^* 
MOORE’S RURAL NEW-YO RKER : AN AGRICULTURAL AND FAMILY NEWSPAPER, 
[Written for Moore’s Rural New-Yorker.] 
MEMORY. 
When youth’s fair hours have passed away, 
And each young joy has tied ; 
When oil bright hopeR, as yesterday, 
' Lie silent ’mong the dead; 
How sweet to dwell on each bright see 
That once we have enjoyed, 
To gaze, as erst, on skies serene, 
And taste joys unalloyed. 
As when on ocean's billows cast, 
Our shattered barque lies prone. 
And, ’mid the fierce and howling blast 
E’en hope has well uigh flown; 
Afi'ection’s chords around the soul 
Draw closer, in that hour, 
And o’er the sea of memory roll, 
Joys, with unwonted power. 
Thus when the fierce dark hours of gri» 
Our aching hearts roll o’er, 
And no kind hand with quick relief 
Comes to us as of yore ; 
How sweetly joys long gone, return, 
And cluster round the heart; 
While friendship’s altars newly burn. 
Fresh hope and life t’ impart. 
How fondly in life’s darksome day, 
When clouds are big with sorrow, 
And from on high no kindly ray 
Speaks of a glad to-morrow. 
Does mem’ry cherish pleasures past 
And joys of earlier years; 
Thus seeks to wash from cheeks the fast 
And bitter flowing tears. 
Ionia, Michigan, Nov. 1854. S. A. E. 
FINDING MONEY! 
OB, THE TEHPTATIOH RESISTED. 
William Carter arose from a fitful and un¬ 
easy slumber. The night had been cold and 
windy—such a night as December usually 
brings among the hills of New Hampshire — 
William’s bed was hard, and the cold wind had 
found its way through many a crack and crev¬ 
ice in his ruinous cottage; but he might have 
slept if his mind had been at ease. His wife 
was a delicate woman; toil and exposure had 
brought on a lingering illness, and she lay all 
night moaning with pain and shivering with 
cold. William arose, and having kindled a 
fire, went forth into the open air. The clouds 
were black and heavy, and the winds swept in 
gusts through the naked trees. Away in the 
distance the tops of the hills were already 
white with snow. He had engaged a day’s 
work on a neighboring farm; but it was use¬ 
less to go, the farmer would not work that 
day; so he turned away with a heavy step and 
entered his dwelling. The children were soon 
stirring, and the pale, suffering mother rose 
from her couch to prepare the morning meal. 
A few potatoes were boiled for the father and 
children, and a cup of gruel for herself. 
William Carter and his wife had seen better 
days; but sickness and misfortune, the fraud of 
some, and the cruelty of others had driven 
them forth from their pleasant home [which 
he had spent the strength of his early manhood 
to purchase, and forced him to take shelter in 
their present miserable abode. 
“ Why can't we have some bread and but¬ 
ter?’’ said little James, a child six years old, 
pushing away the potato which was offered.— 
“We used to have bread and pies; and I don’t 
want potatoes all the time." 
An expression of agony passed oyer the 
father’s face. Bitter feelings were rushing 
through his heart—murmurings against Prov¬ 
idence—repining at his lot—unbelief in Cod. 
“ I would bear everything but this,” mur¬ 
mured he. “ I can bear toil, humiliation and 
want myself; but 1 cannot see my children pine 
for bread, and my wife shivering in this miser¬ 
able hovel! If there is a Cod, why does he 
suffer the rich to oppress the poor, and the 
strong to crush the weak? I feel sometimes like 
taking justice into my own hands, and with my 
own arm avenging my cause.” , 
But the storm was soon over. Softened by 
the tender, hopeful words of his afflicted wife, 
his bitterness of spirit passed away. His pov¬ 
erty and his wrongs were all forgotten, in the 
memory of his sinful anger and murmurings.— 
The spirit of other days returned—the divine 
triumphed over the human; and they bowed 
down before Cod, and the loving confidence of 
little children, casting all their cares on His 
mighty arm, and committing tfie future to his 
direction. 
A storm was evidently coming on outside. 
Already the snow began to fall; but there was 
not wood enough at the door to last two days, 
and William must go to his neighbor to get 
permission to cut a few trees, or at least to 
pick up the limbs that were lying about. He 
buttoned up his coat and went out. Already 
a thin white drapery lay over the bosom of the 
earth, twisted into graceful knots and wreaths. 
He stepped on something which moved beneath 
his foot—and, looking down he saw a large 
pocket-book half covered with snow. A sud¬ 
den flash of joy dashed through his heart.— 
Seizing it, he turned his face from the wind to 
examine the contents. There was a roll of 
bank-notes, which he unrolled and counted.— 
His first impulse was to secure the money and 
throw the pocket-book away. AVas it not his 
own? He had found it; had not heaven sent 
it in mercy as a relief to his wants—an answer 
to his prayers? How much good this money 
would do. Bread and shelter for his wife and 
for his little ones, whose cheeks were growing 
pale with want— whose merry smile was 
changed to anxious looks of care. Thus he 
reasoned; but conscience whispered, beware! 
Suffer not the love of gold to make a plague 
spot on thy heart! The money is not thine; 
and this may have been permitted as a trial of 
thy faith! 
But perhaps, he thought, I cannot find the 
owner—then it will be mine; honestly mine; 
and with the hope that it might contain no 
evidence of the ownership, he commenced ex¬ 
amining the pocket-book again. Mortal, con¬ 
demn him not too severely—sit not in hasty 
judgment on the heart of thy erring brother. 
Thus tempted, perhaps thine own would have 
been no better. But the examination left no 
room for doubt. There was the owner’s name, 
fully inscribed—the name of a rich merchant, 
with whom in days past, AVilliam had been 
acquainted. What a death-blow was this to 
his wild hopes! The vision of comforts, which 
had blessed him for a moment, as if in mock¬ 
ery, was snatched away, and he saw again the 
miserable hut, the pale wife, and hungry chil¬ 
dren. Dashing the pocket-book to the ground, 
he stood for a moment gazing on it. 
“Tempter! deceiver!” he exclaimed, “ why 
am I thus mocked and tantalized?” 
And then, as if a sudden thought had struck 
him, he picked it up, and stepped into a thick¬ 
et, which afforded a partial shelter from the 
storm, and seated himself on a fallen tree.— 
The elements were in commotion, but there 
was a fiercer conflict in his bosom. He sat 
there for more than an hour, the rushing wind 
and the fallen snow all unheeded; but when he 
rose up the conflict was passed, and the ex¬ 
pression of his face, though sad, was peaceful 
and resigned. 
That night, after the children were in bed, 
AVilliam produced the pocket-book, unrolled 
the bank uote.s before his astonished wife, and 
told her how he had found it half hidden be¬ 
neath the snow’. 
“ What shall you do with it?” she said. 
“ What shall I do with it?” was the reply. 
“Return it to the owner. AVe can bear toil 
and noverty, but not the reproaches of a guil¬ 
ty conscience.” 
“ 1 knew it would be thus. AVlien the dark¬ 
est temptation w T as on me, and the evil in my 
heart seemed ready to triumph, I knew that 
you would not fail to see clearly and approve 
the right. The storm is now’ over, and to-mor- 
row 1. must carry this money to Mr. Carlton. 
It is about fifteen miles; I will start early, and 
perhaps he will give me enough to pay my 
passage back in the stage.” 
The next morning, long before sunrise, AVil¬ 
liam was on his way. it was hard walking 
through the new fallen snow; and the wind w T as 
cold and piercing; but he pressed resolutely on, 
and before noon reached the house of Mr. 
Carlton. He ascended the marble steps and 
rang the bell. A servant appeared, and, in 
answer to the inquiry if Mr. Carlton was at 
home informed him that the gentleman was 
out, and that he would not be back till dinner, 
which would be at two. William cast a glance 
at his threadbare and rusty garments He did 
Hot wish to enter that house, where splendor 
and luxury would form a striking contrast to 
his own comfortless home, but he w r as cold and 
weary, and would be glad of a seat anywhere 
near the fire; so he said to the servant— 
“1 have important business with Mr. Carl¬ 
ton ; and, if you please, I will come in and wait 
till he returns.” 
The man eyed him from head to foot; and 
with a slight sneer on his face, which AVilliam 
did not fail to remark, conducted him into the 
kitchen. Preparations for dinner had com¬ 
menced. There was baking, boiling and roast- 
jug—such a dinner as would have tempted the 
appetite of an epicure. However, the two 
hours passed away. Mr. Carlton at length came 
in, and William gave a bewildered and timid 
look around the magnificent apartment; and 
he shrunk as he caught a full view of himself 
in a mirror, which extended almost from the 
ceiling to the floor. 
“ Have you business with me, sir?” said Mr. 
Carlton, in an impatient tone. 
“Yes sir,” said William, producing the 
pocket-book, and handing it to him, “I found 
this yesterday, and as it bears your name, I 
have brought it to you.” 
“Ah! then you found my pocket-book. I 
am glad to see it again, which I never expect¬ 
ed to do.” 
He carefully examined it 
“All right,” he said, “ and I am obliged to 
you for returning it, for it contains valuable 
papers;” then carelessly placed it in his pocket- 
William had no more to say. He arose, 
and, with no further evidence of gratitude or 
obligation, he was suffered to depart. 
“ i am sorry you did not give the poor man 
something, father,” said a lair girl, as she seat¬ 
ed herself on an ottoman at his feet. “Did you 
notice how pale he looked, and how he almost 
staggered as he rose to go away?” 
“ Did he? No, I did not notice it. I would 
have given him something, if I had thought 
of it—but he is gone now.” 
“ But, father, you might send it to him.— 
You know him, do you not? I fear he is very 
poor.” 
“ Yes, 1 had some dealings with him years 
ago. Now I do remember that I heard he 
had lost his farm.” 
“ How far did he come this cold morning to 
bring you that pocket book?” 
“He lives in B-; he must have come 
fifteen or twenty miles. I ought to have paid 
him well for it; and l will not fail to do so 
yet.” 
Here the dinner bell interrupted the conver¬ 
sation, and the father and daughter proceeded 
to the dining room. 
While the rich man was enjoying his pleas¬ 
ant repast, William Carter, with a sinking 
heart and a weary frame, turned his steps to¬ 
wards home. He had not tasted food since 
early dawn and now full fifteen miles lay be¬ 
fore him. He felt disappointed, indignant, 
grieved at the cold and indifferent manner in 
which his services had been received. Reso¬ 
lutely putting down, however, the evil thoughts 
which all this occasioned, he raised a silent 
prayer for help and resignation, and pressed 
on his way. It was late when he arrived, and 
he had scarcely strength to cross the thresh- 
hold, and throw himself upon his bed. His 
overtaxed system had given away, and before 
morning he was raving in the delirium of a 
violent fever. Then did his poor wife feel that 
the hand of the Lord was heavy upon her; 
but her faith failed not. As she watched day 
after day by the sufferer’s couch, bathing his 
burning brow and soothing his wild frenzy What could be said to such a person?— 
with her loving voice, she was able to say,— Some condescensions were attempted, implying 
“Though He slay me, yet I will trust Him.” that Her Majesty came not only to view the 
Oh, blessed sustaining power of faith and hope park, but to testify her esteem for the Society 
_faith not in man, but God—hope not of to which Mistress Mills belonged. Cool and 
earth, but Heaven! Cling to thy faith, poor unawed, she answered, “Yea, thou art right 
woman—make thy heart strong in confidence; there. The Friends arc well thought of by 
for God will not forsake thee! Even now he most folks; but they need not the praise of 
is preparing the reward. He will not break the world; for the rest, many strangers gratify 
the bruised reed, nor crush the humble heart, their curiosity by going over this place, and it 
Did the rich man rest sweetly, as he lay on is my custom to conduct them myself; there- 
a downy pillow? Were there no remorseful fore I will do the like by thee, friend Charlotte, 
thoughts when lie remembered the careless act Moreover, I think well of thee as a dutiful 
of injustice of which he had been guilty? wife and mother. Thou hast had thy trials, j 
It'was the fifth day of AYilliam Carter’s and so had thy good partner. I wish thy I 
sickness and the physician said that night grandchild well through hers.” (She alluded : 
would be the crisis; if he lived through it he to the Princess Charlotte.) 
might recover. He had fallen into a lethargic Is was so evident that the Friend meant; 
sleep. His pale wife sat holding his hand and kindly, nay, respectifully, that no offence could i 
gazing anxiously on his sunken features and betaken. She escorted her guest through her 
half-shuteyes. The children, with sad faces estate. The Princess Elizabeth noticed, in the 
and noiseless steps, crept round them. There hen-house, a breed of poultry hitherto un- 
wasarap at the door; it opened; a gentleman known to her, and expressed a wish to possess 
entered. Mrs. Carter looked with surprise some of these rare fowls, imagining that Mrs. 
upon her unexpected visitor. His dress and Mills would regard her wish as a law; but the 
bearing, so different from those of her humble Quakeress merely remarked, with her charac- 
neighbors, at another time might have awed teristic evasion, “ They are rare, as thou say- 
her; but that was no place to feel the paltry est; but if they are to be purchased in thisland 
distinction of human society. In the presence or in other countries, I know of few women 
of that Power before which the rich and poor, likelier than myself to pjocure them with ease.” 
the mighty and the weak, alike bow, men feel Her Royal Highness more plainly expressed j 
that they are equals—that they are brothers, her desire to purchase some of those she now 
She arose and offered him a chair. He did beheld. 
not seem to notice her, but advancing to the “ I do not buy and sell,” answered Rachael 
bed, he gazed long and anxiously on the ashy Mills. 
features of the sufferer, while the tears chased “Perhaps you will give me a pair?” perse- 
one another down his cheeks; then turning vered the Princess with a conciliating smile, 
away he threw himself into a chair, and wept “ Nay, verily,” replied Rachael, “1 have re- 
with uncontrolled emotion. fused many friends; and that which I denied to 
This the reader may have guessed was Mr. my own kinswoman, Martha Ash, it becometh 
Carlton. He came into the neighborhood and me not to grant to any. AVe have long had 
inquired for William Carter, and had been it to say that these birds belonged only to our 
told of his sickness and its probable cause.— house; and I can make no exception in thy 
The good woman where he stopped had a favor.’ This is a fact— Sharp’s London 
warm heart and voluble tongue; and little Magazine. 
suspecting who her auditor was, she had given 
full scope to her eloquence, in denouncing the + 
ungrateful man who suffered her poor neigh- fljil ff \A YY^V WHY ft V’’ 
bor to walk fifteen miles and return without (IhU A^aIIU-v v ♦ 
even a dinner. ... __ , ^ 
Mrs. Carter stood gazing in silent astonish- . . ” ’’ ^ v j 
ment on her visitor; when he arose and plac- Mr. Slow’s Advice. —“ Bimelech,” said Mr. 
ing a heavy purse in her hand, said: Slow, extending his arm like a pump-handle, 
ILLUSTRATED REBUS, NO. 48, 
t§4» 
pmffr. 
Mr. Slow’s Advice.— “ Bimelech,” said Mr. 
Slow, extending his arm like a pump-handle, 
“Take this, and let no expense be spared | “you are now old enough to understand the 
for your husband's recovery, 
again.” 
will call words of wisdom—being eleven and a half, in 
other words half-past eleven—and I wish to 
Before she had time to express her grati- advise you never to interfere with nobody, 
tude and surprise he was gone. 
The next morning William was better 
nor to interfere with nothing that don’t belong 
-the to you. Shot yourself up, like a gold eagle 
crisis had passed—the fever was gone; but he > n your pocket-book, and don’t get spent in 
lay weak and helpless as a babe; and but for loo much concern tor others. II people isin- 
the many comforts which that purse had pro dined to go to ruin, let ’em go if they’re a 
cured he might have died. He grew stronger mind to—what business is it ot yourn? If 
day by day;' and, at the end of a week, he was neighbors quarrel, what business is it of yourn? 
sitting supported by pillows in a large arm Let ’em fight it out. Why should you risk 
chair. Mrs. Carter approached the window your head in trying to save ’em? When 
and exclaimed: you trade, allers look to your side of the bar- 
“There comes the stranger who gave you gain; and leave the one you’re trading with 
the purse!” * to look after his. If he gets bit ’taint your 
A minute more and he entered the room.— fault. Take kcer of number one is Scripter, 
Approaching William he grasped his hand the real golden rule, and he that acts unto it 
and said earnestly— * never can die poor. Never have anything to 
“Thank heaven you are yet alive—that you do with Sympathy. Sympathy doesn’t pay — 
will live! If you had died, I never could Taint worth one per cent. But if you must 
have forgiven myself ! I have come to make be sympathetic because it is popular, be sure 
Answer in two weeks. 
[Written for Moore’s Rural New-Yorker.] 
MISCELLANEOUS ENIGMA. 
I am composed of 33 letters. 
My 25, 6, 19, 11, 31 is a game at cards. 
My 9, 1, 18, 5 is an instrument of music. 
My 21, 10, 23, 8, 7 is celerity of motion. 
My 22, 20, 7, 23,11, 7 is actually existing. 
My 4, 2,8, 19, 13, 2G is the power of choice. 
My 24,29,8, 32,7 is out of the common course. 
My 2, 15, 31, 7, 7, 12 is Irish whiskey. 
My 14, 17, 3, 9, 28, 32 is fear. 
My 27, 4, 30, 27, 29, 3 is coming together. 
My 33, 1,25, 16 is oscitation. 
The truth of my whole may be learned by 
experience. 
Root, N. Y., 1854. «, h. 
Jgjf” Answer next week. 
CHARADE. 
My first, by help of needle fine, yon cross all o’er and 
o'er,— 
’Tis blue, green, yellow, red, and white, and black, I 
think, no more; 
My second is what all men are, and one alone was not 
What most would have — the fool, the wise, the sober, 
and the sot; 
Yourself, if you’re a gentleman, king, beggar, orphan, 
heir; 
My whole is changeful as the wind, it is both here and 
there, 
And ranges all the world, and takes new manners every 
where; 
’Tis hot, 'tis cold, ’tis wet, ’tis dry; fish, flesh, fowl, love 
and treason 
Are in it, and are not in it, and so is rhyme and reason. 
' [BlaclcwoocTs Mag. 
Jiag* Answer next week. 
are able, read that. Do not thank me—it is geuerous, so lay by for yourself what folks ex- 
no more than justice. The pocket-book was pect you to give to poor people and other 
of great importance to me; and it cost you vagabonds, and when you are old it will not 
dear.” depart from you. You will have something 
When the gentleman was gone, ’William to count on to make you happy. Fay your 
opened the paper, and found it a deed to him- doctor’s bill, confound a hospital, and buy a 
self of his old house and farm. There was gravestone full of exalted virtoos. Be care¬ 
dancing and shouting among the children; and ful, Bimelech: allers look arter the main chance, 
in the hearts of the father and mother a deep and beware of sympathy.” 
and holy joy, mingled with thankfulness and-- 
ti ust in Lod. . . . Excellent Repartee. —The Rev. Dr. M’- 
I need not tell of the happy reinstating in 0 - minister of Douglas, in Clydesdale, was 
their former home, nor how in better days 
THE QUEEN AND THE QUAKERESS. 
In the summer of 1818, her late Majesty, 
uubtiu juu. . ... . Excellent Repartee.—T he Rev. Dr. M 
I need not tell of the happy reinstating in 0 - minister of Douglas, in Clydesdale, was 
their former home, nor how m better days onc d dini in a larg ° party *£ ere the Hon. 
AVilliam Carter often gathered his grand chil- irenr / Erskil ° am] so .ne other lawyers were 1 
dren around Ins knee, and told them of Ins A great dish of cresses being pro- ! 
bitter trials and temptations and taught them ^ nted after d f nner M r. M’C., who was extrav- 
that they who put their trust m God are never agantly fond ot - vegetables, helped himself 
lorsaken. much more largely than any other person, and j 
n as he ate with his fingers, with a peculiar vo- 
THE QUEEN AND 1 HE QUAKERESS. racity of manner, Mr. Erskine was struck with 
“ „ the idea that he resembled Nebuchadnezzer 
In the. summer of 1818, her late Majesty, j n j,j s s f a t e 0 f condemnation. Resolved to 
Queen Charlotte, visited Bath, accompanied give him a hit for the apparent grossness of 
by the Princess Elizabeth. J he waters soon hj s taste and manner of eating, the wit address- 
effected such a respite from pain in the royal ed j dm 
patient, that she proposed an excursion to a “Dr. M’C., you bring mein mind of the 
park of some celebrity in the neighborhood, great Nebuchadnezzer.” 
then the estate cu a rich widow belonging to q'ne company were beginning to titter at the 
the Society ot bnends. Rotice was given ot ludicrous allusion, when the Rev. vegetable 
the Queen’s intention, and a message returned ( ] CV ourer replied: 
that she would be welcome. Oui illustrious I u Ay do I mind vo o’ N’obuohadnozzor^—- 
traveler had, perhaps, never before held any xhat >i]’ be because I’m eating among the 
personal intercourse with a member ol the per- [, ru t es> ” 
suasion whose votaries never voluntarily paid _ + __ 
taxes to “ the man George, called King by the A C0NVINCING Pboop ._A person who re- 
vam ones ’ I he lady and gentleman who rfded for 60me timc on the coast of Africa, 
were to attend the august visitants had but __ . „ 
„ , , ., , , was asked if he thought it possible to civilize 
feeble ideas ot the reception to be expected.— J na ti veg 
It was supposed that the Quaker wbuld at .. As a p ;. oof of the possibility of it,” said he, 
least say, “ J/iyMa jes y, iy lghness, (1 j j iaV e known some negroes that thought as 
or “ Madame.” 1 he royal carriage arrived at ^ of a Re 01 . an oalk ^ a European/ 
the lodge ot the park punctually at the ap- _ 1 
pointed hour. No preparations appeared to 
have been made; no hostess or domestics stood A Leading Question. —One of the leading 
ready to greet the guests. The porter’s bell questions said .to be asked of a candidate for 
was rung; he stepped forth deliberately with initiation into the mysteries of the Know- 
his broad-brimmed beaver on; and unbending- Nothings, is—“Will you do your utmost, on 
ly accosted the lord in waiting with, “ What’s all occasions, to renew and perpetuate the po- 
thy will, friend?” tato rot, in order to keep the Irish out of the 
This was almost unanswerable. “Surely,” country?” The candidate must respond, “I 
said the nobleman, “your lady is aware that will.” 
Her Majesty- Go to your mistress, and -- 
say the Queen is here.” A merchant, being hurried, called upon a 
“ No, truly,” answered the man, “ it needeth waggish neighbor the other day, and asked him 
not; I have no mistress nor lady, but my friend if he had a spare clerk to lend him. He was re- 
Rachael Mills expected thine. Walk in!” ferred to a very thin young gentleman, with a 
The Queen and the Princess were handed pen behind his ear, as being the sparest one he 
out, and walked up the avenue. At the door had! 
of the house stood the plainly-attired Rachael, — • * * 
who, without even a curtesy, but with a cheer- Charitable Lady.— Bo your mother is very 
ful nod, said, “ How’s thee do, friend? lam poor? 
glad to see thee and thy daughter. I wish Beggar Boy.—She is that! She used to 
Charitable Lady. —So your mother is very 
poor? 
Beggar Boy.—She is that! She used to 
thee well. Rest and refresh thee and thy keep a peanut-stand once, but she took a coun 
people before I show thee my grounds.” terl’eit one dollar bill and failed. 
laifir 
Answer to Illustrated Rebus No. 46 .—The 
Grand Erie Canal, uniting Lake Eric with tide¬ 
water. ^ 
Answer to Miscellaneous Enigma in No. 47.— 
The Youth’s Corner. 
Answer to Charade in No.47:. 
On happiest themo for Grab Street bards; 
0 little icorm, to thee ‘tis owing 
That beamy walks in silk array, 
But’tis thy skill and aplcndour showing. 
When Tiiohas takes fair A.y.v to Church, 
And vows he never will forsake hor, 
Silk-worm, fur thee is all the gaze, 
For thou hast been the mantua-maker. 
But if the briil&l’s thine, no bride 
Wilt thou be follow’d to the minister, 
For ’tis thy fate to furnish brides. 
And be thyself a noted spinster. 
SHORT-HORNS FOR SALE. 
I have several bull calves for sale, (two of them from 
first premium cows,) and all sired by my first premium 
Bull Halton (11552.) I can also spare a lew heifers, and 
heifer calves. The prices will range from $200 to $000. 
253-tf S. P. CHAPMAN, 
Mount Pleasant Farm, Clockville, Madison Co., N. Y. 
tYsY Mr. C. IIoottE, of Gerry, Chau. Co., is authorized 
to act as Agent for the Rcrai. Nkw-Yorkkr, and for the 
Wool Growkr and Stock Rkgistku, in the counties of 
Chautauque and Cattaraugus, N. Y., and Warren, Pa. 
MOORE’S RURAL NEW-YORKER, 
is ruBLisuiiP kvkry Saturday, 
EY D. D. T. MOORE, ROCHESTER, H. Y. 
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