412 
MOORE’S RURAL NEW-YO RKER: AN AGRICULTURAL AND FAMILY NEWSPAPER. 
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Bliscdlntuj. 
Written for Moore’s Rural New-Yorker. 
THE GUIDING STAS. 
Clouds of darkest hue are brooding 
O’er Judea’s silent plains, 
And the silvery queen of brightness 
Still to shed her light disdains; 
Darkness thick on earth is resting, 
Not a star it’s glory yields, 
And in silence, gentle slumber, 
Now her magic sceptre wields. 
Silence all! no sound is stirring 
Not a breath that speaks of life, 
All the busy world is resting 
Free from toil and care and strife— 
Save a band of shepherds, watching 
O'er their flocks, with tender care, 
And their watchword, gently murmured 
Oft is borne upon the air. 
Say 1 what is that glorious vision 
Breaking orf their ’wildered sight ? 
Whence is that uucearthly brightness ? 
Whence that dazzling, glorious light ? 
’Tis a vision, gently whispered 
Trembling to earth they fall, 
Fearing to behold the glory 
Which so brightly beams on all. 
Hark ! a voice—in tones of gladness 
O, how sweet its accents ring; 
“ Fear not, for to you is given 
Now a Saviour and a King, 
See yon star of silv’ry brightness 
That shall be your faithful guide, 
Do not wander from its pathways 
’Till you gain your Master’s side.” 
Love and peace and joy are springing 
In each shepherd’s humble breast, 
All their wish, to find their Saviour 
Nothing care they for the rest. 
To that lonely star of beauty 
Now they turn their eager eyes; 
Still their only prayer repeating 
“ Lead us where our Master lies.” 
Through the heaven ’tis gently gliding, 
Not a cloud obscures its ray, 
And a golden light ’tis shedding 
On the shepherd's lonely way, 
Now the gladsome day is dawning 
And the star — its mission done— 
Stationed o’er the Saviour’s birth place 
Still outshines the rising sun. 
Now before the infant Saviour 
See the shepherds humbly bend, 
Breathing forth their adoration 
Wliile on high their prayer ascend; 
O ! the glory that is beaming 
Round the Saviour's infant brow. 
While that lonely star is shedding 
Streams of light on all below. 
Child of sorrow, look above thee, 
Seest thou not a guiding star ? 
O ! believe 'tis ever near thee 
Though at times it seemetli far. 
Do not say thou art forsaken 
While that star its glory yields; ^ 
Think how were the shepherds guided 
Through Judea's lonely fields. 
O ! whene’er my cup of sorrow 
All too bitter seems to drink; 
Or when from our home bound circle 
I must be a severed link; 
Then mine eyes do upward wander 
Seeking for that star on high, 
For I know it soon will guide me 
To a home beyond the sky. Jenny. 
THAT HOLE IN THE POCKET. 
In this lino is the true secret of economy 
— the care of sixpences. Many people 
throw them away without remorse or con¬ 
sideration, not reflecting that a penny a day 
is more than three dollars a year. We could 
complain loudly if a tax of that amount were 
laid upon us; but when we come to add all 
that we uselessly tax ourselves for our pen¬ 
ny expenses, we shall find that we waste in 
this way annually quite enough to support 
a family with fuel. 
It is now about a year since my wife said 
to me one day, “ Pray, Mr. Slack water, have 
you that half dollar about you that I gave 
you this morning ?” I felt in my waistcoat 
pocket, and I turned my purse inside out, 
but it was all empty space, which is very 
different from specie. So I said to Mrs. 
Slackwater, “I’ve lost it, my dear; positive¬ 
ly, there must be a holo in my poekot!”— 
“ I'll sew it up,” said she. 
An hour or two after I met Tom Steb- 
bins. “How did that ice cream set?” said 
Tom. * It set like the sun — gloriously?” 
said I. And as I spoke it Hashed upon mo 
that my missing half dollar had paid for 
those ice creams; however, I held my peace, 
for Mrs. Slackwater sometimes makes re¬ 
marks, and even when she assured me at 
breakfast the next morning that there was 
no hole in my pocket, what could I do hut 
lift my brow and say, “ Ah, is’nt there ?” 
Before a week had gone by, my wife, who 
like a dutiful helpmate as she is, always 
gave me her loose change to keep, called for 
a 25 cent piece that had been deposited in 
my sub-treasury for safety. “ There was a 
poor woman at the door,” she said, “ that 
she had promised it to for certain.” “ Well 
wait a moment,” I cried; so I pushed inqui¬ 
ries first in this direction, then in that, then 
in the other; but vacancy returned a horrid 
groan. “ On my soul,” said I, thinking it 
host to show a bold front, “you must keep 
my pockets in better repair, Mrs. Slackwa- 
ter; this piece, with I know not how many 
more, is lost, because some corner or seam 
in my plaguy pockets is left open.” 
“ Are you sure ?” said she. 
“ Sure ! ay, that I am—it’s gone ! totally 
gone!” 
My wife dismissed her promise, and then 
in her quiet way asked me to change my 
pantaloons before I went out, and to bar all 
argument, laid another pair on my knees. 
That evening allow me to remark, gentle¬ 
men of tho species “ husband,” I was very 
loth to go home to tea; I had half a mind 
to bore some bachelor friend — and when 
hunger and habit, in their unassuming man¬ 
ner, one on each side, walked mo up to my 
door, the touch of the brass knob made my 
blood run cold. But do not think that Mrs. 
Slackwater is a Tartar, my good friends, be¬ 
cause 1 thus shrunk from home. The fact 
was that I had recalled to my mind while 
abroad the fate of the 25 cent piece, which 
I had invested in smoke — that is to say se- 
gars; and 1 feared to think of the comments 
on my pantaloons pockets. 
These things went on for some months.— 
We were poor to begin with, and grew poor¬ 
er, or at any rate no richer, fast. Times 
grew worse and worse — even my pocket- 
book was no longer to bo trusted—the rags 
slipped from it in a manner most incredible 
to relate; as an Irish song says : 
And such was the fate of poor Paddy O'More, 
That his purse had the more rents as he had the fewer. 
At length one day my wife came in with 
a subscription paper for the Orphan Asy¬ 
lum. I looked at it and sighed, and picked 
my teeth, and shook my head and handed 
it back to her. 
“ Ned Bowen,” said she, “ has put down 
ten dollars.” 
“ Tho more shame to him,” I replied: “ he 
can’t afford it — he can’t but just scrape 
along any how, and in these times it ain’t 
right for him to do it.” My wife smiled in 
her sad way, and took tho paper to him that 
brought it. 
The next evening sho asked me if I would 
go with her and see tho Bowens, and as I 
had no objections we started. 
I knew that Ned Bowen did a small busi¬ 
ness that would give him about $600 a year, 
and I thought it would bo worth while to 
see what the sum would do in the way of 
house-keeping. We were admitted by Ned 
and welcomed by Ned’s wife, a neat little 
body, of whom Mrs. Slackwater had told 
me a great deal, as they had been school¬ 
mates. All was as nice as wax and yet as 
substantial as iron; comfort was written all 
over the room. The evening passed, though 
we had no refreshments, (an article we nev¬ 
er have at home but always want elsewhere,) 
and I returned to our own establishment 
with mingled pleasure and chagrin. 
“What a pity,” said I to my wife, “that 
Bowen don’t keep within his income.” 
“ Ho docs,” she replied. 
“ But how can ho on $600 ?” was my an¬ 
swer, “ if he gives $10 to this charity and 
$5 to that, and lives so snug and comforta¬ 
ble too ?” 
“Shall I tell you ?” said Mrs. S. 
“ Certainly, if you can.” 
“ His wife finds it just as easy to go with¬ 
out $20 or $30 worth of ribbons and laces 
as to buy thorn. They have no fruit but 
what they raise, and what is given them by 
their country friends, whom they repay by 
a thousand little acts of kindness. They 
use no beer, which is not essential to his 
health as it is*to yours; and then he buys 
no segars, no ice creams, nor apples at 100 
per cent, on market price, or oranges at 
twelve cents a piece, or candy, or new nov¬ 
els, or rare works that are still rarer used; 
in short my dear Mr. Slackwater, he has no 
holo in his pocket.” 
It was the first word of suspicion my wife 
had uttered on tho subject, and it cut me to 
tho quick ! Cut me ? I should rather say 
it sewed mo up, me and my pocket-book 
too ; they never have been in holes since 
that evening. 
A TOUGHING ST03Y. 
The Knickerbocker Magazine says :—One 
of the most touching things wo ve read in 
many a day, is the “ Story of a Young 
Chimney-Sweeper’’ in London, which was 
elicited by the examination of a committee 
into the condition, and treatment by their 
masters, of this unhappy class of the poor 
of the metropolis. After describing the 
death of a fellow-sweep, a little boy named 
Jem, who had been caught in a flue, and 
was suffered by his brutal master to die 
there, because he. thought ho was “sulk¬ 
ing,” the account proceeds : 
“ Poor Jem ! he was long missed among 
us. I was never sorrier for no body, ex¬ 
cept the little lass that died, it might be, a 
year after he, and she and mo drew togeth¬ 
er from tho first. She was a desolate crea¬ 
tor. for her step-mother, our master’s wife, 
treated her worse than a nigger. Little 
Nan, or as sho was mostly called by the 
boys, Jacky, w is a child of her first hus¬ 
band by his first wife ; so belonging, as one 
might say, to in body. The mistress she 
could nover please, and tho master swore 
that she should not cat tho bread of idle¬ 
ness in his house; so, female as she was, he 
taught her to climb. She was uncommon 
little of her age. which made her handy for 
small Hues, such as ovens and coppers, and 
the like, which is often less than nine inch¬ 
es square, and she had far more wit and 
sense than tho boys that was her size. 
Often and often have Nan and I lain side 
by side upon the soot wo had gathered in 
the day, with our sacks over us to cover us 
from the cold, for she was a shivery creatur 
still; and many’s the time I’ve shifted her 
share of her soot, when she was tired with 
her day's work. She had always a bad cough 
when the cold set in; and I used to think 
the soot getting down her throat made it 
worse. They’d say it was a hard word to 
use, but I always shall fancy climbing, which 
was little fit for she, was tho death of her. 
Sho fell into a waste as they called it, and 
before sho died was nothing but skin and 
bone. She used to creep into a nook when 
they’d let her be quiet, and lie there; and 
if any thing would please her it was when 
I went up slily to her with an orange in my 
hand, or an apple, which I U3ed to buy with 
tho few pence that were given me, instead 
of playing at chuck-farthing with the boys. 
Poor thing! she had a constant dryness, 
and them things did her the most good.— 
‘ Sam,’ sho used to say, £ when I got well 
again, you and me’ll run away, and hide in 
somo place a great way off, where no body 
sba’nt find us, for I can’t climb no more, 
and daddy’ll beat me if I don’t.’ She gave 
me a half-penny with a hole in it to keep 
for her sako, and that very niglit she died.” 
INSANITY GK0WING MORE PREVALENT. 
A telegraphic dispatch in another col¬ 
umn contains the sad news that Greonough, 
the sculptor, is a confirmed lunatic. The 
thought that any fellow-being is crazed, is a 
painful one; that a great man has become 
so is doubly sorrowful. To think that the 
same harrowing, torturing thought must 
circle for days and weeks, perhaps for years, 
in its own gullied channel, through the brain 
of one where noble and world-blessing fan¬ 
cies wore wont to dwell! that a man, whoso 
great conceptions have bred a thousand 
ploasant fancies in our minds, should be 
given over to sleepless nights and days in 
which there is no rest; that he should cow¬ 
er before imaginary foes, and grow terribly 
strong in defending himself from enemies 
that exist nowhere but in his own fancy— 
should bo pleased or sad at what pleases or 
saddens children, is painful in tho extreme. 
This terrible disease, insanity, we fear is 
on the increase among us. We are not 
able to show it by figures, for there are not 
tho figures by which tho increase or de¬ 
crease of diseases, over any large extent of 
our country, can bo either proved or dis¬ 
proved. But in sundry localities, which do 
not much differ from tho rest of our land, 
there are facts enough recorded to show 
that it is increasing, and every man is inter¬ 
ested to know why this should bo so. 
In one small place, an eddy in the tide of 
American life, where there was a remarka¬ 
bly large number of persons suffering un¬ 
der one form or another of insanity, we 
found the very obvious cause to be frequent 
intermarriages among relatives. This is a 
strange state of things for our country, 
where tho young folks generally push out 
of sight of the old folks so soon as tboy are 
fully grown, and do not know a tenth part 
of their first-cousins when they come to a 
marriageable age. Another great causo is 
the heedlessness with which matrimonial al¬ 
liances are formed between those who pos¬ 
sess sound minds and those who do not, be¬ 
queathing a most melancholy predisposition 
to insanity to the descendants by such un¬ 
ions. But a far more general—a universal 
cause of insanity —a reason for its increas¬ 
ing prevalence—is the restlessness to which 
our countrymen are trained. We begin to 
hurry, so soon as we ai’e born. We are 
hardly esteemed bright, unless we be prodi¬ 
gies in our cradles. Largo heads—just 
short of hydrocephalic in size—are in great 
demand for the inmates of tho nursery.— 
The head is encouraged, tho rest of the 
body is discouraged. The head is educat¬ 
ed, tho rest of the body is left as near as 
possible to its weakest, puniest state. 
We are always “grinding in the mill.”— 
Wo work ail day, and we work all night, if 
we can. If wo can’t, why then we refresh 
ourselves with somo new excitement. We 
go to concerts, to operas, to theatres, to 
meetings; hut if it is dull, wo don’t go 
again. We sit up lato and get up early, 
and eat tho bread of carelessness; and so 
we “stave” on-—there is no other word 
that tells the whole story. We do no sleep 
enough. Poor Reason wo keep at work till 
his eyes are put out, and then ho gropes 
blindly around, seeking for his throne — 
perhaps, like Sampson, he lays hands on 
the pillars of the temple, and bowing, brings 
utter ruin on himself and all around. The 
poet well said it was strange that a harp of 
a thousand strings should keep in tune so 
long. Especially strange, when, night and 
day the hand, however unskilful, is pulling 
at them. It is only strange that insanity is 
not far more common than it is with us.— 
JY. Y. Times. 
PATRIOTISM. 
Patriotism is too often talked of as a vir¬ 
tue that belongs especially to Statesmen, and 
men of official standing. It is indeed essen¬ 
tial to tho character of a good Statesman, 
but it is not his exclusively. The true pat¬ 
riot remembers that to have his country lov¬ 
ed, it must be made lovely. And that is no 
more the province of members of Congress 
and Cabinet Councilors, than of those who 
make up the private histories of families, 
and retired villages. He who assists in ma¬ 
king laws, which give honor to our home 
and liag, is doubtless a patriot. And no 
loss so is ho who makes a village more grate¬ 
ful to its inhabitants and the passer-by.— 
Too lass who sets a flower pot in a window 
that would look ugly without the adornment 
—who trains a vine to clamber above the 
window-sill, that would look cheerless If un- 
coverd,—who makes tho door-yard to smile 
with flowers that suggest pleasant thoughts 
of home to the traveler—she is a patriot, 
too. The man who sets out a tree, not 
merely that his homestead may be the more 
valuble, but also that it may furnish a shade 
for men and beasts that toil along the high 
road in hot summer days, is a patriot. 
IP .«is a patriot who takes interest enough 
in the district school to make it worthy of 
its mission,—who does what he can to train 
up in the way they should go, tho youth 
whom he can influence,—would there wore 
more of his type! He is a patriot who builds 
a church, or adds a bell to tho voiceless bel¬ 
fry of one already built, who founds a scholar¬ 
ship that is free to tho poor,—who opens a 
hall in a crowded city where the young can 
meet for mutual improvement, and find, free 
of enormous charges, tho newspapers which 
ho cannot afford to take home.—who estab¬ 
lishes a Library that rich and poor, male and 
female, may enjoy at their leisure, and with¬ 
out cost. Patriotism flourishes as well in 
the garden of cottagers, as on tho grounds 
of the wealthy and honored. It is a happy 
thing for us. and for tho growth of our pat¬ 
riotic emotions that we live in a land where 
love of country, and love of right, are so of¬ 
ten synonomous.— JY. 1'. Times. 
There is not a more extraordinary in¬ 
stance of applica/ion, than that which is 
shown by the tax gatherer. 
MILL’S EQUESTRIAN STATUE OF JACKSON- 
This fino work of art, although not entire¬ 
ly finished, has been exhibited to the public, 
during the last week, on tho premises of the 
artist, south of Pennsylvania avenue, and 
near the Treasury Department. Ladies 
and gentlemen, in large numbers, availed 
themselves of tho opportunity thus afforded 
to behold it, but visitors are now excluded, 
in order to avoid a further interruption of 
operations, as tho statue is to be inaugurat¬ 
ed on the ensuing eighth of January, tho 
anniversary of the battle of New Orleans. 
The horse measures fourteen feet from 
the hoofs to the tail, and tho height of the 
statue, from the ground line to tho highest 
point of the figure of the rider, is fourteen 
and a half feet. Tho material is brass—of 
old cannon captured from “ the enemy,” for 
tho most part, tho aggregate weight of which 
is upwards of fifteen tons. The horse is in 
a rearing position, and is thus firmly sus¬ 
tained by its own equilibrium, the first suc¬ 
cess of the kind in tho history of the arts, 
so far as we have been onabled to learn. 
The equestrian statue of Peter tho Groat 
is held in place by the tail being bolted to a 
rock. Eighteen or nineteen years were con¬ 
sumed in its production, and its cost was four 
hundred thousand dollars. It is somewhat 
larger, however, than the equestrian statue 
of Jackson. The shortest time occupied in 
Europe for the creation of a similar work 
has been eight years. But Mr. Mills has 
been engaged only four or fivo years, and 
during that period has encountered many 
embarrassments, having much prejudice to 
overcome, and without experience. Not¬ 
withstanding six successive failures in mod¬ 
elling, each involving a loss of four hundred 
dollars, tho artist, on tho seventh trial suc¬ 
ceeded in producing the desired result; thus 
affording another example of what genius, 
unaidod, can do by tho force of persever¬ 
ance. lie has had but littlo assistance, and 
on an average not more than three work¬ 
men in his employ. 
The erection of this equestrian statue was 
projected by individuals, and tho money ne¬ 
cessary to defray the expenses collected by 
subscriptions. The contract price was 12 
thousand dollars; an inconsiderable sum 
considering the magnitude of the work, 
causing an actual loss to the artist of up¬ 
wards of six thousand dollars, exclusive of 
his loss of time.— IYash. Republic. 
Transcendentalism Defined. —A corres¬ 
pondent of the New York Times gives an 
account of his meeting,’a Yankee philosopher 
on board tho Fall River boat, who thus de¬ 
fined the transcendentalism of the day: 
‘ 'Yer see, 1 have tew definitions; one vulgar 
and t’other refined. The refined definition 
is this, and I’ve gin it afore: Transcendental¬ 
ism is an attempt to penetrate tho Unknown; 
to measure, and sound, and define that which 
has neither depth, nor size, nor form; to 
analyze the soul, and to make its relations 
to another world a part of the universal 
chaos which covers every-thing. My vulgar 
definition is this: Transcendentalism is an 
attempt by Philosophers to measure the Al¬ 
mighty in a quart pot!” 
To write a good hand, wear a good coat, 
and keep a good character, are tho threo 
great requisites for a young man, who has 
his own way to make in the world. 
^otittrs Mnamm. 
“ Attempt the end, and never stand to doubt; 
Nothing’s so hard, hut search will find it out.” 
For the Rural New-Yorker. 
MISCELLANEOUS ENIGMA. 
I am composed of 14 letters. 
My 1, 2, 8, 9, 15 is one of my numbers. 
My 2, 12, 1 is a part of a mans’ clothing. 
My 3, 5 is a nickname for a girl. 
My 4, 12, 11 is what we all do. 
My 5, T, 13, 3 is a small portion. 
My 6, 7, 14 is that for which we arc indebted to 
the cook. 
My 7, 8, 3 is what we should try to restrain. 
My 8, 4, 10, 13 is what we all wish to obtain. 
My 9, 12,8 is a part of the head. 
My 10, 12, 5, 6 is good for farms. 
My 11, 14, 12, 1 pertains to the cow. 
My 12, 6, 14 is a species of animal. 
My 13, 3, 5, 6, 14, 10, 1 is what sailors have to 
contend with. 
My 14, 11, 2, 4, 8 is a chemical preparation. 
My 13, 3, 10, 1 is a proof. 
My 12, 10, 2 is the name of a tree. 
My 11, 2, 12, 13 is a relative pronoun. 
My 10, 3,12, 5 is indispensable in making a coat. 
My 9, 12, 10, 11 is a point of the compass. 
My 8, 12, 1 is a great pest. 
My 7, 13, 3, 5 is a sketch. 
My G, 9, 12, 8 is a kind of frutit. 
My 5, 14, 7, 11 is to deserve. 
My 4, 12, 10, 14 is what few obtain. 
My 3, 8, 4 is before you explain this enigma. 
My 2, 12, 7, 8 is uppermost of a man’s body. 
My 1, 4, 14, 11, 2 is a machine patented by na¬ 
ture, and used for pressing the juice from a 
certain plant. 
My whole is now in the United States. 
Answer next week. 
Yuu Suren, N. Y. G. W. Irish. 
ANSWERS TO REBUS, &c., IN No. 51 
Answer to Illustrated Rebus No. 50.— Liars 
can never be believed. 
Answer to Geographical Enigma.— D'Aubiync's 
History of the Reformation. 
Answer to Miscellaneous Enigma.— All Speed 
to the Temperance Car. 
“ The best Rural, Family and General Newspaper /” 
MOORE’S 
RURAL NEW-YORKER. 
VOLUME IV, —FOR 1853. 
Encouraged by the brilliant success which has thus far 
attended the publication of the Rural New-Yorker, we 
are determined to use tire essential requisites to more 
titan sustain its good character and high reputation. It 
will be our earnest and constant endeavor tp render the 
Fourth Volume superior to either of its predecessors— 
exhibiting, continuously, “progress and improvement” 
in both Contents and Appearance. As our motto is 
Excelsior, we shall strive to keep the Rural in the van — 
thereby maintaining its present standing as the 
LEADING WEEKLY OF ITS CLASS! 
Our location is superior, and facilities abundant; nnd if 
the numerous friends of the paper who lisve hitherto sec¬ 
onded our efforts, continue their generous exertions in its 
behalf, Western New York shall furnish the best Rural, 
Literary, Family and General Newspaper in America! 
But we purpose to be brief—to use few large words, and 
no “ palaver ” whatever. Those who read the Rural know 
its value and character, and others are invited to give its 
pages an examination. Each of its various Departments 
shall continue to receive tho most careful attention, and 
the entire paper will, as heretofore, embrace a greater va¬ 
riety of Useful, Instructive and Entertainig reading 
than any other in this country. Its high tone and freedom 
*rom everything injurious to tho mind and morals, renders 
the Rural a safe and desirable companion for the young— 
and one of its special objects is to instruct, entertain and 
improve those who surround the Family Fireside. But 
wliile the greatest care and labor will be bestowed upon 
its Contents, its External Appearance, Illustrations, &c., 
will render the paper increasingly attractive. 
Remember each number embraces the latest and most 
important News, briefly yet definitely stated—including a 
synopsis of prominent events, Congressional Proceedings, 
Reports of the Grain, Provision and Cattle Markets, 
&c., &c.—and that, by the aid of the Telegraph, we are 
enabled to give our readers such intelligence much earlier 
than the eastern weeklies! In judging of its comparative 
cost, bear in mind that the Rural is not a monthly of 
twelve issues yearly, but a large and beautiful Weekly of 
Fifty-two Numbers! —and that it gives important agri¬ 
cultural intelligence, weeks and even months, in some 
instances, in advance of the monthlies. The postage 
on the Rural New-Yorker within this State is only tliir- 
teen cents a year, and but twenty-six cents to any part of 
the Union. It circulates free of postage in Monroe county. 
In conclusion we cordially ioviffc all who approve its 
character and objects — the progressive, moral, right- 
thinking members of community — to lend their kind 
offices in behalf of this Journal. Though our main reli¬ 
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to aid in augmenting its circulation. 
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the third greatest number, us above. 
Jfgp” Persons competing for these premiums must mail 
their orders on or before the 31st of December. They 
arc not excluded from the large prizes above enumerated! 
[In order to give Subscribers, Local Agents and Post¬ 
masters, a fair and equal chance, traveling agents, post¬ 
riders and citizens of Rochester are excluded from com- 
petion for any of the above Premiums.] 
SPECIFIC PREMIUMS ! 
In order to reach and reward r.oery one who may lend a 
portion of influence in support of the Rural New-Yorker, 
we otter to those who do not compete for either of the 
preceding prizes, the following liberal gratuities : 
1st. FIVE DOLLARS, in Cash, or a copy of Webster's 
Unabridged Dictionary, (or §6 in Ag’I. Books,) to every 
person sending payment for fifty or more yearly copies 
(six month subscriptions proportionably,)according to our 
terms, previous to the 1st of May next. 
2d. FIVE DOLLARS, in Books, or four extra copies of 
the Rural, to every person remitting payment for forty 
or more subscribers as above. 
3d. THREE DOLLARS in Books, or a handsomely) 
bound volume of the Rural for 1852, to every person re¬ 
mitting payment for thirty subscribers. 
4th. To every one remitting payment for twenty copies, 
we will give an extra copy of the Rural, and four (iho 
present and three past) volumes of The Wool Grower 
and Stock Register —or, if preferred, an extra copy of 
the Rural and §1,50 in books. 
5tli. To every one remitting for ten copies, an extra 
copy of the Rural and three volumes (past or present) olj 
the Wool Grower— or, instead ofvols. W. G.,§1 in books; 
6th. To every one remitting for six copies, an extra 
copy of the Rural and either volume of Wool Grower. 
7th. To every one remitting for three copies (§5.) 
either volume of the Wool Grower, ttiui a bound volume 
of Gen. Farmer for 1848 or '49. 
8th. To every person remitting for one copy, (§2.) we 
will give a copy of either vol. Wool Grower, or the For¬ 
mer for ’48 or ’9, as preferred. 
For Terms of the paper, see Prospeetus above. 
Friends of tlie Rural and its objects! will von not re¬ 
spond to these offers in a spirit of liberality such as is 
therein manifestedTlie premiums are certainly worth 
contending for by Subscribers, Agents, Post-Masters, and 
all others who desire to benefit themselves and community! 
’CW" Specimen numbers, Sic., furnished free to all dis¬ 
posed to compete for the Premiums, or who desire toift- 
tend the circulation of the New-Yorker. Subscription 
money properly enclosed, may be mailed 1 at our risk. 
Addiess X>. D. T. MOORE, 
November 20, 1852. Rochester, N. Yj 
