shepherd, and prayed that He who carrieth the 
lambs in his bosom, would ever bear my Alice 
upon His heart of love. And shall I not trust 
him to keep what I have committed to him unto 
the end ? 
“You must not stay here alone. I have an 
uncle living in Itockford, who is rich and child¬ 
less. You must go to him and tell him it was 
my dying prayer that he would forget the en¬ 
mity he had borne me, and give my child a 
home. He is old and stern, but you must be 
very patient, Alice, and may God deal with 
him as he deals with the orphan and helpless. 
“ Trust in God, and hope for good ; be brave- 
hearted, strong and earnest, and remember 
this, one with a high soul said it—* There are 
no obstacles to him who wills' Will you remem¬ 
ber this, my child ?—will you do this when 
your mother is dead ?” 
“ Mother ! Oh, mother !” moaned Alice, trem¬ 
bling with a vain attempt to check the storm of 
grief that would rise over her soul’s desolation. 
« Hush ! darling, hush ! ‘He doeth all things 
wgll.’ Sit close to me, it is so dark here. Can 
you siDg to me one of the songs you learned in 
that sweet valley home ? Ah me ! I wonder if 
the grass is green there yet. Sing, Alice, ‘ My 
heart has gone home.’ ” 
Brave-hearted Alice, almost hearing those 
fearful footfalls as the white-browed angel 
pressed nearer, yet only thoughtful to soothe the 
beloved in that last dread conflict with mortal¬ 
ity. Very low was the voice, as if it struggled 
up through a weight of tears; very low, yet 
who shall say that in that temple above us it 
swelled not as sweetly as the seraphim’s praise? 
Leaning from out the glory to listen, did He 
not hear it into whose ear is breathed every 
suppliant sigh ? 
“ My heart has none home to the beautiful rest 
Where the lonely have ceased from their weeping, 
Where grief may not shadow the earth-wearied breast, 
And cares are eternally sleejiing. 
“ My heart has gone home, and though trials may come, 
And every loved tie may be riven, 
I know that ere )<>Dg I shall gain the b’est home, 
And my spiiit find refuge in heaven.” 
All was hushed, and fearing to break that 
silence, Alice sat long in perfect quiet, till at 
last the weary eyes closed, and the seal of the 
merciful who gives the sleep was set upon 
them. Slowly the hours crept on, and gray 
with mists came the morning and looked in at 
the sleepers. One started wildly up, but the 
; other lay mute and stirless, not asleep 1—Oh no, 
j but awake in the shadowless sunlight of eter- 
1 city. 
There were no wild cries from Alice. She 
! saw all, comprehended all, but a great despair 
i was holding her heart in its grasp,and it neither 
| throbbed or struggled, but lay passive with an 
icy calm. Very gently she arranged the pillows 
about the dead mother, as if fearful of waking 
her, then turning away without one sob, she 
stood for a few moments leaning against the 
window, looking out, but seeing no one. She 
knew that the time for grief was not yet come, 
but hours of stern action must pass before it. 
Taking a bundle of unfinished work *in her 
hand she passed softly out into the street, and 
hurried to the shop for which Mrs. Grey had 
been accustomed to sew. A plain and rather 
rough-looking man sat upon a pile of cloth be¬ 
hind the counter, busily looking over some ac¬ 
counts. He looked up as she entered and nod¬ 
ded carelessly, for her face was familiar to him. 
“ Mr. Wood,” Alice began, “I have brought back 
the work my mother took last week, aud”— 
1 “ Oh ! yes, let’s see—Mrs. Grey, first rate 
hand, want some more, eh ? Why, girl, what’s 
to pay here ?—don’t your mother hnow we 
never pay for unfinished jobs?" Thus he ran 
on in a rapid manner, leaving Alice no chance 
to explain. 
“Mr. Wood,” said she, speaking slowly and 
with a husky voice, “my mother died last night." 
The good man, for he really was good, laid 
the work down slowly and regarded her with a 
look half of pity, half astonishment. There 
she stood looking him full in the face, without 
trembling or crying, only a hard compressed 
look about her mouth. He wondered at her, 
and said compassionately, “poor child—poor 
child !’’ 
A moment more and those firm lips quivered, 
and the lids dropped over the great woful eyes, 
and Alice sank with a heavy sob upon a box of 
goods. Those words of compassion falling un¬ 
expectedly upon her ear unsealed the fountains 
of tearful sorrow, and its floods poured sooth¬ 
ingly over the soul so parched by its scathing 
visitations. 
“ Poor child !’’ said Mr. Wood again, and still 
looking at her with the same half-puzzled ex¬ 
pression, he opened a door at the back of the 
shop and called — “Betsey — Betsey Wood! 
come down here, quick, will you ?” 
In a moment a little dumpy woman with a 
fat, good-natured face, came trotting down the 
stairs, rolling down her sleeves as she came. 
« Well, John, what now ? for mercy’s sake 1" 
she exclaimed as her eye full upon Alice — 
“ what on earth's the matter of that child ?” 
A few words in an under tone from her hus¬ 
band explained the whole matter. 
“Yes, yes, I remember—a nice, tidy body, 
only so weakly looking. So this is her daugh¬ 
ter, poor thing. Well, to my notion, now, she’s 
well nigh starved, let alone being broke down 
with grieving. I’ll just have her up stairs a 
bit, and try and cheer her up, poor thing." 
Alice was easily persuaded to accompany 
Mrs. Wood to her little, up-stairs room, which 
served in the double capacity of kitchen and 
parlor. “ Now,” said the little woman, placing 
her in a large home-made easy chair, “justyou 
make yourself comfortable here by the fire, 
while I fix you sometbiug warm and nourishing 
to eat. Aint hungry ? Law sakes, you must 
take something to nerve you up, child, or you’ll 
die soon.” 
After a short time a substantial meal was 
prepared, of which Alice, really faint with 
hunger, partook heartily. This over, Mrs. 
Wood, in her plain, homely way, yet with a 
delicate tenderness which springs only from a 
true woman’s heart, drew from her the whole 
history of her mother’s death, aud her own 
present circumstances and plans. She offered 
to return with her to her lodging, and the offer 
was thankfully accepted, for Alice had shrunk 
from calling in the coarse proprietor of the 
house to assist her in the needful preparations. 
She trembled violently as she attempted to un¬ 
lock the door ; it was to her like the opening of 
a grave—but the very love of her heart nerved 
her up to calm action. 
I will not dwell longer here. It is enough to 
say that by the kindness of Mr. Wood and his 
wife, a decent burial was secured for Mrs. Grey, 
and a temporary home offered to Alice until 
she should be able to make arrangements to go 
to Rockford. 
Alice, in the gratitude of her heart, pressed 
Mrs. Wood to allow her to assist her in some of 
her duties, but the good woman always declined 
her help. “No, no,child,” she would say,“just 
you rest yourself, you’re well nigh beat out; 
don’t you see I’ve only got just enough to do to 
keep me out of mischief.” So Alice sat either 
in a quiet apathy with her eyes closed, to the 
great satisfaction of Mrs. Wood, who thought 
her asleep, or else wept silently when no one 
noticed her. In a lew days Mr. Wood an¬ 
nounced that he had engaged a farmer from 
Rockford to take Alice out in his wagon the 
next lime he came in to market. 
« Bless you,child,good bye,”said Mrs. Wood } 
as Alice stood ready to climb inlo the old- 
fashioned market-wagon, “good bye, and if 
I ever your own folks desert you, remepiber that 
' we are the ones that will stand by you.” 
Mr. Wood offered money to the farmer, but 
he pushed it aside, saying, as he gathered up 
his reins, “Humph 1 no need ol that—she ain’t 
so powerful heavy.” 
Let us leave them for the present, and take a 
peep at Rockford. 
Thomas Lynn, the uncle to whom Mrs. Grey 
had directed Alice, was a man nearly seventy 
years of age, who had once been ol a stern, in¬ 
flexible nature, and was now just enough weak¬ 
ened and shattered in mind and body to render 
him a torment to every one about him. Upon 
the sudden death of his only sister and her 
husband, he bad adopted their child Mary Al¬ 
len, and as far as it was in his selfish nature to 
love any one, he loved her. As she grew up 
she became his housekeeper, and would un¬ 
doubtedly have inherited his vast property had 
s^e not incurred his displeasure by marrying 
Edward Grey, a young physician to whom for 
some reason he had taken a violent dislike. 
From that day all communication between him 
and his niece ceased. 
Young Grey took his wife to a Southern city, 
where for more than twelve years he obtained 
a comfortable support by the practice of his 
profession. But he tell a victim to one of the 
epidemic fevers of the region, leaving his wife 
and daughter totally unprovided for. Mrs. 
Grey herself was for a long time prostrated by 
the disease, and upon her recovery determined 
to return immediately to the North, where the 
means of self-support would be more surely 
within her reach. By the sale of her furniture 
and household effects, she raised a sufficient 
sum to procure passage for herself and Alice to 
New York, and maintain them a short time un¬ 
til she could find employment of some kind. 
On her arrival she secured the humblest of 
lodgings, and for some time managed to support 
herself by needlework. The close application, 
however, was too much for her already weak¬ 
ened constitution, and she gradurlly sunk un¬ 
der it, and I have already told you the sequel. 
In his sixtieth year Mr. Lynn had married 
his housekeeper, an uneducated woman of thirty, 
artful and avaricious, and of late years her 
strong nature had attained such an ascendancy 
over his weakened mind as to enable her to 
rule him completely. 
Such was the home to which Alice wa« going. 
It was growing dark when the maiket-wagon 
rumbled into the village of Rockford, and Alice 
could only see that the house before which it at 
last stopped was a large, irregularly built farm 
house. No one seemed to be stirring in the 
front rooms, so she walked with a beating heart 
around to a side door. A large dog sprang for¬ 
ward and gave her a furious salute. Half pal¬ 
sied with fear she stood still, not daring to re¬ 
treat or to go on. The noise brought a woman 
to the door, who, after ordering back the dog, 
called to Alice to come in. She obeyed, aud 
was ushered into a large, comfortable room 
with a huge fireplace extending nearly across 
one end, before xrtiich an old man was sitting. 
He looked up as she entered, but said nothing, 
and the woman, after silently giving her a chair, 
went on getting supper. Alice sat some time, 
not knowing how to introduce herself; at last 
she said: 
«Mr. Lynn, I am Alice Grey ; my mother 
was your niece, Mary Allen.” 
Mr. Lynn got up from his chair with some 
difficulty, and eyeing her closely a few mo¬ 
ments, said : 
“Yes, yes, a pretty trick your mother served 
me, to marry that young scape-grace in the face 
of my orders, and now 1’il warrant she sent you 
here to beg. So Edward Grey has got tired of 
taking care of his yoimg ones, and sends them 
to me—I always said it would be so in the end 
—fine, Ibougb, really.” 
« Mr. Lynn, my father and mother are bolli 
dead, and, and”— Alice meant to repeat her 
mother’s message, but her voice failing her, she 
only burst into tears. Mrs. Lynn, for it was 
she who had admitted Alice, had paused in her 
work, and stood looking first at her, then at Mr. 
Lynn ; now she took him aside, and conversed 
with him a few moments in an under tone. 
Alice could not hear the conversation ; but at 
its close Mr. Lynn hobbled back to his chair, 
and his wife turning to her said—“You can 
stay here, girl, for the present; take off your 
hood ; have you any trunk ?” Alice had none, 
nothing but the clothes she wore. No one 
seemed to notice her any further, only when 
supper was ready, Mrs. Lynn placed a chair for 
her at the table, and motioned to her to sit 
down. Afterwards, taking a light and telling 
Alice to follow her, she led the way to a small 
bedroom, and left her without a word. 
Poor Alice. Once alone she sat down on the 
bedside, and tried to think over all the straDge 
scenes tluough which she had passed since that 
sad night that left her motherless ; but every¬ 
thing mingling in a confused whirl, she threw 
herself down and wept passionately. Never 
before had she felt so utterly alone in the world, 
so cut off from all human sympathy. The ] ast 
was gone forever, and as she looked back upon 
it, its very shadows seemed sweet in contrast 
with the desert future that lay before her. At 
last she sank into a heavy sleep, from which 
she was only awakened by a loud knocking at 
her door. Rising hastily she opened it, and 
found Mrs. Lynn standing before it. 
“ What in the world did you fasten your door 
for ?—we are not thieves, even if you had any¬ 
thing to steal." 
“Excuse me, ma’am, but we always locked 
the door in the city, and I forgot”— 
“ Well, well, no matter now, only don’t do it 
again ; some day you’ll set your room afire, and 
then no one can get m. I came to call you to 
breakfast, and to tell you that your uncle has 
concluded to let you stay here, that is if you’re 
good for anything. Can you do housework ?" 
“ Not much, but I can learn if you will teach AIDVERTISEIVlEIvIXS. 
“ Well, if you’re not too lazy—most city girls 
are. Now, if you’re ready, come along.” 
Alice greeted her uncle with a timid “good 
morning,” but he took no notice of it. After 
breakfast, Mrs. Lynn commenced instructing 
her in the duties which were to be required of 
ber. It was soon evident that her position was 
to he no easy one, as one continual round of 
work was planned for her from morning till 
night. In truth, the only motive that had in¬ 
duced Mrs. Lynn to receive her into the house, 
was the possibility that she might be made ser¬ 
viceable in lightening her own tasks. The 
woman was not cruel, at least where self-inter¬ 
est did not demand it, but everything was made 
to bow to that one ruling passion. 
Her new duties were for a time irksome to 
Alice, but after a few days she became accus¬ 
tomed to them, and found constant employment 
a relief from the sorrow which she had allowed 
to absorb ber mind too much. In this way a 
year passed. She was coarsely but comforta¬ 
bly clothe"', kept constantly at work, and not 
treated with positive unkiDdness. It was rather 
a negative treatment—the utter absence of all 
sympathy and interest in her, further than as a 
useful machine—that kept her from feeling any 
thing like happiness. She had, besides, one 
active source of discontent. She was now fif¬ 
teen, and since her twelfth year had received 
no instruction. Up to that time she had been 
carefully educated, and her taste for reading 
developed and directed. The thirst for know¬ 
ledge once awakened, not even the fear of Mrs. 
Lynn’s anger, who scorned all mental culture, 
could prevent her eagerly perusing whatever of 
readable matter the house afforded. Many 
were the schemes she contrived for obtaining a 
thorough education, but insurmountable obsta¬ 
cles rose up in the way of their accomplish¬ 
ment. 
Just at this time, when hope was almost 
ready to give way to despair, Mr. Lynn died, 
leaving the whole of his property to his wife, 
with the exception of the paltry sum of $300 to 
Alice. Paltry I have called it, and yet to her 
it seemed an ample fortune. Never did miser 
so gloat over his gold, as did Alice over her 
legacy. The one darling wish of her heart 
might now be gratified. She could at last go to 
school; she could study years, she did not 
know how many; she could get an education, 
aye, and she would, and the very thought made 
her soul glow into a brighter life. Her plans 
were quickly formed, and as Mrs. Lynn had no 
further use for her, they met with no opposition. 
Three hundred dollars would, she thought, 
easily support her for two years at a good Sem¬ 
inary ; then she should be fitted to teach, and 
could earn the means of pursuing her studies 
longer. In the meantime she obtained a situa¬ 
tion in a farmer’s family, where she could at¬ 
tend the village school until she was fitted to 
enter the Seminary at the neighboring town of 
B-. 
[To be concluded next week.] 
fmttl/is 
Written for Moore’s Rural New-Yorker. 
MISCELLANEOUS ENIGMA. 
I am composed of 24 letters. 
Mv 1, 19, 3, S, 9 is a certain period of life. 
My 15, 6, 17, 24 is more precious than gold. 
My 21,1G, 20,12 is the time for improvement. 
My 23, 2, 21, 21,1 is opposed to wisdom. 
My 20,2, 19, 14 is necessary to sustain life. 
My 7,10, 21, 23 is one whom we are apt to es¬ 
teem very highly. 
My 13, 21, 17 is a kind of wood. 
My 5, 2, 17, 18, 7 are often made desolate by 
intemperance. 
My 11, 4, 3, 14, 1 is necessary if we would be¬ 
come learned. 
My 22, 20 is a little word which often interferes 
with llie schemes of men. 
My whole is a truth that should be kept in 
mind by the young. 
Hopewell, N. Y. O. R. T. 
Answer next week. 
ARITHMETICAL PROBLEM. 
A man engages to cradle a square field of 
grain. He cuts a swath eight feet and Dine 
inches in width. After having cradled eight 
times around, he finds he has cut just one-half 
of the piece. How many feet square does the 
field contain ? 
Eaele, Wyoming Co , N. Y. J. V. D. 
(Kg- Answer next week. 
My first., though dark, lias many things 
Made clear, when rightly used ; 
All knowledge which we get from books 
Is through its means transfused. 
That Martin Luther did employ 
It often is no wonder. 
When in well written letters he 
To Rome did send his thunder. 
Truth was with him, and by his side 
Friend had my second taken ;— 
Who takes for truth my second is— 
Never by God forsaken. 
Tradition says, that while he once 
The Holy Writ translating 
At Wat burg caslle sat alone 
Profoundly meditating, 
Satan appeared to mar him, but 
The doctor quickly banished 
The tempter—for my whole he hurled 
Asrainst him—and he vanished. 
5[|p“Answ< r next week. 
Answer to Geographical Enigma in No. 342 : 
The Missouri Compromise. 
Answer to Mathematical Problem in No. 342: 
Length, 54 rods; breadih, 30 lods. 
A FARMER WANTED. 
One who thoroughly uwierstands hts business in All Its 
branches. II, must be an American Protestant who can fur¬ 
nish the best of recommendations for sobriety, industry end 
integrity. He should be a middle-aged man, with a wile fully 
competent to take the charge of her department 
Such persons mav find a situation where every facility will 
be afforded for the pursuit of modern agriculture, with geod 
wages aud a pleasant home, bv addressing immediately, 
842if PROPRIETOR, Box 2137, New York City P. O. 
JEST PUBLISH Kit. 
"‘■Reynold's Political Map op the United States,” 
showing at a glance the whole country, from tue Atlantic to 
the P„cific coast.; colored so as to designate the Free and 
Slave Slates ; also the vast Territory which lies open to Free¬ 
dom or Slavery. It also presents a vast amount of statistical 
matter, showing the advantage of Freedom over Slavery, to¬ 
gether with Portraits of Fiemout aud Dayton. 
Price, in bheet form.25 cents. 
Price, in pocket form.60 cents. 
Every person interested in the politics of our country, should 
possess a copy. Copies sent po-tpaid on receipt of once. 
Address WILLIAM C. REYNOLDS, Publisher, 
3i2»2 No. 195 Broadway, New York. 
STACK COVERS OF COTTON DUCK. 
The following sizes constantly on hand, or any required size 
made to order. 15x20 feet; 2n.\26 do ; 25x30 do. 1st quality 43 
cents per square yard; 2d quality 36 ceuts per square yaid, 
furnished with cords all ready for use. Covers of either quali¬ 
ty will most iffcCtually protect the stack ill the heaviest rain 
storms, rendering it secure as tinricrihe burn root. 
Trie subscriber has a process he will warrant to preserve duck 
from mildew without, in the least discoli ring or injuring ihe 
material Applied when so ordered at 4 cents extra pertquaro 
yard. Orders throuch the Postoffice will meet with prompt 
attention. B. C. WILLIAMS, Sail and Tent Maker, 
3l2\v4 12 Buffalo St. Rochester, N Y. 
SPANISH MERINO SHEER— Of th« best quality, bred 
and lor Bale by GEO. CAMPBELL, 
West Westminster, Vt„ July 4th, 1856. 341w6 
FRENCH MERINO SHEEP. 
In order that we may increase our stock of Silefdan Merinos 
we offer for sale at reduced prices, 250 pure blood French Merino 
Sheep of the best quality. For particulars inquire ot 
GKO 'CAMPBELL, West Westminster, Vt 
341w« WM CHAMBERLAIN, Red Hook, N. Y. 
SAVE YOUR FRUIT. 
The Infallible Self-Sealing Fruit and Vegetable Can. 
Oor experience during the past year, in manufacturing Se'f- 
Sealmg Iruit. Cans, and the universal satisfaction and certifi¬ 
cates of parties who have purchased and tested those of va' ions 
makers have giv-n ours the decided preferences over all others. 
The subscribers offer to the public ihe 
BEST SELF-SEALING CAN 
ever invented, to preserve Fruits, Vegetables, Ac, 
Tne Sealing is invariably perfect. Ail others require solder 
or cement. 
The opening has been enlarged to admit a full sized Peach. 
Every Can is tested before it leaves our nianiriictory, suid 
stamped with our names. TAYLOR A IIODGET PS, 
Manufacturers of Planished Tin and Japanned Ware, 
34lw4 No. 60, Beckman street, New York. 
/8 55 —a . 
^< 7 ^-- Y0 
BUUIVET’S 
PATENT IMPROVED 
M-lmling /rail (Can. 
Tins Is the only Fruit Can In 
market made entirely of Tin. All 
others are sealed by means of Lead 
Screrwn, which discolor the Fruit. 
By means of a Rubber Ring, the 
sealing is made so perfectly Air-Tight 
that the most care ),huh person cannot 
make a failure Id sealing thin Can. 
A Channel being arranged around 
the top, Wax can be used (If desired), 
in addition to the Rubber Ring. 
No /tunnels are necessary in filling 
these Cans. 
The opening is bo large that a full- 
Bized Peach can be admitted. 
Every Can is perfectly tested, when 
made. 
This Can is the cheapest In market, 
considering the adnunluyes it has 
over all other Cans. 
f'57'Orders filled promptly, by J. .V C. 1IEUIIIAN, Agents 
for the Patentee, 601 Broadway, New York. 337 
HOT WATER WARMING APPARATUS. 
F O li GREEN HOUSES. 
The Subscribers have, at a large expense, perfected an ap¬ 
paratus for effectually Warming Green Houses, however 
large, in the severest weather, and with the most economical 
consumption of fuel. Fully aware of the difficulties which 
Florists and Horticulturists have experienced in their vaiu en¬ 
deavors to prevent their Plants from freezing on account of 
the imperfect modes of warming now much in use, we have la. 
ken the trouble to give our apparatus a fair test during the 
past winter, (as the following testimonial will show,) and with 
the most satisfactory results. We shall be happy to send, by 
mail, estimates for putting up our apparatus, to all who will 
send us drawings showing gronnd plan of their Green Houses. 
CHAPIN, TREADWELL & CO. 
Springfield, Mass 24, 1856. 
We take pleasure in recommending, unqualifiedly (o the 
public, the Warming Apparatus referred to above by Messrs. 
Chapin, Tresdwei.l A Go. Wo consider it perfect for the 
purpose designed, and have warmed our Green Houses in this 
manner during the past severe winter, having no trouble in 
keeping the houses as warm as we desired, while the ther- 
mormter ranged from 15 to 24 degrees below zero outside, and 
the fuel consumed, has been Iobs than that required auv previ- 
otis season B. K. BLISS A IIA VRN. 
Springfield, Mass., May 24, 1S56. S35w26 
COMBINED REAPER AND MOWER. 
MANNY PATENT WITH 
WOOD'S XJVEJgPJEYQ'V-'FI'lVirjEilNr'X’. 
FOR THE HARVEST OF 1856 
In calling the attention of farmers to my Machine, for the 
coming harvest, I take great pleasure in speaking of its still 
increased merits over any previous year’s manufacture, and 
in recommending it as now improved and perfected as being a 
Combined Reaper and Mower, adapted in every respect to the 
wants of farmers who have use for such an implement. 
I have so shortened the rear part of the platform and frame 
as to make the delivery easy. The reel post on the left side of 
ihe machine is made higher, the wing board wider and longer, 
and have put in internal gear. The raising lever is lengthened, 
and the driver's scat set further back, which so balances the 
machine as to rid the horses of all weight upon their necks— 
and I have the utmost confidence in recommending it as the 
best Combined Reaper and Mower in use. 
Warranted capable of cutting in a workmanlike manner 
from 10 to 15 acres of Grass or Grain per day. 
My terms are the same as heretofore. For the Combined 
Machine, delivered hero on board cars $125. For the Single 
Mower, $110. WALTER A. WOOD, 
Manufacturer and Proprietor, Hoosick Falls, N. Y. 
May 1,1856. 331tf 
MOORE’S RURAL NEW-YORKER, 
the leading weekly 
AGRICULTURAL, LITERARY AND FAMILY JOURNAL, 
IS PUBLISHED EVERY SATURDAY 
BY D. D. T. MOORE, ROCHESTER, N. Y. 
Office, Exchange Place, Opposite the Post-Office. 
TERMS, IN ADVANCE; 
Subscription—$ 2 a year— $1 for six months. To Clubs anti 
Agents as follows:—Three Copies one year, for $5 ; Six Copies 
(and one to Agent or getter up ol club,) for $10 ; Ten Copies 
(and one to Agent,) for $15, aud any additional number at the 
same rate, ($1,50 per copy ) As wo are obliged to pre-pay the 
American postage on papers sent to the British I’rovii ces, our 
Canadian agents and friends must add 12}£ cents per copy to 
the club rates of the Rural. 
Subscription money, properly inclosed and registered, 
may be forwarded at our risk. 
Advertising. —Brief and appropriate advertisements will be 
inserted at 25 cents a line, each insertion, payable in advance. 
Our rule is to give no advertisement, unle, s very brief, more 
than four consecutive insertions. Patent Medicines, Ac., will 
not bn advertised in this paper at any price. 1^2“ The circula¬ 
tion of the Rural New-Yorker is at least ten thousand greater 
than that of any other Agricultural or similar journal in the 
World,—and from 20.(Kill to 30,(KID larger than that of any other 
paper published In this State, out of New York city. 
