[Us MOORE’S RURAL NEW-YORKER. AN AGRICULTURAL, LITERARY AND FAMILY NEWSPAPER. 
Written for Moore’s Rural New-Yorker. «» 
BE AS THE ELM. 
BY WX . G . M EA OHAM. 
Look thou adown that lovely, smiling vale— 
Dost not espy yon elm-treo, stately, grand, 
With leaf-crownod head that’s battled many a gale? 
Long has it stood, and long e’en yet may stand. 
Droud object in the beauteous landscape view 
That princely elm in solitude appears, 
As upward, onward toward the empyrean blue 
Its crested summit boldly it uprears. 
Far, far above all other forest growth, 
Majestic, grand, that giant elm aspires, 
As though to grovel on the soil ’twere loth, 
As ’twere expanded with ambition’s fires. 
As proudly waved the plume of fierce Murat 
Far o’er the swaying sea of glistening helms, 
Oft greeted with a deafening huzza, 
As thunder tones and whirlwind’s roar o’erwhelms,— 
So floats on breezes of the upmost air 
Thy leafy plume, 0 Monarch of the plains 1 
And from the forest host a murmurod cheer 
Swells ever and anon, then gently wanes. 
As once commingled reverence and awe 
In eddying wreaths to “crested chief” uprose, 
An ofi'ering from his band, whene’er they saw 
Their leader’s nodding plume — (what dread to foes 1) 
So now from forest multitude ascends 
A fragrant incense to their chieftain elm— 
Of mute respect—and oft each tree-top bends 
Obeisance to the forest’s “ crested helm.” 
The earliest rays shot forth from orient dawn 
In sportive gambols wanton with that crest 
Of leaved umbrageousness, like joyous fawn 
That frolics bounding with life’s spring-time zest. 
The latest beams of darkening eve-time giid 
With softest tints of mellowed light that plume 
Of rustling leafiness, with song oft filled, 
And liDger, linger, linger into gloom. 
See 1 see ! upon that stately elm, the first, 
The beaded rain in gentleness distils, 
And ever and anon it slakes its thirst 
In floating vapor higher heaven that fills. 
How proud that elm in distant view appears ? 
Approach, and at its base now stand and gaze ! 
Look upward ! 0 what height, what strength uprears, 
And props e’en azure vault with leafy stays ! 
Be as this stately elm : injustice, strong ; 
In noble purposes, exalted high ; 
And battle bravely with the storms that throng 
Thy pathway to that peaceful home, yon sky. 
Be as this tree : above thy fellows rise, 
And lift thine head in wisdom’s loftier realm ; 
Commune with Nature—earth and sea and skies— 
And men shall bow, as humbler growth, to elm. 
Be as this elm : in majesty aspire 
Far, far above the sordid things of earth ; 
Extend thy hopes, unfold thy fresh desire 
Beyond the numerous ills that here have birth. 
Be as this elm : exalt thyself to heaven, 
In mercy branch, in virtue bud and bloom ; 
To thee shall praise by myriad tongues be given, 
And rise from countless heart’s love’s rich perfume. 
Be as this elm : catch truth’s most early beams 
That scatter dew-drops of dark ignorance’s night, 
And seize the latest flickering ray that gleams 
From closing eve of hope’s most brilliant light. 
Be as the elm : the droppings from above, 
God’s mercy, kindness, grace, the first receive, 
And in the cooling vapors of His love 
Thy burning thirst for happiness relieve. 
Be as the elm : none nobler let there be ; 
As ’twere, e’en prop high heaven's arching vault— 
Maintain thy God, support His majesty— 
And guard His name from impious man’s assault. 
Warsaw, N. Y., 1855. 
life % 
Written for Moore’s Rural New-Yorker 
THE STEP-DAUGHTER. 
BY LINA LEE. 
“I am dying, Henry; bring me the babe 
that I may see her once more before I leave 
you forever.” 
The child was brought, pressed fondly to 
the heart it had lain beneath, and then borne 
back to the nursery. A few days passed, and 
a funeral procession wound slowly from the 
mansion of Henry Waters, the form so late¬ 
ly animate with life and hope was deposited in 
the narrow tomb, and the widowed husband 
went back to the home that was to know her 
presence no more. It is well that we do not 
always feel as in the first hours of bereave¬ 
ment ;—were it thus, who would care to live ? 
Henry Waters felt that his home was deso¬ 
late indeed. He missed the cheering tone and 
loving smile of her who never wearied of min- 
isterisg to his comfort, and the wail of his 
motherless infant sent a fresh pang of sorrow 
to his heart when he thought of the precious 
life with which its existence was purchased. 
Yet time passed ou, as pass it must, how¬ 
ever wearily, and ere a twelve-month had sped, 
Mr. Waters was preparing his house for the 
reception of another bride. He had won the 
heart of a youthful creature of scarce eighteen 
summers,—one who had never known either 
sorrow or care, and who became the wife of 
Mr. W., and the step-mother of his child, with 
scarce a thought of the responsibility or trials 
these relations might involve. The maternal 
grandmother of little Nelly would gladly 
have taken the motherless child to her heart 
and home, had the father seen fit to part with 
her. But even the wealth of his new-born 
happiness did not quite banish from his mind 
the remembrance of her who, with her dying 
breath, bequeathed that helpless one to his love 
and care, and he chose to retain her child. 
Mrs. Waters, though inexperienced, was 
amiable and kind-hearted, and had others been 
equally guiltless of intentional wrong, heart¬ 
ache and tears innumerable might have been 
spared. Little Nelly possessed naturally a 
confiding, affectionate nature, yet marked willi 
that extreme sensitiveness that exposes its 
possessor to numberless sorrows. Even in 
childhood the quick blood would mount her 
cheek and brow at the discovery of duplicity 
or unkindness of which she had been the vic¬ 
tim, and the youDger sisters of Mrs. W. 
thought it amusing to witness her look of be¬ 
wildered astonishment, indignation and sor¬ 
row, when they told her that nobody cared for 
her, and that her papa did not love her. How 
much this teasing “just for fun” may have 
had to do with the distrust that darkened her 
after life, or the asperity of her temper, cannot 
be known,—yet sure it is, that not more es¬ 
sential is sunshine and dew to the growth of 
flowers, than is love and confidence to a healthy 
moral culture in a child. 
The maternal grandparents of Helen both 
died ere she had reached her tenth year, and in 
justice to them, and the brothers and sisters 
of her mother, be it said, though tenderly at¬ 
tached to her as the offspring of a dear de¬ 
parted one, they never sought either by word 
or act to create prejudice in her mind towards 
her step-mother, or do aught to produce alien¬ 
ation or dissatisfaction with regard to her. 
Of the relatives of Mr. W. the same cannot 
be said. From the first they seemed to dis¬ 
like his wife, and this dislike they were at no 
pains to conceal from his child, or by any 
means unwilling she should be made to par¬ 
take. It tvas not strange, therefore, that ere 
Mrs. W. had been many years a step-mother 
she should become acquainted with some of 
the trials incident to that relation. Nor did 
these trials expend their strenght upon her 
alone. The distrust and dislike with which 
the paternal relatives of Helen had inspired 
her towards her step-mother involved its own 
penalty. With the relatives of her step¬ 
mother she had never been a favorite. Teased 
by her sisters (more it may be for pastime than 
through intentional unkindness,) for her plain 
face and awkward mien,—laughed at for try¬ 
ing to be ladylike, and ridiculed for the timid¬ 
ity and distrust which were the legitimate 
fruits of such a course—it is uo wonder she 
was neither happy in herself, nor prepossessing 
in her appearance. Her naturally buoyant 
disposition was saddened, her temper soured, 
and confidence in her fellow-creatures well 
nigh destroyed. 
To Helen, the name and memory of her 
mother was most sacred. To some the account 
of a parent of whom they retain no recollec¬ 
tion may awaken but slight interest or emo¬ 
tion,—to one of Helen’s temperament it as¬ 
sumed all the vividness of reality. When she 
received from her father's lips a knowledge of 
that mother, and that for her existence her 
life had been given, she took it to her heart as 
something she must ever cherish, and instead 
of regarding her mother the less because she 
knew her not of earth, she loved her memory 
as if it were something almost divine. The 
idea that her mother, as a ministering spirit, 
sometimes lingered near her child of earth, was 
often indulged ; and, possessing as she did an 
ardent imagination and impulsive nature, 
these feelings sometimes exhibited themselves 
in a manner by no means calculated to procure 
her favor. 
Soon after Helen entered her sixteenth year 
Mr. and Mrs. W. left home for a few days on 
a visit to an adjoining town, leaving Miss 
Merton, a maiden sister of Mrs. W., as com¬ 
panion for Helen and in charge of affairs dur¬ 
ing their absence. The afternoon of the day 
following their departure was fixed upon by 
Helen to visit the cemetery and plant some 
flowers upon her mother’s grave. She pro¬ 
ceeded thither for that purpose, and had near¬ 
ly completed her task, when she was startled 
by the sound of a footstep, and turning, Miss 
Merton stood regarding her with a look of 
mingled displeasure and surprise. As Hel¬ 
en saw her she turned away exclaiming in a 
tone of mockery, “ poor, motherless child,” 
leaving Helen almost senseless with surprise 
and terror. Could it be she was blamed for 
loving the memory of the mother who bore 
her ?—there by that sainted mother's grave 
taunted for an affection dear as life itself?— 
When was ever child thus censured ? When 
a mother’s memory thus robbed of the love of 
her offspring? Oh ! how sad her heart, as 
wearily she bent her steps toward home. The 
hall door was open, and as she entered the 
house the sound of voices in the parlor made 
her pause, when she heard Miss M. exclaim, 
“ Planting flowers on her mother's grave and 
going there and crjing as if she were not as 
well off as if her mother had lived! If I was 
in sister’s place I’d whip such notions out of 
her, I tell you. I always thought it foolish in 
Henry to tell her anything about her mother ; 
children always make ju3t such a fuss if they 
know their own mother is dead, no matter 
what is done for them. Would it not have 
been good to have seen her pass her mother’s 
grave as a stranger’s, and thought us her own 
relatives, and not cared anything about her 
own ?”—^md an exulting laugh followed the 
last remark, piercing as a barbed arrow the 
heart of Helen, as, sick and faint, she pro¬ 
ceeded to her room, and throwing herself upon 
a couch, gave vent to the most agonizing woe 
that ever swept over her soul. So real had 
that mother’s existence been to her, so sacred 
her name, that, the thought of such deception 
seemed like tearing that mother herself away. 
And must she never think of her more,—never 
visit her grave again,—lay away that lock of 
hair so precious, the Bible in which that name 
was inscribed, or else be thus censured?— 
Would God bless her for so unfilial a course? ! 
Had not He commanded “ honor thy father 
and thy mother,” and did He require her to 
trample upon the memory of the mother He 
gave her ? 
In vain did Helen appeal to her father for 
sympathy. Though he regretted the occasion 
of her sorrows, he felt he could not remedy it; 
and when he noticed the unbidden tear in bis 
daughter’s eye, he turned away to solace him¬ 
self with the cheerful prattle of other dear ones 
who called him papa, or sought to drown in 
business cares unwelcome remembrances.— 
And Helen, all unpitied—censured for a feel¬ 
ing in others regarded as praiseworthy—one 
of the noblest attributes of the soul in her 
case desecrated, and by those who bore the 
Christian name, yielded to bitterness of spirit, 
until peace, and hope of heaven, were well 
nigh gone. How often fiom her lips went up 
the earnest petition, “ suffer me not to be 
tempted beyond what 1 am able to bear,” or 
with how much cause, will only be known at 
the revealings of the judgment day. And the 
world, unable to estimate the sorrow that 
quenched life’s brightness and darkened her 
prospects for both worlds, looked upon the 
external and wondered that she could be un¬ 
happy. 
It is hard to be cheerful when every breath 
we draw comes up from a sore and bleeding- 
heart, or’bear patiently the careless striking 
of chords whose answering note is only agony, 
and Helen at length became so irritable, 
sensitive and exacting, that her father began 
seriously to contemplate removing her, for a 
time at least, from his family circle. Before 
his purposes had ripened into action, his at¬ 
tention was directed by the sudden and dan¬ 
gerous illness of his wife. She was attacked 
with fever, which rapidly wasted her strength, 
and for weeks kept her hovering upon the 
borders of the grave. Though Helen was 
deeply agonized at what she felt to be the 
desecration of her mother’s memory and name., 
she was by no means destitute of regard for 
her step-mother ; much of the prejudice, for 
which others were more to blame than herself, 
had given way, and as she looked upon her 
pale face, and remembered all the kindness 
with which she had striven to fill to her a 
mother’s place, she deeply regretted that she 
had ever sent a pang of sorrow to her heart; 
and o: those who ministered by that sick 
couch there were none who, of their ability, 
gave more freely than she, and when no longer 
useful there, she strove with unwearied pa¬ 
tience to amuse the little ones in the nursery, 
that the sick mother might not be disturbed. 
She now endeavored to look back upon her 
own conduct with an impartial eye ; she saw 
she had not been altogether guiltless ; she felt 
she might have been too exacting, it might be 
had been obtrusive in the exhibition of her 
feelings, and as she saw her errors she resolv¬ 
ed to correct them. She would strive by kind 
and patient well-doing to conquer the preju¬ 
dices that were felt towards her,—perhaps 
they might give way,— those cruel words 
might yet be retailed. A tear rolled down 
her cheek as she fell upon her knees and be¬ 
sought God to grant it, and give her grace 
and strength to meet the future. 
Mrs. Waters had been some weeks con¬ 
valescing, when, as Helen entered the parlor 
one morning, op her return from a walk, she 
found her there for the first time since her ill¬ 
ness, and her mother sitting with her. Helen 
expressed the pleasure she really felt, that she 
was so far restored; and then proceeded to 
mention the death of a female friend of which 
she had just heard, adding in a tone of sorrow 
that “ she had left an infant daughter, too 
young to realize its irreparable loss.” 
“ Possibly it has not met with any loss,” 
said Mrs. Merton, evidently displeased at 
Helen’s remark. 
“No loss in losing its mother ?” exclaimed 
Helen. 
“ Not if well taken care of,” said Mrs. M. 
“ It was no loss to you to lose yours, and it is 
a pity you ever kuew anything respecting her.” 
“ Gon made her my mother, and why should 
her memory be robbed of the love of her child? 
Surely such deception is sinful, is it not ?” 
“ I do not know as it is,” Mrs. M. replied, 
as she turned to caress a little one who had 
been fondly dingiDg to his mamma, while 
Helen, bursting into tears, left the room. 
Again was the dagger thrust home to her 
aching heart,—the love, the name of which 
poets for ages have sung, all unmeauing to 
her. She might have dwelt too much upon 
her mother’s fate, and her own position ; yet 
had the love so sacredly cherished, been kind¬ 
ly and judiciously directed, surely this crush¬ 
ing sorrow of her life might have been spared. 
Had not that love been ruthlessly violated,— 
had her affection for her step-mother been 
claimed as due to one who cared for the 
motherless, generously would she have poured 
it forth. But to suppress natural affection 
and yearnings,—have no regard for the tie 
God instituted, seemed to her not only as 
cruelly unjust to that mother, but as charging 
God himself with folly. Did He so err that 
Ills creatures must set Him right? How 
often did she toss upon a sleepless couch, her 
pillow wet with scalding tears of agony, 
struggling with temptation, while they who 
uttered those careless words, of so little mean¬ 
ing to them, looked upon her melancholy face, 
and thanked God that they were differently 
constituted. Her tearful vigils, and the in¬ 
dulgence of her grief, began seriously to affect 
her physical strength, and at length a physi¬ 
cian w r as called to see her, who prescribed 
change of air and scene. To this Helen re¬ 
luctantly consented. Tier's was “a sorrow 
which throws its bleak shade alike o’er our 
joys and our woes,” and so worthless did life 
seem to her with the better feelings of her na¬ 
ture crushed, she cared little to prolong it: 
though to have those bitter words recalled, 
and peace and hope once more her own, she 
felt she would willingly die. The evening 
before the day fixed for her departure, she re¬ 
solved once more to visit the grave of her, 
affection for whose memory had been her 
crime. She had never been there since that 
never-to-be-forgotten time when first so cen-‘ 
sured, and now she must go by stealth that it 
be not again called forth. There, upon that 
neglected grave, she knelt, and gave vent to 
the pent-up emotions of her heart in violent 
weeping, until a blood vessel burst, and when 
they sought and found her there, the turf she 
was forbidden to water with tears, was stained 
with her blood. She was borne to her home 
apparently conscious, but unable to articulate, 
aud ere the morning dawned, her spirit re¬ 
turned to Him who gave it. 
A simple stone inscribed “ To Helen W., 
aged nineteen years,” marks the place of her 
repose ; and none who read the private record 
of her temptations and sorrows, traced by her 
own hand, will ever doubt again, that there 
is a tender chord in the heart of the mother¬ 
less child though bereaved in infancy, or that 
the rude sweeping of that chord, sent Helen 
W. to an early grave. 
m mill Iwntor. 
A Case of Forgery. —Deacon Clough took 
us quite “ off at the knees ” recently ; we con¬ 
fess it was a clever sell. 
“ Did you hear of the forgery yesterday?” 
said the Deacon, as we were passing his 
Noah’s ark. 
“Forgery?” says we. “No, who’s been 
been forging?” 
“ Well,” continued the Deacon, “ I don’t 
know that I ought to say anything about it 
—don’t like to talk about other people’s af¬ 
fairs—but it will soon be known I suppose. 
The fact is, there has been a heavy forgery 
committed by one of our oldest and most sub¬ 
stantial men.” 
“You don’t say so! How long has it 
been going on ?” says we. 
“ 0, for some years,” replied the Deacon. 
“Well who is the person ? Who are the 
parties ?” 
“ Daniel Emerson.” 
“ No ?” 
“ Yes, sir. lie’s been forging some of the 
largest cart and wagon wheels your ever saw !” 
We grabbed for an axe-helve, but the Dea. 
con had vanished. 
A celebrated comedian arranged with the 
green grocer, ODe Berry, to pay him quarterly; 
but the grocer sent home his account long 
before the quarter was due. The comedian in 
great wrath called upon the grocer, laboring 
under the impression that his credit was 
doubted, and said : “ I say here's a pretty mul, 
Berry ; you’ve sent in your bill, Berry, before 
it was due, Berry; vour father the elder Berry, 
wouldn’t have been such a goose, Berry. But 
you ueed not look so black, Berry, for I don’t 
care a straw, Berry, aud shan’t pay you till 
Christmas, Berry, 
W e have heard of cool things, but never 
anything cooler than the following :—The 
laualord of a hotel at Whitehall called a 
boarder to him one day, and said : 
“ Look ’o here! I want you to pay your 
board-bill— and you must. I’ve asked you 
for it often enough ; and 1 tell you now, that 
you don’t leave my house till you pay it I” 
“ Good !” said his lodger ; “ just put that 
in writing ; make a regular agreement of it; 
I’ll stay with you as long as I live!”— 
Knickerbocker. 
Jones stepped up to a gentleman who was 
engaged in conversation with about a dozen 
others, and said :—“ It seems to me I have 
seen your physiognomy somewhere, before, but 
cannot imagine where.” “Very likely,” he 
replied, “ I have been keeper of a prison for 
twenty years.” 
An Irishman taken insensible from the 
ruins of a recent railroad smash-up near 
Dunkirk, New York, after awaking to con¬ 
sciousness, said :—“ By the powers, an’ wasn’t 
it a Know Nothing I was for a few moments, 
gintlemen?” 
The editor of the Louisville Times says 
the shape of a kiss is e/?'ptical. This must be 
derived from the sensation one experiences 
when enjoying the luxury, for it is certainly 
a lip tickle. 
31<)beHi8eh)ei)fs. 
MORRISON’S SHINGLE MACHINE. 
For Riving, Shaving and Jointing Shingles, capable of 
manufacturing 25,000 to 50,000 Shingles per day, work¬ 
ing thorn with the grain or fibres of the wood—being far 
superior to those which are sawed or cut across the 
grain. For Rights or Machines, apply to GATENS b 
VAUGHAN, Binghamton, N. Y., where tho Machine is 
now on exhibition. Address orders for Machines to 
ISAAC WILLIS, Rochester, N. Y. 285-3t 
E. T. WHITNEY. 
DAGUERREOTYPIST, 
ash 
DEALER IN DAGUERREOTYPE GOODS, 
WotriD respectfully inform Daguerrian Artists, that he 
has recently purchased and has now for sale, at whole¬ 
sale or retail, a new and 
Complete Assortment of Daguerreotype Cases, 
Plates, &c., &c., 
Bought for cash, previous to the late advance in prices. 
The Goods have been selected with great caro, and from 
his knowledge of the wants of Aitists, ho is confident he 
can give good satisfaction to all who may purchase of 
him. Nothing will ho offered as a good article until 
known to be such by actual experiment. 
Advice concerning Daguerreotyping cliterfvlly given .— 
Orders carefully and promptly filled. Please call and 
examine his assortment, which will be sold low for cash. 
E. T. WHITNEY, 
No. 6, Gould Buildings, (14 State Street.) 
Rochester, Juno, 1855. 285-4t 
BRITANNIA AND PLATED WARE. 
Smith b Co., Proprietors of the Albany Britannia 
Works, and Silver Plating establishment, most respect¬ 
fully call the attention of the public to tlieir choice and 
varied stock of Britannia and Silver Plated Ware, manu¬ 
factured from the best materials, by most accomplished 
workmen, aud sold at wholesale on the most reasonable 
terms. 
The Britannia which we use is a compound originally 
proparod by us, aftor much expensive experimenting, 
and is acknowledged t» bo the best article known. From 
it we manufacture Tea Setts, Urns, Pitchers, Communion 
Ware, Candlesticks, Castor Frames, Ac., Ac., finished in 
the most perfect manner. 
f Our plated stock embraces the choicest articles in Bri¬ 
tannia, put up plain or richly embossed as may be dc- 
sfrod. Also, plated with pure silver on genuine Albata 
and Germau silvor. all sizes and styles of Toa, Dessert, 
and Table Spoons ; Gravy Oyster, and Soup Ladles ; 
Cream, Dessert, and Butter Knives, &c., be., warranted 
equal to any in the market of the class mentioned. 
Purchasers of Britannia should always inquire for 
Smith k Co.’s Ware, and examine the same before pur¬ 
chasing other and inferior articles. Merchants are re¬ 
quested to call at our office and sample rooms. Circu¬ 
lars sent gratis, on application, and ordors promptly 
filled. SMITH & CO., 
285-3t 542 Broadway, Albany, N. k Y. 
KETCHUM’S PATENT MOWING MACHINE. 
Kktchum’s Mower for 1855, with wrought iron frames 
and finger bars, improved guards and pitman, knives of 
superior quality, the adjustable boxing to keep the gear¬ 
ing in its proper mash, a good easy spring seat, and the 
substantial manner in which overy part of the machines 
aro made, makes them tho most simple, durable and per¬ 
fect machine in the world. 
The weight of the machine has been lessened, which, 
with the improvements made on them, makes their draft 
very much loss, so that ono span of horses can easily 
cut from ten to fifteen acres per day. We have a Reaper 
Attachment on an entire new principle, which does not, 
in any manner affect tho perfection of the Mower, for 
which Fifteen Dollars Extra will he chargod, or if so or¬ 
dered, the machine will bo sent so that the Attachment 
can be had hereafter. Tho machines are sold, and war¬ 
ranted to bo well mado, and capable of cutting from ten 
to fifteen acres of any kind of grass per day, whether 
heavy or light, wet or dry, lodged or standing , and do it as 
well as can he dono by scythe. They will also cut tho 
same amount of grain per day. 
The above warranty will be strictly adhered to by us, 
if directions for use are followed. 
All letters of enquiry promptly answered, aud orders 
filled same day as received. 
Price of Mower, $110—either wood or iron frame, 
(both have iron finger bars, and all the other improve¬ 
ments. HOWARD & CO., 
285-3t Manufacturers and Proprietors, Buffalo, N. Y. 
THE BEST LAND PLASTER! 
“ I have analyzed a specimen of 1 Vienna Piaster or 
Gypsum,’ and also specimens of ; Cayuga 1 and ‘ Ononda¬ 
ga Piaster,’ and find them to yield respectively as fol¬ 
lows : 
VIENNA PLASTER. 
Sulphate of Lime,.70.92 
Carbonate of Lime,. 4.45 
Carbonate of Magnesia,. 1.50 
Alumina,. 2.46 
Silica,... 1.84 
Protoxide of Iron,. 21 
Water,.18.33 
Loss,. 29 
100.00 
JAMES R. CHILTON, M. D., Chemist. 
New York, March 19, 1854. 
ONONDAGA PLASTER. 
Sulphate of Lime, .fS.20 
Sulphuret of IJme,. 1.01 
Carbonate of Lime,. 6.30 
Carbonate of Magnesia,. 1.60 
Alumina,. 2.S0 
Silica,. 2.46 
Water,.22.10 
Ix>ss,. 24 
CAYUGA PLASTER. 
Sulphate of Lime,.50.40 
Sulphuret of Lime,. 2.00 
Carbonate of Lime,.18.00 
Carbonate of Magnesia,. 3.80 
Alumina,. 4.00 
Silica,.... 4.40 
Protoxide of Iron. 32 
Water.16.50 
Loss,. 48 
100.00 
JAMES R. CHILTON, M. D.,.Chemist. 
New York, April 2, 1852.” 
It appears froiti tho above analysis that tho “ Vienna 
Piaster” is superior for land to that of tho Cayuga or 
Onondaga, inasmuch as it contains tho largest p'er cent- 
age of the “ Sulphate of Lime,” which is the most bene¬ 
ficial property in Land Plaster. 
This Plaster is kept constantly on hand at Vienna, Pitts- 
ford, Fishers, Victor, Canandaigua and Qeneva. 283-4t. 
JOHN Ij. FISH, 
STORAGE, FORWARDING AND COMMISSION, 
33 <f: 35 Boody Block, Exchange St., Itochester, 
DEALER in 
WATER LIME, PLASTER, GRAIN, FLOUR, PORK, 
LARD, SALT, Ac., Ac. 
Goons forwarded by Railroad, Steamboat, or Canal 
Routes to all parts of United States and Canada. 
r 1K*L. Storage in fire proof buildings. Insurance Agency. 
Mark goods care of JOHN L. FISH. 
References. —Ashley, Jones A Co., Lloyd st.; Jas. M. 
Fish, Ohio st., Buffalo. [2S3-41] 
THE EXCELSIOR HORSE POWER 
Has been vory thoroughly testod, in tho prosence of a 
number of mechanics and farmers, and pronounced a 
vi:i:y superior machine. The fastenings or couplings for 
the band wheel, Ac., cannot possibly get loose, as 
is often the case with many other Powers, and it i3 
warranted to do all work any reasonable person can re¬ 
quire of a Horse Power, or the machine ca>i he returned at 
the manufacturer’s expense. 
This macliino is manufactured exclusively by RICH¬ 
ARD II. PEASE, at tho Excolsior Agricultural Works, 
Warohouso and Seed Store, old stand, 369 A 371 Broad¬ 
way, Albany, N. Y. 283-8t 
HENRY C. VAIL, 
CONSULTING AGRICULTURIST, NEWARK, N. J., 
Wnx visit farms, and give suitable advice for their im¬ 
provement, fouildod Oil AN ANALYSIS OF THE SOIL Slid a 
statement of its mechanical condition. Communications 
addressed as abovo, will meet with prompt attention. 
Inferences —Prof. Jas. J. Mapes ; R. L. Pell, Esq., Ulster 
Co., N. Y.; J. J. Scollleld, Esq., Morristown, N. J.; Hon. 
John Nowton Gould, Hudson, N. Y. 272-Ot 
