MOOBE’S EUEA1 NEW-YOBKEK: AN AGEICULTUEAL AND FAMILY NEWSPAPER. 
AUGUST 9. 
Sjjflice Kfliteg. 
the rum-fiend. 
IT CHARLES UACKAT. 
The Rum-Fiend cast bis eyes abroad. 
And looked o’er all the land, 
And numbered his myriad worshipers, 
With his bird-like, long right hand. 
He took his place in the teeming street, 
And watched the people go 
Around and about, with a buzz and a shout, 
Forever to and fro ; 
“And it’s hip!” said the Rum-Fiend, “hip, hurra! 
For the multitudes I see, 
Who offer themselves in sacrifice, 
And die for the love of me.” 
There stood a woman on a bridge, 
She was old, but not with years— 
Old with excess, and passion, and pain. 
And she wept remorseful tears. 
Ab she gave to her babe her miikless breast: 
Then goaded by its cry, 
Made a desperate leap in the river deep, 
In the sight of the passers-by ! 
“And it’s hip!” said the Rum-Fiend, “hip, hurra! 
She sinks, and let her be, 
In life or death whatever she did, 
Was all for the love of me.” 
I itched another by the hearth, 
iulien face and thin ; 
r’d words of scorn and hate 
i that staggered in. 
d she watched, and when he came, 
[Oughts were bent on blood ; 
3 not brook her taunting look, 
ie slew her where she stood, 
s hip!” said the Rum-Fiend, “hip, hurra! 
,k* mend is he ; 
slain his wife, he hath given his life, 
11 for the love of me.” 
ry day in the crowded way, 
tes his fearful stand, 
_ nbers his myriad worshipers 
With his bird-like, long right hand ; 
And every day, the weak and strong, 
Widows, and maids, and wives, 
Blood-warm, blood-cold, young men and old. 
Offer the Fiend their lives. 
“ And it’s hip !” he says, “hip ! hip ! hurra ! 
For the multitudes I see, 
That sell their souls for the burning drink, 
And die for the love of me.” 
iilfs ft W flit#. 
■ tw-Yorker. 
)Y. 
[TINGTON. 
imber.] 
>ol was to her a 
,nd made doubly 
shrank from con- 
sensitive to rid- 
that her limited 
ccomplishments 
""“groundless. Some there wer<L h ® stooped to 
sneer at her homely clothing aw j twar( } 
manners ; but, though often deepijK^ ^ Alice 
had an innate pride of spirit that kepy j ler f rom 
showing any signs of discomfiture in pres¬ 
ence of her tormentors, and whenever heta ear t 
began to faint at the thought of the long stVr. 
gle before her, she repeated to herself hL 
mother’s motto—“ There are no obstacles to hind 
who wills "—and her courage gathered strength. 
For two years she thus steadily pursued her 
studies, persevering in her purpose, (although 
she had to work early and late to pay for her 
board without infringing on her cherished fund,) 
until she was thoroughly versed in the English 
branches, and had laid a solid foundation for a 
valuable education. 
The spring term of Mrs. Ainsworth’s Semi¬ 
nary was to open one week from the close of 
Rockford winter school, and Alice decided to 
enter at once. l £ter dread of this step was a 
vague, undefined feeling of dislike to forming 
new acquaintances and mingling in new scenes, 
rather than anything more serious. She had 
no fear of not obtaining an honorable admis¬ 
sion, and she cared,very little whether hernew 
companions were pleased or displeased with 
her. Her object had assumed a more tangible 
form, and seemed less like a dreamy project; 
and in her fixedness of purpose she looked only 
at the goal, and cot at all at what lay between 
her and its attainment; It might be a desert, 
it might be a flowery plain—she never thought 
to wonder. Over it her path lay, and there was 
no turning aside in the one case, or idle dally¬ 
ing in the other. 
Passing over the intervening days, I will 
present her next in her new school, and as I 
have not yet allowed her to cast her shadow any¬ 
where but in your imagination, here is an out¬ 
line sketch, a pencil etching for you, and fancy 
may fill up the finer strokes and l&y on the 
rainbow tints. 
In one of the Seminary rooms, and during 
the day for recitations, but now devoted to 
promenading, dancing and miscellaneous romp¬ 
ing, from twenty-five to thirty girls are gather¬ 
ed. Some are pacing the floor arm in arm, 
some collected in groups engaged in earnest 
conversation. One stands alone by a window, 
evidently a new-comer. She is somewhat be¬ 
low the medium height, yet not slender enough 
to be called fairy-like, with a very ordinary 
complexion, neither blonde or brunette,—her 
hair a very common brown and not very taste¬ 
fully arranged,—large, dark, soul-lighted eyes, 
yet no more beautiful than your own or your 
sister’s may be,—her features not remarkably 
regular, and yet very good, taken together.— 
She is dressed in some plain, dark stuff, and it 
must be admitted that her dress does I P ba dly. 
This is Alice Grey —no heroine t 
plain, awkward girl, 
besides us. T1 
distance ar 
“ Dark as a gipsev, and such a fitting dress 1 
I declare it’s too bad to have such dowdies 
here.” 
“ Just look at her shoes, Grace ; I do believe 
they are made of cow-hide; and did you ever 
see such great red hands ?" 
Yes, Mabel Elliott, the shoes are coarse and 
heavy, and those hands are hard and red ; why 
should they not be ? Those feet have not 
walked on roses, and those hands have toiled 
long and wearily for daily bread. Did it ever 
occur to you that under a coarse, ill-fitting gar¬ 
ment there might be much of the grace that 
makes life beautiful ? And, in very truth, full 
many a lowly one offers to the Infinite far 
higher praise in an earnest life, than they who 
are clothed in fine raiment and fare sumptuous¬ 
ly every day. 
Alice could only hear enough of their con¬ 
versation to know that she was the subject of it, 
yet that knowledge made her feel far from com¬ 
fortable. She drew closer to the window and 
tried to fix her attention upon the garden with¬ 
out. Turning at length -with a sudden impulse 
she met the fixed gaze of a haughty looking 
girl, who with raised eye-glass was closely 
scrutinizing her. At first the blood flashed in¬ 
to Alice’s face, but it an instant, collecting 
herself, she calmly folded her arms and stood 
looking her inquisitor full m the face, return¬ 
ing her look of insolence with one of proud de¬ 
fiance that quickly caused heV to turn away.— 
In a few moments the bell Warned them all 
that the evening study-hours had commenced, 
and the room w r as quickly deserted. The pat¬ 
tering of feet on the stairs, the rustling of 
dresses through the halls, the opening and 
shutting of doors was soon over, and all were 
quietly settled in their rooms for the night.— 
Let us look in at Alice. 
They have given her for a room-mate a little 
rose-bud of a girl, with a blushing, baby-face, 
and the lightest, tiniest figure. There she sits 
on the floor a little way from Alice, her hands 
folded in her lap, looking at her with deep in¬ 
terest, and a mingled expression of wonder and 
bashful fear. Alice meantime is trying to 
overcome the mortification of her reception in 
the recreation room by rocking herself rapidly 
to and fro in a small rocking chair. Ten, fifteen, 
twenty minutes—nobody speaks—half an hour 
—the rocker is stationary at last. Little May 
Browning gets up from the floor, walks rather 
doubtfully toward Alice, and finally ventures 
to put her tiny hand on the back of her chair. 
Alice looks round at her. 
“So you are May Browning, my room-mate, 
are you ?” 
“ Yes ; are you glad to come here ?—do you 
like me ?” 
“ Perhaps I shall when I know you better.— 
How old are you ?” 
“ I shall be thirteen next week. Oh, I’m so 
■ T cun’t o-iipss w'hat Harry will s-et me 
for a present this time. Last year I had such 
a beauty of a necklace, gold and coral, like 
Mabel Elliott’s, only prettier. I don’t like 
Mabel Elliott, do you ?” 
“ I have only seen her once, you know.” 
“Well, she laughed at you to-day, and told 
the girls you were a servant. Are you ?” 
“ I have worked hard for years to earn my 
Hiving, May. Is that what you call a servant ?” 
\‘ Why didn’t your father and mother get you 
Why di 
thi\ s ?” 
“ I\;ivn’ 
“ I\avn’t any father or mother—nobody in 
all the -vorld that cares for me.” 
“ Well\en I’ll like you, I will, Alice. And 
I havn’t got anybody either, only Harry— my 
brother Harr\—. h e fakes care of me, and I 
shall tell him atx^t you, and he will take care 
of you, too.” \ 
“What a little, littly creature,” said Alice half 
to herself, drawing 0 n to her lap. “ How, 
May, if you were all aloh* without any brother 
Harry, could you work a x d earn money and 
take care of yourself ?” 
“No, indeed,” said May ; could I ?”_ 
and she looked at her tiny self ityd shook her 
head hopelessly. 
“Some have done it. And May, >hen you 
had made your hands hard and rough, axd were 
too poor to buy nice clothes, should you if 
the girls laughed at you, and called you. a 
dowdy ? I don’t care about it now. And 
when you see how awkward I am and feel 
ashamed of me, try to remember this and be 
patient with me,—I shall do better in time.” 
It was as Alice had said,—she did improve 
in time, and in spite of all unfavorable circum¬ 
stances she found herself at the end of the first 
year, not at least inferior to any of her class¬ 
mates. In May Browning she had a firm 
friend, whose childish love and sympathy was 
always lavishly bestowed, and as for “brothei 
Harry,” May never rested till he had promised 
to take Alice under his protection. Harry 
Browning was a young physician, handsome, 
talented, and rumored rich, but no one in B- 
knew aught of the truth of this last, only his 
rooms were elegantly furnished and his own 
fine person fastidiously attired. His whole 
soul seemed bound up in May, his only sister, 
and no wish of hers was ever long ungratified. 
She in return believed devotedly in Harry’s 
infallibility, and worshiped him as completely 
as ever a brother was worshiped. She admired 
whatever he admired, and hated whatever he 
hated. Browning pitied Alice at first for her 
misfortunes, and partly for that reason, partly 
to please May, he insisted upon her sharing the 
walks and rides and pleasure excursions he 
contrived for May. Gradually, however, he 
found that, under a retiring and shrinking dis¬ 
position, she had intellect and talent of no or¬ 
dinary stamp, and that these only needed to be 
drawn out and developed to place her at once 
higher position than many are capable of 
Ie d etermined, if possible, to do 
this, to show her the powers she was scarcely 
conscious of possessing, and induce in her a 
habit of calm self-reliance that would enable 
her to make use of them. He read to her, he 
lent her books, he conversed with her, plainly 
and frankly. She set down half he said to the 
score of May’s friendship, the rest as flattery, 
and so he got on but poorly. 
Alice was half through the second year, a 
fine scholar, but showing no tact as a writer, 
except that her essays were faultless in form of 
expression and mere mechanical execution.. She 
wrote only common-place things on common¬ 
place subjects* This was just what most dis¬ 
appointed Harry Browning. He had listened 
with delight when in moments of freedom she 
had almost unconsciously poured out the en¬ 
thusiasm of her heart upon something that 
deeply stirred her, and he wanted she should 
unveil these hidden fountains and show the 
world their wealth. He had often spoken of 
this to her, and one day, as the three were walk¬ 
ing in the Seminary grounds, and Alice was 
portraying to him an imagination of a storm at 
sea, he abruptly asked—“ Alice, why in the 
world do you write such trifling essays, and 
place yourself on a mental level with Mabel 
Elliott and her suite of butterflies, when you 
might soar infinitely above them ? You are 
wrong, you are wicked—you are not living the 
life God wants you to live. He has given you 
talents, -why do you not use them ? When 
such thoughts are kindling and glowing in your 
heart, why do you stifle them ? I wish you 
would write one essay and put your soul into it.” 
He spoke earnestly, almost angrily, and Alice, 
more excited than he had ever seen her, an¬ 
swered passionately— 
“ Will the mother take her writhing infant 
and hold it up on the stage, that the world may 
shudder at its gasping death ? Will she show 
it, dead and beautiful, that the world may see 
how fair a thing it was ? Or tell to careless 
ears how she rocked it on her bosom and sung 
it to rest with cradle-songs, and how cold the 
sorrow lies upon her heart, like snow ? Oh ! 
no, no !—but in reverent silence she will bear 
the seal, knowing the Sealer’s hand, and, con¬ 
secrated to suffering, grow holier through her 
grief. And shall I show to these, so thought¬ 
less of me, all this volcano of passion—these 
sweet, sweet hopes that sometimes dare to live? 
Shall I tell them of the songs they murmur to 
me, of mocking visions, of upward yearnings, 
of unanswered prayers ? Or shall I lift the 
veil from my holy dead, and show them the 
pale forms that lie icy in my heart ? Oh l no, 
no ! —I am nothing to them ; let roe pass among 
them unheeded ; why should they look upon 
my soul ?” 
She stopped speaking and stood for a moment 
with flushed cheeks and eyes brimfull of tears, 
frightened at herself for having spoken so free¬ 
ly. Harry Browning regarded her with a look 
di -- i;r_.o-iii.se'* admiration, yet loth, as most 
men and women srf<., to gi\e up the point once 
undertaken, he still urged his wish, and waxed 
so eloquent that very likely he would have 
succeeded had not the bell, which all school 
girls know always rings just at the wrong mo¬ 
ment, summoned Alice and May to their rooms, 
and left him to his own meditations. 
The next day was an unfortunate one for 
Alice. She felt sick and weary, and managed 
to fail in every recitation, and finally received 
a harsh reproof from the French teacher for her 
inattention. She left the class chagrined and 
encountered Mabei. Elliott, who could not for¬ 
bear a sneering remark upon the effects of Dr. 
Browning’s society. Once in her room she 
threw herself upon the floor and sobbed long 
and bitterly. Mabel’s taunting words, her 
teacher’s reproof—both were remembered, and 
in her anger and mortification she felt that 
neither would have been offered had not her 
poverty and friendlessness made it sure they 
might be safely done. The remembrance of 
the last evening’s conversation came baek to 
her, and with it, for the first time, came a wish 
to triumph over those who despised her. Why 
should she not do it? Yes, she would pour out 
her whole heart ; it might be a relief; at least 
it would please Harry Browning, and—did .she 
care so very much for that ? 
She did write “Heart Echoes,” and the tears 
flowed hot and. fast as she wrote, rapidly, hit- 
tefly, without thought of anything save to re¬ 
lieve inward melancholy by outward expression. 
Wednesday came and with her usual quiet 
manner Alice took her place to read. Forget¬ 
ting all there, forgetting herself, scarcely seeing 
the paper from which she read, she gave utter¬ 
ance to a passionate flood of emotion, throwing 
into it the whole bitterness of her heart. The 
room was perfectly still while she read, and she 
left the stand pale with emotion. 
After the close of the exercises, and indeed 
for the following week, Alice Grey’s essay was 
the great theme of discourse. Mabel Elliott 
declared positively that she knew Alice never 
composed it, and many agreed with her in 
opinion, and the conclave, after numerous con¬ 
jectures, finally decided that Harry Browning 
must have written it for her. A lice knew noth¬ 
ing of all this,but waited somewhat anxiously for 
the teacher’s criticisms. Nor was she alone in¬ 
terested. Many a heart beat faster when last of 
all the essays he took up Alice’s and read the 
title. Alice rose to receive if. « Miss Grey,” 
he slowly began, “ you have been now for near¬ 
ly two years a member of my class, and I may 
say I am tolerably familiar with your habit of 
thought and style of composition—enough so I 
think to justify me in the conclusion that this 
essay is not a production of your oWn. Another 
mind is apparent in it. In short, ^liss Grey, I 
am convinced that it is copied. 
Pdor Alice stood looking him/in the face 
scarcely comprehendin 
then gradually a great light flashed into her 
eyes, and her lips grew deadly wnite as she r 
answered :— “ Copied, yes it was copied—copied 
from a record written on my heart by the finger 
of agony ; written in blood, and burning there 
now. God forgive me that ever I should show ( 
it to you !” Without waiting to mark the ef- , 
feet of her words she left the room, reached her ‘ 
own apartment, and shut herself in. May was ] 
gone out to spend the day—that was a relief, 1 
for she wanted no one near her. Foruearly two . 
hours she paced the room until utterly wearied . 
out, not thinking, her brain seemed turned to J 
molten lead, and the iron grasp on her heart 
tightened and tightened every moment. She i 
kneeled down before the window and laid her 1 
head on the cool stone sill. The evening wind , 
was just beginning to freshen and creep over 
the tops of the lofty trees. Its soft, cool 
touch upon her hot forehead was like some- , 
thing human and sympathizing, and large tears 
swelled under her closed eye-lids and rolled 
slowly down her burning cheeks, and at length 
she slept quietly. There May found her on 
her return, with her hair damp with dew, and 
a bright spot glowing on each cheek. She 
tried to rouse her, but succeeded in drawing 
from her only wild, incoherent words and sobs. 
In great alarm she summoned the matron, and 
Alice was put to bed delirious with fever.— 
The regular physician was not in town, and Dr. 
Browning was called to attend her. He pro¬ 
nounced her in a brain fever and in imminent 
danger. 
[Continued on page 256, thiB No. - ] 
pit anfo luim 
Four Points of a Case.—A n Eastern editor 
says that a man got himself into trouble by 
marrying two wives. 
A Western editor replies by assuring his co¬ 
temporary that a good many men in that section 
had undergone the same thing by marrying one. 
A Northern editor retorts that quite a num¬ 
ber of his acquaintances found trouble enough 
by barely promising to marry, without going 
any further. 
A Southern editor retorts that a friend of his 
was bothered enough when simply found in 
company with another man’s wife. 
“ Tommy, my son, what are you going to do 
with that club ?” “ Send it to the editor, of 
course.” “But what are you going to send it 
to the editor for ?” “ Cause he says if anybody 
will send him a club, he will send them a copy 
of his paper.” The mother came pretty nigh 
fainting, but retained consciousness enough to 
ask :—“ But, Tommy dear, what do you suppose 
he wants of a club ?” “ Well, I do not know,” 
replied the hopeful urchin, “unless it is to knock 
onWiWiu, fnj- t.heir paper.” 
“We must be unanimous,” observed Han¬ 
cock on the occasion of signing the American 
Declaration of Independence; “ there must be 
no pulling different ways—we must all hang 
together.” “Yes,” added Franklin, “we must 
all hang together, or most assuredly we shall* 
all hang separately.” 
Queer Game.—“ I say, friend, is there any¬ 
thing to shoot about here ?” inquired a sports¬ 
man in Kentucky* of a boy he met. 
“Wal,” was the reply, “nothing jest about 
here, stranger, but the schoolmaster is down the 
hill yonder—you can pop him over.” 
An editor in Ohio has been fined $250 for 
hugging a girl in meeting. “ Cheap enough 1 
(says another of the fraternity,) we once hug¬ 
ged a girl in meeting, and it has cost us a thou¬ 
sand a year ever since.” 
The greatest English philosopher was Bacon, 
one of the finest Scotch poets Hogg, and one ot 
the pleasantest British essayists Lamb. 
ffluti/# tern 
Written for Moore's Rural New-Yorker. 
GEOGRAPHICAL ENIGMA. 
I am composed of 35 letters. 
My 11, 10, 27, 7, 6 is a river in Africa. 
My 19,20,33, 4, 23,11 is a city in England. 
My 10,19, 19,13, 33,2, 10, 31 is one of the U. S. 
My 6, 3,24, 35 is a city in New York. 
My 29, 15,14,8, 12, 25 is a county in N. Y. 
My 33, 28, 5, 19, 32 is a county in Indiana. 
My 18, 6, 13,34, 15, 28,19 is a city on the Sev¬ 
ern river. 
My 1, 6, 17, 35, 33, 8, is a Co. in Pennsylvania. 
My 18, 20, 22,15,2, 33 is a city in the U. S. 
My 5, 7, 9, 26, 29, 6, 30 is a county in Virginia. 
My whole is a saying of Young, the Poet. 
Ontario, Illinois. G. W. 
ffrSf" Answer next week. 
Written for Moore’s Rural New-Yorker. 
ALGEBRAICAL PROBLEM. 
There are three numbers, which if the square 
root of the first and the second be added to the 
third, the sum will be 27, and if the square root 
of the second and third be subtracted from the 
square of the first, the remainder will be 1287 ; 
and if the square root of the first and last be 
added to the second, the sum will be 35. 
Barre, N. Y., 1856. L. E. W. 
Jgg*” Answer next week. 
Answer to Miscellaneous Enigma in No. 343: 
Youth is the seed-time of life. 
Answer to Charade in No. 343 :—Ink-stand. 
Answer to Arithmetical Problem in No. 343 : 
' 1 ’77 98-100 feet sauare. \ 
SUBSCRIBE NOW! 
The Wool Grower and Stock Register. 
Volume Ten, Commencing July, 1856. 
The Publisher respectfully announces that the Tenth Yol- * 
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July, 1856. The new volume will be printed upon clear type, 
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June, 1856. Rochester, N. J 
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ed in the strongest manner for their economy, durability and 
efficiency. They are emphatically the Farmer’s own Machine, 
and thousands of Testimonials could be had, were it needed oi 
their worth. An examination of them, before purchasing else¬ 
where. is solicited. Full catalogue and description furnished 
on application. 
A full assortment of Farm Implements and Machinery, also 
Seeds, always on hand at reasonable prices. 
334w8eo H. D. EMERY A CO., 204 Lake St., Chicago, Ill. 
SHORT-HORNS. ’ 
I have for sale some 8 or 10 fine young Co s and Heifers ; 
also about the same number of Bulls and Bull Calves. They 
will be sold on six or twelve months’ time for approved paper. 
My Railroad Station is Cauastota, New York Central Vsilroad. i 
My farm is six miles from this Station. S P. CHAPMAN. I - 
Cloekville, Madison Co., N. Y., July, 1856. 342eowtf k 
•---—- 1 
KEDZIE’S RAIN WATER FILTERS, % 
MANUFACTURED BY J. E. CHENEY A CO., ROCHESTER, N. Y. 
These celebrated Filters have been fullyl ' 
tested for many years in almost every Statal 
in the Union, and tho demand is constant)/ 
increasing. There are five sizes, made of r 
oak, iron-bonnd tubs, with reservoirs inside; ) 
from which can be drawn about 100 gallons J 
in twenty-four hours, for ail domestic uses. Ih f 
The most impure Rain, River or Lake ;£ j 
water by this means becomes pure, clenr as jlf ■ 
crystal, and without taste or smell. Iu this “ 
condition only is water fit ior family purpoi* 
es, as a means of promoting the generJ 
health, and as a preventive of cholera, and 
other diseases incurred by the use of impure water. 
They are portable, durable and cheap, and are not excelled 
by any other filter known. Address 
330eowtf J. E. CHENEY A CO., Rochester, N. Y. 
MOORE’S RURAL NEW-YORKER, 
the leading weekly 
AGRICULTURAL, LITERARY AND FAMILY JOURNAL,. 
IS PUBLISHED EVERY SATURDAY J 
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