80 
MOORE’S RURAL NEW-YO RKER: AN AGRICULTURAL AND FAMILY NEWSPAPER. 
THE LITTLE SLEEPER. 
BY J. CLEMENT. 
Few the days the fair one numbered, 
Ere were closed his lustrous eyes; 
And he calmly, sweetly slumbered, 
Like a cherub from the skies. 
From the body, frail and sickly, 
In the solemn hush of night, 
Stole the spirit, soft and quickly, 
Back to native realms of light. 
Still the sweet one, unawaken’d, 
Dreamed and smiled when night had fled, 
Knowing not the soul had taken 
Wings, and up to glory sped. 
Folded on his heaveless bosom, 
Sliaht his ivory hands were pressed; 
And thus slept the heavenly blossom, 
Truant from the Land of Rest. 
[Knickerbocker. 
Cljt Jlurul fkttrjj ®ook. 
[Written expressly for Moore’s Rural New-Yorker.] 
SOWINGS AND REAPINGS. 
BY LEVI REUBEN, M. D. 
Part I.—Sowings. 
Tinkle, tinkle, went the hell, and up rose 
instantly and on every side a spontaneous 
shout—a shout, mixed and confused, but all 
joyful, that quavered and swelled and sunk 
only to rise and redouble again, until twenty 
pairs of little lungs had fully testified all the 
joy they felt at being released from long 
confinement; and then, at last, the tumult 
began to subside somewhere near to that 
degree of obstreperousness which is only 
half “ halloo,” and the other half bustle and 
blended conversation. 
The stranger who should have suddenly 
dropped in on the scone, with look of won¬ 
der, or words of inquiry, would have been 
answered by twenty reasons at onco, or 
rather one sufficient reason from each of the 
twenty pairs of little lungs aforesaid,— 
namely, that it was “ the last day of school!” 
And had such stranger thought fit sagely to 
remonstrate against so outrageous an out- 
bursting of joyous merriment, a philosopher 
might have puzzled him with the question, 
whether, as the little students had been un¬ 
reasonably confined, and watched over, and 
put under constraint, during the whole long 
winter now past, it was not indeed the height 
of reason in them to bo unreasonably boist¬ 
erous and rude, now that liberty, and sun¬ 
light, and the spreading fields and winding 
brooks, had been, all in a moment, given 
back to them again ? So we leave the little 
ones to the full enjoyment of their mirth, 
and kindly step hack, from the aisle to give 
them room, as also do their admiring parents, 
and the prim and intellectual-faced “visit¬ 
ers,” who, in a country district, always come 
in on the afternoon of the “ last day,” to 
hoar the examinations, and to show their 
Sunday’s best, their disposition to patronize 
education,—and more especially, (if he be 
single, and they ho blooming damsels not 
caving longer to be so.) the educator ! Let 
us take a few observations of the scene. 
An open school-book, thrown sprawling- 
on the desk beside us in the juvenile stam¬ 
pede, tolls us we are in the quiet inland town 
of B-, in one of the thrifty, wheat-grow¬ 
ing counties once comprised under the name 
of “ the Holland Purchase,” when that name 
was synonymous in the minds of the dwel¬ 
lers east. of tho Hudson, with the “ far 
West,” “ 'ultima Thule and whatever else 
was distant, vague, and unattainable. An 
urchin who takes pride in his proficiency 
in running-hand, at which he has had a score 
of lessons, is scribbling “March 12, 1840,” 
on the blackboard; and, though we cannot 
admire his penmanship as much as he evi¬ 
dently does himself, still wo profit by the 
circumstance to fix tho date of the happy 
“ last day,” in our memory. 
Not far from where wo stand is the care¬ 
worn “Master,” ready to shout himself, if 
he could do so and not bo heard, with a 
countenance expressive of a sense of sudden 
relief from a mountain-load of responsibili¬ 
ty, hut thin and wan as if a month’s luxuri¬ 
ating at the cupboards of his patrons, with¬ 
out the care of their restless progeny, would 
do him substantial good. Tho “ school-mas¬ 
ter” was a good man, even if not in all things 
tho most far-sighted and judicious; and he 
had borno labors and heartaches for which 
ho did not look for any thanks or condo¬ 
lence, because he knew that no one but him¬ 
self could form any idea of them. He had 
just finished talking to his scholars in a strain 
of sober thoughtfulness and kind interest. 
And, high up on the blackboard, above the 
reach of busy little scribblers, still stood, 
written in fair, open hand, the thought he 
had been endeavoring particularly to im¬ 
press on their minds at tho parting,—a real 
Bible text, and, when we think of it, very 
full of meaning—it was— 
“ Whatsoever a man soweth, that shall he 
also reap." 
But thcro are other groups in the room 
that now attract our attention. The district 
school embraces all ages between the cradle 
and incipient manhood and womanhood. It 
needs no sorcery to tell, then, that there will 
be sober faces and troubled thoughts hero, 
besides those of the teacher. At the farther 
end of the room, knots of the “ big boys and 
girls” (that is all they were to tho little ones.) 
were gradually, almost stealthily, drawing 
together; and in one of these, the furtive 
glances, embarrassed sentences, faces beam¬ 
ing with emotion, and the occasional loud, 
hasty pleasantries dashed oil' by the two 
young men in it, as if to drown feeling, and 
sustain their pride of character against the 
inroads of some conquering influence, told 
but too plainly that hearts had been learn¬ 
ing lessons, which heads had little power, 
and less desire, to resist. 
Yet in that group of four, what inequali¬ 
ties of position, what conflicting of interests 
and feelings! We will observe the individu¬ 
als composing it; for wo shall have occasion, 
ere long, to bo better acquainted with them. 
EllaHolbom is the name of that pleasant 
looking, but thoughtful girl, whose eyes fall 
so steadily on the floor. She is neatly and 
richly, but not gaudily dressed. Her stature 
inclines a little to the tall, and with her high 
and well-developed forehead, light brown 
hair and deep blue eyes, she may well pass 
for a personification of intellectual and mor¬ 
al beauty. 
Cyrcnia Williams stands by her side,—a 
girl of very different mental, as well as phys¬ 
ical traits. She is rather short, has darker 
hair, and eyes of a hue that would puzzle 
one to pronounce cither blue or black. Her 
features are very regular, but she has no 
true beauty. She is called “ handsome” by 
those whose eyes merely take daguerreo¬ 
types, and show only the surfaces of objects; 
and she delights to be called so, although 
mentally she scorns those who compliment 
her. She is a singular compound of discern¬ 
ment, vanity, and selfishness, with so little 
independence as to be an affected and ser¬ 
vile conformist to the whims of society, and 
with hardly enough of genuine affection to 
encircle any one beyond herself. Yet what 
little love sho is capable of, has been be¬ 
stowed on Charles Waterton, and for this 
reason she is in the group. 
Waterton is a dashing,good-looking, well- 
dressed young man,—quite a beau for the 
rural town of B-; proud and aristocratic 
in his bearing, but betraying already a little 
of the rowdyism of manner encouraged by 
“plenty of change,” and associations of rath¬ 
er questionable character. He is conscious 
of Cyren(a’s admiration, but, as if attracted 
more strongly to goodness in proportion to 
his lack of it, he is devotedly attentive to 
Ella, and would gladly bo, to her, what he 
fears he is not, more than schoolmate or 
friend. 
Near him stands a young man with one 
of those faces which are seldom seen with¬ 
out leaving an impression—a happy mixture 
of goodness and sense, energy and self-ap¬ 
preciation. But with thdso estimable quali¬ 
ties, however, Henry Esdalo was poor, and 
Poverty, antipode of Charity, too often 
“ hides a multitude” of virtues ! Henry and 
Ella had been schoolmates almost from their 
infancy. They were mutually most inti¬ 
mately acquainted with the tastes, views and 
feelings of each other, and in this mutual 
aquaintance and intuitive appreciation of 
each other, they were conscious of the exist¬ 
ence of a bond which no adverse fortune 
could sunder. 
But we leave the group of young hearts 
to their parting. They were all, and had 
1 long been, to some extent neighborhood ac¬ 
quaintances, and constant mates at school. 
They were all now graduates from a not in¬ 
ferior branch of the great “ People’s Col¬ 
lege ;” and henceforth they were to be con¬ 
sidered as candidates only for the “degrees” 
conferred by virtue or vice, and competitors 
only for that “ Prize” of prizes—a gratified, 
and, therefore, HArrY life. They were in 
health, with characters yet good, hopes ex¬ 
panding, and life and the world before them. 
What may they not all accomplish ! What 
have they not a right to expect! 
Voices at our side attract our attention. 
Tho father of young Waterton, and Ella’s 
father *re talking together. 
“It is very true,” says Mr. Ilolborn,—who 
has just finished reading again the school¬ 
master’s text from tho blackboard,—“ we can 
not bo too careful what seed we sow in time, 
especially in our youth; and I think our 
master selected a very appropriate thought 
to impress on tho children’s minds, before 
he leaves them.” 
“ Como, now, neighbor Ilolborn,” replied 
Mr. Waterton, in a rallying tone, “ you are 
altogether too serious. I sowed my ‘wild oats’ 
in my young days, and I’ve boen sowing 
pretty much as I liked, since; and hav’nt 1 
reaped well, neighbor ?” ho continued, slap¬ 
ping Mr. II. impressively on the shoulder. 
This was spoken in a manner very mild 
and courteous for Mr. Waterton; for he had 
the most sovereign contempt for all such 
prudential and moral notions as, it was evi¬ 
dent, found some slight lodgment in the 
mind of his neighbor. Mr. W. had told the 
truth of himself. He was not a man guilty 
of any “out-breaking sins, ’ because ho was 
not possessed of the depth of feeling and 
passion which sometimes unhappily leads to 
their commission. But he had in his com¬ 
position all the force, cunning, and appetites 
of the animal, with a keenness of perception 
that had thus far succeeded in gratifying all 
these, and with few of those refining and 
moral traits which must, if bestowed on such 
a man, have proved either his greatest an- 
noyance, or the means of totally transform¬ 
ing and renovating him. He was a tall, 
stout-built man, and had a rough, and even 
harsh exterior; but he was the richest man 
in the town, and nobody knew this better 
than Mr. Ilolborn. Inwardly, even now, ho 
felt a mingled contempt and commiseration 
for the latter; but there were reasons for his 
cloaking up these feelings, as will presently 
appear. 
Mr. Hoi born, on tho other hand, was'a 
man of slight and almost feeble frame,—and 
of little independence, or force of character. 
He was callable of some correct views of 
life, and had too much conscience to get rich 
fast, and yet too much vanity, and too great 
a deference to wealth, to be at case in his 
mediocrity, for this was the strongest term 
his financial condition would bear., 
Mr. Waterton had of late, it seems, been 
led to ono almost rational conclusion, per¬ 
haps the only one of his life in which good 
sense and respect for goodness had formed 
predominating influences; and that was, 
that as his son Charles was already rich 
enough, in his own property, and was a lit¬ 
tle prone to loose and profligate habits, a 
union with the exemplary daughter of his 
conscientious friend Ilolborn, was just the 
thing to save him from a ruin which, at the 
least, might be said to be already possible; 
and in this conclusion lie had two firm and 
active allies,—the preference of Charles him¬ 
self, and the vanity of Ella’s father. But to 
return to the conversation. 
“ But you know, Mr. Waterton,” Mr. II. 
commenced replying, “I liavo always had 
my scruples”- * 
“Poh ! neighbor,” replied Mr. W., “scru¬ 
ples may make drachms, as the young folks 
have been telling of, and drams, may be 
made without scrujdes, too, as landlord 
Muggs and I could prove to you; but scru¬ 
ples never made a fortune, Sir, and thoy 
never will, unless they are such as count 
there, (slapping his pocket,) and not in your 
weak sort of heads.” Mr. II. did liqt reply; 
and seeing that he had touched a sore spot 
in his neighbor’s mind, and provoked a kind 
of comparison the latter could not well bear, 
Waterton changed the sul^ect. “ Your 
daughter showed herself a most excellent 
scholar to-day,” ho said, “ I beliove she has 
no equal in the school.” 
“Thank you,” replied Mr. II., recovering 
confidence a little, “ I believe her teachers 
have always spoken well of her.” 
“ First-rate scholar ! neighbor Ilolborn, 
no mistake about that.” 
“And I believe,” said Mr. II., “your son 
did himself credit, too. Ho is a promising 
young man.” He did not believe either. 
“ Why, yes,” replied Mr. W., “ there’s 
s<fm o gumption in that boy. He sort o’ likes 
his own way, hut altogether I think he’ll 
make a substantial man.” 
“No doubt, no doubt, Mr. Waterton; ho’s 
a ‘chip of tho old block;’ ho can’t help it.” 
The two fathers from that moment un¬ 
derstood each other. The rowdy Charles, 
and the sensible and good-hearted Ella were 
to bo a match, if they could make it so; 
and they could do much, though they did 
not live in the land, and under the teach¬ 
ings of the Koran ! 
“ But,” continued Mr. W., insinuatingly, 
“ I see old Esdale’s boy out thero with the 
rest. I don’t altogether like him.” 
“Nor I, either, be assured,” replied Mr. 
H., “and what is moro, he shall not come 
into my house again, or into tho company 
of my daughter. Tho son of a common 
drunkard shall not disgrace my family any 
longer.” 
“ That’s right,” said Mr. W., with a will. 
Poor man ! it is too likely the question”nev- 
er occurred to him whether what he could 
like, and gloat over, could by any possibil¬ 
ity, be right! 
But the teamsters are getting uneasy,— 
the bells jingle at the door,—“all aboard,” is 
shouted, and some with laugh and word of 
glee, others with heads crammed with fu¬ 
ture hopes, plans or plots, young and old 
crowd into the sleighs, or more indepen¬ 
dent, set out on foot,—the school door is 
closed and locked; and the room but a mo¬ 
ment since so full of life, and life’s pertur¬ 
bations, is empty and silent. “ Good-bye, 
Teacher,” “ Good-bye, friends,” and we all 
depart to begin a now scene in the groat 
unceasing drama! 
Months passed, and then a year had 
flown,—and then years ! How time widens 
to a shoreless ocean, when we stand on the 
pivot “ now,” anxious over all tho hopes and 
cares of the present! How it shrinks to a 
rivulet’s breadth when we turn the eye back 
on it for history ! Three years had passed 
—years full of consequences that must tell 
on the destinies of all tho living, and of 
course on those of the subjects of this sim¬ 
ple narration. Bilt the story of these years 
may be told in few words. 
Old Waterton still lived in the same soli¬ 
tary, spacious brick house, that told by its 
distance from all neighbors, how widely ex¬ 
tended the possessions of its prospered oc¬ 
cupant. Nothing had occurred to cause 
him to question the correctness of his long- 
tried philosophy. “ Clutch and keep,” was 
still his golden rule; “drink deep of tho 
cup you delight in, and never look in tho 
bottom for consequences,” ten times varied, 
to suit as many changing phases of animal 
appetite, constituted his decalogue ! True 
he began to be moro uneasy about his son 
Charles; and in just tho same proportion 
more urgent with reference to the wished- 
for union of Charles with Ella Ilolborn.— 
It was plain to seo that Ella was not over 
ready for such a consummation ; but this 
Mr. W. did not mind, knowing as ho did 
that young Esdale had been driven from 
tho neighborhood, that Ella had no accred¬ 
ited suitor, and that her father continued to 
be as anxious as himself for tho match.— 
“ Poh!” Mr. W. used to exclaim when af¬ 
fairs of tho heart, as would sometimes hap¬ 
pen even where he was, were being discus¬ 
sed, “ take a lesson from me ; get married 
on some substantial basis, and let love take 
care of itself. It will come along in due 
time. But supposo it don’t. What is love, 
with six shillings a day, and an empty pork 
barrel ?” His own wife was already dead; 
and rumor declared that she died broken¬ 
hearted. 
But, poor Mr. Waterton,—ho was doomed 
to disappointment, month after month— 
and yet, it seemed, with nothing in tho way. 
There was, however, a cause. Ella knew 
well tho combination that had been formed 
against her; and she felt deeply that she 
could not bo its victim. Her own womanly 
tact, and tho counsels of a kind and sensi¬ 
ble mother, came to her aid. True sho had 
no winter’s cough, no “ decline,” and not 
even “ feeble health ” to plead against the 
speedy consummation of tho anticipated 
nuptials; for the example and instructions 
of her mother, and her own good sense, had 
early taught her the priceless value of health, 
and sho had never allowed passion, impru¬ 
dence, or whim, to jeopard her possession of 
this key to all life’s blessings. But thero wore 
visits to distant friends, the plea of youth, 
and tho necessity of home-keeping a little 
longer for “ mother’s sake;” and this last 
especially proved successful with Mr. Ilol¬ 
born, for the hope of increasing his wealth 
had led him to enlarge his business opera¬ 
tions, and yet ho dreaded tho expense of 
“ indoor help.” 
Henry Esdale, as already intimated, was 
<rone from B-. When he left school he 
had already acquired the trade of carpenter, 
and at once sought and secured employ¬ 
ment at his business in his own town. Ills 
father’s intemperance made it necessary for 
him to struggle to support the family ; and 
this ho had already helped to do for some 
time, besides educating himself. But old 
Waterton could not bear his presence in the 
town of B-. Henry’s “ boss ” was ac¬ 
cordingly called on.—the question how the 
young man could have amassed the means 
of his own education, and the support of his 
mother and younger brother and sisters, 
was made a serious ono,—rumors of his dis¬ 
honesty were already afloat, (and Mr. Wat¬ 
erton. for want of bettor authority, quoted 
himself, without giving credit!) and hints of 
favor, and “jobs ” soon to bo let on the Wat¬ 
erton farm, decided tho question. The 
worthy “ boss ” lived by patronage, and Mr. 
Waterton’s projected barns were not to he 
lightly lost. Henry was discharged, and 
learning of a better opportunity for busi¬ 
ness in a distant town, he had gone, and was 
seldom heard from in B-. But three 
wise persons, and only three, knew- that 
Mrs. II. sometimes received letters which 
she herself did not road. .Ella was one of 
the three ! 
As for young Waterton, tho neighboring 
village of II-, and tho loose company 
he there met, presented attractions for him, 
which gradually with greater and greater 
success, disputed with Ella tho possession of 
his heart. Thus as his father became more 
and more anxious for his marriage, he grew 
less and less so. To a reflecting mind it 
became evident that ho was doing, what his 
father had long been doing, but in a differ¬ 
ent way,—“ sowing tho wind.” 
Cyrenia Williams meanwhile was almost 
wholly neglected. With her proud, selfish 
heart sot on Charles, sho chilled all other 
admirers from her presence. She grow old¬ 
er, but no less vain, or passionate, or un¬ 
happy. Dissatisfaction with the world, and 
neglect of all the laws of life, with her 
slavish infliction on herself of all the mis¬ 
chiefs of a perverted fashion, were gradu¬ 
ally sapping her health and painting tho 
lily—emblem of death—on her cheeks.— 
Alas-! sho was sowing seed from which she 
can but “reap vanity.” 
[Concluded next week.] 
ffiraram. 
“ Attemptthe end, and never stand to doubt: 
Nothing’s so hard, butsearch will find it out.’ 
ILLUSTRATED REBUS.-No. 10. 
Answer next week. 
For the Rural New-Yorker. 
MISCELLANEOUS ENIGMA. 
I am composed of 18 letters. 
My 14, 2, 16, 18, 7 is a county in New York. 
My 4, 5, 13, 6 , 10 is a kind of bird. 
My 3, 15, 8 is a river in Texas. 
My 12,11, 17 is what a cook must have. 
My 9, 10, 1, 6 , 3. 11 is a town in New York. 
My 12, 10, 9, 2 is a troublesome insect. 
My 7, 10, 6 , 8 , 15 is what boys like to do. 
My 10, 13 is a common expression. 
My 16, 6 , 1, 9 is of indefinite duration. 
My 8 , 5, 7,17 should never be seen on a center- 
table. 
My whole was the name of a distinguished 
Officer, who fought, and bled for “American Free¬ 
dom. Rock Stream, Feb. 9, 1852. d. w. j. 
Answer next week. 
For the Rural New-Yorker. 
GEOGRAPHICAL ENIGMA. 
I am composed of 32 letters. 
My 17, 26, 6 , 2, 8 , 1, 4, 31, 10 is one of the U. S. 
My 9, 15,16, 23, 2, 27 is a city in Italy. 
My 6 , 21, 26, 5, 13 is a river in France. 
My 12, 24, 5, 30 isa noted cape in South America. 
My 22, 5, 8 , 30, 14, 2 is a country in Europe. 
My 16, 17, 11, 14, 29, 28, 5, 9, 10 is an island in 
Oceanica. 
My 3, 32, 19, 21 is a river in Belgium. 
My 2, 5, 26, 7 is a town in Pennsylvania. 
My 25, 23, 27, 18, 7, 5 is a county in New York. 
My whole when solved, will tell you the name 
and rank of a city in the United States d. t. t. 
Plymouth, Ohio. 
5 ^”Answer next week. 
ANSWERS TO ENIGMAS, &c., IN No. 113. 
Answer to Illustrated Rebus, No. 9: 
A man with $100,000 in hand, sees himself inde- 
pendant. 
Answer to Problem.— Eight feet and three inches. 
Answer to Mythological Enigma.—" When we 
shun Scylla we arc lost in Ckarybdis.” 
For Sale. 
A VALUABLE FARM situated in the town of Perin- 
ton, Monroe county, N. Y., on one of the principal 
roads in said town—one and a half miles from the nourish¬ 
ing village of Fairport, one mile from the Erie Canal and 
Rochester & Syracuse Railtoad. and only ten miles east of 
Rochester. Itcontainsone hundred and twenty five acres. 
20of which is valuable limberand wood land, the balance 
adapted to all kinds of grain. The buildings and fences 
are new, and reccnt'y repaired and in first rate condition. 
The farm is well watered, has a good supply of fruit, and 
is one of the most desirable in the town. Terms of pay¬ 
ment will be easy; a large share of the purchase money 
can remain on bond and mortgage if desirable. Apply to 
the subscriber on the premises, or to II. K. .1 krome, Roch¬ 
ester. NELSON COLLINS. 
Feb. 8, 1852. [Illw4*] 
MOORE'S RURAL NEW-YORKER: 
A WEEKLY HOME NEWSPAPER, 
Designed for both Country and Town Residents. 
CONDUCTED BY D. D, T. MOORE, 
Assisted by Messrs. J. H. Bixby, L. Wetiierell, 
and H. C. White — with a numerous corps of 
able Contributors and Correspondents. 
The Rural New-Yorker is designed to be unique and 
beautiful in appearance, and unsurpassed in Value, Purity 
and Variety of Contents. Its conductors earnestly labor 
to make it a Reliable Guide on the important Practical 
Subjects connected with the business of those whose inter¬ 
ests it advocates. It embraces more Agricultural, Horti¬ 
cultural, Scientific, Mechanical, Literary and News Matter 
—interspersed with many appropriate and handsome en¬ 
gravings—than any other paper published in litis Country. 
TERMS, IN ADVANCE: 
Two Dollars a Year — Si for six months. To Clubs 
and Agents as follows :— Three Copies, one year, for 85: 
Six Copies (and one to Agent or getter up of club,) (or ® 10; 
Ten Copies (and one to Agent,) for S 15; Twenty Copies 
forS‘25, and any additional number, directed toindividuals 
at the same rale. Six months subscriptions in proportion. 
Post-Masters, Clergymen, Teachers, Officers and Mem¬ 
bers of Agricultural Societies, and otiier influential persons 
of all professions — friends of Mental and Moral as well as 
of Agricultural Improvement — are respectfully solicited to 
obtain and forward subscriptions to theNEW-YoRKER.' 
Subscription money, properly enclosed, may be 
sent by mail at our risk. 
TERMS OF ADVERTISING : 
A limited number of appropriate advertisements will b e 
inserted in the New-Yorker, at the rate of @1 per square 
(twelve lines or less,) for the first insertion, and 50 cents for 
each subsequent publication.—To be paid for in advance. 
All communications, and letters on business, 
should be directed to D. D. T. Moore, Rochester, N. Y. 
