204 
JUNE 19 
MOOEE’S ETJEAL NEW-YORKEE: AN AGRICULTURAL AND FAMILY NEWSPAPER, 
CHARITY. 
When you meet with one suspected 
Of some secret deed of shame, 
And for this by all rejected 
As a thing of evil fame; 
Guard thine every look and action, 
Speak no word of heartless blame, 
For the slanderer’s vile detraction 
Yet may soil thy goodly name. 
When you meet with one pursuing 
Ways the lost have entered in. 
Working out his own undoing, 
With his recklessness and sin; 
Think, if placed in his condition, 
Would a kind word be in vain? 
Or a look of cold suspicion 
Win thee back to truth again? 
There are spots that bear no flowers, 
Not because the soil is bad, 
But the summer’s genial showers 
Never make their bosoms glad; 
Better have an act that’s kindly, 
Treated sometimes with disdain, 
Than by judging others blindly, 
Doom the innocent to pain. 
Written for Moore’s Rural New-Yorker. 
DAY-DREAMS. 
BY WINNIE WILLIAN. 
What a place for dreams, was the dark old 
garden of the homestead. And was it any wonder, 
that while roaming through its old-fashioned 
walks, my waking hours should be visited by 
dreams as fanciful as those that hovered about my 
couch at midnight? My father died before I could 
remember him, and we lived alone — my mother, 
old Mrs. Nancy, our faithful house-keeper, and 
myself, in the old homestead in Glenwood. l ew 
understood me. My mother pronounced me a 
« strange child,” and many wondered that I could 
prefer a walk in the woods, or an hour of solitude 
in the garden, to a merry romp with the village 
children. The forest-flowers were my daily com¬ 
panions, I could call them all by their names, and 
to me there was a legend hidden within each tiny 
cup. But my greatest happiness consisted in re¬ 
modeling and revising the picture of the future I 
had drawn for my mother and myself, and over 
which I had dreamed many an hour away. And 
so the years rolled dreamily on, and I approached 
to what is designated a “young lady,” although I 
believe I never laid claim to that title, being as 
wild and free as the mountain deer, and as totally 
regardless of the code of fashion. Sunset was always 
my favorite hour, and I would sit by the western 
window of my room, and drink in the exquisite 
tints of a glorious sunset, until my heart would 
throb, and my fancy rove wild through the flower- 
studded fields of dream-land. It was one of those 
lovely evenings—“bridal of earth and sky, 1, so 
mild and calm, and I was engaged in my favorite 
employment— “Alice!” and my mother laid her 
hand on my shoulder. “ My child, cease this fool¬ 
ish dreaming. You cause me much uneasiness. 
How will you ever dream your way through a cold, 
heartless world?” 
“Ah, but mamma, you have just interrupted me. 
Tell me, did you ever see anything more sublimely 
grand, than yonder blue-topped mountains, resting 
beneath those gorgeously tinted cloud-pillows?— 
One might almost fancy they could see-” 
“ Hush, Ali.ie, come here now. I want to have 
a little plain talk with you.” And my mother 
seated herself in a low rocking-chair, while I en¬ 
sconced myself on an ottoman at her feet, and 
throwing one arm across her knee, leaned my 
head there, in my old way, as I used to when a 
child. 
“What I have to say,” remarked my mother, “is 
simply this. You are now eighteen, Alice, and as 
yet have mingled none with the world.” 
“ Nor do I wish to, mamma,” I interrupted hastily. 
a The world—what is it but heartless show? I am 
only too happy in this dear, old home with you.” 
a But you cannot have me always with you,” re¬ 
turned my mother, and her voice trembled as she 
smoothed my curls. “Nay, don’t start so, darling. 
I have dreaded to speak of it to you; but I feel it 
more and more every day. There, do not sob so. I 
would not willingly grieve you, Alice, but these 
things must be talked over. I have given you the 
best education possible with my limited means, 
hut I fear it has done you little good —you never 
would learn like other children. But this home¬ 
stead is ours, and it is a great relief to me to know, 
that in case of my death, you have a home, and an 
humble friend who will not leave you. You have 
been my greatest comfort since your father’s death, 
Alice. Gob bless you. But I fear much for you, 
my wayward Alice.” 
“You must not leave me, mamma,” I cried, 
throwing myself upon her bosom. “I would not 
live without you. ‘When thou diest, I will die.’ ” 
“ Be more calm, my daughter,” and my mother 
endeavored to compose her voice, while her tears 
fell thick and fast on my head. “You must not 
feel so, Alice. If our Father sees fit to take me 
hence,it is all for the best ‘He doeth all things 
well.’ You must not be so excitable. How your 
head throbs already.” And kissing my burning 
brow, she gently pillowed my head upon her bosom, 
and sang in a sweet, though tremulous voice, a 
favorite hymn of my childhood: 
“God shall charge His angel legions, 
Watch and ward o’er thee to keep.” 
Gradually I became calm, and as she sang the last 
verse, her tones grew more firm, and thrilled my 
heart with a vague longing for what, I knew not 
then. 
ii Thou shalt call on Him in trouble, 
He will harken, He will save; 
Here for grief reward the double, 
Crown with life beyond the grave.” 
One, two hours passed on, and still we sat there,— 
all silent and alone, in the moon-lighted room. 
For the third time Mrs. Nancy put her head in at 
the door,— 
“Shan’t I bring lights, Mrs. Devine?” 
“ You may,” responded my mother, and accord. 
ingly the curtains were drawn, and the lamps 
lighted. But restless and uneasy, we soon retired 
to the solitude of our own rooms, to indulge in our 
sad thoughts alone. My mother came as usual to 
give rne the accustomed good-night kiss, and this 
night there was more tenderness than usual in her 
manner to me. Fondly as I had always loved her, 
my affection now seemed to amount almost to 
idolatry, and I clung to her as if I feared that em¬ 
brace might be the last. When she left me for the 
night, a heavy weight rested on my heart, and I lay 
awake thinking of her pale face and wasted form, 
until the thought of her being taken from me al¬ 
most drove me mad. Towards morning I fell into 
an uneasy slumber, from which I did not awake 
until the sun was some hours high. My mother’s 
pale face wore her usual sweet, cheerful smile, as 
she bade me “ good-morning.” What was it that 
filled her with peace and quiet, while I was anxious, 
unhappy? Did she feel no grief at the thought of 
a future parting? The idea was intolerable, and I 
spurned it from me, as unworthy my mother. Day 
after day passed on, and I saw her, with an agonized 
heart, grow feebler and thinner. A dark cloud 
overspread the bright horizon of my day-dreams, 
and sad images thronged my night-visions. My 
idol was perishing before my eyes. Never had 
Glenwood looked more beautiful than in those 
dark days of my first sorrow, but the summer radi¬ 
ance, and life, and beauty, seemed to mock my 
agony. 
For several months the village church had been 
without a pastor. The old shepherd, who for so 
many years had faithfully ministered to the 
spiritual wants of the Glenwood fold, had ceased 
from all earthly labors. After the lapse of a few 
months his place was supplied by a young clergy¬ 
man of the name of Gregory. He soon became 
exceedingly popular among his parishoners. In 
person he was rather tall and slender, with a pale, 
intellectual countenance, dark hair, and eyes almost 
spiritual in their expression. Of course he speedily 
became a favorite with the young-lady portion of 
the community, while his winning manners, and 
simple yet elegant style of address, won the hearts 
of the “ old folks.” My mother’s health failed 
rapidly, and soon she was unable to leave her room. 
I scarcely left her for a moment. Mr. Gregory 
frequently called. His visits did her much good. 
One afternoon, in particular, is impressed on my 
memory. She was reclining in her easy chair, 
which I had drawn to the open window, that she 
might enjoy the flower-laden breeze, when our 
young pastor called. Never shall I forget with 
what glowing raptures he pictured to the patient 
sufferer, her heavenly home, and the crown of 
glory that waited to enclose her weary head; and 
I can see even now, the heavenly look that beamed 
forth upon her pale features, as she listened with 
eager attention. She seemed to forget my presence. 
“ I have but one regret in leaving this world—my 
Alice,” and she sighed deeply. I arose hastily and 
left the room. She looked up, and as I closed the 
door I heard her say, “Poor child!” With rest¬ 
less steps I paced up and down the garden walks, 
where I had spent so many happy hours—but 1 
never should dream more; my happiness was all 
blasted. _ 
It was in the latter part of November,—a dreary, 
dismal afternoon. My mother’s earthly race was 
nearly run. The good old doctor, the young min¬ 
ister, Mrs. Nancy, and myself, had assembled in the 
chamber of death. It neared the hour of sunset, 
and my mother awoke from her stupor. Suddenly 
the clouds broke away, and a ray of light from the 
setting sun shone on the couch of the dying. A 
bright smile irradiated her features as she observed 
it, and her loving glance rested on me. A manly 
voice broke the solemn silence:—“ Come unto me, 
all ye that labor and are heavy-laden, and I will 
give you rest.” “ For so He giveth His beloved 
sleep.” 
“Sweet sleep,” murmurmed the dying one.— 
“ Alice, my child, I am going home, at last. Meet 
me there!” and without a sigh, her spirit returned 
to God who gave it. 
They closed the eartli-weary eyes, and folded 
the hands across her peaceful breast, laid her 
to rest in yonder quiet church-yard. Ah, my 
mother! The sobbing autumn winds chanted thy 
requiem, and thy daughter's tears watered thy 
grave. Thou little knew the sorrowful days in 
store for Alice! Oh, how gloomy and desolate 
the old homestead had become. Yet 1 preferred 
its solitude to the society of others, and I spent 
that winter in deep seclusion. At length spring, 
with her “buds and blossoms,” came again. But 
wood and dale, and every favorite haunt, seemed 
to say so feelingly, “you’re motherless,” and I 
would “ sit alone and weep.” Where was the re¬ 
alization of my many bright hopes and dreams?— 
I took up the song of the Preacher, “ Vanity of 
vanities; all is vanity.” Mr. Gregory occasionally 
called, and his visits were the only ray of sunshine 
that crossed my darkened path. 
Unconsciously I began to watch for his coming, 
and as the summer wore on, I resumed my old seat 
by the western window, and relapsed into my 
dreamy fancies again. And so I dreamed another 
year away. 
I had gone to the woods that bright spring 
morning, to seek the blue-eyed violets, and with 
hands full of the fragrant flowers, had seated my¬ 
self on the mossy bank of the beautiful stream 
which sings its way through Glenwood. A light 
foot-fall aroused me from my meditations, and a 
familiar voice greeted, “Miss Devine” with a 
pleasant “ good-morning,” and before I could arise, 
the young minister was by my side, descanting on 
the lovely scenery, and the sweet blue flowerets I 
was arranging into boquets. Before we parted, 
Lawrence Gregory told me that he loved me. 
Me — poor Alice Devine! My heart was almost 
happy, as I laid my head on my sleepless pillow 
that night I longed for thee, my mother! Before 
the snows of another winter had passed away, I was 
the proud and happy wife of the young pastor. 
My cup was full to overflowing. It wa3 bliss 
enough for me to bear his name, to share his lot 
To have the sweet assurance that the fervent love 
of his noble heart was mine alone,—to live in the 
sunlight of his dear presence, methinks, were joy 
enough for one poor mortal to bear. Again had I 
made unto myself an earthly Dagon, — an idol 
upon which I lavished my whole affections. Twelve 
months passed away—months of love and happ 
ness, unclouded by a single care or sorrow,—when 
I observed with anxiety, that his arduous labors 
began to prey upon his health. With what an 
anguished heart I saw him gradually declining.— 
How anxiously I pleaded with him to relinquish 
the care of his church, for a season at least, and 
recruit his fasbfailing health. But he labored on 
with increasing assiduity. One morning, after a 
sleepless night, as he sat in his study diligently 
writing, 1 earnestly besought him to relax his 
studies. 
“Do leave off writing, Lawrence,” I exclaimed, 
“ and come and taste the beauties of this summer 
morning. The air is so fresh and pure, it will do 
you good.” He looked up with a smile. 
“ I must work while it is day. The night cometh, 
in which no man can work.” 
An undefinable fear filled my heart “Ah,” I 
cried passionately, “that ‘night’ will be one of 
sorrow to me—all alone in the world. My lot is 
too hard for me to bear.” 
“Not so, my Alice,” responded my husband 
tenderly. “ As your day is, so shall your strength 
be. Your ‘night’ will be my entrance upon the 
countless ages of eternal bliss.” 
We left the house in silence, and took the path 
which led to the stream, beside whose waters I had 
spent some of the happiest hours of my existence. 
We sat down on the velvety bank, withoutspeaking. 
At length Lawrence said:—“It is just two years 
ago to-day, Allie, since in this same place you 
made me so very happy. Tell ine, love, have you 
ever regretted it?” 
I could not answer, but only laid my head on his 
shoulder and wept. He drew me fondly to his 
bosom, whispering,—“ Why then so sad, darling? 
Is it because you fear I am to cease my earthly 
pilgrimage a few days before you? Trust me, be¬ 
loved, it will be but a short time, at the longest, 
ere you will join me and your sainted mother, in 
that land where partings are not known.” 
After an absence of an hour or more, we returned 
to the parsonage. That walk was the last we ever 
took together. He rapidly failed, and in a short 
time the grave again opened, to receive my dearest 
earthly treasure. Those were days of darkness and 
anguish. I can scarcely think calmly of them even 
now. I left the parsonage, and returned to the old 
homestead, where I had passed my childhood, and 
where old Nancy waited to receive me with open 
arms and a loving heart. Ten long years have run 
their course since then, and I have become re¬ 
signed to the will of my Father. Yet my heart 
oftentimes impatiently asks, “How long?” and a 
voice whispers in my ear, “ As thy days, so shall 
thy strength be.” 
“ When with sad foot-step, memory roves 
’Mid smitten joys and buried loves; 
When sleep my tearful pillow flies, 
And dewy morning drinks my sighs; 
Still to thy promise, Lord, I flee, 
That as my days, my strength shall be.’’ 
Sometimes the old sorrows come back upon me 
with overwhelming force, and then I sing my 
mother’s hymn: 
“ Here for grief reward thee double, 
Crown with life beyond the grave.” 
And do I ever dream now, do you ask? Yes, but 
not as in days of yore. I have learned the vanity 
of earthly hopes, and have placed my “ treasures 
in Heaven.” 
Dream? Oh, yes! Iam dreaming stilL There 
are visions of the dark waters of death, but the 
“ House of many mansions ” stands beyond. The 
golden streets of the Now Jerusalem echo to the 
tread of angel feet, and there is a Crystal River, 
the music of whose waters “ makes glad the City 
of our God,” and the Tree of Life overshadows its 
banks. And there is a “ great White Throne,” and 
the white-robed forms of the redeemed surround it 
“And God shall wipe away all tears from their 
eyes; and there shall be no more death, neither 
sorrow, nor crying, neither shall there be any more 
pain.” It is a lovely earth-dream. Soon may it 
become a heavenly reality. 
Rochester, N. Y., 1858. 
Written for Moore’s Rural New-Yorker. 
TRIFLES. 
“ Only a trifle,” and the pretty lips vainly en¬ 
deavored to wreathe themselves into a careless 
expression, as she stood before a mirror, the imper¬ 
sonation of beauty and loveliness, her tiny fingers 
clasping a string of pearls around her fair brow.— 
“ It's only a trifle, any way, and he needn’t have 
spoken quite so pettishly, for I didn’t intend to re¬ 
fuse him— all I wanted was that he should urge 
me, he can do it so prettily . But no, when I told 
him I was going to Mrs. C’s ball, which, by the way, I 
didn’t intend to do at all,—he looked so vexed, and 
said ‘ I'd better chase all the time,’ and now I’ll go 
just for spite.” The last word had a very harsh 
and unpleasant sound, she thought to herself, as 
she knelt upon the carpet and began to gather up 
the scattered pearls that had slipped from the 
string which she had broken in her hurry. “ I al¬ 
most wish I had consented to have remained at 
home with him, he did look so weary and discour¬ 
aged, but it will never do to yield the point now— 
never after my tart reply,” and gathering up her 
delicate robe in each hand she tripped along the 
wide hall, down the marble steps of her princely 
home, and was handed into the carriage awaiting 
her appearance. 
But did her heart experience no uneven throb 
as she threw herself upon the soft velvet cushions, 
and her eye took in the secret dimensions of the 
unoccupied seat opposite? And were not her 
thoughts partial to a form she left standing in the 
twilight-shaded room, with the look of discontent 
upon his features, and a cruel feeling of distrust 
stealing down to his heart—distrust of her affection 
that she could thus leave him when he so much 
needed her sympathy and love—leave him for the 
society of worldlings? 
“ Only a trifle." Oh! could she have looked down 
the path—thorn-strewn and damp with falling 
tears,—her tender feet were about entering, could 
she have seen the sleepless nights of agony, those 
days whose dawning would bring no joy to her, 
those days of desolateness, would those words have 
been uttered, or that act considered a Trifle?— 
Oh, no! 
And when years sped on with their sunshine and 
shade, their smiles and tears, bringing with them 
estrangement, and, at last, a life separation, could she 
in glancing back over the way her feet had come, 
believe that those little acts of indifference, those 
trifles, had laid the foundation of so much heart 
misery ? And when, after a few more twelvemonths 
glided by, she willingly laid her head down upon 
her coffin-pillow— for her heart had grown weary of 
its grief burden—there came one with the dust of 
travel upon his garments, and deep traces of a 
heavy grief upon his brow, to look once more 
upon the form that had walked for a few years by his 
side in the life-path, ere the green earth was heap¬ 
ed above it. Through tearless eyes he gazed in 
upon the pale forehead, so thickly traversed by 
grief-waves, and the thin lips so closely compressed, 
as if some anguish had been struggling for utter¬ 
ance even in the hour of dissolution. Then the 
words rushed up from his troubled heart:—“ Trifles 
—oh those little trifles destroyed our happiness, 
my Annie. Had it not been for them you might 
have still been my happy wife, instead of now ly¬ 
ing here so cold and pale. May God forgive us the 
great wrong we have done each other,” and the 
strong man bent his head low above the beautiful 
ureck, and wept as though his heart was breaking. 
“Pshaw! it’s only a trifle,” said a young man, in 
a deprecatory way, as if he could quiet his con¬ 
science and persuade his heart that he had done 
right in refusing his Mary to walk with her, be¬ 
cause it happened to be at the same hour in which 
he had agreed to meet his chums at the principal 
hotel and enjoy a glass of wine. “ Women nave so 
many whims, it’s no use trying to keep an even 
pace with their nods and notions. Wonder if 
Mary imagines that I am bound to keep up all the 
nonsense, and little civilities, as she calls them, that 
were her’s in the days of our courtship? Really, I 
thought that I was marrying a woman of sense, in¬ 
stead of a weak, petted girl. Well, all I’ve got to 
say, is, as I told her, this course of things have got 
to be put a stop to, or I shall lose my dignity as a 
man,” and so saying, he wiped the ink from out of 
his pen, closed his ledger and with a very dignified 
expression upon his handsome face, and a fresh 
cigar, started off to meet his appointments. 
But where was Mary ? The beautiful moonlight 
lit up the dew-pearls scattered all through the 
tangled grass, and the bright stars looked very 
happy and contented away up in the deep blue, 
while the zephyrs were whispering in low sentences 
to each other of their day-missions amid the green 
leaves, where the young birds had rocked them¬ 
selves to sleep hours ago. Very beautiful was the 
bright young head resting upon the clasped fingers 
above the mossy window sill—very beautiful with 
its wealth of golden curls, through which the cool 
night breeze was stealing. A long time had she 
remained thus quiet, and at last she fell asleep with 
the bright tears heavy upon her eye lashes and an 
unhappy feeling settling down upon her spirit— 
Very kind and gentle were the words that were 
spoken as Arthur Weston lifted the unconscious 
form of his young wife up from the damp window 
sill, and wiped the tears from the pale cheek. His 
heart smote him, as she clasped her arms about his 
neck and told him how lonely she had been, and 
how she had wished he would come. But it was 
soon forgotten — “how could he be bothered with 
trifles.” 
A year has gone by— a year, and there is one 
more grave underneath the old willows, one a little 
shorter than the two over which the long green 
tendrils have trailed for many years, and down be¬ 
neath the fresh earth rests the sad, sweet face in its 
frame of golden ringlets, for the tender heart broke 
at last. Were not those trifles heavy? And the 
one sitting solitary and alone with the night shad¬ 
ows falling about him, and filling up the corners of 
the desolate room-—Oh! there were deeper, darker 
shadows nestling down in his heart, than those 
gliding in over the window sill. Too late he re¬ 
alized the sacrifice—how much he had bartered for 
“Only a trifle.” Mae. 
Wilson, Niagara Co., N. Y., 1858. 
W ANTED I 
I nnrt AGENTS. —For the best inducements ever offered. 
Inclose stamp for return postage,and 
Address MAYNARD & CASWELL, 
440 - Lawrence, Mass. 
KETCHUM’S ONE-HOUSE MOWER, 
\J ARRANTED TO CUT FROM FOUR TO SIX ACRES 
'V per day, with one horse. They have all the late improvements 
rde on the two-horse mowers. Weight 550 lbs. Price, $80—in 
iflalo. [44dtf] R. L. HOWARD. 
ASTOR HOUSE, 
Broadway, 1STew York. 
LL THE MILK used here comes from a Farm carried on for 
_ _ the express and sole purpose of furnishing Milk, Vegetables, 
Poultry, Eggs and Pork to this House The Cows feed in IV inter on 
the best of Hay and Meal, and in Summer on rich Pastures and Meal 
only. 14401 C. A. STETSON. 
A 1 
)440] 
NURSERY FOR SALE. 
T HE SUBSCRIBER, wishing to discontinue the Nursery business, 
ofll ra his N ursery for sale with a Lease of the ground. The stock 
is in good order and will be sold for less than it costs to grow it To a 
person desiring to engage in the business, a favorable opportunity to 
do so is here offered. _ , 
Wanted, also, to employ several persons as Tree Salesmen. 
C HAS. MO ULSON, North Union street. 
Rochester, N. Y., June 4,1858. 440-3t 
IRON STABLE FURNITURE. 
HAY RACKS, MANGERS AND PARTITIONS. 
rpilE ATTENTION of those about to fit up Stables is called to the 
Jl use of Iron in place of Wood. 
The Hay Racks aud Mangers are indestructible, and the open Iron 
Partitions, placed upon wood work of four feet, form secure aivisions 
seven feet high without obstructing ventilation. 
Also, Irou Drams for Stable floors aud Feed Troughs for Swine and 
Poultry. JANES, BEEBE & CO., 
440-3t 356 Broadway, New York. 
KIRBY’S AMERICAN HARVESTER, 
A Combined Mowing and Reaping Machine. 
rpnE MANUFACTURERS take pleasure in presenting this ma- 
A chine to the attention of fanners, and others interested, for the 
Harvest of 1858. Though but partially introduced, it has met with a 
success beyond their expectation. 
It was patented in 1856, and only seven machines made in that 
year, which were put in the hands of experienced, practical farmers 
and thoroughly tested. Such was the measure of their success, as to 
induce the Buffalo Agricultural Machine Works to engage 
largely in their manufacture, under the immediate supervision of the 
inventor. 
In 1857 two hundred were made and sold to practical men, every¬ 
where giving unqualified satisfaction, demonstrating them to be the 
“ best combined machine in use," — answering equally well as a Mower 
or Reaper, and working satisfactorily in rough or smooth, in wet or dry 
fields, as in standing or lodged grass or grain. It has proved itself to 
be the most simple, durable, and efficient machine before tire public. 
For lightness of draft it has no equal, and such is tire perfect adjust¬ 
ment of the seats, of both driver and raker, that tire pole docs not bear 
on the neck of the team, and the machine has no side draft 
PRICE OF KIRBY’S AMERICAN HARVESTER. 
Mower,. ....$100 00 
Mower, with Reel,. 110 00 
Mower and Reaper combined. 120 00 
Descriptive Pamphlets, and all further information may be had by 
addressing “ Buffalo Agricultural Machine Works,” Buffalo, 
N. Y., or Osborne & Holbrook, Aubnrn, N. Y. 
Fanners in Monroe and the adjoining Counties can see tire machine, 
either at the Furnace of WniTEstni, Barnet <te Co., Brockport, or at 
tiie Agricultural Warehouse of J. Rapaijee, 65 Buffalo St, Rochester. 
Descriptive Pamphlets, Circulars, and information may be had, and 
Machines purchased of JAMES A. KIRBY, Brockport, 
440 or H. C. WHITE, Rochester. 
CAHOON’S PATENT BROADCAST SOWER. 
CAUTION! 
\ LL PERSONS are hereby cautioned against using, making, or 
vending, any machines in violation of OHAS. W. OAHOoN’S 
PATENT for Soiling Seed and Grain hrocutcast The original Patent 
was issued on the first day of September, 1857, and the Patent as re¬ 
issued on the 11th day of May last secures to the patentee and his 
assigns, the right to any machine, by which the seed is thrown, by 
centrifugal force, from the circnmference of a discharger revolving in 
a horizontal position. Suits have already been commenced against 
A. Leach, the assignee of Aaron Ring, for using and selling machines, 
tinder the Ring patent; and also against the manufacturer of the 
Ring’s Machines: and any person who shall hereafter be found using 
or vending any of the Ring’s Machines, or in any way violating said 
Cahoon’s patent, will be prosecuted immediately. 
June 1,185a I>. If. FURBISH, Proprietor. 
Boston, May 21,185a 
D. H. Furbish, Esq :— 
Dear Sir. —I have examined with care the model of a broadcast 
sower, deposited in the Patent Office by Aaron Ring, and am clearly 
of opinion, that machines made according to that model, would to 
infringements of the totters Patent re-issued to the assignees of 
Charles W. Cahoon, on the 11th May instant 
Yours, respectfully, GEO. T. CURTIS. 
D. H. Furbish. Esq.:— 
Dear Sir:— Having seen the machine of Aaron Ring in operation. 
I entertain no doubt of its being an infringement of the patent issued 
to C. W. Cahoos’s assignees. 
Yours, truly, EDWARD FOX. 
N. B.—The validity of the Cahoon Patent will to guaranteed 
against all infringements. D. H. FURBISH. 
For sale by J. E. CHENEY, Agent, 
440tf 29 State St, Rochester, N. Y. 
KETCHUM’S 
COMBINED HARVESTER FOR 1858, 
"WITH -A. REEL I 
rpHE IMPROVEMENTS ON THIS CELEBRATED MACHINE 
JL for 1858 will render it the most desirable machine ever offered to 
the public. Among these improvements are the following: 
1st—An expanding Reel, very simple, and ingeniously arranged 
so as to to readily attached, and is propelled by the main Bhaft 
2 d.—A new, strong and well-braced guard, which will not clog. 
3d.—An adjustable Roller with a lever, by which the driver while 
in his seat can elevate the finger-bar and hold it in any desired posi¬ 
tion, for transportation, to pass over obstructions, aud to aid in back¬ 
ing or turning comers. 
4th.—A Roller in the outer shoe, on which the finger-bar rests, 
which obviates all side draft and very much lessens the direct draft 
The simple mowers have wrought-iron frames, with all of the 
other improvements except a Reel. With these improvements the 
draft of the Kktchcm Machine is as light as any machine known, 
and by the test with the Dynamometer at Syracuse, by the U. S. Ag. 
Society last July, the draft of the Reaper was more than one-quarter 
less than any other of the 13 Reapers on triaL This result is obtained 
by enlarging the main wheel for Reaping, which lessens the motion of 
the knives and the actual draft of the machine fully one-quarter. 
The vert best material is used throughout, and no pains or 
money are spared to make the Ketchum Machine what the 
farmer needs. 
Sample machines can to seen at all the principal places, and per¬ 
sons are invited to examine them before buying any other—remember¬ 
ing that THE BEST IS ALWAYS THE CHEAPEST. 
Buffalo, N. Y, (near N. Y. Central ) 
Depot, on Chicago St,) April, 1858. S R. I.. HOWAKP. 
VIRGINIA LAND FOR SALE. 
-j nnfl ACRES prime Virginia land for $ 8 ,ooo! 
J ,UUU Lies in Staflord Co., Va, on Potomac Creek, where it 
is navigable, and within one mile of Potomac river. About 100 
acres cleared, the rest in wood, for which there Is a ready sals on the 
farm. Inexhaustible tods of shell marl Meadow of about 20 acres, 
from which from $500 to $700 worth of hay is annually sold. The 
meadow land can to enlarged to three times its present size. All 
communications promptly answered 
Address DR. JNO. MINOR, 
439-4t Care of A- P. Rowe, Fredericksburg, Va. 
L IMK. — PAGE’S PERPETUAL KILN— Patented July, 
1857. Superior to any in use for wood or coal. 2% cords of wood, 
or IK tuns of coal to 100 bbls.—coal not mixed with stone. 
434tf Address C. D. PAGE, Rochester, N. Y. 
HOUSES, FARMS AND WESTERN LANDS, 
For Sale or Exchange. 
rpiIE UNDERSIGNED have now on hand, for Kale or Exchange 
a large assortment of Houses, Farms and Western Lands. We 
do a systematized Commission business, which cannot fail to prove 
satisfactory to all parties. Hence persons wishing to buy, sell or ex¬ 
change Rea! Estate, will find it to their advantage to call u]>on ua 
Our Commissions on all Sales or Exchanges are as follows:—On 
$1,000 and under, 3 per cent; from one to four thousand, 2 per cent; 
$i,000 and upwards, one per cent, invariably to to paid at the matu¬ 
rity of business. One dollar is required in advance ou each Estate 
registered here, but nothing more, unless the sale is effected. A 
schedule, or description of property with directions, enclosing $1, 
from any part of the country, will receive prompt attientioB. 
j>. s_Communications by mail will receive prompt attention. 
J. GUNNISON k CO., Real Estate Brokers, 
426eowtf No. 14 Arcade Hall, Rochester, N. Y. 
J. Gunnison. Dr. A Mandeville 
references: 
Hon. T. Kempshall, Hon. Sami G. Andrews, J. B. Bennett, Esq 
“ A Champion, “ J. Emerson, Eagle Bank. 
LYON’S 
COPPER LIGHTNING CONDUCTOR. 
Patented July 11, 1852. 
T HE SUBSCRIBERS, successors to Brittain k Edmunds, ara 
Proprietors of this Patent for the ten Western counties of New 
York, the States of Michigan, Indiana, Illinois, Wisconsin, Iowa, Ken¬ 
tucky, Tennessee, and Minnesota Territory. 
They are manufacturers of these celebrated Conductor*, and are 
prepared to furnish them with the appropriate apparatus, to all parties 
holding the right to territory, in any quantity, and on short notice. 
The rods are put np in cases convenient for transportation, with the 
foil complement of fixtures inclosed. Each case contains twenty-five 
Conductors; each Conductor comprises forty feet of copper, one 
electro-plated or gilded branch point, seven insulators, and fastenings. 
They are furnished to agents by the case ; with the exclusive right 
to dispose of them to be used In certain described territory, on very 
advantageous terms. 
Applications for Agency, orders for stock or models, and all commu¬ 
nications relating to this business will receive immediate attention, if 
addressed to BRITTAIN k MARSH, 
404tf Lockport, Niagara Co, N. Y. 
tgr* Circulars Bent on application. 
HORSE FAIR AT ^» 8 a, 
MOORE’S RURAL NEW-YORKER, 
THE LEADING WEEKLY 
Agricultural, Literary and Family Newspaper, 
IS PUBLISHED EVERT SATURDAY 
BY D. B. T. MOORE, ROCHESTER N. V. 
Office, Union Buildings, Opposite the Court House. 
RAREV’S ART OF TAMING HORSES! 
J UST PUBLISHED—Illustrated Instructions in the above modem 
art Price $2. Warranted the genuine method as now practiced 
by Mr. Rakey, in Europe. Address 
PIRCE, BLISS & CO., Boston. Mass. 
Trade supplied. 439-4t 
MAMY’S COMBINE!) REAPER AND MOWER, 
WITH WOOD’S IMPROVEMENT. 
ROCHESTER -A.Q-EISJC'V'- 
T nE SUBSCRIBER has a Large Assortment of these Premium 
Machines on hand, and will be supplied through the season.— 
Also, extras for repairing. P. D. WRIGHT, Ageut 
439-4t Nos 23 and 25 Mumford St, Rochester, N. Y. 
WHEELER & WILSON’S 
SEWING MACHINES, 
343 Broadway, New York, 
DECEIVED TIIE HIGHEST PREMIUMS awarded in 1857, by 
LU the American Institute, New York, Maryland Institute, Balti¬ 
more, and at the Maine, Connecticut, Illinois, and Michigan State 
Fairs. . . 
Send for a Circular containing Editorial and Scientific Opinions, 
Testimonials from persons of the highest social position, etc. 439 
D eafness cured—iiowevek caused. 
Address Dr. BO A RDM AN, 
437-it 12 Suffolk Place, Boston 
BLACK HAWK HORSE “LIVE YANKEE.” 
T HIS HORSE IS SEVEN YEARS OLD; Color, raven black; 
16% hands high ; weighs 1,250 ft*.; and can trot in 2.55. Sired 
by ‘Old Black Hawk,”owned by David Hill, of Bridport, Vt;dam 
sired by Edward Long’s “ Eclipse.” Will stand the seabon of 1858, 
on Friday and Saturday of each week at the North American Ho¬ 
tel, State St, Rochester, and the remainder of the time at Meigs 
Bailey’s, 2% miles north of West Henrietta. Stock Breeders of 
Monroe, call and see him. [436] SMITH k SPALDING. 
TERMS, IN ADVANCE: 
Tyro Dollars a Year— $1 for six months. To Clubs and 
Agents as follows:—Three Copies one year, for $5; Six Copies (and 
one to Agent or getter np of Club,) for $10; Ten Copies (and one to 
Agent) for $16, and any additional number at the same rate, ($1,50 per 
copy.) As we are obliged to pre-pay the American postage on paper* 
sent to the British Provinces, our Canadian agents and friends muss 
add 12% cents per copy to the club rates for the Rural The lowed 
price of copies sent to Europe, 4c., is $2 50,— including postage. 
Advertising — Brief and appropriate advertisements will 
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, 4c, are cot advertised in th* 
Rural on any conditions. 
PUBLISHER'S SPECIAL NOTICES. 
Clubbing with the Magazines, 4c.—' We will send the Rural 
New-Yorker for 1858, and a yearly copy of either '-the Atlantic, 
Harper’s, Godeffs, Graham's, or any other $3 magazine, for $4. The 
Rural asd either The Horticulturist, Hovels Magazine, Arthur’s 
Magazine, or any other $2 magazine for $3. 
Additions to Clubs are now in order. Any person having 
sent m a club of 6 to 10 can add one, two, five, or more, at the lowest 
club price—$1,50 per copy. 
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 to appreciated. 
[(Jr Subscribers wishing their papers changed from one Post-Office 
to another, should to particular 1e specifying the offices at which they 
are now received. 
