bled pillow, bathed the burning brow, or brought 
the cooling draught, and then spoke words of com¬ 
fort to the weeping Alice, who read upon his face, 
and that of Mr. Huntington, a confirmation of her 
fears. 
But not that night did Mr. Warren die, though 
the physician, for whom Mr. Huntington was sent, 
would give no hope. The disease had assumed a 
most alarming form, he said, and Mr. Howland’s 
hand rested pityingly on the bowed head of the 
young girl who was soon to be an orphan. The 
morning came, and then, as it was necessary for 
him to go home for a time, he left both father and 
child to the care of Mr. Huntington, promising to 
send down one of his domestics, and to return 
himself ere long. 
land and why he was not at the party. She had 
confidently expected him there but he had disap¬ 
pointed her, and the lace dress with which she 
hoped to impress him was worn for naught.— 
“ Parties were bores any way,” she said, “ and she 
hoped she should never attend another so long as 
her name was Adelaide Huntington!” 
In this unamiable mood she fretted until late in 
the afternoon, when old Peggy, who had been sent 
on an errand to the village, returned, bringing the 
news that Mr. Warren was not expected to live, 
and that she saw Mr. Howland entering the door 
as she passed. Then, lowering her voice to a 
whisper, she continued, “ Right up against the 
HOW THE MONEY GOES. 
How goes the Money ?—Well, 
I’m sure it isn’t hard to tell: 
It goes for rent and water-rates, 
For bread and butter, coal and grates, 
Ilats, caps, and carpets, hoops and hose— 
And that’s the way the money goes 1 
How goes the Money ?—Nay, 
Don’t everybody know the way ? 
It goes for bonnets, coats, and capes, 
Silks, satins, muslins, velvets, crapes, 
Shawls, ribbons, furs and furbelows, 
And that’s the way the money goes! 
How goes the Money ?—Sure, 
I wish the way were something fewer, 
It goes for wages, taxes, debts, 
It goes for presents, goes for bets, 
For paint, pomade, and eau de rose, 
And that’s the way the money goes! 
How goes the Money ?—Now, 
I’ve scarce begun to mention how; 
It goes for laces, feathers, rings, 
Toys, dolls, and other baby things, 
Whips, whistles, candies, bells, and bows, 
And that’s the way the money goes! 
now goes the Money ?—Come, 
I know it doesn’t go for rum ; 
It goes for Schools and Sabbath-chimes, 
It goes for charity—sometimes; 
For missions, and such things as those, 
And that’s the way the money goes! 
How goes the Money ?—There! 
I’m out of patience, I declare; 
It goes for plays, and diamond-pins, 
For public alms, and private sins, 
For hollow shams, and silly shows— 
And that’s the way the money goes! 
For Moore’s Rural New-Yorker. 
MISCELLANEOUS ENIGMA. 
‘•A Prudent Wife wanted”—you’re joking my honey, 
As if you were worth such a wonderful blessing ; 
Nay! mend your own coats, sir, and count your own 
money, 
Or try, good sir farmer, you talent at guessing, 
In just eighteen letters my mind I’ll declare, 
You may guess them, and claim the reward if you 
dare. 
Put my 6th, 1st, 17th, with my 18th, you’ll have 
What all prudent ladies are careful to save; 
My 2d, 14th, 7th good husbands will use, 
Or neat wives most surely their tempers will lose ; 
My 3d, 11th, 2d I should make when I lacked, 
Whether prudence forbid it or not (that’s a fact!) 
Yet with 8tli, 4th, and 7th, I could be quite content, 
If prudence demanded wherever I went; 
My 15th, 1st, 10th, and 16th, I declare 
Without blushing, is something that / never wear; 
My 5th, 4th, 12th, 15th on Mondays yon’ll And 
In kitchens, but ’tis not at all to my mind ; 
My 7th, 9th, and 14th / relish, at least, 
At breakfast or supper, at party or feast; 
And now, if you’re pleased with myself and my rhyme, 
I'll mention the Ylth, 11 th, 13 th next time, 
Black Rock, N. Y., 1859. A Desperate Damsel. 
J®” Answer in two weeks. 
wanderer. I intended to take the cars at West 
Oakland, and was following the course of the river 
when, pausing for a moment to rest, I saw you 
approaching, and hid behind the alders, one moment 
resolving to throw myself at your feet, and again 
fearing to do so, for guilt had made me cowardly 
and weak. The rest of that day’s incidents you 
know. I saved your daughter’s life, but I dared 
not speak, lest I should be betrayed. My wet 
clothes made it necessary for me to return to the 
house, where I told what I had done, and asked if 
this would not atone. My wife said yes, but Ade¬ 
laide was fearful still. She would see you herself, 
she said, and she did see you that very day, but 
you refused,—* the law must take its course,’ you 
said; ‘ even though I saved a hundred lives.’ ” 
“Never, so help me Heaven,” Mr. Warren ex¬ 
claimed. “ Such words as those never passed my 
lips, and till this moment I knew not who it was 
that saved my child. Forgive me, William, but 
she lied, —that girl Adelaide. There was treachery 
in her voice when she sat at my feet and asked me 
not to tell of your misdeeds, lest disgrace should 
fall on her. People thought her mother was a 
widow, she said, and she would rather they should 
not know that you ran away to escape a prison 
home.” 
“ Oh, Adelaide, —my child,—my child,—why 
did you thus deceive me?” the wretched father 
groaned, while Mr. Warren continued, “ I never 
tried to find you, William, or sought to do you 
harm; but go on and tell me where you have been 
since that time.” 
“ I remained at home a day or two hiding from 
the sight of men,” Mr. Huntington replied, “ and 
then one night I went away, thinking to make for 
my family a home in the distant west, where you 
would never find me. But no spot could be home 
to me with that load upon my mind, so at last I 
determined to see you myself, and beg for your for¬ 
giveness. They think me far away, my wife and 
Adelaide, for I only paused a moment at their 
door. Looking through the half closed blind I saw 
Chapter X.—Revelations. 
The morning train from Albany had thundered 
through the town, and Mr. Howland was about 
returning to the Hollow, when hasty footsteps 
were heard within the hall, and in a moment his 
sister stood before him. She had traveled night 
and day since leaving Milwaukee, she said, but 
she didn’t mind it at all, she was so impatient to 
be at home and tell him what she’d heard, and, 
without so much as untying her bonnet, Miss Eli¬ 
nor continued, “ I told you all the time they were 
impostors,—but men have so little sense. I’m 
glad / ain’t a man, though if I were, no woman 
would ever impose on me as that Adelaide has on 
you. Why, instead of taking music lessons, as 
she pretends to do, she goes up to Springfield after 
work, and the satchel, you more than once have 
carried for her, had in it vests and shirts, and 
mercy knows what—tell me that wasn’t a wrist¬ 
band I saw under the lounge. I guess I know a 
wristband. They are just as poor as they can be, 
and sew for Mr. Lincoln’s store, in Springfield, 
for Mrs. Lincoln’s cousin told me so. I met her 
in Milwaukee, and wh.en she knew I was from 
Oakland, she spoke of Adelaide, and asked me if 
I knew her. I told her yes, and then she asked if 
she were married yet, saying she hoped she was, 
for it seemed a pity that a stylish-looking girl like 
her should be obliged to sew for a living. Of 
course I questioned her, learning what I’ve told 
you, and, worse than all the rest, Adelaide made 
this lady believe that she was going to marry a 
very wealthy man, who had a most delightful 
home, with one encumbrance, which she should 
soon manage to dispose of, and that encumbrance 
was a dried up old maid sister ! Ho you hear that, 
Richard Howland! A dried up old maid sister! 
That means me !! ” and the highly scandalized 
lady walked up and down the room, upsetting, in 
her wrath, both her traveling basketand band-box, 
which last, in a measure, diverted her attention, 
for no woman, whether married or single, can 
think of anything else when her “ meeting bonnet” 
“My father,” repeated Adelaide, “isn’t within 
a hundred miles of here.” 
Still, the idea troubled her even more than the 
news of Mr. Warren’s illness, and after old Peggy 
left the room, she turned to her mother, saying, 
“ Wouldn’t it be mean if father had come back and 
gone to see Mr. Warren?” 
“ I suppose it would be right, though,” returned 
her mother, while Adelaide continued, “ Right or 
wrong, nobody wants him turning up bodily just 
yet, for Mr. Howland is so squeamish about a lit¬ 
tle deception that my chance of winning him would 
be rather slim, if he knew father was not dead as 
If I secure him before he 
he believes him to be. 
finds it out, he can’t help himself, and I wish he’d 
either propose or let it alone. I declare, mother,I 
think it is your duty as a prudent, careful parent 
to ask what his intentions are. You can tell him 
there is a great deal of talk about his coming here 
so much, and unless he is serious, you prefer that 
he should discontinue his vists, hinting of course, 
that you fear my affections are already too deeply 
enlisted for my future happiness, should he not be 
in earnest. Say, mother, will you tell him this 
when he comes again ?” 
Mrs. Huntington at first refused, but Adelaide’s 
entreaties finally prevailed, and it was decided that 
when Mr. Howland next visited them, he should 
be questioned concerning his intentions. 
“ Oh, I hope he’ll come to night,” said Adelaide, 
and feeling confident that he would, she made some 
changes in her dress,— smoothed her glossy hair, 
and then, just as it was growing dark, lay down 
upon the lounge, building castles of the future, and 
wondering if she should be Adelaide Huntington 
one year from that day! 
As she lay there thus, she heard the gate,— a 
heavy footstep was coming up the walk, and think 
ing “ it must be he,” she assumed a half reclining 
posture, which she fancied was careless and grace¬ 
ful,— and then awaited the appearance of her ex¬ 
pected visitor. He did not ring,— and she heard 
his step within the hall. Nearer and nearer he 
came, his hand was on the knob, and as the door 
swung back the large black eyes which turned at 
first so eagerly in that direction, flashed their sur¬ 
prise and anger, not on Richard Howland, but on 
William Huntington, who keenly felt the coldness 
of his welcome. [Concluded next week. ) 
For Moore’s Rural New-Yorker. 
SURVEYING QUESTION. 
A Surveyor wishing to measure a piece of land hav¬ 
ing five sides, commenced at the first corner and ran 
due east 40 perches to the second corner; thence south¬ 
east 50 perches to the third corner; thence due south 
60 perches to the fourlh corner; and thence southwest 
70 perches to the fifth corner. When he arrived at the 
fifth corner he found that he could not measure the fifth 
side on account of a deep swamp being in that line. 
Required the course and distance from the fifth corner 
to the first corner or starting point, and the number of 
acres contained in the lot. Artemas Martin. 
Franklin, Ycnango Co., Pa., 1S59. 
Answer in two weeks. 
Entered according to act of Congress, in the year 1858, by 
I). D. T. Moore, in the Office of the Clerk of the District 
Court for the Northern District of New York. 
ALICE AND ADELAIDE 
Selected for Moore's Rural New-Yorker. 
RIDDLE. 
BY MRS. MARY J. HOLMES. 
Far in the east an ancient fabric stood, 
Hard by the banks of a majestic flood. 
There dwelt a preacher, as wc understand, 
Though good, not great, yet by the Lord’s command 
He preached repentance to the guilty soul 
Till tears of anguish down his cheeks did roll. 
Ilis clothing rare, no kind of cloth composed, 
No skins of beasts did e’er his frame enclose. 
Although he never did one sin commit, 
Yet in Christ’s kingdom he shall never sit. 
When the last trumpet through the earth shall sound, 
He still shall sleep within the burning ground. 
Homer, 1859. W. C. 
Answer in two weeks. 
was not afraid of death, but the world he knew, 
wive, u, ov\spiciovis one, and ho Vould ratlier the man 
lie had so wronged should not die alone with him. 
Just then he heard without a footstep coming near, 
and thinking it must be Alice, he hurried to the 
door, exclaiming, “ Be quick, your father I fear 
is dying.” 
In a moment the person thus addressed stood at 
Mr. Warren’s bedside, and when the fainting man 
came back to consciousness, he whispered softly, 
“ God bless you, Mr. Howland, for coming here 
again !” 
Yes, it was Richard Howland, who stood there 
side by side with one whom he readily recognized 
as the stranger who had saved the life of Alice 
Warren, He had started for the party, going 
through the Hollow as the shortest route, and was 
passing Mr. Warren’s gate, when the words “Be 
quick, your father I fear is dying,” arrested his at¬ 
tention, bringing him at once into the presence of 
the blind man whom he had so long neglected. 
“I did not know you were so ill,” he was about 
to say, when Alice stood within their midst. 
“Father,” she cried, bounding to his side, “are 
you worse?” and then as her eye fell upon Mr. 
Huntington, the hot blood stained her face and 
neck, for she knew who he was, and marveled much 
that he was there. 
“Alice,” said Mr. Warren, “I have forgiven 
William Huntington because he saved your life 
though he dared not let us know it then, for Ade¬ 
laide had said I thirsted for revenge. He has suf- 
For Moore's Rural New-Yorker. 
UZZLE. 
Dear Rural: —The following letters are inscribed 
over the Decalogue in a church in England : 
prsvryprfctmnvrkpthspreptstn. 
Required the vowels, which, if properly placed, make 
a complete sentence. E. W. 
Coomer, N. Y., 1859. 
Answer in two weeks. 
A STRICT TEMPERANCE MAN. 
We were accosted the other evening, says the 
editor of a Boston paper, by a gentlemanly-look¬ 
ing man, evidently balancing a clever sized brick 
in his castor. v 
“ I say, inis-mister, will you be kind enough to 
tell me the way to Broadway ?” 
“ No Broadway here, sir; this is not New York.” 
“ Oh! ah ! ah! yes, that’s a fact. Well, I beg 
your pardon—your pardon—pardon; show me to 
Fourth street—Mil—Miller’s Hotel.” 
“Now you’re in Philadelphia, old boy. Wrong 
again.” ^ 
“Ha! ha! well, I’m darn’d confused, that’s a 
Please to tell me whe- 
ence of that man, coming to him thus, awakened 
all the bitter memories of the past. “ William 
Huntington,” he gasped, “whyareyou hereonthis 
night of all others, when my lost wife seems present 
with me, and my ruined hopes pass in sad review 
before mj’ mind. Say, have you come to add the 
last drop in the brimming bucket?” 
There was a moment’s silence, and then falling 
upon his knees, William Huntington made answer 
to the man he had so wronged. “ I come not to 
insult you, but rather to seek the forgiveness 
which I know I do not merit. Only say that you 
forgive me, Mr. Warren, —let me once hold your 
hand in token of reconciliation, and then do with 
me what you will. A life within a felon’s cell is 
preferable far to the remorse which I have carried 
with me for two long, dreary years. Say, will you 
not forgive me?” he continued, and the strong 
man’s voice was choked with tears. 
“Forgive you, William,” Mr. Warren replied, 
“ I might perhaps forgive you were my fortune all 
you wrested from me, but when I think of my lost 
Helen, my heart is turned to steel, for you killed 
her, William Huntington, you killed my precious 
wife.” 
“ Yes, yes,’twas my base act which killed her, 
it is true, still I have made you some amends. I 
saved your daughter’s life, you know, else I had 
never dared to seek your face again,” said Mr. 
Huntington, interrupting him. 
“ You, you saved Alice’s life?” the excited man 
rejoined, and the hand which had withdrawn itself 
beneath the bed-clothes, now came forth again, 
feeling eagerly for the bowed head on which it 
rested forgivingly, while he continued, “ It was 
you, then, who took her from the river and laid 
her in my arms ,—you who saved me from a darker 
night than any I have ever known. Yes, William, 
because you did this good to me, you are forgiven, 
fully, freely forgiven,—but why have you not told 
of it before? Where have you been, and did your 
family know aught of this ? 
“ My family know aught of this ?” repeated Mr. 
Huntington. “ Can it be I am deceived ?” and 
then with the shaking hand still resting on his 
head, he told how he had wandered far and wide, 
seeking rest and finding none, for ever present to 
his mind was a white-haired, sightless man, weep¬ 
ing o’er his pale, dead wife. 
In the far off California land he had dug for 
gold, vainly hoping by this means sometime to 
make amends for the ruin he had wrought. At 
last, as the burden of remorse grew heavier to 
hear, he sought his home to see once more the faces 
of his wife and child, hoping, too, that the forgive¬ 
ness he so much desired might be obtained. 
“I found them here,” said he,—“found my wife j 
and Adelaide working hard and secretly, lest the 
world should know how poor they were. I met 
ANSWERS TO ENIGMAS, &c., IN No. 471, 
Answer to Miscellaneous Enigma:—Hope keeps the 
heart whole. 
Answer to Mechanical Problem:—Four and nine- 
tenths miles per second. 
Answer to RiddleThe whale that swallowed Jonah. 
Answer to Charade:—Brig-ham Young. 
Answer to Puzzle:—Two 25 cent pieces and two half 
cents. 
fact. All right. Please to tell me whe—whether 
its left or right I take to Holiday street?” 
“ That’s a street that ain’t got this way yet. 
Perhaps you are thinking of the city of Baltimore.” 
“Well, where the deuce am I, stranger, any¬ 
how ?” 
We told him Boston. 
He jammed his fists into his pockets, after hit¬ 
ting his hat a smash, and stepped out, observing: 
“Well, I’m darn’d if I follow this temperance 
caravan any longer.” 
Utoorc’s lltiral ^ap-gorkcr, 
THE LARGEST CIRCULATED 
Agricultural, Literary and Family Weekly, 
IS PUBLISHED EVERY SATURDAY BY 
D. D, T. MOORE, ROCHESTER, N. Y. 
Office, Union Buildings, Opposite the Court House, Buffalo St, 
“ 1 am going Irom you, Alice, he said,—“going 
to your mother, who has waited for me all the day, 
and the pain of death would scarce be felt did I 
know what would become of you.” 
“ Tell him, Richard,” whispered Miss Elinor, 
and advancing to the bed-side, Mr. Howland said, 
“ Your daughter shall live with me when you are 
gone.” 
“God bless you,” came feebly from the dying 
man, while the fair head resting on his bosom was 
for a moment uplifted, and Mr. Howland ne’er for¬ 
got the grateful, glad expression of the soft, blue 
eyaf, which looked into his face. 
“ I, too, will care for Alice so long as my life is 
spared,” said Mr. Huntington, who had been there 
all the day, and again from the white lips a faint 
“ God bless you” came. 
Slowly towards the western horizon sank the 
setting sun, and when at last his farewell beams 
looked into that room of death, they shone on the 
frosty hair and still, white face of one who was no 
longer blind, for to him the light of a better world 
had been revealed, and the eyes so long in dark¬ 
ness here were opened to the glories of the New 
Jerusalem. 
Every necessary care was bestowed upon the 
dead, and then, leaving the orphaned Alice in 
Miss Elinor’s arms, with Mr. Howland standing 
near and speaking to her an occasional word of 
comfort, Mr. Huntington started for his home, 
walking slowly, sadly; for his heart was full of 
sorrow,—sorrow for the dead and sorrow for his 
only child, who had so cruelly deceived him. What 
her motive was, he could not guess, unless it were 
that she dreaded the disgrace his presence might 
bring upon her, and when he thought of this, he 
half resolved to leave her forever, but love for his 
wife prevailed, and with an aching heart he kept 
on his way. 
Agents in. ISTew Yorlc and. Boston. 
Subscription — C. M. SAXTON, Agricultural Book Pub¬ 
lisher, 25 Park Row, (opposite Astor House,) New York. 
Wholesale, (to supply Periodical Dealers, &c.) — DEXTER 
& BRO., 14 Ann St., - ROSS & TOUSEY, 103 Nassau St. 
Advertising— S. M. PETTENGILL & CO., No. 119 Nassau 
St., New York, and No. 10 State St., Boston. 
Seeing the Elephant. —When Cousin Ichabod 
first saw him at the show, he exclaimed, with mute 
astonishment:—“ Then that’s the reel managerer— 
the identical critter itself! Wouldn’t tew on em 
make a team to draw stun with. Ain’t he a scro- 
ger!” Ichabod went hum and related what he had 
seen. “ I seed,” said he, “ the genewine manage¬ 
rer—the biggest lump of flesh that ever stirred. 
He had tew tails—one behind, t’other before. Phi¬ 
losophers call the fore one a pronobscus. He put 
one of his tails in my pocket and hauled out all the 
gingerbread—every hooter. What d’ye think he 
done with it? Why, he stuck it in his own pocket, 
and began to fumble for more.” 
TERMS, IN ADVANCE: 
Two Dollars a Year— $1 for six months. To Clubs and 
Agentsas follows:—Three Copies one year, for 45; Six, and 
one free to club agent, for 410; Ten, and one free, for 415; 
Sixteen, and one free, for 422; Twenty, and one free, for 
$26; Thirty-two, and two free, for 440, (or Thirty for 437,50,) 
and any greater number at same rate —only 41,25 per copy 
—with an extra copy for every Ten Subscribers over Thirty. 
Club papers sent to different Post-offices, if desired. As we 
pre-pay American postage on papers sent to the British Prov¬ 
inces, our Canadian agents and friends must add 12X cents 
per copy to the club rates of the Rural. The lowest price 
of copies sent to Europe, &c„ is 42,50—including postage. 
The Postage on the Rural is only 3K cents per quarter 
to any part of this State, and 6 cts. to any other State, if paid 
quarterly in advance at the post-ofiice where received 
Advertisements— Twenty-Five Cents a Dine, each inser¬ 
tion, payable in advance. Our rule is to give no advertise¬ 
ment, unless very brief, more than six to eight consecutive 
insertions. Patent Medicines, &c„ are not advertised in 
the Rural on any conditions. 
Ain’t it Queer? —An old lady was highly de¬ 
lighted and edified by a view of the vessels on 
Long Island Sound towing their boats astern. 
“ L-a-w-s-a-massy!” exclaimed the innocent old 
soul, “ how parfect is all the works of nature! 
Even the great big ships have all got their little 
ones runnin’ along after ’em just as playful as 
lambs.” 
Political Grammar.— It is a curious fact in the 
grammar of politics, that when statesmen get into 
place, they often become oblivious of their antece¬ 
dents, but are seldom forgetful of their relatives. 
PUBLISHER’S SPECIAL NOTICES. 
t3?~ The Money We Receive.— Bills on all solvent Banks 
in the U. S. and Canada taken at par on subscriptions to the 
Rural, but our agents and other friends will please remi t 
New York, New England or Canada money when con¬ 
venient. For all amounts over 415 we prefer Drafts on either 
New York, Philadelphia, Boston, Albany, Rochester or 
Buffalo (less exchange,) payable to our order—and all such 
drafts may be mailed at our risk. 
03?" Those who are forming large clubs, can forward the 
names and money for a part, and complete the lists after¬ 
wards-receiving the same gratuities, when completed, as 
if all were remitted at once. 
tW In ordering the Rural please send us the best money 
conveniently obtainable, and do not forget to give your full 
address—the name of Post-Office, and also State, &e. 
A Little Difference.— “ What has been your 
business ?” said a judge to a prisoner at the bar. 
“ Why, your honor, I used to be a dentist—now I 
am a pugilist; then I put teeth in—now I knock 
’em out.” 
Nice Phrases. —In Wisconsin they call a bribe 
a “pecuniary compliment,” and in Mississippi we 
notice that slavery is spoken of as “economic 
subordination.” 
Restless and impatient Adelaide bad passed the 
day in wondering what had happened to Mr. How- 
