MOORE’S RURAL NEW-YORKER: AN AGRICULTURAL AND FAMILY NEWSPAPER. 
FEB. 28 . 
Gfpritt ||B£trg. 
For Moore’s Rural New-Yorker 
SLIDING ON. TIIE ICE. 
BY J. W. ALLHN. 
They hasten to the water, 
And on the frozen tide, 
Each merry eon and daughter. 
To have a merry slide ; 
They challenge wind and weather, 
For oh, ’tis very nice 
For girls and boys together 
To slide upon the ice. 
They go with arms extended, 
Like eaglets on the wing; 
With voices shrilly blended. 
They make the high arch long ; 
Like spectres on the ocean, 
They past each other glide ; 
For all is life and motion 
When youngsters take a slide. 
Ono proffered aid refuses— 
For wisdom he don’t lack— 
He his equilibrium loses. 
And falls upon his hack ; 
Hal ha I 6uch peals of laughter, 
As go up from them all; 
For ‘tis fun that they are after. 
And they laugh to see him falL 
They hear one loudly calling— 
A would-he prototype:— 
“ If lubbers now are falling, 
Then are lubbers surely ripe." 
But he finds that he's a lubber. 
Or else a stupid clown ; 
He begins to wince and blubber, 
For he finds that he is down ! 
And thus it goeth ever 
In the pleasure round of time ; 
For sliding ceaseth never, 
While life 1 b in its prime :— 
But here.we’ll drop the curtain, 
For though ’tis wondrous nice, 
’Tis a thing that’s all uncertain, 
This sliding on the ice. 
Seneca Falls, N. Y., 1857. 
Ws ItefllUL 
For Moore's Rural New-Yorker 
MARRYING A GENTLEMAN. 
BY JUNIA LUCY. 
CHAPTER I. 
“Why, Cousin Kate, do yon persist in noticing 
that brown-faced, brawny-hauded rustic, Charles 
Mansfield? You well know that if you treated 
him as coldly as I do, these everlasting evening 
calls would soon be discontinued.” 
“ Which I should be very* sorry to have done, 
Mary.” 
“ You really do not mean to say that you enjoy 
hisjociety, or that you converse tvith him because 
you are interested in what he says.” 
“ I really do, cousin.” 
“Then, if yon can associate with him on terms 
of equality, I must regard you one degree lower 
in the scale of being than I had supposed possible 
for a person in your position and with your at¬ 
tainments.” 
“I have no right to consider myself equal with 
him, though I should have just cause to be proud, 
could I do so; for any person, with a just appre¬ 
ciation of character, must, see that be is no ordi¬ 
nary person, and that he is far above us in mental 
attainments, and moral excellence. If intercourse 
with noble spirits like bis, places me in a low 
grade of being in the world's estimation, then I 
am content to remain there.” 
“ Bless me! What a condescending little body 
you have grown since you made his acquaintance; 
but you will please not to include ?ne when speak¬ 
ing of his inferiors. What, think you, would our 
city friends say to see you, as you have been doing 
this evening, sit for an hour in earnest conversa¬ 
tion, and then play and sing your best pieces, to 
entertain a rough, penniless farmer?” 
“If they bad depth of mind sufficient to appre¬ 
ciate true worth, they would do the same; but If, 
aa you intimate, they are so shallow as to place dis¬ 
tinction in wealth and personal appearance,then I 
have done with them, and care us little for their 
taunts and jeers as for the whispering of the wind.” 
“ Quite a little sermon you have preached, Kate, 
but you will iind it much pleasanter in preaching 
than in practice when you are in avowed friend¬ 
ship with this sunburnl saint, and find yourself ex¬ 
cluded from all refined society.” 
“As to refined society , if it consists in fine broad¬ 
cloth, it is not at all essential to my happiness.— 
But you mu9l admit, if you reason candidly, that 
not one of all the gay, fawning exquisites in our 
upper ten circle, possesses one half of the true re¬ 
finement of feeling, integrity of purpose, or elo¬ 
quence of expression that go to make up the ster¬ 
ling character of Charles Mansfield.” 
“ Eloquence in red flannel wrappers is far above 
my comprehension,” said Mary, emphatically. 
“And insignificance in purple is as far beneath 
my notice,” said Kate. 
“Now, come, Cousin Kate, we are getting quite 
too warm on the subject,” said Mary, recovering 
herself; “ let's ha ve done with this jesting. If I 
really thought you had been in earnest all this 
time, I should expect, ere long, to see your little 
white hand swallowed up in a huge, but well-filled 
cotton glove, while your little delicate slippers 
trotted briskly to the parson’s, by the side of an 
enormous pair of cowhide boots." 
Mary laughed immoderately at the ridiculous 
picture she had drawn, but Kate colored deeply 
and remained silent for some moments. 
“Mary,” she at length said, "I may as well tell 
you now, as later, that Charles Mansfield is my 
betrothed, so if you have any regard for my feel¬ 
ings, you will be a little more sparingof ridicule.” 
“Impossible!” said Mary; “how could you so 
disgrace our family, who have done so much for 
you? But it is not my place to dictate to you?— 
Suffice it to say, that whenever / marry, I shall 
choose a gentleman —one who ia worthy of me, and : 
who will be an honor to our family, and thus repay 
my noble father for the pains he has bestowed i n 
giving us an education. Never will I bring sorrow i 
to his home by degrading him in social position.” ‘ 1 
] So saying, she left, the room in high indignation. 
In the hall she was met by ber lather, who had en¬ 
tered in time to hear her last remark, 
i “ My dear,” said he, “ what can have happened to 
raise such a verbal tempest on your usually quiet 
lips?” 
“ A very trifling affair,” said Mary, ironically.— 
“ I was only trying to convince Cousin Kate that, 
a plebian relative was not the most desirable thing 
in the world.” 
" Plebian relative I What do yon mean?” 
“Simply, that she has just confided tp me the 
secret that she and Charles Mansfield are en¬ 
gaged, totally regardless of our wishes, and of the 
opinion of the circle in which wc move,” and 
Mart passed up the stairs with the air of one much 
injured. 
Mr. Wentworth, Mary’s father, wa3 an aristo¬ 
cratic man, of strong passions and prejudices, and 
he fairly shook with rage aB this intelligence was 
communicated to him, for he not only scorned 
Charles Mansfield as a day-laborer, but hated 
him as a political opponent. 
Kate felt keenly the words of her cousin, unjust 
as she knew them to be, for hitherto she had re¬ 
ceived nothing but kinduess from her; and now 
she sat, with her head bowed on her clasped hands, 
while tears coursed from her eyes, and trickled 
through her slender, white fingers. When her 
uncle entered the parlor, she raised her head re¬ 
spectfully, but with a determined air, and awaited 
his words in silence. 
“Kate,” said he, as soon as he could command 
himself; “youheard our conversation in the hall?” 
“I did, sir.” 
“ Am I to believe it?” 
“It is true,” 
“ Have I ever treated you otherwise than as my 
own daughter?” 
"You have done all for me that a father could 
do, and I am not -without feelings of the deepest 
gratitude.” 
“Then why have you taken tki3 step without 
consulting me?” 
“You will excuse me if I do not reply.” 
“I demand an answer.” 
* If I must speak, uncle, I must speak the truth, 
disrespectful though it may seem. I deliberated 
well before I acted, and feci that I shall never re¬ 
gret the step 1 have taken. That you scorned 
and hated Charles I was aware, but I plainly saw’ 
that your mind was animated by prejudice and 
false views of society. I knew that he possessed 
all that could make a true woman happy—a noble, 
manly heart, and a cultivated intellect—and I did 
not deem it my duty to sacrifice my own candid 
judgment ami happiness to the aristocratic views 
and unjuSt principles of others, however near thev 
might be. I knew that yon never would consent 
to our union, therefore I determined to do as I 
have done, and abide the consequences.” 
“ And abide the consequences yon shall. I have 
not lavished all this expense on you to he treated 
with insolence. I give you one week to reflect on 
the course you are pursuing; if then yon still per¬ 
sist in marrying him, I warn you never again to 
let your shadow’ darken my threshvld;” and al¬ 
most overcome with passioD, Mr. Wentworth left 
I the room. 
Kate was not surprised at the announcement, 
for she knew the ungoverned passions of her 
uncle, and therefore expected it, and was prepared 
for it; but still she was unhappy and wretched 
when she thought of her former dependence on 
him. But this, she knew, need not have been, for 
she had property sufficient to have maintained her 
thus far in life, but by the kindness of her uncle it 
had been deposited in the bank, until she should 
marry, and he had educated and snpported her at 
his own expense. But still she remained steadfast 
in her determination, and resolved, if Charles so 
advised, to leave the house as quickly as possible. 
A few months after the events just, recorded, 
among the list of emigrants to the West might be 
seen tbe names of Mr. and Mrs. Charles Mans¬ 
field, and the same week accounts appeared in 
the papers of the round of brilliant parties given 
for tlie entertainment of tbe millionary heir, Har¬ 
ry Morris, and his lovely bride, formerly Miss 
Wentworth. 
Six years rolled rapidly away, and Chari.es 
Mansfield, by prudent management, bad become 
tbe proprietor of a large tract of land, which, be¬ 
ing located in one of those peculiarly thriving 
districts of the West, would, in a few years, render 
him the possessor of a vast 1’ortnuo. And these 
six years had been, to this faithful couple, a seasou 
of uninterrupted happiness, for they had eared not 
for the vain homage of the cold, unsympatbizing 
world, but had found in their owu mutual love and 
trust, an inexhaustible source of comfort, while at 
she was without a penny, at an expensive hotel, 
atul among strangers. Then came the conviction 
that she must seek more humble lodgings, and 
that hurriedly. So, throwing on her bonnet and 
shawl, and leaving tbe children to the care of a 
servant, she went forth, with ber great sorrows 
pressing her heart down into gloom and darkness, 
while strangers gazed curiously into her pale, 
mournful face, nor yet dreamed of half the misery 
that brooded there. After passing through several 
by-streets, she called at a neat little cottage, in the 
suburbs of the city, where she had been directed. 
The door-bell was answered by the kind, motherly- 
looking face of a middle-aged lady, who, after 
hearing her pitiable story, consented to take ber 
in and care for her while she remained in tbe city; 
and bustling good-naturedly about, she had Mary’s 
family and baggage conveyed to the door. At 
uight, Mary found herself and children in a neat 
ii anti ©urnur. 
their family altar, ascended daily the incense of and comfortable temporary huine, where she could 
praise and thanksgiving, to their Heavenly Beue- 
factor, for the blessings they enjoyed. 
One evening, Kate sat at the window, awaiting 
the return of her husband, wlio had been called 
away on business, while her darling little one 
slumbered sweetly in its little cradle-bed, by her 
side. She had watch' d the glowing tints of arich 
autumnal sunset, as they gradually faded away in 
the West, and now sat gazing intently upwards, 
through the gathering twilight where heaven's 
vestal lamps burned thicker and brighter, like the 
stars of pure feeling, which irradiated her own 
chaste soul. Preseutiy her attention was at tracted 
by the swinging together of the garden gate, and 
looking in that direction, she perceived a dark 
figure slowly approaching the house. She arose 
and opened the door, and there, poorly dad, with 
a tiny infant folded in her arms, and two little 
pouder more calmly on the great misfortunes that 
had befallen her. 
Another morning dawned, and beside Mary’s 
wan face, snowy as the pillow that it pressed, was 
nestled a little tiny being, with features like her 
owu, and little velvety hands lying listlessly on its 
bosom. She opened her eyes languidly, and smil¬ 
ed on her little daughter, then closed them, and 
long weeks of unconsciousness ensued. When 
next she opened her eyes to see and remember, ber 
babe was sleeping calmly on the lap of the good, 
motherly-faced lady, who sat by her side, and 
who smiled warmly as her eye3 met tbe conscious 
gaze of tbe invalid. That smile, how it sweetened 
i he bitter draught that came rushing to Mary’s 
memory. 
A few weeks more, and she was so far restored 
to health as to be able to pursue her journey, but 
girls clinging to ber skirts, Btood the wreck of t ^° means she had not, for after pawning all her 
what was once the beautiful form of Mary Went¬ 
worth, pale and emaciated, but Mary unmistaka¬ 
bly. Tears filled Kate's eyes, long unused to 
weep, aa she clasped the tliiu hand, and kissed the 
sunken cheek of her early friend, while Mary, 
overcome with fatigue and emotion, sank into a 
chair and wept. 
Cn ari.es soon returned, and was no less sur¬ 
prised than his wife at this unexpected meeting, 
but both avoided questioning her, as it was evi¬ 
dent from her manner and circumstances, that 
some sudden reverse of fortune had overtaken her, 
which it would pain her to relate. 
Forgetful of the pnst, and feeling the deepest 
sympathy for the afflicted woman, they soon left 
her alone, to compose her disturbed feelings, 
while Kate went to the kitchen to prepare the 
evening meal. And now let us review the changes 
that these six years bad wrought in the life of 
Mary. 
CHAPTER II. 
Kate passed a long, sleepless night, and met tbe 
family at the breakfast table the next morning 
pale and dejected. Several times during the day 
she met her uncle, bnt lie did not seem to notice 
her, and the other members o| the family were cold 
and silent. At evening slie threw a shawl over 
her shouldcra, walked slowly through the orchard, 
and seated herself on the wall beside the lane, 
where she kneiv Charles would pass, onhis return 
from the harvest-field. Soon alter she left the 
house, an elegant carriage, drawn by a span of 
spirited greys, dashed up the avenue leading to her 
uncle’s, and a fashionably dressed young man 
alighted and entered. And while Kate sat on the 
dewy rocks, her brown ringlets nestling closely on 
the manly shoulder of her affianced, Mary sat in 
the richty furnished parlor at home wasting sickly 
sentimentalisms with Harry Morris, the only son 
of a city millionaire, to the envy of all her less 
beautiful, fashionable acquaints nceSL Quickly sped 
the hours to Charles and Kate, as they sat there, 
w ith tbe full moon smiling on them, while she un¬ 
burdened her heart of its sorrow, in sharing it 
with him, listened to Lis advice; and they ex¬ 
changed vows of mutual fidelity. At length, feel¬ 
ing the imprudence of longer exposure to the 
evening air, he accompanied her to her uncle’s 
door, bade her an affectionate “good-night,” and 
departed. 
Early the next morning Kate’s trunks were 
packed, and she went below to take a final leave of 
the family. Her uncle was in the breakfast-room 
reading the morning papers, and her aunt sat by 
his side, but neither of them looked up, as she 
stood in the door in her riding habit Mary had 
not yet risen, and so Kate left the home where 
she had spent, so many careless, happy hours, and 
no one seemed to regret it. Bitter, bitter tears 
coursed down ber cbeeks, as the past came rushing 
to her memory, and she thought of the heartless- 
neBB of the friends who were still dear to her, but 
a brighter Lope was before ber, and when she was 
fairly off, with Charles at her side, with his noble, 
independent spirit to cheer and sustain her, she i 
was calm. 
Arriving at the city, they proceeded to the bank, 
where her little property was deposited, and had 
it transferred to her nnclc. Then Kate, though 
penniless, felt that a load was removed from her 
heart, inasmuch as she was no longer pecuniarily 
indebted to her cruel uncle, but was free and in¬ 
dependent. Charles then placed his own purse 
in her hands, and they separated, lie to fulfil the 
contract with his employer, while she remained in 
the city with a friend. 
CHAPTER III. 
The first four years of the married life of Harry 
MoRRrs and Mary Wentworth, were spent in 
luxurious ease, unaccompanied by the cares usual¬ 
ly attendaut npou this relation; for they were 
wholly dependent on his father, who, knowing the 
incapacity of bis son, wh$’u be bad reared in in¬ 
dulgence and idleness, to provide for Iris family, 
willingly granted them their support, while the 
household cares all tlevoLctl on ( lie domestics.— 
During this time, their family had received the 
addition of two little daughters, bnt Mary seldom 
saw them, as they were entrusted to the care of the 
nurse, while she trilled away her time in giving 
and attending the fashionable entertainments of 
the upper circles in the city in which they resided. 
At the end of this time, Mr. Morris, Harry’s father, 
died, and to the astonishment of the whole city, it 
was rumored that bis estate was insolvent, which 
the settlement proved only too d ue. Uuknown to 
IIaury, his father had sustained heavy losses, and 
their extravagant way of living had made rapid 
inroads ou their fast decreasing fortune, till, at 
the final settlement of the estate, ho found himself 
destitute of the means of subsistence, and with an 
increasing family dependent on him for support. 
At first, they were almost overwhelmed with de¬ 
spair, at the bare thought of the poverty which 
awaited them, for Harry was totally ignorant of 
every kind of business, ami devoid of all capaci¬ 
ty to gain a livelihood. But feeling the neces¬ 
sity of action, and too proud to remain among and 
witness the pity or contempt of their former asso¬ 
ciates, they gathered together and disposed of 
whatever effects the law had allowed them, and 
with wbat assistance Mary’s father could, at the 
time, render them, they started for the West.— 
Harry, selfish from indulgence in early life, now 
became gloomy and morose, which made poor 
Mary, on whose naturally delicate constitution 
their voluptuous way of living had not been with¬ 
out its enervating influence, almost sink under the 
cheerless weight of care that rested on her. 
For days and nights they traveled by wind and 
steam, till late one evening they stopped weary 
and dispirited, at a hotel in one of the growing 
cities of the West, M orn out with fatigue, Mary 
and the children, after partaking of a light sup¬ 
per, retired, but 11 arky did notihen follow. M ary 
slept soundly till morning, and on rising, found a 
note, addressed to herself, lying ou the table. 
Opeuing it she read: 
•* Mart— 1 am driven to desperation by the dark pros¬ 
pect before us, and knowing that I am utterly incapable of 
maintaining oar family, 1 leave yon. I advise you to pawn 
those jewels which you kept, and return to vour father, 
while I go—it matters not where, as I ahull never return to 
you, unless fortune should provide me with the means of 
living in nnr former style. Harky,” 
0,thehearLrcnding agony of that moment! All 
other sorrow was lost in that one absorbing thought 
that he had left her. Gone, too, when she so need¬ 
ed his support, and without one clasp of the band, 
or one affectionate pressure of the lips, or even 
one tender word of love or sympathy in the heart¬ 
less note he had left behind. She felt the utter 
selfishness of his character, iu leaving her thus, 
with two little children, and in a weak and help¬ 
less condition, to meet, alone, the dark and stormy 
future,in a selfish and uncharitable world; but her 
heart inclined to pity rather than blame him, for 
she knew it was but the natural consequence of 
his former circumstances. Now she thought of 
Charles Mansfield, whom but a few years ago, 
she had so ridiculed, and almost envied her cousin 
the protection she would have received from his 
stout, manly, spirit, in like circumstances. For 
hours she sat with her hands clasped over her 
bosom, more like a marble statue than an animated 
being, before Bhe awoke to tbe consciousness that 
jewels, and what, clothes could be spared from 
their scanty wardrobe, she had but little more 
than sufficient to defray the moderate charges of 
her nurse and physician, Fhe was now at a loss 
what course to pursue, ns the only possible way 
seemed to be, to proceed at once to the residence 
of Charles Mansfield, which was only about a 
hundred miles distant, anil there apply for assis¬ 
tance; and this she feared and dreaded to do, 
knowing that she had no claims on their gene 
rosity, and never having beard directly from them, 
since she had, as she now felt, deeply wronged 
them. But necessity overcame her compunctions, 
and she resolved to go and bntnbly seek their for¬ 
giveness; and thus we found her at their door, as 
recorded in our last chapter. 
Charles and Kate readily forgave her, and 
sympathized deeply with her in her distress. 
She was treated with the greatest kindness and 
attention during the few days she remained with 
them, and provided with all things necessary to 
her comfort on her journey. 
Mary went from beneath their roof, a chastened 
aud wiser being, and returned to her parents, who 
were suffering great anxiety on account of her 
long silsnee. 
Bhe never heard from her husband again, except 
a vague rumor that he had died at the Indies, 
leaving there a wife and family. 
In after years, when Mary and her three lovely 
daughters would gather around their grandfather’s 
hearth, she would relate to them her past life, aud 
always end with the injunction, to beware of 
“marrying a gentleman.” 
HfiUtlfS ©MW. 
For Mooro’s Rural New-Yorker. 
MISCELLANEOUS ENIGMA. 
I am composed of 18 letters. 
My 1, 3, 4, G is a kind of wood. 
My 5,14, 1.5, 6 is good to eat. 
My 7,16, 8, 11, G is a fowl. 
My 13, 8,16, 15 is used in fishing. 
My !), 13, 3, 4,16^ 12, G, 2, 8,11 is an animal 
My 1G, 18 is a preposition. 
My 4, 8,14, 13 is a man's name. 
My 13,16, 6 is a farming took 
My 10,13, 6 is an article. 
My 17, 3, 2, 0 is one of flie elements. 
My 11, 3,11,12, 8 is a kind of fish. 
My 15, 4, 3, 17, G is a cutting utensil. 
My 3,1'2, 0 now covers the creeks. 
My 7, 0, 8, 2, 7, G ia a person’s name. 
My 3, 4, 10, 16 is a preposition. 
My whola is the name of a great General. 
Murtlnslmrgh, Jan., 1S57. Marion. 
jJSsf’ Answer next week. 
— 
For Moore’s Rural New-Yorker. 
CHAEADE. 
My first are seen up in tbe sky. 
From North to ftouth, from Eilat to West; 
We gaze in wonder and delight. 
For in n beauteous robe they’re dressed. 
I have beheld them in the night, 
When Luna sheds her gentle light. 
My next ones are of lively growth; 
The lonely suilor on the wave, 
Forsaken by a friendly hand, 
Has by them found a watery grave. 
The busy workman, too, can fell 
Where on his “ fancy work” they fell. 
Now these by a conjunction joined. 
Become the emblem of the free; 
They have been Been in tyrant’s land, 
At home, aVoad, and on the sea; 
They have been made the soldier’s bed, 
Yet, soldiers oft belore them fled. 
Marshall, N, Y., 1857. S. F. T. 
Answer next week. 
-—»■ 
For Mooro’s Rural New-Yorker. 
PROBLEM. 
Five girls went to market with peaebes. They 
hud respectively 18, 30, 42, 54, GG each, which they 
sold at the same rates, each receiving forty-two 
cents. 
This problem to the ladies I send, 
Not to embit'er strife. 
For on its solution may depend 
My happiness through life. 
The ono that will declare to mo 
The rates they sold this fruit, 
Shall for aye my favorite be,— 
No other one will suit «t. c. r. 
J5£T- Answer next week. 
Answer to I’uzzle in No. 372:—LINCOLN. 
Answer to Algebraical Problem in No. 372:— 
30 bu. Peaches, 25 Apples. , 
GEN. HOUSTON’S ADVICE TO A “BOBE.” 
A New'York paper relates an incident of Gen. 
Houston’s recent sojourn in that city iu this wise: 
Gen. Houston is, as all Iris acquaintances well 
know, fond of mirth and fun, and in short is what 
Doesticks would call a P, B.—perfect brick. The 
General, however, entertains an intense hatred for 
that species of human beings called “bores.”— 
One of these gentry, a good-natured but soft-lieaded 
chap, a regular button-holder, cornered him the 
Other day at, his hotel. He had managed to be 
introduced to him by a gentleman the day 
previous. 
“General,” said the bore, after he had bothered 
Mr. Houston out of all patience, “ I wish you would 
do me one more favor. A man of your eminence 
is so competent”— 
“ Well, what is it?” inquired Mr. Houston, rather 
curtly. 
“Well, you see, Mr. Houston, you are such an 
eminent man, such a”— 
“ Never mind that; what do yon want to know?” 
“ Excuse me, but a person of your abilities and 
distinction must be aware”— 
“I am somewhat in haste,” interrupted the bad¬ 
gered Senator—“pray come to tbe point at once.’i 
“Well, then tell me the secret of your success in 
life—how you rose in position as you have done.” 
“Ah! but that wouldn’t benefit you any. I can 
tell you botv you can rise in tbe world if you wish.’’ 
“ That’s just it,” was the reply—“just what I was 
trying to get at.” 
“Well, sir, l‘Jl tell yon. Undertake to approach 
a sore-headed bull, with a red scarf on your neck. I'll 
guarantee your upward progress immediately on 
the completion of the experiment!” 
The button-holder collapsed, shoved his hat on 
his head and walked sorrowfully away, while a 
cluster of geutletneu near by, who had overheard 
the conversation, fairly screamed with laughter. 
-- 
Cutting it Thick. —Ou one occasion, it German 
residing in the country came into Buffalo with 
hams to sell. Among the rest he sold a dozen or 
two to a German hotel-keeper, who afterwards, 
demonstrating the acuteness of his countrymen 
over the Yankee, said: 
" You may talk ’pout your Yankee scheeting,but 
a Dutchman Bcbeeted me much potter as a Yankeo 
never vus. He prings me some hams—dey vas 
canvass nice so potter as you never see I puy 
one, two dozen, all so nice; and if you pelieve, de 
scheet. vas so magnificent dat I cat six, seven, eight 
of dem hams pel'ore I found out dat dey vas made 
of wood. 
Novel Illustration of Science. — During a 
learned lecture by a German adventurer, he illus¬ 
trated the glory of mechanics as a science, thus: 
De thing that is made is more superior dan de 
maker. I show you how in some ting3. Suppose 
I make de round wheel of de coach. Yer well! 
dat wheel roll round five hundred mile—aud I can¬ 
not roll one myself J Suppose I am a cooper, what 
you call and I make dc big tub to bold wine.— 
He bolds tuns and gallons, and I cannot hold 
more than five bottle I So you see dat what is made 
is more superior dan de maker. 
-~- 
In what respect does a candle, burning in Mam¬ 
moth Cave, ditffir from a dance at a public house! 
Ans. — One is a taper iu a cavern, and the other a 
caper in a tavern. 
How does u pitcher of water differ from a man 
throwing bis wife over a bridge? Ans. —One is 
water in the pitcher, the other is pitch her iu the 
water. 
What evidence have we that Cowper was poor? 
Ans. —He “ Oh’d for a lodge in some vast wilder- 
Lcrl> Palmsrston once, with that off-hand felicity 
Which belongs to his lordship in stating a case. 
To a new definition of “dirt” gave publicity, 
As “nothing bnt mattor loft. In the wrong place.” 
MOORE’S RURAL NEW-YORKER, 
Tlllt DUPING WKKKLY 
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(and one to Agent or getter tip of club.) for $111; Ten Copies 
(and ono to Ageut.jfor $!■>, and any additional number at the 
Sttnui rate. t$l,80 per copy,) An we are obliged to pro-pny the 
American postage on paper* Rent to the British Froviuces, our 
Canadian agents and friends mu*t add lZJ* cents per copy to 
the club rates of the Rural 
Abvektisino.— llricf and appropriate advertisemonts trill b« 
Inserted at 25 cents a lino, each Insertion, payable In advance.— 
Our rule t* to give no advertisement, unless very brief, more than 
four consecutive insertions Patent Medicines, Ao, will not bo 
advorttxod in this paper at any price. 
SPECIAL .NOTICES. 
CLunnma with tiik Magaxikks, .to.—We will send the Rural 
New-Yorker for 1857, mid a yearly copy of cither Ilarjxr’i, 
(jo.lr -/., (t-atuirn't or any oilier $.'! magarine, for $1 Tho Rural 
and either Arthur's Mj.janw. the (VuIuhkh Magazine, or any other 
$2 tuag Mine for $1. Tho Rural and either Thr I’tough. t/n Loom 
arm I/a Ams/(u monthly magiuiue devoted to tho Industrial Arts, 
Agriculture, Commerce and Manufacture*,) or Tht JivrUcutUr 
rut, for ft 
ry-'i UK Rural Is published strictly upon the cash system 
— copies are never mailed to Individual subscriber* until paid 
for, (or ordered by a responsible agent,loud always discontinued 
when the subscription term expire* Hence, a prompt renewal 
is necessary to secure the regular continuance of the paper. 
ty In remitting $15, or more, If convenient please send draft 
on New York, Albany, Ituffalo, or Rochester, (less cost of ex¬ 
change,) or chuck or certificate ot deposit on any Hank In either 
ol said cities,—payable to our order 
tjr Any person so disposed can aet os local agent for the 
Rural, without certificate, and each and all who volunteer In 
tire good cause will not only receive premiums, but their aid 
will bo gratefully appreciated. 
«.r OhUM papers are sent to as many different addresses or 
po6t-oltlocs an requested, and we write the names of subscribers 
on papers If desired—thus saving Agonta and Font-Masters from 
any labor or attention In the premises. 
fry Those who are forming large elubs oan send on tho 
names and money of snob permits as do not wish to watt, and 
complete their lists afterwards. 
tj“ IN ordering the Rural, be sure and specify name of 
Pott-Ojtiet, County, and State, Irrritory or Dr wince, 
-- 
Non-Hubsubibicbs who reeclvo this number of the Rural 
New-Yorker are invited to give it a careful examination, and, 
11 approved, lend their kind offices to Introduce the paper to the 
notice and support of their friends aud acquaintances 
. . . 
