MOORE’S RURAL NEW-YORKER: AN AGRICULTURAL AND FAMILY NEWSPAPER. 
Written for Moore's Rural New-Yorker. 
RESPECT THINE AGED FATHER 
BT REV. OLIVER ORANB. 
Respect thine aged father 
Whose head, now white with years, 
Hath borne full many a sorrow 
Along the vale of tears; 
Oh! let those whitened temples— 
That sere and wrinkled brow— 
Be held of warm affection, 
As only sacred now. 
Respect thine aged father, 
He may not lODg remain 
Here with that feeble body, 
That tenement of pain: 
Each hour that overpasses 
But measures out his breath, 
Each pang he feels but ringeth 
Anew the knell of death. 
Respect thine aged father, 
Though in its forced review 
Fond memory may treasure 
What it could wish untrue: 
Oh! bury hence forever 
Each past infirmity, 
Thy father's age demandeth 
Forgiveness now from thee. 
Respect thine aged father; 
Long ere thou couldgt impart 
Aught, save thy young delinquenee, 
To win a parent’s heart, 
Did he forbear thy folly, 
And o'er thy welfare yearn. 
And owest thou now that father 
No gladly owned return? 
Soon 'neath the verdant valley 
Shall sleep that hoary head, 
Where naught can e'er recover 
A pardon from the dead; 
Go, ere his life be numbered 
With the forgotten past, 
Go, crave thy father’s blessing 
And deem it thine at last. 
Respect thine aged father, 
And from that dimming eye 
Chase every tear of anguish, 
Sooth every burdening sigh; 
Thus let above his pathway, 
So lonely to the tomb, 
A radiant halo gather 
Dispelling all its gloom. 
Then when that eye no longer 
Shall beam upon his child, 
And death has blanched those features 
Which once so fondly smiled; 
Then, though unseen and silent 
As evening dews distill 
That father’s heard petitions 
Shall fall upon the still. 
Written for Moore’s Rural New-Yorker. 
WOODVILLE SKETCHES.—NO. II. 
ANNA MASON. 
From my earliest years I have cherished a high 
esteem for my cousin, Edward Marshall, and I 
sometimes delight to trace the development of the 
feeling which at first was merely esteem, until it be¬ 
came the lasting friendship of riper years. I 
remember years ago when I scarcely dared move 
in the room where he was reading, when I feared 
to touch the hooks upon his study table, and when 
I blushed and stammered, and knew not what to 
say when he occasionally read me a passage from 
a favorite author, and looked to me for my opinion. 
I have a very vivid recollection of my uncomforta¬ 
ble feelings under such attentions, and I then feared 
the scholar too much to appreciate the man. But 
now I rejoice that I am no longer afraid of one 
whose intelligence, and good sense, make him an 
agreeable friend, and that I have the courage to 
disagree with him sometimes, often I might say, a 
thing which makes ns understand each other bet¬ 
ter. Sometimes I used to flatter myself that I came 
off conqueror in the discussions which invariably 
followed such disagreement, hut I was so often ac¬ 
cused of using the argumentum ad hominem that I do 
not like to boast of it. But you will think I am de¬ 
scribing my lover, and will fancy to yourself a sen¬ 
timental damsel who in her admiration of a noble 
man imagines herself able to appreciate all that he 
admires, and ready at the slightest notice to extem¬ 
porize on the subject of soul affinities. Let me 
undeceive you. Allow me to dispense with all 
mystery, and to introduce you to the circle of. my 
unpretending friends inWoodville; and he indul¬ 
gent for a while if I dwell in a prosy way on the 
years gone by and the friends who were, and are not. 
Edward Marshall then, is my friend, my cousin, 
withal a bachelor more than than thirty years 
of age. His soul is brave, his heart warm, his intel¬ 
lect gifted, his tongue instant to speak in the cause 
of truth, and earnest to plead for humanity. And 
I, presuming that I am to speak of myself in such 
a connection, am his junior by several years. I 
shall not tell you the exact number, hut deem it 
sufficient to state that I am beginning to consider 
myself almost an old maid—that when I go abroad 
I am no longer surprised to find the old school¬ 
mates of my girlhood, presiding with matronly dig¬ 
nity at their own social hoards or occupying an 
easy chair at their own firesides; and that I am 
looked upon by the rising generation of Woodville 
as a kind of relic of the past, and, which flatters 
my vanity a little, but rejoices my heart more, a 
relic which they would not like to lose. Carrie 
Eastman and I concluded the other night that no 
other place could ever be half so dear to ns as 
Woodville. A philosophical conclusion, was it not, 
considering that in all probability our lives will be 
spent here. 
A new year has dawned upon us here in Wood¬ 
ville as elsewhere, and I have spent the day in 
reviewing the past. With some pleasure, and with 
some pain, I have brightened some of the old mem 
ories which are too precious for me to lose.— 
Edward has been sitting at the other side of the 
grate for an hour or more, carefully turning the 
leaves of an ancient looking copy of the Lady of 
the Lake—and Aunt Mary, in her favorite seat be¬ 
side the round table, has been converting, with the 
dexterity peculiar to Yankee housewives, number¬ 
less yards of soft, grey yarn into a sock heel—while 
I with idle fingers, hut busy thoughts, have been 
looking at the melting coals in the grate, over 
which the bright yellow flame has been darting and 
curling, hut which now lie3 a mass of live, red 
eoals diffusing a cheerful, kindiy warmth through 
the sitting-room. But now, Edwabd handed me 
his book and pointed to the marked lines: 
“ The western waves of ebbing day 
Rolled o’er the glen their level way; 
Each purple peak, each flinty spire, 
Was bathed in floods of living fire.” 
I knew that it was not so much the beauty of the 
description that he wished me to notice as the deli¬ 
cate pencil note on the margin, signed Anna.— 
Those lines were the key to his New Year’s reflec¬ 
tions. I returned the hook gravely and said 
nothing. What could I say, when each knew that 
the other was thinking of the dear one who, years 
ago, went to her home above. Those years have 
brought with them the consolation which the Great 
Father is able to impart, and now we eDjoy a sad 
pleasure in thinking of our friend as purified from 
sin, and a companion of the saints in light. 
Anna Mason was an orphan girl all unused to 
being loved when Aunt Mart took her to her heart 
and home. One with whom the world had not 
dealt overkindly, to whom scanty fare, and cross 
words, and still crosser looks, were no new thing. 
One to whom, in the past, only the dark side of life’s 
picture had been revealed, and the burden of whose 
heart-song—for the future—must have been dark¬ 
ness, and night, and sorrow. But my aunt was not 
to he frightened from doing a good deed because 
the child of her adoption had been subjected to 
evil influences. In the simplicity of her heart she 
rather thought it an additional reason why she 
should be a mother to her, and considered an an¬ 
cient command to the effect that we should “feed 
the poor,” &c. — which is thought obsolete by so 
many now-a-days—as binding upon her. There are 
natures, over which evil seems to have no power; 
whose love for the beautiful and the true is but de¬ 
veloped by contact with'evil, and to whom the light 
and purity of God’s presence is revealed, while all 
around is moral darkness. Such was Anna Ma¬ 
son’s; and my aunt soon found that the presence 
of the friendless one — whom she had taken with 
many prayers and tears—was like a continual sun¬ 
shine to the stranger hearts about her. It was hut 
a few days after Anna came to her new home that 
Edward, who had been thrown from a carriage and 
much injured, returned from College to exchange 
his hours of delightful study for days and nights of 
weariness and pain. My aunt, who was pleased to 
consider me kind and obliging, and very com¬ 
panionable for one of my years, persuaded my 
mother to let me pass the winter with her in order 
to assist her and afford some variety to life at “the 
farm.” The farm As a mile and a half from the cen¬ 
tre of Woodville, one hundred acres of well culti¬ 
vated land, and the best in the country, my uncle 
says, with no little pride. 
The house—which years ago, I remember as an 
old-fashioned Yankee farm-house, with immense 
chimneys and large, square windows,—had been, at 
the time of which I write, extensively remodeled 
to conform to the architecture of later times. The 
windows had been changed, and nice, green blinds 
gave an air of tasteful comfort to the exterior; and 
the large chimneys and fire-places had been re¬ 
placed by smaller ones. On either side of the hall 
opened the parlor and family sitting-room, the 
comfortable appointments of which many a fash¬ 
ionable lady of these modern days might envy. 
It was a cold Decamber morning on which my 
father took me over to Aunt Mary’s — and I won¬ 
dered to myself, as we passed_swiftly over the Ches¬ 
ter road, what sort of a reception my cousin would 
give me. I had often heard my father and Squire 
Eastman speak of his intellectual acquirements as 
very extraordinary; and then the huge dictionaries 
and text-hooks which he brought home in the sum¬ 
mer vacation were quite sufficient to impress me 
with a sense of his superiority. Father did not 
stop. “Old ‘Jim 5 would not stand,” he said, “the 
morning was so cold;” so he kissed me affection¬ 
ately at the door, and a moment after Aunt Mary 
had me by the hand leading me to the capacious 
kitchen to lay aside my hood and cloak. A young 
girl whom I had never seen before was moving 
quietly about the room “doing up' 1 the morning’s 
work. “ This is my new daughter, Anna, that your 
mother told you about,” said Aunt Mary, in reply 
to my inquiring look, and then added in her kind 
way, “ I hope that you will learn to love each other.” 
I looked timidly at the quiet girl, seeming to know 
just how everything ought to he done; the particu¬ 
lar corner of the cupboard assigned to every cup, 
and spoon, and plate, and Aunt Mary’s exact 
method of sweeping and washing the hearth so 
that neither ashes nor water should soil the rag 
carpet. In a few minutes she took her seat beside 
me. Her brown hair was parted smoothly on a 
broad forehead, her eyes were hazel—with a clear, 
earnest look which made you like to look into 
them — her features were plain, yet there was a 
richness and clearness in her dark complexion, and 
a beauty of expression in her countenance, which 
made her face a pleasing one. I did not' embody 
my observations in these words, that December 
morning, hut as I write, the past, the happy past, 
rises before me, and my friend Anna, like the being 
of life and love she was, sits with me beside the 
kitchen fire-place. 
The sitting-room had been arranged for the win¬ 
ter with special reference to Edward’s comfort.— 
The sofa, well supplied with pillows and blankets, 
had been moved to a warm corner, and a small 
table, covered with vials and howls of herb tea, had 
taken the place of the dining table, which was 
banished to the kitchen. The novelty of being 
away from home, a visitor and a nurse, soon wore 
away; but the routine of duties which my good 
aunt laid out for me brought no weariness. Anna 
and I became very excellent friends, and my cousin, 
a week or two after my arrival, offered to hear us 
recite in Arithmetic and History. It would afford 
him a pleasant recreation for an hour or two each 
day, he said; and good Dr. Hays, who saw that the 
time hung heavily on the hands of his patient, gave 
him permission to do so. It was always with a feel¬ 
ing of quiet eoj oyment and a determination to please 
our teacher that we used to draw the old-fashioned, 
light stand to the fire-place and arrange our books 
for the evening’s study. Our lessons were recited 
in the morning, but our evening study hours were 
always closed by reading to Edward, an exercise 
which pleased and soothed him, he said. I can 
never forget the manner in which Anna read some 
of the beautiful poems he selected for us. Scott 
was one of her favorite authors, and an extract 
from Marmion, or the Lady of the Lake, very fre¬ 
quently formed our reading lesson. 
I might dwell at length on the days of that happy 
winter; on the cheerful evenings, the pleasant 
morning recitations, the nice times I had assisting 
Aunt Mary about the kitchen work — making 
bread, aDd biscuit, and coffee, and doing the thou¬ 
sand and one little things which do not seem hard 
to be done, yet take much of a house-keeper’s time 
to accomplish. I might tell you how I learned to 
love my kind, good aunt better than ever before; 
how I came to occupy a warmer corner in my 
cousin’s heart, and how lonely it seemed to ns all 
when the warm spring days came, and recovered 
health and strength enabled him to return to Col¬ 
lege. But I must not dwell upon the many things 
so wanting in interest to every one but myself. 
Six years passed swiftly away. Years which 
brought changes, sad changes, forme. My father— 
my mother — both had left me,— and I wrote their 
names among those of the loved ones who would 
welcome me when I, too, should reach my home 
above. Yet I was as happy as I could be without 
them in the home which my uncle and aunt offered 
me; an offer which I the more readily accepted as 
Edward was from home completing his law studies 
at C-, and Anna was attending school at W-, 
and I might do something to cheer them in their 
loneliness. 
Anna had, from the first, held a daughter’s place 
in Aunt Mary’s heart, and Woodville gossips were 
not surprised when they found that, as Edward’s 
wife, she would soon have an undisputed right to 
the place. She wrote frequent letters containing 
amusing descriptions of school-girl experiences, 
with now and then private pages, intended espe¬ 
cially for Aunt Mary’s eye, in which she wondered 
how she should ever he able, in any measure, to 
supply to Edward the place of so good a mother, 
and ended with various queries pertaining more 
especially to housewifery, which I will not repeat 
It was the close of a sultry August day, the 
second summer of my stay with Aunt Mary. We 
had spent the afternoon in arranging the sitting- 
room and parlor. The blinds were opened, and the 
curtains looped back—vases of flowers adorned the 
mantle-piece and parlor table, and asparagus the 
mirrors. The table was spread for tea; and the 
array of fruit and cake it presented Bhowed that 
some one was expected. My attention for the last 
twenty minutes had been divided between the bis¬ 
cuit I was making and the Ellis road, when a car¬ 
riage rapidly descending the hill caught my atten¬ 
tion. I ran down the walk to open the “ big gate” 
and be the first to salute Anna, while Aunt Mary 
stood in the hall door awaiting her coming with a 
nervousness quite unusual to her. 
Who that has had the pleasure of welcoming a dear 
friend, a school girl, after a long absence, does not 
know all that I would describe? The pleasant even¬ 
ing chit-chat about school matters, the display of 
drawings and essays, the unpacking of presents and 
books, the French translation for some delighted 
member of the family who understands not one word 
of the original, the sudden hush when the old family 
Bible is opened, the trembling voice which thanks 
the good Lord for this return to the home circle, 
and finally at a late hour the good-night kiss and 
the cheerful wish of pleasant dreams. 
I need not tell you that after we retired to our 
own room we foi;med many plans for the coming 
weeks, about visiting, aDd riding, and sewing, and 
reading. But we did not carry them out How 
often is it thus iu life. That to which we looked 
forward with hope and expectation makes the heart 
sad and life a burden — the gilded future becomes 
the dark, soul-wearying present 
I awoke in the morning to find Anna in a burn¬ 
ing fever and too ill to rise. My aunt doubted not 
that Dr. Hays would cure her in a day or two, and 
he was accordingly sent for. His countenance 
wore an expression of unusual seriousness as I 
passed him on his way out; hut I forebore to make 
any inquiries as I knew it would be useless. 
A few days served to confirm our worst fears; 
and he, who expected to claim the gentle girl, in a 
few short months, as his bride, came home to see 
the last feeble bickerings of her life-lamp go out 
forever. 
“We had thought to he happy here, 1 ’ she said, as 
reason returned for a brief space, “ but the Lord 
wills it otherwise. You will think of me as happy 
in my Father’s home—as loving you all still.” And 
then as her mind for a moment wandered, she 
murmured, “ Thank you, Edward — these flowers 
are very beautiful — we will read the old hooks to¬ 
night,—it will be pleasant to recall the old times.” 
Her hand rested lovingly on the bowed head by the 
bedside as she spoke for the last time, “good bye 
— trust the dear Savior who takes me to himself.” 
Do you wonder that we were sad as we sat around 
the fire on last New Year’s morning? Do you won¬ 
der that that old book among many others has been 
carefully treasured? Do yon wonder that the old 
familiar pages are often read with the thought that 
an angel form occupies the old place and listens to 
the lines she loved so well? 
You dare, perhaps, to laugh at the life of one 
whose daily conduct is guided by the thought of 
that angel presence! You dare, perhaps, to sneer 
at the idea of one whose days are spent in poring 
over musty law books, or in the more active duties 
of his profession, preserving a conscience void of 
offence toward God and man! Away with thy 
worldly wisdom and thy worldy pride. Become a 
child again that thou mayest have faith in that 
which is pure and holy. Jeannie Linsted. 
Salem, Ohio, 1858. 
THE STOLEN BEEF.—A RICH JOKE. 
A Belchertown scribe is responsible for this 
story, which the farmers will enjoy about “kill¬ 
ing” time, and it ought to have been drawn into 
the Drawer some months ago. But better late than 
never: 
“The meanest of all the men in our region is 
Sol Smith. Yon must know that here in the coun¬ 
try, when one of the neighbors kills a ‘beef crea¬ 
ture,’ he is expected to send a piece to each one of 
the families near by, and they return the favor 
when they kill, and so the thing proves to he about 
as broad as it is long. Now Sol was so mortal 
stingy that it went hard with him to think of giv¬ 
ing away anything, and when he came to kill he 
was bent upon keeping it all to himself. But pub¬ 
lic sentiment was very strong on the subject, and 
he would like to keep up a good name and keep his. 
beef besides. He spoke gently to his nextrdoor 
neighbor, Johnson, and told him that he thought 
it was a very foolish plan to he sending meat all 
over town, and each man had better raise and kill 
his own. In fact, he was determined to cheat his 
neighbors out of their meat, if they expected any 
from him, and save his credit too. Johnson sug¬ 
gested to him that if he should leave his beef in 
the barn over night before cutting it np, and then 
take it to his cellar before daylight, and give out 
that it had been stolen, the people would lose their 
expected share, and he very sorry for him besides. 
Just it ezactly! he would do that very thing. He 
killed his beef, hung it up to cool, and went to bed, 
to rise early and hide it Johnson and a few 
friends, before going to bed, went over to Smith’s 
barn, helped themselves to the beef, and divided it 
share and share alike, leaving hut a wee hit for the 
owner. Smith rose early, and found his meat was 
gone. He rushed over to Johnson’s and told the 
story, in a state bordering on frenzy. 
“‘Good!’ says Johnson; ‘you do it well.’ 
“ ‘ But it is stole, I tell you!’ 
“ ‘ That’s right; stick to it, Sol! Put on that dis¬ 
mal face, and they'll all believe it !' 
“ Smith saw it was no use. He had fallen into 
his own pit; and went home a poorer, wiser, hut, 
we fear, no better man.”— Harpers' Monthly. 
We read in a Sheffield paper that “ the last pol¬ 
ish to a piece of cutlery is given by the hand of 
woman.” 
Apropos to this, it may be said of human cutlery, 
that “the last polish to a young blade is given by 
his mixing with female society.” 
“Mr. President,” said a member of a school 
committee, “ I rise to get up, and am not backward 
to come forward in the cause of edication. Had 
it not been for edication, I might have been as ig¬ 
norant as yourself, Mr. President” 
“ Miss Brown, I have been to learn how to tell 
fortunes,” said a young man to a brisk brunette.— 
“Just give me your hand, if you please.” 
“La, Mr. White, how sudden you are! Well, go 
ask pa.” 
“Sam, you little imp!” said a tender-hearted 
mother to her dear son, " what on earth did you 
throw the kitten into the well for?” 
“0, coz I crazy!” 
“ Come to your ma, you little cherub I” 
“Why are sheep the most dissipated and unfor¬ 
tunate of animals?” “ Because they gambol in their 
youth, frequent the turf, are very often blacklegs, 
and are universally fleeced.” 
Southey, in one of his letters, says:—“I have 
told you of the Spaniard who always puts on his 
spectacles when about to eat cherries, that they 
may look bigger and more tempting. In like man¬ 
ner I make the most of my enjoyments; and 
though I do not cast my eyes away from my troubles 
I pack them in as little compass as I can for myself, 
and never let them annoy others.” 
There is a particular merit in such a way of for¬ 
giving an enemy, and the more violent and unpro¬ 
voked the offence has been, the greater still is the 
merit of him who thus forgives it.— Addison. 
For Moore’s New-Yorker 
MISCELLANEOUS ENIGMA. 
I am composed of 27 letters. 
My 18, 5, 26, 17, 11 is not honest 
My 2, 9, 11, 7, 22 is a man’s name. 
My 27, 10, 21, 16 is to domineer. 
My 1, 15, 20, 6 is what some people cannot bear. 
My 13,19, 25, 3 is what all should be. 
My 8, 23, 12 is a male descendant. 
My 1, 19, 21, 6 is to find the weight of any article. 
My whole was a saying of Bunyan. 
p-d, Mass., 1858. H. A. H. 
Answer in two weeks. 
For Moore’s Rural New-Yorker 
BIBLICAL ENIGMA. 
I am composed of 37 letters. 
My 3, 5, 27 was the youngest son of Noah. 
My 37, 15, 9, 35, 36 was a king of the Amorites. 
My 22,19,1, 6, 21, 8, 19 is a small brook which 
emptied into the river Jordan. 
My 12, 26, 1, 2, 10 was a heathen goddess. 
My 31, 32, 33, 3, 28, 2 was a distinguished prophet 
of Judea. 
My 31, 28, 35, 27, 30 was the wife of Elimelech. 
My 16, 7, 35, 30, 22, 16 was a sect of heathen philos¬ 
ophers. 
My 20, 34,11, 36, 13,16, 37 is one who gives testi¬ 
mony. 
My 18, 24, 23, 35,1 constituted part of the wilder¬ 
ness of Judea. 
My 25, 5, 29, 35, 2 was a celebrated idol of the 
Philistines. 
My 11,10, 37, 3, 7,15 was what the Queen of Persia 
sent upon the Philistines. 
My 17, 27, 17, 6, 35, 12, 16 was a painful desire. 
My whole is one of the things that God hateth. 
Hopewell, N. Y., 1858. 11. El H. 
jSST Answer in two weeks. 
For Moore’s Rural New-Yorker. 
MATHEMATICAL PROBLEM. 
If the diameter of the earth he 7,912 miles what 
will be the length of a degree of longitude in lati¬ 
tude 15 degrees. J. Thompson. 
Hanover, Mich., 1858. 
ffsii' Answer in two weeks. 
ANSWERS TO ENIGMAS, Ac., IN NO. 135. 
Answer to Miscellaneous Enigma:—To live is 
not merely to live, but to act 
Answer to Charade:—Moss. 
Answer to Mathematical Problem:—At the lower 
meridian, or 180° East or West of Washington. 
MAY n. 
luturttisscuuntis. 
I WEST’S GALVANIC OEMENT. 
T HIS COMPOSITION MAKES A BETTER ROOF than tin, 
and at less than half the cost It will make old tin roof, per¬ 
fectly tight, and can be applied to any kind of roofs. It is fire and 
water proof. Circulars sent to ail who detire The Subscriber is the 
Assignee of the Patent Rights for sale low. 
436-4t _ N. F. GRAVES, Syracuse, N. Y. 
TO YOUNG MEN OUT OF EMPLOYMENT^ 
500 Book Agents Wanted. 
W ANTED—In every section of the United States, active and en- 
terpriting men to engage in tbe sale of very popular books— 
To men of goo<i address, possessing a small capital, such induce¬ 
ments will be offered as to eaable them to make from Five to Ten 
Dollars per day profit. Circulars containing instructions, and a com¬ 
plete list of our publications, with wholesale and retail prices, will be 
sent to any address, ftee of postage. Address 
DICK A FITZGERALD, Publishers, 
436-4t • No. 18 Ann street. New Y ork. 
iPiRinsrciE Sz co’S 
IMPROVED PATENT MELODEON. 
EO. A. PRINCE A CO., Manufacturers, Buffalo, N. Y — 
VX Wholesale Depot, 87 Fulton St, New York, and 110 Like St, 
Chicago, III Combining ail of their recent Improvements—the Divi¬ 
ded Swell, Organ, Melodeon, Ac, Ac. 
The Divided Swell can only l>e Obtained In 
Melodeona of our Manufacture. 
PRICES OF PORTABLE INSTRUMENTS, 
Four Octave, O to C.$45 
Four and a Half Octave, C to F. 60 
Five Octave, FtoF. 75 
Five Octave, Double Reed, FtoF. 130 
ORGAN MELODEON. 
Two Banks of Keys, Fire Sets of Reeds, Eight Stops, One and a 
Half Octave Foot Pedals, One Set of Reeds in Pedal Bass In¬ 
dependent .$350 
PRICES OF PIANO CASED 
Five Octave, FtoF.$100 
Six Octave, FtoF.130 
Five Octave, Double Roed, FtoF. 150 
Five Octave, Two Banks of Keys. 200 
[From the Home Journal, April 3,1868.] 
The Melodeons manufactured by Prince & Co., and for sale at 87 
Fniton street, are the best in tbe world. Wc have tried them, and 
therefore speak understandingly of their merits. They are afforded 
at a very moderate cost 
Wholesale Agents—R nssell A Richardson, Boston, Mass.— 
W. F. Colburn, Cincinnati, O. Balmer A Weber, St Louis, Mo. 
Ph. P. Werlein, New Orleans 
This is the oldest Establishment in the United States, Employing 
200 Men, and Finishing 80 Instruments per Week. 
All Melodeons of our manufacture, either sold by us or dealers in 
any part of the United States or Canadas, are wakranteo to be per¬ 
fect in every respect Slid should any repairs be necessary before the 
expiration of one yemom date of sale, we hold ourselves ready and 
willing to make the same free of charge, provided the injury is not 
caused by accident or design. 
GEORGE A. PRINCE A- CO. 
Agents, for tbe sale of our Melodeons, may be found in all the prin¬ 
cipal cities and towns of the United Slates and Canadas. 436 
I IME. —PAGE’S PERPETUAL KILN—Patented Jnly, 
J 1857. Superior to any in nse for wood or coal 2% cords of wood, 
or 1% tuns of coal to 100 bbls.—coal not mixed with stone. 
434tf Address C. D. PAGE, Rochester, N. Y. 
1 , 000 , 000 ! 
SWEET POTATO PLANTS! 
PRICE—$1 per 400, *2 per 1,000, $8 per 5,000, 
$15 per 10,000. 
F .ANTS OF MY VARIETY and growth have produced good 
crops 44 ° north. Orders filled ’till 20tb June. Packed so as to 
arrive hi good condition, whether 100 or 1,000 miles distant Only 
geod and well-rooted plants sent Directions forcultivation furnished 
when desired. P. O. Address. M. M. MURRAY, 
Twenty Mile Stand, Warren Co., Ohio. 
By Express, Foster's Crossings, Little Miami R. R, Ohio. 433eow3t 
K. A. ALEXANDER’S SALE OF 
SHORT-HORNS, &C. 
R A. ALEXANDER’S 4th ANNUAL SALE OF 8HORT- 
• Horned Cattle, Ac, will take place, at Woodburn Farm, 
Woodford Co , Ky, on tbe 2d day of June next (that being the 1st 
Wednesday in that month.) when a number of very superior 
Young Bulls and Heifers will be sold. Also, some South-Down 
Sheep from Imported Stock. 
Woodburn Farm adjoins the Big Spring Station, on the Lexington 
and Frankfort Railway, being 15 miles from the former, and 10 from 
tbe latter place. 
IZi/" The Bourbon Co. Cattle Breeders’ Association will have their 
Annual Sale on tbe following day. at Paris, which can lie easily reach¬ 
ed after the close of the Sale at Woodburn, in time to attend it Pur¬ 
chasers will thus have a double opportunity of obtaining stock to 
suit them. 
Catalogues will be ready one month previous to the day of Bale, 
and may be had on application to R. A ALEXANDER, or to $. W. 
JOHNSON, Spring Station, Woodford Co. Ky. • 433-6t 
THE NEW YORK SELF-RAKING REAPER, 
WITH MOWER COMBINED. 
SEYMOUR &.* MORCAN’S PATENT, 
Improved, for the Harvest of 1S58. 
A S A REAPER it is moro simple, and less liable to get out of 
repair than any other Self Raker,—Ls easier lor the team than 
any hand-raker of equal width of cut—leaves a clean stubble of any 
desirable height Rakes off the grain better than is ordinarily dene 
by the best hand rakes. The size of the bundle is easily regulated by 
a slight pressure of the driver’s foot, and is operated with the least 
possible amount of manual labor. 
The Self-Raker was awarded the First Premium at the National 
Trial in July last 
As A Mower, it is lighter in draught than many machines which 
cut less width of swathleaves the out grass in good condition, and 
starts at any point without backing to get up motion of the knife before 
coming to the grass. The motion of the knife is changed from slow, 
for reaping, to fast, for mowing, by using different sired pinions,—se¬ 
curing a high motion when necessary, and avoiding it, and the conse¬ 
quent loss of power and wear of the gearing, when unnecessary. Tbe 
same cutter bar is used for both reaping and mowing, and the machine 
is easily and quickly converted to serve either purpose. 
For quality of material and workmanship, strength, durability and 
efficiency, it is, as manufactured by us, not excelled as a combined 
machine. 
We manufacture two sires,—one cutting five feet, designed for two 
horses ; the other cutting six feet or more, designed for four horses, 
(may be used with two.) Circul ars containing price, terms, testimo¬ 
nials, blank orders, Ac., will be sent on application to us. 
SEYMOUK, MORGAN A- ALLEN, 
432tf _Brockport, N. Y. 
THE BEST IN USE! 
^^HEELER AND WILSON MANUE’G CO.’S 
SBWIBT& MACHINES. 
Highest premiums for 1857 awarded by the American Institute at 
the Crystal Palace, New York; Maryland Institute, Baltimore; and 
at the Maine, Connecticut, Michigan, and Illinois Stute Fairs. 
Office 343 Broadway, N. Y. Send for a Circular. 
OPINIONS OF THE NEW YORK FRESH 
Its superiority is justly accorded —Jiural New-Yorker. 
We prefer them for family use.—’Tribune. 
They are the favorites for families.—Times. 
It is without a rival— Scientific American. 
Equal to nine seamstresses .—Home journal 
lhe machine for family use,—Advocate and Journal 
Most honorable to American genius .—Independent 
We cannot imagine anything more perfect —Evangelist 
Will give entire satisfaction.— Observer. 
The best ever invented.— Christian Iwnnrer. 
Indispensable in every family .—’The Preacher. 
We praise it with enthusiasm — Christian Intelligencer. 
A benefaction of the age.— Putnams/ Magazine. 
Magical in operation.— Mrs. Stephen's Monthly. 
Beyond all question, the machines .—Life Illustrated. 
They maintain the pre-eminence.— Express. 
Our household is in ecstacies with it— Porter's Spirit. 
One of our household gods.— U. S. Journal. 
Have no equal for family use.—Musical World. 
A triumph of mechanical genius.— N. Y. Journal 
433 S. W. DIBBLE, Agent Smith’s Arcade, Rochester, N. Y. 
~m^ok^1rijral1n t e^ome^ 
the leading weekly 
Agricultural, Literary and Family Newspaper, 
IS PUBLISHED EVERT SATURDAY 
BY D, D. T. MOORE, ROCHESTER, N. Y. 
Office, Union Buildings, Opposite the Court Kou»e. 
TERMS, IN ADVANCE: 
Two Dollars a Year—$ 1 for six months. To Clubs sod 
Agents as follows:—Three Copies one year, for $5; Six Copies (and 
one to Agent or getter up of Club,) for $10; Ten Copies (and one to 
Agent) for $15, and any additional number at the same rate, ($1,50 per 
copy.) As we are obliged to pre-pay the American postage on papers 
sent to the British Provinces, our Canadian agents and triends must 
add 12% cents per copy to the club rates for the Rural. The lowest 
price of copiee sent to Europe, Ac, is $2 60,— including postage. 
Advertising — Brief and appropriate advertisements will bs 
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 
secutlve insertions. Patent Medicines, Ac, are not advertised in ths 
Rural on any conditions. 
PUBLISHER'S SPECIAL NOTICES. 
Clubbing with the Magazines, Ac.—We will send the Rural 
New-Yorker for 1858, and a yearly copy of either The Atlantic, 
Harper's, Oodet/s, Grahants, or any other $3 magazine, for $4. The 
Rural and either The Horticulturist, Hoveffs Magazine, Arthur's 
Magazine, or any other $2 magazine for $3. 
ITT Additions to Clubs are now in order. Any person haviDg 
sent in a club of 6 to 10 can add one, two, five, or more, at the lowest 
club price—$1,60 per copy. 
ty Ant person so disposed can act as local agent for the Rural 
without certificate, and each and all who volunteer in the good cause 
will not only receive premiums, but their aid will be appreciated. 
Subscribers wishing their papers changed from one Post-Office 
to another, should be particular iu specifying the offices at which they 
are now received. 
