2 [ 'i ') 
OOHE’S RBRAL MEW-Y 
^ THE OLD CANOE. 
Where the rocks are pray and the shore is steep, 
.And the waters helow look dark and deep; 
( Where the rugged pine in its lonely pride, 
Leans gloomily oyer the murky tide; 
| Where the reeds and rushes are tall and rank, 
And the weeds grew thick on the winding bank; 
Where the shadow is heavy the whole day through, 
Lies at its moorings the old canoe. 
The useless paddles aro Idly dropped, 
Like a sea-bird's wings that the > 10 ™ hath lopped, 
And Created on the railing, one o'er one, 
lake folded hands when the work is done; 
While badly hack and forth between, 
The spider stretches hie silvery screen, 
And the solemn owl, with his dull “ too-hoo,” 
Settles down on the side of the old canoe. 
The stern half sunk in the slimy wave. 
Rots slowly away in its living grave, 
And the green moss creeps o'er its dull decay, 
Hiding the oiouldering dust away, 
Like the hand that plants o'er the tomb a flower, 
Or the ivy that mantles a fallen tower; 
While, many a blossom of liveliest hue 
Springs up o'er the stem of the old canoe. 
The currentlesH writers are dead and still— 
But the light winds piny with the boat at will, 
And lazily in and out again, 
It floats the length of Us rusty chain, 
Like the weary march of the hands of Time, 
That meet and part at the noontide chime, 
And the shore Is kissed at each torn anew, 
By the dripping how of the old canoe. 
0, many a time with a careless hand 
I have pushed it away from the pebbly strand, 
And paddled It down whore the stream runs quick, 
Where the whirls are wild and the eddies are thick, 
And laughed ns 1 leaned o’er the rocking side, 
And looked below in the broken tide, 
To see that the faces und boats were two, 
That were mirrored back from the old canoc. 
But now, as 1 lean o’er the crumbling side, 
Ami look below in the slugginh tide, 
The face that 1 sco there Is graver grown, 
And the laugh that 1 hear has a sober tone, 
And the hands that lent to the light skiff wings, 
Have grown familiar with sterner things; 
But I love to think of the hours that llew. 
As 1 rocked where the whirls their wild spray threw, 
b.rc the blossoms waved or the green grass grew 
O’er the mouldering stern o 1 ' the old canoe. 
—Knickcrburkcr Magazine. 
if StpriATfltllflr 
I Written for Moore's Rural New Yorker.] 
LYDIA MATII EWSON ’S JOURNAL. 
BY EMILY C. HUNTINGTON. 
[Continued from page 12, last number.] 
Jan. 30/A—The wedding is over at last, and, 
after its short spasm of excitement, our household 
has settled hack again into its usual quiet, that 
just now seems almost like stagnation. Wo arc 
all tired of the lmrry and hustle into which we 
have been thrown, and glad of rest and quiet, yet 
I think every member ol' the family feels the sense 
of desolation that is fairly oppressive to me. 
Helen is married, and although I have gained a 
new brother, I feel vastly more as if I had lost a 
sister. Eddy has gone hack too. He staid with 
us a day after the wedding, and kept our spirits 
up so we hardly missed Helen, but now wo miss 
him too. 
Helen looked perfectly queenly in her bridal 
dress, and bore herself through the whole cere¬ 
mony with a graceful self-possession that every 
one admired. There were a great many guests, 
and everything passed off smoothly and pleasantly. 
Even Aunt Esther seemed satisfied, for the 
supper was faultless, and poor Maggie did not 
make a single blunder. 
One thing during the marriage ceremony was 
. such a pretty Inroad upon the usual arrangements, 
that I was delighted with it. Helen had no 
bridesmaid, as she preferred to stand up alone, 
but just us Mr. Emmons commenced repeating the 
marriage service, cousin Julia's little Nellie 
stepped forward, and placed herself beside 
Helen, and stood looking earnestly up into the 
minister's face while lie was speaking, and when 
Helen and Charley responded to the vows, 
Nellie added a very distinct '* Yes,* in her clear, 
childish voice. “Now we are all going to be 
good,” said she when the ceremony was con¬ 
cluded, “cousin Helen, and me, und that man 
with the big whiskers, 'cause we all promised the 
minister so;” and the little witch went dancing 
through the parlors, scattering smiles and sun¬ 
shine all about her. There was the usual round 
Of kissing and complimenting the bride; the usual 
amount of chatting and gossiping; some singing, 
some promenading, and a good deal of eating and 
drinking, and then the gay company were whirled 
away, amid a shower of kind wishes, and good- 
nights. 
As usual, I became excited, then half bewildered, 
and pretty much all of this went by me us a sort 
of gliding pageant, unreal and phantom-like. 
Only a very few incidents impressed themselves 
as realities—some from their pleasant nature, and 
one because it fell harshly on a sensitive Fpot in 
my nature. Among the invited guests was a l)r. 
Harley, from somewhere near Boston, a particu¬ 
lar friend of Charley Andrews, but a stranger 
to all the rest of ns. I had heard a great deal of 
him, for Charley has always held him up to me 
as his ideal of perfection in a man, but I must 
own to being somewhat disappointed. He is 
rather fine-looking, but by no means handsome, 
and 1 thought him decidedly dulHn conversation. 
Father was wonderfully taken with him, and 
would not hear of his going hack to the Hotel, so 
he staid here all night. 
Next morning, alter breakfast, while Helen was 
packing her trunk, he and Charley sat in the 
parlor, talking. Helen sent me to the library for 
some books of hers, that she had forgotten until 
that moment, and as I stood there looking over 
the shelves for them, 1 heard every word of what 
was meant to be a private conversation. Perhaps 
I onght to have stopped np my ears and run, but 
I would have defied any legitimate daughter of 
Eve to do so, after having heard the very lirst 
question put by ray brother-in-law. 
“Well, Fred, liovv do you like my new sister 
Lydia?” To be sure, liow did he like me? That 
was just what I wanted to knew myself, and I 
wonder they did not hoar my heait beat, for all 1 
held both of my hands over it as tight as I could 
—would Dr. Frederick Harley be good enough 
to tell how lie liked me? 
“She has rather a fine face,” was the dubious 
answer. Have I, really, well that is encouraging, 
thought 1, half turning to glance in the mirror— 
“but,” the speaker went on, “its expression is 
often marred by that sarcastic smile that you must 
have noticed. 1 have a horror of sarcastic 
women; the trait is bad enough in a man.” 
Indeed, Dr. Harley, thought I, with a smile 
that may or may not have been the one in ques¬ 
tion; I wonder what amiable trait of character 
you are indulging just now — good-natured 
sarcasm may be as desirable as ill-natured criti¬ 
cism. 
“Bhe is very young,” said Charley in apology, 
“hardly eighteen, 1 should think.” 
“ I know, and for that reason it is hardly fair to 
form an opinion of her. In plain terms she is 
only an untutored, ungoverned girl, with a 
mind singularly developed in some directions, 
and as singularly untrained in others. She has 
some line traits of character, that may make hcra 
noble woman if she happens to get the right sort 
of discipline, but the chances, I think, are against 
it. 1 can see that there is continual clashing 
between her and that Aunt Esther, ft state of 
things better calculated to sharpen the wits than 
anything else. There, I will stop — bull hope I 
have convinced you that I have at least made 
careful use of one day's opportunities for studying 
character.” 
There were two doors into the library — one 
from the dining-room, by which I had just 
entered, the other from the parlor, where the two 
gentlemen were sitting. 1 hesitated a moment, 
and then gathered up the books in my arms, and 
walked straight through the parlor, bowing as 1 
passed them with a smile that, if it was not sar¬ 
castic, was a little bit malicious . 1 carried the 
books to Helen, and then went up to uiy room 
und sat down on the floor and considered. I was 
terribly mortified, and no matter how much I 
might say 1 did'nt care, I really did care a great 
deal. This man, this stranger that 1 had tried to 
please, had been all the time coolly forming an 
estimate of my character, spying out my defects 
and weak points, and now had ccnie sweeping 
down upon iny self-complacency, with a scathing 
criticism, that was really unmerciful. It was too 
bad, it was outrageous, but then, in one respect, I 
bad the advantage of him. He knew I had over¬ 
heard his remarks, ami the consciousness of this 
would he more mortifying to him, and make him 
feel more uncomfortable than 1 could possibly 
feel. I had not very long to meditate upon it, for 
it was only an hour to the time for the morning 
boat; and t went down to Helen again, this time 
very cairn and resolute. Charley came up to 
see if everything was ready. He looked at me 
awkwardly, out of tko corners of his eyes, at 
which 1 lutighed outright, and then he came 
straight np to me, and took hold of both of my 
hands, and said: 
“It is too bad, Lydia. If Harley wasn’t my 
best friend I would thrash him. I wouldn’t have 
had you hear that for a thousand dollars.” 
“And I wouldn’t have missed hearing it, for 
five times that amount,” said I; “ there is no tell¬ 
ing what good it may do the nngovemed, undis¬ 
ciplined girl to know what distinguished gentle¬ 
men think of her; and then, you know, he did say 
I had rather a fine face.” 
“Hurry up your trunks; there is only just time to 
get to the boat,” shouted Eddy at the foot of the 
stairs, and in the bustle, of starting away every¬ 
thing else was forgotten. It was no small under¬ 
taking to sec Helen wrapped in shawls and 
mufilings carefully enough to suit Aunt Esther, 
but she was ready at last, and we all stood in the 
hall saying good bye. 
“"Where Is Dr. Haki-Ey?” asked Enny, looking 
into the parlor. 
“ Gone,” said Cuarley with a mischievous 
look at me; “he had business to attend to, and he 
left his adieus for rue to deliver. He would go 
through fire and water sooner than face you,” he 
added in a whisper to me. 
When they were fairly gone, and Eddy and I , 
were left alone, my fortitudo gave way, and T 
cried passionately. Eddy drew me into the . 
parlor, and tried to soothe me, telling me Helen 
would not be far away, and we should often sec . 
her, until 1 finally began to realize it was not so , 
much Helen that 1 was crying about, as Dr. 
Harley, and what he had said about me. Sol 1 
dried my eyes, and tried to laugh nnd talk with 
Eduy as usual. Dinner was dull enough, nobody 
felt like eating or talking, and when it was over, j 
Eduy went down town with father, and Aunt , 
Esther und I sat down to sew. 1 was still musing ^ 
on the events of the morning, and by-and-by 1 , 
said, suddenly—“Aunt Esther, I wish you would j 
tell me wbat my worst traits of character are; my ; 
principal faults, 1 mean.” - 
“ Your principal faults,” said she in an astonish- 1 
cd tone, then added sarcastically, “it would take 
a great deal less time to tell your principal 1 
virtues,” and went on with her sewing. I sighed 1 
and bent over my work, but the tcai-3 dropped l 
and dropped, and my needle went slower and 
slower, and then stopped. My mind did not stop 1 
—I was thinking, thinking. 1 
That evening Eddy and I sat alone in the < 
library. Tie was graver than usual, partly because < 
be bated to go back in the morning, and partly < 
because he did not feel quite well. I came and 1 
knelt down beside the arm chair where he was t 
sitting, and laid my head on his shoulder. 1 
“Eddy,” said I, very seriously, “I want to ask 1 
something of yon, and you must not refuse me. J 
r You must tell me truly what I ask you. Will you 
t promise?” 
5 “ To he sure I will, if it is anything reasonable,” 
t was his answer. 
f “ Well, then, I w ant you to tell me what are my 
t greatest faults. I know I have a great many, but 
I want to know the prominent ones, that are 
• getting to be traits in my character.” 
t “ Your faults! my dear little sister,” he began 
in a laughing way. 
“ Don’t, Eddy,” said I, looking in his face, I am 
i in real, sad earnest, and you ought to tell me.” 
“ Well, then,” said he, after thinking a little 
while, "if you really want to know I will tell you, 
; though 1 think you are plenty good enough now. 
In the first place, yon know yon are a little wilful; 
so much so that I believe you sometimes act con¬ 
trary to your own best judgment, rather than give 
up to other people., especially to Aunt Esther. 
You arc rather apt to bo irritable, and impatient, 
! think, if people cross your wishes in any respect, 
but that is natural to you, father is Just so ner¬ 
vous. I am sure I dont know of anything else, 
unless it la that your love of fun, and sense of the 
ridiculous, sometimes leads you to be a little too 
severe in your sarcasm. I know you don't mean 
any barm, but sarcasm is an ungraceful weapon 
for a woman, and people are always afraid of it. 
There, now, 1 have made you uncomfortable, but 
don’t think any more about it. Every one has 
some faults. I am sure I would not like to have 
my best friend set mine in array against me, and 
you will make the finest woman in all New 
England yet, or I am no prophet.” 
1 think Eddy was very glad that father came in 
and so put a stop to the conversation. I was not 
sorry myself, and we passed a pleasant evening.— 
He left early this morning, whispering as he bade 
me good bye, “ Don’t improve too fast, Bis, but let 
me have a chance to get used to perfection grad¬ 
ually.” 
I have taken a deliberate survey of myself to¬ 
night, by the help of these two estimates of my char¬ 
acter: on© of them softened by a brother’s love, yet 
in the main very much the same as the other.— 
Standing out in my character so prominently as to 
strike a stranger upon the acquaintance of a few 
hours, 1 find at least three ugly traits. I will write 
it down here in my journal that I am Willful, 
Impatient, Sarcastic. There they stand, to be 
looked at, struggled with, conquered. Even Dr. 
Harley said T might make a fine woman, a noble 
w oman. By (Jon'S he lp I will change that most 
doubtful may be into ft shall be. It may be a long 
and discouraging struggle, but it is worth trying 
for, and 1 believe the attainment is possible at least 
“ And lie who sees iLe future sure, 
The battling present may endure." 
Feb. 17 tfu —It is strange how we all miss Helen. 
She was always so quiet and calm, that no one re¬ 
alized how large a place she filled in the house¬ 
hold. Nor* there are a score of tilings continu¬ 
ally coming up to demand somebody’s attention, 
and every one all at once remembers, “Oh, Helen 
always used to do this.” 1 am sure 1 should not be 
half so much missed, and yet I always thought, and 
even Aunt TJstheh thought, that I did a great deal 
more of the v brk than Helen. It is pretty much 
as A not Esther said, yesterday, to father, “Liddy 
Jane, is just like a March wind; she makes such a 
terrible bluster and confusion when she undertakes 
to do anything, that a body would naturally think 
she was accomplishing all the world; but Helen 
is always so still and soft in her ways, she never 
gets half the credit she deserves. Bhe is just like 
the dew and the sunshine, most folks don’t notice 
them much.” After all, there is a streak of poet ry 
in my practical Auntie. 
March "la .—A long, long letter from Eddy to¬ 
day, and, under its inspiration, 1 have taken down 
my journal, for the first time in nearly a month, 
brushed the dnst off from the cover, and will try 
to make another record. 1 dread these gusty 
March days, that are neither winter nor spring. 
When the snow only lies hero and there in little 
patches, stained and discolored, and the bright 
sunshine tempts one out of doors, only to meet the 
raw, boisterous wind, that is worse than keen, 
searching cold. 
J have felt uncommonly dull aud low-spirited for 
a long time, but this letter of Eddy’s lias helped 
me wonderfully; there is something of his sun¬ 
shiny spirit in everything he says or does. He 
lots been spending a couple of weeks with Helen, 
in New fork, as he was not well enough to study. 
“ Do you know, Sis," he writes, “ that there always 
was something incomprehensible to me in our 
beautiful HELEN? 1 went to New York with the 
ex pe<;tiition of feeling very foolish, in the midst of 
their honeymoon raptures, but determined to en¬ 
dure it like a martyr. Well, 1 had not (lie slight¬ 
est approach to a trial. Everything went on in 
the same smooth way, from first to lust To tell 
the truth, it was too smooth to suit me. I always 
fancied masculine and feminine natures, in their 
truest types, were as essentially unlike as an acid 
and an alkali—(we are attending chemical lectures 
now.) Throw these two elements together into 
the crucible of matrimony, and, if they ure both 
good,there ought naturally to be considerable effer¬ 
vescence at first, just to show that they thorough¬ 
ly combine; and where not even a bubble is thrown 
np, the chance is that you have put the wrong 
things together. They may be both acids, and 
then they will most likely corrode the crucible till 
it spills them—or, what is more likely, both alka¬ 
lies, ami make the most insipid of compounds.— 
There, 1 am sure our respected Prof, would be de¬ 
lighted at the extent of my chemical knowledge! 
I do think I will show it to him. for only yesterday 
he gave me a lecture for going sound asleep, while 
he was demonstrating the subject of 4 Elective Af¬ 
finities.’ 
“ I spent one day at Judge Hyde’s on my way 
back. The family all inquired for you, and wished 
to be remembered to you, Frankie says you are 
coming to make her a long visit in May. I am glad 
of it, lur she is a sweet girl, and you must be dull 
enough now Helen is gone. By the way, an odd 
thing happened the evening I was there, and 1 must 
tell yon about it, for your wits are quicker than 
mine, und 1 will own myself completely mystified. 
We were speaking of Helen’s marriage, and the 
Judge remarked that it was a little singular that I 
he should have become so well acquainted with 
every member of our family, without ever visiting 
our home. * All but Aunt Esther,’ said f, remem¬ 
bering the contempt with which she always met 
our rhapsodies about Judge Hyde. ' Ah, yes,’ said 
he, ‘ I had forgotten her. By the way, who is this 
Aunt Esther, I hear so much about?’ 'Bhe is not 
an own Aunt,’ 1 explained, ‘but a distant relative 
of my father’s who has taken the charge of the 
housekeeping ever since ray mother died. Her 
name is Esther Wallace, but I can hardly real¬ 
ize that she has any other title than Aunt Es¬ 
ther.’ ” 
“‘Papa!’ exclaimed Frankie, springing from 
her seat, * what is the matter! Are you sick?’ 
“ I turned quickly to look at the Ji\jlge, but lie 
seemed to have recovered himself, though his face 
was very white, and his hand shook, aa he tried 
to take a glass of water from Frankie. 'It is 
nothing,’ said he, smiling, ‘ 1 think I walked a little 
too far after dinner. Don’t let me interrupt you— 
you were speaking of your Aunt; do you know 
anything of her early history? Wallace is 
hardly a New England name.’ 
" I told him i believed she was of Scotch de¬ 
scent, and that her early days were passed some¬ 
where in Western Virginia, but, beyond that, I 
knew nothing of her history. He turned whiter 
than before, and got np, saying, ‘Yon really must 
excuse me, but my bead feels strangely. I think 
I will go to the open air.’ He went out and walk¬ 
ed np and down the verandah. Frankie was so 
troubled the tears would come into her pretty eyes 
in spite of all her efforts to keep them away. In 
the course of half an hour the Judge came in. 
looking as well as usual, and joined in conversa¬ 
tion with his accustomed spirit; in fact, I thought 
him unusually interesting. Now what can you 
make of this, my imaginative little sister? I have 
no doubt that your fancy will readily supply all 
the missing threads, aud build np a ‘ three-story 
romance ’ out of this most meagre foundation.” 
Of course 1 could supply the missing threads, 
for I had them all in my possession. That little 
hair-covered trunk, with its hoarded treasure of 
faded flowers, and time-stained wedding robes, 
held some of the threads; the rest had been laid 
away for years in my memory. I well remember¬ 
ed having heard old Elsie, who was nurse to all 
Judge Hyde’s children, speak of her mistress, his 
first wife. “ A great beauty she was,” said the old 
woman, “ a handsomer never was seen in these 
parts. The master married her for her pretty 
face, and a terrible life she led him. Bhe was 
worse than briers and nettles, and the poor man 
never knew wbot peace was. It served him 
rightly enough, though, for be was spoken to a 
young girl before be over saw the mistress. A 
nice body she was, too, they say, with a plain face, 
but a winsome heart, and the day was all fixed for 
the wedding, and the bride dressed in her wed¬ 
ding clothes, when the word came that the Judge 
was already married, and gone on a journey. He 
had met the mistress somewhere, and was just 
fooled by her beauty, and the pretty ways she put 
on, and she would neither let hiui write to his las¬ 
sie, nor go to tell her, until they were married, and 
it was too late to repent. They say the girl was 
like a crazy thing, when she knew all, and the 
master has been mourning all the days of liis life> 
1 be thinking. Well, well, this is a queer world, 
but they says there’s another that will set it all 
right.” 
I felt half guilty at the time, for having heard 
from the talkative old body this bit of family his¬ 
tory, and tried to forget it. But in spite of all, I 
used to find myself dreaming about this poor for¬ 
saken love, ami picturing her face when the "win¬ 
some heart” shone out with a tender beauty.— 
And now r have found out at last, that all the time 
l have been living my daily life by her side, and 
forgetting in her caprices and my own selfishness 
that her heart had ever a summer. Well, as old 
Elsie says, “this is a queer world.” Here i have 
the other half to my secret. The explanation of 
at least two mysteries, and how many more may 
lie about me, who can guess? I don’t think I shall 
tell Eddy about this. I know lie would laugh at 
the ring and the roses, and the queer old dress, 
and somehow I feel as if they were sacred. 
Bo Judge Hyde loved my Aunt Esther once, 
or told her so at least— and Aunt Esther loved 
Judge Hyde, and sat working flowers into her 
bridal veil, while her heart wove fairer wreaths to 
crown her young life and his. Aud all this is 
past and forgotten. I wonder if she loves him 
still?—|To be continued.] 
---- 
FIRST VIEW OF PIKE'S PEAK. 
>1 
Mi 
Pike's Peak as it appeared to the first gold¬ 
seeking emigrants. Ituther fishy in its aspect 
-- 
Prenticeania. —Mr. William llood was robbed 
near Corinth, Ala., on the 13th ult The Corinth 
paper says that the name of the highwayman ia 
unknown, but there is no doubt that he was 
Bobbin’ Hood. 
A young lady of New Orleans, who recently 
performed a remarkable feat in rowing, lias been 
presented with a beautiful yawL A smack would 
have been more appropriate. 
The editor of the Boston Liberator calls upon 
Hie ladies of the North to make use of nothing 
that is produced by slave labor. He needn't 
expect them not to use cotton. They will not 
expel so old a friend from their bosoms. 
The common opinion is,, that we should take 
good care of children at all seasons of the year, 
but it is well enough in winter to let them slide. 
For Moore’s Rural New-Yorker. 
GEOGRAPHICAL ENIGMA. 
1 am composed of 14 letters. 
My 14,12, 4, 7 is a town In Allegany county. 
My 9,13, 8,1.3, is a comity in Michigan. 
My 13,11, 4.1. 3 Is a comity in Ohio. 
My 6,13, 2, 7,11 is a ronnty in Ohio. 
My 14,12, 7, 5, 5 is a county in Kentucky. 
My 0,1,2, 8,19 is a district of South Carolina. 
My whole is a native of Australia. 
Scio, Allegany Co., N. Y., 1860. Jamrs N. IIydb. 
UjF Answer in two weeks. 
For Moore’s Rural New-Yorker. 
BIBLICAL ENIGMA. 
1 am composed of 29 letters. 
My 10,11, 28. 22, 29 was a king in the Savior’s time. 
My Ifi, 19, 23 was the father of Abner. 
My 26, 7. 20,3.14 is a hook of the Old Testament. 
My 18, 2. 22, 29 0 is. the name of a damsel mentioned in 
the New Testament. 
My 1. 6,2, 3,11 was u city in Palestine. 
My 24,25, 27, 24, 5,10 was the name of a prophet. 
My 8, 5, 13, 9, 10, 24, 15, 17, was a Roman coin. 
My 0, 15, 29,23, 3, 4 was one of Jesus' disciples. 
My 17, 19,15,11, 21, 24, 16 is a book of the Old Testament. 
My 14,12.26.3. 15. 20 was a city of ancient Greece. 
My whole is a proverb of Solomon. 
Homer, N. Y,, 1860. j. d. 
tfsP Answer in two weeks 
For Moore’s Rural New-Yorker. 
ARITHMETICAL PROBLEM. 
A max bought a farm for $0,000; he paid $3,000 down, 
and is to pay the remaining $3,000 In seven years, and in 
seven equal payments. The money is to draw compound 
interest at 6 per cent., and each payment is to cancel a 
certain part of the debt, with the interest on that part up 
to that time. How much must he pay annually in order 
to cancel the debt in seven years? 
Kinsman, Ohio, 1860. J. b. 
tjf”Answer in two weekF. 
Fur Moore’s Rural New-Yorker. 
MATHEMATICAL PROBLEM. 
I have a circular field, 40 rods in diameter. I hire a 
man to plow it at $1.50 per acre. Ho commenced plowing 
through the centre of the field, and plowed each side of 
W(.M centre an equal distance, till the arch line at the end 
of his plowing was just 30 rods. He then quit. What 
does the work come to at the above rate per acre?—and 
what is the length of each of the outside furrows, they 
being of equal length? 
Waterloo, N Y., 1860. B. P. W. 
t3F" Answer in two weeks. 
— 
ANOTHER LOVE-LETTER. 
A Rural friend in Vernon, Vermont, (John Stkrrins,) 
extracts from an almanac published in 1807, the following 
letter to a young lady, and sends it to the puzzle-loving 
readers of the Nkw-Yorkbr: 
Q«. 
one. 
me; 
same. 
She. 
one. 
he; 
one, 
only 
only 
unto 
the 
only 
only 
only 
only 
are 
but 
you 
for 
are 
but 
am 
but 
you 
love 
say 
me 
you 
loves 
I 
is 
and 
I 
un>l 
Requite 
and 
that 
and 
there 
ANSWERS TO ENIGMAS, &c., IN NO. 520. 
Answer to Illustrated Rebus:—Nothing extenuate nor 
aught set down in malice. 
Answer to Geographical Enigma:—Neither make, buy, 
sell, nor use any intoxicating liquors as a beverage. 
Answer to Miscellaneous Enigma:—Hearts. 
Answer to Carpenters’ Problem:—9.9 plus 6 equals 59 .4 
inches. 
Ault .—Multiply 9.9 by one-seventh of the given side. 
h 'ale .—The above is a simple, convenient, and conse¬ 
quently, very useful rule; aud though it is hut an approx¬ 
imation, yet it gives a result so nearly exact as to show 
the length of the diagonal within one inch of the truth, 
though the side he 7” rods. Consequently, for the car¬ 
penters' use it is equivalent to perfect exactness. 
MOORE'S RURAL NEW-YORKER, 
TIIE LARGEST CIKCCI.ATKD 
Agricultural, Literary und Family Weekly, 
IS PUBLISHED EVERY SATURDAY BY 
O. 1>. T. MOOJtE, UOCHEKTKJt, N. Y. 
Office, Inion Buildings, Opposite the Court House, Buffalo St. 
Agents in New Yorli and Boston. 
SunscRimox-C. M. SAXTON & Co,, Agricultural Book 
fubhshers, 25 Park Row, (opposite Astor House,) New 
York. 
Wholesale, (to supply Periodical Healers, Ax.)—DEXTER 
A BKO., 14 Ann St.—ROSS A: TO USE V, 103 Nassau St. 
Advertising— S. M. FETTENGILL & CO.. No. 119 Nassau 
St., New York, and No. to State St., Boston. 
TERMS XI NT ADVANCE: 
Two Dollars a Year— $1 for six mouths. To Clubs and 
Agents as follows :-Three (Jop)es one year, tor $6; Six, and 
one free to club agent, tor $10; Ten, and one free, for $15; 
Fifteen, and one free, for $ 21 ; Twenty, aud one free, for $25; 
and any greater number at same rat. -only $1,25 per copy 
—with au extra free copy for every Ten Subscribers over 
Twenty. Club papers sent to different Port-offices, if de¬ 
sired. As we pre-pay- American postage on papers sent to 
tiie British Provinces, our Cornelian agents and friends must 
add 12>; cents per copy to the club rates of the Rural.— 
The lowest price of copies sent to Europe, Ac, is $2,5i>-in- 
cludiug postage. 
Thr Postage os tub Rural is only S’* cents per quarter 
to any part of this State, and 6 cents to any other State, if 
paid quarterly in advance at the post-office where received. 
Auvkrtiskment©—T hirty-five Cents a line, each inser¬ 
tion, payable in advance. Our rule is to give no advertise¬ 
ment, unless very- brief, more than six to eight consecutive 
insertions. Patent Medicines, tic., are not advertised in the 
Rural on any- conditions. 
For Special Notices, Ac., gee preceding page. 
