The snow had begun in the gloaming, 
And busily all the night 
Had been heaping fields and highway 
With a silence deep and white. 
Every pine, and fir, arid hemlock, 
Wore ermine too dear for an earl, 
And the poorest twig on the elm tree 
Was fringed deep with a pearl. 
From shed* now roofed with Carrara, 
Came Chanticleer's muflled crow, 
The (did rails were softened to swan’s down— 
And still fluttered down the snow. 
I stood and watched by the w indow 
The noiseless work of the sky, 
And the sudden flurries of snow birds, 
Like brown leaves whirling by. 
I thought of a mound in sweet Auburn, 
Where a little headstone stood. 
How the flakes were folding it gently, 
As did the robins the babes in the wood. 
Up spoke our little Mabel, 
Saying, “ Father, who makes the snow?” 
And I told her of the good All-Father, 
Who rares for us all below. 
Again I looked at the snow fall, 
And ^thought of the leaden sky 
That arched our first great sorrow, 
When the mound was heaped so high. 
] remember the gradual patience 
That foil from the cloud like snow, 
Flake by flake, healing and hiding 
The scar of that deep-stabbed woe. 
And again to the child I whispered, 
“ The snow that husheth all, 
Darling, the Merciful Father 
Alone can make it fall.” 
Then, with eyes that saw not. I kissed her, 
Aud she. kissing back, could not know 
That my kiss was given to her sister, 
Folded dose under deeji ning snow. 
a 
mu 
g 
I 
) 
[Written for Moore's Rural New-Yorker.) 
SOWING THE WIND 
AMD REAFINO THE WHIRLWIND 
BY T. S. ARTHUR. 
[Continued from page 20 last number.] 
CHAPTER VI. 
“Isn’t she sweet, Hiram,” said Mrs. Foster, as 
she held her youngest born, a baby in its fifth month, 
up for a kiss. 
“Sweet as a rose,” be answered, touching his lips 
lightly to the baby's lips, but in so cold a way that 
the mother’s feelings rebelled against such strange 
indifference. The father’s eye, though resting on 
the cherub face of his little one, did not feel any im¬ 
pression of its beauty. There was a barrier of sin 
around bis heart, which, for the time, kept back the 
spell of innocence. His thoughts were with his 
troubled feelings, away from home and its cherished 
ones. Though present with them as to the body, he 
was yet afar off in spirit. 
“You’re not well, Hiram,” said the young wife 
and mother, awaking from the happy dream in which 
she had been passing the hours with her two darlings. 
The coming homo, at evening twilight, of her hus¬ 
band, had been like the opening of a door through 
which a cold blast pressed in upon the warm air of a 
cheerful room. There was a chilling atmosphere 
around him. He had come in from the outside 
world, and a shudder was felt at his entrance. Often, 
before, bad Mrs. Foster experienced this shock, or 
jar, or repulsion, whatever it might be called, on her 
husband’s appearance, but never to the degree now 
felt. 
“I’ve been troubled with a headache all day.” 
That is not true, Hiram Foster. Your head never 
Avas freer from pain. 
“Oh, Pin sorry!” And Helen pressed her hand 
upon his forehead, and looked at him with a tender 
concern in her eyes. But he could not War to have 
her read his face, aud so turned it away. She did 
not hold the baby for him to kiss again; nor did 
Flora, his two year old darling, after being pushed, 
with a strange absentmindednsss, aside when she 
attempted to get upon his lap, venture near him 
again. He sat in silence and a stern abstraction of 
miud, that his wiio knew had some other cause than 
a simple headache, until tea was announced. 
•‘Can’t you eat anything, Hiram?” Mrs. Foster 
saw that ho was only sipping at his tea. He lifted 
his eyes from his cup, and looked across the table at 
his wife. Only for a lew moments did he hold her 
gaze, and then let his own fall away. There were 
questionings in her eyes that his tell-tale face might 
answer in ft wfty. the hare imagination of which 
caused him to shudder. 
“Iam better without food,” he answered, 
tea is all 1 want, and may relieve the pain 
head.” Hack to the refuge of lies again! Unhappy 
transgressor; the way in which you have chosen to 
walk is a hard one, and you will find the difficulties 
steadily increasing us you press omvard! 
“Not going out, Hiram!” It was an hour after 
supper time. The young man had been lying on a 
sofa, 'with shut eyes, pretending indisposition, in 
order to hide the trembling anxiety and fear that 
were in his heart. Now, rising up, as if ft sudden 
purpose had moved him, he went into the passage, 
and was reaching for his hat. 
“Yes, for a little while,” he answered back, and 
was away before his wife could follow him with Avords 
of remonstrance. 
Night had fallen, dark aud starless, and the chill 
November air struck coldly against his face. After 
leaving the bouse, Mr. Foster walked rapidly towards 
that part of the town in which the store of .Mr. Over¬ 
man Avas located. Turning u corner, that brought 
him in view of the store, he saw a light gleaming 
through two crescent-shaped openings in one of the 
shutters, that which closed against the window at the 
back part ot the store, where the desks and fire-proof 
were located. He stood still, instantly, striking his 
hands together. Fear caused his knees to shake. It 
Avas even as had been a little while before suggested 
to bis mind. Mr. Overman's suspicions Avert - going 
in the right direction, and he was at the store exam¬ 
ining the books, to see if the leak he had spoken of 
could he found in that direction. There Avere not 
less than fifty false entries in the cash-book. Was it 
possible for him to escape, should Mr. Overman’s 
eyes, sharpened by suspicion, go over that account? 
The wretched young man felt as if suspended by a 
hair over some awful chasm. 
For several minutes he stood, with tlio.se sharply 
outlined crescents of light holding his gaze by a kind 
of fascination. Then he commenced moving totvards 
them, as if they possessed a weird power of attraction, 
“The 
in my 
until he stood on the narrow pavement, bordering an 
alley but little frequented, that ran doAvn beside the 
building, and close against the AviudoAv. His steps 
Avere noiseless as the steps of a cat. He held his 
laboring breath, and barkened eagerly. But no sound 
came from within. After listening for sonic time, he 
was about moving away. Avhen his ear caught the 
Avell-known rattle of paper, that often accompanies 
the turning of leaves in a blank-book. It sent a thrill 
along every nerve; for in that sound wa.s a confirma¬ 
tion of every Worst fear. 
“ Gon help me! ” It was a silent, despairing ejacu¬ 
lation; not a prayer sent up from a low deep of 
misery, bearing hope, were it never so feeble, in its 
bosom. 
“Lost! Lost!” He moved back, noiselessly, out 
into the darkness, holding both hands tightly against 
his breast. To his home, and the tender, innocent, 
beloved ones there, his thoughts went, and he saw 
that home all desolated; his wife heart-broken, and 
his babes disgraced. For some moments the idea 
of (light held his mind. But no — no! — it was thrust 
aside. He could not abandon all. Avhile there was a 
shadow of hope. His false entries were dexterously 
made, and might elude the vigilence of bis employer, 
who was not by any means an adept at figures. Even 
if a few errors were discovered, he might be able so 
to confuse Mr. Overman’s mind by corrections and 
explanations, as to make all appear fair. 
These suggestions gave partial and momentary re¬ 
lief to his distressed Ice lings’. There was in them a 
feeble gleam of light. All was not yet lost. 
For ten or fifteen minutes Hiram Foster, chilled 
by the dump, cold air, lingered in sight of the 
burning crescents, their sharp outline imprinted on 
every object to which ho turned his gaze. 
“1 must know what he is doing!” he said, at last. 
I cannot go back with this horrible uncertainty 
eating Into my heart. If 1 only could find a ladder.” 
He crossed over to the rear of the store, and looked 
along the pavement for several rods down the dark 
alley. A small packing-box stood against a door. 
He drew it out, aud stepped upon the side. But it 
was not high enough. He went further down the 
alley, and found a rickety half barrel, with the head 
and chime hoop* of one end gone. Nothing else, at 
ail suited to his purpose, was to he seen. By placing 
the half barrel on the box, and mounting thereon, he 
might get high enough to look through the crescent 
openings in the shutters, and see what Mr. Overman 
Avas doing. To think, in the excited state of his 
mind, was to act. The box was conveyed, in silence, 
to the window, and then the half barrel brought and 
placed on top of it, with the shattered, defective end 
downwards. 
Hiram was in too nervous a state to do any thing 
carefully and coolly. He struck the barrel against 
the box in lifting it, making noise enough lo be beard 
inside by any one not greatly absorbed in thought. 
Aware of this, he moved away, and stood aside from 
the window for nearly a minute, so as to be out of 
Mr. Overman’s range of vision, should lie happen to 
push open the shutter. But all things remaining as 
at first, lie ventured back, and stepping upon the box, 
mounted to the top of the half-barrel, which yielded 
sensibly under his weight. His head was now even 
Avitli the two narrow perforations in the shutter, and 
us he looked down through them, lie suav Mr. Over¬ 
man standing at one of the desks, and bending over 
an account-hook. He aviis so deeply absorbed in 
what he aviis doing, that he seemed almost moveless. 
But all at once ho turned towards the window, with a 
quick movement, and looked up towards the crescent 
openings through which Hiram Foster was gazing 
doAvn upon him. The young man saw his face for a 
moment,— it aviis pale, anxious, but stern,— saw 
it only for a moment, lie drew buck quickly, 
with an instinct of fear, as Mr. Overman’s eyes 
were thrown upwards. The movement disturbed 
the nicely poised support on Avhich he stood.— 
Over wont the barrel, and over went the man, 
Avitli a loud crush and rattle, upon the pavement. 
In the fall, Hiram struck his head against one of 
the curb-stones, inflicting a severe wound near the 
temple, and above the right eye. For a moment or 
Iavo he was stunned by the shock; but the peril of his 
situation restored him to full Consciousness, and in¬ 
stantly springing to Ins feet, he glided away from the 
Avindow, just as it aviis thrown open by Mr. Overman, 
and tint strong light came out, tilling a large circle 
Avith its rays. Hiram did not wait to see what, next 
might be done, but let winged feet hear him away 
into the heavy darkness. 
“Hey! Who goes there? Stop! Stop!” 
Jt aa t us the voice of a night policemen, avIio’s ears 
had caught the sound made by the falling barrel, and 
who had seen the light Avhich came suddenly from 
the window thrown open by Mr. Overman. Hiram, 
in his flight, passed within a few yards of him. Did 
he stop at this summons? No! But sprung away at 
ft speed defying pursuit. 
A countenance turned instantly white with terror, 
met Hiram on his entrance at home; and no wonder, 
for one side of his face and neck avuh red with blood, 
flowing freely from the wound near his temple. Mrs. 
Foster’s colorless lips moved irapotently, and she 
sat puralized for some moments. 
“Oh, husband! What is it? What has happened?” 
came at length in u fluttering and choking voice, as 
she started to her feet, 
“ Don’t be frightened. It’s nothing. Get me some 
water, Helen. 1 struck my head against a projecting 
sign. Does it bleed much?” The voice of Hiram 
shook us if lie had a chill; and there was a strange¬ 
ness in liis tones that troubled the cars of his wife. 
Mrs. Foster brought hurriedly, a basin of water, 
and Avashing ftAvay the blood, came to an Ugly, ragged 
cut about an inch long, just above the right eye, 
towards the temple. The blood still flowed freely. 
Nearly ten minutes elapsed before it could be 
scions of a brain-whirl and a moment of suspended 
thought. Then, with silent feet he crossed the 
passage, and entering his chamber hurriedly got into 
lied. 
a long, full 
CHAPTER VXI. 
It seemed an age to Hiram,— the period that 
elapsed before Mr. Overman went away. He heard 
the intermitted and intermingling sounds of voices 
below, but no articulate words reached bis ears. 
When, at last tie jar of a closing door gave notice 
that the visitor had retired, and his wife came up to 
the chamber, he was lying in a nervous chill. 
“What did he want?” By a strong effort. Hiram 
not only steadied his voice, but repressed the tremor 
that jarred along every nerve and muscle. 
“I don’t know. He merely asked to see you,” 
replied Mrs. Foster. 
“ What did you say?” 
“ 1 told hirn that you came home at tea time with a 
bad headache,— and Avere in bed,” 
“ You didn’t say that I had just gone up?” 
“No.” 
There came IVors Hiram’s breast 
respiration of relief. 
“It was as well, perhaps. I wonder what he could 
have wanted?” His mind had found relief from a 
pressure of uncertain dread. 
“I don’t know, dour. Mr. Overman looked dis¬ 
turbed about something.” 
“He hasn’t seemed like himself for some time 
past,” said Hiram. “Business is dull; and f think 
that worries him. Did he seem much disappointed 
at not seeing me?” 
“It did not strike me that he was disappionted. If 
I understood the meaning of his face, it expressed 
something like relief, or pleasure, when I told him 
that you were in lied. But, he had a look about him 
different from anything I had ever seen before. *1 
wished to ask him a question to-night, but it will do 
as AVell in the morning,’ he said, as he went away.” 
“ How does the cut in my forehead look?” asked 
Hiram. 
“Bad,” was Helen’s answer. 
“ Will my hair cover it? See!” 
“Only in part,” said Mrs. Foster, as she drew the 
hair down towards the wound. 
“ Ut mo see.” And the young man crept out from 
under the bed clothes among which he had thrown 
himself without removing his garments, and going to 
a toiJet-ghisH, held the light to his lace and examined 
the ugly red scar near the temple. 
How av ill that look ?” He had drawn a lock of 
hair dowu so low that the wound was hidden. 
Mrs. Foster shook her head in a dissatisfied way. 
“ Let the cut be seen,” she said. “ What harm 
can arise?” 
“No harm. But avIio likes to be disfigured in this 
way? I’eople might think I’d been drunk, or in a 
fight.” 
“ If people choose to think evil, let them. To be 
right and to do right should be our chief concern.” 
There was a searching, questioning look in the 
eyes of Mrs. Foster, from which Hiram turned 
away, murmuring, 
“ My poor head! Hoav it does ache!” 
And removing his clothes, while he kept his face 
so ranch in shadow that its expression could not be 
seen by liis wife, he laid himself doAvn, shutting his 
eyes, and turning to the wall. 
Did the question of loss and gain come into | 
longhtoS lire ah Foster, as he lav in such anxit 
staunched. 
“This doesn’t help my poor head, any,” said 
Hiram, remembering that lie had complained of 
headache at tea time. “ The pain blinded me bo that 
I could hardly sec my Avay in the dark. 1 think I’ll 
go to bed, now. Perhaps 1 can get to sleep," 
And lie arose, and was at. the foot of the stairs 
leading up to their bed-room, when some one rung 
the bell loudly. 
“Say that I have a sick headache, aud am iu bed, 
Helen, if any one asks for me. Don’t Intimate that 
I have just gone up. gay that I am in bed.” 
Hiram Foster grasped the arm of bis Avife in a 
nervous way, and looked so wildly iu her face, that a 
vague fear crept like a cold shadow upon her heart. 
What could all this mean! 
“Don’tforget!” There was warning, anxiety, fear, 
and command in the strange expression that gleamed 
on liis excited face, ns he said this, and then went 
hastily uji stairs. 
At the top he lingered for a few moments in a 
listening attitude. The door was opened, lie heard 
his name. 
“ Is Hiram at home?” The voice was that of Mr. 
Overman! A faintness came upon him. He grasped 
the hand railing by which he stood, and was eon- 
____ the 
thought of lire am V'ostke as be lay in such anxious 
fear all night that sleep visited him only at long 
intervals, and then fled quickly before affrighting 
dreams? Did a picture of how it might have been, if 
he had kept liis honor unsullied, stand out in all its 
tranquil beauty, contrasted with the dread actuality in 
which he was shuddering like a criminal at bay? He 
had a true-hearted, tender, loving wife, and two as 
sweet babes as a father’s heart could desire. His 
income was large enough to meet every want that 
happiness required,—had been large enough from 
the day of his marriage. Not a single thing 
bought by dishonest gains, had given him any 
true pleasure;— always his enjoyment was marred 
by an intruding concern. There was a great form 
of evil ever threatening him, and ever throAving 
n shadow from uplifted hands over life’s sunniest 
landscapes. Kimtions of pride, as ho contrasted 
his handsome house and grounds Avith those of 
men quite as well off, honestly, as he was, would 
uoav and then .apple over his heart; but they soon 
fell hack again under the pressure of a superincum¬ 
bent anxiety. \ gratified love of possessing this 
world’s goods, \\u« the only thing like a compensating 
balance to all the loss he aa’ivs sustaining,— but how 
poor arid insignificant was this to the riches of 
enjoyment he av is madly casting aside. 
Did the question of loss and gain come fairly into 
his mind? Yes; hut it was pushed, with a feeling of 
bitterness, away. He felt that it avus too late. The 
haunting spirit of evil, Avhich had been his dread 
companion ever since that fatal evening when liis 
feet wont out from right paths, seemed to throw its 
arms close around him, aud to shadoAV into confusion 
and obscurity liis thoughts; so that all right conclu¬ 
sions and purposes were dispersed like unsubstantial 
vapor. 
Morning found him exhausted, but in a heavy sleep. 
Nature had asserted her poAver over the senses. Mrs. 
Foster, as the light came iu, aud gave distinct out¬ 
line to every feature of his face, suav, with painful 
concern, its pinched look and pallid hue. In staunch¬ 
ing the flow of blood from the Avound in his forehead, 
she had covered it with a strip of adhesive plaster. 
From the edges of this, blood had oozed out; and 
there Avere blue and purple discolorations extending 
down towards the right eye, the veins around which 
Avere visibly congested. On his pule lips, shut closer 
than is usual in sleep, sat an expression of trouble, 
that startled a slumbering sigh in her bosom, and 
brought blinding tears to her eyes. 
Without disturbing her husband, Mrs. Foster went 
down stairs. A little while before breakfast was 
ready to be served, she returned to the chamber, and 
found him still sleeping. While standing close OA’cr 
him, and debating in her mind whether to arouse him 
or not, lie sprung up with an exclamation of alarm, 
and a look of terror in his face. Mrs. Foster had 
never seen so Avild and frightened an expression on 
any countenance. 
“Oh, Hiram!” she ejaculated, drawing her arms 
around his neck. But, he tried to escape: pushing 
her away, aud shrinking towards the Avail. The brief 
struggle brought him fairly aAvake. 
“Oh, Helen! It’s you! What a dream I have 
had!” He was shivering like one in an ague fit. 
Covering his face Avith the bed-clothes, he lay still for 
a little while, trying to compose himself, aud put on 
a serene countenance. 
“What time is it, Helen?” He pushed aside the 
bed-clothes, and looked out. liis face Avas calm. 
“Past seven,” she ansAvered. 
“So late! Why did you let me sleep?” And he 
arose up quickly. 
It Avas after eight o’clock, an hour beyond bis usual 
time, when Hiram Foster reached the store of Mr. 
Overman. Nearly a quarter of an hour had been 
spent in trying so to arrange bis hair as to conceal 
the wound on his forehead; but without a satisfactory 
result, liis groat desire to conceal this scar, coupled 
itself in the mind of his wife with the unusual visit 
of Mr. Ovkrm an on the night before, and his anxiety 
to give the impression that he had not been out since 
tea-time: and in doing so, cast a vague fear into her 
heart. That something was wrong with her husband, 
she felt sure; something that fore-shadowed evil and 
involved disaster. 
“ What’s the matter?” Mr. Overman confronted 
Hiram as he entered the store, and with knit brows, 
and a look of searching inquiry, put this question. 
“I came near knocking my head off last night,” 
answered the young man, coolly, and with a forced 
smile. “See!” And he pushed up the hair that 
partly covered the dressing which lay over the cut he 
had received in falling. 
“ How did that happen?” There was not a relaxed 
muscle on Mr. Overman’s face. 
“I returned home with a severe headache last eve 
ning. After supper, it grew worse, almost blinding 
me with pain. I went into the cellar, foolishly 
enough, AVitlmut a light, and got this knock on the 
head. I Avas so stunned for a little while, that I lost 
my senses. You came to sec me, Helen said. Was 
it for anything very particular? I’m sorry that I was 
in bed; Helen might have called me.” 
“It Avasof no consequence,” Mr. Overman replied, 
in a tone that showed his mind to be in a state of 
doubt and dissatisfaction. 
“Have you reached any solution of the matter 
about which Ave talked yesterday?” Now, of all 
things, Hiram wished that subject postponed for the 
present; but he brought it into the light, desperately, 
in order to give Mr. Overman the impression of 
perfect innocence on his part — an innocence that 
courted investigation, knowing that it had nothing to 
fear from the fullest exposure of truth. 
“A partial solution,” was answered coldly, and 
avUIi eyes fixed so steadily on the young man, that 
the gaze could hardly be borne. Hiram was con¬ 
scious of tell-tale looks, and tell-tale color on his 
cheeks. Not feeling it safe to tread further on this 
dangerous ground, lie passed Mr. Overman, and went 
to the*hack part of the store, where his work with 
the account books chiefly lay. The tire-proof had 
not been opened. He took the key from a drawer in 
the desk, where it was lying with the door keys, and 
unlocking it, brought out his books, and commenced 
posting from the journal. While thus engaged, he 
had occasion to refer to the cash-book. In doing so, 
he noticed a slight pencil mark near a figure that 
represented a false entry. His heart stood still in¬ 
stantly, and he felt a nearer approach of the shadowy 
form of evil that haunted him night and day. Clos¬ 
ing the book, and pushing it, aside, lest Mr. Overman 
should observe him,— how wary and suspicious is 
guilt! —how constantly on the alert! — how full of 
human prudence! — Hiram bent over his ledger, 
affecting employment, while lie debated what were 
best to be done. 
The false figure bad been made two days before, 
and, in virtue thereof, sixty dollars appropriated by 
the young man. Now, if Mr. Overman had detected 
the error, and then counted the cash in the money 
box, which was a thing to be inferred, he must be in 
possession of the fact that sixty dollars were “short.” 
Hiram’s first conclusion was to restore that sum 
to the money box at once. He had the sixty dollars 
still in his pocket. Hut, then came the thought, that 
Mr. Overman had marked the figure purposely, ami 
was, of course, on the alert. He knew just Avhat was 
in the cash-box — not over forty dollars—and to add 
sixty thereto, would be to ensure certain exposure, 
should the false entry be referred to that morning, 
and a counting of the cash take place. 
“ Better wait,” said he to himself. Tf money comes 
in freely, I’ll add sixty dollars to the bank deposit.” 
“ How was your cash yesterday?” asked Mr. Over¬ 
man, about an hour after Hiram came in. The young 
man, anticipating just this question, had considered 
more than a dozen different answers, not one of 
which seemed safe or prudent re make, aud he was 
quite as unprepared when it. came as in the beginning. 
“ Biglit, I believe, sir.” An answer had to he 
made, and this was ventured, blindly. He spoke in a 
tone of confidence. 
“Let me see the cash-book.” There was an unu¬ 
sual quality in Mr. Overman’s voice. 
Hiram took the cash-book from a rack over the 
desk, and opening it, passed a piece of India rubber, 
quickly but firmly, over two or three pages, along 
the columns of figures, saying as he did so — 
“ I forgot to rob out the figures made in pencilling 
a balance.” 
That simple act saved him. Mr. Overman could 
not find the entry he had marked with a pencil. 
After running liis eye a few times, up and down the 
roAVs of figures, he shut the book, and went out into 
the store to attend upon a customer who had just 
come in. [To be continued next week.] 
For Moores Rural New-Yorker. 
POMOLOGICAL ENIGMA. 
16 is a magnificent, large 
My 31. 55, 25. 65, 37. 58, 80, 21 is likely to be classed among 
our valuable hardy grapes. 
My 35, 11. 20, 18, 26, 2. 60, 10, 54, 42. 19. 25, 53, 57, 16, 38 is a 
small, high-flavored strawberry. 
My 53, 62. SO, 47 . 5. 34, 71, 54 is a variety of the quince. 
My 2 S. 45. 63, 35, 30, 61,61 is a somewhat-noted Western apple. 
My 59, .1. S3, 96. 54. 21, 33. 72 is a large juicy autumn pear. 
My whole may be found in Genesis. 
Rochester, N. Y , 1801. Harry Gaylord. 
I l)r Answer in two weeks. 
For Moore's Rural New-Yorker. 
MISCELLANEOUS ENIGMA. 
I am composed of 15 letters. 
My 2, 15, 5, 9 every person has. 
My 14, 3. 5. 12 is food for man and beast. 
My 10 , 8 , 4, 1 is worn by gentlemen. 
My 2 . 15, 12, 14 is an important part of a vessel. 
My 9, 11 , 10, 3 is a bird. 
My 1, 3, 5 is a plant. 
My 7, 11, 9 is a measure. 
My 6 , ]], 9 is a kind of fish. 
My whole is the most authentic and entertaining history 
ever published. 
So. Sodas, N, Y.. 1861. 
KW Answer in two weeks. 
Jo. Velev. 
A PUZZLE. 
Insert one vowel, in proper places, between the following 
letters, and make six lines of rhvme: 
GyLdydtbU, 
Cachntndtlkndply; 
NdnnLrktHddrHll, 
Wssmrtgllntndgy; 
NddudgynnLrk. 
Cll’dngrmshppygprk. 
Jfjp” Answer in two weeks. 
LITTLE JOKERS. 
and they are 
” “Oh, 
Young lovers are called turtles, 
generally greeu turtles. 
“Sift, you have broken your promise 
never mind, I can make another just as good.” 
A Tennessee paper announces that “the inaugu¬ 
ration of the Governor was celebrated by firing 
minute guns every half hour /” 
Tiiougr a man should geuerully adapt himself to 
his place, there’s no necessity for his getting tight 
because he is in a tight plaee. 
“How tall are you, inyjeAvel?” “I stand six feet 
iu my shoes!” “Six feet in your shoes! Why, no 
man living can stand more than two feet in his 
shoes; you might as Avell say you stood six heads in 
your hat.” 
It is an old and true saying, that a man should not 
marry unless he can support a Avife; and, from some 
examples we have seen, we are beginning to doubt 
seriously whether a woman can prudently marry 
unless she cun support a busbaud. 
Smith met two editors who had been at “ outs,” on 
the street, Avalking arm in arm. “Hello!” said 
he, “the lion and the lamb lie down together, do 
they?” “0, yes,” said editor No. 1, “Jones, here, 
did the lyin' and I did the lamin' , and of course we 
came down together.” 
Wise Advice. — Coventry Patmore, in his new 
poem, giA r esthe folloAving advice: 
So let no man, in desperate mood, 
Wed a dull girl because she’s good. 
To which one might add: 
And let no woman, in her plight, 
Wed a bad man because he’s bright. 
For Moore’s Rural New-Yorker. 
SURVEYOR’S PROBLEM. 
Lelinnino at the northeast corner of a certain piece of 
land, and running south sixty rods, thence west eighty rods, 
thence north fifty rods, thence to the place of beginning, it 
is required to lay off ten acres from the southeast corner or 
south line. g, g Cagwin. 
Verona, Onei- Co., N. Y.. 1861 . 
tiy Answer in two weeks. 
A NICE LITTLE EXPERIMENT. 
A Ring Suspended by A Burnt Thread.— Tut a teaspoonful 
rif salt in a wineglass of water, stir it up. and pit .. i„ It soma 
coarse cotton, such as mother calls No. 16; iu about an hour 
Like out the thread and dry it. Tie a piece of this prepared 
cotton to a small ring, about the size of a wedding ring; hold 
it up, ana set fire to the thread. When It has burnt out, the 
liug will not fail, but remain suspended, to the astonishment 
of all beholders. Philosophers account for this effect by 
stating that the salt in the thread forms, with the ashes of 
the cotton, a tine film of glass, which is strong enough to 
support the ring, or any other small weight. 
ANSWERS TO ENIGMAS, &c„ IN No. 573. 
AnsAverto Floral Enigma: 
Supply the wants of each, and Ihey will pay 
For all your care through each succeeding day. 
Answer to Illustrated RebusInattention often induces 
individuals to pronounce speakers Inarticulate. ’ 
Answer to Mathematical Problem;—The side of the square 
is 10 rods, and Contains 100 perches The triangle base is 10, 
perpendicular 7,'L hypolhenuse l2>f, and contains 37L 
perches. The rectangle 5 by 12',,, aud contains 62.perches. 
Answer to Charade:—Balak-lava, 
Answer to Riddle:—Feet.—Gen. 1 : 24 and 25. 
MOORE'S RURAL NEW-YORKER, 
THE LARGEST CIRCULATED 
AGRICULTURAL, LITERARY AND FAMILY WEEKLY, 
IS l-PllLISHtiD EVERY SATURDAY 
BY D. D. T. MOORE, ROCHESTER, N. Y. 
Office, Union Buildings, Opposite (he Court Douse, Buffalo Street. 
Terms in Advance: 
8ub*crtption-~ Two Dollars a Year. 
To Clubs and 
Agents as follows; Three Copies one year, for $5 ; Six, and one 
free to club agent, for $10 i Tea, and one free, for 815; Fifteen, 
and one free, for 321 ; Twenty, aud one free, tor *25; and any 
greater number at same rate —only 81.25 per copy —wilt, an 
extra free copy for every Ten Subscribers over Twenty. Club 
papers directed to individuals and sent to as many different 
Post-Offices aa desired. As we pre-pav American postage on 
papers sent lo the British Provinces, our Canadian agents and 
friends must add 13L coat® pet- copy to the club rates of the 
Rural. The lowest price of copies sent to Europe, Ac-, is $2,50 
— including postage. Agents who take Special Premiums 
for clubs formed previous to April 1st, are also entitled to one 
extra (free) copy ot the paper for a club of either Nix at $ 10 , Ten 
at 315, or Twenty at $25and those who do not compete (or or 
wish the premiums can have an extra copy for every ten subscri¬ 
bers over twenty. Any one who has formed and received pre¬ 
mium for a club, (for 1861J can get a second premium by sending 
another club, or rece ive a free copy of the paper for every addi¬ 
tional ten subscribers forwarded. 
The above Terms and Rates are invariable, and those 
who remit less than specified for a single copy or club, will bo 
credited only as per rates, aud receive the paper accordingly. 
Any person who is uutan agent sending the club rate ($1,56 or 
$1.25) fur a single copy (the price of which is $2; will only receive 
the patter the length of time the money pay « for at fuH single 
copy price. People w ho tend us less than published rates, and 
request the paper for a year, or a return of the money, cannot 
beaa'ommtMlutnl— for it would be unjust toothers to comply, 
aud a great inconvenience to return remittances. The only way 
to get the Rural lor less than $2 a year is to form or join a club. 
.4 drertinin %— Thirty-Five Cents a Link, each inser¬ 
tion. A price and a half for extra display, or 52.!., cents per line 
ol space. Hr KCJ Ai. Notices, (following leading matter, leaded,) 
Sixty Cents a Line. £ rtf- Tint Rural New Yorker has a far 
larger Circulation than any siuJIlar journal in the world, and is 
undoubtedly the best advertising medium of its class in America. 
£'f7~ Any person so disposed can act as local agent for the 
Rural New-Youkkk, and those who volunteer in the good 
cause will receive gratuities, aud their kindness be appreciated. 
Sk.YU ox tuk Names.- Now is the time to forward lists 
of subscribers for 1861, and we hope agent-friends will “hurry 
up" the mimes a- last as possible. 
tjT* Voluntary Agents eor the Rural.— Any and every 
.S ubscriber or reader is requested to act in behalf of the Rural, 
by forming clubs or otherwise. Now is the time for its friends 
to manifest their interest in the paper and the cause it advocates, 
either by obtaining new subscribers, or inducing others to act in 
its behalf If any lose or wear out numbers in thoioivp the 
paper, that's the best way to get subscribers, we will duplicate 
them in order to make their tiles complete for biudiug. 
ti 
% 
Iam composed of 84 letters. 
My 1, 5 43. 15, 18. 59, 66 . 57. 49, 71, 13 is a juicy, sweet, and 
neh autumn apple. 
M.\ , 3 . ] 4 . ■!_. 11, 16, 2, 21, 7<. [55, 6 . 38 is a beautiful little 
summer pear. 
My 84 15. 72, S3, 41. 3. 16. 79, 5. 39, 65, 25, 64. 40 is a cherry 
of the Morello class*. 
My 12. 24, 82. 44, 29, 45, 70, 48, 46, 8 , 4, 15, 27, 32, 10 is one of 
the freestone peaches. 
Mv 37, 5<? 52, 23, 51, 72, 74, 22, 
plum. 
My 64. 76. 5. 34, 69, 50, 75, 59, 57, 66 , 11 , 24, 17, 54 , 67. 2 , 68 is 
a gooseberry in considerable favor. 
My SI. 19, 52 , 9 . 26, 54, 78, 8 is a hardy and productive rasp¬ 
berry. 
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