THE LAST “GOOD-NIGHT 
“ Good-night— good-night!” a silvery voice 
Kang through my midnight dream ! 
And a fair young face with flowing curls 
Flashed in the fancied stream 
Of the moonlight on my curtained couch 
With a ’wildering tender heam. 
“ Good-night” broke from my answering tongue, 
And the beauteous shape was gone; 
I woke as the distant clock tolled out 
The hour of another dawn ; 
And the holy moon was smiling down 
On the cottage porch and lawn. 
“ She is dead!” a voice sobbed faintly forth.; 
I knew she had gone before ! 
To her sweet “ Good-night,” my waking car. 
Would never listen more ! 
The beautiful angel, Death, had come, 
And opened the pearly door. 
And down in her bed-room’s mellowed light 
Lay Florence, white and .fair; 
With the pitying moonbeams on her brow 
And the curls of golden hair; 
But I thought of the spirit above the stars, 
And only the casket there. 
Written for Moore's Rural NewWorker. 
KELLIE RAYMOND’S CHOICE; 
OR, LOVE VERSUS PRIDE. 
BT AGNES HERBERT. 
Chapter II. 
[Concluded from page GS, last number.] 
It was the hour of twilight. Charles had been 
reading aloud to Nellie, as they sat together in 
Mrs. Allan’s little parlor, but the light had grown 
dim, and he had closed the book. He was silent, 
and Nellie, chancing to look up, met his eyes 
resting upon her face. A oertain undefinable 
something in their expression caused Nellie’s 
cheek to crimson, and involuntarily her glance 
sought the carpet at her feet. A happy, triumphant 
smile lighted up the young man’s face, and in 
another moment he stood at. her side. 
“Nellie,” said he, in alow voice, “need I tell 
you how truly I love you—will you be mine ?— 
will you be ” — what impulse urged him to use 
the word?—“a farmers’ wife?” 
Nellie’s lids flew up, and her blue eyes shone 
with astonishment; then a scornful smile curled 
her lip, and in a calm, cold, distinct tone, she 
answered, 
“ Never!” 
Charles stood for a moment as though paralyzed. 
Recovering himself, with perfect self-rtossession 
he' bode her good evening mid left the ro])m. 
Very quietly he closed the door, jiassed through 
the hall, and down the walk. Nellie listened 
intently to the retreating footseps, growing fainter 
and fainter, until they ceased—then the creaking 
of the gate, as it swung to on its rusty iron hinges, 
fell upon ear, and all was still. A few moments 
she sat motionless, with drooping head and relaxed 
form ; then starting up with an impatient ejacula¬ 
tion of “ Nonsense!” she began pacing the room 
with rapid steps. But the motion availed not to 
quiet her restless mind, and with a despairing 
gesture of vexation, Nellie threw herself upon 
the sofa and seemed to relapse into deep thought. 
“ A farmer’s wife!” The words had struck a 
chord which gave only a discordant sound. Invol¬ 
untarily, in place of the well-dressed gentleman 
before her, Nellie recalled the picture he presented 
at their first meeting. Ills wife ? No wonder her 
proud lip curled and she answered “Never !” 
But now—No! we will not tell you of what 
Nellie was thinking. We can keep a secret, and 
though you may think you can guess, most inquis¬ 
itive reader, we shall not tell you whether you be 
right or wrong. At least, not at present. 
“ Nellie,” exclaimed Mrs. Allan one morning 
as she entered the parlor and threw herself down 
in a semi-tragical manner, “ I am in despair!” 
“Why, what has happened?” inquired Nellie. 
“Bridget is going to leave this morning, and 
how I am to do the work and make preparations 
for the company we expect next week, is more than 
I can at present imagine.” 
“Surely you cannot. You must have another 
girl to take Bridget’s place,” suggested Nellie. 
“Yes, but we don’t happen to have an intelli¬ 
gence office about here, Nellie. I don’t think 
there is a girl to be found within ten miles—and, 
besides, John is so crowded with work, he could 
not think of leaving on such a wild goose chase as 
looking up a girl. Well, I suppose I am only 
making a bad matter worse, by spending my time 
here. You will have to entertain yourself, Nellie, 
until brother George comes,” said Mrs. Allan, as 
she hurried out to the kitchen. 
Nellie threw down the magazine she had been 
examining, and after a moment’s thought a mis¬ 
chievous smile dimpled her cheek. Going to her 
own little room, she prij^ded to dampen and 
straighten her curls—then brushing her hair plain¬ 
ly back from her face, she arranged it in a simple 
knot at the back of her head. Entering Mrs. Al¬ 
lan’s room, which opened into hers, she selected 
from her cousin’s wardrobe a plain calico dress, 
and an immense blue checked apron, which attire 
soon took the place of her embroidered morning- 
robe. 
Mrs. Allan held up both hands in amazement 
as Nellie made her appearance, with a profound 
curtsey, at the kitchen door. 
“Plase ma’am, and are ye afther wanting a girl 
to do housework?” said Nellie, with an inimitable 
Irish expression. 
Remonstrance was useless, and Nellie’s dainty 
hands were soon deeply immersed in that most 
unpoetical of repositories—the dish-pan. 
Now, Nellie did not at first fill Brigdet’s place 
very satisfactorily; but she possessed the strongest 
disposition in the world to learn, and though her 
mistakes and blunders were at first about as 
numerous and comical as those of any newly im¬ 
ported daughter of Erin, she never committed the 
same error twice. 
Besides a willingness to assist her cousin, Nel¬ 
lie had another unacknowledged impulse to in¬ 
spire her present undertaking. She was making 
an experiment, and it resulted in her coming to 
the conclusion that it would not be such a dreadful 
thing, after all, to become a farmer’s wife. 
Nellie had not seen Charles Howard since her 
summary rejection of his suit, save once when she 
chanced (?) to pass his residence, and beheld the 
young man spading in the garden. Strange to 
say, Nellie’s glance scarcely observed the coarse 
attire—she noted only the graceful, manly form— 
the intellectual, soul-stamped features. With a 
deep sigh Nellie pursued her walk, meditating, 
meanwhile, upon the dignity and nobility of Labor. 
We are afraid, however, that she looked at the 
subject in a restricted light. She took a particu¬ 
lar, rather than a general view, and Charles How¬ 
ard stood in foreground. 
The expected guests did not arrive until a fort¬ 
night after the designated time, and upon the 
morning preceding the day of their arrival, Nkl- 
lib resigned her office, as maid-of-all-work, in 
favor of a neat German girl who had applied for 
the vacant place. 
George Arnold, Nellie’s cousin, and Mrs. Al¬ 
lan’s brother, and his friend, Fred Arlington, 
had left the city, ostensibly for the sake of a few 
days’ enjoyment of country air and repose. Of the 
former, this was true—of the. latter, it was far 
from being the chief object. 
Fred Arlington was one of Nellie’s most de¬ 
voted admirers, and was, withal, the one whom 
the gossiping world set down as standing highest 
in her favor. He was handsome, intelligent, and 
wealthy—qualities surely desirable, and in most 
cases all-sufficient. He really loved Nellie Ray¬ 
mond, and had skillfully maneuvered to obtain an 
invitation to accompany his friend, for the sole 
purpose of placing his hand, heart, and fortune at 
her disposal. 
“ I say, cousin, this is perfectly abominable!” 
exclaimed George Arnold, as he burst into the 
parlor, where Nellie was engaged in completing 
a pencil sketch. 
“Why, George, what do you mean?” queried 
Nellie, arresting her hand and looking .up with a 
surprised expression. It was evident, however, 
that her surprise was only assumed, for a conscious 
smile hovered about her lips. 
“You know well enough what I mean, Nell,— 
your rejection of Fred. Oh—these women !” and 
George seated himself, with an air of desperation, 
in the rocking-chair. 
Nellie quietly sharpened her pencil, and .com¬ 
menced re-touching the foliage of her picture. A 
few moments of silence ensued which was broken 
by George, who, in a very energetic tone, said : 
“ Nellie, lay down that work. I wish to tali: 
with you.” 
“My work won’t interfere with our conversa¬ 
tion,” said Nellie, with a half smile. 
“ Well, then, I wish to know what possible fault 
vou can find w>tb Fit/:n Arlington ? Isn’t he good- 
looking r 
“ Yes.” 
“ Well educated and agreeable?” 
“ Yery.” 
“ Wealthy ?” 
“I believe so.” 
“ Then what more can you ask ?” interrogated 
George, in a triumphant tone. “ He surely mis¬ 
took your meaning—eh, Nellie?” 
“ No, George. I respect Mr. Arlington—I like 
him as a friend—nothing more. Were I capable 
of the act, I esteem him too highly to present him 
with so worthless a gift as would be my hand with¬ 
out my heart.” 
“That's what puzzles me, Nellie, I’m almost cer¬ 
tain that when you left B. you were heart free, or 
if you had preferences they centered upon Fred.— 
Mary,” said he, as Mrs. Allan entered the room, 
“ has Nellie lost her heart out here?” 
Mrs. Allan glanced at Nellie as she replied, 
carelessly, 
“Not to my knowledge.” Her cheek was flush¬ 
ed, and her fingers were making strokes which 
seemed too nervous to be acearate. Looking over 
her shoulder Mrs. Allan exclaimed, 
“Mercy! what are you about Nellie?” 
With a start of dismay, Nellie surveyed her 
drawing. Within the last moment, her erring 
pencil had mingled light and shade in inextricable 
confusion, and brought the hill-top, which a short 
you will excuse me for simply wishing to bid you 
farewell.” 
He extended his hand as he said this, and Nel¬ 
lie placed within his laljor-hardened palm her own 
little white hand in a parting clasp. 
“ Perhaps, Miss Raymond,” Charles continued, 
still holding her hand, “you will allow me to offer 
a friend’s congratulations upon your approaching 
marriage. You have my best wishes for’your hap¬ 
piness.” 
“I — Ido not understand you, Mr. Howard,” 
said Nellie. “You have probably been misin¬ 
formed.” 
“Are you not engaged to Mr. Arlington?— and 
is not the marriage to take place in a few weeks?” 
questioned Charles. 
“No, Mr. Howard, and I am at a loss to com¬ 
prehend why you should have supposed so.” 
A bright smile lighted up Charles’ face as he 
replied, “ Such is the report throughout the neigh¬ 
borhood, though where it originated I cannot say.” 
At this moment some old recollection, fraught with 
pain, seemed to flit across his mind, and the smile 
faded from his lips. “Good-bye, Miss Raymond,” 
he said, as he released her hand. 
“Good-bye”—her lips formed — but there was 
no audible sound. Her cheeks were paleas marble, 
and the next instant dyed with crimson. “Mr. 
Howard,” she said, but though he stood expect¬ 
antly waiting, she did not proceed. 
Was ever man so obtuse! There had been a 
fearful struggle in Nellie’s heart, betwixt Love 
and Pride—and the former had conquered. Per¬ 
haps Charles Howard partially comprehended 
this—perhaps he read the secret in her burning 
blushes, her trembling lip, and downcasteyes,—but 
the echo of that word “Never!” still lingered in 
his memory. He stood silently regarding Nellie’s 
confusion, which, as she raised her eyes to his and 
met their calm inquiring gaze, gradually subsided. 
She must speak now—what would he think of her— 
but she must speak—and with an effort which 
drove the blood from lip, cheek and brow, back to 
her heart, she said, “ Mr. Howard, I wish to say 
that I very much regret my abrupt, my rude reply 
to you at our last interview.” She paused a mo¬ 
ment, and then added timidly, “ We part friends, 
do we not?” 
CnARi.Es smiled a sad smile, as he said, “ Yes, 
we part friends. I have only myself to blame for 
my folly, in daring to hope that a city belle and 
heiress could love a farmer." 
The last words were spoken in a sarcastic tone, 
for Charles really loved and honored his vocation 
too much to deem it a disgrace for even Nellie 
Raymond to wed with a farmer. And Nellie, who 
well understood the significant tone, loved him the 
more for his manly pride. 
“I knew not my own heart then,”—she faltered. 
“Nellie! did I hear aright?” exclaimed Charles, 
starting forward. One glance at her face, downcast 
and crimson with shame, was answer sufficient. 
A glorious opportunity this, for repaying Miss 
Nellie’s disdain, interest. But Charles— 
foolish fellow—did isfot He only drew 
.Nellie to his heart, and wb’sper^, “Nellie— niy 
■own Nellie !” sJtPi [ 
V ftj§K \ i 
-One year from that time, .Nellie Raymond — to 
.the astonishment of all her aristocratic friends and 
acquaintances—became a Farmer’s Wife. 
who are left—but more rarely. We sing the same 
songs; but we are not all here. Some have faded 
away, and others are scattered about the land. 
Shall we ever meet again to sing those old tunes? 
Not hero. We can have but an echo of those days 
now. But wo may meet—all meet—in a better 
home. (May our Father in Heaven grant that this 
be so.) We may all meet there and sing them 
again, with the Hosts of Heaven — with the “ thou¬ 
sands and thousands, and ten times thousands,” 
who surround the throne of the Lamb, and cease 
not day nor night, saying, “Holy, holy, holy, Lord 
God Almighty, which was, and is, and is to come.” 
All gathered at one hearth — father, and mother, 
and sisters, and brothers — to walk in white robes 
to sing there the song of the Redeemed in Glory ! 
Oh, my Father and my God, will this be so ? All— 
all gathered in that happy home! Will it be so ? 
I have been, to-night, in one of my sad but joy¬ 
ous moods; silent and bewildered; the images of 
old friends and old times about me. It is not long 
since my voice was strong and firm. It is so now ; 
but in this strange humor—this indomitable will¬ 
fulness of the heart—I have no power over it. I 
can but sit, speechless, and look up with a trem¬ 
bling hope to the kind Heaven which is over all. 
I was sitting, to-night, leaned back in my chair, 
while T. sat by the hearth, gazing silently upon the 
dying embers, when my father came in, and with¬ 
out speaking to us, began walking slowly across 
the room. Presently, lie began an old anthem, in 
a low tone, his voice—a very unusual thing—trem¬ 
bling, and at times almost failing him, while he 
walked slowly back and forth. The words, as 
well as I remember them, were “ Farewell, fare¬ 
well, my friends, and God grant that we may meet 
again, where trouble shall cease and harmony 
abound.” As he finished singing, he turned to me 
and asked what old pieoe it was. “ Strange,” he 
said, “that I should think of it now. I do not re¬ 
member of singing it in more than forty years. It 
must be one ot the old pieces we used to sing on 
Litchfield Hill;” and again he repeated it, slowly, 
and as if searching carefully for the old tones so 
long buried—“Farewell, farewell, my friends!” 
He retired soon after, but presently returned, 
with a black leather-covered book (Songs of the 
Temple, 1819,) took a seat by the table, by the side 
of my wife, and opening the book carefully, turned 
to an old tune not at all familiar to me, but of a soft 
and plaintive strain. It was very simple in tone, 
but exceedingly difficult in its construction. My 
father sang it through once by himself, and then 
asked us to sing it with him. I was in that foolish 
condition I have mentioned—my eyes troubled with 
tears—and could make no reply. I was, in fact, 
pretending to sleep. My father looked at me a 
moment, over his glasses, but said no more, and 
began singing again—my wife joining with him. 
These are the words: 
For Moore's Rural New-Yorker. 
ALGEBRAICAL PROBLEM. 
A man had some barley, oats, peas, and buckwheat, 
and made a mixture for feed ; he found that if lie took 
1-5 of his oats, M of his peas, M of his barley, and M 
of his buckwheat, liis mixture is worth 73 13-18 cents a 
bushel. If lie takes M of each, his mixture is worth 
68 4-57 cents a bushel. If he takes all his grain, his 
mixture is worth 70 2 7 cents a bushel. If he takes all 
of his oats and peas, his mixture is worth 71 8-7 cents a 
bushel. IIow many bushels of each, also the price of 
each kind of grain ? C. L. Cudkbec. 
Allen Centre, N. Y., 1859. 
Answer in two weeks. 
r—' ’zrrrV o />y LLc *v/:ih * 
PREMIUM ILLUSTRATED REBUS. 
i o each of the^three persons (not residents of Roches¬ 
ter,) who send us first correct answers to above Rebus, 
within two weeks, we will send the Rural New- 
Yorker for three months. 
ESf” Answer in two weeks. 
For Moore's Rural New-Yorker. 
MISCELLANEOUS ENIGMA. 
AS UP-COUNTRY SUNDAY NIGHT. 
time before had seemed to melt away in the dis¬ 
tance, into the fore-ground, in laughable proximity 
with a bit of stone wall. 
“Perspective decidedly bad, I should say Miss 
Nellie,” remarked George, with a quizzical glance 
from the drawing to her face. 
Chapter III. 
As a matter of course, important business (?) re¬ 
called Mr. Arlington to the city, immediately.— 
George remained another week, at the expiration 
of which time, Nellie signified her intention of 
accompanying him back to B. The morning of 
the day upon which they were to leave, Nellie 
arose early for the purpose of taking one more 
country walk. She scarcely heeded the path she 
took, until, with a start, she found herself in the 
spot where she first met Charles Howard. 
A rustic seat, which Nellie had never before 
observed, was placed ’neath the shade of the maple, 
and with a sigh Nellie sat down. 
There — but a few steps distant — the foaming, 
sparkling little creek went dancing on its way, in 
the early sunlight, awakening in Nellie’s mind, 
however, naught but regretful, sorrowful emo¬ 
tions. She bowed her face upon her hands, and 
for a few moments sobbed convulsively. She had 
just mastered her grief, and with an impatient 
gesture said to herself, “ This is very, very foolish,” 
when a shadow fell upon the green turf at her feet, 
and looking up she beheld Charles Howard. 
Dashing the tears indignantly away, confused 
and ashamed that her emotion should be discover¬ 
ed, she started to her feet, and with a slight salu¬ 
tation would have hastened away, had he not, by 
a gesture indicative of a desire to speak, prevented 
her. 
“Pardon my intrusion, Miss Raymond,” he said, 
“but having learned that you were to leave to-day, 
An (mi ek Sunday—the glad day of the week—has 
come 4© us—made its bright path in the sky, and 
passed over to other lands. It is almost midnight; 
the breach of the week-days, like the chill of the 
early dawn, is not yet felt. I shall sleep over into 
the bustling to-morrow with wet eyes, and a throb¬ 
bing hut joyful pulse. 
Years ago it was our custom on this night to 
gather here, or at Rambleton House, and sing our 
old Connecticut hymns. My father always took 
the lead, walking the room back and forth, and ges¬ 
ticulating, sometimes in rather an extraordinary 
manner. The occasion was one of solemnity, but 
mainly it was a time of praise and thanksgiving. 
We formed, at this time, a large circle; and it 
required a strong and powerful leader, like my 
father, to keep us in control. Sometimes that office 
was assigned to me ; but in such case, we always 
failed in reaching that grand movement which my 
father commanded. 
After such failure, my father would rise from his 
seat, look round upon us with a smile, and dash 
into the same tune with greai force and emphasis; 
after which he would seat himself, and remark, in 
a modest way, that he had jsung that tune “ more 
than forty years ago;” had learned it, perhaps, on 
Litchfield Hill; and the first time it was ever sung 
was at such an ordination,—and was composed by 
such an one, expressly for that purpose. As to 
myself, I had been thoroughly trained by my 
father, years ago, for hours at a time, on rainy 
mornings, in the most difficult tunes he could 
select,— each taking a different part, and my father 
dashing through his with great spirit and precision. 
Pausing occasionally, he would explain to me how 
Mr. W—th, or Mr. -, or the celebrated Mr. 
D—bhle, sang the same. At these times, we saug, 
also, old anthems, now long since laid away (except 
now and then that we raise them, as it were, from 
the dead)— such as “ I beheld, and lo!” (from 
Haydn’s Creation,) “ The Heavens are telling,” &c. 
On the Sunday night meetings of which I was 
speaking, we usually sang “Denmark” towards 
the close; and for the last, a piece composed, or 
rather collected, by my father, from the closing 
passages of four different anthems—one by Dr. 
Madan, from the “Lock Hospital,” and the others 
by eminent composers. The words were: 
To our Almighty King 
Wonder and praise—wonder and praise belong. 
Praise him above, ye heavenly hosls, 
Praise Father, Sou, and Holy Ghost. 
Thine all the glory, man’s the boundless bliss. 
Shining in immortal bloom! 
These passages being very fine, we were all 
familiar with them, and sang them with great power. 
They formed, altogether, a very grand Doxology; 
after singing which, it was my father’s custom, 
with some abruptness, to say, “ Good night,” and 
immediately retire. 
This was years ago. We meet now—those of us 
’Tis finished, so the Savior cried, 
And meekly bowed his head and died; 
’Tis finished—yes, the race is run, 
The battle’s fought—the victory won 
They sang it again and again, with the same 
words. My wife has a sweejf voice, and they both 
sang in low and subdued twines; mv father usintr 
uuuiiuv... . , _ . , . , v/niy raising and 
lowering his hands slowly, as in prayer. Once, at 
the close of the verse, lie looked at T. with a smile, 
and remarked, gently, that she did not quite touch 
a certain note. “But,” said he, in the same low 
tone, “it is very intricate.” Again and again, 
they repeated it, and the words still throb at my 
heart: 
Tiie battle’s fought—the victory won ! 
At length my father rose, bowed, without speak- 
ing, and retired. T. came and sat by my me, 
silently, for a few moments, and went up to her rest. 
And now the midnight has come, my friend, and 
Sunday night is over. I must go now. But I 
shall still see that picture of youth and age bending 
over the old book—the calm and prayerful face of 
T. and the grave but rapt look of my father—I shall 
still hear, in the morning watch, those sweet, sad 
tones, and those glorious words: 
’Tis finished—yes, the race is ran, 
The battle’s fought—the victory won. 
Up - Country Letters. 
I am composed of 16 letters. 
Fly 14, 4, 8, 7 was a distinguished archer. 
My 1, 5,13, 2, 3 was the sirname of an American Gen¬ 
eral. 
My 10, 7,16,11 is ail insect whose bite is annoying. 
My 15, 9,1 is a common play with boys. 
My 6,12 is an adverb. 
My whole was a distinguished French General. 
Knowlesville, N. Y., 1859. T. F. Brown. 
C®"* Answer in two weeks. 
GRAMMATICAL ENIGMA. 
lUit anii junior. 
Mother —“Here, Tommy, is some nice castor 
oil, with orange juice in it.” 
Doctor —“ Now don’t give it all to Tommy; 
leave some for me.” 
Tommy (who has tasted it before)—“ Doctor’s a 
nice man, ma; give it all to the doctor!” 
I am composed of 4S letters. 
My 0,10, 8, 28, 48 is an adverb. 
My 21, 26, 5, 45 is a preposition. 
My 16, 12, 39, 32 is an interjection. 
My 14, 4, 8,13 is a conjunction. 
Fly 27, 46, 33 is a verb. 
My 1, 85, 43 is a pronoun. 
My 47, 22, 44, 40 is an adjective. 
My 2, 18, 36 is an adverb. 
My 7, 20,15 is an interjection. 
Fly 4, 9, 11 is a verb 
Fly 19, 25, 29 is an adverb. 
Fly 34, 8, 24, 37 is a conjunction. 
Fly 17, 42, 23 is a verb. 
Fly 31, 41, 30 is a pronoun. 
Fly 9, 38 is a preposition. 
Fly whole is one of the Proverbs of Solomon. 
Pultney, Steu. Co., N. Y., 1859. Lois J. Parker. 
CS?" Answer in two weeks. 
ANSWERS TO ENIGMAS, &c., IN No. 475, 
Answer to Miscellaneous EnigmaOverland Mail 
Route. 
Answer to Geographical Enigma:—Grcvious words 
stir up anger. 
Answerfo Geometrical Problem 4 .816 plus feet. 
Answer to Flathematical Problem4 .8822389 plus 
feet, or 4 feet 10 .5S6S57 plus inches. 
A learned young lady the other evening as¬ 
tonished the company by asking for the “ loan of 
a diminutive, argentiferous, truncated cone, convex 
on its summit, aud semi-perforated with symmet¬ 
rical indentations.” She wanted a thimble. 
A druggist sent his Irish porter into a dark¬ 
ened cellar; soon after, hearing a noise he went to 
the opening and called out—“ Patrick, keep your 
eyes skinned!” “ Och ! duce an eye,” roared Pat, 
“but it’s my nose that’s skint entirely.” 
Jorum was told of a supper at which goblets 
of ice, formed by evaporation, were used, from 
which to drink champaigne. Jorum heard the 
story through, aud then exclaimed—“ Well, ice 
ware /” 
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“My dear wife, I wish you would try to keep 
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I he world should have its docket called, and 
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New York, New England or Canada money when con¬ 
venient. For all amounts over $15 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. 
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Z2T" In ordering the Rural plexse send us the best money 
conveniently obtainable, and dr iot lorget to give your full 
address—the name); LDst-Offi :e, and al-o State, &c. 
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