m 
MOORE’S RURAL NEW-YORKER: AN AGRICULTURAL AND EAMILY NEWSPAPER 
JULY 3 
Written for Moore's Rural New-Yorker. 
THE GLORIOUS FOURTH. 
BY -WALTER RANDOLPH 
Lydepewdekce! Indepbn»kn«b! 
Swell high the joyful sound, 
And let its echoes loud proclaim 
That this is Freedom’s ground. 
Oh, raise again the welcome strain—“ We’re free,” 
And let each heart responsive shout—“ liberty!” 
Oh, wave that banner—emblem bright, 
Columbia’s flag—Columbia’s pride, 
And proudly spread our eagle’s wings— 
Extend his pinions wide. 
And let him as he soars declare—“ We’re free,” 
And teach tyrant crowns, our motto, “ Liberty!” 
When first oppression’s galling chain, 
Bound down our father’s sore, 
There burst from every lip a cry, 
We’re thraldom’s sons no more. 
Then echoed loud the glad’Ding words—“ We’re free,” 
Then pealed the clarion note of “ liberty.” 
'Twas then a noble-hearted band 
Fledged honor, wealth, and life, 
And boldly bared their dauntless breasts, 
To aid in War’s dread strife: 
Then came a voice from Bunker’s mount—“We’re free,' 
And echoed far the joyous sound of “ Liberty.” 
Old ocean’s wave bore on the peal, 
The knell of tyrant’s power, 
Which startling fell on England’s throne, 
And made her Lion cower: 
A gallant band and true, declared—“ We’re free,” 
And threw upon th’ breeze the flag of “ Liberty.” 
Oh, ever may that banner float 
Over a land of the free, 
And may its stars and stripes declare 
Our hate of tyranny! 
And ever may it be our boast—“ We’re free”— 
For 'twas dearly bought—the boon of “ liberty!” 
Attica, N. Y., 1858. 
THE BOY-PATRIOT. 
A REVOLUTIONARY ADVENTURE. 
EY GEO. ALFRED TOWNSEND. 
History is filled with the deeds of the men of 
the Revolution, nor are the patriot women forgot¬ 
ten in the “burning words” of the annalists of 
“ ’76;” hut where is the historian who tells of the 
patriotism of the boys of that gloomy period?— 
Who writes their biographies? 
There were boys in the Revolution—boys of no¬ 
ble patriotism and dauntless spirit — boys who 
would not become traitors, though the rack and 
the gibbet confronted them; boys who toiled with 
an endurance and boldness unequaled in the an¬ 
nals of a nation, for the independence of the “ Old 
Thirteen;” and had they now a just desert, the 
brightest star in America's constellation, and the 
widest stripe in her broad canvas, would be dedi¬ 
cated to the “hovs of ’76.” 
Let us relate an instanceIt was in the year 
1777. Philadelphia was in the hands of Howe and 
his inhuman soldiery, while the field of Brandywine 
gave the American people an evidence of British 
humanity. The inhabitants of Pennsylvania and 
Delaware were at the mercy of their foes. Bands 
of Hessian dragoons scoured the vicinity of Phila¬ 
delphia for miles around, and committed acts which 
would disgrace a Vandal. 
On the evening of a delightful autumn day, a 
group of boys, ranging in age from twelve to 
seventeen years, were gathered together on the 
steps of a tenantless storehouse, in the little vil¬ 
lage of Newark, Delaware. The town seemed 
lonely, and, with the exception of the youthful 
band already referred to, not a human being met 
the eye. All the men capable of bearing arms 
had left their homes to join the army of Washing¬ 
ton, on the banks of the Schuylkill. A youth of 
sixteen years, mounted on a barrel was giving an 
account of the disastrous battle of Brandywine.— 
James Wilson, the narrator, was a bold boy, en¬ 
thusiastic in his love for the American cause, and 
possessed of no little intelligence. His bright 
blue eye and flaxen hair gave him an effeminate 
appearance, but beneath that plain home-spun 
jacket throbbed a heart which never quailed in 
danger, nor shrunk before any obstacle. His father 
was the commander of the Delaware regular troops, 
and his mother was dead. The boy concluded his 
narration, and was deeply lamenting that he could 
not join the army. 
“I am not old enongh,” said he; “but had I a 
musket, I would not stand idly here, with my hands 
hanging useless by my side.” 
“ Are there n<? guns of any description in the 
village?” asked a listening youth. 
“ None. I have spent nearly a week trying to 
find one, but my efforts have been of no avail.— 
I strongly suspect that that old Tory, Livingston, 
has several in his house, hut, as he permits no one 
to trespass on his land, I am unable to say posi¬ 
tively.” 
“Why not take a party and search his dwell¬ 
ing?” asked Prank Howard; “ he has no one there 
to assist him, except his cowardly son George, and 
I can thrash him as easy as that:” the boy snapped 
his fingers to imply the readiness with which he 
could trounce old Livingston's son. 
James Wilson's eyes sparkled with joy. “If 
any three boys, in this company, will help me, I 
will search old Livingston’s house this night. All 
who are willing to go just step forward three 
paces!” 
Every boy in that little crowd, without a mo¬ 
ment’s hesitation, stepped forward. 
The boy’s eyes flashed like stars. “Now, by the 
dead of Bunker Hill, I will search old Livingston's 
residence, though death stands in my path.” 
With a firm tread and in the utmost silence, the 
young heroes took up their march for old Squire 
Livingston’s. 
Livingston had long been suspected of harbor¬ 
ing British spies, and some of his former laborers 
bad reported that be kept up a regular correspond¬ 
ence with the British commander. At all events, 
he was generally regarded by the genuine Whigs 
as a dangerous man, and, therefore, avoided. His 
house was situated a short distance from White- 
clay Creek, on the side of a steep hill, surrounded 
on all sides by tall treea It was just such a place 
as one might suppose suitable for the plotting of 
treason. 
At the time James Wilson and his little band 
left the deserted storehouse in the village of New¬ 
ark, dusk had given place to the darker shades of 
night; still, it was not dark. The new moon was 
shining brightly in the clouds, and every object 
was perfectly distinguishable. The boys walked 
solemnly forward, maintaining a solemn silence.— 
At length they gained the bank of the creek, and, 
slowly following the winding path, soon came in 
sight of the object of their destination. As they 
came to a little log bridge which crossed a shallow 
rivulet leading into the Whiteclay, James Wilson 
ordered them to halt. 
“Let Frank Howard and myself reconnoitre 
the premises first, to see whether any danger may 
be apprehended. All the rest stand here until we 
return. Make no noise, and keep a constant 
watch.” 
James and Frank silently departed, and were 
soon lost to the eye in the thick woods through 
which the path ran. Scarcely had they gone from 
the view of their companions, ere the quick ear 
of Wilson detected a noise. “Hist!” said he to 
Frank, as he pulled him behind a gigantic beech- 
tree. The noise soon resolved itself into a human 
footfall, and, in another moment, George Living¬ 
ston, the Tory’s son, stood opposite the tree. James 
Wilson darted from his covert, and tightly gripped 
the boy by the neck. The cowardly youth trem¬ 
bled like a reed. 
“Speak one word,” whispered his captor, “and j 
I’ll toss you into the creek!” 
The Tory’s son was struck dumb with fright, and I 
before he had recovered from his stupor, found j 
himself in the midst of the whole group of boy- 
heroes, with the vice-like grip of James and Frank i 
on either arm. 
“Now,” said James, “answer me promptly and ! 
truly, or I’ll make your position uncomfortable.— < 
Do you hear?” 
“ Yes,” gasped the affrighted youth. 
“Who are in your father’s house at this mo¬ 
ment?” 
“I—I—cannot tell,” stammered the half-dead 
boy. 
“ You shall tell, or”— 
“ Spare me, and I will disclose everything. When 
I left the house there was no one there but our own 
family and—Major Bardstone.” 
“ Who is he?” asked James. 
“ I don’t know—I don’t, indeed!” 
“ Tell!” threatened Frank. 
“ He is the captain of the Yorkshire dragoons.” 
The blue eyes of James glistened with joy, and 
he soon gained from the Tory's son a revelation 
which stamped his father as a traitor of the most 
appalling character. He discovered that old Liv¬ 
ingston not only kept up a correspondence with 
the British commander, but that he had so plotted 
in his traitorous designs that the little village of 
Newark was to he burned to ashes, and its women 
and children left exposed to the mercy of their j 
pitiless foes. The old Tory was to receive as his 
reward the land whereon the village stood, and an 
annual pension from the English government.— 
But, stranger than all, the plot was to be consum¬ 
mated on that very night, and the Tory's son had 
been captured while he was going on an errand to 
a Tory neighbor, about two miles distant The 
little band of heroes learned, too, that the British 
troops had secured their horses in Livingston’s 
stable, and intended to descend the creek in a large 
boat. There were twenty of them, besides their 
captain. Major Bardstone, the leader of the band, 
was, in temper and heart, a thorough demon, and 
scrupled not in his cruelty to destroy the slumber¬ 
ing infant or the sickly wife. Not a few in that 
youthful band of patriots trembled for the safety 
of a widowed mother or a defenceless sister.— 
Some were for departing immediately, hut James 
WilsoD, still retaining his grasp on the Tory’s son, 
ordered all to be silent. The prisoner was tied 
hand and foot, a thick handkerchief bound over 
his mouth to prevent him from calling for assis¬ 
tance, and a stout cord fastened to his breast and 
wound about a tree. All hope of escape forsook 
George Livingston. Wilson motioned his little 
band to follow him, and in a few moments they 
stood on a summit of a high precipice which over¬ 
hung Whiteclay Creek. 
“Now, boys'” said James Wilson, “the narrative 
which we have just heard is true; and, as we have 
no muskets or ammunition, we must make the 
best of the occasion. The British band will pass 
this spot in their boat, and as we have an hour to 
work, let us busy ourselves in rolling some of 
these large rocks to the edge of this precipice and, 
when the red-coats pass below, let ns sink them to 
the bottom. 
Each boy set immediately to work, and in an 
incredibly short space of time, nine huge rocks, 
each of a half a tun weight were nicely balanced 
upon the edge of the giant precipice. The creek, 
at this point, was not more than twenty feet wide, 
and was directly overhung by the mass of rock 
on which our heroes stood. If the British band 
descended the creek, they would certainly pass 
this spot; and, if they passed it, then death was 
their certain fate. In about an hour the quick 
ear of Wilson detected the measureed beat of muf¬ 
fled oars. 
“They are coming,”he whispered; “let no one 
drop his rock until I give the word, and then all at 
once. 
It was a beautiful night to wreak a work of death. 
The heavens were spangled with innumerable stars, 
and every object on which the moon-beams played 
sparkled with a silvery radiance. 
Closer came the doomed Royalists, and the 
hearts of the boy-patriots beat wildly in their 
bosom. Peering cautiously over the cliff, James 
Wilsou saw the Tory boat slowly but surely ap¬ 
proaching. An officer stood in the bows, guiding 
the oarsmen by his orders, and the epaulets on his 
shoulders told that it was the identical fiend, Major 
Bardstone. 
“ Don’t drop till I give the order,” again whis¬ 
pered Wilson. 
When the boat was about twelve feet from the 
rock, the hoy-leader fell securely behind his stone 
defence, and shouted, “Who goes there?” i 
In a moment the oarsmen ceased rowing, and j 
gazed with amazement above them. The impetus 
which the boat had acquired caused it to drift 
slowly beneath the rock, and just as it was fairly 
below, forth came the doomed words: “ Cut loose, 
in the name of Liberty!” 
Each boy pushed his rock at the instant, and, 
with one impulse, the gigantic stones fell. A loud 
shriek from the dark waters told how well the plan 
had succeeded, and when the exultant boys again 
looked over the rock, nothing was seen but a few 
pieces of floating wood. The boat had been burst 
to pieces, and the occupants had found a grave 
at the bottom of the Whiteclay. A cry of victory 
burst from the joyous lips of the youthful patriots, 
and it was echoed along the old creek in solemn 
grandeur. 
“Now for our prisoner!” cried Frank Howard, 
bounding ahead; but what was the astonishment 
of the boys to find that, in effort to free himself, 
George Livingston had been caught by the fatal 
cord and choked to death! There was no time 
for repining; the traitor and his son had met their 
deserved doom, and there was no one to mourn 
their loss. 
“Such be the end of America’s foes forever!” 
said James Wilson. 
Old Livingston’s house was searched, and, to the 
surprise of every one, not merely guns, but three 
brass field-pieces, several barrels of powder, and 
an abundance of balls, etc., were found concealed 
in the Tory’s cellar. The military stores found 
here were given over to the American troops, and 
found a jovial welcome at their head-quarters.— 
Had not the British party been so signally defeat¬ 
ed along the banks of the Whiteclay, the town of 
Newark, and the whole northern part of the State 
of Delaware would have been overrun by predato¬ 
ry parties of British soldiers. James Wilson and 
Frank Howard both joined the army of Green, and 
served with distinction in the Southern campaigns. 
Frank fell in the memorable battle of Eutaw 
Springs, bewailed by all who knew him. James 
Wilson lost a leg at the Biege of Yorktown, and 
retired to his native village, but mortification 
ensued, and he expired with the ever-to-be-remem- 
bered words on his lips: “Cut loose, in the name 
of Liberty!” 
The village of Newark still stands, and has be¬ 
come a town of some celebrity. The scene of the 
defeat of the British by the band of boy-patriots is 
still pointed out; and it is a sacred spot in the an¬ 
nals of Newark. 
Such, reader, were the acts of the boys of “’76;” 
and, though they have no monumental pile to pre¬ 
serve their memories, they live in legends, song, 
and verse, where they will exist when history has 
been swept into obscurity. 
Let onr literary men redeem from darkness the 
deeds of American youths, and, while they recount 
the noble achievements of our Revolutionary pa¬ 
triots, let them not forget the boy-heroes. 
AGENTS WANTED. 
P ERSONS ont of Employment who are desirous of engaging in a 
profitable and permanent business, will please address tor terms 
arid full particulars 
442-3t _ I. M. DAGGETT A- CO. , Boston, Mass. 
RARE CHANCE FOR BOOK BUYERST~ 
JOSEPH HOPKINSON. 
Joseph Hopkinson is a name destined to live 
forever, as the author of that stirring National 
Lyric, “Hail Columbia.” It was written during 
the summer of 17S9, when there was a prospect 
of war with France, and our people were much 
divided by political party questions, growing out 
of the contest between that country and England. 
Its object was to aid in arousing an American 
spirit, which should lead all classes to regard the 
interests of our young Republic as above all price. 
In this object, it was very successful, becoming one 
of the “songs of the people,” to which every 
American heart responded. 
What a mighty power there is, after all, in a 
simple song or ballad. It has often more influence 
than a ponderous volume. This song of Hopkin- 
son’s is an extremly simple one. There is no 
logic in it—no parade of fine words. But when it 
is sung, it excites in the breast of every patriot a 
glow of enthusiasm for our Republic, warmer, per¬ 
haps, than that of the eloquence of a Patrick 
Henry or a Webster. 
Joseph Hopkinson was the son of Francis 
Hopkinson, one of the Signers of the Declaration 
of Independence. He was born in Philadelphia, 
in 1770, and during his life, which terminated in 
1843, has filled various public offices. He has 
served two terms as member of Congress, and for 
many years was Judge of one of the District Courts 
of Pennsylvania. 
HAIL COLUMBIA. 
Hail Columbia! happy land! 
Hail ye heroes! heaven-born band! 
Who fought and hied in freedom’s cause, 
Who fought and bled in freedom’s cause, 
And when the storm of war was gone, 
Enjoyed the peace your valour won. 
Let Independence be our boast, 
Ever mindful what it cost, 
Crooked Enough. —Speaking of the Rio Grande, 
a writer says:—“Imagine one of the crookedest 
things in the world, then imagine four more twice 
as crooked, and imagine to yourself a large river 
three times as crooked as all these put together; 
and you have a faint idea of the crooked disposi¬ 
tion of this crooked river. There is no drift-wood 
in it, from the fact that it is so crooked that timber 
cannot find its way far down enough to lodge two 
sticks together; but few snakes, because it is not 
straight enough to swim in; and the fish are all 
in whirpools in the bends, because they cannot 
find their way out Birds frequently attempt to fly 
across the river, but light on the same side they 
start from—being deceived by the crook. Indeed, 
you may be deceived when you think you see 
across it; and some of the b'hoys say it is so twist¬ 
ing there is but one side to it” 
True for Once.—A traveler announces as a fact 
(and, though he is a “ traveler,” we believe him) 
that he once in his life beheld people “ minding 
their own business!” This remarkable occurrence 
happened at sea—the passengers being “ too sick" 
to attend to each other's concerns. 
Ever grateful for the prize, 
Let its altars reach the skies. 
Firm—united—let us be, 
Rallying round our liberty; 
As a band of brothers join’d 
Peace and safety we shall find 
Immortal patriots! rise once more; 
Defend your rights, defend your snore; 
Let no rude foe, with impious hand, 
Let no rude foe, with impious hand, 
Invade the shrine where sacred lies 
Of toil and blood the well-earn’d prize. 
While offering peace sincere and just, 
In heaven we place a manly trust, 
That truth and justice will prevail. 
And every scheme of bondage fail. 
Firm—united, &c. 
Sound, sound the trump of fame! 
Let Washington’s great name 
Ring through the world with loud applause, 
Ring through the world with loud applause, 
Let every clime to freedom dear, 
Listen with a joyful ear; 
With equal skill, and God-like power 
He govern’d in the fearful hour 
Of horrid war; or guides w-ith ease, 
The happier times of honest peace. 
Firm—united, &c. 
Behold the chief who now commands, 
Once more to serve his country stands— 
The rock on which the storm will beat; 
The rock on which the storm will beat; 
But arm’d in virtue, firm and true, 
His hopes are fix’d on heaven and you. 
When hope was sinking in dismay, 
And gloom obscured Columbia’s day, 
His steady mind, from changes free, 
Resolv’d on death or victory. 
Firm—united—let us be, 
Rallying round our liberty; 
As a band of brothers join’d, 
Peace and safety we shall find. 
A Young Lady asked a gentleman the meaning 
of the word surrogate. “It is,” replied he, “a gate 
through which parties pass on their way to get 
married.” “Then, I suppose,” replied she, “that 
it is a corruption of sorrow gate.” “You are 
right, miss,’’ replied her informant, “ as a woman 
is an abbreviation of wo to man.” 
Law and Grammar. — When a Kentucky judge, 
some years since, was asked, by an attorney, upon 
some strange ruling, “Is that law, your honor?” he 
replied, “ If the court understand herself, and she 
think she does, it are!” 
“Pat, do you love your country?” “Yes, yer 
honor.” “ What’s the best thing about ould Ire¬ 
land, Pat?” “The whiskey, yer honor.” “Ah, I 
see, Pat, with all her faults, you love her slilV , 
“We have equal rights,” said a dwarf to a 
giant. “Very true, my good fellow,” said the giant, 
“ yet you cannot walk in my shoes.” “ Ditto,” said 
the dwarf. 
How does a pitcher of water differ from a man 
throwing his wife off a bridge? One is water in 
the pitcher; the other is pitch her in the water. 
When is the weather favorable to hay making? 
When it “ rains pitchforks.” 
CATALOGUES SENT FREE. 
A COMPLETE CLASSIFIED CATALOGUE OF BOOKS, 
in every department of Literature, containing the Greatest In¬ 
ducements to Purchasers, can be obtained, by sending your ad¬ 
dress to G. G. EVANS, Publisher, 
442-12t 439 Chestnut Street, Philadelphia. 
THE BEST APPLE PARES IN THE WORLD. 
WIIITTEMOIJE BROTHERS’ PATENT. 
; i PPLES prepared for use by five revolutions of the crank. Tuvlvt 
I Y. to Fifteen Apples per minute Pared, Cored and Sliced. Simple in 
its construction and less liable to get out of erder than any other ma¬ 
chine in use, and capabb of performing/our times as mnch labor. 
It is the perfection of Yankee Ingenuity, and can be operated by a 
child ten years of age and no family can afford to be without one. 
They C8n be obtained of the principle merchants throughout the 
country, and of the Proprietors and Manufacturers at Worcester, 
Mass,, who will give all orders careful and prompt attention. Large 
Inducements offered to Agents and Dealers. 
Price below competition and within reach of all 
442_ WHITTEMORE BROTHERS, Worcester, Mass, 
EMERY’S 
JOURNAL OF AGRICULTURE. 
T HE SECOND VOLUME of this new and popular WESTERN 
JOURNAL will commence July 1st, 1858. It is the aim ot the 
publishers of this journal to make it a fair, full and reliable expo¬ 
nent of Western Farm Interests— a channel for the dissemination of 
snch information as is best adapted to the wants of the North-Western 
farmer, embracing the experiences and experiments of onr oldest 
and newest farmers. The Eastern man who intends coming West, 
will find it valuable: those who have Western interests and Western 
friends, will find it just what they want 
The year will be divided into two volumes of six months each, with a 
full index at the end of each. 
TERMS—$2 per year, or $1 per volume, m advance. Clubs at re¬ 
duced ratea 
Send for a single volnme at once, and see for yourselves. 
Sample numbers sent gratis on application. 
EMERY Jfc CO., 
442-2t 204 Lake street Chicago, Ill 
C AHOON’S 
PATENT BROADCAST SEED SOWER, 
TOR SOWING 
Wheat, Oats, Barley, Grass-Seed, &c., &c. 
rpHE HORSE POWER MACHINE, at the walking gait of a 
j X horse, sows from ten to sixteen acres per hour. Price $35— 
I half Cash and half in seven months, adding interest 
j THE HAND MACHINE, at the walking gaitof a man, sowsfrom 
{ four to eight acres per hour. Price $10—Cash, 
j These Machines are substantially built, and do the work in a very 
J superior manner, as numerous certificates from Farmers who have 
j ust d them, fully prove. 
1 Agents wherever established will exhibit the Machines in operation 
j to Farmers who may desire to purchase, and will show purchasers 
how to use them. J. E. CHENEY, Agent 
29 State St, Rochester, N. Y. 
CHA’S W. CAHOON, Corresponding Agent 
D. H. FURBISH, Proprietor. 
Office, York street, opposite Portland Sngar House, Portland, Me. 
“Their superiority is justly accorded.”—if urai New-Yorker. 
WHEELER & WILSON’S 
SEWING MACHINES, 
343 Broadway, New York, 
R ECEIVED THE HIGHEST PREMIUMS awarded in 1857, by 
the American Institute, New York. Maryland Institute, Balti- 
1 more, and at the Maine, Conaecticut, Illinois, and Michigan State 
I Fairs. 
Send for a Circular containing Editorial and Scientific Opinions, 
j Testimonials from persons ef the highest social position, etc. 
441 S. W. DIBBLE, Agent, Rochester, N. Y. 
KETCH OILS ONE-HORSE MOWER, 
W ARRANTED TO CUT FROM FOUR TO SIX ACRES 
per day, with one horse. They have all the late improvements 
made on the two-horse mowers. Weight 350 lbs Price. $80—in 
Buffalo. [440tf] R. L. HOWARD. 
ASTOR HOUSE, 
Broadway, New York. 
A 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 Winter on 
the best of Hay and Meal, and in Summer on rich Pastures and Meal 
only. [440] C. A. STETSON. 
ADVERTISEMENT. 
I N ANSWER to the many letters of inquiry on the subject we 
desire to say through the columns of the “ Rural” that our 
i Woocen Water Pipe is not designed to be used for the purpose of 
draining lani, but to carry water pure and sweet, from the fountain 
head to the Kitchen, Lawn. Yard or Garden, and for this purpose it 
cannot be excelled, being cheap, and durable. The order below is a 
ample of many that are being received: 
“ Darien, May 20,1858 
Messrs. I. S. Hobbie Co., Rochester: 
dents: —Please send me two thousand feet of the Water Pipe ad¬ 
vertised in the Rural, of the common size. My Lead Pipe does not 
answer, and I must fill its place with something that will carry more 
water. Yours, T. C. PETERS.” 
We can fill all orders immediately. 
Address L S. HOBBIE A CO., 
440 44 Arcade, Rochester, N. Y. 
KIRBY’S AMERICAN HARVESTER, 
A Combined Mowing and Reaping Machine. 
rjMlK MANUFACTURERS take pleasure in presenting this ma- 
X chine to the attention of farmers, 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. 
la 1857 two hundred were made and sold to practical men, every¬ 
where giving unqualified satisfaction, demonstrating them to be the 
“ lest 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 the public. 
For lightness of draf t it has no equal, and such is the perfect adjust¬ 
ment of file scats, of both driver and raker, that the pole does not bear 
on the neck of the team, and the machine has no side draft 
PEICE OF KIKBY’3 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 A Holbrook, Auburn, N. Y. 
Farmers in Monroe and the adjoining Counties can see the machine, 
either at the Furnace of Whiteside, Barnet A Co., Brockport.or at 
the 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 II. C. WHITE, Rochester. 
BLACK HAWK HORSE “LIVE YANKEE.” 
T HIS HORSE IS SEVEN YEARS OLD; Color, raven black; 
16% hands high; weighs 1,250 Tbs.; 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 season 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, 2K miles north of West Henrietta. Stock Breeders ot 
Monroe, call and see him. [436] SMITH A SPALDING. 
FOR SALE. 
A FARM OF ONE HUNDRED AND SEVENTY ACRK8 
delightfully situated one and a half miles from Seneca Lake, 
' commanding a view of the same equal to anything on the North river. 
[ First quality of soil and well improved, with flirty acres of timber. 
This farm is"twelve miles from Geneva and four from Penn Yan with 
b daily communication with both places. For convenience of location, 
, beauty of situation and every advantage to be desired in a country 
' residence, it cannot be surpassed. The subscriber being about to 
i change his residence, wifi sell seventy, one hundred, or one hundred 
and seventy acres, being the entire farm, to suit the purchaser. For 
further particulars, inquire of D. D. T. Moore, Esq., of the Rural 
New-Yorker ; K H. Hurd, Esq.. Geneva, or of the subscriber op the 
premises. [419] JOHN C. NICHOLAS. 
MOORE’S RURAL NEW-YORKER, 
THE LEADING WEEKLY 
Agricultural, Literary anti Family Newspaper, 
IS PUBLISHED EVERY SATURDAY BY 
D. D. T. MOORE, ROCHESTER, N. Y. 
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, 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 friends must add 12% 
cents per copy to the club rates for the Rural. The lowest price of 
copies sent to Europe, Ac., is $2 50,— including postage. 
Advertising — Brief and appropriate advertisements will be 
inserted at twenty-five cents a line, each insertion, payable in ad- 
vance. Our rule is to give no advertisement, unless very bneS more 
than four consecutive insertions. Patent Medicines, &c., are not 
advertised in the Rural on any conditions. 
mem 
