356 
MOORE’S RURAL NEW-YORKER: AN AGRICULTURAL AND FAMILY NEWSPAPER. 
NOY. 1 
®|aite Hflitcg. 
Written for Moore’s Rural New-Yorker. 
THE FARMER BOX. 
BT B. C. VOOISTO*. 
O, earth holds not a weary one 
More richly paid for toil, 
Than he who labors faithfully 
To cultivate the soil. 
Though other eyes may gladly look 
Upon the fruitful fields, 
And other hearts beat gratefully 
For what the harvest yields, 
The blessing doubly comes to him 
Whose hands have scattered seed, 
And reaped and garnered, patiently. 
The nation’s greatest need. 
I’ve often watched thee, farmer boy, 
Thy patient, wearied step, 
That told how truthfully and well 
The onward pace it kept. 
And thought how peacefully and sweet, 
How calmly, and how blest, 
The night must curtain round thy home, 
And draw thee to thy rest. 
And lightly o’er thy well-earned sleep, 
Must fall the lowly dream, 
Unfettered by Ambition’s chain, 
Undazzled by its gleam. 
For why should burning thoughts e’er come 
To mingle with thy name, 
And bid thee seek for happiness 
In higher walks of fame ? 
The gayest, gladdest of lives is thine, 
Bright boy,—then love thy home ; 
And spurn from thee the troubling thought 
That tempts tby heart to roam. 
For many and many a restless one 
Envies thy simple joy ; 
And sceptered kings will live, and sigh 
For the lot of the Farmer Boy. 
Mendon, Oct., 1856. 
iifp’si fmim. 
Written for the Rural New-Yorker. 
REMEMBERINGS. 
BY E. 0. HUNTINGTON. 
And this is my birth-day, Hattie— you per¬ 
haps have remembered it; no one else has.— 
She who for so many years so tenderly and 
lovingly remembered it, is lying now under 
these brown Autumn leaves, with these sad Oc¬ 
tober winds blowing across her grave. Mother 
beloved ! those winds are blowing across my 
heart, and brown leaves are falling there too. 
Thirty-five to-day—and with life half lived 
out; I look backward for the sunshine, and 
forward lor the gloom. I am weak to-day, and 
the tears drop and drop, like the cold Autumn 
rain, despairing, chilling. Yet I am sometimes 
strong, oh, how strong, and my soul stirs and 
glows within me, and goes reaching, struggling 
forth to wrestle with the giant future; strong 
to wrest from the grasp of fate gifts and trea¬ 
sures of joy and promise. But not now ; alas ! 
not now. To-day I have been to the grave of 
the past, where I buried my dead out of my 
sight. Laying my band in the hand of memo¬ 
ry, I have walked backward toward life’s morn¬ 
ing, and lain down in the gloom that gathered 
where the sweetest sunshine of my heart faded 
out. 
I have heard them again, the old-time voices, 
silver-toned as they floated back to me : I have 
sung again the old-time songs, hoarse and heavy 
with tears: I have lifted the pall from my 
dead : I have called them all up around me— 
hopes, loves, dreamings—all with sad, silent 
faces, and patient, folded hands; I have taken 
my household idols, shattered and marred as 
they are, and held them again to my bosom, 
and wept warm, passionate tears, till the icy 
corpse I clasped chilled to my heart’s core. 
And I have laid them all back to repose, and 
drawn the pall over them, and sealed the sepul¬ 
chre, and hushed the song, and wandered back 
to where I live to-night— alone, desolate,darkened. 
And the night creeps on in shadows. Sitting 
alone in the gray, solemn twilight, I think of 
you, Hattie, in your happy dreaming, and 
long to draw you to me. Are you with me, 
little darling, in my darkening room ? Can I 
look into the liquid sunlight that floats far 
down in your quiet eyes ? I will believe it, 
and talk with you so. You never knew my 
sunny past, Hattie ; I only found you after 
shadows had wrapped all my life in gloom. I 
will show you to-night my treasures, the riches 
I gleaned after the storm broke over me—little 
relics of what was once beautiful, and now has 
grown holy. 
This long, glittering curl—ah me ! it was cut 
from a pure, white brow, as fair as yours, Hat¬ 
tie, but cold and marble still. My sister I 
called her on earth; shall I know her thus 
above ? She was not worn nor weary at heart, 
but with all the uudimmed glory of youth upon 
her, she slept to waken in that home where the 
beautiful pass not away. Oh, the still beauty 
of that sleeping face 1—how it haunts alway, 
yet not as a mournful presence. She is dead— 
but it is well to die : to grow pure, and calm, and 
changeless—to cool the fever, to still the throb¬ 
bing, to satisfy the longing, to soothe the wild 
unrest. Lay the hair back in its case again, 
with the memories clustering around it: let 
them sleep ; it is better so. 
Here in this little book are the names of 
school friends, traced by their own hands, and 
little loving thoughts and wishes prompted by 
warm hearts. Many and many a name traced 
here has been carved since upon the grave-yard 
marbles, and thus many a page of my album is 
now but a tombstone with its name and epitaph. 
“ Lucy Heed ” wasted away with consump¬ 
tion ten years ago. “ Mary Somers ” found a 
grave among the prairie flowers of the far west. 
“Nettie Andrews,” “ Elsie Harwood,” “ Mary 
Linwood” —all gone beyond the river. Ah. 
here are my two poet friends, Stella and Ma¬ 
rion. Bead what they have written, Hattie; 
I cannot see for tears : 
There are graves in moonlight cold— 
There are marbles white and fair— 
Oh, the quiet hearts they hold 1 
Oh, the blessed name they bear 1 
There are hearts that wake to weep ; 
Wake from dreams of wild unrest; 
Underneath the coffined sleep 
Never dream may shake the breast. 
There are lips whose every breath 
Yearns for sweet affection’s balm, 
Underneath the kiss of death 
Pleading lips grow mute and calm. 
That is Marion’s own heart, written out in 
words. The same intense yearning for rest 
that glowed out of her dark eye, and gave such 
a quivering, sensitive mobility to her mouth. 
Poor child—she found rest at last, when the 
great Shepherd folded her to his bosom, and 
doubtless amoDg the angels she met that full¬ 
ness of sympathy she sought so vainly here. 
Stella, my beautiful star, with a heart 
whose gladness ran over into every one around. 
She has poured forth her happiness here in a 
song that gushed from her heart like a carol 
from a wild bird : 
I am sitting alone with the night, Nkllie, 
Alone with the beautiful night, 
And whether awake or a di earning 
I never can tell aright. 
But my heart is as glad as a fountain 
That leaps in the flashing light. 
The stars are mourning on high,NELLin, 
And the old moon sinking low, 
And over the fields of the barley 
The night winds merrily blow, 
And in at my open window 
With ripples of coolness flow. 
So she sings on—perchance she is staging 
now in heaven. I know not, for she long ago 
wandered from me. 
These are my dead, Hattie —the One calm, 
consecrated and holy ; lying under monumental 
marbles,yet singing amid the harpiugs and tbe 
glory—tbe other living, breathing, only dead 
and dumb to me. Alas, the unburied dead ! — 
how cold they lie upon our hearts; no matter 
how heavy a pall of proud forgetfulness we 
throw over them, or how thickly we wreathe 
the glowing roses above them, the heart feels 
them still, and hears above its wildest singing 
the tolling of their passing bell. 
My mother’s picture !—it is the altar on 
which memory daily sacrifices to lost affection. 
Lost, did I say ? rather sanctified, glorified ; 
for the spirit changes not in dying, and love is 
not of the earthly that it should lie down with 
it in the grave dust. Was it not truly said that 
we may become angels here in this life ? and 
why should I not remember my mother as our 
glorified below I Can heaven give a brighter 
halo for her forehead than her beautiful deeds 
and words of patient loving wove for it here ! 
And I can look calmly upon her pictured 
face, and grow stronger as I gaze. It wakes no 
bitter grief, brings back no despairing memo¬ 
ries. Oh ! it is not death that severs souls, but 
change and blighting. The dead are always 
with us, and dwelling all about us; gliding 
noiselessly to and fro. Have you never felt 
them drawing near you in the darkness? I 
have thus felt them, my mother is thus near me. 
I feel her caressing upon my hair whenever a 
starbeam lights it. I know her in ten thousand 
movings, and comfortings, and cheerings that 
come to me in the silence of night. And I am 
glad and happy in this belief— God gave it me 
and none shall take it from me. 
There is another picture, Hattie, sealed close¬ 
ly as I sealed it years ago when I dared not 
trust my heart to look upon it, for it stirred too 
deeply the fountains that I would have rest 
forever. Yet what matters it now ? Memory, 
with eager, trembling fingers, has alteady bro¬ 
ken the seals,and affection is looking with tear¬ 
ful eyes upon every line of the limner. The 
brow is coldly beautiful with its heavy, cluster¬ 
ing hair—the eye eloquent in its depth, yet 
neither passionate or tender—and you cannot 
help thinking that the smile upon the lips is 
like sunshine resting upon the surface of a rock, 
not glowing outward from a lighted heart. You 
do not like it? And yet, child, I placed that 
man as an idol in my heart of hearts, and loved 
him utterly. Shut the case and sit closer to me 
while I tell you the story. 
I was in my twentieth year when I first 
learned to love Edward Owen. We were stu¬ 
dents together at L-. He was completing 
his studies, preparatory to the practice of the 
law, and 1 was in the junior class of Dr. 
Bradley’s Institute. Edward was in every re¬ 
spect my antipodes. Sternly practical, with¬ 
out a tinge of romance in his nature, habitually 
calm and reserved, even to haughtiness, never 
suffering himself to transgress, in the slightest 
degree,the strictest conventionalities. I was a 
passionate child of nature, unaccustomed to 
conceal or control the outbursting feelings that 
often shook my very soul. I reveled in the 
world of imagination, and filled all life with 
beautiful ideals. Do you wonder that I loved 
Edward Owen ? He was just such an one as 
my nature necessitated me to love. His stern, 
practical nature seemed to me something tangi¬ 
ble and substantial to lean upon. He gave me 
a feeling of strength and repose that was de¬ 
lightful when my dreams had wearied me, and 
if I sometimes felt a vague dissatisfaction and 
longed for a deeper tenderness than his, it was 
only momentary, and I made up for his cold¬ 
ness in the love I poured upon him. 
We were formally engaged, and for a time I 
was deeply happy. The whole world was 
glorified to me. I loved Edward Owen to per¬ 
fect idolatry— madly, as we always love when 
we dare to lavish upon the human tbe adoration 
which belongs wholly to the Divine. May 
God forgive that worship—it wrought its own 
avenging. 
Yet in all our interviews there seemed to be 
something between us. I could not define this, 
but I felt it more and more. Mrs. Stowe has 
truly said that one hour of earnest communion 
of what lies nearest the heart, binds more closely 
than a hundred nominal betrothals. This com¬ 
munion was just what seemed impossible to us. 
Hattie, do you know what it is to search for 
life in a statue ?—to listeD painfully for a heart¬ 
beat—to watch if you could not see a pulse 
bound, or even a tear start—and to watch, to 
listen in vain ? To see always the same calm 
exterior, and know that the current of thought 
and feeling ran always unbroken below ? To 
long for an upbursting storm of passion, of 
anger, of anything to make you feel the life- 
force ? There are some persons whose joy and 
grief seem to be galvanic, the result of some 
power totally exterior to themselves. Edward 
was one of these. In vain I sought to break 
through the armor of reserve, and look upon the 
man himself; he was always the same impene¬ 
trable being ; everywhere I felt the mask.— 
This was not always so, and I could not then 
see much that I now do ; but still our frequent 
intercourse, instead of drawing us nearer to¬ 
gether, gradually estranged us from each other. 
I had dreamed of a love, Hattie —Oh, the 
world holds nothing so beautiful, and my ideal 
haunted and mocked me w T ith its shadowy 
presence—so glorious yet so hopeless. I want¬ 
ed a depth of affection that was boundless 
and beyond all control. I wanted a soul to stir 
in all its founts, and leap to the lip and eye to 
meet and bless me, and gradually, slowly the 
truth dawned upon me that such a love Edward 
would not, could not give me. But this was not 
yet. I learned it by several steps. 
About six months after our engagement, a 
party of young people went out from L-to 
visit a gallery of paintings in a neighboring 
city, and Edward and myself were of the com¬ 
pany. The ride was delightful, through a wild, 
romantic country, the road lying for most of 
the way through forests, just then glowing 
with the thousand shades and hues that the 
early frosts had kindled. I remember now 
how the asters clustered in bunches about the 
little pools, and the graceful golden-rod shone 
out everywhere with its plumes of nodding 
flowers—while the maples, elms and chestnuts 
vied with each other in brilliancy of coloring. 
I was very happy and alive to all the beauty of 
earth, and felt almost sorry when the ride of a 
dozen miles was over and we collected in the 
gallery. It was the first large collection of 
paintings I had ever seen, and my enthusiasm 
was perhaps more easily roused on that account; 
but at all events I soon forgot everything, even 
Edward, in earnest admiration of the works of 
genius about me. We stood before a picture of 
“Christ in the Judgment Hall.” The fierce 
angry faces of the Jews, the careless, sneertag 
looks of the soldiery, the perplexed hesitating 
of Pilot —these were finely conceived by the 
artist; but what shall I say of the central fig¬ 
ure— Jesus of N azareth ? In his face the calm 
majesty of the God incarnate was blended with 
the tender compassion of the Redeemer. I felt 
it all in a moment. Gethsemane and Calvary 
rushed across my soul, and bowed it before 
those prayerful eyes, that shone down into my 
heart with a mute questioning— “Lovest thou 
me?” I trembled, I sobbed aloud. Edward 
gave me one look of perfect surprise, and then 
said in a reproving tone— “ Nellie, I am ashamed 
of you 1 one would think you never saw any 
thiDg in your life before.” 
I cannot tell you of the utter revulsion of 
feeliDg these words caused. I was calm in an 
instant, and my feeling was not then as much 
of disappointment at Edward's lack of sympa¬ 
thy, as of anger at his reproof. He was asham¬ 
ed of me I No man should tell me that; all 
my pride rebelled, and with flashing eyes and 
crimsoned cheek, I drew my hand from his arm, 
and stepping back, said:—“Very well, Mr. 
Owen, I will not mortify you any longer by my 
simplicity.” Now did he resent this ?—not at 
all, but with the same calm tone he said—“ I 
beg, Miss Harley, you will spare me the mor¬ 
tification of a scene in public; after we reach 
home you can act as you choose ”—and he coolly 
drew my hand again within his arm. I bit my 
lip and walked on in silence. We passed thro’ 
the gallery with the rest, but I was blind to all 
the beauty and harmony, and glad to be on the 
homeward route. During the ride back I be¬ 
gan to feel remorseful, aud by the time we 
reached L- and stood at the door of my 
boarding place, I could end tire it no longer. I 
tried as well as Icould with choking tears to 
tell him bow that picture had excited me to in- 
controllable emotion, and how bis reproof chilled 
me; I told him of my proud heart that would 
not endure that he should say he was ashamed 
of me— and begged him to remember my pas¬ 
sionate nature, and not judge me by his own 
standard. He was as immovable as a statue ; 
he assured me he was not angry with me, but 
hoped 1 would try to be less childless, aDd con¬ 
trol my temper for the future ; and all this as 
coldly as if he had been giving advice to some 
acquaintance of a day. He left me with a re¬ 
spectful bow and an icy “good night;” and I— 
I could have thrown myself at his feet and beg¬ 
ged him to fold me one moment to his heart 
and tell me he loved me. I was thirsting for 
love—where should I ever find it ? 
There was a fountain, whose waters, flowing 
freely from the great white throne, would have 
quenched this thirst, but my feet had never 
found it, and it was only when all earlbly lights 
faded into utter darkness that I followed the 
star that led to its unfailtag streams. 
[Concluded next week.] 
'mar. 
A GREAT SPEECH. 
Hooper, of the Moidgomcry Mail gives the 
following report of the greatest speech he ever 
heard : 
A fellow was indicted up in the old Nin, 
when Tom G-1 was solicitor, for gambling, 
to wit, playing “ short cards ” at a certain lo¬ 
cality known as Frog Level. Col. N- de¬ 
fended him, and contended before the jury that 
his client, with a bottle of liquor in his pocket, 
accompanied the crowd who, it was showD, did 
actually play, yet it never did with absolute 
certainty locate him as one of the players.— 
Said he, by way of peroration :—“ Gentlemen 
of the Jury, the witness have told you that 
Peter Wyatt was tbar, and a playing; for he 
noticed his hand, and it was a full on Queens 1 
Harry Snow was thar, and he was a playing, 
for he hilt two little par. William Upton was 
thar, he played, cause witness noticed, in par¬ 
ticular, that he had nothin’ but an ace I Bill 
Connor was thar, and he played, gentlemen, for 
he had the bully hand—four high-heeled Jacks I 
“Bid, gentlemen, when I come to ask him 
about Abraham Pilkin—my client’s hand, what 
did he say, gentlemen ? Why, nothin’, gen¬ 
tlemen, except that if he held any hand, he dis- 
remembered what was in it! And now, gen¬ 
tlemen of the jury, if my client was seen goin’ 
down to Frog Level with a bottle of liquor in 
his pocket, and the witness can’t remember he 
hilt any hand at all, when bully hands was out, 
and him the best player in the crowd—is that 
—is that —I say, gentleman of the jury, is that 
any reason that my client was guilty of the 
crime of Qambolling ?" 
It is almost needless to say that the jury saw 
the non seqnitur, and acquitted the defendant. 
A Long Story. —A man up in New Hamp¬ 
shire went out gUDniDg one day this spring— 
he saw a flock of pigeons sitting on a limb of 
an old pine, so he dropped a ball into his gun 
and fired. The ball split the limb, which clos¬ 
ed up and caught the toes of all the birds in it. 
He saw that he had got them all. So he fast¬ 
ened two balls together and fired; cut the limb 
off, which fell into the river ; he then waded in 
and brought it ashore. On counting them there 
were three hundred pigeons, and in his boots 
were two barrel of shad. 
A friend of ours a few days since, was in a 
grocery story in the country, when two boys 
came in, the largest of whom was scarcely tall 
enough to reach the counter comfortably, the 
other about two biscuits shorter. The tallest 
of the young gentlemen tip-toed up and depos¬ 
ited a penny on the counter. “ Look here,” 
says he to the storekeeper, “give this little 
chap a stick of candy — will you ? I’m in a 
hurry,” and he stepped out, leavtag the “little 
chap” to wait for his sweetening. 
Sharp Retort. —Roger Sherman was repre¬ 
sentative in Congress from Connecticut; his 
business had been that of making shoes. John 
Randolph, who had Indian blood in him, rose, 
aud with his usual squeaking sounds, said :— 
“ I would like to know what the gentleman did 
with his leather apron before he set out for 
Washington.” Mr. Sherman replied, imitating 
the same squeak, “ I cut it up, sir, to make 
moccasins for the descendants of Pocahontas.” 
Countryman —“ I say, mister, do you know 
where Mr. Smith lives ?” Gent —“ Which of 
’em ? there’s a good many of that name.”— 
Oouidryman —“Yes, I know there be, but this 
one’s name is John.” 
cutl/tf ®atm 
Written lor Moore's Rural New-Yorker. 
MISCELLANEOUS ENIGMA. 
I am composed of 37 letters. 
My 29, 23. 30, 17, 2G, 6 s a pestilence. 
My 13, 4,16,27, 34 what we all desire to possess. 
My 36, 21, 3 is something which inhabits the 
water. 
My 19, 20, 14, 30, 23, 11 is a man’s name. 
My 34, 25, 3, 6, 10 is a woman’s name. 
My 12, 35, 2, 21, 24 is a beverage. 
My 32, 31,10, 5. 25,24. 8 what we all are. 
My 23, 22, 24, 35, 33, 28, 27 is a fruit. 
My 18, 1,19, 36 is a situation. 
My 23, 26, 5 is a woman’s name. 
My 37, 31, 24 is the name of a tree. 
My whole is something to which scholars 
ought to pay strict attention. 
Leriyard, N. Y., Oct., 1856. H. A. C. 
ggg” Answer next week. 
Written for Moore's Rural New-Yorker 
ARITHMETICAL PROBLEM. 
Four men, A, B, C, D, took a job which they 
were to perform jointly. A, B, C, could do it 
in fifteen days ; B, G, D in twenty ; A, C, D in 
thirty days; A, B, D in eighteen days. They 
all work together for six days, at the end of 
which time A had the misfortune to cut his 
hand, consequently he had to leave the job. 
Four days afterward B left the work, and at the 
end ol fifteen days C, by the illness of bis 
children, was called away. In what time 
would D complete the job ? 
Tully, Onondaga Co., N. Y., 1856. W. P. G. 
Jgjf” Answer next week. 
Answer to Geographical Enigma in No. 355: 
Meek and quiet spirit. 
Answer to Algebraical Problem in No. 355 : 
1,795. 
Answer to Enigma in No.355:—Doorknocker. 
ADVERTISEMENTS. 
ANDRE LEROY’S NURSERIES, 
AT ANGERS, FRANCE. 
Mr Andre Leroy, member of the principal Horticultural 
and Agricultural Societies of Europe aud America, and lately 
promoted by the French Emperor to the rank of Knight ol the 
Legion of Honor for the best Nursery Pioducts exhibited at 
the World’s Fair in Paris, begs leave to inform his friends and 
tbe public that he h s just published his new Catalogue for 
1856, Deing more extensive and complete than that of any simi¬ 
lar establishment on the Continent. It contains the prices, Ac 
oi all the Fruit, Ornamental and Evergreen Trees, Shrubs, 
Roses, Camellias, Stocks, Seedlings, Ac., Ac., with the neces¬ 
sary information for importing the same. His experience in 
putting up orders for America, and the superiority of his p.ants, 
have been too well appreciated during u period of ten years to 
require further comment. 
The Catalogue can he obtained free of charge on application 
to the undersigned Agent, who will also receive and forward 
tile orders. Mr. A. Leroy is happy in being able to state that 
Ins N ursertes ^vere not reached bv the inundation which so re¬ 
cently devastated a portion of the district in which they are 
situated. ANDRE LEROY, Angers. 
^ w15 F. A. BRUGUIERE, Sole Agent, 
138 Pearl St., New York. 
MERINO SHEER. —The Subscriber has a few very choice 
yearling Rams, of ihe pure blood, of his own breeding, which 
he can recommend to those wanting the best. Also 100 Ewes. 
Darien, N. Y., Sept, 1666. 349 T. C. PETERS. 
FIRST PRIZE SHORT-HORN BULL “IIALTON,” 
(IlSftA.) I have my herd now so arranged thatl am prepared 
to dispose of this celebrated animal. S. P. CHAPMAN 
Clockville, Madison Co., N. Y„ Sept. 1, 1866. 34Stf ’ 
MT. HOPE MARBLE WORKS. 
MONUMENTS.—We have in our Warerooms and Yard a 
large assortment of Monuments and Tomb Stones of Italian 
and American Marble ot our own Selection, and of elegant 
Style and finish. b 
MARBLE MANTLES.—We are also manufacturing Marble 
Mantles from the best varieties of Foreign aud Native Marbles, 
after the most fashionable patterns, and superior finish. We 
also furnish Coal grates to suit our Mantles. All descriptions 
of Furniture Marble furnished on short nolice, at low prices._ 
All work warranted. HEBARD. GRAHAM & CO., 
343w4-lam 78 South St. Paul St., Rochester, N. Y. 
81IORT-IIORN8. 
I nAVE 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 mouths’ time for approved paper. 
My Railroad Station isCanastota, New York Central Railroad. 
My farm is six miles from this Station. S. P. CHAPMAN. 
Clockville, Madison Co., N. Y., July, 1856. 342eowtf 
LYON’S COPPER LIGHTNING CONDUCTOR. 
PATENTED JULY 11, 1854. 
Tiie subscribers have purchased the entire interest of the 
Patentee in the manufacture of these celebrated Conductors, 
and are prepared to furnish them with the appropriate fixtures 
to all parties holding the right to territory, in any quantity, and 
on short notice. Circulars sent on application. Address 
321-lam-tf BRITTAN A EDWARDS, Lockport, N. Y 
WHEAT FARM FOR SALE. 
Located in Farmington, Ontario Co , N. Y., 3 miles from Vic¬ 
tor village, nnd mile south of Brownville. Containing 93 acres; 
soil well adapted for wheat or other crops. Large stone house, 
new bam : peach and apple orchards of choice fruit. Price $5,- 
000. Inquire of JOHN G. ROBINS on the premises, of S 
BOUGHTON, Victor, or the subscriber, East Pembroke, Gene- 
see County. D. C. HOUGHTON. 
February, 1856. 318-lamtf 
ROCH ESTER EYE AND EAR INFIRMARY. 
Du. Wai.ker, Oculist and Aurist , (from London 
B&u England,) attends exclusively to the treatment o> 
($i)Deafness and all diseases ot the EYE aud EARf 
r C nstant and extensive practice enables Dr. W. 
to treat these cases with success seldom attained. I)r. Walker 
may be consulted daily, and testimonials obtained, at his office, 
No. 82 State St., Rochester, N. Y. 339wl3eow 
KEDZIE’S RAIN WATER FILTERS, 
MANUFACTURED BY J. E. CHENEY A CO., ROCHESTER, N. Y. 
These celebrated Filters have been fully 
f tested for many years in almost every State 
in the Union, and the demand is constantly 
increasing. There are five sizes, made of 
oak, iron-bound tubs, with reservoirs inside, 
from which can be drawn about 100 gallons 
in twenty-four hours, for all domestic uses. 
The most impure Rain, River or Lake 
water by this means becomes pure, clear as 
crystal, and without taste or smell. In this 
1 condition only is water fit for family purpos¬ 
es, as a means of promoting the general 
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. 
3a:- 3f. Wilson, 
SURGEON DENTIST, No. 49 Reynolds’Ar- 
I T r cade. Second Story, Rochester, N. Y. 340wl2 
AGRICULTURAL AND OTHER BOOKS. 
For Sale at the OlUee ol’ the Rural New-Yorker 
The Stable Book—the best work on the I-Iorse, $1. 
Tile Ilorse’B Foot, and How to keep it sound ; paper 25 cents, 
cloth, 5U cents. 
Browne's Am. Bird Fancier ; paper 25 cts., cloth, 50 cents. 
Dadd's American Cattle Doctor, cloth, $1. 
Dana's Muck Manual, cloth, $1. 
Daua’s Prize Essay on Manures, 25 cents. 
Stockhardt's Chemical Field Lectures, $1. 
Buist’s Americau Flower Garden Directory, $1,25. 
Buist’s Family Kitchen Gardener, 75 cents. 
Norton’s Scientific aud Practical Agriculturist, 60 cents. 
Johuson'b Catechism ol Ag’l Chemistry (lor Schools,) 25 cts 
Fessenden’s Complete Farmer aud Gardener, $1,25. 
Fessenden's Americau Kitchen Gardener, cloth, 50 cents. 
Nash’s Progressive Farmer, 60 cents. 
Richardson’s Domestic F’owls, 25 cents. 
Richardson on the llorse—Varieties, Breeding, Ac., 25 cents. 
Richardson on the Diseases aud Management of the Hog, 26c. 
Richardson on the Destruction ol the Pests ot the Farm, 2flc. 
Richardson on the Hive and Honey Bee, 25 ceuts. 
Milburu and Stevens on the Cow and Dairy Husbandry, 25c 
Skinner’s Elements of Agriculture, 25 cents. 
Allen's Treatise on the Culture of the Grape, $1. 
Allen on the Diseases of Domestic Animals, 75 cents. 
Allen’s Americau F'arm Book. $1. 
Allen’s Rural Architecture, $1,25. 
Pardee on the Cultivation of the Strawberry, Ac., 60 cents. 
Phelp’s Bee-keeper’s Chart, 25 cents. 
Guenon’b Treatise, on -Milch Cows ; paper 38 cents. 
Randall’s Sheep Husbandry, $1,25 
Youatt, Randall and Skinner’s Shepherd’s Own Book, $2. 
Youatt on tho Breed and Management of Sheep, 76 cents. 
Y'ouatt on the Horse $1,25. 
Youatt, Martin, and Stevenson Cattle,$1,25. 
Muuu’s Practical Land Drainer, 6u cunts 
Weeks on the Honey Bee ; puper 25 ceuts, cloth, 60 cents. 
Wilson on Cultivation of Flax, 25 cents. 
Quinby's Mysteries of Bee-keeping, $1, 
Cottage and F’arm Bee-keeper, 6U cents. 
Elliott's Americau Fruit Frower’s Guide, $1,25. 
The Americau Florist’s Guide, 75 cents. 
Every Lady her own F'lower Gardener ; paper 25c., cloth, 60o. 
The Am. Rose Culturist; paper 25 cents, cloth, 50. 
lloare on the Cultivation of the Vine, 60 cents. 
Chorltou’s Cold Grapery, from direct American Practice, 60c. 
Saxton’s Rural Hand Books, 3 vols., $3,75. 
Bemeut’b Rabbit Fancier ; paper 25 cents, cloth, 50 cents. 
Reeruelin’s Vine-Dresser* s M anual, 50 cents. 
Browne’s American Poultry Yard, $1. 
B r owne’s F'ield Book of Manures, $1,25. 
Skillful Housewife, papej, 25 cents. 
Ohorlton’s Grape Grower’s Guide ; paper 50 cents, cloth, 60c. 
Eastwood’s Manual for cultivating the Cranberry,50 cents. 
Johnson’s Dictionary of Modern Gardening, $1,50. 
Boussiugault’s Rural Ecouomy, $1,25. 
Thompson’s Food of Animals ; paper 50 cents, cloth 75 cts. 
Richardson on Dogs—their Origin, Varieties, Ac.; paper 25 
cents, cloth, 50 cents. 
Liebig’s Familiar Letters to Farmers on Chemistry; paper 25 
ceuts, cloth, 50 cents. 
The Fruit Garden, by Barry, $1,25. 
American Fruit Culturist, by Thomas, $1,25. 
Year Book of Agriculture, $1,50. 
Morrell’s American Shepherd, $1. 
Weol Grower and Stock Register, bound. 50c. per vol. 
Any of the above works will be sent by mail, postpaid, 
on receipt of the price. Agents and others entitled to Premi¬ 
ums in Books for obtaining subscribers to the Rural, can se¬ 
lect from the above list. Address 
I). D T. MOORE. Rochester, N. Y. 
MOORE’S RURAL NEW-YORKER, 
THE LEADING WEEKLY 
AGRICULTURAL, LITERARY AND FAMILY JOURNAL, 
IS PUBLISHED EVERY SATURDAY 
BY D. I). T. MOORE, KOCIIKSTEII, N. Y. 
Office, Daily Union Building, Opposite the Court House. 
TERMS, IN ADVANCE: 
Subsuription— $2 a year—$1 for six months. To Clubs and 
Agents as follows:— Three Copies oue year, for $5 ; Six Copies 
(and one to Agent or getter up of club,) for $10; Ten Copies 
(and one to Agent,) for $15, and any additional number at the 
same rate, ($1,50 per copy.) As we are obliged to pre-pay the 
American postage on papers sent to the British Provinces, our 
Canadian agentB 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, unless very brief, moro 
than four consecutive insertions. Patent Medicines, Ac., will 
not be advertised in this paper at any price, ty The circula¬ 
tion of the Rural New-Yorker is at least ten thousand greater 
than that ot any other Agricultural or similar Journal in the 
World,—and from 20,000 to 30,000 larger than that of any other 
paper published in this State, out of New York city 
