MOOSE’S RUllAL NEW-YORKER: AN AGRICULTURAL AND FAMILY NEWSPAPER, 
JULY 17. 
THE LAND OP DREAMS. 
BY WM. C. BRTANT. 
A mighty realm is the land of dreams, 
With steeps that hang in the twilight sky, 
And weltering oceans and trailing streams 
That gleam where the dusky yalleyB lie. 
But over its shadowy borders flow 
Sweet rays from a world of endless morn, 
And the nearest mountains catch the glow, 
And flowers in the nearest fields are born. 
The souls of the happy dead repair 
Frem the lowest of flight to that bordering land, 
And walk in the fairer glory there, 
With the souls of the living, hand to hand. 
One calm, sweet smile in that shadowy sphere, 
From eyes that open on earth no more— 
One warning word from a voice once dear— 
How they ring in the memory o’er and o’er! 
Away from those hills that shine with the day, 
And fields that bloom in the heavenly gales, 
The land of dreams stretches far away 
To dimmer mountains and darker vales. 
There lie the chambers of guilty delight; 
There walk the spectres of hope and fear; 
And soft, low voices that float through the night 
Are whispering sin in the guileless ear. 
Dear maid! in thy girlhood’s opening flower, 
Scarce weaned from the love of childhood’s play, 
The tears on whose cheeks are the opening flower 
That freshens the early bloom of May! 
Thine eyes are closed, and over thy brow 
Pass thoughtful shadows and joyous gleams, 
And I know by the moving lips that now 
Thy spirit strays in the land of dreams. 
Light-hearted maiden, oh, heed thy feet! 
Ob, keep where that beam of Paradise falls! 
And only wander where thou mayest meet 
The blessed ones from its shining walls. 
So shalt thou come from the land of dreams 
With love and peace to tbis world of strife, 
And the light that over its border streams, 
Shall lay on the path of thy daily life. 
Written for Moore's Rural Ncw-Yerkor. 
DEAD LETTERS. 
BY EMILY C. HUNTINGTON. 
I wonder how people can burn and tear up their 
letters. It makes me feel uncomfortable to think 
that the sheet on which I have penned some fond 
words of love that came warm from my heart, some 
beloved day-dream, or cherished memory of the 
day gone by, should be twisted up to light the 
lamp, or, it may be, even a. cigar. Some people 
have an idea that the pen is a fetter to thought, 
and hence that letters are seldom true interpreters, 
hut that is all a mistake. Many a true heart beat 
would never find utterance in speech, but the pen 
writes it out fully and freely, untrammeled by the 
burning blush, or the chokiDg in the throat So I 
always treasure my old letters—they have an indi¬ 
viduality, they are part and parcel of my friends, 
and I should almost as soon burn one as the other. 
It is a rainy day, and here, as 1 write under the 
low cottage roof, I can hear the patter of the drops 
as they dance upon the shingles, the incessant 
drip, drip, down the window panes upon the sill, 
and away below the hill the rushing of the swollen 
brook through the meadow. Wondrous music it 
makes to me, sounding like the echo of some song 
I heard long, long ago. We will listen to it here, 
you and I, reader, here in the old garret, with relics 
of another generation all about in dim and dusty 
corners, and bring up old memories meanwhile. 
Piles upon piles of old letters. Letters on coarse 
yellow paper, and letters on dainty, perfumed sheets 
—letters tied up, sealed up, and thrown carelessly 
into a heap. Think of the fingers that crept across 
these pages guiding the pen. Great toil-hardened 
fingers, and slender delicate ones—fingers tremb¬ 
ling with age, and fingers that held the pen with 
the uncertain grasp of childhood, and see, here is a 
ragged scrawl made by baby fingers, “ Nellis 
mark for sister May.” Ah the blessed baby? I press 
the unmeaning scratch to my lips, but I cannot see 
for tears as I look upon it. Those tiny fingers have 
been locked over a dead bosom many and many a 
year. 
These are all home letters in this bundle, filled 
with kind messages, and counsel sorely needed by 
one early a wanderer from the hearthstone and the 
family altar. There are records here and there 
throughout them, at some of which a stranger 
might smile, all fraught with interest to the one for 
whom they were penned. It was no trifle to me 
that the rose-tree under my window died one bitter 
winter—the rose-tree that had nodded in the west 
wind and sent its delicate breath across a thousand 
dreams of mine—the tree whose fair, pale blossoms 
had been braided in the hair of the young sister 
who stood among us blushing under a bridal veil 
one pleasant June, and whose last sweet buds were 
laid on our Nellie’s sinless breast when the angel 
led her away into the silent land. There will never 
he another rose-tree like that 
Ah, here is a package of school-girl letters, writ¬ 
ten in all sorts of fanciful styles, pleasant enough 
to read once in a life-time, and it may he they will 
be pleasant again by-and-by, when I come to live 
more in the past and less in the wonderful future 
—when the dancing blood runs calmly in the veins, 
and the rainbow arching the morrow moves back¬ 
ward over the yesterdays of the long ago. 
But these are not all. My next fiiend and class¬ 
mate, Ellinor \ ai.e, wrote me all this package. I 
will tell you something of her, and then we will 
read them together. I don’t think it wise to de¬ 
scribe her to you, not knowing your taste in such 
matters, you might vote her ugly, or merely ordi¬ 
nary, and so spoil my romance and temper too.— 
Sho was little as a fairy, but imperious in her way 
as a young Juno. We all helped this trait to de¬ 
velop at school by petting her in every possible 
way, and bad not her nature been really lovable 
between both she might well have been spoiled.— 
Well, about the letters, this is the first 
April 13;h. 
Once more at home, my sister—at home with a 
delightful sense of being free at last from all the 
torments of school-life. No more lessons for me 
to learn, only those great life-lessons that people 
talk so gravely about, and which I long to be learn¬ 
ing. I am so unused to freedom I do not yet know 
how to make the most of it; my stock of conver¬ 
sational power invariably runs low about the time 
the study bell is ringing at the Old Seminary, and 
I never catch myself dancing through the halls, or 
singing above my breath, without turning with a 
half expectation of meeting your warning “ hush, 
Ellinor.” All this goes with time, and now, sister 
mine, let me tell you what is before me. 
Father has to go south on business in May, and 
will visit New Orleans, and probably spend some 
time in Florida. I, myself, Ellinor Yale, am to 
accompany him. It would be useless to try to con¬ 
vey a shadow of my ecstacies to you, whose dreams 
are all of Thebes and the palm-shadowed Nile, bat 
to one of my humbler ambitions it is joy enough 
for a life-time. I shall see tropical life in a rich¬ 
ness we cold-blooded Northerners have little con¬ 
ception of, and without any of the barbaric annoy¬ 
ances and inconveniences you will find if you 
ever reach the goal of your desires and see Egypt. 
It will be a severe test to my Republicanism I 
fear, for my natural indolence will soon make 
slavery indispensable to my existence. See if I 
don’t coax papa to remove to St. Augustine—you 
know be has a brother there. Good nighty May, I 
am too happy to write any more. One month 
and then for the sunny south land. 
April 24th. 
I believe there never was such an unfortunate 
child as I. Just as brain was going half wild 
with the expectation of a trip to the south, some¬ 
thing happened, or didn't happen, for I cannot find 
out which, and the result is papa is “relieved of 
the necessity of going at present,” he says! Just 
as if nothing was to be done in the world except 
from necessity. I have cried, and coaxed, and im¬ 
plored, but all to no purpose. Papa is as immovable 
as the Sphinx when he once makes up his mind 
about anything, so I have no way left hut to be re¬ 
signed. This is not all I am to be sent to Ashley 
to spend the summer with my Aunt Ellinor, be¬ 
cause she has urged the matter strongly, and papa 
thinks after my long confinement at school I need 
the freedom of country life. I know I shall be 
perfectly miserable, with no society at all, and my 
aunt, as I just remember, is stiff, stately and hand 
some. She will be horrified with my wildness, and 
want me to be proper and all that Oh, dear May, 
j write to me, for I shall only exist through the sum- 
j mer, and make up for the penalty in parties next 
winter. 
Ashley, Hay 19th. 
In the sweetest, sunniest room that ever the sun¬ 
beams frolicked in, I am sitting alone to write to 
you. On the little rose-wood writing desk Aunt 
Ellinor gave to me, stands a delicate vase, hold¬ 
ing a few violets, and the first roses that have 
blown upon the bush of my window. Aunt placed 
them there an hour ago, saying, as I thanked her 
for them, “ they were your mother’s favorite flow¬ 
ers.” Dear Aunt Ellinor! how could I ever have 
been unjust enough to fancy her cold and unloving. 
She is grave, but when one knows how her husband 
and children were taken away in one short week, 
it is no wonder she is ever sad. They soy my 
mother was very like her, and when she stoops 
over me and smooths my hair with her soft hands, 
patting it back from my forehead wiih such a gen¬ 
tle, caressing motioD, I feel that it must be so. I 
am very, very happy here, or rather I should be 
I were it not for one thing. Aunt has a boarder, a 
J gentleman about thirty years oldg I should think, 
who is a perfect ogre to me. Not that he is ugly, 
for Mr. Harley is as fine a specimen of manhood, 
so far as form and feature go to make up a man, as 
ever walked the earth. Aunt says he is one of the 
noblest and most gifted men she ever knew, and I 
do not dare to dispute it, but if you only knew, 
; dear May, how hard I have to try not to hate him 
: sometimea The evening I arrived at Ashley, aunt 
J introduced me to him, and he stood for a moment 
close by me, looking straight down into my face 
with a curious look, as if he were examining a 
nice picture, and said very gravely to my aunt,— 
“So this is the sunbeam you have been coaxing to 
come and brighten our summer for us. I con¬ 
gratulate you on your success.” Just as if I were 
a child, I who will be eighteen next month! And 
then he took no more notice of me the rest of the 
evening than if I had been a thousand miles off, 
; only once, when I got so tired I could hardly 
| keep from nodding, he said to aunt, “I see your 
I neice’s eyes are going into eclipse—she is quite 
! wearied out with her journey.” I was vexed 
enough to be wide awake in a moment, but was 
glad after all to be alone in my room. I deter¬ 
mined to put on all the dignity I could command, 
and show him I was no baby to be petted by him, 
but whenever I have tried it since he looks at me 
wi’h such an amused air that I can hardly keep 
from crying. Yesterday I sat upon a cushion by 
the sitting-room window, busy with my drawing, 
when cliancing to look up I found his lordship 
j standing a little way from me, contemplating me 
with folded arms. He spoke as I looked at him:— 
“I was wondering how such a little elf as you ever 
came by so stately a name as Ellinor. Your aunt 
now wears it with a grace, it fits her well, hut you, 
you should have been named Lily, or Violet, or, 
better still, May. I have a mind to call you so on 
my own account, may I little one?” I dare say it 
was very foolish, but I could not help it, and so I 
said in my vexation, “ you treat me as if I was a 
baby, I am almost eighteen, sir,” and I started to go 
to my room. He tried to stop me at the door, say¬ 
ing, “Stop, Ellinor, I really did not mean”— but 
he was laughing all the time, and I would not hear 
a word. 
I don’t mean to speak to him for a week, would 
you May? To call me “ little one!" 
June 2d. 
My birth-day, dearest sister, and I am eighteen 
to-day. This morning, when I came in from my 
accustomed race in the garden, I found upon my 
table a beautiful bracelet from Aunt Ellinor, aud 
a volume of the most elegant engravings I ever 
saw. On the blank leaf was written, “Ellinor 
Yale. Thou did’st enter the world weeping, 
while all around thee smiled; so live that thou 
may’st leave it in smiles, while a’l about thee weep.” 
Thi3 was from Mr. Harley, of coarse. You 
remember my almost childish love of pictures. 
Well, I recollect once speaking of it before him, 
but I think it strange he should have remembered 
it. I took both the gifts in my hands, and ran into 
the parlor to find aunt Mr. Harley was there 
alone, so I commenced thanking him for the gift 
which I said I supposed was his present. He in¬ 
terrupted me with the most astonished face, and 
exclaimed,—“I, Miss Ellinor! I beg yon not to 
accuse me of such a thiDg. I was almost annihi¬ 
lated once for calling a bit of a girl 1 little one,' and 
do you suppose I would dare present a young 
lady of eighteen with & picture book l" 
There was the old taunting smile in his eje, and 
I was vexed at him, but he caught up my bracelet, 
saying,—“This, now, is something worth having; 
let me see how it will look on yonr arm,” so he 
clasped it on my arm, looked at it a moment, as if 
to mark the effect, raised it suddenly to his lips, 
and then left the room without a word. Isn’t he 
the oddest man that ever was? Aunt Ellinor 
says she did not mention to him that to-day was 
my birth day, until after I had retired last night, 
when he came home from a ride of twenty miles, 
and he went directly and took a fresh horse, and 
rode five miles back, to buy this book he had seen 
at a book Btore. I ought to like him for it, I sup¬ 
pose, and may be I should if he would act like 
other people. 
June 16th. 
I sometimes fear yon will weary of hearing of 
nothing but myself, but I remember your last in¬ 
junction was to tell you all I thought and felt, so I 
will tell you what I have felt to-day. We had an 
invitation to attend a pic nic, got up by the Sab¬ 
bath School of Ashley, and as aunt is much inter¬ 
ested in everything that concerns the children, we 
concluded to go. It was a glorious morning, and 
Mr. Harley took us in the carriage to the grove, 
which is on the shore of the loveliest little lake, 
about three miles from here. There were about 
one hundred children collected, and quite a num¬ 
ber of the village folks. I was a stranger to all of 
them, so after trying to make myself useful by 
helping set the tables, and only succeeding in mix¬ 
ing all kinds of pickles and preserves up together, 
to the great amusement of some of the ladies, and 
the indignation of others, I left them just as one 
old maid was expressing her astonishment that “a 
gal of that age did not know what preserved toma- 
toies was.” 
'.I wandered down by the edge of the lake, and 
amused myself by playing in the shining white 
ssind. I wrote your name in it Mat, and my own, 
and, just for fun, Mr. Harley's. I think he has a 
pretty name, don’t you? Presently I spied a cl us 
ter of broad, green leaves floating on the water, 
just a little way from the shore, and in the centre 
the most perfect gem of a flower, a white water- 
lily, with two or three buds. I never saw one be 
fore, and I was determined to get it at all hazards, 
so I cast about me for means. An old boat was 
fastened to a tree close by, and so I pulled it up by 
the rope, stepped in, and after some preliminary 
rocking, pushed it out again. I could almost 
reach the flowers, so I stretched my fingers eagerly, 
and just touched the green leaves; a minute more 
and I should have had them safe— “Ellinor !” called 
some one in a terrified one from the shore, and 
by way of response, down I went, over the side of 
the boat, among the water lilies, making a great 
splashing, and disturbing seriously tbe repose of 
the water. The next I knew about the result of 
us sxpeiiment, ilr.K ahmy held me in his arms 
on the shore, wiping the water from my face, and 
calling me all sorts of names but bad ones. I was 
so astonished at him, that for a moment I really 
thought I was drowned outright; but when I 
opened ray eyes and looked up in his face, he 
looked as if nothing at all had happened, and said 
in a bantering tone, “ So, Miss Ellinor, you con¬ 
cluded to adopt ray suggestion, and get yourself 
re-christened Lily. I would try shallow water for 
such rites next time.” He was dripping from head 
to foot, and I, with my white muslin stained with 
mud and clinging closely to me, must have been a 
ludicrous figure. I was grave for a moment, and 
then laughed heartily, Mr. Harley joining me 
with good will. 
I knew aunt would he frightened if she knew it, 
so we just went round to the carriage, wiapped 
up in the shawls provided for the evening ride, 
drove home at an alarming pace, dressed and were 
back again before many had missed us. A little 
boy who saw us, reported that we had gone to ride, 
so aunt was quite easy. I was in high spirits all 
day with my event, and you should have seen aunt 
when I told her of it this evening. Nothing would 
do but that I must be put straight to bed, with all 
manner of uncomfortable applications about me. 
I was very submissive till aunt went down, and 
here I am sitting up to write to you. Was it not a 
real romance? I ought to like Mr. Harley now 
after his saving my life, I am sure. There, aunt is 
coming—good-night. 
June 2Sth. 
A dreary, dismal day, darling, with banks of fog 
all along the river, and a dull drizzling rain. Mr. 
Harley has been away for a couple of days. I 
don’t care so much about his society, for he only 
torments me; but then, I am used to having him 
here, and it does not seem quite right without 
him. Both aunt and I were glad to see him back 
just at evening, and I think I said something to 
that effect, for he turned quickly toward me with 
the most beautiful smile. I never saw it on his 
face before, but it went away in a moment, and the 
color flashed all over his brow! After tea, Aunt 
Ellinor went into the kitchen to see about break¬ 
fast, and Mr. Harley sat down to the piano to play. 
I don’t know as I have told you how he plays for 
hours, sometimes singing the strangest songs and 
composing accompaniments. Well, this evening 
he commenced singing a low sad tune, and I sat 
by the window listening, and looking out at the 
grey mists, ’till the night and the music and all to¬ 
gether made me unspeakably sad, and I wept, very 
quietly, but it did me good. I heard aunt coming 
with lights, so I rose hastily to go to my room; 
crossing the floor I dropped my handkerchief, and 
Mr. Harley sprang to pick it up. It was wet with 
tears, and he paused a moment, looked at my face, 
and then said, as he placed the handkerchief in his 
bosom, “ give it to me Ellinor will yon not” I 
stammered something, I hardly know what, hut 
the lights were brought in and I was glad to re¬ 
tract, hoping he had not seen the marks of the 
tears on my face. 
May, I really think I shall learn to like him af -1 
ter a time. He is so much older than I am that it * 
is no wonder he treats me like a child, and I am 
so little too, he thinks I do not know much, and 
am not good for anything. I wish he would talk 
to me as he does to Aunt Ellinor; he says she 
has the greatest conversational powers of any wo¬ 
man he ever saw. What if he should marry her 
and be my uncle. I should hate him if he did, and 
yet I don’t see why he should not do it 
July 26th. 
This is the last letter I shall write from Ashley, 
for in another week I shall be at home, I shall see 
my blessed home again, my dear father, and yon, 
my heart’s sister. Oh, I am very happy in the 
thought, although I grieve to part with Aunt El¬ 
linor, whom I love almost as I should have loved 
my mother had Bhe lived to bless her child. As 
for Mr. Harley what I have to say will be more 
easily told here in Ashley, with yonr teasing eyes 
at a safe distance. 
We went out to the grove yesterday, to see the 
site of my adventure among the lilies, and enjoy 
ourselves for an hour. I was in high glee, hut Mr. 
Harley was as dull and stupid as if it were grey 
November instead of a gala day in midsummer.— 
He sat under a great tree and watched me while I 
trimmed my straw hat with leaves and flowers, ’till 
I looked like a stray gipsey, and then I proposed 
telling his fortune. He gave me his hand, and I 
painted him a life of strange adventures, ending 
like all the tales in romances with love and mar¬ 
riage. 
“Now, said he, let me tell you your fortune El¬ 
linor, I can tell you of the past, and you may 
build your own future.” Then he went on to tell 
how I had stolen into his heart and filled all its 
dreams with one wild passionate wish. It was no 
fancy, May, it was the very same voice that had 
murmured fond words on that day when he held 
me dripping from the lake, and somehow I thought 
I had never in all my life heard anything half so 
sweet as that one earnest whisper, “ With no boy’s 
love, but the calm, deep devotion of manhood I 
love you darling, v^Ayou have this love, little 
Ellinor?” May, I half believe I have been lov¬ 
ing him all the time, but don’t telL 
Thine, Ellinor. 
gulvn'tijstttunts. 
P ROFITABLE EMPLOYMENT mav be had by address¬ 
ing (post-paid) ROBERT SEARS, 181 William St, N. York. 
BROCKPORT COLLEGIATE INSTITUTE, 
Brockport, IS r . Y. 
F ALL TERM WILL OPEN AUGUST IS. 1858.-Befridcs 
tbe usual sti dies pursued in similar Institutions, spec’al facili¬ 
ties are here afforded for pursuing Music, Painting, and the French 
and German Languages. 
Painting in all its varieties is taught by a French Artist, and the 
French and German Languages, by native teachers. 
F'or further particulars, rend for a Catalogue to 
444-6t DAVID BURBANK, A. M„ Paincipal 
THE “OLD DOMINION” 
COHhFEE EOT 1 
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THE OLD DOMINION COFFEE POT 
Is manufactured under the patent for tbe United State*, by 
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Also, manufacturers for the United States of ARTHUR'S 
CELEBRATED PATENT AIK-TIGIIT SELF-SEALING CANS 
AND JARS. 
For sale by Dealers in Housekeeping articles, and Storekeepers 
generally. « 441-4t 
D eafness cured—however caused. 
Address Dr. BOARDMAN, 
443-4t 12 Suffolk Place, Boston. 
RARE CHANCE FOR BOOK BUYERS. 
F'or Moore’s Rural New-Yorker. 
MISCELLANEOUS ENIGMA. 
I am composed of 30 letters. 
My 9, 5, 6, 10, 20 is made by farmers. 
My 29, 2, 14, 7, 2G frequents the tavern. 
My 30, 23, 14, 10, 28, 7, 15, 22 is the name of the 
town we live in. 
My 1, 27, 24 loves hay. 
My 9, 13, 18, 30, 16, 26,11, 17, 10 is the name of one 
of our school-mates. 
My 25, 19, 27, 21, 10 is a domestic fowl. 
My 2, 4, 20 is a preposition. 
My 13,17, 3, 11, 10 is a lady’s name. 
My 12, 14,11, 29 is the mark of a tobacco chewer. 
My whole is a true saying, hut is often disregard¬ 
ed until it is too late. Two School Girls. 
Ontario Co., N. Y., 1858. 
Answer in two weeks. 
For Moore’s Rural New-Yorker. 
MYTHOLOGICAL ENIGMA. 
I am composed of 32 letters. 
My 2, 5, 13, 16, 21, 27 was the goddess of the morn¬ 
ing. 
My 30, 20, 3, 21,16,13 was the god of fear. 
My 25, 29, 16, 24, 5, 7 was the god of winds. 
My 15, 16, 21, 7 was the goddess of death. 
My 13, 16, 11, 19, 8, 5, 7 was a god of corn. 
My 26, 10,16, 21, 2 was the goddess of flowers. 
My 1, 12, 24, 9, 25, 23 were the nymphs of the fields. 
My 15, 5, 31, 27 was the goddess of silence. 
My 22, 6, 22,16 was the daughter of Belus. 
My 17, 3,16, 28 was a city of Phrygia. 
My 1, 2, 13, 7 was the god of war. 
My 32, 13, 2, 14, 16 was the muse of love poetry. 
My 16, 5, 13, 6, 4, 5, 20 is a town north of HIgarue. 
My 7, 18, 25, 17, 2 was a goddess of grown persons. 
My whole is a name of a young Frenchman, who 
exhibited full evidence of his skill and bravery, 
and was wounded at the battle of Brandywine. 
Rainsbury, Pa., 1858. J. P.. Ykagrr. 
JZSf Answer in two weeks. 
For Moore’s Rural New-Yorker. 
MATHEMATICAL PROBLEM. 
Suppose a man start from Rochester, latitude 
43° north, in a direction southeast, and pursue a 
straight course till he arrives at the equator, how 
many degrees of longitude will he have passed 
over on arriving at the equator. l. l. n. 
Pittsford, N. Y., 1858. 
Answer in two weeks. 
ANSWERS TO ENIGMAS, Ac., IN NO. 443. 
Answer to Geographical Enigma:—Webster’s 
Dictionary. 
Answer to Algebraic Problem:—A’s $5,000; B’s 
$4,000. 
“Did yon not tell me, sir, you could hold the 
plow?” said the master. “Arrah! he aisy now,” 
said Pat: “how the deuce can I hould it, and two 
horses drawing it away from me? but give it me 
into the barn, and, he jabers, I’ll hould it with any 
boy.” 
--- 
“Jerome, Jerome!” screamed Mrs. Butterfield, 
the other day, to her biggest boy; “what are you 
throwin’ to those pigeons?” “ Gold heads, mother, 
and the fools are eatin’ ’em; I ’spect they think it’s 
corn!” 
A Lady said to a gentleman who was suffering 
with influenza:—“My dear sir, what do you take 
for yonr cold?” “Five pocket-handkerchiefs a day, 
madam.” 
“ Sal,” said one girl to another, “ I am so glad I 
have no beau now.” “Why?” asked the other.— 
“ Case I can eat as many onions as I please.” 
The Reason Why. —An Irishman being asked 
why he wore his stockings wrong side out, replied, 
“Because there’s a hole on the other side ov ’em.” 
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half Cash and half in seven months, adding interest 
THE HAND MACH1NH), at the walking gait of a man, sows from 
took to eight acres per hour. Price $lu—Cash. 
These Machines are substantially built, and do the work In a vot 7 
superior manner, as numerous certificates from F'armers who have 
nsid them, fully prove. ..... 
Agents wherever established will exhibit the Machines in operation 
to Farmers who may desire to purchase, and will show purchasers 
how to use them. J. K- CHENEY, Agent 
29 State St, Rochester, N. Y. 
CHA’S W. CABOON, Corresponding Agent 
D. H. FURBISH, Proprietor. 
Office, York street, opposite Portland Sugar House, Portland, Me. 
“Their superiority is justly accorded."— Rural New-Yorker. 
WHEELER & WILSON’S 
! SEWING MACHINES, 
343 Broadway, New York, 
T> ECEIVED THE HIGHEST PREMIUMS awarded In 1857, by 
1A/ the American Institute, New York, Maryland Institute, Balti¬ 
more, and ut the Maine, Connecticut Illinois, and Michigan State 
c Bead for a Circular containing Editorial and Scientific Opinions, 
Testimonials from persons of the highest social position, etc. 
441 S. W. DIBBLE, Agent Rochester, N. Y. 
HlETCHUM’S ONE-HORSE MOWER, 
irrARRANTED TO CUT FROM FOUR TO SIX ACRES 
YV per dav, with one horse. They have all the late Improvements 
made on the two-horse mowers. Weight HU) the. Price. $S0—in 
Buffalo. [411 tf] R. L. HOWARD. 
WANTED 1 
j -« /ur a AGENTS. — For the best inducements ever offered. 
! J .LrtJUf Inclose stamp for return postage,and 
’ Address MAYNARD k CASWELL, 
440 Lawrence, Mass. 
~A‘ST®r-i HOUSE, 
Broadway, New York. 
A LL THE MILK used here comes from a Farm carried on for 
the expreas 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 ileal, and in Snmmeron rich Pastures and Meal 
only. [440] O. A. STETS ON. 
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 
WOODEN Water Pipe is not designed to tie used lor the purpose of 
draining land, but to carry water pure and sweet, from the fountain 
head to the Kitchen, Lawn, Yard or Garden, aud 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 20,1853 
Messrs. I. 8. Hoebie k Co., Rochester: 
Qenis:— Please send me two thousand feet of the Water Pipe ad¬ 
vertised in the Rural, of the common size. My Lead Pipe does not 
ar.su er, and I must fill its place with something that will cany more 
water. Yours, T. C. PKTEK8.” 
We can fill all orders immediately. 
Address 1. S. HOB THE k CO., 
440 44 Arcade, Rochester, N. Y. 
BLACK HAWK HORSE “LIVE YANKEE.” 
rnms HORSE IS SEVEN VEAR8 OLD; Color, raven black: 
X 16X hands high ; weighs 1,250 the.; and can tiot in 255. hired 
by ‘Old Black Hawk,”owned by David Hill, of Bridport, Vt;dam 
sired by Edward Ixing’s “ Flclipse." Will stand the season of 1858, 
on F'uiday uud Saturday of each week at the North American Ho¬ 
tel, State St., Rochester, and the remainder of the time at Mugs 
Baileys, 2J4 miles north of West Henrietta. Stock Breeders of 
Monroe, call and see him. [436] SMITH k SPALDING. 
W ASTED IMMEDIATELY —LOCAL AND TRAVEL¬ 
ING Agents, in a business which is snre to pay from $20 to 
$28 per week. Particulars free to ail who enclose a stamp or three 
cent piece for return postage, and address 
437-12t _ S. M, MYftlOK k CO, Lynn, Mass, 
L IME. —PAGE’S PERPETUAL KILN-Patented July, 
1867. Superior to any in use for wood or coal 2 1 /, cords of wood, 
or 1 Y, tuns of coal to 100 bbls.—coal not mixed with stone. 
434tf _ Address _ C P- PAGE, Rochester, N. Y. 
SUPERIOR LAND PLASTER! 
F RENCH k CHAPPELL, 69 Exchange St, (Successor* to 
Shurtliyf k Smith, at old Stand,) keep on hand for Farmers’ 
use, Gakbutt's Celebrated Land Plaster. One Dollar invested 
in Plaster returns Fifty to the Farmer. 
Ijf SOMBRERO GUANO, a superior article, for sale in any 
quantity by F. k C., as above. 436if 
KEDZIK’S WATER FILTER, 
rutin? SUBSCRIBERS give notice that they have made srrateo- 
JL meats with Mr. ICedzie, the patentee of this celebrated Filter, to 
manufacture, under his own supervision, and sell at former retail pri¬ 
ces, and discount to dealers as when made by J. E. Cheney & Co- 
Address only JAMES TERRY k CO., 
59 and 61 State St, Rochester, N. Y. 
431 the old stand of J. K. Cheney k CO. 
/"tlllCULAKS, with Cut3 illustrating improved Steam-Flngir.es 
\J and Machinery for making Lumber, Shingles, Staves, Chairs, 
Bedsteads, Brooms', Cleaning Wheat and Offal, and Burning Sawdust 
and Tan, Bent free by applying to . 
437-8t L. A SPALDING, Lcckpcrt, N. Y. 
MOORE’S RURAL NEW-YORKER, 
THE LEADING WEEKLY 
Agricultural, Literary and Family Newspaper, 
IS PUBLISHED EVERY SATURDAY BY 
D. D. T. MOORE, ROCHESTER, N. Y. 
Office, Union Buildings, Opposite the Court House. 
TERMS, IN ADVANCE : 
Two Dollars a Year—$ 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 )-}i 
cents per copy to the club rates for the Rural. The lowest price o. 
copies sent to Europe, A a, 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 brief, more 
than four consecutive insertions. Patent Medicines, Ac., are not 
advertised in the Rusal on any conditions. 
