W Ji. SII JLJSTGr DiVY 
IN THE DARK AGES! 
in my heart— burning itself into my very soul. 
Mother gasped out some words of inquiry; I 
know not what; I did not notice them at the 
time, ami certainly could not toll now; I am 
telling only a truthful story—would it were less 
so! one which finds its counterpart in every 
neighborhood. Goi> knows, it is bad enough— 
cruel enough, without making it any worse! I 
was listening too eagerly for the next words, to 
hear any one else, then. 
“Wa'al, I s’pose the truth must out, and I 
might as well tell ye, as the next one; it’s hard, 
though, an' a job I don't like any better than 
most things 1 bate. Ef Mr. Dutton had been 
to hum, 1 could a’ got round it lots easier; but 
ye see, ye wimmen folks don't take things as 
cool as we men; an’ 1 hardly know how to 
begin, but —” 
“Ob, Louis,’’ 1 exclaimed, “tell us the 
truth—the worst at once! Is Harry wound¬ 
ed?’’ I dared not say more; my heart-blood 
seemed to curdle, and my breath came heavily. 
“Wa'al, Miss A lick, you’ve broke the ice 
now. an’l’lltell ye; it's worse nor that; HARRY 
was killed right down, or shot, or suthin’,’’ and 
Louis, faithful Loris, strong man that he was, 
burst into tears. 
Oh, let me pass overall the tears ami sorrow— 
the anguish and despair! In the midst of all, 
there was one bright ray. Our Harry died a 
hero. Died, as thousands others, cheering his 
comrades on to victory. The soldier who wrote 
tho letter, told it kindly, but of till that long 
letter, two cruel truths burst upon Us—“shot 
through the heart," and “buried on the very 
spot he fell." It was impossible to send his 
body home, bis comrades said, so they buried 
il where the ground liad been moistened by his 
life-blood, under the shade of a giant oak; and 
who, of ye all, could find a more fitting monu¬ 
ment ? 
Aunt Mary lives with us now, and the old 
homestead is silent and dark. Day by day 
passes and her cheek grows paler and thinner, 
but she is gentler, (if that were possible,) than 
in the sunny past, llow we love her! Every 
soldier finds a friend in her. Never does she 
weary in cheering their hearts, and lending a 
helping hand to their families. 
So, loving her as we and all do, I end as I 
began,—Dear Aunt Mary! 
Although I enter not, 
Yet, round about the spot 
Sometimes I hover, 
And at I he sacred gate, 
With longing eyes I wait, 
Expectant ol' her. 
The mins! er bell tolls out 
Above the city’s rout, 
And noise and humming; 
They’ve stopped the chiming bell, 
I hear the organ's swell,— 
She’s coming—coming! 
My lady crows a: last, 
Timid and stepping past, 
And hastening thither, 
With modest eyes downcast, 
She comes—she's here—she's past, 
iliy heaven go with her! 
. Kneel undisturbed, fair saint, 
Pour out your praise or plaint. 
Meekly and duly, 
I will not enter there, 
To sully your pure prayer, 
With thoughts unruly. 
But. suffer ine to pace 
’Round the forbidden place, 
Lingering a minute, 
Like outcast spirits who wait 
And see through heaven’s gate, 
Angels within it. 
[Thackeray. 
whole future; the horrible tidings, which is 
borne on every Southern breeze — “killed!” 
However strong we may be, there are none of 
us who can withstand the shock of that one 
simple word, coupled with the name of some 
dear one. We think, even while the blasting 
tntlli is searing our hearts, of every story we 
have ever heard, of those reported killed, and 
yet lived; and, at last find ourselves doubting 
the words of the comrade, whose hand penned— 
“ shot through the heart." And we conjure up 
sweet pictures of meeting the loved one—of 
hearing him loll of marvelous escapes; forget 
the far-off grave on the battle plain. Nothing 
is too wonderful—nothing too astonishing for 
wrought-up fancy. The most prosaic of us in¬ 
dulge in reveries of this kind, in a greater or 
less degree. Scout the idea though we may, it 
remains none the less hid down in our hearts. 
We did not see the soldier full; 1 mean, dear 
reader, the oue whom you or I loved. There 
might, imagination whispers, have been a mi>- 
tuke. Oh, what a happy one for us! We think 
we believe that he is dead, and don somber at¬ 
tire accordingly; and although our hearts al¬ 
most burst from the weight of sorrow, and 
though our lips quiver with rising sobs, 
there is yet a little hope down in our hearts, 
a very little hope, which a word may wake 
to be a great one, but, alas, that it were 
so! only to be dashed down to its tiny cor¬ 
ner. Poor little hope ! It nestles very 
closely in its little home, and not till long years 
steal by, will it be gone. Nor will it die a sud¬ 
den death. Ah, no! Gradually—slowly will it 
die; leaving aching void, which nothing can 
ever fill again. That little corner will be very 
lonely, after long years crush the innocent hope. 
Cut I am wandering. 
Nklltk and I went to visit Aunt Mary 
very often now. The old house seemed strangely 
quiet, and Aunt Mary was not gay as she used 
to be, but kinder than ever, we thought. One 
day she told me that Harry’s regiment had 
been in several battles, and she feared he was 
wounded. 
“If he is wounded,” said she, “ f will go to 
him. No one can take such care of him as his 
mother, Allie.” 
It was on the Saturday following this conver¬ 
sation. and I was sitting in my own room 
musing, and looking out on the dreary expanse, 
the dismal rain, and gray, monotonous sky. I 
never believed in presentiments, but that morn¬ 
ing, it seemed that there was some great sorrow 
impending—and I could not stay the tears nor 
hush the sobs, though 1 had really nothing to 
weep for. Looking out in the rain, far down 
the road, I saw a man coming in a carriage. 
The horses were spotted with mud, and the 
carriage was ash-hued with it. I know not 
why, but something impelled me to go below, 
when the carriage was almost opposite. 1 
never felt so much curio.-it.y, as on that day, 
to see that strange man’s lace. The car¬ 
riage had stopped, and tho man was coming 
in. I felt, a strafige faintness, when I saw 
that he was Aunt Mary’s farm laborer. I 
canuot define the feeling; il was not terror, 
though it partook of that, character; it was a 
sort of innate fear, dread, or something similar. 
I could not have guessed the reason; indeed, I 
did not slop to think, 
TO HOUSEKEEPERS EVERYWHERE 
tr vou don't want vnur clothes twisted and wrenched, 
and pulled to pieces t>y the ahovo old-fashioned I’. ack- 
uuicaicini \wrist-straining and < i.ijtui.s-pestkoy- 
Inu process ol washing and wringing, go before next 
wasldng-day and buy oue of the be.-; lahor-savino, 
CLOTIIKS-SAVINO, UEALTlI-SAVfNG, TIME-SAVING, and 
money-saving Inventions of the age. 
Written for Moore’s Rural New-Yorker. 
AUNT MARY. 
Dear Aunt Mary! No one couM help 
loving her. She must have been very beautiful 
once; even old Time, who has stolen all the 
blush roses from her cheek, and left his unmis¬ 
takable mark on her brow—who has robbed her 
dear head of its golden treasures, and placed 
gray locks instead of the sunny ringlets, has 
not taken any luster from her azure eye. No 
wonder we children went to her for consola¬ 
tion, when our little hearts were bleeding with 
some real or fancied wrong. No cue’s kiss, ex¬ 
cept mother’s, was so sweet as Aunt Mary’s: 
no one’s hand was so soft as here, when site 
smoothed our tangled curls; no one’s voice so 
sweet as hers, when she sympathized with us, 
in all her childish troubles. 
Little marvel that, as we grew older, Aunt 
Mart was made <mj\dante of all our joys and 
sorrow’s; all our hopes and fears; all our heart- 
secrets. Aunt Mary always listened kindly to 
our little stories, and did not ridieule our air 
eastles—did not dash our hopes to the earth, by 
cold looks and sneering words. N o one’s heart h- 
fire was so bright; no one could sing so sweetly 
the Scotch ballads of the “auld lang syne," or 
tell such delightful stories as Aunt Mary. 
Cold winds moan round the corner, but the fra¬ 
grance of the roses by the hitehcu door, and the 
Sweet Peas and Viguouia clambering over the 
porch, come to me borne on the wing* of faith¬ 
ful Memory; and I canalmost taste the straw¬ 
berries that grow in the garden—almost stuell 
the heliotrope and the jasmine—almost see the 
white doves cn the eaves, and blue-bird’s nests 
in the hollow; the red treasures of the apple 
orchard, and clover blooms in tbe meadow’! 
A long, dusty road 11 f v>:n our home to Aunt 
Mary's; long and dusty in summer—long aud 
cold in winter. 15;;% when we got to tbe 
“Three Oaks,” (ho h* at of the summer sun, or 
piercing coldness of t he winter w ind, was for¬ 
gotten, for we were almost there. At the Oaks 
we left the dusty road ; left it for a thread-like, 
narrow’ path, because it was nearer, and shadier 
than by the road aud lane. The path wound 
through the foresfj overshadowed by,the boughs 
of the oak and elm, beech and maple. Grad¬ 
ually the path declined; a very gentle slope, 
where, by an abrupt curve, we catnc in full 
view of a tiny stream—clear and sparkling—so 
clear that we could have counted the pebbles in 
it. There was a rustic bridge over it, formed 
of sycamore logs and gnarled oak; but when 
the water was low, we spurned it, and waded 
through; but that was when we w’ore short 
skirts and pantalettes—not when king dresses 
aud dainty gaiters took their place. 
Oh, long-gone days! Is it that ye were really 
brighter ? 
“ Or that the past wiU always win 
A glory from its being far; 
And orb into the perfect star 
We saw not when we moved therein.” 
Next came the meadow bars; old, gray boards 
with chipped-off ends, to slip in and out of the 
holes in the posts. Then the path w’ound 
round the fence corners, through the clover, 
and under shade trees; no spruce or arbor vita?, 
but honest beech and elm. Then there was a 
iow’ fence over which wo had to climb, into a 
great field of -wheat, or com, as the case might 
be. We used to trim our bats with cordons and 
wreaths of wheat cars; or, if it happened that 
instead of the golden wheat, the tasseled corn 
bowed before the wind, we would, mischievous 
elves that we were, rob many au innocent ear 
of its silken wealth. Then there were other bars 
opening into the orchard; and there the apri¬ 
cots and plums, the peaches and apples, hung 
from the boughs, till they almost bent beneath 
the weight; and every fence-corner was the 
home of a cherry t ree. Then we reached the 
garden, with its beds of broccoli and beets; its 
asparagus and sage; its strawberry vines and 
grape arbors. 
The hou.-e, brow’n really, was so hidden by 
clambering vines, that its walls w’ere almost 
indiscernible. The windows were draped with 
Wistaria, and the doors shaded with White 
Jessamine; the very roof seemed alive with 
53,818 SOLD IN 1863! 
^t6 5 814 
SOLD IN THE FIRST FIVE MONTHS OF 1864! 
They are for sale in nearly every town in 
Wherever they are not already introduced 
GOOD CANVASSER 
die EA CI,17SI\ F. JlIftUT OV SA LE will he guaran¬ 
teed to the first responsible applicant for the territory. 
Liberal Inducement;! offered and Descriptive Circulars 
furnished by JULIUS 1VKS & CO., 
317 Broadway. New York. 
Ml- A'or fell description and testimonials of 
the UM\ EH SAL II HIXGEJi, please refer to 
Perhaps men are the most imitative animals 
in all the world of nature. Only oue ass ever 
spoke like a man: but hundreds of thousands of 
men are daily talking like asses. 
>. PElutY mavis’ Vegetable 
jj$S, I’.UN Kii.lkr, taken Internally, cures 
sudden i olds, Coughs,et’.. Weak Stom- 
I !, Hl Ueiicrel Debility, Nursing Sore 
M0 Mouth, Canker, Liver Complaint. Dvs- 
p/y pepsin or 1 RdJgesUnn, ('ramp or Puln In 
the Stomach, Bowel Complaint, I’aint- 
Asaiie Cholera. Diarrhea and Dysentery.— 
eternally, cure Felons, Bolls, and old Sores, 
ro- and Scalds. Cuts, Bruises and Sprains, 
f the Joints, Ringworm and Tetter, Broken 
rested Feet and Chilblains, Toothache, Fains 
e. Neuralgia and Rheumatism. (See direc- 
upauyintr each bottle.) 75l-2tenw 
For Monro's Rural New-Yorker. 
GEOGRAPHICAL ENIGMA. 
I am composed of .‘5(1 letters. 
My 7,1,1*2, 4, 9, 0,11 is a county in Wisconsin. 
My 82, MO, 20, as, 29, 17, Is, 13 is a county in Indiana. 
My Ml, 25, 26,14,10, MO is a county in Ohio. 
My 22, 21, 35, 27, 33 is a county in Pennsylvania. 
My 21, 81, 7, 3, 27, 9 is a county in New York. 
My 2, 5, - I, 21, 13, 21 is a county in Virginia. 
My 15, 3, 35,8 is a conniy Jn Florida. 
My 23, 25,17,1 is a county in Texas. 
Mv 13, 2,16, 7, 81,19, 36 is a county in South Carolina. 
My whole fs a very true saying. 
Springville, Wis., 1864. Charles L. Wood. 
ffsT Answer in two weeks. 
Cured by Bate-’ Pa tent Sclent I fie A 
cditlnu ef| Pamphlets anil Draw 
same, addre -. II. (:. L. MKAItS, 277 
For Moore's Rural New-Y’orker. 
MISCELLANEOUS ENIGMA. 
rpiiic i>i ki: k i.oo ni: n stallion 
s ABE is:, 
Bred by A. Kkknk Kl< iiaimis, of Kentuckv, from his 
imported Arab Mnkhtofuti, oaiu by Zenith— ’Zenith by 
Eclipse. Tenon, *13. 
Also, Young HONEST Tom. a first eloss Draft Stallion, 
sired l>v Imported hm-" Ibwft Tnm— hlsduin a line mare 
from Dido. Terms. $?. These famous horses w III stand 
this season one mile east of Rose Valley. 
For full pedigree and particulars address 
D. ELLEN WOOD, Agent, 
744-Gteow Rose, Wayne County, N. Y. 
I am composed of 20 letters. 
My 4, 5 19, 6, 2 is a species of bird. 
My 13,1, s all persona must do. 
My 16, 7, 10,11 is essential to the soldier. 
My 8,15,17,18 is used by weavers. 
My 14, 7,16 is a term applied to sonic animals. 
My 12, 9,13 is au implement used by farmers. 
My 20,17, 0,10 Is but little used at the present day. 
My whole Is, we hope, numbered among the things 
t hat mere. Sledge. 
Gorham, N. Y., 1804. 
cr Answer in two weeks. 
Q. WESTIAG HOUSE A CO.. 
Schenectady. iV- "V., 
•MANUF.U’TURKB* OF 
Endless Chain and Lever Horse-Powers, 
Threshers ami Cleaners, Threshers and Separators, 
Clover Mullers, Circular aud Cross-cut W ood Sawing 
Machines, Broom «'orn Scrap, rs, cider Mills, Ac.. 
Send for a Circular containing description aud prior 
Ust of the above uamed machines. [74'J-cowtf. 
Surely, I did not fear 
Louis, who bad always been so kind to me. 
No, no! LOUIS was not one for any one to fear. 
Dear, good old Louis! It seemed to me that 
there was something pitying in his little gray 
eyes, us he looked at me, and his voice did not 
sound loud and harsh, but low. as lie bade me 
“ good moruitl’,” in Ins uncouth way. I led the 
way to the sitting-room, my heart-dread only 
augmented by liis manner. 
He sal down, but seemed ill tit case, and 
When I asked him if Aunt Mary’s health was 
good, ho muttered something unintelligible, 
and asked for father, saying he wished to sec 
him. Father and Nkllik hud gone to the 
neighboring village that morning, and liad not 
yet returned; 1 supposed the rain had delayed 
them, aud I told him so. Was my mother at 
home, then? Yes, she was too ill to go out; 
and so I hastened to call Iter,—growing faint 
with increasing dread. 
Mother came, and began a cheerful conversa¬ 
tion, but lie only answered in monosyllable*. 1 
could see that all was not as it should lie, for 
Louis, generally, was a very talkative and 
genial man; but to-day he was silent and ab¬ 
stracted—hardly noticing what was said, his 
mind appealed so far away from the subjects 
discussed. At length he said; 
“ -Mrs. Dutton, I dunno how to tell ye, but 
there was awful bad news come to our house 
to-day, and the mistress sent me over to tell ye.” 
Mother’s face grew white as the curtains of 
the window by which she sat; as for me, I can 
desCiibo my feelings no better than by saying, 
i suppose them to have been much tbe same us 
those of a person on the verge of a precipice, 
during a hurrioaue; unable to retrace his step*; 
only wailing his fate; know ing what that late 1 
would be—to he whirled oxer into the horrible 
abyss, by the angry wind; only awaiting tho 
terrible realization. I cannot say that I knew 
what the man was going to say; no, I did not 
knoio it; but l fell the terrible truth seething 
Well, he went—our brave cousin—went as 
thousands of others—full of hope, and anticipa¬ 
tions of brilliant victories and unfading laurels 
—went with his mother’s kiss trembling on his 
lips, and liis mother’s blessing ringing in his 
ear. 
Months passed, and summer was fast ebbing 
into autumn. The leaves were beginning to 
fall, and the doctors predicted that Minnie's 
gentle spirit would go to Heaven ere the 
snow came. Yes, Minnie wag dying; dying 
with the summer leaves: dying with the sum¬ 
mer breezes; dying with the summer itself; 
dying, as Aunt Mary had feared, a victim of 
hereditary consumption. We had not believed 
our darling cousin was really going to die. But 
the last leaves of autumn tell, and were drifted 
,;way by the winds, over our darling’s grave. 
Dear Aunt Mary! The death of Minnie, 
her youngest life-hud, was a dreadful blow to 
her. The silver hairs crept in faster than ever 
before, und the pale face grew yet paler. Hut 
Harry’s letters consoled her bo much. Every 
week brought precious missives from him; more 
precious to the mother’s heart than all Goleon- 
da’s gems; breathing hope in every lino, and 
love for her, and bringing happiness to the old 
homestead. Oh, soldiers! far-away brave ones, 
you know not, nor will you ever know, the joy 
with which your letters are welcomed. 
HARRY’S health was not as good as it had 
once been. Our Harry, like many other loved 
ones, had been tenderly nurtured, and the hard¬ 
ships of camp-life struck him rudely. Hut he 
bore all the suffering, all the fatigue, without a 
murmur; never leaving his regiment for the 
hospital; doing duty, spite of physical pain. 
Grave, daring, patient, and gay as of old; so 
said his comrades. Our country can ill afford 
to lose such hearts as yours, Harry. ’Twere a 
pity your breasts were not so shielded that 
For Moore’s Rural New-Yorker. 
ANAGRAMS OF BATTLES. 
LareMonelisvcel, 
Teamtain, 
Ottoahcnnag, 
Bagger sytt, 
Madison, Ohio, 1864. 
O’ 1 ” Answer in i wo weeks. 
Hack him in coy, 
Ebro rum ofers, 
llilhos, 
Lunlurb. 
Minnie Linwood. 
MOORE’S RURAL NEW-YORKER, 
TI1K LAlKiK9T-GIKCPLATING 
Agricultural, Literary and Family Nowspaper, 
IS FUBLIBUJCD EVERY SATURDAY BY 
B. D. T. MOORE, ROCHESTER, N, Y. 
Office, Lniou Building, Op|*«ile liie loud douse, Buffalo St 
For Moore’s Rural New-Yorker. 
A PUZZLE. 
Tk/i.ns, /.v .iwpjaca .■ 
Two Dollars a Year-One Dollar for Six Mouths. 
Agents w ill please note that the lowest price of 
the RriiAi. is *2 per year an,I remit accordingly. Per¬ 
sons sending less will only receive the paper for the 
length of time tile money pays for at above rate. 
No subscriptions received for less titan ' lx months 
Subscriptions can commence now or with any future 
number, though we prefer to have them begin with the 
current quarter or mouth. I i^We can not tarnish the 
numbers <>f the first .piarier plan, to Aprlll or this year 
and volume, the edition being exhausted. 
Xop- As we ar« oblige I to prepay the United Sidles 
postage on all copies sent abroad, $2.20 Is the lowest 
rate for Canada, A ?., and $3.00 to Europe,—but during 
tlie present rale of exchange. Canada Agents or Sub- 
aorlber* remitting lor the Kukal hi blUs or their own 
specie-paying banks will not, be charged postage. The 
best way to temit Is Gy 1 trail on New York, (less cost of 
exchange,)—and all drafts made payable to tbe order of 
the Publisher, may tut mailed at hih hisk. 
The I’Mtoir* on the Rural new-Yorker ja only* 
cents pet Quarter to any part, of this State, (except Mon- 
roe county, where It goo* free.) and the same a? 
other Loyal State. If paid Quarterly In advance where 
received. 
Change of Add i-cjm, Subscribers wishing the address 
of their papers changed from one Post-4 >tHcu to another! 
must specify the old address as well ns the new to secure 
compliance. Ijr- This change of address Involves time 
and labor, as the transfer* must be made on books and 
in mailing-machine type, for which we must pay clerks 
aud printers. We can not afford this expense, and 
therefore those who are benefited must pay a tariff of 
25 cents for each change of address. 
Gt vnolig (vein chi I rymo onllg 'fit. 
Si l.ver in gfou Ntu I rrsslir ine, sandto wers 
Chas. Ingnowth, Ell Ketrio udsh aduws, 
L’Igh tin gdewd lopge Msfo I, flow E. R. S. 
Columbus, Mich., 1861. J. M, Bkainue 
EsT Answer in two weeks. 
For Moore’s Rural New-Yorker. 
MATHEMATICAL PROBLEM. 
Required the year of the Christian Era In which the 
solar cycle was or will be 15; the lunar cycle 12, and 
the Roman indication P2. 
Verona, N. Y., 1864. S. G. Caowin. 
tty Answer in two weeks. 
ANSWER8 TO ENIGMAS, &c„ IN No. 751 
Answer to Miscellaneous Enigma:—Strive not with 
ft mau without cause if lie have done thee no harm. 
Answer to National EnigmaThe Charleston Mer¬ 
cury. 
Answer to Anagram: 
Sweet is the song of birds, 
In summer's leafy wildwood; 
But sweeter far the words 
That grace a loving childhood. 
But the streamlet utters low 
The love no ill can smother, 
The human heart hIodo can know, 
There's none on earth like mother. 
