404 
MOORE’S RURAL NEW-YORKER: AN AGRICULTURAL AND FAMILY NEWSPAPER 
DEC. 11 
THE WINTERS. 
We did not fear them once—the dull grey morning 
No cheerless burden on our spirits laid ; 
The long night watches did not bring us warning 
That we were tenants of a house decayed. 
The early snows like dreams to us descended ; 
The frost did fairy-work on pane and bough ; 
Beauty, and power, and wonder have not ended— 
How is it that we fear the winters now ? 
The house fires fall as bright on hearth and chamber; 
The northern starlight shines as coldly clear ; 
The woods still keep their holly for December ; 
The world has welcome yet for the new year, 
And far away, in old remembered places, 
The snow-drop rises and the robin sings, 
The sun and moon look out with smiling faces— 
Why have our days forgot such goodly things ? 
Is it that now the north wind finds us shaken 
By tempest fiercer than its bitter blast ? 
And fair beliefs and friendship have forsaken, 
Like summer’s beauty as that tempest passed ? 
And life grows leafless in its pleasant valleys, 
The light of promise waning from its day, 
Till mists meet even in its inward palace— 
Not, like the outer mists, to melt away ? 
It was not thus when dreams of love and laurels 
Gave sunshine to the winters of our youth, 
Before its hopes had fallen in fortune’s quarrels, 
Or Time had bowed them with his heavy truth— 
Ere yet the twilight found us strange and lonely, 
With shadows coming when the fire burns low, 
To tell of distant graves and losses only— 
The past that cannot change and will not go. 
Alas 1 dear friends, the Winter is within us ; 
Hard is the ice that gathers round the heart, 
If petty cares and vain regrets can win us 
From Life’s true heritage and better part. 
Seasons and skies rejoice, yea, worship, rather;— 
But nations toil and tremble even as we ; 
Hoping for harvests they will never gather, 
And dreading Winters they may never see. 
LOVING AND PATIENT. 
“ A faithful wife, a tender mother, a true 
friend, the life of our departed sister was beauti¬ 
ful. She had trial, pain, suffering—the common 
lot of all; hut there was this difference between 
our sister and many others—in her trials, pains 
and sufferings she was always loving and patient.” 
And with these words, the minister closed his 
eulogy. His voice was earnest, and there was a 
low tremor of feeling in its tones. He had known 
this faithful wife, this true friend well, and there¬ 
fore he had uttered no mere commonplaces, as he 
stood, uncovered, by the grave around which were 
gathered the weeping mourners. 
“ Loving and patient,” said one to another, as 
they walked slowly amid the flower-covered tomb¬ 
stones, on their way out from the cemetery. “ Yes 
she was all that—few so loving, few so patient.” 
“ And few with more need of patience,” was re¬ 
plied. “ They speak of home martyrs sometimes. 
I think she was one. The loving heart asks for 
love in return, and if it receives not this food to 
nourish its life in sufficient measure, it droops, 
wastes, dies. So did our precious friend.” 
“You think so?” 
“ I am sure of it.” 
“ Mr. Carson was not an unkind man.” 
“ He did not treat her with the brutality of an 
ignorant French peasant, hut, for all that, he is 
none the less guilty of having diminished, by years, 
the period of her earthly existence.” 
“Then it was an uncongenial marriage,” said 
the other. 
“ A mild way of speaking truth,” answered the 
friend. “ Yes, it was, I think, wholly uncongenial 
for her. He was, probably, as well satisfied with 
her as he would have been with any woman. She 
ministered to his selfish pleasures, and was, as we 
have ju 9 t heard, loving and patient It was all 
right, so far as his enjoyments were concerned; as 
for her, life, I think, was one long martyrdom of 
the heart. But it is over now, and Bhe sleeps well” 
And so they talked, as they went out from the 
place of graves. 
“ Loving and patient” The bereaved husband 
carried the words home with him. They had fallen 
upon his ears with a new meaning, as applied to 
his wife, and gave to his mind a certain new per¬ 
ception as to her character. “ A faithful wife, a 
tender mother, a time friend.” These were the min¬ 
ister’s words also, and they were sounding still in 
his ears. How singularly elevated had become, all 
at once, Mr. Carson’s ideal of his wife. Her char¬ 
acter stood out with a new distinctness. “ She had 
trial, pain, suffering.” Alas! and this was true also 
—true to the bereaved husband in a way never be¬ 
fore appreciated. 
Back to his home returned Mr. Carson, and gath¬ 
ered his motherless children around him. How 
very, very desolate he felt. What a pressure 
there was upon his bosom—what an aching void 
within. 
“Loving and patient” The brief sentence found 
an involuntary repetition in his mind. He kept 
saying it over and over, until memory began to 
draw pictures of the past Let us transfer one of 
these pictures to the canvas. Here it is, Mr. 
Carson gazed upon it until it gave him the heart¬ 
ache. 
They had been married over a year when Mrs. 
Carson, who had not seen her mother during that 
period, asked to “ go home,” a distance of some 
two hundred miles, and make a short visit Since 
her marriage Bhe had not visited the dear old 
place, though her heart kept going back to its 
loved one yearningly all the while. 
“I don’t see how that is possible,” answered her 
husband, coldly, and in evident surprise at the re¬ 
quest. “ You can’t go alone, and for me to leave 
my business is out of the question.” 
Tears came instantly to the soft brown eyes of 
the young wife. 
“ I have not seen my mother since I came from 
home.” 
Down, down through years came to Mr. Carson 
the voice of his wife, as it trembled on this sen¬ 
tence. Not a single shade of its tender sadness 
was gone. And now it fell upon sensitive ears 
that searched into all its meanings. But when 
living lips uttered the words so faithfully kept by 
memory, they awakened no feeling of sympathy 
in his selfish heart. “ Came from home /” He 
then said to himself, angrily, “Isn’t this her 
home?” 
“ Write to your mother, and ask her to come and 
make us a visit,” replied Mr. Carson. 
“ Mother has a large family and many cares.— 
She could not get away for so long a journey.” 
“And you have cares, and a home where your 
presence is needed,” said the husband. Then he 
added, “No, no, Mary, I can’t see that it is possi¬ 
ble now.” 
“ I can go alone.” Tears had kept gathering in 
spite of her efforts to repress them, and now a few 
drops fell slowly over her cheeks. 
“Don’t think of that for a moment. I am par¬ 
ticularly opposed to ladies traveling alone. I don’t 
think it at all safe. And then, the baby is young. 
It would he certain to take cold, and might con¬ 
tract a fatal disease.” 
“ Baby is nearly three months old-” 
“ It’s no use arguing the matter,” said Mr. Car- 
son, with considerable impatience of manner.— 
“ You can’t go, Mary, and you might as well give 
it up at once.” 
Memory had kept, with daguerreotype fidelity, 
the expression of his wife’s face, when he flung 
back upon her this unfeeling interdiction, and 
now it was before him in all of its rebuking 
sadness. 
“Loving and patient” This was the commen¬ 
tary. No angry, impatient, or rebellious word es¬ 
caped her lips, nor did a frown disfigure her brow. 
But she seemed to shrink before him, aB if a strong 
hand had borne down hard upon her. 
Two months from that time, news came of the 
mother’s sudden illness. 
“ I must go home now,” she said. 
“It is impossible for me to accompany you.— 
Wait for a few days. Your mother will be well 
again.” 
“ I can go alone, Thomas,” urged Mrs. Carson. 
“ I will not consent to that, Mary,” was positive¬ 
ly objected. “ Next week, if your mother should 
continue to grow worse, I will go with you.” 
“Oh, Thomas! If I should never see her again!” 
“You indulge a needless alarm,” said the hus¬ 
band, coldly. “This sickness is but temporary, 
and will pass away.” 
The pleader was silenced, but the pale, sad face 
gave signs of intense suffering. A whole week 
passed without another word. Then came a letter 
from her father in these few words: 
“ Your mother is dying. Come! 0 come quick¬ 
ly ! We have been looking for you every hour 
during the last four day3. Don’t delay a moment 
after receiving this, if you would see your mother 
alive.” 
There was no objection to urge now. But when 
Mrs. Carson re-crossed the threshold over which 
she had gone forth a bride, it was to fall, with a 
deep wail of anguish, insensible across the bed 
where lay the cold form of her almost idolized 
mother, hack to whom she had so panted to fly, 
through more than a year of patient waiting. 
There was a strange expression in the face o- 
Mrs. Carson for months afterwards. Its meaning 
her husband did not seek to penetrate. Indee" 
perception with him had no plummet-line that 
could reach far enough down to fathom her con¬ 
sciousness. Months passed before any war-nt! 
came back to her cheeks, or any light to 
dreamy eyes. Yet no murmur or reproach es¬ 
caped her lips. She was loving, dutiful, and 
tient. But she never spoke to Mr. Carson of - 
mother. Once or twice he referred to the dear 
departed one, but she did not seem to hear his re¬ 
mark; and he, from a vague suspicion of the truth, 
held back from repeating the reference. 
With what painful distinctness was this whole 
scene restored, as Mr. Carson sat grieving over bis 
great loss, in the desolate home from which the 
light of a loving face had departed forever. 0, 
what would he not have given for power to change 
that one cruel act! Away from the rebuking 
record, written in his book of life in characters 
never to be erased, the grieving and repentant 
man turned his eyes; but it was only to gaze upon 
another almost as painfal to behold, as this faded 
memory restored other scenes in which he was 
the mean, selfish opposer, and she the loving, pa¬ 
tient, long-suffering wife. It had been all exaction 
on his part, and gentle compliance on hers, even 
though compliance must often have been through 
reluctance or pain. He had been a selfish tyrant; 
she a yielding, dutiful subject, though often bur¬ 
dened beyond nature’s power of endurance. 
And now, as Mr. Carson read over the past, he 
saw new meanings in almost every life-incident— 
The sad eye; the pale, pleading face that grew 
thinner and paler with every passing year; the 
almost stony look that answered to his unkind 
words; the silence that often sealed her lips for 
hours after his arbitrary denials; all these, and 
more, were present to him now, and he tried, hut 
in vain, to put them out of sight 
How little had he taken her needs of mind or 
body into consideration, during all the years of 
their married life. He had scarcely thought of 
her as a being with necessities like his own; hut 
rather as one given to be the servant of his wants 
and pleasures. It mattered little how she thought, 
felt, or desired. If her action served him, that 
reached the compass of his estimates. 
« Loving and patient.” What a new power to 
smite him as with a whip of stinging scorpions, 
was this testimony of the preacher gaining every 
moment. Yes, she had been loving and patient, 
amid cruel wrongs and neglects, that sapped the 
foundations of her life. Loving and patient, 
though daily she bent lower and lower beneath 
the heavy weight of her uncheered duties. 
And these were the memories that came back 
upon the bereaved husband, as he sat, with his 
motherless children, in the home now made deso¬ 
late. There had been an angel in his house for 
years; but in his blind selfishneshess he had not 
recognized her presence, even though her hand 
crowned his dajs with comfort, and made his pil¬ 
low soft for him at night And worse than this; 
for good deeds he had returned harshness; for love 
coldness; and for gentle words unkindly speech. 
Not a gleam of consolation found its way into 
this night cf sorrow and self-rebuke. Oar dead 
return not As we have been to them so will be 
our memories of them—blessed, or accusing memo¬ 
ries, according to our deeds. 
How many hundreds of bereaved husbands are 
sitting in the shadow of grief to-day, mourning 
for the departed ones, whose loving presence will 
no more give warmth and light to their dwelling? 
Ah! what are their companion-thoughts? What 
their crowded memories? What their pictures 
from the past? Like those of Mr. Carson? Not 
all, we trust; yet, to all must come the recollec¬ 
tion of acts or omissions, that the world, if we pos¬ 
sessed, would hardly seem too much to give, if 
that great sacrifice could change the record. 
But to those who have still their home treasures 
around them, the lesson comes with hope as well 
as rebuke. Ah, how little inclined are some men 
to think, that the patient, uncomplaining ones, who 
move daily through their dwellings, have equal 
wants and aspirations with themselves. How 
singularly inclined are selfish, sensual-minded 
men, to undervalue and think lightly of a woman’s 
wants, yearnings, peculiarities and necessities.— 
Their range of thought and feeling sweeps rudely 
away from hers. Their hearts but rarely respond 
to the same touches of sympathy. If, now and 
then, a wife drops her pure pearls of feeling at 
the feet of her husband, he tramples them in light 
scorn under his feet, and Bhe learns, from these 
sad experiences, to keep more sacred her precious 
treasures. And so she withdraws more and more 
into herself, and, it may he, turns to her husband 
some rougher side of her character, thus exposing 
one that will suffer least from the rude contact to 
which she is daily exposed. 
Ah! who can tell in what externally pleasant 
homes these fearful heart-martyrdoms are going 
on. Beautiful mansions, richly attired, give charm 
and elegance to^our streets. They smile down 
upon ns everywhere, with their assurance of happy 
hearts within. But, every now and then, wan faces 
and sad, dreamy eyes look out upon us from the 
windows; or we catch glimpses, through fluttering 
veils, of hopeless countenances, as victims of so¬ 
cial wrongs glide in and out of waiting carriages- 
Alas! alas! What a mockery of life is all this! If 
some are not patient and loving, as was Mrs. Car- 
son, who bore up under her heavy burdens with 
seeming cheerfulness, until she fell exhausted, and 
perished by the wayside, ere half the usual allot¬ 
ment of days was filled up, who can wonder—who 
can strongly blame? All have not the religious 
trust that gave strength in her weakness, and hope 
in her despair. 
Still, blessings on the loving and patient, though 
even their paths be rough, and their trials sharp! 
They pass away like the reBt—falling at noon and 
mid-day in the journey of life—but their departure 
is in light, and, as their garments trail behind them 
in their final passage upwards, to all eyes, even 
those made dullest by selfish feelings, they are 
seen as angels. 
A VOLUNTEER BULL-FIGHT. 
I remember once seeing, when a lad at school, I 
a fight between two bulls. Although I could not 
have been more than eight years of age, 1 shall 
B f-rpr-— t* happened in this 
wise: 
Close by the school-house—a very unpretending 
edifice it was—ran a deep and rapid river. Across 
it had been thrown a high wooden bridge, the 
hand-railing of which time and the’wlnds and the 
weather had entirely destroyed. The land on the 
opposite sides of the stream was owned by differ¬ 
ent persons, and farmed by them respectively.— 
One bright summer day—T remember it ns it were 
yesterday—the hour of noon had arrived, and a 
frolicsome, fun-aeelring troop of school-boys were 
lot loose for an hour’s recreation. 
All at once the bellowing and roaring of two 
hulls that had broken out of their enclosures on 
each side of the river attracted our attention. The 
animals were not yet in sight of each other, but 
were approaching along the highway at a rate of 
speed which would cause them to meet near the 
centre of the high bridge which I have described, 
and beneath which, at some thirty feet, ran the 
river, between steep hanks. The more daring of 
us gathered near the bridge, lining it, to see the 
anticipated fight We were not disappointed.— 
Nearer and nearer approached the proud, pawing 
combatants. Bashan never produced two brutes 
of fiercer aspect. They lashed their sides with 
their tails, they tore the ground with their feet 
Occasionally they kneeled down, trying to gore the 
earth with their horns. And as yet they were con¬ 
cealed, each from the other, by the ascent to the 
bridge at either end. Presently, as they simulta¬ 
neously ascended the respective abutments, they 
came full in sight of each other. The roar was 
mutual and actually tremendous. Every urchin of 
us Bprang into the fields and ran. Finding, how¬ 
ever, that we were not pursued, we hastily retraced 
our steps. There they were, quite as sensibly em¬ 
ployed as some of their human imitators. Front 
to front, their horns locked, every muscle strained, 
they were fighting as only bulls can fight. It 
seemed an even match. Now one would press 
back his opponent a few paces, and presently you 
would hear quick, sharp, short steps, and his ad¬ 
versary would press back in return. The strug¬ 
gling was hard, was long, was savage. For a while 
neither obtained an advantage. 
Hitherto they had been pushing each other 
lengthwise of the bridge; suddenly they began to 
wheel, and in a moment they were facing each 
other crosswise. They were at right-angle3 with 
the length of the old bridge, which shook, and 
creaked, and rocked again with their trampling 
and their terrible strife. It was the work of a sin¬ 
gle moment; one of the beasts — I could not tell 
which—one of them, however, as if conscious of 
his position, made a violent, a desperate plunge 
forward, and pressed his antagonist back, hack, 
back, till there was but another step of the plank 
behind him, between him and nothing! The mo¬ 
ment was one of intense interest to us juvenile 
spectators. Never was the amphitheatre of Rome 
the scene of a more exciting combat Another 
step backward, yes, the unfortunate hull was 
forced to take it! Back he is pressed and over he 
goes. 
Such a sight I never saw, I probably shall never 
see again. Imagine a hull pitched backward over 
a bridge and falling at least thirty feet over and 
over! He turned once or twice, probably; I tho’t 
be turned fifty timep, there seemed such confusion 
of horns and feet revolving, filing through the air. 
Bat down he went; the water was deep and he dis¬ 
appeared, leaving a whirpool of foam behind him, 
and making the river undulate far and wide with 
the concussion of his ponderous bulk. 
The other bull did not laugh, merely because 
bulls, as I supposed, could not. But we laughed 
and shouted our applause. There stood the victor, 
looking directly down into the abyss below, into 
which he had hurried his unlucky foe. He stood, 
however, but a moment, and then, as if frightened 
at the prospect, he began to snort and step back¬ 
ward. Back, hack he retreated, with his head in 
the same pugnacious attitude as when in combat— 
back — still another step back — and over he, too, 
went on the opposite side of the bridge, performing 
just as many and as ludicrous somersets as his ad¬ 
versary had done before. It was a scene to remem¬ 
ber; and the performance called forth immense 
applause from the group of juvenile amateurs who 
witnessed it. 
In about five minutes both bulls might be seen, 
well sobered by their ducking, dripping wet, 
scratching up the steep, gravelly banks, each on 
his own side of the river. “Those bulls will never 
fight any more,” said a boy behind me. His pre¬ 
diction turned out correct; for two more peacea¬ 
bly disposed bulls than they were, ever afterward, 
could not have been found. 
A green-looking chap from the Green Mountain 
State, went over the lines and on to Montreal, “to 
look reound a leetle.” Going into a large and 
handsome dry-goods store, his verdancy attracted 
the attention of the proprietor, who attempted to 
quiz him; hut unhappily having an im-p-p-pedi- 
ment in his speech, he had to give it up, and his 
head clerk came forward to speak for him. The 
clerk began: “ Mr. Bull wishes to know if you can 
tell him why Balaam’s ass spoke?” “ Wa’al,” says 
Jonathan, “ I rather guess how that Balaam was a 
stutterin’ man, and his ass had to speak for him!” 
“ Can you return my love, dearest Julia?” Cer¬ 
tainly, sir. I don’t want it, I’m sure.” 
to* to f§0iM0. 
For Moore’a Rural New-Yorker. 
MISCELLANEOUS ENIGMA —ACROSTICAL. 
I am composed of 16 letters. 
My 1, 8,11, 5,10, 4 is a hook in the Old Testament. 
My 2, 5, 15, 6, 3 is to cleanse. 
My 3, 12, 7, 16, 2 is a thin, light fluid. 
My 4, 5, 15,1, 10,11 is a kind of tree. 
My 5,11,1, 5, 8, 5,15, 9 is a substance used in mak¬ 
ing water-colors. 
My 6, 7, 2, 5,11,16 is a depository for sacred things. 
My 7, 10, 8, 2,12 is a part of the body. 
My 8,11, 15,14, 4, 6 is a species of history. 
My 9, 3, 15,11 10, 4 iB a house for animals. 
!y 10, 14, 6, 3, 4 is furniture in an artist’s room. 
My 11,10,16, 1, 4,10 is a small instrument 
My 12, 5,11, 13, 16, 2 is a trade or profession. 
My 13, 8,15,10 was a celebrated judge. 
My 14, 11, 5, 6,16 is a tropical plant. 
My 15, 8, 11, 9, 10, 16, 11 is a kind of cloth. 
My 16, 2, 15 is a bird of prey. 
My whole is the name of a celebrated navigator. 
| I’armiDgtOD, Mich., 1858. T.F.H. 
Answer in two weeks. 
For Moore's Rural New-Yorker. 
MATHEMATICAL PROBLEM. 
How many round, fiat-bottomed kettles, having 
a top diameter of ten inches, a bottom diameter 
of eight inches and an altitude of twelve inches 
—being one inch thick on the bottom and one- 
half inch thick on the sides—and standing on 
three legs, each being a globe one and one-fourth 
inches in diameter, and allowing two cubic inches 
for the bale attachment, can he made from a round 
bar of iron, forty feet long and four inches in di¬ 
ameter, with a round hole in its centre, thirty feet 
long and two inches in diameter? a. j. p. 
Johnsonville, 1858. 
fjEf3~ Answer in two weeks. 
For Moore's Rural New-Yorker. 
ALGEBRAICAL PROBLEM. 
Required two such numbers that, if the square 
of the first be diminished by twice the product of 
these numbers, the remainder may be 45; and the 
square of the second augmented by four times the 
product of the numbers, the sum may be 76. 
Wayne, Ken. Co., Me., 1858. Somertes, 
Answer in two weeks. 
For Moore’s Rural New-Yorker. 
GEOMETRICAL PROBLEM. 
The base of a right-angle-triangle is 9 and the 
perpendicular 3—what is the side of the inscribed 
square? John Thompson. 
Hanover, Mich., 1858. 
Answer in two weeks. 
A RIDDLE. 
I have a little boy who possesses something 
very precious to me; it is a workmanship of ex¬ 
quisite skill, and was said, by our blessed Savior, 
to be the object of his Father’s peculiar care, and 
yet it does not display the attributes of either 
benevolence or compassion. If I were to lose it, 
no human ingenuity could replace it; and yet, to 
describe it generally, it is very abundant. It was 
first given to Adam, in Paradise, along with his 
beautiful Eve, although he previously had it in his 
possession. It will last as long as the world exists, 
and yet it is destroyed every day. It is to be found 
in all parts of the earth, while three distinct parts 
exist in air. It is seen on the field of carnage, 
yet it is a bond of affection a token of amity and 
a pledge of pure and innocent love. It was the 
cause of death to one famed for beauty and ambi¬ 
tion. I have only to add it ha3 been used as a 
napkin and a crown, and appears like silver after 
long exposure to the air. What is it? 
Answer in two weeks. 
ANSWERS TO ENIGMAS, &c., IN No. 464. 
Answer to Biblical Enigma:—Melchiaedek. 
Answer to Mathematical Problem:—24°-16' or 
65°-44'. 
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>Vt No. 4-39 G’Hestnut St. 
THE ONLY OEICINAL GIFT EOOK STOKE! 
( t Q. EVANS would inform his friends and the public that his 
X . Star Gift Book Store and Publishing House is permanently 
established in Brown's splendid Iron Building, 439 Chestnut Street 
two doors below Fifth, where the purchaser of each book, at the 
tegular retail price, will receive one of the following gifts, valued at 
from 25 cents to $ 100:— 
Worth. 
560 Patent English Lever Gold 'Watches.$100 00 each. 
550 Patent Anchor do. do. . 5*1 00 “ 
400 Ladies’Gold Watches, 18k. cases,. 35 90 “ 
600 Silver Hunting Watches, warranted. 15 00 “ 
600 Parlor Time-pieces,. 10 00 “ 
600 Cameo Sets, Ear Drops and Pins. 10 00 ■ 
500 Ladies’ Gold Bracelets,.5 00 to 12 00 " 
500 Gents’Vest and Fob Chains,. 10 00 " 
1000 Gold Lockets, (large size, double case,). 10 00 “ 
2000 Gold Lockets, (small size,). 3 00 “ 
1000 Gold Pencils, with Gold Pens. 6 00 “ 
1000 Extra Gold Pens, with cases and holders,. 3 50 " 
2500 Gold Pencils, (Ladies’,). 2 00 “ 
2500 Gold Pens, with Silver Pencils,. 2 50 - 
2500 Ladies’s Gold Pens, with Cases and Holders,... 1 60 “ 
6500 Gold Rings. (Ladies’,). 1 CO “ 
2000 Gents’Gold Rings,. 2 60 “ 
2500 Ladies’ Gold Breastpins,. 2 50 “ 
3500 Misses’ Gold Breastpins,. 1 50 “ 
3000 Pocket Knives,. 1 00 " 
2000 Sets Gents’ Gold Bosom Studs,. 2 50 “ 
2000 do. Sleeve Buttons. 2 50 “ 
2000 Palm of Ladies’ Ear Drops,. 2 50 “ 
8000 Ladies’ Pearl Card Cases. 5 00 “ 
15000 Ladies’Cameo, Jet, or Mosaic Pins,. 5 00 “ 
2500 Ladies’Shawl and Ribbon Pins,. 150 “ 
6000 Articles of Gold Jewelry, Gift Books, Ac., Ac., not enumerated 
in the above, worth from 25 cents to $25. 
Evans’ new Catalogue, which is sent free to all parts of the coun¬ 
try, contains all the most popular Books of the day, and the newest 
publications, all of which will bo sold as low as can be obtained at 
other stores. 
Agents wanted in every town in the Union, Those desiring so to 
act, can obtain full particulars by addressing as above. 
N. B.—Being largely Interested in publishing books, and buying 
from other publishers in immense quantities, for cash, 1 am enabled 
to make larger discounts to Country Agents and Book Dealers than 
can be had at any other house in the countiy. 
Any book published in the United States, the retail price of which 
is $1 or upwards, will be promptly sent, Gift included, on receipt of 
publisher’s price. 
An extra $1 Book and Gift given to any person ordering ton 
books to be sent to one address. Send for a Catalogue. Address, 
G. G. EVANS, Publisher, 
455-13w 439 Chestnut St, Philadelphia 
1L , O O O 
SALESMEN WANTED, 
rno Travel in different sections of this Country and British Provin- 
I ces, to sell Books and Slaps, Published at tho 
AMERICAN SUBSCRIPTION PUBLISHING HOUSE, 
established in the year 1855, 
and still continue to publish a class of Works superior to all others in 
point of attractiveness, which accounts for their selling so much 
MORE RAPIDLY than others. Our Books are all Illustrated with 
STEEL or COLORED ENGRAVINGS —which add very much 
to their sale. 
Our Terms are MORE LIBERAL than paid by other Publish¬ 
ers. Our Prices are uniform. All our Books are sold exclu¬ 
sively by Subscription Consequently giving the Agent the entire 
control of the Salts within the Territory he occnpies. For particu¬ 
lars, address L. STEBBINS A CO., Hartford, Conn. 
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— SI 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 on3 to Agent,) 
for $15, and any additional number at the same rate, ($1,50 per copy.) 
A s we are ehliged to pre-pay the American postage on papers sent to 
the British Provinces, our Canadian agents and friends must add 
12*4 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 brief, more 
than four consecutive insertions. Patent Medicines, Ac., are not 
advertised in the Rural on any conditions. 
The Postage on the Rural is only 3M cts. per quarter to any part 
of this State, and 6 )4 cts. to any other State, if paid quarterly in ad- 
v&nce at the pobt-office where received 
