<r\ '7 0 
ski e.—p 
MY DAHLINGS’ SHOES. 
Got) blew the little feet that never go setray, 
For the little shoe* are empty, in tny closet laid away. 
Sometimes 1 take one in my band, forgetting, till I ree, 
It is a little half-worn shoe, not large enough for me; 
And all at once i leel a sense of hitter loss and pain, 
As sharp as when, two years ago, it cut my heart in 
twain. 
Oh! little feet that wearied not. I wait for them no more, 
Fori am drifting on the tide, while they have reached 
the shore; 
And while the blinding tear drops wet these little shoes 
bo old, 
1 try to think my darlings’ feet are treading streets of 
gold; 
And so I lay them down again, hut always turn to Fay— 
Cod bless the little feet that now so surely cannot stray. 
And while I thus am standing, I almost seem to see 
Two little forms beside me, just as they used to he! 
Two little faces lifted, with their sweet and tender eyes! 
Ah, me! 1 might have known that look was horn of 
Paradise. 
1 reach my arms out fondly, hut they clasp the empty air! 
There is nothing of my darlings but the shoes they UKed 
to wear. 
Oh! the bitterness of parting cannot he done away, 
Till 1 meet my darlings walking where their feet can 
never stray; 
When 1 no more am drifted upon the surging tide, 
But with them safely landed upon the river side; 
Be patient, heart, while waiting to see their shining way, 
For the little feet in the golden street can never go astray 1 
IWritten for Moore's Rural New-Yorker.] 
THE OSTRICH PLUME. 
BY ANNA BURK. 
“Hath any wronged thee ? Be bravely re¬ 
signed; slight it, and the work is begun; forgive 
it, and *tis finished. He iB below himself, who is 
not above an injury.” 
“What do you think of that, Blanche?” 
A young girl was pacing rapidly up and down 
the cosy parlor of a handsome residence, in a 
pleasant New England village. There was an ex¬ 
pression of strong resentment, and wounded 
feeling, upon the fair face which turned toward 
her interrogator, while Bhe replied, somewhat 
petulantly, . 
“It is harder to do these things, than it is to 
read them,—1 never can forgive Maggie Warner 
for treating me so shamefully. Mamma gave me 
that ostrich plume, just before T came away. You 
know bow large and heavy it was, and it drooped 
so gracefully, too. Oh, I did hate to lend it to 
Maggie, but she wanted it so much, for Mr. Stan¬ 
ton had asked her to take a home-back ride with 
him. She promised solemnly to he very careful 
of it, hut when she brought the plume hack, this 
moruing, and tossed it into my lap so indiffer¬ 
ently, saying—' There, Blancuk! the troublesome 
thing didn’t lit in rny cap, so I cut it,’ can you 
wonder, dear Aunt, that I hurst into team? She 
soon left me without any apology, merely adding, 
‘ That I was very silly to waste grief over such a 
trifle.’” 
The sweet-faced little woman by the wiudow 
closed the hook which she held in her hand. “ I 
am very sorry this has happened. Maggie has 
committed n paltry act, and 1 know that her con¬ 
science is not at rest, if she does maintain a show 
of i n d i fle ronee. Consider that last sentence whi ch 
I read just now:—‘He is below himself who Is 
not above injury.’ Forgive your erring friend, 
and thus gain a noble victory over the indignant 
spirit which now Controls you. Remember 
Christ’s words:—'If ye forgive not men their 
trespasses, your Heavenly Father will not forgive 
yonv trespasses.’ It is hard to do this, but you 
will he happier, and better,— yes, stronger; for 
every good deed gives ns moral strength.’’ 
Resentment disappeared from the girl’s face,— 
tears swam in her eyes, and the small mouthquiv- 
ered with emotion,— she hesitated in her rapid 
march, and at length went up to her aunt, and ta¬ 
king her hand said, in a low, firm voice, 
“ I will try to forgive Maggie!” 
“That is well spoken, my dear. Goi> will help 
you;” and there was a tender light in Mrs. Mar¬ 
tin’s eyes. 
Blanche Adams and Margaret Warner had 
come up from New York to spend a few months 
with their relatives in Woodville. They were in¬ 
timate friends, and this “summer’s visit” had 
been the theme of their conversations for many 
weeks previous to the bright June day which 
saw them arrive safely at their journey’s end. 
They were the only daughters of wealthy parents. 
Margaret was a willful, thoughtless girl, and so 
accustomed, by long indulgence, to have her 
slightest wishes gratified, that she had grown to 
think they must hr, at whatever cost. Her princi¬ 
ples had not been educated, and selfishness per¬ 
meated her character, but still Maggie Warner 
was not wholly deadened to ' the right.” 
A picnic-party had beeu planned by the young 
people of Woodville. Beacon Hall, Maggie’s 
uncle, resided upon a small farm a short distance 
from the quiet couutry village, and in a large, 
shady grove, adjoining his meadow, the merry 
party assembled upon the appointed afternoon. 
Swings had been “put up 14 and a long table con¬ 
structed of smooth boards, by the deacon's “hired 
man.” Blanche Adams met her friend this day 
with her usual cordiality, although it cost her a 
struggle to do so. hut the latter still wore the air 
of indifference, which is so often assumed by 
those who feel a consciousness of having done a 
wrong act, hut are too proud to acknowledge it 
Milford Stanton saw Maggie Warner soon 
after her arrival at her uncle’s. He was a student 
from Artdover, who had come down to Woodville 
to spend vacation with his parents. Their farm 
adjoined Deacon Hall's. The lively manners 
and agreeable society of the city-girl interested 
the young student, and good Mrs. Hall gave him 
a very pressing invitation ‘‘to call often,” for, 
said she, Maggie will die of ennui, with only the 
society of two prosy old people.” So he did 
OOtne often, bringing his flute, or a favorite hook, 
and sometimes the young couple took longwttlks 
together, or rode on horse-hack, scouring the 
country for miles around. He had met Blanche 
occasionally, while visiting with her friend. But 
this day Milford Rtanton’h attentions to Mag¬ 
gie wore more mmked than they had ever been 
before, and she was evidently verymueb gratified 
to see a new tenderness mingling with politeness. 
The hour for serving the refreshments arrived, 
and the eyes of an epicure would have reveled in 
the content** of that table, piled with frosted cakes 
and dainty confectionary. In the center, con 
spicuous above all the rest, was a snowy pyramid, 
which contained a plain gold ring. This prize 
had been purchased by "the gentlemen,” and 
each member of the party was to have the privi¬ 
lege of drawing for it. The cake was passed 
around, and many fair fingers trembled, while 
bright eyes eagerly searched for the coveted ring. 
Blanche and Maggie drew at the same time, and 
as they stepped hack to allow room for the ap¬ 
proach of others, the latter perceived the unmis¬ 
takable glitter of gold in her companion’s slice. 
A pang of envy shot through her heart, hut an 
accident gave her an opportunity for gaining the 
coveted treasure, and, obeying her impulses, she 
employed a successful maneuver. The cake fell 
to the ground, and hastily stooping to pick it up, 
Maggie placed her own in its stead, vainly think¬ 
ing that the act was unpercoived,— arid it was by 
Blanche, who thanked her very sweetly,—but the 
guilty girl swept a restless, anxious glance over 
the party, and encountered the stern, reproachful 
gaze of Milford Stanton’s dark eyes bent upon 
her. He was standing hut a few feet from them, 
and hud wiinessed the whole performance.— 
Cheek and brow were dyed crimson in an instant, 
and all hope of gaining the young man’s esteem 
was forever blasted. 
The animated voice of a lady, cryingout—“Miss 
Warnf.r has got the prize!” now drew the atten¬ 
tion of the party, and congratulations were 
poured upon her, hut her usual graceful case had 
all departed, giving place to an awkward embar¬ 
rassment induced by the conciousness of her 
guilty position among them. Blanche noticed 
it, and kindly succeeded in drawing away the at 
tentlon which, she perceived, was, from some tin 
accountable reason, Insupportable to her friend. 
The remainder of the afternoon brooght no enjoy 
ment to Maggie, and excusing herself upon the 
plea of a headache, she left the grove at an early 
hour, unattended by Milford Btanton. who now 
regarded her with little less than contempt. He 
sought Blanche's side,— a secret indignation 
against the wrong she had suffered induced him 
to do this,—and belonged to acquaint, her with 
the unjustifiable act, hut circumstances rendered 
the propriety of this course questionable. Strict 
integrity and honorable principles formed the 
basis of the young student’s character, and it 
caused him deep regret to have the deformity of 
Maggie Warner’s nature suddenly stripped of 
the pleasing but flimsy surface-veil, and stand be¬ 
fore him in all its moral dearth, “ if it had not 
been for this wise intervention of Providence, I 
might have opened the door of my heart, and 
taken her into its most sacred room,” he reasoned 
inwardly, with an instinctive shudder. 
While talking with Blanche that fair summer 
afternoon, their conversation tgrncd into a chan¬ 
nel which brought her friend’s act to his mind 
very forcibly, and he could not forbear saying, 
“ It is hard to forgive one who has wronged us.” 
“He is below himself who is not above an in¬ 
jury,” replied Blanche. 
“That is a noble sentiment!” 
Milford Stanton's eyes, not his lips, said this, 
hut Blanche interpreted it, and she quickly add¬ 
ed—“It is not mine.” 
Her conscientiousness made him esteem her 
more, and there was a respectful deference in his 
tone ami manner, when he said, “ Were you ever 
placed in circumstances where it was your duty to 
feel thus, Miss Adams?” 
“ Yes sir, and it was very hard for me to con¬ 
quer rebellious feelings, hut I derived more hap¬ 
piness from it than I ever experienced before.” 
“There was a glow of earnestness upon the 
young girl’s face, and Milford could not resist 
guying, “You would do this again, if duty re¬ 
quired it.” 
“Yes! with God's help!” Her reply was rev¬ 
erent, for a new desire to live the commandments 
of our Saviour, had gained a place in her heart. 
"That is a wise consideration, Miss Adams, for 
even the tiny flower at our feet could not open its 
blue eye to the sun without His help. Human 
strength can avail nothing in a conflict with 
temptation, and I am convinced that it is impos¬ 
sible to perform a good deed from a right motive 
(I mean the glory of God,) without the aid and 
guidance of the Holy Spirit.” 
The lady bowed her head In mute assent, for the 
deep-touod piety which breathed with his words, 
made the character of Jesus appear more beauti¬ 
ful to her than ever. 
“ It is possible, then, that man can he moulded 
into His image,”—she thought, and with this sug¬ 
gestion oamo a new peace to her soul. Wlieu 
Blanche looked up, tears were shining in her 
eyes. The young man seemed to read what was 
passing in her mind, for he drew near, and 
touched her hand respectfully, saying, in a low 
earnest voice, ” We will both strive for the crown 
of Life which fadeth not away.” 
"Yes!” 
The reply brought a radiant smile to his noble 
countenance, and bowing an adieu he turned 
away. 
Margaret Warner’s conscience was not 
wholly deadened. Salutary effects resulted from 
her exposure to Miluokm Stanton, and every 
hour increased her remorse. “ I cannot carry 
this heavy load any longer,—I will confess to 
Bi am nr, and if she easts me off forever, it is no 
more than 1 deserve.” 
Her determination was final, and the afternoon 
the day following the picnic, found Maggie at 
Dr. Martin’s door. The two girls met alone, and 
as if fearing that delay might weaken her resolu¬ 
tions, the guilty girl immediately handed the ting 
to Blanche saying, with forced calmness,—“Take 
this,—it is yours,—I caused the cuke to fall upon 
the ground so I could place my own piece in its 
slcad.” Maggie’s voice shook, but she went on 
rapidly, while her cheeks flushed, and large tears 
gathered in her v ye?, “I am very wicked! You 
can never forgive me. I could not carry this up¬ 
on heart aDy longer. Why didn’t yon get angry 
with me because I spoiled jour beautiful plnrae? 
It was a shame! I knew it all the time, but would 
not say so. If I had, perhaps this great tempta¬ 
tion would never have befallen me. Ob, I am 
miserable!” The penitent girl hurst into burs. 
“I forgive you freely, dear Maggie. Do not 
grieve any longer,” and Blanche embraced her, 
with all the warmth and tenderness of former 
times. “ We will bury this forever,” she contin¬ 
ued. "I did feel angry about the plume, and it 
was hard for me to conquer better feelings, hut it 
has made me happier and bitter, I trust O, 
believe me, it is very sweet to forgive.” 
A softened light beamed from Maggie's eyes 
now, and her manner was touchingly humble, 
while she placed the ring upon her friend’s hand, 
saying, " wear this always, and try to forget my 
wicked act Where is the plume.” When it was 
produced her tears hurst forth anew. “It is use¬ 
less to you; may 1 keep it Blanche? I would not 
ask this of yon, hut perhaps the possession of it 
will make me bumble.” 
" We will call it a peace-offering,” and Blanche 
gave up the disfigured ornament with a sweet 
smile. 
Milford Stanton never Bought Maggie’s so¬ 
ciety agairn Kbe knew ivby, and the bitter up- 
braidings of conscience were not slow in assuring 
her that the friendship of such a, man was no 
light treasure. 
Six more weeks must elapse before the ap¬ 
pointed time for their return to the city would 
arrive. It seemed a great while to wait. Wood¬ 
ville had lost its charms for her, and with some 
difficulty she succeeded in gaining Blanche's 
consent to let her return home alone, and she de¬ 
parted. A few days after this event, the young 
student called at Dr. Martin’s, Blanche won¬ 
dered why lie became so silent when she reverted 
to her friend, and it was a mystery to her how 
this sudden dislike was occasioned, hut the sub¬ 
ject soon died away from her mind. Milford be¬ 
came a frequent visitor at Dr. Martin's, and the 
young people’s acquaintance ripened into a grow¬ 
ing friendship, for there was much congeniality 
between the two. Blanche seldom mentioned 
his name, hut a wavering blush would mount up 
her cheeks. 
Time rolled on, and oDe evening the student 
called to hid her good-bye, for his vacation was 
nearly closed. They stood together beneath the 
vine-wreathed porch, and ere they parted there 
was an exchange of vows between them, which 
married their heart.' fojrever. 
A HEROINE ()E SEVENTY-SIX. 
BA’ MRS. M. A. DENNISON. 
I don’t like to hear the noise of those hammers. 
The dull sound of laboring picks breaks upon the 
ear with monotonous regularity. They are mak¬ 
ing tracks for a railroad in this old town. 1 ain 
not pleased with the "Improvement,” as some call 
it, for a pleasant farm-house and its surrounding 
fields that sloped from high and undulating hills 
have vanished forever before its nod. The great 
genius of enterprise, with his ugly shears of com¬ 
merce. is clipping at the poor wings of poetry and 
romance, till, I fear, by-and-by, they will have 
only power to flap along the ground, their ethe¬ 
real faculties chained down to stock-taking and 
invoices. 
I am sorry the house has gone, for there are 
some recollections connected with its history for 
the sake of which it would he pleasant could it 
have been spared. An old red farm house, sur¬ 
rounded by fields of waving grain and corn, in the 
autumn time, and overhung by the branches of 
various fruit trees, golden with the fullness of 
time, is a sight of picturesque beauty in a rich 
vallej’, especially if a fine old mountain looms up 
in the background, or a deep of forest trees 
stretches away into the clear, mellow atmosphere 
beyond. 
In that one before ns, (I am speaking now as if 
it stood In the old spot,) the widow of a noble 
Captain l’icrpont. lived some twenty years ago. 
The laily was a fine specimen of old-time women; 
dignified, even commanding in manner, with u 
fresh bloom upon her check, a finely molded fure- 
head, and a deep, earnest expression in her yet 
bright eyes. She was a woman of refined and cul¬ 
tivated intellectual powers, a woman who in youth 
had known no stint of wealth; whoso mind was 
stored with classic lore; who had never, till she 
emigrated to the wilderness of the New World, 
Boiled her white fingers with even household 
work. 
Father and husband were both dead. The 
bones of the former reposed in another country, 
beneath a marble monument; the latter had now 
slept two years in the little burying ground be¬ 
side the wooden church in sight of the red farm¬ 
house, and a small giay stone marked the spot 
where his ashes mingled with the dust. 
One day, during the hardest campaign of onr 
sturdy soldiers, Madam Pierpont was alone at the 
farm. Pomp, a negro servant, had gone on some 
errand which would detain him till nightfall, and 
Aleck, the hired man, had wounded his hand in 
the morning with an axe, so that he was quite dis¬ 
abled and obliged to return to his home, about a 
mile distant, which, by the way, was the nearest 
homestead to the old red farm - house. The 
widow’s four brave sons, of ages varying from 
eighteen to twenty-six, had started but two days 
previous for the field of their country’s battle. 
While the widow realized that in all probability 
some, perhaps all, of her treasures would be smit¬ 
ten by the ruthless hand of war, her cheek was 
still unblanched, and a holy hope sat in the repose 
of her beautiful features. Only now and then she 
turned to open the Bible before her and read a 
few consoling passages, and straightway resumed 
her work with a trusting smile. Ah! patriotism 
found an enduring home in many such a gentle 
breast. 
Suddenly from the distance came a sound like 
the trampling of horses’ feet, and a great cloud 
of dust betokened the approach of travelers hur¬ 
rying to their destination. The widow moved 
to the door, and shading her eyes from the intense 
sunshine, watched their progress. They drew 
nearer, and in another moment three horsemen 
drew up before the door. They wore military 
costume, and were all fine-looking men. The 
foremost gentleman far exceeded the others by 
his imposing figure and the greatness of his 
countenance. It needed no introduction to assure 
the widow that this was George Washington. 
With that courtesy which always characterized 
him, he bowed gracefully to Madam Pierpont, as 
he blandly asked if be could find rest and refresh¬ 
ment. 
"Our horses are wearied,— we have ridden 
since nine this morning, and would fain recruit,” 
he added. 
“ Certainly, gentlemen, and welcome, ” she 
replied, smilingly, throwing wide open the inner 
door as they dismounted. 
“Our poor beasts,” said one of the officers, pat¬ 
ting his smoking horse, “I would they could be 
attended to immediately. Is there a groom or 
servant about your house, Madam, who could rub 
them down and feed them? I will reward him 
liberally.” 
“We would ask no reward in this household, 
sir,” replied the widow; “if you will lead them 
round, they shall lie cared for.” 
" Make yourselves perfectly comfortable, gentle¬ 
men,” said the widow, “and excuse me while I 
prepare you refreshments. Yon must be hungry 
as well as fatigued.” 
In another minute: the widow was in the stable 
unsaddling the poor horses,—work to which she 
was not accustomed, hut which she nevertheless 
could do in time of need, being a woman of strong 
muscular frame, and great energy. She knew it 
must be done by herself or not at all. As for men 
and horses, they were completely jaded out. She 
with straw rubbed the animals down with her own 
hands, led them into their stalls, and prepared and 
gave them food. After changing her dress, the 
widow returned again to the parlor, where the 
officers, having unbuckled their swords and doffed 
their caps, sat conversing together, evidently en¬ 
joying a delightful rest. As the widow stepped 
over the threshold of the room, one of the officers 
was remarking to his companions— 
“ He was one of my best men, and as fine look¬ 
ing a young fellow as ever volunteered.” 
"Do your speak of young Pierpont?” asked 
another.” 
“ Yes, he fell yesterday, pierced by three balls, 
—poor fellow,—it was a hard fate for such a hoy.” 
For one moment the cheek of the woman was 
blanched, the heart of the mother shocked, but 
she spoke almost calmly as she asked— 
“Which one was it, sir?” 
“Henry Pierpont, if I am not mistaken. Was 
he known to you?” 
Was he known to her? Oh! the torture that 
followed that question! Henry! her noble, first 
horn; he who had taken the place of the dead at 
their board, and, with a gravity beyond his years, 
carried out the plans his father left unfinished! 
A nd now his blue eye* were closed forever,— his 
bright locks soiled in the dust. Oh! the thought 
was anguish! A deathly faintness came over her, 
bnt she rallied with a great effort, and said, as 
calmly as before, as she turned her whitening 
cheek away, 
" He was my son, sir.” 
They did not see her face, as she walked quickly 
but firmly from the room. 
“Now, God forgive me! I feel as if I had done 
a cowardly thing,” murmured the officer, while 
his lips git-w pale with emotion. “Coming here 
to partake of this woman’s hospitality, I have 
cruelly stabbed her to her heart,” 
" You are not to blame, my friend,” said Wash¬ 
ington, in his deep tones, in which was blended a 
sudden pathos. "Neither, if 1 road her aright, 
would she recall the child bravely fallen in his 
country’s cause. This is no common woman— 
her very face speaks of her soul’s nobility. Mark 
me—when next you see her she will he tearless; 
no word of sorrow will issue from her lips. Our 
mothers, our wives—I am proud to say it—are 
heroines in this trying period. And this,” he 
continued, pointing to the Bible, “this is the 
secret of their greatness; wherever you behold 
that volume opened, bearing evidence of constant 
perusal, there you will find woman eapable of any 
emergency. T repeat it, when we meet her again 
she will lie calm and tearless, although a mother 
bereaved of her child.” 
And so it was. Madam Pierpont had schooled 
her grief for the time into a sudden and sacred 
submission; and when the officers were called 
into another room to partake of the smoking 
viands she had prepared, they found her collected, 
unchanged in manner, and serene in counte¬ 
nance. The officer from whom Ihe news hud so 
rudely hurst, was lost in admiration of her con¬ 
duct, and was often heard to say, subsequently, 
that he venerated woman the more for her sake. 
Toward night the trio departed, thanking the 
kind woman with grateful hearts for her courtesy. 
They found their horses readv saddled, and were 
forced to the conjecture that Madam Pierpont had 
herself performed the duty of hostler. 
General Washington kindly took her hand be¬ 
fore he mounted his charger, aud addiessed her 
tenderly and affectionately. Tears came to the 
eyes of his officers while they listened; but 
though an increasing palor spread over the 
widow's face, she murmured: 
“1 am thankful, thankful to my God, sir, that 
he lias deemed rue worthy of demanding my first 
born in this glorious struggle; he was ready, sir, 
ready for life or death.” 
But when they had gone, and she returned to 
the Bileuce of that lone house, the mother wept 
exceedingly hitter tears. Draw we the curtain 
before her sacred anguish. 
Farewell, old Pierpont House, with your carpet 
of mallows, and old-fashioned flojvers in old-fash¬ 
ioned pots standing upon the stoop. I feel sad at 
the thought that I shelf never again see its open 
door wreathed with vines, whereon hung clusters 
of luxtiriatiug grapes; nor its windows, or the 
lower floor, all opened, with their curtains of 
snowy muslin floating with a dream)', undulating 
motion in the pleasant bi'feeze. 
BIOGRAPHICAL ENIGMA. 
I am composed of 40 letters. 
My 24, 22,17, 24, 11, 1 was the greatest of prophetical 
writers. 
My 2.19, 14, 13, 24, 25, was the greatest master of mathe¬ 
matical science. 
My 25, 6,10,9, 27,18, 23, 21,22 was the prince of orators. 
My 3, 8,17, 29, 24,10, 40, 25,16, 27 was a famous geome¬ 
trician of Syracuse. 
My 38,15, 24, 22, 39, 33, 28,12, 26 was the ablest logician 
of antiquity. 
My 32, 4, 24, 25 was a distinguished Roman poet. 
My 31,11,14, 9, 6 was an English philosopher and uni¬ 
versal genius. 
My 25, 6, 22, 14, 3, 20, 39, 30, 27 was a famous French 
philosopher. 
My 34, 35,19, 18, 32, 19, 27, 9, 3C, 7 was a celebrated Rus¬ 
sian general. 
My 37, 8, 3,6, 34,12, 25, 6 was a distinguished American 
philosopher. 
-My whole is an extract from Pope’s Essay on Man. 
East Pembroke, N. Y., 1860. W. S. M. NORTIHJP. 
Answer in two weeks. 
For Moore's Rural New-Yorker. 
GEOGRAPHICAL ENIGMA. 
1 AM composed of 16 letter*. 
My 3, 9,14, 8 is a town in Alabama. 
My 6,14, 2, 3,10 is a town in Michigan. 
My 13,1, 10, ]6, 5,10,13, 14, 6 is a town in Illinois. 
My 3, 10,10, 8, 4 is a county in Virginia. 
My 12,14, 6, 7, 11 is a towu in Missouri. 
My 7, 5, 15,14, 8, 6 is a town iu Georgia. 
My whole was a lonely inhabitant of an island. 
Dnrhamvillo, Onei. Co., N. Y F. N. Satkrlee. 
tJT Answer In two weeks. 
ILLUSTRATED REBUS. 
Answer in two weeks. 
CHARADE. 
My humble first in yonder vaJe 
May hold the easy mind; 
Go, mark It well, with roses geuim'O, 
And blooming woodbines twined 
A little word rny noxt Is found, 
Brought irorn the realms of France, 
The high .bred dame adores the sound 
At opera, park, or dance. 
My whole is useful, and the maid 
Who lives by needle’s art, 
Could never sure, without my aid, 
Her handy trade imparl. 
83*” Answer iu two weeks. 
For Moore’s Rural New-Yorker. 
GEOMETRICAL PROBLEM. 
A, B, and C, are to saw off a log 36 inches in diameter, 
and it is required that each one shall saw one-third of 
the log. Required the depth that each one must saw. 
Hanover, Mich., 1860, John Thompson. 
83° Answer iu two weeks 
ANSWERS TO ENIGMAS, &c., IN NO. 535. 
Answer to Poetical Enigma:—The letter B. 
Answer to Logogriphs:—1, G-oat; 2,F-ox; 3, B-a-booD. 
Answer to Geometrical Problem:—400 and 600. 
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will be accommodated, tjp - Every person remitting, ac¬ 
cording to onr terms, for n club of 6, 111, 15 or 20 previous 
to 1st of Ainu, I860, will receive n dollar package of choice 
imported Flower Skew, os heretofore offered 
Additions to Clubs are now in order, #Dd Club 
Agents will please forward the Subscriptions of those 
who wish to secure the Rural. J Back Numbers of 
this volume can still he supplied to new subscribers, and 
will be )n all Cases where ordered, until we otherwise 
announce. Bund on the new recruit*! 
V37~ Change ok Address—I n ordering the address of the 
Rural changed, please name the post-office to which it i» 
(or has been) sent as well as the one where you wish it 
