Written for Moore's Rural New-Yorker. 
NELLIE RAYMOND’S CHOICE; 
OR, LOVE VERSUS PRIDE. 
ItT AGNES H K It B E U T . 
Cliapter X. 
“Beautiful! ” 
The speaker was an athletic young man, of 
perhaps five-arid-twenty. His form was the per¬ 
fection of manly grace, symmetry, and strength 
combined. His features were regular, yet possess¬ 
ing a striking individuality. IIis hair was brown 
and slightly curling, and was thrown back from a 
noble brow, which would have seemed almost 
stern in its thought-language, but for the mirthful 
expression of a pair of dark gray eyes which it 
overshadowed. But, reader, gentle reader, bear 
with me while I describe the habiliments of my 
hero, remembering, meanwhile, that 
“ Worth makes the man, and want of it the fellow, 
Tho rest is all but leather or pruenlla.” 
Commencing with his hat —that indispensable 
requisite of mankind — we are obliged to confess 
that if it was not exactly “a shocking bad one,” it 
could not consistently make any pretensions to 
gentility. It was simply a broad-brimmed palm- 
leaf,— the brim being, moreover, frayed out in 
sundry places, in a manner suggestive of its being 
occasionally employed as a fan, or else used as a 
weapon of defence in some desperate encounter 
with mosquitoes. He was minus coat and vest, 
and his linen — though snowy white — was coarse 
in texture, and evidently “ got up ” without starch. 
His pants were of a fabric known to country house¬ 
wives as “ blue cotton jean whether this be the 
technical term or not, I cannot decide. Of his 
boots — the last article of attire to be considered — 
I will only say that they indicated the wearer’s 
good taste by corresponding perfectly with the 
other parts of his dress. 
He had been seated ’neath the shade of a spread¬ 
ing maple, engaged in the perusal of a newspaper, 
when his attention was attracted by the approach¬ 
ing clatter of a horse’s hoofs. In a moment the 
sound suddenly ceased, and curious as to the 
cause, he arose to his feet, and looked in the direc¬ 
tion from whence it had proceeded. Then it was 
that the exclamation with which our story opens, 
fell, as it were, involuntarily from his lips. 
He was standing in a grassy lane which served 
as a sort of connectile between the main road, and 
a small but beautiful and rapid stream of water, 
known as the Mountain Creek. At the junction of 
the lane with a road, and but a few rods distant, a 
young lady, mounted upon a snowy steed, had 
paused, evidently in indecision as to which course 
to take. 
She well merited the exclamation, “Beautiful!” 
which our hero had so enthusiastically applied. Her 
complexion was as dazzlingly fair as the untrodden 
glaciers of the Alps, save where — like the rosy 
hue of dawn upon those glaciers — a faint flush 
tinged her cheek. Her eyes were of the deepest, 
darkest blue, and her proudly curved lips of the 
brightest ruby. A profusion of golden-brown 
curls had escaped from her riding-hat, and were 
floating over her shoulders, or tossed by the frolic¬ 
some breeze about her fair face. 
She was indeed, very beautiful, and the young 
man, as if he half feared she was “but the baseless 
fabric of adream,” stood spell-bound. It wasbutfor 
a moment! The next instant her horse seemed to 
become frightened by some object, and darted with 
lightning speed down the lane. The danger was 
imminent! At the extremity of the lane, where 
the stream glided by, its banks were abrupt and 
high, and the water flowed over huge stones, and 
dashed against the trunks of large trees, which 
had at sometime been overthrown by its force. 
With that quick, almost superhuman energy 
and decision which danger sometimes prompts, 
the young man sprang forward, and as the impetu¬ 
ous steed rushed by, he caught the bridle. The 
impetus and force of the horse’s motion, was such 
that he was unable, at first, to check it, and was 
himself borne on for several rods; and when he 
finally succeeded, it was dangerously near to the 
steep bank of the foaming stream. 
The lady had kept her seat well, and seemed 
perfectly self-possessed, but now, as she turned 
to thank her preserver, her blanched cheek and 
quivering lip showed that she had not been insen¬ 
sible to the danger so narrowly escaped. Depre¬ 
cating her earnest thanks, the young man begged 
permission to see her in safety to her residence. 
Nellie Raymond, our heroine, was a stranger 
to country life and manners. She was the belle 
and pet of fashionable society in the good city of 
B—, and had grown to womanhood surrounded 
by its influences. As a natural consequence, she 
was a littled spoiled, and chief among the faults 
which her education had fostered was pride. 
As her glance, which had at first rested only upon 
our hero’s countenance, now fell upon his coarse 
apparel, a shade of mingled disappointment and 
pride crossed her face, and gathering up her reins, 
she declined his further offers of assistance in that 
freezingly polite manner, which as effectually places 
a barrier between different stations, as would an 
assumption of superiority. 
The young man rightly interpreted the change 
of expression in her countenance, and a scornful 
smile curled his lip as he watched her until she 
disappeared at the turn of the road. 
Charles Howard was a farmer. He owned a 
small farm, which, since his father’s death,—some 
five years previous,—he had freed from the in¬ 
cumbrances which then rested upon it; and here, 
with his widowed mother, whose sole dependence 
he was, he resided. The house was small, but 
tasteful in form, and half hidden by the luxuriant 
foliage of trees, shrubs and vines, all evincing, not 
only the eye of the artist, but the careful skill of 
the practical gardener. Within doors, all was 
plain, neat, and substantial, after the fashion of 
most country residences. Only in one respect did 
the home of Charles Howard differ materially 
from that of his neighbors, and this was in its 
possession of a large library. This was the young 
man’s only luxury — albeit, it was quite an expen¬ 
sive one. The apartment which had been fitted 
up as a library, under Charles’ supervision, was 
a very small room, but three sides were lined with 
shelves, upon which were ranged a collection of 
books, in the selection of which their owner had 
not been guided — as is often the case — by a book¬ 
seller’s list. No, they were the accumulations of 
years, and many a cherished volume possessed a 
peculiar value, from its having been the fruits of 
boyish perseverance and self-denial. 
Charles Howard, though a country youth and 
a farmer, was a gentleman and a scholar. He 
loved knowledge for its own sake, and the dusty 
arena of political strife and competition — which is 
so often the exciting cause of a student’s ambition— 
had no charms for him. He loved Nature, he 
loved the country, and h ", loved his occupation. 
We introduced him to you, kind reader, in his 
working garb — it was such as suited his employ¬ 
ment, and lie gave himself little trouble as to the 
opinion of those who might judge him by his dress. 
He feared not the sneers of those whose aristocracy 
is built upon yellow dust, and when he read the 
slightly scornful expression of Nellie’s fair face, 
it entirely dispelled the fascination with which her 
beauty had at first enthralled him. 
Nellie was visiting some relatives who resided 
in the same neighborhood with Chas. Howard. It 
was upon the afternoon of the second day after her ar 
rival that she took her first country ride — a ride 
which, as we have seen, had well nigh proved fatal. 
Arguing, that as the danger was past, it was not 
worth while to frighten her friends by its recital, 
Nellie was perfectly silent concerning her ad¬ 
venture. Once, in a casual way, she mentioned 
to Mrs. Allan, her cousin, having noticed a coun¬ 
try youth, of whom she proceeded to give a slight 
description. 
“Why, Nellie,” said Mrs. Allan, “that was 
Charles Howard.” 
“And who is Charles Howard pray?” in¬ 
quired Nellie, in an indifferent tone. 
“Charles Howard, is the only young man of 
talent ancl education in the place. All our young 
men, whose talents arc above mediocrity, betake 
themselves to the city, and some profession — even 
a respectable trade is considered preferable to 
farming. But Charles, being sensible — as well 
as handsome and intellectual — is an exception to 
this rule.” 
“Indeed!” said Nellie. “Do you consider his 
being content to remain in such a station a proof 
of his wisdom?” 
“ Most certainly. But you are not going to draw 
me into an argument, Nellie. You will probably 
meet with Charles Howard ere long, and he can 
defend his unambitious course much better than I 
can.” 
Mrs. Allan was a pleasant yet shrewd little wo¬ 
man. Her youth had been spent in a city home, but 
having married John Allan, a farmer, because 
she loved him, she now looked upon a city life 
with unmitigated contempt. Mr. Allan’s farm was 
separated from that of Charles Howard by the 
narrow lane before mentioned, and this proximity, 
combined with a certain sympathy of tastes and 
feelings, rendo -ed the intercourse of the two l’ami- 
lies intimate, and placed it upon an enduring basis 
of friendship and esteem. 
As Charles and his mother were seated at»the 
tea-table, a few days later, the latter remarked: 
“A young lady from B—, is visiting at Mr. 
Allan’s.” 
“Ah! A relative, I presume,” said Charles, 
carelessly, as he passed his cup for refilling. 
“Mrs. Allan’s cousin, I believe. She is very 
handsome — indeed I think I never saw so beautiful 
a girl before—accomplished, and seems to be 
amiable. I called there this afternoon, not expect¬ 
ing to see any one but Mrs. Allan. I liked Miss 
Raymond’s appearance very much, and though my 
first impressions were that she was proud and 
haughty, after a few moment’s conversation I 
changed my mind.” 
“First impressions, mother, arc generally cor¬ 
rect,” said the young man.” 
“Well, I will leave you to judge for yourself, 
Charles —Mrs. Allan charged me with a pressing 
invitation for you to call soon. She is afraid Nel¬ 
lie, as she calls her, will find this but a dull place, 
and she wishes your assistance in trying to make 
her visit agreeable.” 
Charles bit his lip. He recalled to mind the 
scornful glance with which the young lady — whom 
he doubted not was Miss Raymond — had favored 
him, and he felt little inclination to exert himself 
for her entertaiment. 
“Don’t you like the idea?” inquired Mrs. 
Howard, as she observed the expression of his 
countenance. 
“Not exactly. I am not skilled in the fashion¬ 
able light talk of a city drawing-room, and fear I 
should be of but little service in contributing to 
Miss Raymond’s amusement — unless it be as a 
good specimen of rural verdancy.” 
“Nonsense, Charles! You are prejudiced 
against Miss Raymond most unreasonably,” said 
Mrs. Howard. “I have no fears, however, but 
you will find yourself agreeably disappointed.” 
“Doubtful. Yet I will call this evening, if only 
for the purpose of obliging Mrs. Allan and pleas¬ 
ing my mother,” said Charles, half-laughingly, as 
he left the room. 
Mrs. Howard smiled softly to herself, as she 
proceeded to arrange cups and saucers, plates and 
sauce-plates, into convenient piles for transporta¬ 
tion to the kitchen. Of what was she thinking?— 
We can only guess, dear reader, but you shall 
have the benefit of our conjectures. It was Mrs. 
Howard’s firm belief that her son’s equal could 
not be found upon earth. (How many mothers 
cherish the same opinion!) She was now think¬ 
ing, we opine, that Miss Raymond came nearest to 
her ideal of what her son’s wife should be, of any 
young lady she had ever seen. And if Charles 
liked her, why — she should make no objections to 
the match. As to the young lady’s not fancying 
Charles, if her affections were disengaged, the 
idea was too absurd to be tolerated. Then her 
mind wandered off into the future, and in fancy 
she beheld the fair girl taking her place in the 
household, and she half-sighed, as she thought 
of relinquishing into younger hands, any of the 
pleasant round of duties which kept her cheerful 
as well as busy. Youth is not the only season for 
building air-castles. 
That evening Charles Howard was formerly 
presented to Nellie Raymond. A glance of recog¬ 
nition was exchanged, but neither spoke of their 
former meeting. With the recollection of Nellie’s 
scornful glance still vivid in his memory, Charles 
was insensible to her attractions, and his attentions 
in no wise exceeded the letter of ordinary politeness. 
Nellie, though slightly piqued by the gentle¬ 
man’s calm indifference, could not but admit to 
herself his evident superiority to any of her city 
admirers. Ilis remarks were stamped with the 
impress of a cultivated mind, and his manners, 
while free from affected gentility, were refined. 
Nellie could hardly reconcile the apparent con¬ 
trariety presented by his gentlemanly appearance, 
his intelligent conversation, and — his being a 
farmer. 
Gradually, as they met frequently, the reserve 
which had marked Charles’ demeanor towards 
Miss Raymond wore away. Perhaps he had been 
mistaken in his interpretation of her character — 
assuredly he failed in discerning another trace of 
scornful pride upon her countenance, though he 
often met her in her morning rambles, when 
his dress was little if any superior to that in which 
she first saw him; 
Charles had always been wont to spend the 
sunset hour in the vine-wreathed porch which 
opened into his library. Here, with some choice 
book as a companion, he found that exquisite sense 
of enjoyment and rest, which those who earn not 
their bread by the sweat of the brow never know. 
But now, Charles suddenly ascertained that Mrs. 
Allan’s parlor was a much pleasanter place than 
his little porch, and that his favorite authors 
seemed much more interesting when in the com¬ 
pany of Miss Raymond, lie possessed a most ex¬ 
cellent voice for reading, and Nellie was an 
appreciative and sympathetic listener. Neither 
were there wanting topics of conversation, for 
Charles Howard did not imagine, as do many 
sensible men, that a lady can only be treated to 
dainty nothings — crumbs of literature, and sugar¬ 
plums of flattery. 
In the unrestrained intercourse of two highly 
cultivated minds, the interchange of thought, and 
sympathy of tastes, there was a rare pleasure, tho’ 
dangerous, as fascinating to both. Nellie had 
insensibly become more interested in the young 
farmer than she was aware. Mrs. Allan, like a 
skillful tactician, as she was, refrained from all 
mention of what she had not failed to perceive, and 
the summer days glided by fraught with a dreamy 
unconsciousness from which, sooner or later, there 
must be an awakening. At last it came. 
[Concluded next week.] 
A Connecticut Up-Country Sunday. 
Blessed be this day for ever and always — in all 
places of the habitation of whatsoever hath tongue 
with which to rejoice and a heart to be glad with. 
But there is a difference in Sundays. A Sunday in 
old ConiR^^tfriMMBp^rrHueied towns among 
the monntaim^HBthu^ , oh how widely, from the 
Sunday in this bi Tad-featured State of New York. 
But even here it ijs a hoi v day. Early in the morn¬ 
ing every or.e k■ # o* the distinguishing look of 
Sunday; a look which has great variations. In 
my father’s face it i* severe and inflexible. Having 
shaved on Saturday, lie appears by no means later 
this morning than his usual hour, and always in 
a ruffle shirt, white cravat, and a shirt-collar so 
high and firm, that to look on either side he is 
obliged to turn himself carefully around to that 
quarter. As my father seldom removes his hat, he 
changes his old one on Sundays when he feels quite 
well, for one that is comparatively fresh and new, 
but worn, however, with entire ease. Having 
breakfasted by candle-light, the day begins early 
with him. By eight o’clock he is seated in his big 
chair before his comfortable fire, reading the New 
York-, — but Scott’s Commentaries is usually 
seen on the sofa—the old folio loose sheets which 
have never been bound—and Dwight’s sermons, 
with perhaps the .life of Newton. 
I have said that his look is severe, but it is only 
so in the presence of others. It is as much as to 
say, “ Do you know, sir, that this is the Sabbath ! 
Let me hear no idle talk, but reflect, sir, that you 
are in the presence of the King of kings.” But 
when the house is all still and deserted, and he is 
left alone with his Bible and his far-traveling 
thoughts — the dogs perhaps stretched at his feet, 
and no sound anywhere but the picking of a mouse 
in the cupboard, or the creak of a door, in some 
distant and silent chamber—then it is, in his uncon¬ 
scious moments, there is to be seen upon his face, 
a sunny look of peace and calmness, and lordly 
hope, which takes at least twenty years from his 
life. Disturb him not then, for he is looking over 
into that land where he must shortly go. He is 
communing with the happy dead. From his earli¬ 
est years, his companions have been going away 
one by one, till now he has passed his threescore 
and ten, and is left alone, while they — have been 
silently gathered into the Kingdom of Christ. All 
the years, as they roll by, pause upon that shore,— 
all the kind wishes—all the prayers, all the aspira¬ 
tions of a long life have gone on to that blessed 
land. Ah, sir, it is not sleep which keeps him so 
still and calm, but a true vision of the life to come. 
In what a noiseless way is everything done this 
calm morning. The women go about whispering, 
and the loudest break upon the stillness is Bob brush¬ 
ing shoes on the south piazza. It is on this day, 
that my wife has her happiest look. Always of a 
Sunday, she is a little picture of peace, and joy, 
and thanksgiving. She delights in the day—in all 
its duties'and services, as a bird does in song; it 
is her life, her garden enclosed. All the week is 
perfumed, as it were, with her Sunday. Prayer 
and praise are (ho proper elements of this day, but 
these are so common to her at all times, that Sun¬ 
day seems to be for her especial benefit—that so she 
might enjoy herself this day after her own heart; 
it is thus toher a day of gladness. * * * She 
has some little ways on Sunday which are peculiar 
to the day. As for instance—I am brushed that 
morning with a searching exactness, and however 
carefully I may have arranged my hair, it must 
always receive one more 'touch from her gentle 
hand. She is herself complete and perfect for the 
day at about ten o’clock and ten minutes. She 
then appears in a dress, about which I never remem¬ 
ber anything except its entire fitness for the day, 
and for my wife. She has the rare gift of so wear¬ 
ing things as to make much of little. A collar, for 
instance, which upon some women would be un¬ 
sightly and noticeable as such, is to her all neatness 
and propriety. To enter church one moment after 
the service begins, is a small horror, which she 
always avoids if possible. We start, therefore, be¬ 
times, and if I am well enough she delights to take 
my arm, and so walk as true and loving husband 
and wife up to the very door of the church. There 
she relinquishes the arm ; she leaves me there,— 
she enters another presence. 
Our walk across the Shag-Bark and up into the 
village, (for we are wholly aside from the world,) 
uses up our fifteen or twenty minutes, especially if 
my wife has to stop once or twice to balance my 
hat straight on my head, it having a habit of canting 
slightly even on Sunday. If we arc quite late, she 
often leaves me on the bridge and walks on faster 
than my slow gait will carry me, but it is only to 
return after a little and take my arm again. This 
does not hasten matters at all, but it eases her im¬ 
patience, if it is not improper to apply such a word 
to her on this quiet day. With one or two little 
episodes of this character, we at last reach the 
church door together, and not seldom with a bril¬ 
liance of complexion on her part, which looks on 
her pure face, almost like sin. When I wish to 
please her particularly, I put on, not without effort, 
my black gloves. I seldom wear gloves. They 
are sticky things unless the weather is cold, and 
then give me mittens. Notwithstanding all my 
efforts at economy, my wife has prevailed upon me 
to get a new overcoat, and now instead of my old 
gray, which was inexpressibly dear to me for hav¬ 
ing warmed me for three winters and in various 
lands, and for having cost me only six dollars in the 
beginning,—now I appear in a thing which is well 
enough, I suppose, but dismally bran-new. With 
this coat and my black gloves, they tell me I am 
renewing my youth. I only feel that I have parted 
from a true friend. 
But now, sir, listen to that sweet chant, “ Praise 
the Lord, praise the Lord, oh, my soul, and all that 
is within me, praise His holy name.” And the 
“ Gloria Patri” — how like a solemn amen does it 
seem always to these songs of praise. 
The morning service, as you know, is pretty long, 
except when divided, as it very properly is in some 
churches. Unless I am feeling quite well, I am sel¬ 
dom able to follow through the whole service. Not 
unlikely the church itself is felt as a restraint upon 
me—not so much the walls and the roof as the nar¬ 
row slip in which I am shut; continually, perhaps, 
I am changing about and getting new postures— 
and none of them happy ones—none satisfactory; 
if this is done it is involuntary and without argu¬ 
ment. It is like tossing in dreams at night, of 
which, at the time, we know nothing. But, in 
regard to the music, I am myself conscious of sway¬ 
ing about somewhat, emphasizing it, as it were, 
and timing the whole proceeding. Mrs. P. has 
told me that in reading passages of great force in 
the Psalter, I have a habit of shaking my-liead, as 
much as to say, “That is very great.” This may 
be, and I reply to her, that perhaps, if I was to look 
about I should find others, also, with as curious 
!ittle ways and habits. 
We get on, at last, to the sermon ; but even here, 
and always attractive as are our rector’s sermons, 
I am not seldom seized with sudden abstractions, 
which carry me off swiftly, but noiselessly, as a 
chip is lifted by small whirlwinds in summer wea¬ 
ther; and, in a moment, I forgot utterly the little 
church, and the rector, and the holy day. At this 
time, and while drumming perhaps in a lively 
manner on the pew door, I am gently restored by 
a light pressure on my right foot. This is my 
wife’s doings—she being strictly educated to think 
that drumming on a pew door is an improper pro¬ 
ceeding—a point which I never argue, but some¬ 
times think I more than make up for this, by the 
severe and unremitting attention which I bestow 
upon the rest of the sermon. 
I have said that the morning service seems long 
to me. It may be partly, because I was born and 
bred in a different faith; or rather, I mean not 
that, but a different manner of worship. But it is 
not this altogether, for the afternoon prayers are 
perfectly enchanting, if it is proper to apply such 
a word to prayer. If they do not leave with me 
“the peace which passeth all understanding,” then 
am I bitterly deceived. But, so far as emotion is 
concerned, some old-fashioned tune will be more 
heart-touching to me, than any prayer which ever 
fell from the lips of mortal man ; for song says that 
which words cannot say, and it ascends into heaven, 
which is its home and its continual abiding-place 
forever. 
Our clergyman is almost a pefect pattern of a 
country rector; so, at least, we think, who have 
had varieties, and have some ground for this, our 
present liking. His preaching would never draw 
crowds, but always gathers together a little circle 
who know how to appreciate good things. His 
sermons are like little cabinet pictures, exceedingly 
well designed, and perfect as a poem from first to 
last. I do profess to have some taste for a good 
thing, sir ; and, I assure you, this modest man has 
a rare gift of preaching, which would delight you 
to hear. I come back to our plain church and our 
plain clergyman, after our little airings about the 
country, where we have heard, perhaps, the cele¬ 
brated Mr. “ Wideawake, ” or the notorious — I 
mean the illustrious — Mr. “New Jerusalem,” — 
I return to our quiet ways and old-fashioned asso¬ 
ciations, precisely as after stimulants, I would seek 
out, with what thankfulness, the cool spring by the 
way-side, and the shade of the old oak tree. 
So goes away, with the richness and silentness of 
blessing, our Up-Country Sunday ; and then comes 
twilight—of all its hours, the most serene and holy 
— and the day is gone. Up into Heaven, with the 
thousands which have gone before, it has ascended 
and there sits in glory! Beautiful day, thou hast 
gone home to God ; to God and the angels, and the 
mighty hosts gathered in that blessed land. Gone 
up to sit in glory forever! Beautiful day, farewell! 
— Up - Country Letters. 
For Moore’s Rural New-Yorker. 
PRIZE RIDDLE. 
Ir from my first one-half you take away, 
Five hundred will remain as plain as day, 
And in my next, judiciously combined, 
One hundred fifty-six you’ll surely find. 
From nine, ten now, my third with care you take, 
And what remains, a full round score will make, 
lly fourth (and last) from just three score and ten 
If now you take, but seven will remain; 
Now, if to find my whole you have a will, 
’Tis eas'ly done when riding down a hill. 
Williamsville, 1859. II. M. M. 
To each of the three persons (not residents of-Roclics- 
ter,) who send us first correct answers to above Riddle, 
within two weeks, we will send tho Rural New- 
Yorker for three months. 
£3?” Answer in three weeks. 
For Moore's Rural New-Yorker. 
MISCELLANEOUS ENIGMA. 
I am composed of 58 letters. 
My 88, 84, 24,12, 28, 21 was a King of Assyria. 
My 7, 8, 40, 49 is a bird. 
My 10, 8, 55, 80,12 was a King of Israel. 
My 2, 43, 40, 80,19, 56 is a plant. 
My 44, 52,13,16,13, 53, 25 is a fruit mentioned in the 
Bible. 
My 17, 4, 51, 37 is to greet. 
My 42, 33, 22,18, 4S was a King of Persia. 
My 11, 57, 36, 54 is to unite. 
My 5,13, 23, 27, 47, 31 is a name mentioned in the Bible. 
My 58, 85, 26, 29 is a soft mass. 
My 15, 45, 39, 53 was the father of Ashur. 
My 6, 49, 82, 20, 8 is to inclose. 
My 9, 14,1, 21, 50, 41, 46 is a name in the Bible. 
My whole is a true maxim. 
Genoa, N. Y., 1859. Jason G. Crouch. 
£3?“ Answer in two weeks. 
For Moore's Rural New-Yorker. 
GEOGRAPHICAL ENIGMA. 
I am composed of 17 letters. 
My 17,11,11, 4 is an island in New Brunswick. 
My 15, 9,10,16 is a mountain in Sicily. 
My 13, 6, 7,10,10,11, 4 is a county in Missouri. 
My 4,15, 5, 5 is a lake in Scotland. 
My 13,1,16,12,15, 4 is an island east of New Jersey. 
My 5, 3, 4, 14, 2 is a river in South Carolina. 
My whole is one of the Ten Commandments. 
Oswego Co., N. Y., 1S59. Mary. 
E3P~ Answer in two weeks. 
For Moore’s Rural New-Yorker. 
ALGEBRAIC PROBLEM. 
A man bought two sheep. The square of the number 
of dollars he paid for the first, added to twice the price 
of the first, multiplied by the second, plus the second 
squared, is equal to twenty-five. And the cube of the 
first added to the cube of the second is equal to thirty- 
five. What did each sheep cost him? 
Bethany, N. Y., 1859. Frank. 
£55“ Answer in two weeks. 
ANSWERS TO ENIGMAS, &c., IN No. 474. 
Answer to Miscellaneous EnigmaMy wife’s rolling 
pin. 
Answer to Grammatical Enigma:—Make hay while 
the sun shines. 
Answer to Riddle :—Steam. 
iHoorUs Uural ^Tnu-Uorkcr, 
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$26; Thirty-two, and two free, for $40, (or Thirty for $37,50,) 
and any greater number at same rate —only $1,25 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 12>4 cents 
per copy to the club rates of the Rural. The lowest price 
of copies sent to Europe, &c„ is $2,50—including postage. 
By the time we reach home, Kate, who goes to 
her church earlier, and gets home by eleven o’clock, 
has wheeled out the little round table, and there is 
already the cheerfulness of dinner—a Sunday din¬ 
ner— plain and unpretending — always to be par¬ 
taken of with a modest temperance, to keep open 
eyes for the afternoon sermon. As we pass through 
my father’s sitting-room—the front of the house 
being all barred and bolted—he asks the question, 
“ Where’s the text?” And if some one cannot pro¬ 
duce the text, he concludes we have been to church 
to very little purpose. 
I seldom get out in the afternoon. As seldom 
docs my wife stay at home. Whether it rain or 
shine, or hail or snow, the performance must be 
very spirited if it keeps her from the afternoon ser¬ 
vice. My father and myself take our usual uaps; 
but not as long, if possible, on Sundays as on other 
days. About two o’clock we exchange papers. I 
give him some church paper; for which, by the 
way, it is easy to see that he has but small regard, 
and receive from him the New York-. Its 
readable articles—and they are many—I find mark¬ 
ed by him with red chalk, for my especial notice in 
part, and in part for the benefit of friends a long 
way off, to whom the paper is always sent, after it 
has been thoroughly exhausted at home. 
The Postage on tiie Rural is only 3)4 cents per quarter 
to any part of this State, and 6X cts. to any other State, if paid ; 
quarterly in advance at the post-office where received 
Advertisements— Twenty-Five Cents a Line, 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. 
PUBLISH Ell’S SPECIAL NOTICES. 
Tiie Money We Receive.— Bills on all solvent Banks i 
in the U. S. and Canada taken at par on subscriptions to the 
Rural, but our agents and other friends will please remit ) 
New York, New England or Canada money when con¬ 
venient. For all amounts over $15 we prefer Drafts on either ■ j. 
New York, Philadelphia, Boston, Albany, Rochester or t 
Buffalo (less exchange,) payable to our order—and all such 
drafts may be mailed at our risk. 
£37” Those who are forming large clubs, can forward the I 
names and money for a part, and complete tiie lists after- ( 
wards —receiving the same gratuities, when completed, as 0 
if all were remitted at once. 
E27* In ordering the Rural pleese send us the best money ^ 
conveniently obtainable, and dr :ot lorget to give your full k 
address—the nameof Post-Office, aud ako State, &c. 
