• • 
BEAUTY FOR ASHES. 
A r air-ha jrkd girl 
Sat by the hearthstone in the twilight gray, 
Watching the bright ilame upward mount and curl; J 
And wept that it so soon mart paw away. 
Ah, me, she cried, 
That beauty erery where is hot a flash, 
Which, while we yet behoM H, lol has died, 
And, like these (lames, left but a heap of ash 
Poor, thoughtless child! 
She little dreamed one of the clouds that lay 
Kext morn abore the tree-tops, ranked and filed, 
In pnrple robes, guarding the gates of day, 
While she had slept, 
Had, from her humble hearthstone, floated there, 
Heedless that she, at its departure, wept, 
And now hung radiant in the morning air. 
Olcrlin Students' iiavlhly ' r 
ir 
m 
[Written for Moore's Rural New-Torker.] 
EJVA STANLEY 
WESSON 
E ifk, 
Gentle, light-hearted Eva Stanley! Gentle 
unto all around her, joyouB in her youth's glad 
hopel Yon Bhonld pee her as I do,—hear the 
eilvery laugh,—sec the love-lit eye, and list the 
tones as in days agone. An only child was Eva, 
and almost orphaned, for away back in the old 
church-yard there stood a headstone, upon which, 
in delicate penciling*, was traced "My Mother.” 
Very early the sorrows came, but the tempera¬ 
ment was too gay.Jaud the years too few, to leave 
a blight there. 
I have her in memory’s picture gallery, as she 
appeared one bright May afternoon. The youth 
of the village school had erected a May-pole upon 
the brow of a little hillock, and many were gath¬ 
ered in honor of the day. In the center of the 
group, and crowned a queen, was Eva, gently 
conducting her vassals, and receiving their 
homage, with true queenly dignity. Eva was 
not handsome, yet hers was an irresistible power, 
and they never thought to envy her the preference 
Bhc always gained, for they never knew of a 
Bchool affair terminating unpleasantly when Eva 
Stanley led the van. Then she was unselfish 
and impartial,—hers was not the selfish, careless 
joy, which lives for itself alone, (juite unhecd- 
ingly the hours wore into evening that May-day, 
and flying feet had become wearied chasing over 
the grassy slope, and the shadows were creeping 
very cautiously along, when they separated, and 
the kind “Good night” and smile of Eva faded 
not in long years from the memory of one unto 
happy. Avarice and ambition had made her 
selfish and unfeeling. Her trials had not taught 
her humility; she wedded for wealth, and had 
never experienced the love which might have 
w-armed her haart and quickened her sensibili¬ 
ties. Bhe welcomed Eva to her home, that her 
children might have a companion and herself be 
more free from care, so it never entered her 
mind that the child would ask for love or need 
sympathy. 
“Perhaps I ean learn aunt to love me; I will 
try,” Eva soliloquized; ‘and when she went round 
the child-circle giving her good night kiss, she 
timidiy approached Mrs. Caklton, but the hand 
waved her back, and the lips uttered “ What non¬ 
sense! Your Bizc and age would impart rather 
more dignity than that. I want no such childish 
manifestations here!” Peeling gained the mas¬ 
tery then, and Eva retired sobbing, “‘fio like my 
mother she has twice repeated. Would I were 
more like her, that I might hear with patience my 
aunt’s cold-heartedness.” Grieved and disheart¬ 
ened, the prayer arose that night, “Give me an 
humble home, and give me love.” In this new 
abode, Eva had much to learn of trials which 
were new unto her, hut they were messengers of 
good, perhaps, for the future often proves it is 
well for us. To show that she realized this, we 
will extract from her journal: 
"I have Just dismissed my little flock of young 
ideas, and Bilencc unbroken n igns in the school¬ 
room. It is a sacred trust which I have, this 
rearing young minds, and I fed my inability to 
teach them as 1 should; but they shall not want 
for affection, for I have been taught a lesson 1 
can never forget, how children yearn for sympa¬ 
thy and kind words. It is now Borne months 
since I went out from my Aunt Carlton’s abode 
as a homeless wanderer. 1 strove to hear meekly 
an almost Bad expression. Many times his eyes 
had wandered around the congregation, and I, in 
xny obscure seat, remained unnoticed, yet they 
w T ere destined to fall upon me? There came an 
actual pause in his sermon, an abrupt one, too, 
a slight flush was for a moment visible, and his 
voice was not as firm when he resumed his dis¬ 
course; but his eyes rested upon me only one 
moment, ami the pause waa so brief, that his 
audience could not have been caused much won¬ 
der. I heard many praises of hia eloquence and 
talent as 1 passed out, yet I lingered not, but 
hurried to my boarding place, sought my room, 
and wept. It was child-like, mayhap, yet very 
natural when we meet one unto whom we have 
once clung with all the ardor of youthful affec 
tion. I feel that I must avoid him, and I can 
hardly hope it a recognition which affected him 
to-day, 
a a Is it not a blessed consciousness 
which I have; a sufficient measure of joy! Only 
yesterday I declared that we should not meet,— 
that I would remain unto him unknown. As I 
came in after close of school this eve, I was in¬ 
formed that Mr. Newell was expected to tea! T 
cannot write the thoughts which rushed o’er my 
brain, hut I caught my book and (led from the 
house as from some dreaded evil. I wended my 
way unto a favorite place of resort, n forest on a 
gentle eminence, which overlooked much that 
was beautiful. I was nicely seated, and just con¬ 
gratulating myself that Arthur Newell could 
not read my thoughts there, or pain me by evi¬ 
dences of a treacherous memory, when I heard 
footsteps approaching. I sprang up thoroughly 
aroused, for I had been so sure of my seclusion. 
There he stood, with his hand extended toward 
me. 1 Eva, I have sought you,—have lung prayed 
to meet you,’ he said, while a tear of glad recog- 
her coldness, her unkind words, and taunts of Dition fell.* I spoke no word, hut how the sobs 
my dependence, until my heart was nerved to 
energy. So I firmly stood before my aunt, and 
announced my determination to depend upon my 
own resources. ‘A school-teacher,’ she repeated 
after me, 'yon who are always prating nonsense 
of books, birds and flowers! I suppose you will 
instill your own ideas, and mnko your scholars 
as near like yourBclf as possible. My children 
Bliall never have such a teacher!’ Myfairlittlo 
cousins are not among iny flock, but the comma 
uity entirely disregard Mrs. Caklton, powerful 
as I had supposed her to he. Made an engage¬ 
ment this morning to teach here the ensuing fall 
and winter term. I have no wish to go elsewhere. 
1 have found a circle of steadfast friends and 
warm hearts. I think oft of my home in child¬ 
hood, but those old associates have formed new 
ties, and excluded me from thought, perhaps, anil 
it would only sadden me to gaze upon the olden 
haunts. The little ones I am teaching give me 
the evidence of their love daily, and I am com¬ 
paratively happy. 
“ May 1 at .—How rapidly Time flies! how utterly 
regardless! This morning the children came 
pouring in with their May flowers, and one little 
curly-headed elfin placed a wreath of blossoms 
w'hom In alter time she became “the light of upon my brow, saying, 4 Now you are queen, Miss 
St fTb__ 1 f -_ -.1* t. * A_ . X • .. * * 
life.” True, life was all brightness unto her then, 
hut 1 have thought of a child-gaze into the fnture; 
for very softly the moonbeams came over the 
lattice that night, and drooped about her bowed 
form, while vestal lips inured to prayer pleaded 
“Father, forget not Thou this erring child.” 
Careless and happy child though she usually was, 
there was a depth of mind and feeling far beyond 
herjyears, and she felt that it was not enough to 
live and love in this perfect world, yet lift no 
pleading, praising voice. 
MontliB of sunny days succeeded the May 
•rowning, but when the cool autumn nights were 
lengthening out, and dark, chill hours succeeding 
the day, a new and severe sorrow cumo to Eva, 
Mr. Stanley was suddenly taken ill, and believ¬ 
ing that it was his Anal illness, sent a hasty appeal 
nnto a far-ofl' sister, then soon slept huslast long 
Bleep. TSEva grieved as only an orphan can, but 
Bhe had many earnest sympathizers among the 
hand which bLo hud long directed. They de¬ 
vised many ways to keep her with them, but of 
no avail. The relative’s demand overpowered 
the young enthusiasts, Arthur Newell, the 
pastor’s pride, wielded his eloquence long after 
his parent had striven to convince him it was 
not his to counteract or interfere in another's 
claim, hut Arthur boldly declared it despicable 
that the heads of the community, calling them¬ 
selves men, should allow Eva Stanley to depart 
from her childhood’s home. 
The early spring notes were just awakening, 
and hearts chilled by a long, cold winter, were 
receiving something of their olden warmth and 
fervor when the parting came to them, and young 
hearts were stricken and heads bowed very low 
over the great grief. But let ub follow Eva 
through the years and changes since that spring¬ 
time. 
“Oh, how lovely,” exclaimed Eva; “I know I 
shall love such a home as that,” and her earnest 
eyes danced exultingly through her tears. “I 
can smell the beautiful white Syringas already! 
I really believe it is almost a Paradise!” The 
impulsive, appreciative child, had leaned far out 
the carriage window. It was rather a rude pull 
she received, and a strikingly unpleasant voice 
which Baid, “The place is pretty, the owner 
thinks, hut not heavenly enough to make yourself 
a fool about.” Eva bad never been addressed 
thus, and there was an angry retort springing to 
her lips, but she crushed the words, sank back, 
and gave up to painful thoughts. Mm Cari.ton 
disliked the animated glow upon Eva's counte¬ 
nance,—it reminded her of the time when Eva’s 
mother and herself were rival belles. “So like 
her mother,” came through the compressed lips, 
and it escaped not Eva’s quick ear. 
There was almost princely elegante inside that 
homeland there were fair, childish faces, that 
met Eva around the fireside that night, yet the 
thought “I shall not he permitted to love all 
this,” caused many a sigh and wish for the more i 
humble home she had left afar. Mrs. Carlton I 
was wealthy, as we term those who have the i 
means to gratify every^wish, still she was not ' 
. Btanlky !’ I had striven to pass the day calmly, 
1 but the memories came rushing in, and the tears 
» I could not force back. Letme see,—it is just 
eight years to-day, since I danced a queen upon 
the hillside, and seven since I was taken from 
everything I loved. This May-day is no less fair 
than the glad one bygone, yet the sunlight seems 
more snhdDed and softened, the birds sing in a 
sadder strain, and the melody in my heart ac¬ 
cords not its well with the day. But I feel that 
the change is not for ill, for I have learned meek¬ 
ness, which I never could roaming through the 
fairy land of my early youth. To night, after 
the close of school, 1 was arranging my desk, 
preparatory to leaving the school-room, when 1 
heard lingering footfalls. Glancing toward the 
door, a very wistful, compassionate face looked 
in. I saw sympathy there, and bade little Anna 
come to me. ‘I thought you felt bad,’ Baid the 
sweet-voiced child, ‘and I did not want to leave 
you alone.’ T stroked back the curls from the 
white brow, kissed the lips that were quivering, 
and tried to comfort the heart that was grieving 
for me. ‘You arc my little comforter, Anna,’ 
said I, 'and I will not be sad anymore.’ Long 
wc sat there and talked of our pleasures and 
school duties, like two children. Anna bright¬ 
ened up very suddenly once as she said, ‘Oh, 
Miss Eva, you haven't seen our new minister, 
have yonWell, he has been here only one Sab¬ 
bath, yet we children are almost well acquainted 
with him, for he talks to ns so kind, and once be 
has asked me bo many questions about our teacher. 
1 know you will like him as well ns I do.’ ‘In¬ 
deed,’ said I, as Anna was growing so enthusias¬ 
tic over ‘her new minister,' ‘what is your model 
minister’s name?’ * Air. Newell, and they say 
he never preached before.’ ‘Mr. Newell,’ —how 
the nurne thrilled and agitated me. Can it he 
this Ib the one who was once my friend? If bo, 
I have noTconsciousness that he has not forgot¬ 
ten the child who always looked to him for pro¬ 
tection. Withered and faded are the violets he 
gave me when we paited, but fresh in mind the 
words accompanying them:—‘We lose our leader 
now, Eva, but by-aud-by you shall come back to 
us.’ I would now that I had striven to forget the 
past,—had not recalled those words when care¬ 
worn and weury of life, for it will be little joy to 
feel that all this has passed from memory. To¬ 
morrow is Sabbath, and my Heat in church is 
seldom vacant. I shall soon know if our pastor 
is the Arthur Newell of my childish dreams. 
" Sabbath night. —Early I ensconced myself in 
the corner of a retired pew, thinking to escape 
unnoticed. The people came pouring in, until 
not a vacant seat remained, for the young and 
gifted pastor called many out who had very sel¬ 
dom entered oar church doors. Eagerly the 
crowd awaited his coming, and anxious eyes 
watched him ascend the sacred desk. Yes, it is 
none other than Arthur Newell, and little 
changed he is, save in the fuller development of 
form and feature. There are some lines of care 
and deep study upon his brow, and the old earn¬ 
estness in his eyes had, I fancied, deepened into 
came; weak mortal that I am, control was im¬ 
possible. ‘1 see yon have Buffered much, and 
could you think of the one who long ago pledged 
his life for you?’ The words carne very soft and 
low, p.nd my earnest ‘Veryoft,’in answer,seemed 
full enough. Much surprise was manifested upon 
our entrance together, and teu had waited long, 
our hostess said, for we came not until I had 
placed my hand in Arthur’s, and said, ‘Where 
thou goest, I will go,’ and we had kneeled to¬ 
gether upon the uod, while Arthur invoked a 
blessing upon onr vows. How strange and un¬ 
fathomable it iB to me, that he wins led through 
the forest path. Henceforth my life is nnto him 
devoted, and my love given unto one who has 
ever appreciated it” 
* * * The gold and dreamy sunshine had 
gilded the heavenB one autumn morning, — a 
hymn had died along the arches of Arthur 
Newell’s church,and one appeal ascended, when 
Eva, fair as the white robe she wore, stood up by 
his side and pledged herself a bride. The trust 
she had was very perfect,—the heart she gave 
very innocent In its great confidence,—and the 
aged pastor wno joined their hands, as much at 
rest concerning his Bon’s future happiness. 
Hunt's Hollow, N. Y., 1860. Bel Rural. 
I Written for Moore's Rural New-Yorker ] 
ASTONISHING THE NATIVES. 
BY ANNA BURR. 
_ 
“ Never mind what you wear, Kate, we are 
only going into the country.” But the speaker 
tied the ribbons of her “shaker” with coquettish 
grace, at the same time bestowing a lingering 
glance upon the reflection of her figure in the 
mirror. 
“Pshaw!” returned her sister, a tall, dashing 
girl—“Pin going ‘ to astonish the natives!’ How 
they will stare to behold a bona fide cashmere, 
that cost two hundred, — why don’t yon wear 
yourB too?” 
“Well, 1 will!—wait one moment,—T om hasn’t 
come with the carriage yet.’’ 
Ten minutes later, the two ladies tripped down 
the gTaveled walk, leading from a handsome resi¬ 
dence in one of oor inland cities. Their gallant 
brother Tom Anderson betrayed much astonish¬ 
ment at bis sisters’ “foil costume;’’ but they soon 
silenced his remarks upon improprieties, and he, 
too, entered with zest into the plan of “ aston¬ 
ishing the natives.” 
"Where are my primrose kids! O, here they 
are! - ’ and he drew forth the perfumed gloves 
which he was wont to don at the Opera. 
“0, Tom, yon cannot drive with those!” ex¬ 
claimed his sisters. 
“ Yes I can,— shall try it anyhow. I am bound 
to create a sensation, or have an adventure this 
afternoon. Wish that the Governor would keep 
a coachman,— think it is confounded mean any¬ 
how.” 
“Don’t talk so, brother! Papa can afford it, 
everybody knows —it is only one of his eccen¬ 
tricities.” 
It was a warm July day, and the party enter¬ 
tained each other with remarks upon the miseries 
of country life, while they rode through several 
miles of sandy road, which was not relieved by 
any grateful Blade. At length, broad wheat fields 
lined either side, and now they were golden, and 
ready for the reaper,— in many places the farm¬ 
ers had already begun to secure their grain. 
There was beauty everywhere,— in the blue sky 
a she seems to be neatly dressed. I presume that 
u she is one of that class who try to ‘put on airs,’ 
y and ape city fashions. I propose that we call and 
a ask for some bread and milk,—we can pretend 
i, that we have traveled some distance, and are ex- 
s cessively fatigued and famished. Wouldn’t it be 
• a capital joke to relate to onr city acqnaint- 
; aDces?” and Kate clapped her bands enthnsias- 
a tically, while her companions joined with her, and 
• laughed immoderately at the plan. 
I Tom immediately reined hia horses up to the 
t unpretending dwelling, and assisted his sisters to 
, alight. Asthey walked np the path he drew down 
- his face with comic gravity, while mentally pre- 
i paring an introductory speech. The lady met 
her callers at the door, and they were somewhat 
“taken aback” with her dignified appearance. 
Elvira perceived their mistake at once but it 
was too late to recede and Tom Btill wore an air 
of assurance. With many bows and extra flour¬ 
ishes, be proceeded to present the case of a 
wearied, famished party, who would be happy to 
partake of her hospitality, in the shape of bread 
and milk. Kate’s inward amusement, and the 
airs of superiority which she tried to assume, 
were not unobserved by the well bred woman, 
who immediately placed chairs for them and then 
hastened away to obey their request 
The party had not anticipated Buch a ready ac¬ 
quiescence, and now glancing about them, they 
perdeved marks of intellectual tastes, for the gilt 
bindings of a choice selection of volumes shone 
through the glass doors of a carved bookcase. 
The apartment was humble, but neatly furnished; 
and now they watched the operations of their 
obliging hostess, with ill-concealed nneaaincss. 
She spread a snowy cloth upon the table, and soon 
emerged from the pantry with a loaf of light 
white bread; and then three large bowls, with 
silver spoons, made their appearance. Last of all, 
a bright tin pan, brimming with milk, and overlaid 
with a thin crusting of yellow cream. It was 
poured into the bowls, and then the visitors were 
invited to partake. 
Elvira blushed violently— Kate tossed her 
head and tried to wink very roguishly at Tom, 
while she Uounced up to the table, and, sitting 
down, spread out her rich silks upon the rag car¬ 
pet. Her brother’s Belf-poBscssion did not forsake 
him, however, until he, too, was seated; when a 
new difficulty presented itself, in the shape of bis 
primrose kid. His hands had become swollen 
with the heat and the exercise of reining in his 
highly mettled steeds, and now it was impossible 
to draw them offi 
“I can never get rid of these pestering things; 
what shall I do!” said he, in a low tone. 
♦‘Cut them,” rejoined Kate nonchalantly. 
“ I liav’nt any knife.” 
“Here is one,” and the color mounted to his 
brow as their polite hostess came out, very noise¬ 
lessly, fiom the pantry with the desired article, 
and then withdrew from the room but not before 
they all perceived her inward amusement at the 
circumstance. 
Tom struck the sharp blade into his delicate 
gloves with a savage pleasure, and sought to hide 
his chagrin and vexation with a gay laugh. But the 
bread and milk must not be neglected. The party , 
knew that it would not answer to slight the hos- , 
pitality which had been begged and so cheerfully ' 
granted. They swallowed their liberal allowance 1 
with a disagreeable sense of staffing, for a well- 1 
filled dinner table had appeased their appetites ’ 
only an hour previous; and then, with many , 
thanks for their entertainment, took their leave. , 
Upon seating themselveB in the carriage again, , 
Tom curtly remarked, “There girls! I hope you f 
are satisfied with ‘astonishing the natives’ now.” 
“And you are satisfied with ‘creating a sensa¬ 
tion,’ in those gloves,—rather a disugreeable one 
for your hands though,” retorted Kate. 
Tom laughed good-naturedly, and they rode on 
in silence for sometime, when he suddenly halted 
in front of a beautiful country residence, embow¬ 
ered in shrubbery, and half-hid from view by a 
shady grove of majestic trees. 
“ Mr. Hart lives here. I did not know that we 
were so near his estate,—shall we call?” 
“0, yes, certainly!” ejaculated the ladies. 
Miss Ida met her old acquaintances with un¬ 
disguised pleasure. The party enjoyed their call 
extremely, and ere they departed, Kate and 
Elvira eagerly accepted an urgent invitation 
to oome out the following wtek and spend a few 1 
days in this charming retreat. The appointed 
time saw the Misses Anderson at Oak Grove, as 
Mr. Hart’s place was called. 
Ida endeavored to entertain her guests as 
agreeably a6 possible, and one day informed them ! 
that several of her neighbors, who were her inti¬ 
mate friends, would spend that afternoon at Oak 
Grove. While Kate and Elvira were dressing, 
they indulged in some sarcastic witticisms atthe 
expense of Ix»a’s “ country friends;” but their 
mortification and chagrin was excessive when 
they entered the parlor and found the lady who 
had acted the part of hostess to them, seated 
on the sofa, as one of the visitors. Bhe was at¬ 
tired iu a plain, but rich silk, and her manners 
were at once graceful and refined. She did not A 
appear to recognize the sisterB, and they began to * 
feel more at ease. a 
The afternoon passed away very agreeably to “ 
all; but when Mrs. Mills was taking leave, she T 
turned to Kate and Elvira, smiling pleasantly, tl 
mm 
For Moore's Rural New-Yorker. 
GEOGRAPHICAL ENIGMA-ACROSTICAL. 
I am composed of 26 letters. 
My 1,3, 4, 16, a, 11, 37, 26, 3 is a river iu the UmtedStates, 
My 2,12, 24, 11,19, 20 is a river in New York. 
My 8, 22, 5,26 is a county in New York. 
My 4,3, 26, 22,19 is a river in South America. 
My 6,10, 24,18, 6 is a country In Asia. 
My 6, 12, 25,12,11,1, 8 is a town in Georgia. 
My 7, 22,3,15, 20, 26 is a county in New York. 
My 8, 12, 21,12, 22, 4 is a city In New York, 
My 9,3, 24 is a river in the United States. 
My 10, 16, 24, 3, 17 is a range of mountains of South 
America. 
My 11,14, 6,18, 4 is a country in Europe. 
My 12, 22, 32,2, 32 iE a town in South America. 
My J3, 8, 4,1, 3,15 is a river In South Carolina. 
My 34,19 ig a river in Europe. 
My 15, 6, 13,1,19, 20 is a town in Pennsylvania. 
My 16, 3, 19,11, 2,19 is a town in Missouri. 
My 17, 0, 9, 24,18,16,18, 6 Is an island in the Mediter¬ 
ranean. 
My 18, 4, 24. 6, 8,16 is a Territory in the United States, 
My 19, 2, 6,19 is a river in the United States. 
My 20, 5, 26, 16, 9 is a river in Africa. 
My 21,19, 26 is a river in Russia. 
My 22, 2, 26, 1. 1 is a lake in California. 
My 23, 9,19,4 is a mountain in Missouri. 
My 24,19, 4 is a river in Russia. 
My 25, 3,16,16,11, 20,15 ig a county in New York. 
My 26,11, 4,15, 2 is a city in Africa. 
My whole is one of the wonders of the world. 
Skaoeateles, N. Y., 1860. B. H. 
Eif Answer In two weeks. 
[As a general thing we are opposed to free advertising, 
(and illustrating the subject at our own expense,) but 
the annexed ia so good that, though given in an early 
volume of the Rural, it will bear repetition:] 
ILLUSTRATED REBUS. 
mW' 
cr- Answer iu two weeks. 
For Moore’s Rural New-Yorker. 
ARITHMETICAL PROBLEM. 
Two partners, John and Jacob, bought goods to the 
amount ef $2,000, iu the purchase of which John paid 
more than Jacob, and Jacob paid, 1 know not how much. 
They sold their goods for ready money, and gained 200 
per cent on the purchase price. They divided the gain 
between them in proportion to tho purchase money that 
each paid in buying the goods. John said to Jacob, 
“ My part of the gain is really a handsome sum of money. 
1 wish I had as many such sums as your part contains 
dollars; 1 then should have three million dollars.’’ 
Query— What sum did each man pay in buying the 
goods ? 1.1. W. 
Harmony, Chaut. Co , N. Y., 1860, 
13 r Answer in two weeks, 
CHARADE. 
Something— nothing—as you use me; 
Small or bulky, as you choose me; 
Short-llv’d child of grief Rnd pain, 
Live fur u moment, die again, 
Eternity I bring to view, 
The sun and all the planets, too; 
The moon and I may disagree, 
Yet all the world resembles me. 
tAnswer in two weeks. 
ANSWERS TO ENIGMAS, &c., IN NO. 649. 
above, and upon the fruitful earth beneath; but an <* —“I would be very happy to have you 
the coarse grained nature which occupied that 
elegant carriage failed to percieve it, 
“Doesn’t Ida Hart live Bomewhere about 
here ? I do want to see her, very much. It seems 
strange that a girl of her talents can be content 
to Immure herself in the country,” remarked 
Elvira Anderson. 
“ 1 was at Mr. Hart’s one evening last winter, 
and am confident that he lives in this region; but 
it must he nearly four miles to his residence. Ida 
is a fine girl,—we must call upon her”—and Tom 
smoothed his silken mustache. 
"What an ugly house that is,—look Tom, look 
Elvira! —built of logs, too. Goodness! how can 
any one exist in such a place. They must be 
heathen. There is a woman at the window, — 
call upon me again, and partake of my bread and 
milk.” 
The mortified city girls conld say nothing, al¬ 
though they endeavored to stammer forth apolo¬ 
gies; hut hastily retreated from the room as 6oon 
as an opportunity uffered. Of course, Ida Hart 
became cognizantof the uffair,and as her notions 
of good breeding did not accord with such pre- 
concieved plans of “Astonishing the Natives,” 
she did not hesitate to cut the acquaintance of 
her city friends. It is to be hoped that the dis¬ 
agreeable termination of their “adventure” 
taught them a lesson. 
Men pay tribute to monarchs; but women make 
monarchs pay tribute to them. 
Answer to Ethnographical Enigma:—Nothing estab¬ 
lishes confidence sooner than punctuality. 
Answer to Miscellaneous Enigma:—A good education. 
Answer to Charade:—A Match. 
Answer to Mechanical Problem:—9 miles, 6 furlongs, 
27 rods, 12 feet, and 2.234 plus inches. 
MOORE’S RURAL NEW-YORKER, 
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Agricultural, Literary uml Family Weekly, 
IS PUBLISHED KV'KKY SATURDAY BY 
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sired. As we pre-pay American postage ou papers rent t° 
the British Provinces, our Canadian agents and friends 
must add 12.H’ eta per copy to the club rates of the RrRAL. 
The lowest price Of OopieN sent to Europe, &e., is $2,50— 
including postage. 
For Advertbung Terms, see preceding page. 
f3T“ A Nkw Halt- Volume of the Rckal Nirw-YOHKE* 
commenced on the 7th of July, and hence the present 
is a favorable opportunity to subscribe, form new clubs, 
&c. Those who believe the Rural a good, safe and 
instructive Family Visitor—one which should be known 
and read by men, women and children, especially during 
the political campaign, as an offset to the party organs— 
will please note this announcement. 
ty Tkr Rural is published strictly upon the cash sys¬ 
tem — copies ore never mailed to individual subscribers un¬ 
til paid for, (er ordered by a responsible agent,) and always 
discontinued when the subscription term expires. 
ty Any person so disposed can act as local agent for the 
Rural, and those who volunteer in the good cause will re¬ 
ceive gratuities, and their kindness be appreciated. 
