MOORE’S RURAL NEW-YO RKER: AN AGRICULTURAL AND FAMILY NEWSPAPER. 
odual. 
[Written for Moore’s Rural New-Yorker.] 
CLOUDS AND SUNLIGHT. 
To a Young Friend — By E. Webster. 
Do not look for joy and gladness 
Free from sorrow, pain and care, 
Darksome days and hours of sadness, 
Come to mortals every where ; 
Providence in the allotment, 
Mixed with'pleasures, evils rife; 
Sickness, suffering, disappointment, 
Crowd the path of human life I 
But the hopeful heart, and cheerful, 
Takes from sorrow half its sting; 
Smiles commingled with the tearful, 
Rainbow tints o’er darkness lling: 
Heaven bestows on those a blessing, 
Who unmurmuring bear their part; 
And, the ills of life redressing, 
Shed' bright sunlight o’er the heart! 
taT'v*'*.r\r w v * 
THE UNFORGIVEN. 
One of Life’s Lessons. 
BY FLORENCE MARCH. 
“ It is the last time, Edward,” said a voice 
of strange calmness, “and if you refuse me 
your obedience, you are no longer my son.” 
With these words, the haughty woman fixed 
her dark eyes earnestly on his lace, while her 
imperious nature displayed itself in every 
movement. So cold, so stern, she sat there, 
with no trace of that sweet womanly impulse, 
or the deep, fond love of a mother, on the high 
forehead, round which the raven bands were 
woven in such graceful waves. Well might 
Edward Harris feel that his appeal was hope¬ 
less, and yet he spoke, and firmly; though a 
deep paleness gathered over his noble face. 
“ Mother, hear me yet once more. As you 
have said, it is the last time. You will cast 
me out from your heart, and close upon me 
the doors of your house. You will take from 
me the rich inheritance of my father, and send 
me forth a beggar, because I cannot perjure 
myself at God’s holy altar, by promising un¬ 
changing love and lidelity to one while my 
heart and honor are in the keeping of another. 
I cannot wed Laura Morgan. In her cold na¬ 
ture, lean find no answering voice of sympa¬ 
thy; for the temple so beautiful without has no 
sacred fire within. My heart and hand are 
pieJged to another, aud I must redeem the 
pledge. Oh, mother, if you would but look 
upon her again— n you would but hear of her 
goodness and purity, from those to whom she 
has been a ministering angel, you would 
surely love her; and for her own sake!” 
Still she heard him, without one shade of 
emotion on her face, and her voice was as firm 
and scornful as ever, as she said: 
“And so, Edward Harris will turn from lux¬ 
ury and ease to poverty and woe; and all for 
a pretty sewing girl. Pray, where did your 
||> paragon learn her purity and goodness! From 
her drunken father, perhaps.” 
“ They were the gift of her richly endowed 
nature,’’replied the young man, while a slight 
flush crept over his cheek, “aud the circum¬ 
stances of her wretched lot but showed them 
in brighter colors. Mother, why did you send 
for her, why did you place her in almost angel 
loveliness before me continually, if not to win 
me to love her. Think yet again, mother, and 
do not cast your only son from you. Let her 
be dear for my sake, until she wins your love 
for her own.” 
“Edward Harris, listen to me.” 
She stood before him now, with her queenly 
form thrown back, and her dark eyes flashing 
keenly upon him. Her face was calm, but very 
pale, and the folds of her crimson velvet robe 
quivered as she spoke: 
“Years ago 1 was young and beautiful— 
perhaps I Should say, proud also. I loved Al¬ 
gernon Lee, wildly,—deeply,—aud he was cold 
to me. I saw him bowing at other shrines, 
lavishing the gems of his rich intellect before 
those le33 worthy of them than I. I was wild 
with agony, and I sought him,—poured out the 
burning torrent of my love at his feet, and sued 
for his in return. With a stern, haughty look 
he regarded me, and without one word of reply 
left me, with that, scornful smile still upon his 
lips. I was young,” and her lips quivered, 
“ full of impulses, which guided aright would 
have made me a fond, affectionate woman; but 
that hour froze my heart into ice, and from 
that time I have lived only for revenge. Step 
by step I have watched his downward path, 
and exulted in his ruin. Through long years 
I never lost sight of him, but saw him going 
down, still down .to misery. It was to add a 
more intense suffering, that I brought his 
daughter here; that he might still more feel 
h's degradation, when he depended on me for 
the bread he ate. Edward, you are my only 
child, — my only hope,—but I would rather 
see you in your grave than that you should 
wed his daughter.” 
The crimson flush faded from her cheek, and 
her voice grew stern and cold again, as the 
words fell from her lips. 
Her son still stood before her: the change¬ 
ful expression of his face testifying to his sur¬ 
prise. In a moment he spoke eagerly: 
“But why should the punishment due the 
guilty fall on the head of the innocent? Sure¬ 
ly, the cup of your revenge is full already, with¬ 
out sacrificing her to its fury. Oh, mother, 
look on her pure, innocent face, arid forgive 
the father for the sake of the child.” 
“ Were she thrice as beautiful, were she 
thrice as pure, you should not marry her.— 
Here are the broad lands of your father; here 
all the luxury of your early home. Will you 
leave it and go to ruin with her? Do not 
think that I shall relent; for the hour that 
sees you bound to that girl, sees all thisw’ealth 
and your mother’s love pass from you, and— 
forever.” 
He looked on her earnestly, and his face 
though vejy pale, had a firm, resolute expres¬ 
sion settling on every feature. His voice was 
clear, though very scornful. 
“ And this is your resolve, mother. Is there 
no appeal?” 
“None,” she answered, deliberately. 
He came slowly to the spot where she was 
still standing, folded her to his bosom, pressed 
his lips to the white forehead, and with the 
murmured words, “ May you forgive yourself, 
mother, as freely as 1 forgive you,” he was gone. 
She stood listening to the sounds of his re¬ 
treating footsteps, and her features worked 
convulsively, and after a moment the smile 
came to her lips again with the words, “ Fool¬ 
ish boy, but he will soon be back again,” she 
turned to the silver-framed mirror, and stood 
adjusting the braids of her hair, apparently un¬ 
conscious of all the suffering she had caused. 
Edward Harris left his mother’s presence 
with every hope crushed in his heart, and 
turned his back upon his princely home, with 
a chill feeling of despondency, creeping over 
his whole frame, lie walked rapidly on, un¬ 
heeding whither he went. At length with a 
more quiet step, he proceeded down a narrow 
strfeet, stopped at the door of a small house, 
and lifting the latch passed in. A soft, clear 
voice fell on his ears, as he went up the stair¬ 
case, warbling a simple Scottish melody. His 
face brightened still more, when he stood with¬ 
in the room in which the singer sat 
She was bending over her work, and did not 
see him, and he paused once more to look oil 
loveliness which had grown so very dear to 
him. A sunbeam rested in the brown curls 
which clustered round her pure white forehead, 
tinging them with gold; the dark lashes shaded 
soft blue eyes, with a deep, quiet tenderness 
becalmed within their depths, that only rests 
there with a happy heart; her features were 
small and regular, aud the extreme whiteness 
of her skin would have seemed , almost sickly, 
had not the rich crimson of health rested so 
rosily on her rounded cheek. A moment, and 
the little hand was a prisoner in the loving- 
clasp, as Edward seated himself beside her. 
The morning light came through the thick, 
crimson curtains, and bathed in its subdued ra¬ 
diance, the interior of Mrs. Harris’s dressing 
room. Into the white hearts of the japonicas, 
nestling among its white leaves, it cast a rosy 
hue—crept over the sculptured limbs of the 
Hebe in the corner, and gave a richer tinge to 
the lady’s cheek, as she sat in the luxurious 
depths of an easy chair. A week had passed, 
since in that very room she had parted with 
her son, and a troubled look began to take the 
place of her usually self-satisfied expression.— 
Even now she was questioning herseff as she 
sat alone. Once or twice she arose and ner¬ 
vously paced the room; but at length the old, 
haughty expression came back to her face, and 
she resumed her seat and the book that had 
fallen upon the floor in her hasty walk. A 
step sounded behind her, and a note was placed 
in her hands. She broke the seal carelessly, 
and read: 
“ Mother, I have gone as you commanded 
me, never to look upon your face again. I 
have not willingly disobeyed you, bul you 
bade me do that at which my whole soil re¬ 
volted, and I could not. 1 am married. Mv 
wife, Linda, stands beside me, aud as I look 
into her pure eyes, more than ever comes back 
the wish that you had known her better, for 
you must have loved her. My path is hence-, 
forth one of sufferings and trials, but with His 
aid, who is above all, they shall be bravely 
met We are going to San Francisco, hoping 
to find in that goiden land the plenty which is 
denied us here. Farewell, mother, a long fare¬ 
well. I have not thus’written to reproach you, 
but in hope that my words may lead you to 
look more tenderly upon your son, 
Edward LI arris.” 
She waved the servant from her with an im¬ 
perious motion, and sat still until the door 
closed upon his retreating form. And then 
her limbs relaxed, and she fell heavily to the 
floor. Every sense was quickened by the keen¬ 
est agony, and she writhed upon the rich car¬ 
pet, weeping w’arm tears above the senseless 
scroll. 
Hours went by in the fierce strife—hours 
that were ages in the suffering. The daylight 
faded but she heeded it not, and far into the 
night broke the sound of her stifled sobs. 
The moonlight grew paler, and disappeared 
before the dawn of day; but on what a chang¬ 
ed face the sunbeams fell. She started as she 
passed before a mirror, and then turned away 
with a low, wailing cry. Then she stopped in 
her walk, pressed both hands convulsively 
above her heart, crushed back the tears with 
her heavy lashes, and stood quivering in every 
limb with the effort. Five, ten minutes went 
by, and then she unclasped her hands with a 
heavy sigh, moved quietly to her dressing-table, 
touched the silver bell, and when the waiting 
woman answered the summons, proceeded 
quietly to her toilet There was no haste, no 
quivering of the nerves. 
The rich bands of hair were folded as smooth¬ 
ly as ever around the graceful head, and every 
fold of the heavy dress disposed with the same 
care—the bracelet and the brooch were as 
calmly clasped, and, save the pallor of the 
beautiful face, and a suffering expression around 
the lips, there were no traces of her-recent 
struggle. As calm, as proud as ever, she ap¬ 
peared to the world, but from that hour her 
son’s name never passed her lips, nor were any 
found bold enough to mention it in her hear¬ 
ing. 
beauty as she, mistress of the revels, who sat 
now alone. Time had not touched her face or 
figure, save to impart a richer bloom to her 
cheek—a more graceful symmetry to her form. 
The snowy satin robe that shaded her shoul¬ 
ders, was not whiter than the neck upon which 
it rested, and the diamonds which gleamed in 
her raven hair, were not more lustrous than 
her flashing eyes. She sat seemingly in deep 
thought, listlessly folding and unfolding her 
jeweled hands, while a iook of deep sadness 
overspread her features. 
At length she arose, and the full lips curved 
into their usual smile, as she caught the reflec¬ 
tion of her form in the long mirror; but as she 
turned away, she saw one of the papers of the 
day that lay upon the table. She took it up, 
and carelessly scanning the columns read: 
“We regret to announce to his numerous 
friends in this city, the sudden death on ship¬ 
board, of Mr. Edward Harris, late of San 
Francisco.” 
The light was gone from those proud eyes 
now. One long, thrilling shriek, and all was 
still. They found her lying in that deathly 
swoon, the jewels flashing in mockery above 
her pallid brow, while from her lips, and down 
the corsage of her snowy robe, a crimson cur¬ 
rent was slowly stealing. They laid the strick¬ 
en woman on a couch, and many a face grew 
pale with fear as they looked upon that un- 
mo ving form. There was a bustle of depart¬ 
ing guests, and then the dwelling w;is hushed 
aud still. Through the gorgeous, flower- 
wreathed saloons, where so lately the voice of 
mirth had been, only a few frightened servants 
crept noiselessly along, speaking in under-tones, 
and starting at every sound. In the darkened 
room above the hours went wearily by, as they 
watched that face, gleaming out from the vel¬ 
vet cushion on which it rested, watching in 
vain for any token of life. 
At length the heavy stillness was broken.— 
There was a tread of many feet, low voices, 
seemingly subdued by some fearful event, and 
then in the parlor bejow a burthen was laid 
down. 
A moment’s pause, and the footsteps went 
softly out, and the door shut with a dull sound. 
The noise came muffled through the rich hang¬ 
ing, but a slight convulsion passed over the 
pale lace of the sufferer—her dark eyes unclos¬ 
ed, and with a great effort she spoke: 
“ Has he come?” 
“ My dear lady, be very calm,” said the old 
physician, with tears faliiug on liis cheeks, “he 
has come.” 
She arose from the bed, stepped lightly to 
the floor, and passed through the doorway be¬ 
fore they could prevent her. Down the stair¬ 
case and through the hall, with a quick, uneven 
step she weut, and stood without the room 
where they had laid him. She saw the glare 
of many lamps, but they only lighted her to one 
object. / 
There it stood, the gloomy centre of all the 
desolation that fell upon her who gazed there¬ 
on. She moved slowly forward until she look¬ 
ed upon the face of her only child. Death had 
not marred his glorious beauty. And beside 
him was another—her fragile form resting on 
the loving arm that had encircled it through 
life—Linda lay in her young beauty. Her 
long, browii ringlets mingled with his dark 
curls, like gleaming, golden threads; the bright 
features were very calm, and around the mouth 
there was a celestial smile. One little baud 
was clasped within his icy fingers; the other 
lay pure and white upon his bosom. So had 
they lain in death’s embrace, so reverent hands 
placed them in their coffined sleep, and so she 
looked upon them, that wretched mother. 
The moments went by unheeded as she gazed 
upon them, l# not a tear dimmed her glazed eye, 
not a sigh told of the fierce agony within. By- 
and-by her grasp oh the side of the coffin re¬ 
laxed, and she fell heavily backward, with a 
low, heart-broken moan upon her blood-stained 
lips. 
Edward Harris and his gentle wife were 
borne from that proud mansion, and weeping 
friends laid them beneath the sculptured stone, 
but she knew it not For days there was no 
sound, no consciousness, save that constant 
Wail. Like the plaint of a crushed spirit it 
went fearfully up, till the fierce delirium of fe¬ 
ver came upon her. Months passed before she 
arose from that bed of suffering, but oh! how 
changed was she then! The deep lines of ag¬ 
ony were stamped as if in marble upon her 
brow, and a look of premature age had settled 
upon her face. But there was a geutle, sor¬ 
rowing expression in her eyes, never there be¬ 
fore, for as she looked along the dark pathway 
where her beloved had trodden, the angels 
folded back the gates of life, aud the light of 
heaven streamed upon her soul. 
The places that have known her, know her 
now no more. By the bedside of the poor, in 
the dark, crowded alleys, where crime and suf¬ 
fering meet together, her form may be seen.— 
The blessings of the lowly rest upon her head, 
their grateful tears would wash away all sor¬ 
row from her pathway, but in her stricken 
heart there ever murmurs, like an accusing 
spirit, “May you forgive yourself, mother, as 
freely as I forgive you,” and that memory often 
banishes the smile from her lips. 
The peace that rests upon her furrowed brow 
is not of this world. And so she walks on, 
waitings till the angels shall lift the crown of 
thorns from her bleeding forehead, and grant 
her a re-union with the unfor given .— Olive 
Branch. 
mtfjj's Corner. 
ILLUSTRATED REBUS, Ml. 81. 
a lr 
%e 
Jggp" Answer in two weeks. 
[Written for Moore’s Rural New-Yorker.] 
MISCELLANEOUS ENIGMA. 
I am composed of 14 words and 60 letters. 
My 2, 8, 20, 15, 53,28, 30, 3, 45, 17,25, 56 is a 
stratagem of war. 
My 42, 23, 34, 26, 60, 49, 33, 46, 41, 1 is high 
sounding. 
My 51, 47, 16, 12, 54, 13, 52, 7, 44 is step by 
step. 
My 59, 3, 48, 4, 32,6, 31, 38,36 is living in the 
country. 
My 5, 11,22, 18, 10, 40,14,27,58 is a plant. 
My 19, 39, 55, 37, 9, 44 is untenable. 
My 57, 29, 43, 50 is a part. 
My 24 is forty-nine inches. 
My 35 is tip beginning and ending of a word 
which signifies elevation. 
My whole is a truthful and eloquent saying. 
Answer next week. 
[For the Rural Xew-Yorker.] 
Mathematical Problem.— If seven pedestrians 
start at the same time and point, to travel around 
a circular plot of ground one hundred and twen¬ 
ty-eight feet in circumference, and travel re¬ 
spectively, three, five, six, seven, nine, ten, eleven 
feet per minute, at what time will they all be 
together at point of starting ? 
Answer next week. 
The Nine-Digit Question.— By two additions 
the nine digits will make just a hundred. Ad¬ 
ding them all at once will never do it. Try on 
it for a week, and then, if you do not succeed, 
we will show you how it is done. t. 
DRILLING IN WHEAT. 
Moore’s Seed Planter, or Grain Drill. 
Patented July 2, 1850.—This valuable implement of 
husbandry, which has been thoroughly tested in many 
places, is use 1 for planting Wheat, Rye, Corn, Oats, 
Bah ley, Beans, Ac. it operates equally well on all kinds 
ol land, and is not injured by coming in contact with 
rocks, roots, Ac.; and it is believed, is superior to any oilier 
implement of the kind in use, as may be seen by the testi¬ 
monials nt many of the best farmers in the State. There 
are several advantages in drilling over broad-cast sowing, 
among which.are these :—It is most expeditious; it saves 
labor, which is money; it completes the process of seeding 
wherever it moves; and experience lias proved that more 
grain is obtained, ot a heavier berry, and with less seed 
owing to its eing covered at any required depth, where 
every kernel has moisture and a chance to germinate. 
Drilling \\ heat.— Edward Stabler, in iiis admirable es¬ 
say on the advantage of drill seeding, states that alter ex¬ 
amining its results on some. 800 or 1,000 acres, besides lai ge 
experience on his own land, lie tiuds there is not a siniAe 
instance where it has not proved the most profitable”— 
Fimt, in the saving of seed, and secondly in the iucr. used 
product of the grain, amounting to from on- to seven 
bushels to the acre. He had known the increase, in one 
case, by careful comparison of the two modes, to amount 
to nine bushels per acre iu favor of'drilling. He relates an 
interesting incident:—A vender offered a drill for the in¬ 
crease in a crop ot 50 acres ol wheat, to be determined by 
sowing a few strips bro id-cast for comparison ; but before 
the harvest, the 'aimer preferred paying the hundred dol¬ 
lars for the price of a drill, with interest. (Jn carefully 
ascertaining the increase, he found it to be one hundred 
and fifty-three bushels.— Albany Cultivator. 
Extract from the N. Y. Tribune, Feb. 3,1853, article on In¬ 
dustrial Exhibitions at the World’s Fair, Loudon : 
“Those who understand the subject, know that at least 
one-tbird of the seed may be saved, and a tenth added to 
the ciop by drilling, as contrasted with the old, slovenly 
process ot sowing by’ hand. The annual saving by the 
general adoption of drilling in this country, would be equal 
in value to all the gold we receive from California.” 
The highest premiums have been awarded to this Dril 1 at 
the Agricultural Fairs in Delaware, at Philadelphia, Balti¬ 
more, Detroit, in Maryland, and at various County Fairs iu 
Pennsylvania, Ohio, Michigan, and other States. 
TESTIMONIALS. 
To E. W. Hudnut A Co.:—The Grain Drill which wesev- 
erally purchased of you iu 1852, works to our entire satis¬ 
faction. Its simplicity, and certainty of distribution, to¬ 
gether with its cheapness, commend it in preference to’any 
Drill with which we arc acquainted. Samuel Lewi- Fsq 
York, Liv. Co.. N. Y.; Wm. W. Fletcher, Jr., Ghas. Ilazel- 
ton, Elijah Armstrong, Geo. W. Uhl, Learning Clark, G. n- 
eseo; Chas. Hendershott, Andrew Boyd, Kich’U Johnson 
Grovelaid. ’ 
Extract of a letter'from Mr. McCrone, near Newcastle 
Delaware “ Your Drill stands unrivalled, as is admitted 
by all Farmers in the neighborhood, that have seen it iu 
operation.” 
“ This is to certify, that we, the undersigned, have used 
Lewis Moore’s Improved Grain Drill, and we believe that 
for simplicity, durability, cheapness, ease, speed and regu¬ 
larity of sowing, it surpasses anything of the kind hereto¬ 
fore in use among us, and we do recommend it to farmers 
as being a machine the best adapted to their wants. ’_ 
Signed. Wm. Linville, Lancaster Co., Penn., and thirteen 
other fanners. 
Orders will be received for these machines by the sub¬ 
scribers, who have purchased the right to make and sell 
them iu the Counties of Monroe, Ontario, Wy oming, and 
Livingston. 
mSE* 
Answer to Illustrated Rebus No. 29._ The 
mahogany bridge on the Nicaragua route is a hol¬ 
low log. 
Answer to Mathematical Question in No. 28 
A. travels 60 miles, B. travels SO miles. 
Answer to Miscellaneous Enigma in No. 28, 
A Miscellaneous or Geographical Enigma. 
11 *'■ * +' * * * * *■' v * f \ ** *• 
Obeying Orders. —“ Edward,”said his moth¬ 
er to a boy of eight, who was trundling hoop 
in the front yard, “ Edward, you musn’t go 
out of that gate into the street.” 
“ No, ma, I won’t,” was the reply. 
A few minutes afterward his mother had oc¬ 
casion to go to the window. To her surprise 
she saw Edward in the street, engaged in the 
very edifying employment of manufacturing 
dirt pies. 
“Didn’t I tell you,” said she, angrily, “not to 
go through the gate?” 
“ Well, I didn’t, mother,” was the very satis¬ 
factory reply. “ I climbed over the fence." 
Three years had passed; again Mrs. Harris 
sat alone in her chamber. The light streamed 
through shades of ground glass, until subdued 
by the same medium, it fell, with a dreamy, | 
moonlight radiance over her figure. The 
breath of many flowers was on the air, and the 
soft measure of music stole tremblingly thro’ 
the room, while ever and anon the ringing 
laughter of some of the gay throng below, 
came softened to the ear. Many a fairy form 
flitted through the dance, many a bright face 
“ blushed at the praise of its own loveliness!” 
but were as unapproachable iu their proud 
A Word to Boys. —Who is respected?— 
It is the boy who conducts himself well; who 
is honest, diligent and obedient in all things.— 
It is the boy who is making an effort continu¬ 
ally to respect his father and obey him in 
whatever he may direct to be done. It is the 
boy who is kind to other little boys, who re¬ 
spects age, and never gets into difficulties and 
quarrels with his compauions. It is the boy 
who leaves no effort untried to improve him¬ 
self in knowledge and wisdom every day; who 
is busy and active in endeavoring to do good 
acts towards others. Show me a boy who 
obeys his parents, who is diligent, who lias re¬ 
spect for age, and if he is not respected and 
beloved by every one, then there is no such 
thing as truth iii the world. 
A SpEEcn.—“ Fellow Citizens — I am no 
speech maker, but what I say I’ll do. I’ve 
lived among you twenty years. If I have 
shown myself a clever fellow, you know it with¬ 
out a speech. If I’m not a clever fellow, you 
know that, too, and wouldn’t forget it with a 
speech. I’m a candidate for the legislature; if 
you think I’m the clear grit, vote for me; if 
you think Major R. of a better stripe than I 
am, vote for him. The fact is, either of us 
will make a good Representative!” 
A GENTLEMAN was promenading a fashiona¬ 
ble street with a bright little boy at his side, 
when the little fellow cried out, 
“ O, pa! there goes an editor!” 
“ Hush, hush!” said the father; “don’t make 
sport of the poor mail—God only knows what 
you may come to yet!” 
A negro being caught stealing from a hen¬ 
roost, excused himself by saying, “Dat lie only 
came dar to see if de chickens sleep wid dar 
eyes open.” 
“ 1 am going to the post-office, Bob, shall I 
enquire for you?” “ Well, yes, if you have a 
mind to, but I don’t think you will find me 
there.” 
A Western editor says:—“ A child was run 
over by a wagon three years old, cross-eyed, 
with pantalets on, which never spoke after¬ 
ward. ’ 
A country paper lately got up an account 
of a lire, headed,—“Destructive fire—eleven 
buildings, ten horses and one cow iu ruins.” 
PURE WINE. 
The Subscriber has on hand between sixty and seventy 
barrel's of Wine from one to four years old, manufactured 
by himself from native American grapes, which lie offers 
to Physicians, Druggists and others, lor Medical or Com¬ 
munion purposes. Warranted pure — not containing a 
particle ot drugs of any kind, or of spirit except that caus¬ 
ed by fermentation. The impression lias gone abroad that 
Wine can not be made that will keep, unless some spirit 
be added—but it is a mistake. 1 have made Wine from the 
grape, where I now reside, between twenty aud thirty \oars, 
and have never used a drop of ardent spirit. I have kept 
it until twelve years of age, when it was perfectly fine. 
It is well known that nearly all the Wines of commerce 
are made up of materials entirely foreign to the grape, 
containing many things ven deleterious to health, which 
persons with weak nerves and delicate health, requiring a 
cordial, can not use. Many have informed me that after 
trying in vain to use Foreign Wine when recommended, 
they have procured Wine of me, and it answered all the 
purposes for which Wine was needed. 
1 have six or seven different kinds of Wine, made from 
as many different grapes,—among which are the Catawba, 
Isabella, Port, Muscat, Early York, Empire, Ac.; also young 
Vine Roots of the above varieties for sale. 
My Wine is sold also by W. R. Walker, Druggist, Gene- 
seo, N. Y.; Whitney A Kell igg, H. W. Miller, Mt. Morris; 
Dr. D. D. Da} ton, Lima; O. A. Chapman, Canandaigua; 
Edward Niles, Dunsviile; S. U. Spring, Brockport; Dr. D. 
Campbell, Caledonia; S. S. Bryant, I.eKoy; Lansing A 
Judd, Warsaw; S. A B. K. Higgins, Perry; M H. Dales, 
Cuylerville; J. Bryan A Co., Rochester; Dr. O. Davis, At¬ 
tica. G. H. Taylor, Shelburn Falls, Massachusetts; Bid- 
weli & Woodbury, Adrian, Michigan. 
SAMUEL WARREN. 
York, Livingston Co., N. Y., July 5, 1854. 236-4t 
FARM FOR SALE. 
The subscriber offers for sale the farm on which he now 
resides, situated in the town of Portage, Eiv. Co., N. Y. 
containing 109 acres. The farm is about 4 miles from the 
village of Nundn, 3 miles from the famous Portage Bridge, 
aud >4 mile from Hunt’s Hollow Station, on the Buffalo 
and N. Y. City Railroad,—within 14 hours ride of New 
York city and 2 hours of Buffalo. The soil is of the /irH 
quality, well suited to wheat or any crop usually raised in 
Western New York, and well watered. On the premises 
is a choice selection of fruit of the various kinds usually 
cultivated, in good bearing condition. The buildings are 
good and convenient Any one wishing to engage ivi the 
Nursery business, would liiid it a very desirable location, 
as the soil is admirably adapted to the culture of fruit 
trees and every variety of fruit. It will be sold on most 
reasonable terms—most of the purchase monev remaining 
8 or 9 years if desired. G. WING ° 
Hunt’s Hollow, Liv. Co., N. Y., July, 1854. 235^ 31 
CAVEATS.— Inventors and others desiring to apply for 
Caveats, are informed that all the necessary drawings and 
papers are prepared by the undersigned, with the utmost 
dispatch and on the most moderate terms. All other Pa¬ 
tent business promptly attended to. 
Persons wishing for information or advice relative to Pa¬ 
tents or Inventions, may at all times consult the under¬ 
signed without charge, either personally at his office, or by 
le'ter. ALFRED E. BEACH, 
Solicitor of American and Foreign Patents, People’s Pa¬ 
tent Office, 8(i Nassau st., New York. 235-4t 
PATENT AGENCY. 
Inventors can have their drawings and papers prepared 
under their own inspection, by applying to 
JOHN PHIN, C. A M. E. Agent for procuring and 
for the sale of Patents, lb Buffalo St., Rochester, N. Y. 
Particular attention paid to rejected applications, and 
to Chemical Patents. 
Will also send the claim of any invention patented with¬ 
in the last 14 years, on receipt of one dollar. Patent 
Rights for Salk. 235-tf 
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