MOORE’S RURAL NEW-YORKER 
AN AGRICULTURAL AND FAMILY NEWSPAPER 
“The work ia done now, Huntly, you may read 
the funeral service. Ton look aa sanctimonious 
as if you stood by the grave of your grandfather.” 
“The funeral service has perhaps been read over 
a less worthy subject, Ralph; despite myself, 1 
cannot but have a partiality for these Indians. My 
pity, and not my resentment, is called forth to¬ 
wards them; for in my heart I cannot but excuse 
their hatred of the whites, goaded on as it is by 
the rapid strides we are making into a territory 
all theirs, by the right of birth. Step by step they 
are obliged to retire before us. How long, think 
yon, before the smoke will rise from the settle¬ 
ments and the busy hum of the manufacturer will 
he heaial along yonder stream?” 
“Not till these hills have decayed, if this is to 
be the way of ingress; for nothing hut a biped can 
scale them. But come, the smoke is already rising 
in the valley, the only smoke that a white man will 
kindle for one century at least.” 
The two companions turned to go, and there 
close before them, stood an Indian girl. Her hair 
was confined in a wide braid at the neck and hung 
loosely about her shoulders. Her short dress of 
bine cloth was fastened at the waist by a belt of 
wampum and ornamented at the bottom with a 
double row of brooches. Her bright scarlet log¬ 
ging and deer-skin moccasins were decorated with 
the dyed quills of the porcupine, and as she stood 
there in all the unrestrained and natural grace of 
her wild beauty, she presented a figure of female 
elegance and symmetry that many a proud belle 
might have been glad to claim. The eyes of the 
young men rested upon her for a moment and 
then turned towards each other, for she had ad¬ 
vanced noiselessly and stood where but a moment 
before the ground had been unoccupied. Again 
the fingers of llolph were, raised to his lips as it' 
to give a signal, hut the girl observed him and 
said iu their own language: “The white men have 
finished the work of the Indian girl, they have 
filled up the grave of a brave chief, they need not 
fear, Wistawala is alone, the braves of the Senecas 
are towards the setting sun.” 
“And where are the women of the tribe, that 
Wistawala is left with the dead chief?” said Eolph, 
imitating the manner of the girl. 
“They are gathering together for their great 
journey, but Wistawala would not go till she had 
sung the death-chant over the grave of her old 
friend. The white men have been kind to her and 
she would warn them of their danger. Little 
Beard is wailing for them. His warriors are 
many, and they long for the Bcalps of the great 
army.” 
“And Little Beard is toward the setting sun?” 
inquired Eolph. 
“ You will find him ere the stars come out again,” 
replied the girl. 
A whistle was heard in the valley, and the two 
companions left her to join the company and re¬ 
sume their march. The eyes of the girl followed 
them till they were lost amid the dark shadows of 
the forest, and then she seated herself on the new- 
made grave and began her low wail for the dead. 
The deep darkness of a thick forest had settled 
around her, when the sound of a footfall reached 
her ear. the soft and almost noiseless footfall of 
an Indian, and she caught the well-known tread 
of Monato, an Indian lover whom she had never 
dared repulse, because he was the favorite of the 
old chief, above whose grave she sat—her fa’lter, 
for ho had adopted her according to the Indian 
custom, when she was brought a prisoner from the 
hanks of the Monongahela. She ceased her low 
moan at his approach, and he placed himself be¬ 
side her. 
“ Why is Monata away from among the braves?” 
she said. 
“Wistawala was not among the tribe when they 
came to the town of Little Beard, and Monato 
learned they had left her with the old chief in the 
valley.” 
“Wistawala could have found her tribe alone.” 
“ The white men have been in the valley.” 
“ She fears them not, her mother was a white 
woman.” 
“And Wistawala would claim her kindred; she 
is vain of her pale face and she wonld seek a lover 
among the white braves, but they would turn 
away from her with scorn, their maidens are 
fairer than Wistawala, they would not love her as 
Monato loves the Pale Flower.” The girl answer- 
" A patch, here and there, which we were careful 
to destroy.” 
"Where is Hnnyerry?—we wish to consult him 
as to our future work; Little Beard Town cannot 
be far from here. When that is destroyed, unless 
we fall in with the enemy, I shall think of return¬ 
ing.” 
“Honyerry is lighting the fires of the sleeping 
sentinels; he will be with us soon.” 
Honyerry was a friendly Oneida, the guide of the 
expedition. On his discernment more than any¬ 
thing else, did Sullivan depend. His sagacity 
would discover signs of the enemy’s presence—his 
well trained eye would find where an Indian's foot¬ 
step had passed, when his fellows could not read 
the evidence even if pointed out — and now Hon¬ 
yerry came into the camp under the strong convic¬ 
tion that at uovery distant place a body of Indians 
were collected. Along the Honeoye he had seen 
that the wigwams had been hut recently deserted. 
Their squaws and their papooses were near, and 
their warriors would protect them. When Hon¬ 
yerry rolled himself in his blanket and slept quietly, 
tho soldiers grew careless, and relaxed tbeir vigi¬ 
lance; but now that Honyerry warned of danger, 
all were on the alert. Two hours had passed away 
in the council, their plans had been nearly matur¬ 
ed, when Honyerry whispered to bis favorite Boyd, 
and both left the tent. “ I am sure he is there; I 
saw Ills canoe shoot into the shore, when the bright 
flash of the dry limbs blazed up—he thought he 
was not discovered, and lay still till I had entered 
the tent, and now he is on the ground on the west 
side; I heard him as he drew himself close to the 
side of the tent. I will secure the boat. When 
you hear the hoot of an owl, pass around the tent, 
and you will drive him into the light.” 
For Moore's Rural New-Yorlrer. 
i>ye: heard it .said. 
Another Definition of a Husband. — In the 
Rural of last week, we gave the idea of one lady 
concerning a husband—we now present tho opinion 
of another of the fair sex. Our readers may com¬ 
pare the two, and those who can speak from ex¬ 
perience, will please inform us which is right; 
He is the most acceptable, accessible, accommo¬ 
dating, accomplished, accord able, accountable, ac¬ 
curate, acquiescent, active, acute, admirable, ado¬ 
rable, advertant, affable, affectionate, agreeable 
amenable, amiable, amicable, animated, amusing, 
attentive, benntiful, benign, blameless, calm, capti¬ 
vating, charitable, charming, cheerful, civil, clever, 
companionable, conciliating, condescending, con¬ 
fiding, conforming, considerate, consoling, cordial, 
correct, decorous, delightful, delicate, deferential 
docile, endearing, entertaining, equal, estimable, 
exalted, exemplary, excellent, faithful, fond, for¬ 
bearing, forgiving, frank, good, generous, gentle¬ 
manly, high-aimed, high-bred, high-minded, high- 
souled, honest, honorable, just, loving, magnani¬ 
mous, manly, merciful,moderate, obliging, patient, 
peaceable, pleasant, polite, principled, quiet, rea¬ 
sonable, sensible, thoughtful, truthful, unobtrusive, 
unoffending, unprovoking, unruffled, unselfish, un¬ 
willed, of mortals — the “my dear” of all (the 
ladies) good wives. Oh! how I wish I had one I 
BT SEYMOUR G. WILCOX, 
I’ve heard it said by scores or more 
Of those whose sun was low. 
That if their lives they could live o'er— 
Back to their youth could go — 
The squandered and the mis-spent hours 
Which marked their early way. 
Which strewed their paths with faded flowers, 
And twilight made of day ; 
Which brought regret, w hi eh brought remorse— 
Hampered and dwarfed tho mind — 
And left them on life's rugged course 
Their compeers far behind — 
Should be redeemed with thoughtful care. 
From worse than loss be saved ; 
Nor blight nor blank appearing there. 
Should in their lives be graved; 
But like a well-filled printer’s page 
Their live* should be, from youth to age. 
Rochester, N. Y., Jan., 1S57. 
Answer in two weeks. 
For Moore's Rural New-Yorker. 
MISCELLANEOUS ENIGMA. 
I am composed of 63 letters. 
My 31, 6, 40, 22, 26, 3, 22, 35, 21, 22, 31, 43, 40, 6, 42, 
16, 5 was a noted conqueror. 
My 1, 22, 30, 46 is what we are all subject to. 
My 4, 9, 10, 28 is an intetjection. 
My 17, 15, 7, 12, 40, 27, 34, 13,14 looks cheerful in 
winter. 
My 2, 3, 20, 42, 30, 31, 32 is an organ of sense. 
My 37, 38, 25, 8, 29 is something we must all pass 
through. 
My 11, 18, 44, 47 is what we should strive to do. 
My S3, 49, 24, 23, 41 is an article of kitchen furni¬ 
ture. 
My 19, 20, 48, 38 we should observe. 
My 21, 52, 36, 45, 50, 51 is a verb. 
My 53, 47, 52 is a verb. 
My whole is a portion of the 17th chapter of 
Jeremiah. 
West Somerset, N. Y. D. S. D. 
jSP* Answer next week. 
For Moore's Rural New-Yorker. 
SLEEP. 
Gentle Sleep, thy “downy pinions” 
Wave to-night o’er those I love, 
In the bind or peaceful visions 
Lot their wandering fancy rove. 
Drop thy blessing on all eyelids. 
That close e’ev burning tears ; 
Draw a veil until the morning. 
O'er all Life's hopes and fears. 
Bring a vision of the loved one 
To all those who parted he. 
Give, to wandering ones a picture 
Of their dearly lov'd root-tree. 
Father, those who walk the valley, 
With white lips and failing breath, 
I ask the “ sleep" of thy “ beloved,” 
And an angel's Bhiuing wreath. 
Charlotte Centre, N. Y., 1857. i 
Instructions to Sportsmen. —Amateurs would 
do well to cut out the following, and paste them in 
their hats: 
In carrying a gun over the Bhonlder onfnll cock 
be careful to point the muzzle at the gamekeeper’s 
toca, for fear of blowing his brains out. 
Gunpowder should be carried in a flask, or if 
loose in the pocket, Bhould not he mixed with 
matches. 
The practice of drying powder over the fire in a 
frying pan should be discouraged. Many accidents 
have resulted from it. 
Always shut the eyes before firing. 
Never carry a loaded gun at full cock horizontally, 
when a friend is walking heloro you, unless you 
are sure of the thickness of his corduroys. 
Honyerry 
crept towards the place where he had seen the 
canoe. A few moments sufficed to place him in 
its bottom, aud then Boyd heard the cry of an owl. 
A step or two in the direction indicated by the 
Oneida, showed him the quick ears of the guide 
had not been deceived. A tall figure glided oil'at 
his approach, and took the direction of the lake. 
Boyd followed, hut the Indian sprung for the 
canoe, whichshot a few feet away from him, and lie 
fell in the margin of the lake. The grasp of Boyd 
was upon him and both struggled in the water.— 
The white man had the advantage, and the Indian 
seeing the hopelessness of the contest, exerted just 
strength suflieient to render his opponent confi¬ 
dent of being able to master him. They had now 
nearly reached the boat, when the Indian suddenly 
gave a spring, the boat was lying a few feet away, 
having apparently drifted towards them,—one arm 
was around his foe, with the other hand he grasped 
the side of the canoe—his body had appeared 
above its side, when be was clasped around the 
neck, and soon lay prostrate iu the boat's bottom, 
where Honyerry had Curing this time been con¬ 
cealed. Ere the officers had dispersed, Monato, 
(for it was he,) was canned a prisoner to the tent 
A weary sentinel was Hnntly, as he kept bis post 
that night beside the tent of Honyerry and Boyd, 
and despite his effortsMinore than once his mind 
had wandered off to the land of dreams, and a 
form of Btrange, wild beauty had been before him 
—ench beauty as wakin; he hail never looked upon 
but once. He strove j< i-eep awake, hut be loved 
to indulge in that state ol dreamy consciousness, 
when, though we have a sort of indefinite idea that 
we are dreaming, our thoughts have all the luxury 
of reality. From one of these reverb s Huntly was 
aroused, just as the first faint streak of light ap¬ 
peared across the lake, ly a light hand laid upon 
his shoulder. “Wistawala,” ho exclaimed, as he 
sprang to his feet. 
“Whist! all sentinels do not sleep soundly; two 
or three were nwuke as I crept round the camp.” 
“What seeks the Indian girl in the camp of her 
enemy?” 
“She seeks the braves who filled up the grave by 
the Honeoye. She would save them. Monato is 
around their camp; he will learn their strength, 
and the car of Little Beard will listen to his story.” 
“Monato is a prisoner; he will hardly speak to 
the ear of Little Beard.” 
“Where is he?” 
“ Ha'. the maiden knows him; he is her lover.— 
She would save Monata, but not the white man?” 
“She would save him, but she loves him not.— 
Wistawala has the blood of the white man in her 
veins, aud her heart turns to her mother’s kindred. 
She cannot he the wife of an Indian.” 
“But she will creep into the camp of the enemy, 
to cut the cords that bind her Indian lover.” 
“Wistawala came to save the white man, Mon¬ 
ato is a prisoner, and she would save him too._ 
The Five Nations are about t.o leave the country 
of the Lakes. Tho white man has destroyed their 
corn and their wigwams, and they must seek far 
off a place to live. Let the great army go back. 
When the leaves come out anew, they can come to 
the country of the Senecas, for it will be desolate,” 
“Where will WiHtawala he then? will she he in 
the wigwam of Monato, or will she await the ap¬ 
proach of the kiud she loves?” He spoke sneer- 
ingly, and the eye of the Indian girl flashed. 
“The white man scorns the effort of the Pale 
Flower, let him remember when he hears the war- 
whoop of Little Beard, that she tried to save him.” 
The manner of the Indian girl was earnest, and 
she spoke as if hurt that her conduct had been 
misconstrued. Huntly bent his head and spoke in 
a low tone: 
“He does not scorn the efforts of the Pale Flow¬ 
er; he loves her; hia heart never beat as it beats 
at the sound of her voice; he would willingly 
save those he loves; he hates to spill the blood of 
her tribe.” 
“Then he will set free the captive Monato?” 
“ That he may carry information to Little Beard ?” 
“Yes; and let Little Beard find the camp empty 
when he shall come.” 
“Nay; the Pale Flower asks too much.” 
“Then Wistawala must tell Little Beard that 
Monato is a prisoner.” 
[Continued on page 24, this No.] 
For Moore's Rural New-Yorker. 
GEOMETRICAL PROBLEM. 
Kissing at a Certain Age.—A celebrated dan¬ 
dy was one evening in company with a young lady, 
and observing her kiss her favorite poodle, he ad¬ 
vanced, and begged the like favor, remarking that 
she ought to have as much charity for him as she 
had shown to the dog. “Sir,” said the belle, “I 
never kissed my dog when he was a puppy.” The 
fellow took the hint, and was off instanter. 
TnE diameters of two concentric circles being 
12 and 8, required the area of the ring contained 
between their circumferences. 
Bennettfiburg, .Jan., 1857. H. D. D. 
Answer next week. 
WISTAWALA; 
Or, Three Nights in the Valley of the Genesee, 
BY MRS. S. WEBSTER LLOYD, 
For Moore's Rural New-Yorker. 
ARITHMETICAL PROBLEM. 
NIGHT FIRST. 
It was during the summer of 1779, that Sulli¬ 
van had been dispatched with a body of troops to 
scour the luxurious country of the Five Nations, 
at that season rich with the ungathered Indian 
harvest. Almost unresistingly, he had advanced 
into the country of the Senecas, cutting down and 
destroying their abundant harvests, burning tbeir 
wigwams, and by every possible means, preparing 
for them a winter of famine and misery. So far, 
they had found their villages deserted and their 
progress unopposed. But for several days past 
signs of resistance began to appear. Rumors of 
gathering Indian tribes had reached them, and 
occasionally a dark face had been seen, as some 
bold warrior had ventured to approach near, in 
order to recontioiter the enemy. It had been the 
practice of General Sullivan each day to appoint 
a rendezvous for the night, and then to separate 
his army into small detachments, tho more effec¬ 
tually to carry on the work of destruction. It is 
with one of these divisions, whose course lay 
along the rich banks of the Honeoye, (a Btrearn 
that carries the waters of three of the inland lakes 
of Western New York to the Genesee,) that my 
story opens. For some hours they had followed 
the dark and rapid stream toward its head, and 
many a blackened field, and the smouldering re¬ 
mains of many a wigwam, told how faithfully they 
had executed the purpose of their mission. Eve¬ 
ning was approaching, when the party halted at a 
part of the route where for tvany miles the wind¬ 
ing and irregular stream is shut in by high and 
broken hills, often rising almost perpendicularly 
from the waters’ edge, and then on either side 
leaving a narrow strip of level land. Even now 
when the leveling plow of the farmer has passed 
over the brow, and as far as practicable down the 
side of each hill, and hia cattle have pathed the 
less rugged places of ascent, one would find that a 
toilsome and weary path which lay before the little 
hand. Far, at the head of the stream, beside a 
lake of the same name, was to be the encampment 
for the night, Into one of these small patches of 
level land, which were for the most part covered 
with a golden crop of maize, Lieut. Boyd had led 
his company, all save two, who had straggled ofl 
to look at the Indian burial place on the hill above. 
“ A fine opportunity these hills would afford lor 
a display of Indian generalship, Huntly,” said one 
of the two, to whom the attention of the reader 
has been directed. 
“Yes, and a small chance of escape for us, 
should we chance to fall into one of those ambus¬ 
cades for which the red skins are so famous. For 
my part, I wish Lieut. Boyd would leave the re¬ 
maining corn-fields, and hasten on to join the main 
army. We have destroyed enough already to feed 
half the Indians this side Cayuga, and now he has 
delayed our march an hour to cut up the little 
patch yonder, not enough of it all to feed two 
papooses a month; for my part, I do not like the 
idea of a six miles’ walk in the night, over hills 
but just now trodden by the Senecas.” 
“ But just now trodden indeed, if we rnay judge 
by that,” said the first speaker, and he pointed to 
an open Indian grave. “ I will call back the men 
to look at him, for ’tis worth running a chance ol 
the gantlet to see the old fellow there, with his 
weapons and his wampum, and his pot of bucco- 
tash. I will call them back to take a peep at him 
—‘All alone in his glory.’” And he raised his 
fingers to bis mouth. 
“Nay, Rolpli, they have prepared him for his 
journey to the Happy Hunting Ground. Our men 
would consider his ornaments lawful plunder._ 
Let us respect the dignity of the old chief, (for 
chief he was,) and quietly finish the work they 
have begun.” 
While the rest of the party were gathering the 
corn aud setting fire to the heaps, Huntly and 
Rolpli were doing the rights of sepulture to a vet¬ 
eran leader of the Romans of the West 
Rather Sharp. — A railroad conductor having 
insulted a lady passenger, she said, indignantly, 
that the company which owned that road should 
not see another cent of her money. “How so?” 
paid the conductor; "how can you manage it?” 
“ Hereafter,” replied the lady, “ instead of buying 
a ticket at the office, I shall pay my fare to you !” 
A man had an acre of land in the form of a 
circle. He wishes to raise the surface 2 feet by 
means of a ditch dug within the circle, to be one 
rod wide. Required the depth. 
Oakland, N. Y., 1857. C. S. Cudebec. 
jSS' Answer next week. 
A Slight Difference. — A Frenchman being 
troubled with the gout, was asked what difference 
there was between that aud the rheumatism: — 
“One very great difference,” replied Monsieur, 
“suppose you take one vice, put ze finger in, you 
turn ze screw till yon can bear no longer — zat is 
rheumatism; den s’pose you give him one turn 
more—zat is ze gout!” 
Mv first is found ou the ocean wave 
In the spring, the pit, and the mine; 
My second below earth's surface yoti have, 
Where seldom the sun can shine. 
My whole yottr dinner-table must grace, 
And seldom fails to obtain a place. 
j/5S~ Answer next week. 
the knight and the maiden. 
“ Can’gt thou love me gentle stranger ? 
Blushing like a rose she stood ; 
And the knight at once admitted 
That ho “ rather thought he could.” 
Where is now our youth ?—where our old age ? 
—where are our hoys?—where are our old men?— 
We have mcn-boys and boy-men. But where are 
the veritable boys — the boys with eager hearts, 
throbbing pulses, buoyant spirits, gay hopes, glow¬ 
ing fancies, unreasoning beliefs, and ready faith— 
the boys with the young thoughts and young feel¬ 
ings gushing through them like the juices of young 
life—the hoys who hail their stage of existence 
joyfully, gathering its pleasures, battling its sor¬ 
rows, and venting its impulses; not striving aud 
straining after an unripe knowledge and a forced 
maturity ? Where are now our veritable grey¬ 
beards—the old men who calmly, and fearlessly 
enter ou their stage of life assuming its dignities, 
claimingits privileges, and fulfilling its functions; 
separating themselves from the turbid action, the 
toil and strife of the world, and reposing honor¬ 
ably in the retirement of experience and council; 
not clinging to the semblance of foregone periods, 
not envying the energies of youth or the primo of 
manhood, but keeping alive the memories and 
feelings of both to ray their declining day with 
mellow light, the old men who rejoiced to wear 
their grey hairs as a crown of glory, and stood 
amid their fellows with their hoary heads, their 
wise hearts, and their brows engraven with the 
lines of thought like 
“The almond trees full of good days." 
Such men may still exist, scattered like old pol¬ 
lards over the leveled face of society; but they 
are not thy products, not the result of thy materi¬ 
alism, O Age! The youth which opens under thy 
auspices, and runs by thy creeds, cannot sow the 
seeds of such a harvest. The youth framed under 
thy inlluences and action will have no growth,will 
not know the natural processes of maturition— 
“First, the blade, then the ear, after that tho full 
corn, iu the ear,” Thy youth will he put up and 
fashioned like a piece of mechanism, set to work 
like a steam engine, moving ever by the same hard 
heavy material laws—so much speed from so much 
power, so much knowledge from so much pleasure. 
— Blackwood. 
An exchange has discovered that Schottische is 
a corruption of tho words "Scotch itch,” and that 
the famous dance owes its name to the resemblance 
of its motions to those of a person afflicted with 
he Scotch plague aforesaid. Awful. 
“Patrick Maloney, what do you say to the in¬ 
dictment—are you guilty or not guilty?” “ Arrah! 
muslia, yer worship, how can I tell till I hoar tho 
ividence?” 
MOORE’S RURAL NEW-YORKER, 
Till? LEADING WEEKLY 
AGRICULTURAL, LITERARY AND FAMILY JOURNAL, 
18 PUBLISHED EVERY SATURDAY 
BY D. D. T. HOOKE, ROCHESTER, N. T. 
Office, Daily Union Building, Opp. the Court House 
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loud ono to Agent or getter up of club.) for $10; Ton Copies 
(tied one to Agent,) lor $15, uud uny additional number at tho 
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Canadian agents and friends must add )2,S, cents per copy to 
tho club rates of the Rckai. 
Advertising.— P.rlef and appropriate advertisements will bo 
inserted at 25 cents a lino, each insertion, payable in advanea.— 
Our rule Is to give no advertisement, unless very brief, more than 
four consecutive Insertions. Patent Medicines, Ac., will not bs 
advertised iu this paper at any price. 
Clubbing with the Magaeinxs. Ac.—Wo will send tho Rural 
New-Youkrk for 1M7, and a yearly copy of either Itai/jer’e, 
Ooitej/s, Orahntn'a or any oilier $3 magazine, for $L Tho Rural 
and either Arthur's Uagaane, tho Stall'mat Magazine, or any other 
$2 mngutlue for $3. Tho Rural amt either The though, the Loom 
ami the .lnMl(a monthly magazine devoted to tbo Industrial Aits, 
Agriculture, Coiutuoreo and Manufactures,) or The Horticultu¬ 
rist!, for $3. 
Tint Rural is published strictly upon tho cash system 
—copies are never mailed to individual subscribers until paid 
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13** Any person so disposed can net as local agent for tbs 
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complete their lists aflerwaids. 
gy In oi during tho Rural, be snro and specify name of 
J’oil-Ojfice, County, aud Slate, territory or t’r wince. 
TRUE COURAGE. 
True courage is not moved by breath of words ; 
While the rash bravery of boiling blood, 
Impetuous, knows no settled principle. 
A feverish tide, it hiiB ita ebbs and flows, 
As spirits rise or full, its wine in flumes. 
Or circumstances change : but inborn courage. 
The generous child of fortitude and faith, 
Holds Its fitm empire in the conwriint soul; 
And like the steadfast pole-star, never once 
From the name fixed aud faithful point declines. 
[Hannah More. 
LOST TIME. 
I Tit re w a bubble to tho sea— 
A billow caught it hastily ; 
Another billow quickly came, 
Successfully the prize to claim; 
Front wave to wave unchecked it paused. 
Till tossnd upon a strand at last. 
Thus glide unto the unknown shore 
Those golden moments we deplore ; 
Those moments which, not thrown away, 
Might win for us eternal day. 
Answer to Ancient Historical Enigma in No. 366: 
The Siege of Asotns by Psammetiohus. 
Answer to Enigmatical Story in No. 366: — A 
copy of the Holy Scriptures. 
Answer to Poetical Charade in No. 366: Thought 
Answer to Charade iu No. 366:—Beau-fort 
Noh-Sdbscribirs who reculra Ihla number of the Rural 
N'ew-Vorkkr are Invited to give It a careful examination, and, 
if npproved, lend their kind office* to Introduce the paper to the 
notice and support ol tbeir frienda aud acquaintances 
