28 
MOORE’S RURAL NEW-YORKER: AN AGRICULTURAL AND FAMILY NEWSPAFER. 
JAN. 16 
THE BLESSED DEAD. 
BY THOMAS BUOHANA* READ. 
On, happy childhood! tender buds of spring 
Touched in the Maytime by a wandering frost; 
Ye have escaped the summer’s sultry wing; 
No drouth hath parched you, and no wind hath tossed, 
Shaking the pearls of morning from your breast; 
Ye have been gathered ere your sweets were loEt, 
Ere winged passions stole into your rest 
To rob the heart of all its dewy store. 
Now in the endless Maytime overhead. 
In starry gardens of the azure shore, 
Ye bloom in light, and are for evermore 
The blessed dead. 
Ye youths and maidens, dear to joy and love, 
But fallen midway between morn and noon— 
Or bird-like flown, as if some longing dove 
Should seek abetter clime while yet'tis June, 
leaving our fields forlorn! Oh, happy flight! 
Gone while your hearts are full of summer tune, 
And ignorant of the autumnal blight— 
Ere yet a leaf hath withered on the bough 
Or innocent rose hath drooped its dying head: 
Gone with the virgin lilies on your brow, 
Ye, singing in immortal youth, are now 
The blessed dead. 
And ye, who in the harvest of your years, , 
Were stricken when the sun was in mid air, 
And left the earth bedewed at noon with tears,— 
Ye have known all of life that is most fair, 
The laugh of April and the summer bloom. 
Ye with the orange blossoms in your hair, 
Who sleep in bridal chambers of the tomb; 
Or ye, who with the sickle in the hand, 
Have bowed amid the sheaves the manly head. 
And left the toil unto a mournful band,— 
Ye all are numbered in yonder resting land. 
The blessed dead. 
And ye, who like the stately upland oak 
Breasted the full allotted storms of time, 
And took new strength from every gusty stroke,— 
And ye, who like a vine long taught to climb 
And weigh its native branches with ripe fruit,— 
Much have ye suffered ’ncath the frosty rime, 
Which autumn brings, and winter’s loud disputel 
But now, transplanted in the fields afar, 
Your age is like a withered foliage shed,— 
And where youth’s fountain sparkles like a star, 
This have ye learned, they only live who are 
The blessed dead. 
Writtrn for Moore's Rural New-Yorker. 
THE SHADOW ON THE WALL 
A TRUE INCIDENT. 
BY K. C. JAMES. 
Christmas Day was drawing near its close. The 
sun had been long down, and the last traces of its 
setting were now obscured by the dense clouds of 
a rising storm. The moon, struggling through the 
forecast mists, shed a dismal gleam of light over 
desolate wastes of drifted snow; while the wind, 
which rose to a fuller strength as the night came on, 
wailed strangely and sadly through the swaying 
trees. 
On the broad hearth-stone at home the “yule 
log” blazed and crackled, and the red flames leaped 
up with a hot-breathed gladness into the yawning 
mouth of the old brick chimney. Many were the 
faces that shone in its cheerful radiance—faces 
dear from old associations; and young faces whose 
merry look betrayed no trace of sorrow. The well¬ 
loved past and scenes of former days were coming 
up from their quiet rest into the light of the old 
man’s memories, while the younger portion of the 
circle sat silently listening with wonder to the tales 
of past adventures. 
As my grandfather had concluded a story of 
border life, which absorbed the attention of the 
whole group for nearly an hour, it came Aunt 
Eleanor’s turn next, and while we were all anx¬ 
iously waiting, she thus began her “ o’er-true tale,” 
—for my aunt never indulged in romance or 
fiction: 
“ On the southern slope of one of those beautiful 
hills which environ the city of Utica, and stretch 
for many miles along the pleasant Mohawk Valley, 
stood a large old-fashioned house, in the ‘years ago,’ 
whose time-worn walls were partially concealed in 
the warmer seasons by the luxuriant mantle of the 
Virginia Creeper that, spreading over the portico, 
ran across the small windows and clambered along 
the gable roof. A group of horse-chestnut trees, 
and a hedge composed of the briery bushes of the 
barberry and blackberry, with here and there a 
sweet brier, covered with its delicate pink blos¬ 
soms, enclosed a yard verdant with the early grass 
which spread around the eastern and western sides 
of the mansion. Beneath the vine-covered win¬ 
dows, and along the slope of the hill, extended a 
garden, rich in the summer-time with fruits and 
flowers, and from the terrace the beautiful Mohawk 
could be seen gliding like a silver serpent among 
the pleasant hills. 
“It was toward the sunset on a bright day in the 
early spring, when our carriage rolled in between 
the antique pillars of the old gateway at Hillside, 
and down the lawn toward the portico. The ten¬ 
der germs of the maple and beech leaves had al¬ 
ready burst their swelling buds, and came timidly 
forth into warm spring sunlight, and the early 
grass was spreading its verdant carpet over the 
russet trail of the winter. 
“There was joy at our arrival. Soon as the 
sound of wheels was heard on the carriage road, 
faces appeared at the bay window of the hall, and 
before we reached the collonade the sound of chil¬ 
dren’s voices shouting ‘they have come, they have 
come!’ rang out clear and merrily on the air.— 
Warm and welcome was the reception we expe¬ 
rienced, (there is a pleasure in going ‘ cousining ’ 
when those you visit are happy to receive you, 
and such were ours,) for we had been long expect¬ 
ed and had not met for years. 
“ Cousin Annie Chester was my companion, and 
I had brought little Willie with me, too, at the 
solicitations of the children, that they might have 
a playmate. When the bustle of arrival and mul¬ 
tiplicity of questions—whjjjh followed so fast that 
but one answer could do for all—had partially sub¬ 
sided, and the quiet of the evening came on, we 
gathered a happy company in the room of the 
household, as we are gathered here to-night A 
very pleasant room it was, though old-fashioned.— 
Its deep window seats were nicely cushioned, its 
clumsy-looking mahogany tables, with dark, time- 
colored surfaces, highly polished, the curious 
carved wood work, the fire-place, surrounded by 
small Dutch tiles, the antique-looking portraits of 
the race of former proprietors, and the screens 
placed around made the apartment a favorite with 
the family. The children were in high spirits and 
caused the old house to resound with the music of 
their merry voices; but as the night crept on, they 
became more quiet and at last went tired to bed. 
“ As there was other company in the mansion, so 
that almost every habitable room was occupied, 
Willie went to sleep with his cousin, just returned 
from boarding-school, in a remote chamber at the 
further wing of the house. 
“There was much to talk over, much to tell, in 
the room of the household that evening,—many 
inquiries to answer and numerous messages to de¬ 
liver, so that the night was quite far advanced be¬ 
fore we retired to our chambers. It w T as a spacious 
apartment into which we were shown, as our kind 
hostess bade us good night, and had the old look 
corresponding with the rooms which we had before 
visited. The ceiling w'as vaulted, and there were 
deep embrazures to the windows, which opened on 
the garden and the western hills. We had reached 
it by threading an intricate series of corridors and 
passages, which led with many turns and winding 
ways through every part of the mansion. So diffi¬ 
cult, indeed, was it to trace your way through this 
labyrinth of balls, that the moment I heard the 
clang of the door at the further end of the corri¬ 
dor as it closed between our kind guide and our¬ 
selves, my timid mind suggested the thought of 
danger and the impossibility of escape. 
“ But there could be nothing to fear. We were 
far away from the city, with its dens of crime and 
misery, far from the confusion and bustle of the 
town, surrounded only by scenes of country quiet 
and rural repose. The very night itself inspired a 
sense of security and peace. As I opened the lat¬ 
tice and looked out into the silent starlight, the 
mild, warm breath of the south wind passed by 
laden with a thousand sweet scents diffused from 
young buds and flowers. The odor of earth, newly 
upturned,—first breath of hope to the first laborer 
after his garden withered—was fragrant on the 
evening air, breathing of hope, and peace, and 
plenty. The little frogs from their damp swamp 
homes trilled merrily out upon the night, while the 
bright stars, so far away, winked their laughing, 
lustrous eyes as they looked down through the 
dew-sweet air. 
“Listening to the cheerful minstrelsy of the lit¬ 
tle swamp singers, we lay long awake, until the very 
sounds we loved to hear had lulled us to repose, 
and the consciousness of outward objects was lost 
in the dreamy mists of sleep. 
“ I know not how long we slumbered thus, but I 
remembered being suddenly startled into wakeful¬ 
ness by a slight noise in the room, as though some 
light object had fallen to the floor. The early dawn 
had just begun to streak with grey the raven 
tresses of the night A dim, faint light stole into 
the chamber, just sufficient to render the more 
prominent objects perceptible through the general 
gloom. 1 listened a moment in painful anxiety, 
but all was silent Thinking it might have been 
but a mere imagination, or the effects of some dis¬ 
tempered dream, I was falling back into drowsiness, 
when my eyes inadvertently fell upon a shadow 
moving on the wall—the shadow of a human being, 
who seemed to be groping about in search of some¬ 
thing that he could not find. I now became con¬ 
fident that another person beside ourselves was in 
the chamber, and all thoughts of sleep were ban¬ 
ished; in a moment I was wide awake,—a wakeful¬ 
ness more terrible than death. The dim, ghostly 
shadow assumed a hideous form in my distorted 
imagination, and now seemed to be stalking steal¬ 
thily forward, until it disappeared; at the same 
time I distinctly heard the sound of breathing ap¬ 
proaching near the bed. What could I do? A 
cry for help would but be lost in the deadened si¬ 
lence of the halls, and bring to a more speedy close 
the horrible design of the midnight intruder. I 
could not seek safety in flight, for I knew not 
whither I should go, and the dreaded object, which 
I could now dimly discern, seemed between me and 
the door. In my fear I had unconsciously awaken¬ 
ed my companion, who, being even more timid 
than myself, almost fainted when she realized our 
situation. I felt a cold, creeping sense of horror 
come over me, a feeling that I never can forget, 
and one I pray that I shall never know again. I 
was becoming stupefied with fright Silently, and 
almost paralyzed with terror, we drew ourselves 
under the bed-clothes, expecting every moment the 
consummation of the fiendish purpose which had 
drawn the intruder hither, for we could distinctly 
hear him moving with cautious steps toward us. 
“ ‘What shall we do?’ I whispered to Annie in 
an agonized voice, but a shudder was the only re¬ 
sponse. 
“All the scenes of my past life not\ flew by me 
in rapid succession. I tried to think of all those 
acts for which I should make atonement; I tried to 
pray, but that great, overwhelming sense of terror 
eclipsed all others, and I could not. At this mo¬ 
ment the bed began to shake so violently that it 
was only by pressing both feet as hard as I was 
able against the foot-board that I could prevent its 
being heard. 
“There was now no sound in the room save the 
quick, loud beating of our hearts, and I ventured 
to look forth, in the vain hope that I had imagined 
all this which seemed so terribly real. But as I did 
so the creature' which had so alarmed us crawled 
noiselessly forward upon its hands and knees, and 
finally laid down directly under our bed. At the 
same moment I felt a cold, clammy hand laid upon 
me, and recoiled with a shudder from the touch— 
my brain whirled! But the hand was Annie’s; 
she seemed to have become frenzied with terror 
and began to mutter unintelligible gibberish. My 
anxiety for my companion became almost equal to 
my fright I cannot express the dreadful feeling 
that spread over me; it was a terrible deadliness- 
I could not speak; I could not even move. I felt 
myself dying with horror. 
“How long we were so situated I could never 
tell, but it seemed a lifetime before we heard an¬ 
other sound. We had suffered the utmost agony of 
suspense, and it seemed that even death would be 
a pleasure, that it might relieve us from this dis¬ 
tress, when the object crept slowly and cautiously 
from the place it had taken, and, while we were 
expecting murder every moment, passed to the 
wash-stand, where it deliberately proceeded to wash 
its hands, and then came groping back. 
"The dawn was advancing, and objects gradually 
became more distinct, but not enough so to render 
them distinguishable only as general forms. My 
apprehensions were confirmed—it was a living per¬ 
son coming, thus strangely on towards us. I could 
endure it no longer; every object began to swim 
in a maze before me. Perhaps it was a mother’s 
love, perhaps mere frenzy, which prompted me, but 
in my agony I called wildly for Willie. 
“ What, mamma?’ was the affrighted answer. 
“ It is needless to relate our joy. I sprang from 
the bed and clasped my poor child convulsively in 
my arms. And then we all cried together—such a 
change of emotions could find no other utterance; 
and morning came over the hills with the rosy 
blush of the spring-time before we could control 
ourselves sufficiently to prepare for the coming 
day. 
“ It appeared that the apartment which Willie 
and his cousin had occupied that night, on account 
of the number of visitors at the mansion, was one 
in which a crazy woman, who frequented the 
neighborhood, was often allowed to rest. Accord¬ 
ing to her custom she had entered that evening, 
and finding the bed occupied, took off the quilt, 
which she wrapped around her, and then placed 
herself in an opposite corner. The removal of the 
coverlid had awakened Willie, who, fearing to 
rouse his bed-fellow, as he had never seen him un¬ 
til this night, got quietly out of bed and leaving 
the room wandered about among the strange old 
halls and passages, until by the merest accident he 
entered our apartment. Uncertain whose room he 
was in, and frightened even at the sound of his 
own footsteps, he groped about as we have seen 
him. The cold night air drove him to take refuge 
under the bed. While there his childish nature 
suggested to him that some inoffensive act might 
attract attention without exciting suspicion, and 
he had therefore gone to the stand to wash his 
hands. He was on the point of returning when 
my timely exclamation dispelled his fear, and 
changed our terror to most rapturous joy. 
“That night of horror left upon my mind an im¬ 
pression which nothing can erase. I often now 
look back upon it, and sometimes the thought of 
the foolishness of such timidity occurs to me. But 
it was too fearfully real to regard in such a light, 
and often in my dreams I see that ghost-like ‘ Shadow 
on the Walk’ ” 
Ogdensburgh, N. Y., 1858. 
CORRUPT ENGLISH. 
“ I should like to see a tribunal established at 
Westminster,” says a correspondent of a literary 
journal, “for the trial of those who assail and bat¬ 
ter the Queen’s good English. With such a man 
as the late Sir Philip Francis on the judgment seat, 
we should fill all the State Prisons during Hilary 
term. I mention two more of the most recent im¬ 
provements in the language of Old England, for 
the making of which platform orators and the 
daily newspaper press cannot be too much compli¬ 
mented. Pat-nTi^X-K word, in the dark age of Wil¬ 
liam Shakspeare, that was wont to be used only as 
a substantive, and always meant something appro¬ 
priated by letters patent; but in the Augustan age 
of Gilfillan and Tupper, it seems bad breeding to 
use the words clear, plain, evident, intelligible, 
open—we must say patent, if you please, instead. 
‘ I feel confident,’ thunders one gentleman, who is 
denouncing the Pope in Exeter Hall, ‘ that this ut¬ 
terly abominable priestcraft must be patent to you 
all.’ ‘My Luds,’ says another (Mr. Slipslop, Q. C.,) 
‘ that the last witness called has disgracefully per¬ 
jured himself must be patent to everybody present 
in this court.’ ‘Have faith in this sublime truth, 
my beloved brethren,’ snuffles the Honorable and 
Very Reverend Somebody, in his most sonorous 
cadence, ‘the road to eternal life is patent to all.’ 
Some —‘The jury retired for some half hour or so, 
to deliberate upon their verdict’ Here is a vicious 
sense in which to use the word ‘some’—it makes 
flat nonsense of it. Why not say, ‘ The jury retired 
for half an hour or thereabouts;’ or, ‘for about an 
hour?’ Yet these learned pundits, these ripe schol¬ 
ars, would laugh consumedly if they heard any 
man say that ‘The judge retired to drink some 
sherry or so,’ or that ‘ The foreman of the jury 
came into court and delivered some verdict or so.’ 
‘ Our own correspondents’ in the daily public prints 
have been at a great feast of languages and stolen 
the scraps. Critical severity, therefore, on these 
points, cannot be pushed to an excess.” 
^ • 
POLITENESS AND TRUTH. 
THfc CHURN. 
BY DASHER. 
Hail to the Churn! Hail to the Chnrrrt 
Much it teaches that we should leaxn;— 
Diveis insights into nature, 
Perseverance, temperature, 
Taste, kindness and econony, 
Faith, fashion and astronomy, 
Geology and navigation, 
Something, in fine, of all creation. 
Behold the churn; its hoops are right. 
Not swelling like a bloated fright. 
On its own bottom standing true, 
As high-souled men are wont to do, 
Self-poised, firm-set, and upright too, 
A pattern ’tis for me and you. 
The Churn’ffno champion of a crown. 
But a blunt Roundhead, vp and down. 
With kindly milk, its “in’ards” teem, 
So rich, indeed, its mostly cream. 
Generous-hearted as a Howard, 
Its only fault is, ’tis a cow—ard. 
Behold the Churn, a Milky Way, 
Full fraught with myriad Nebulae, 
So dense and bright they shut from view, 
That city stuff yclept “ sky-blue.” 
Again you look, and lol you spy 
A Yellow Sea, its waves dashed high 
Against an oak, and hoop-bound shore, 
With white caps, spouts and hollow roar. 
Behold again, it is a mine, 
From which the housewife doth refine, 
With sunken shaft, her massive gold, 
Worked ore and o’er, pressed, stamped and rolled. 
Didst ever churn? ’Tis a good school, 
Keep just bo warm, and just so cool. 
In life's great churning never fear; 
Through thick and thin just persevere. 
Though foes should clamor, friends be dumb, 
Churn on, churn on, the butter'll come! 
[ Yates Co. Chronicle. 
Old but Good. — Bill P - was making a 
journey in a stage coach, over the hilly roads in 
the eastern part of the State, and amused himself 
on the way by frequent resorts to the comfort of a 
mysterious black bottle which he had with him.— 
Suddenly the coach came in contact with a large 
stone, which, without doing any other damage, de¬ 
prived Billy of his equilibrium, and down he rolled 
on the ground. 
“Wot’n creation yer doing?” said Billy; “how 
come you to tip over?” 
The driver informed him that the stage bad not 
been overturned at all; and the passengers assured 
Billy that Jehu was right Billy approached the 
vehicle again, and remounted slowly to his foreseat 
outside. 
“ Didn’t upset, d’you say?” 
“Not at all,” replied the driver. 
“Well—if I’d a know’d that said Billy, “7 
wouldn't ha' got off /” 
Originality.— The Yankee Blade tells the fol¬ 
lowing anecdote of a college-chum: 
II-, a member of one of the classes, was 
distinguished not less for dry wit and sly wag¬ 
gery than for his address in evading the writing 
of themes, and palming off the brain-coined cur¬ 
rency of others as his legitimate “tender.” One 
Monday morning he read a theme of unusual 
merit; but Professor A-“smelta rat,” and as 
H. finished and sat down in the pride of conscious 
excellence, asked: 
“Is that original, II-?” 
‘‘Yes, sir.” 
“Are you sure of it?” queried the professor, 
doubtingly. 
“ Why, yes, sir,” replied H-, with the im¬ 
perturbable gravity, and that pasteboard counten¬ 
ance he always wore, “ it liad original over it in the 
paper I took it from!” 
Keen Wit. — There are Tpeople who talk with 
their whole body. The Frenchman talks with his 
arms, shoulders and head: a Yankee with his eyes 
and face. 
A certain member of Congress from one of the 
Eastern States was speaking one day on some im¬ 
portant question, and became very much anima¬ 
ted, during which he grimaced very much, which 
set a brother member, liis opponent on the ques¬ 
tion, to smiling. This annoyed him very much 
and he indignantly demanded to know why the 
gentleman from-was laughing at him. 
“ I was smiling at your manner of making mon¬ 
key faces, sir,” was the reply. 
“ Oh! I make monkey faces, do I? Well, sir, you 
have no occasion to try the experiment, for nature 
has saved you the trouble." 
The hammer was distinctly heard, amid the roar 
of laughter, calling the house to order. 
Many persons plead a love of truth as an apolo¬ 
gy for rough manners, as if truth was never gentle 
and kind, but always harsh, morose, and forbid¬ 
ding. Surely, good manners and a good con¬ 
science are not more inconsistent with each other 
than beauty and innocence, which are strikingly 
akin, and always look the better for companion¬ 
ship. Roughness and honesty are, indeed, some¬ 
times found together, in the same person; but lie 
is a poor judge of human nature who takes ill 
manners to be a guaranty of probity of character, 
or suspects a stranger to be a rascal because he 
has the manners of a gentleman. Some persons 
object to politeness, that its language is unmeaning 
and false, but this is easily answered. A lie is not 
locked up in a phrase; hut must exist, if at all, in 
the mind of a speaker. In the ordinary compli¬ 
ments of civilized life, there is no intention to de¬ 
ceive, and, consequently, no falsehood. Polite lan¬ 
guage is pleasant to the ear and soothing to the 
heart, while rough words are just the reverse; and 
if not the product of ill temper, are very apt to 
produce it The plainest of truths, let it be re¬ 
membered, can be conveyed in a civil speech, while 
the most malignant of lies may find utterance, and 
often do, in the language of the fish market 
In a State of Suspension. —The country is in 
the midst of a great financial crash, and “Bones” 
has felt it in a peculiar manner. The other day he 
called on his barber, and finding the door shut 
knocked loudly for admittance. The knight of the 
razor put his head out of the window and remarked: 
“You hab no use knockin’ dere; I’se closed; 
suspended.” 
“ Then hand me out my boots,” retorted “Bones.” 
The barber retired, and in a moment one of 
“Bones’ ” boots was thrown him through the win¬ 
dow. The other, however, was not forthcoming 
and to “ Bones’ ” inquiry as to the delay, the bar¬ 
ber very coolly replied: 
“ Dat’s all you can hab now, Mr. Bones, I’se only 
payin’ fifty per cent” 
It was told, as a good-natured joke, of an old 
doctor, that on being on a visit to a village where 
be had spent the earlier part of his life in practice, 
he one morning before breakfast went into a church 
/ard near where he was stopping. Breakfast being 
placed upon the table, and the doctor being inqui¬ 
red for— “I believe,” said the servant who had 
seen where he went, “that he has gone to pay a 
visit to some of his old patients.” 
Great Men. — Great men stand like solitary 
towers in the city of God; and secret passages 
running deep beneath external nature, give their 
thoughts intercourse with higher intelligence, 
which strengthens and consoles them, and of which 
the laborers on the surface do not dream.— Long¬ 
fellow. 
Witty Reply. —“What are you going to give 
me for a Christmas present?” asked a gay damsel 
of her lover. 
“ I have nothing to give hut my humble self,” 
was the reply. 
“The smallest favors gratefully received,” was 
the merry response of the lady. 
For Moore’s Rural New-Yorker. 
AMERICAN BIOGRAPHICAL ENIGMA. 
I am composed of 94 lettera 
My 19, 42, C, Id, 11, 28, 46, 48, 5, 15, 18, 16, 32, 77, 
78, 66, 26 was one of the 8 Brigadier Generals, 
appointed by Washington. 
My 62, 69, 57, 70, 63, 49, 83, 60, 45, 46, 86, 80, 87, 92 
was twice President of the Continental Con¬ 
gress. 
My 71, 82, 85, 83, 88, 43, 7, 38, 29, 84, 41, 90 was a 
distinguished American orator. 
My 46, 22, 49, 72, 30 , 4, 64, 65, 56, 8, 12, 17, 13 was 
an eminent North American Statesman. 
My 2, 23, 74, 21, 20, 13, 64, 32, 24, 43, 44, 9, 50, was'a 
signer of the Declaration of Independence, 
also Secretary of the Treasury. 
My 25, 46, 64, 14, 83, 46, 31, 79, 3, 27, 74, 45 was the 
first Governor of the State of Ohio. 
My 87, 40, 58, 47, 28, 33, 67, 52, 57, 21, 75, 76, 61, 1, 
89 was the last of the Dutch Governors of New 
York. 
My 28, 44, 56, 81, 41, 39, 94, 55, 19, 36, 49, 61, 93, 83 
was speaker of the House of Representatives, 
during the 26th Congress. 
My 8, 73, 65, 71, 54, 40, 45, 68, 81, 35,66, 46 was Gov¬ 
ernor of Georgia, in 1781. 
My 59, 52, 37, 92, 76, 34, 78, 53, 11, 41, 65 was Secre- 
of State. 
My 71, 33, 28, 35, 30, 34, 87, 36, 91, 49, 32, 94 was a 
distinguished Major-General, during the American 
Revolution. 
My whole is a beautiful verse from Goldsmith. 
Pleasant Grove, Min. Ter., 1858. B. W. H. 
ffSP Answer in two weeks. 
For Moore’s Rural New-Yorker 
GRAMMATICAL ENIGMA. 
I am composed of 28 letters. 
My 24, 13, 16 is an auxiliary. 
My 1, 17, 14 is an adverb. 
My 5, 8, 3. 4 is a verb. 
My 18, 26, 19, 2 is a preposition. 
My 7, 11, 6, 10, 22, 13, 27, 4 is a verh. 
My 21, 2, 18, 23 is an adjective. 
My 20, 25, 24 is a personal pronoun. 
My 13, 5, 13, 28 is an interjei^iuD. 
My whole is what young’persons should remem¬ 
ber. J. t. r. 
North Tunbridge, Vfc, 1858. 
Answer in two weeks. 
•--• 
For Moore’s Kura] New-Yorker. 
POETICAL ENIGMA. 
On! come into the woods with me, 
Now look around, on every tree, 
Behold my first, joyful and free 
My next, a sheltered cozy place 
Where sport the young of many a race; 
My whole a woik of wondrous skill 
Which every year my first fulfill 
With sti ks, straw, grass, and tiny bill. 
Marion, N. Y., 1868. E. B. C 
Answer in two weeks. 
For Moore’s Rural New-Yorker. 
GEOMETRICAL PROBLEM. 
A circular wall, whose circumference is the 
perimeter of one acre, has a staple driven into it 
on the outside; what length of rope will allow a 
horse, when tied to this staple, to graze over just 
one acre outside the wall? The rope is to wind 
around the wall as the horse grazes close to it, and 
not to stretch across it A. B. Evans. 
West Somerset, N. Y. 1858. 
Answer in two weeks. 
For Moore’s Rural New-Yorker. 
ALGEBRAIC PROBLEM. 
John and Jonathan divided a lot of land equal¬ 
ly as to value, which contained 600 acres, and which 
was appraised at $2 per acre. JonN’s division was 
valued at 5.0 cents per acre more than Jonathan’s. 
What were the contents, and price per acre of each 
division? . J. A. Dean. 
East Rodman, Jef. Co., N. Y., 1858. 
Answer in two weeks. 
The Sculpture of Habit.— Did you ever watch 
a sculptor slowly fashioning a human counte¬ 
nance? It is not moulded at once. Itisnotstruck 
out at a single beat. It is painfully and laborious¬ 
ly wrought. A thousand blows rough cast it Ten 
thousand chisel-points polish and perfect it — put 
in the fine touches, and bring out the features and 
expression. It is a work of time; but at last the 
full likeness comes out, and stands fixed forever 
and unchanging in the solid marble. Well, so does 
a man under the leadings of the Spirit, or the 
teachings of Satan, carve out his own moral like¬ 
ness. Every day he adds something to the work. 
A thousand acts of thought, and will, and deed, 
shape the features and expression of the soul— 
habits of love, and purity, and truth—habits 
of falsehood, malice, and uncleanness, silently 
mould and fashion it, till at length it wears the 
likeness of God, or the image and superscription 
of the Evil One .—Plain Parochial Sermons. 
MOORE’S RURAL NEW-YORKER, 
THE LEADING WEEKLY 
Agricultural, Literary and Family Newspaper, 
IS PUBLISHED EVERY SATURDAY 
BY I). I>. T. MOORE, ROCHESTER, N. X. 
Office, Union Buildings, Opposite the Court House. 
TERMS, IN ADVANCE: 
Two Dollars a Year—$1 for six months. To Clubs and 
Agents as follows:—Three Copies one year, tor $5; Six Copies (and 
one to Agent or getter up of Club,) for $10 ; Ten Copies (and one to 
Agent,) for $16, and any additional nnmber at the same rate, ($1,50 per 
copy.) Ab we are obliged to pre-pay the American postage on papers 
sent to the British Provinces, our Canadian agents and friends must 
a id 123-2 cents per copy to the club rates for tire Rural The lowest 
price of copies sent to Europe, Ac., is $2 60,— including postage. 
Subscribers wishing their papers changed from one Post-Office 
to another, should be particular in specifying the offices at which they 
are now received. 
Advertising — Brief and appropriate advertisements will be 
inserted at 25 cents a line, each insertion, payable in advance. Our 
rule is to give no advertisement, unless very brief, more than four con 
secutive insertions. Patent Medicines, Ac, are not advertised in the 
Rural on any conditions. 
f j?- Any person so disposed can as local agent for the Rural and 
all who do so will not only receive premiums, but their aid will be 
gratefully appreciated. 
