fWritten for Moore’s Rural New-Yorker.] 
ONE YEAR. 
By in A K-AJBI'JKl.P. 
Oxb year on silver wings Lath Down, 
My brother, since we lui<l thee down 
To rest beneath the sod,— 
Another year of toil and care. 
Of patient hope, and love, and prayer, 
To all who human burdens bear, 
And feel affliction’* rod. 
1* it not bettor far to wear 
An angel'd crown of light, and share 
A home of rest with Cob? 
One year to walk the golden streets, 
Where love it* full fruition meets, 
And bliss supernal reigns,— 
One year upon that radiant shore, 
Where sin and sorrow nevermore 
Disturb the human heart, nor poor 
Death’s poison through the veins,— 
One year, with loved ones gone before, 
To count life's many battles o'er, 
And realise its gains. 
Time’s ceaseless waves will ebb and flow, 
And other years will come and go, 
With joy or woe replete,— 
And others of our household band 
May meet thee iu that better land 
To greet thee with love's clasping hand, 
And hold communion sweet,— 
Perchance, while thou ami 1 shall stand, 
Still waiting, by our Dorm's command, 
The hour when we may meek 
Yet shall our soul* by faith draw nigh, 
Still linked by love's most holy tie, 
And how before God's throne; 
Together blend our humble prayer, 
Together His best blessings share, 
Who of His fullness well may spare, 
And not to us alone,— 
Yet 1 must breathe of many a care 
Unwoven of sin's fatal snare, 
Henceforth to thee unknown. 
Ashaway, R I., 1800. 
“NOW, FATHER.” 
"Now, father.” They were only two little 
Words, but they were said in soft, pleading tones, 
which have more weight than a score of argu¬ 
ments. 
" 1 know just what you mean, Esther,” exclaimed 
Jason Strong, as ho slipped his right arm into his 
workman’s “overalls” that spring morning," hut 
there’s no nse wasting any words between us. It 
would he folly and madness for us to think of 
adopting Widow Blake's child, when it’s just as 
much as we can do by screwin’ and turnin’, to 
put bread into the mouths of the three we’ve got 
at home.” 
"No man has abetter will than mine; hut when 
I’m laid np half the winter by r rhumatiz, .and can't 
earn hut seventy five cents a day on the best jobs, 
it’s high time to put down notions about taking 
other folks’ children, when the chances are our 
own’ll have to scatter afore long.” 
lie was a large, heavy-limbed, stalwart man— 
she was a small, shrinking, gentle-faced and voiced 
woman, and now her tones came like a minor key, 
after the pruif, positive voice, which half-con¬ 
cealed as honest and true a heart as ever heat 
in man’s bosom. 
"I know, Jason, it's all true, that you’ve a hard 
row to hoe, and it seems, as you say, a mighty tug 
to make two ends meet and take care of the chil¬ 
dren God has given us, but I don’t believe he’ll 
forget if we remember the widow and the father¬ 
less in their affliction; and what if it was little sis, 
now?” 
Here Mr. Strong raised the key and went ener¬ 
getically to windiug up the clock. 
"You know,” continued the little woman, set¬ 
ting a couple of chairs opposite each other, aud 
girdling the hacks with a skein of blue woolen 
yarn, "that the doctor says Miss Blake can’t stand 
it more’n this week out, and I tell yon, Jason, it 
fairly broke mo down when I went in there last 
night, and little Minnie's golden head was a 
shinin’ and a bobbin’ around among the chairs 
where she was playin’ singin' school, till I could 
think of nothin’ bat the butter cups a twinklin’ 
every May amongst the clover, and Miss Blake's 
eyes followed her with a longin', pityin', anxious 
look, and then tamed on me. 
“0, Miss Strong, what'll become on her?” she 
said. 
"God’ll take care on her, Miss Blake.” 
“But sometimes I forget this, and then it seems 
as if I couldn’t die in peace and leave her here, 
without a friend in the wide world to look out for 
her, with her father a steepin' away off under the 
deep waters, and her mother a lying in a little 
corner of the village churchyard”— 
“Come wife, come,” here interrupted Mr. 
Strong, in a quick, sharp voice, and he took out 
his pocket handkerchief and blew his nose with a 
great deal of emphasis. 
His wife did not observe it,— she was very 
intent just at that moment on shaping her ball of 
yarn with her thumb and fore-finger. 
“Well, Jason, 1 haveu’t much more to say, 
for Miss Blake broke right down here herself; and 
I couldn't find a word to comfort her, for some¬ 
thin' away down in my heart kept a whisperin’, 
suppose how it was your little Wealthy?” 
“ It would he dreadful tough, wife, that's a fact,” 
exclaimed the carpenter, and he put one foot 
uneasily before the other. 
"Aud then, suppose Miss Blake stood in our 
case.” 
“0, mother, I see now just what you’re coming 
to,” interrupted Mr. Strong, in a half-surly, half- 
despairing tone. 
“ I ain’t cornin’ to say anything hut this, father, 
that we’ve got all of God’s promises on our side, 
and I don't believe lie’s going to let us break 
down bccanse we took that poor motherless thing 
under our roof, when she would have to he put in 
the poor-house or among strangers that would 
abuse her. ] tell you”—and lieye the tears flashed 
right out into the little woman’s eyes, and the soft- 
spoken voice gathered new strength and lervor— 
"every mouthful I eat would choke me, and my 
pillow, when 1 lay down on it. at night, would he 
full of thorns to me, thinking of that poor little 
Iamb among cold-hearted, cruel strangers.” 
Mr. strong muttered something that sounded 
very much like "woman’s nonsense,” but some¬ 
how the words didn’t get fairly out of his throat 
Mrs. Strong went, up to her husband and laid 
her hand on his arm, and the pule, faded face 
shone with something that was finer titan the lost 
beauty of its girlhood, as she said, "Now, father, 
tbere’H no use try in’, you know you’ll never let 
that child suffer so long us you’ve got a roof to 
cover you or a crust to eat” 
"Well, wife, take your own way; I never was 
good at argufyin’ with women”—and the man 
turned abruptly and went out of the house, 
ashamed to own that his warm, tine heart en¬ 
dorsed every word that was spoken. 
In a minute, however, the kitchen door opened 
again. 
“ Wife, I say.” 
"Well, father.” 
"You’d better go right over and tell Miss 
Blake you’ve concluded to take the child. It’ll 
set her mind at rest like, and just now she needs 
it enough.” 
"There, didn’t I sec?” murmured Mrs. Strong 
to herself; “it’s well I knowhow to get on the 
right side o’ father’s heart.” 
“There, now, Johnnie, don’t Minnie look very 
pretty?” and Wealthy Strong turned round the 
dainty little creature whose golden head she had 
crowned with a wreath of white and pink wood- 
blossoms. 
" Yes, she does, that’s a fact,” answered the 
very practical hoy, as he slowly drew in his fish¬ 
ing line. 
It was a bright, still afternoon, in the early sum¬ 
mer, and John Strong had brought the two little 
girls over to the pond, and while he hauled in with 
shouts of triumph his prizes of pickerel and bass, 
Wealthy had twined a wreath of blossoms which 
she and Minuie had gathered in the woods a little 
way o£T, aud wound them in the child's tresses. 
The brother and sister were healthy, robust 
looking children, with the round limbs and sun- 
browned faces which tell their own talcs of 
country life; but Minnie Blake was one of those 
children the very sight of which brought new life 
into the eyes of those who love beauty. She was 
small and delicate, with eyes blue and deep as 
still lakes locked beneath deep mountains, and 
her hair had the ripeness of harvest pears that 
dropped every autumn on the grass in Mr. 
Strong’s hack yard. 
The bloom of two woodland roses were set in 
her cheeks, and sweet smiles were forever cluster¬ 
ing over the dimples bidden about her lips. 
Bhe had resided with the Strong's for more than 
two years, and all this time the little orphan 
Minnie Blake had been like a sweet flower, filling 
their home with fragrance. 
But it had been a home where went on con¬ 
stantly a sharp, strong battle with poverty—a 
battle that was lightened and sanctified by faith 
in God aud sweet afl'eetions and tender cares. 
But this summer had opened more darkly than its 
predecessors—for Mr. Strong’s rheumatic attacks 
had been longer and more serious than any of the 
previous ones. He had lost.-several important 
"jobs” for that season in consequence of his 
illness; and his oldest son, who had just crossed 
his fourteenth birthday, had been obliged to leave 
the district school and let himself out as a 
“chore hoy” to a penurious old farmer in the 
vicinity of Woodford. 
So troubles thickened over the heads of the 
carpenter’s little family, and the face of Mrs. 
Strong grew paler and more patient day by day. 
"Yon just get away from my father’s pond, if 
yon know what is good for you.” 
The loud, harsh tones, broke suddenly in upou 
the children’s voices, and looking up hastily in 
the direction of the voices, John saw Sqnire Mor¬ 
ton's oldest son standing in the field opposite the 
meadow, through whose dark grass the little poud 
flashed the silver embroidery of its waters. 
Now, although the meadow in reality belonged 
[O the Squire, it was regarded as "public prop¬ 
erty” by all the neighbors, and the school-hoys 
assembled here every Saturday afternoon for pis¬ 
catory achievements, amidst boisterous jests and 
frolic. 
John Strong was a hold, out-spoken hoy, and 
the insolent tones of the Squire’s son at once 
roused all his belligerent qualities. 
"The pond belongs quite as much to me as it 
does to you, sir, and I shall stay here just as long 
as I like, for all your orders.” 
“You will, eh?” I’d like to know what light 
you, a poor beggar of a carpenter’s son, have to 
speak to me in that way," and Robert Morton, 
whose naturally overbearing disposition hud been 
nurtured by the indulgence of most injudicious 
parents—for he was an only son — advanced 
toward the hoy, whose senior he was by two or 
three years, tauntingly cracking a small riding- 
whip which he carried in his hand. The angry 
blood burned over the face of John Strong, while 
the girls shrieked for fear. “ Come on," he cried, 
assuming a belligerent attitude, and doubling his 
fists, “I’m not afraid of you, Boh Morton, if you 
are the Squire’s son, and I’d like first rate to give 
you a lickin' for that iusult” 
It was not the right action nor the right an¬ 
swer; but the carpenter’s son forgot, in that hour 
of sore temptation, what many older and wiser 
heads than his have done, that it is neither money 
nor station which makes the true gentleman, only 
the heart that is gentle, and noble, and self- 
sustained; and John Strong certainly descended 
when he replied to the taunts of the Squire's son. 
aggravating as they were. 
Robert Morton had a handsome face, hut it was 
one of those, despite its dark, clearly cut features, 
which your heart never clung to—one which, the 
more it was studied, the less it was loved; and 
now an expression of angry pride darkened and 
distorted every lineament as he stood still a 
moment before John Strong, and then lifting his 
whip, struck him a quick, sharp blow on the fore¬ 
head. The next moment the two hoys closed in 
an angry struggle. John was the smaller of the 
two, hut exercise had developed his muscles, and 
given him a degree of physical power which one 
would hardly have suspected from the first glance. 
He soon succeeded in w resting the whip from the 
Squire’s son, and after a brief struggle threw him 
on the ground, aud as John’s temper had com¬ 
pletely overmastered him, be gave his antagonist 
a severer beating than he was himself aware of. 
"I’ll make you pay for this, old fellow; you'll 
see, growled the hoy, as, with bruised face and 
stiff' limbs, he limped away. 
“0, father, my Johnnie’s sent to jail! I shall 
never he able to lift up my head again,” and the 
mother wrung her hands, and the tears scattered 
themselves over her pale cheeks. 
It was a dark day under the roof of the little 
red house of the carpenter, Jason Btrong, 
The Squire’s son had executed his threat, and 
so worked upon hia father's sympathies and indig¬ 
nation by the story of his wrongs which he had 
received, that be had commenced a suit against 
the carpenter on account of his son, and the latter 
was sent to jail because his father could not raise 
the hundred dollars which would have paid the 
boy’s bonds. 
Jason Btrong leaned his head in his hard hands 
and groaned, while Minnie and Wealthy, who 
scarcely comprehended the fearful tidings, crept 
close to each other in oue corner of the kitchen, 
and sidled their little brown bands into each 
other's, and looked with sorrowful faces upon the 
father and mother. 
“ My boy in jail, murmured the poor mother, as 
she paced, with locked hands, up and down the 
room; “ my hoy that I loved so, aDd was so proud 
of, whose little brown head I have rocked to sleep 
so many nights iu the cradle yonder ”— 
“0 don’t, don’t, wife,” groaned the carpenter, 
and bis whole frame groaned like a sobbing 
child’s, while the two girls cried softly in the 
corner. 
And just at that moment the front gate of the 
red house was opened, and a man strode into the 
yard, and up to the front door—a man small and 
somewhat thin, hut having that rambling gait and 
sailor's dress, which at once indicated his nauti¬ 
cal occupation. 
His eyes roamed a moment over the humble 
cottage, its mossy roof embroidered with golden 
devices of the sunset; then he lifted the heavy 
handle of the brass knocker, and gave such a 
summons that it must have reached the ears of 
every living soul under the low roof. 
Minnie put her small, sweet face out of the 
front door, and looked up eagerly at the man. 
“ Can you tell me, little one, if a man by the 
name o’ Btrong hails from this craft?” 
The blue eyes dilated with sweet wonder at the 
strange language, 
"1 don't know what you meaD.” 
“ Aint used to sailor’s yarns, eh? little sea-bird; 
well, tlicD, can you tell me who lives inside?” 
"His name’s Jason Btrong.” 
"The very man I’m after,” exclaimed the 
sailor, setting his foot over the threshold; then, 
as if a sudden thought struck him, he checked 
himself, and looking down earnestly on the child> 
he asked, "Won’t you tell me your name?” 
"I’m Minnie Blake.” 
He reached out the strong arm and lifted the 
small figure, and folded it up closely, as a mother 
her newly found child, to lus heart, and the words 
came in a sob to his lips, "My child, l‘m your 
father.” 
0, there was wonder and joy in the carpenter’s 
house that night, when it was discovered that 
Minnie’s father had returned to them—he whose 
hair they thought had been draggled by the salt 
sea waves for more than three years, He had a 
long story to tell of terrible misadventures by 
land and sea—of miscarried letters, and years of 
sickness in a strange land, and at last of restored 
health—of tidings that had reached him of the 
death of his wife, arid of his daughter's adoption 
by their neighbor and bis old playmate, Jason 
Strong, 
And the carpenter, in his turn, had a mournful 
tale to relate of sickness and poverty, and hopes 
deferred; but the saddest part of the story was its 
conclusion. 
"A hundred dollars! " growled the sailor, aud 
he drew out his plethoric pocket book.. 
“Old friend, you took my child into your craft 
when the storm came down hardest. Your boy 
won’t he in jail two hours longer.” 
There was double joy in the carpenter’s house 
that, night. Johnnie Btrong was removed from 
jail—for the sailor was as good as bis word, and 
a lawyer was procured to plead the case of the 
carpenter's son, who did it su ably and eloquently 
that the boy was acquitted, to the great astonish¬ 
ment and rage nf Squire Morton. 
"I’m tired of the seas, old friend,” said the 
sailor, one evening a week alter his return, as he 
sat in Jason .Strong’s little kitchen, with Minnie 
on his knee, and her small brown fingers llutteriug 
like the wings of newly fledged birds iu his iron 
gray hair; “and when I lay out in au old raft, one 
night at sea, aud it seemed as though every wave 
that went over us would he the last wc could 
stand, I made a solemn promise with my own 
soul, that if ever God brought me to see the shore 
again, I'd never leave it to take another voyage 
for all the gold of the East Indies. 
“ And I've got a thousand dollars that the old 
general gave to me for tying his son to the raft, 
and I've concluded to put it into some acres of 
ground round here, and tnru farmer; for I aint 
quite forgot the old trade 1 was brought, up to, nor 
you either, I reckon, Jason; so, if you’re a mind 
to go in business with me, you shall have half the 
profits, aud it'll pay you better than jlnerinV 
Jason Strong cleared his throat twice to an¬ 
swer, hut the thoughts which rose up in his heart 
choked back the words, aud his wife spoke for 
him. "It’s been the dream and hope o' father’s 
life, giviu' up his trade and genin' hold o’ a few 
acres o' laud to cultivate, but we’d given up all 
hope of it long afore this.” 
“Well, ray friends, tlurLord don’t forget them 
that remember the widow aud the fatherless,” 
said the sailor, and he hugged up Minnie close to 
his heart. 
"That’s what I said, father.that mornin'—don't 
you know!” wound up the soft, eager voice of the 
little pale-faced woman, as she folded up the 
child's coat she had just mended. 
“Yes, 1 know, Esther; and I know, too, that 
unto you belongs all the praise—for it was God 
who put it into your heart to take the child.” 
0 
It) it anil fjumor. 
[Written for Moore's Rural New-Yorker.] 
HOW TO CURE A SCOLD. 
The mildest, prettiest little girl— 
Ah, woe is me— 
Who ever wore her hair in enri, 
Was Rosaljk. 
Her hazel eyes ami hair of jet 
I put in rhyme; 
I loved her from the hour we met— 
O, happy time! 
One day I asked her, " Wilt thou wed?" 
Assent she sighed. 
And soon unto the church I led 
A lovely bride. 
The rose*, o’er our cottage door, 
Bloomed red and sweet, 
And deftly pattered on the floor 
Her tiny feet. 
A month rolled by all peacefully— 
It passed too soon— 
That happiest month that man can Bee, 
The honeymoon. 
Then slowly came a woful change 
Upon my life, 
For Rosa i .ik grew cold and strange, 
And foud of strife. 
No more I found her meek and mild 
As theretofore; 
The woman had displaced the child 
Forevermore. 
And when I chanced, as oft might be, 
Her mime to call. 
She either answered peevishly, 
Or not at all. 
Ere long, before our marriage vows 
Were twelve months old, 
1 found I'd taken for a spouse 
A comuion scold! 
Worse, worse she grew with every day. 
Till oft 1 said 
I wished that, she would run away, 
Or I were dead. 
But no such happiness I found— 
To me she clung, 
And wrathfully, the whole year round, 
She wagged her tongue. 
In January, month of thaws, 
By chance it happed 
That Kosib scolded me because 
Her lips were chapped, 
" 'Tis caused by talk; keep silent, then, 
My dear,” said I; 
She only scolded me again 
For my reply! 
So out I went, nor dared to stop 
For mud anti wet, 
Down to the nearest druggist's shop, 
Some salve to get 
I purchased something—man is frail— 
And bore it home. 
The strangest part of this strange tale 
Is yet to come. 
“ Here is your lip salve, Rosalie,” 
I muttered low; 
And once more Rosie scolded me 
For being Blow. * 
She took the bottle, it* contents 
She quick applied; 
All, she knew not the consequence 
Until it dried. 
0, nevermore did she unclose 
Her lips to speak! 
They stayed for aye in mute repose, 
Silent aud meek. 
1 did, thenceforth, as 1 thought best; 
She ne'er complained; 
No opposition she expressed, 
But dumb remained. 
Come, all who wish a quiet life, 
I'll tell to you 
With what I cured my scolding wife— 
’Twaa Spalding's Glue 1 
A STRING OF PEARLS. 
Cultivate true sentiments, and good manners 
will suggest themselves. 
To-morrow is the day on which lazy people 
work and fools reform. 
Persons most surely rise to eloquence not by 
distinction, hut by seeking a worthy end. 
Charity would lose its name were it influenced 
by so mean a motive as human praise. 
Intellect is not the moral power; conscience 
is. Honor, not talent, makes the gentleman. 
Little drops of rain brighten the meadows, 
and little acts of kindness brighten the world. 
Men are said to admire that which they look up 
to, aud to love that which they look down upon. 
Generosity consists not in the sum given, hut 
in the manner and the occasion of its being be¬ 
stowed. 
To quell the pride even of the greatest, we 
should reflect how much more we owe to others 
than to ourselves. 
We are sure to he losers when we quarrel with 
ourselves; it is a civil war, and in all such conten¬ 
tions triumphs are defeats. 
The philosopher l-’razer says that, "though 
a man without money is poor, a man with nothing 
but money is still poorer.” 
PniLOSOruERS themselves, like the stoic gentle¬ 
man of Mamontel, after praising simplicity of 
living, often sink to sleep on heavy suppers and 
beds of down. 
An old author remarks:—“In borrowing money 
he precious of your word; for 'he that hath care 
of keeping days of payment is lord of another 
man’s purse.” 
They are best situated for happiness who are 
neither too high nor too low—high enough to cul¬ 
tivate good manners, aud obscure enough to be 
left in the sweetest of solitudes. 
To live with a true economy is to live wisely. 
The man who lives otherwise has no prudent re¬ 
gard for his own happiness. But there is no 
worse folly than false economy. 
For Moore’s Rural New-Yorker. 
MISCELLANEOUS ENIGMA.—ACROSTICAL, 
I am composed of 26 letters. 
My 1, 20. 8. tfi is a coin of Genoa. 
My 2, 23. 12, 20, 11 * is a village in New York. 
My 3, a, 7. 5 is a kind of vessel. 
My 4. 21, 2, 3 is :i kind of poem. 
My 5,16, 7. 3, 24 is a weight. 
My 14, S Is a Jewish measure. 
My 7, 3, 23, R, 10,10, 4 is a small island. 
My 8, 12, 14, 15, 24 is a female In a state of feudal vas¬ 
salage. 
My 9,5, 0, 20 is a Hebrew measure. 
My tO, 11, 2, 10, G is an Egyptian divinity. 
My 11, 20, 23, 3, 7, 20 is an American shrub. 
My 12. 3. 10, 20,16 is a condition of life. 
My 13, 6, 7, 7, 6 is in “ general ” use. 
My 14, 8, 10, 20, 19,10, 20 ig a royal princess. 
My 15, 9. 23,10 is a kind of cloth. 
My 16, 23. 20, 4, 3 is a genus of palms. 
My 17, 30, 3, 7,3 is a place in the Western part of Egypt. 
My 18, 4, 2G is a Moor. 
Sly 19, 16, 6,11.10, 23, 7, 8,12 Is a mineral. 
My 20, 8,10,14 fs a Greek preposition. 
My 21, 7, 3,10 is a kind of clay. 
My 22, 20, 10, 3 Ig a kind of grain. 
My 23,2, 3,16, 23 is too often found. 
My 24, 10, G, 12, 23 Is another name for noble. 
My 25,10, 7, 2, 3, 0 is the condition of many. 
My 20,14, 3,20,8 Ig a month iu the Jewish calendar. 
My whole U tbo name of a lady, eminent for the many 
virtues that adorned her character. 
Cohocton, Steuben Co., N. Y. W. Waite Warner. 
tHHF" Answer in two weeks. 
For Moore’s Rural New-Yorker. 
ALGEBRAICAL PROBLEM. 
A and B each have a certain sum of money placed at 
interest, in such a manner that the incomes from them 
are equal. They both together have $8,500, If A had 
put out his money nt the game rate as B, he would have 
drawn $245 interest. But if B had put out his money at 
the same rate as A, he would have drawn $500 interest. 
Required the number of dollars that each one had, and 
the two rates of interest. Martin Brainekd. 
Gainesville, Wyo. Co., N. Y., 1860. 
S3T Answer in two weeks. 
ANSWERS TO ENIGMAS, &c„ IN NO. 539, 
Answer to Geographical Enigma:—No excellence with¬ 
out great labor. 
Answer to lllnstrated Rebus:—Shouldered his crutch 
to show how Helds were won. 
Answer to Arithmetical 1‘roblem:—A, 7; B, 5. 
TVinurtisements. 
WOOD'S IMPROVED MOWING MACHINE, 
' ' For ISRO. Patented Fi b. «f, 1M.7U. 
Tin: success of th-s Mower during the pant harvest is 
without n parallel in the history of Mowing Machines. In 
i ntroduelnglt, 1 offered to the farmer** mower at* less price 
than any in use, one that wag light, durable, and capable of 
doing perfect work. It has potlormint more than 1 claimed 
for it; the reduction in [ rice and rinift ir equal to 25 per 
cent., a* the trials and tests show, (see my pamphlets for 
]Nio.) 1 huve udded gome improvement* to if for this year; 
a lever arrangement for rsi* uu the cutter-bar, some of the 
part* are strengthened, aud the driving w hue le a re enlarged. 
1 continue to manul.ioture, »s heretofore, Manny’s cele¬ 
brated Combined Reaper and Mower, with Wood’*Improve¬ 
ment ThisMsiohiuelulty maintains ii« reputation as tbe 
best Combined Reaper and Mower yet introduced, and in¬ 
ferior to none u* a Keuper or Mower. 
I have added to this machine a Self Raking attachment 
of uiy own invention, tie* most simple iu its structure and 
mode of ojieraliou of anything of the kind ever ottered to 
the public, , 
Price of Two-Horse Mower, delivered here on the cars,-380 
Do. One-Horse do. do. do. do. *7s* 
Do. Combined Machine, do. do. do. 3120 
Do. do. with Peril- Raking Attachment. 8140 
6S8-yt WALTER A WOOD. Hoosidk Falls, N. Y. 
QTEEL FLOW*. Wo are jnnnntUcturing for the spring 
D trade large Bumbeis of our Mohawk Valley Clipper 
16owe, with steel mold-board ami laud-side, with steel or 
cast point, as desired, ami would refer you to the following 
person*, who have them in use: 
John Johnston, Geneva, N. Y. 
J. lugersnll, I lion, N. Y. 
AViii. Bummer, Pernarla, 8- C. 
R C. Ellis, Dyous, V V 
Cot A J Bummer, Lung:Swamp, Florida. 
A. .1. Bowman, Utica, N. Y. 
A. Bradley, Mankato, Minnesota. 
K Maekie, uUga, S'. Y. 
We are also mamitio-tUritiH Sayre's Patent Horse Hoe and 
Potato Covering Machine, Bay re's Patent Cultivator Teeth 
in quantities for tbe trade, arid all kinds of steel aud swage 
work in Die agricultural line. Send for a circular. 
SAYRE & REMINGTON, 
620-lnm-tf Union Agricultural Works, Utica, N. Y. 
“QET THE BEST!” 
WEBSTER’S UNABRIDGED DICTIONARY. 
NEW PICTORIAL EDITION. 
1,590 Pictorial Illustrations. 
!MXK> to 10,000 NEW tVIlHDS In the Vocabulary. 
Table of SYNONYMS by Prof. Goodrich. 
Table giving I’rouunclntlou of oiunut of 8,000 dlstln- 
gulnlied perron* of Modern Times. 
Peculiar use of Word* and Term. In the Bible. With 
other new features, together with all the matter of 
previous editions. 
In one Volume of 1750 Pages. 
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