9 
AN HOUR AT THE OLD PLAY-GROUND. 
MT USURY MOXSORD. 
I sat an hour to-day, John. 
Beside the old brook litre am, 
Where ire were schoolboys in old time. 
When manhood was a dream. 
The brook is choked with fallen leaves, 
The pond is dried away — 
1 scarce believe that you would know* 
The dear old place to day. 
The school-bom*- is no more. John, 
Beneath our locust trees; 
The wild rose by the window aide 
No more naves in the breeze; 
The scattered stones look desolate, 
The sod they rested on 
Has been plowed up by stranger 1 lands. 
Since you and I were gone. 
Die chestnut tree is dead, John, 
And wbat is sadder now — 
The broken grape vine of onr swing 
Hangs on the withered bough; 
1 re ail our names upon the bark, 
And found the pebbles rare 
l.aid up beneath the hollow side, 
As we bad piled them there. 
Beneath the grass-grown hank, John, 
1 looked for our old spring 
That bubbled down the alder path 
Three paces from the swing; 
The rushes grow upon the brink, 
The pool is black and bare, 
And not a foot this many a day, 
It secmB, has trodden there. 
1 took the old blind road, John, 
That wandered up the hill; 
Tis darker than it used to be, 
And seems so lone and still! 
The birds sing yet among the boughs, 
Where once the sweet grapes hung, 
But not a voic« of human kind 
Where all our voices rung. 
I sat me on the fence. John, 
That lies as in old time, 
That same half-panel in the path, 
We used so oft to clime — 
And thought how o’er the bars of life 
Our playmates had passed on, 
And left me counting on this spot 
The faces that are gone. 
llM iP'tfil'g-lWIjM. 
[Wrtten for Moore's Rural New-Yorker.J 
FRED CARLTON’S VALENTINE: 
OR, LOVE VERSUS SKATES. 
BY JESSIE CARVER. 
Fked Carlton was just twenty-one,— intelligent, 
good looking, and accomplished. His father occu¬ 
pied the honorable position of village lawyer in one 
of our western cities, and Fkkp, hia only son, had 
ever been indulged in every wish or fancy. He had 
just retnred from B-College, where he had grad¬ 
uated with the highest honors, and was now at home, 
waiting, like Micawhkk, for ■“something to turn 
up,” — meanwhile, unlike that worthy individual, 
luxuriating in all the comforts of a happy home, gay 
society, and a freedom from care and restraint 
unknown to him since his boyish days. 
Header, you must not suppose our Fred a hero 
without blemish. Far from it, — generous, frank, 
impulsive, ho was an agreeable comnsnion. wul-ayro- 
pathising friend; but, alas, vanity entered largely 
into his composition. Nor Is it to be wondered,— 
bnt enough of this anon. Upon his arrival home he 
was, of course, (as one la in every small place,) 
lionized to death. No tea party, sleigh ride, or even 
sewing circle was complete without Kurd’s presence, 
and a bevy of bright-eyed lassies were ever ready 
with smile and response to his greeting,— almost 
transported upon being the object of his gallantries 
to singing school or sociable. After a while this 
homage became irksome, and our hero was fast 
tending toward “ennui,” when a letter came to 
Squire Cari.ton announcing the speedy return of 
Dr. Means, an old friend, and resident of Rockville, 
who had been in Europe for the past three years, for 
the purpose of educating and restoring to jiealth his 
daughter Bessie. This letter stated that the family 
would sail from Havre on the 23d of December, and 
as it was now the second week in January, they 
might be expected every day. 
Fred was greatly interested in these tidings, and 
daily passed the Dr.’s residence, which was undergo¬ 
ing a process of cleaning and furnishing. He remem¬ 
bered Bessie Means as the favorite playmate of his 
childhood, — a light, laughing gipsey. Together 
they played “houso” under the great oak tree, its 
acorns serving for cups, and its leaves forming 
material for crowns innumerable, with which to 
deck the infant qnccn. Together they had waded 
through the intricacies of the alphabet, multiplica¬ 
tion table, and in after days that bugbear, “Col¬ 
burn’s Mental Arithmetic.” After Fred entered his 
teens, and was old enough to go to boarding school, 
he acquired the usual boyish contempt of girls and 
primary schools, so that, save a few weeks’ visit at 
home during vacation, he had seen little of his 
young playmate. 
Bnt now he found his old interest awakening, and 
he looked forward to the arrival of the wanderers 
with pleasure. A few days after, as Squire Caul- 
ton’s family were seated arouud the supper tabic, a 
message arrived saying that Dr. and Mrs. Means and 
Bessie were safe at homo at last, and would be 
happy to see Mr. C. as soon as convenieni. Of course 
this announcement produced great joy. The meal 
was quickly finished, and Squire Carlton asked his 
wife if she would like to walk over to Dr. Means w ith 
him to welcome them home again. She answered in 
the affirmative, and as they were starting out, Fred 
jumped up declaring he would not stay at home alone, 
and must go too. When they reached the house and, 
after a warm greeting from the Dr. and liis wife, 
were introduced to a graceful dark-eyed maiden, 
Fred could not realize that this was little Bessie. 
She wore the jauntiest little crimson jacket trimmed 
with ermine, the soft fur contrasting so richly with 
her warm, clear skin. Her hair, arranged in the 
French style,— which was exceedingly becoming to 
her,— revealed a low, broad forehead, set off by a 
pair of the blackest arched eye-brows. As she 
glanced at Fred, he felt a wee hit of concern as to 
the impression she might form of him; and as she 
coolly answered his questions relative to her journey 
and return, he wondered if she had got a new heart 
as well as new ideas in the old world. The evening 
glided swiftly by, and our friends, alarmed at the 
lateness of the hour, and reproaching themselves for 
detaining the wearied travelers from rest, hastened 
homeward tilled with pleasure at their evening's 
entertainment. 
Days and even weeks passed swiftly by, and the 
Iriendship of childhood seemed revived. Fred was 
seen going to the Dr.’s morning, noon, and night,— 
sometimes to get a recipe for his mother from Mrs. 
Means, or a prescription from the Dr. or some snch 
errand, always liaj/pening to step into the parlor t-o 
speak to Miss Bessie, and sometimes staying the 
remainder of the day. Bessie, — little minx,— was 
well enough pleased to chat with him. She would 
play and sing little French songs for him, and be 
could hold worsteds, sharpen her pencils, and make 
himself generally useful. If she wanted to go to 
visit at any distance, Fred’s pony and cutter and 
Fred’s self were always at her command, and the 
arrant little flirt made good use of them. 
Fred could not understand her. She was the first 
young lady lie had ever met who dared venture an 
opinion or sentiment differing from his own. She 
was saucy enough to combat all his pet theories, and 
(provokingly enough,) often vanquished liitn. Noth¬ 
ing seemed to please her better than a hearty quarrel; 
repartee was her " fort,” and though she was always 
glad to see him, and accompany him upon rides, etc., 
etc., yet he could'nt, for hiB life, tell whether she 
cared one straw more for him than she did for the 
twenty other young men in Rockville. 
One clear, cold winter’s night, as they were sitting 
by the fireside in the Dr.'s parlor, Bessie spoke of 
the pleasures of skating, -of seeing the women in 
Holland skate,—and described the great skating park 
in Boston, where She herself had ventured out on the 
field of glass on skates. “By the way, Fred,” she 
exclaimed, “ we can have a skating ground. Where 
the meadow overflowed last week, it is all one field 
of ice, and father says it will stay thus until the 
freshet in the spring. J brought tny skates from 
Boston, and we will go down in the morning and try 
the ice.” Poor Fred! At this proposal he was 
quite confounded; for, strange to say, he had never 
learned to skate. Being distant from any lake or 
river, 'skating was impracticable, but now to be 
forced to acknowledge ignorance of so common an 
art, pride forbade. He therefore told Bessie that 
he had no skates, but would send to 0 -for a pair, 
and would receive them the following week. She 
was greatly disappointed at this postponement, but 
lie assured her that it would stay frozen until the 
time appointed,- inwardly hoping it would not. 
That night, when Fred went home, lie remem¬ 
bered having an old pair of skates in the garret 
which had belonged to his Uncle James, the hunter, 
and he bethought himself to try them in the morning, 
and thus gain a week’s practice in advance of the 
trial. Congratulating himself upon this piece of 
fmesse, he slept souudly, and wakened in the morning 
at a late hour to breakfast, skating, and Bessie. 
After partaking of the former, ho hunted up the old 
skates, and leaving the house by the kitchen door, 
went down In the meadow to look for a chance spot 
of ice, large enough for it is attempted exploit. He 
found a ditch somewhat overflowed and frozen over, 
forming a sheet of ice of about tweuty square feet in 
extent. Buckling on the clumsy skates, which were 
very different from our light modern affairs, he made 
the first effort, — one step forward, “ Oh !”—down he 
came. Jumping up again, he started once more,- 
doii'n again, fiat on Ills back this time. After many 
falls and bruises, for he knew little of the science (?) 
of skating, he was able to maintain an upright posi¬ 
tion, and amble slowly about his little “park.” 
“What an awkward position,” he said to himself, and 
all day he endeavored to glide about gracefully, us 
Bessie said they did in Boston, He did not go to see 
Bessie until after supper, and then he was so tired 
and lame that ho V iew lit wa> dull i-noujtrh company 
for her. llowcvei he consoled himself with the 
reflection that all this labor was for her. She sang 
for him her sweetest songs, was more bewitching than 
ever, and he went home internally vowing he would 
skate all the days of his life, provided she would skate 
with him. 
Fkkd prided himself upon his originality, and the 
next morning, as he was starting for his “Hark,” he 
thought of an old fashioned mirror be had seen in the 
garret, and that it would be a grand idea to carry 
that down to the ice and place it so that he could see 
himself as he practiced, and learn to preserve a 
graceful attitude, by studying its reflection. No 
sooner thought of than adopted, and our hero was 
speedily on his way toward the meadow—the huge 
mirror on one arm and the aforesaid skates on the 
other. Ciilok, the cook, looked rather amazed at 
seeing him emerge from the house with these articles, 
hut Fred, intent upon victory, little heeded surround¬ 
ing objects. He soon reached tho ice, and resting 
the looking-glass against an old stump, where he 
could view himself, he adjusted the skates, and 
sallied forth for the first attempt. He skated directly 
in front of the mirror a short time, and then boldly 
dashed forth on to the center of the pond, when 
‘ creak, ’ 'crash,’’ and down went poor Fred in the mud 
and water to his chin! Was it. imagination, or did 
he hear sounds of Bessie’s stifled laughter? It must 
have been Bessie ! How to get out he did not know, 
unless by wading through the thick mud and break¬ 
ing the ice for several feet- Exclamations not 
particularly grammatical fell from our Romeo's lips, 
and the poor skates rest in the ditch to this day, I 
fear. Once extricated from this "Slough of Despond,” 
he seized the mirror and hastened homeward, chilled 
and crestfallen. Fortunately the kitchen is vacant, 
and he meets no curious gaze. A change of dress 
and glass of cider somewhat soothed our friend’s 
irritated feelings, and he spent the remainder of the 
forenoon in reading. 
After dinner his mother asked him to carry a 
basket for her over to Mrs. Means, and have it tilled 
with slippery elm for the ’Squire’s cold. Fred, of 
course, dutifully accedes to this request, and soon is 
at the Doctor’s door. As Bessie meets him, he marks 
a curious, comical smile she wears, and notices that 
she can hardly keep from laughing. She sees that 
he looks thoughtful, and tries to he more sedate. As 
conversation led from one topic to another, Mrs. 
Means said, “Why, children, Friday is the 14th of 
February,—Valentine’s day.” 
“lhad almost forgotten it, replied Bessie,” and 
then an animated discussion took place as to the pro¬ 
priety, good taste, and abuse of Valentines. 
“Any way, 1 shall always send them to whom I 
choose, and whatever kind I choose,” said the pert 
little maiden. 
“Even at the risk of wounding or offending?” 
asked Fred. 
A roguish smile was his only answer, and the sub¬ 
ject was dropped. Afterwards, when his thoughts 
reverted to this conversation, he wondered that he had 
been so blind- A merry game of back-gammon 
finished the evening, and as FkED started for home, 
the rain-drops fell upon his cheek, bringing joy to 
the heart, for he knew the warm south wind that 
brought the rain would soon melt, away the obnox 
ious “ skating grounds ” and he would be free from 
that horrible engagement. The proverbial January 
thaw had been delayed, and now came in February,— 
better late than never, and never more welcome. 
Fred procured a dainty little trifle of a Valentige, 
— a confusion of lace paper, satin and cupids. On 
the inside he wrote a few lines,— the beauty of which 
consisted in their emanating from the writer’s heart 
instead of brain,— not particularly original in con¬ 
struction, as “ love" rhymed to “ dove,” and “bliss” 
with “ kiss.” Enclosing this in a huge envelope, he 
directed and mailed it himself, waiting at the Post- 
Office to see the doctor take it from the box, glance 
at the superscription over bis spectacles, deposit it 
in his pocket, and walk elowly homeward. In vain 
Fukd watched for his expected Valentine, but he 
Beemed for once doomed to he neglected. Night-fall 
came, and yet no token of anything from Bessie, or 
any other fair maid. As he went to his room to 
arrange hi- dress preparatory to making his usual 
evening call, he spied a little frame hanging beside 
the mirror, and upon examining it found it contained 
a pencil drawing; tho subject, or outline, he could 
not make out in the fading twilight, lie quickly 
procured a light and to his grief and vexation, found 
it to be an exact sketch of bis downfall and ducking 
upon the ice! The urtist had done justice to the 
scene, and every point was faithfully depicted,— the 
old stump, supporting the mirror in an erect position, 
the glare of ice, so deceitfully smooth, lint its shining 
surface just broken, as our unfortunate Fred sinks 
in its center, his arms aloft in the air, vainly indeav- 
oring to extricate himself. The expression of his 
face was too comical, and spite of his chagrin and 
vexation, he could not help smilingat the truthfulness 
of the sketch. Beneath, in a delicate running hand, 
which he recognized too well, were these familiar 
lines — 
Where ignorance is bliss, tis folly to he trite V 
Fred's Valentine ” 
i’oor fellow ho storinod about the chamber as only 
young Romeo’s can storm, vowed vengeance upon 
the “ little liusscy,”—and declared lie never would 
notice, no not even speak to her again. Yes, hut 
reader, even in his rage he conld nut help smiling 
(secretly, of course,) at her characteristic reproof in 
thus prepareing this gentle reminder; hut to think 
that she, Bessie Means, must have seen him, fret¬ 
ting and fuming in the tnud, and that she must know 
how vain he was; then came selJ'-rebuke, and 
promises to be wiser iu future. His mother coming 
to call him to supper found him still standing before 
the aforesaid Valentine, in quite a subdued stale. As 
he looked up she commenced laughing, and asked 
what ihterested him. One glance convinced him that 
she know all, and his “How could she, mother?” 
called forth another merry laugh. This vexed our 
hero, and dashing the unfortunate picture against the 
wall, he followed Lis mother down to the dining-room. 
That evening Feed spent in the library. He deter¬ 
mined henceforth to spend his time in cultivating Urn 
mind, and, as a preliminary effort- commenced read¬ 
ing “Prescott’s Philip the Second.” He read two 
or three pages in the first volume, bnt the light hurt 
his eyes, and produced strange optical illusions, 'l'he 
names of all the old Spanish Queens seemed changed 
to Bessie, and ail the other words seemed mounted 
on skates! Sinking hack in his chair, bis book 
gradually closing, he was soon lost in a reverie, and, 
alaB for the romance, the reverie was lost soon in 
sleep. 
“ Hurrah! Why, wont you speak to me ? Asleep! 
Ha, ha, ha!” and there, right in front of him, stood 
that provoking Bessie, her face beaming with fun 
and good nature, and her eyes dancing with delight, 
“Why, sir, you prefer staying at home to being 
beaten at back-gammon. What an intellectual young 
man,— extravag^i t, loo. to burn such brilliant Kero- 
s^i*.e to ill . 14 .. q.A ) ,i.i l 
To this ba .'i y jMREiyit) first made no reply, hut 
gravely resumin. r * hook, informed Miss Means 
that he was greatly interested in Prescott’s last 
work, and intended spending nine hours in reading 
every day.” 
“Yes,” Baid she, Byou must enjoy it, as you seem 
to be reading it up ’side down,” and, sure enough, 
there it was opened in the middle, and reversed. 
He could maintain his dignity no longer, and both 
joined in a hearty laugh; then Bessie, seating herself 
upon a stool at his feet, said to him, “Now, Fred, if 
I have offended you, 1 am sorry; or if you think I did 
w'rong in Bending that picture, 1 regret it; but the day 
of your mishap 1 came to your house very soon after 
you left, and Aunt Chloe told me to go down in the 
meadow and I would find you there,— skating. 1 
thought of course I might come, and hurried there, 
just in time to see you ”■ - 
“Don't, Bessie.” pleaded Fred. 
1 saw at a glance that you was taking private les¬ 
sons , so I hurried back, fearing you would hear me 
laugh. Now wasn’t it comical? 1 drew that picture, 
and then I didn’t dare show it to you, so I thought it 
might be your Valentine. Now, I am very sorry, and 
when your dear little missive came to-night, (I know 
you sent it,) 1 cried tears of repentance, so I came 
over with father on his way to meeting, and thought 
1 would ask you to forgive me, and perhaps go home 
with me!” 
Was she forgiven? After a long chat iu the library, 
Fred accompanied her to her door, and as he 
hastened down the garden walk, a voice came from 
the porch,—“ Good-night, Fred,— don’t go skating 
again! 
In one corner of his bureau drawer, carefully en¬ 
veloped in tissue paper, reposes Fred Carlton’s 
V alentine; anu beside it, in many outer coverings, 
are the old, ugly skates, which took such a memor¬ 
able part in his first and only lessons in the art of 
skating. Fked has grown more manly now, and 
perhaps a trifle more gray,— certainly less vain. He 
practices law in the City of Naehota, and Dame 
Rumor says that the uew Grecian Villa he has just 
purchased will soon acknowledge Mrs. Fked Carl¬ 
ton, — formerly Bbssie Means,— as its mistress. 
Fred often 6 peaks of hiB skating experience, and 
declares that his cold bath that day actually cured 
him of vanity, taught him a lesson, and brought him 
a wife. 
“But, you never learned to skate,” chimes in 
Bessie. 
“Nor did yon ever send hut one Valentine,” 
answers our persevering hero. 
“Yes, bnt that one accomplished much, and may 
the Patron Saint long be remembered by the young 
and joyous, now and evermore.” 
Chicago, 111.. Jon.. 1861. 
Mother and Child.—T he greatest painters who 
have ever lived have tried to paint the beauty of that 
simple thing, a mother with her babe—and have 
failed. One of them, Raphselle by name, to whom 
God gave the spirit of beauty iu a measure in which 
he never gave it, perhaps, to any other man, tried 
again and again, for years, painting over and over 
that simple subject— the mother and her babe — and 
conld not satisfy himself. Each of his pictures is 
most beautiful—each in a different way; and yet 
none of them is perfect. There is more beauty in 
that simple every-day sight than he or any man conld 
express by his pencil and his colors. And yet it is a 
sight which we see every day. 
HUSBANDS AND WIVES. 
It was the freshest of April mornings, with a soft 
wind, that had rifled all manner of sweet scents 
from dimpled hollows, purpled over with young 
violets, and solitary brooksides, fringed with white 
anemone stars, and wafted them into the city streets, 
to revive many a wearied dweller among paving 
stones. Mrs. Arden, standing at her window, looked 
down at the few feet of earth that city people digni¬ 
fied with the title of “garden,” and felt the sunny 
spring influences even there. 
“What a lovely morning!” said she to herself; 
“this is the very time to put my dahlias into the 
ground, and take care of the roses — how fortunate 
that to-day will be comparatively leisure time to me! 
Women don’t often get released from the domestic 
treadmill, and what with spring sewing, company and 
house-cleaning, I have been literally a plave for the 
last three months. Once-out in the open air, among 
the flower-roots, and I shall feel as though I was 
entering a new life!” 
Ignorant Mrs. Arden! Had she lived to be thirty 
years old without knowing that a married woman 
ought not even to breathe, without first asking her 
husband if it was proper and convenient? Mr. 
Arden had laid out an entirely different programme 
for his lady-wife; and in he came, discontentedly 
eyeing the new overcoat he had been buying. 
“Nellie, can’t you fix this overcoat Bomehow? 
There is something hiteby about the collar—you can 
tell where the trouble is, you are so smart with your 
needle!” 
Mrs. Arden took it out of his hands, and looked at 
it despairingly—there was full three hours’ work 
about it. 
“And Nellie—if yon wouldn’t mind altering these 
shirt-bosoms —they’re all in a wrinkle—the pattern 
was a bad one.” 
“You insisted on having them made according 
to the very pattern, entirely against my advice.” 
“Well, 1 know 1 did,” said Mr. Arden, rather 
sheepishly; “Martin said it was a good one, but 
Martin don’t know everything.” 
“I wish yon bud found that out before the shirts 
were made,” said Mrs. Arden petulantly. 
“I say,” interposed her spouse, apparently rather 
desirous of changing the subject, “ what are you 
going to have for dinner?” 
“1 don’t know, I’m sure,” was the vexed reply. 
“ I believe men urc always thinking about eating — 
no sooner is breakfast over than diuner begins to 
trouble them.” 
“1 wish you would make one of those puddings I 
like—make it yourself, for Susan always mangles it. 
We haven’t had one for a long time now.” 
“There goes my day of leisure that was to have 
put my garden in such beautiful order,” sighed Mrs. 
Arden. 
“ 0 , pshaw!” said her husband, contemplating his 
whiskers in the glass, “ what do you care about gar¬ 
den-work? A woman ought to lind her chief happi¬ 
ness in domestic duties. 1 don’t approve of this 
everlasting fidgeting about flowers!” 
“ Harry,” said his wife, “ you would not be at all 
contented if your office work was so endless that 
you never got a moment’s time to smoke a cigar, or 
read a book or a newspaper.” 
“N—no, replied Mr. Arden, hesitatingly, “but 
then you are not a man.” 
“ No—1 know 1 am not,” said Mrs. Arden, quickly, 
“if I were, my wife should have a tittle leisure to 
tirpallii- nrcastioxially.” , 
Mr. Arcteu wcni,|iut, shutting the drain with some 
vehemence behind film. “ I never did Le such a 
complaining set as women are,” was hit- internal 
reflection, a» he walked rapidly down the street. 
Two or three hours’ steady work soon disposed of 
the press of office-business awaiting him, and he 
threw himself back in a chair to rest and look over 
his newspaper. But the balmy wind fanned his fore¬ 
head like narcotic incense, and the sensation of dolce 
far nimte was inexpressibly delightful—the closely 
printed columns became a confused blur, and the 
first Mr. Arden knew, he was — not exactly asleep, 
perhaps, but certainly not very wide awake. Some¬ 
thing carried him back to the time when Nellie had 
been a bride — fresh and blooming as a rose. How 
well he reruemberc^tho blue light of her eyes, and 
the satin brightness of her complexion. She had 
grown wan and weary-looking since those days. 
Was it possible that he hud been lacking in care and 
tenderness? It was rather an uneasy twinge of con¬ 
science, for he did love her, rattle-brained and 
thoughtless though he was. He thought of her, sit- 
tiug alone through the glorious April day, bending 
over the work ho had assigned to her, until the pallor 
deepened on her cheek, and the eyes grew dim and 
lustreless—he remembered the many, many days she 
had spent in the same wearisome occupation. No 
wonder that the little garden was a sunny spot to her 
—no wonder that she loved the flowers, whose fresh¬ 
ness seemed to revive her whole nature, A man 
may he very cruel to a woman without even beating 
her, or denying her the necessities of life. Suppose 
she should drift away from him, like a delicate leaf 
upon a swift-running stream! He shuddered at the 
very idea. She was not strong — the time might 
come when a narrow grave and white headstone 
would he all that remained of his little wife. A nd 
then—should he not remember all these things. 
He started up from the troubled net-work of flfcicy 
that had woven itself into a vague dream; the sun¬ 
shine lay brightly on the floor, and the finger of the 
office clock pointed to the hour at which he usually 
went home to dinner. The pudding was made, the 
coat in prime order, the unsatisfactory shirts ripped 
apart, and Nellie, though pale and tired looking, 
came to the door with a smile, to greet her husband. 
“ Why, Harry, what on earth have you got there?” 
she exclaimed, as Mr. Arden came up the steps, 
really staggering under the weight of two or three 
blossoming geraniums and verbenas, which he had 
brought from down town with incredible difficulty. 
“ Thought you’d like some flowera for your garden, 
my dear,” exclaimed he; aud Nellie straightway 
gave him a pleased, bapjiy look, which he did not 
soon forget. 
“And now,” said he, after dinner, “there isn’t 
much to do at the office to-day, suppose you and I 
devote the afternoon to garden work. We can make 
the little place as neat as a pink.” 
“0, Harry, that would be delightful!” exclaimed 
she, with brightening eyes; “ hut those shirts—” 
“ 0 , no matter about the shirts! let ’em wait! I 
want to see your cheeks a little redder, my love!” 
Mrs. Arden wondered in her secret heart what had 
wrought this agreeable change — she didn’t know 
anything about her husband’s dream.— 1.ifelllustrated. 
It has been said that the three sweetest words in 
the English language are happiness, home and 
heaven. About these cling the most touching asso 
ciations, and with them are connected the snhlimest 
aspirations. 
♦ 
ARTEMAS WARD ON SECESSION. 
Artemas, the great Showman, gives a rich speech 
on secession in a late number of Vanity Fair. We 
quote the conclusion — endorsing the writer’s views 
as to how and by whom the “fitin” should be done, 
and admiring his patriotic, stand relative to the stars 
and stripes: 
“I say to the South don’t sesesh! I say to the gal- 
yient peple of that sonny land, jes lock up a few hun¬ 
dred of them tearin Aroarin fellows of yonrn in sum 
strong boxes, and send 'em over to Mexico. And we 
peple up North here will eonsine a ekul number of 
our addle brained rip snorters to the same lokallerty, 
and thar let 'em fight it out among tbeirselvcs. No 
consekents, not the sliteet, which licks. Why shonld- 
en’t the peple who got up this file do the fltin? Get 
these ornery critters out of the wav, & the sensible 
peple of the North and Sooth can fix the matter up 
very easy. And when ’tie fixed let both seeshuns re¬ 
solve to mind their own biznese. 
“ Feller.Sittcrsens! I am in the Sheer A Yeller lccf. 
I shall peg out 1 of these dase. But while I do stop 
heer 1 shall stay in the union. I know not what the 
Bupcrvizers of Baldinsvilte may conclude to do, but 
for 1 I shall stand by the Stars A Stripes. Tinder no 
sircumstances whatsuraever will T sesesh. Let every 
Stmt, in the union sesesh & let Palmetter flags flote 
thicker nor shirts on Square Baker’s close line, still 
will I stick to the good old flag. The country may 
go to the devil, but 1 wont! And next summer when 
1 start, out on my campane with my show, wherever 1 
pitch my little tent you shall see flotin prowdly from 
the center pole thereof the American Flag with nary 
a star wiped out, nary a stripe less, but the same old 
flag that has altera llotid thar! and the price of ad- 
mishun will be the same it allers was—15 cents, 
children harf price.” 
San Francisco taker the Hat.— The latest men¬ 
tion of the Golden State is a plan to make white 
dogs useful. Your San Franciscan seizes up his white 
cur, and with stencil plate and black ink, inscribes 
his business card upon each side of the wretched 
pup, and sends him forth, a quadrupedal locomotive 
advertisement—a doggerotype of the fast people of 
a fast age. It is reckoned that a lively dog will he 
worth at least five dollars per day, or equal to a 
quarter of a column in a newspaper. 
(!'.onu'v fit flw 
For Moore’s Rural New-Yorker. 
GRAMMATICAL ENIGMA. 
I am composed of 26 letters. 
My 1 is an article. 
My 2, 6, 7, 8 is a common noun. 
My 10, 17, 13, 23 is a personal pronoun. 
My 16. 4, 20, 22 is a conjunctive adverb. 
My 5, 3, 8 is a common noun. 
M.v 16, 19. 22, 26, 18 is an irregular verb. 
My 9, 13, 12, 16, 10, 18 is a proper noun. 
My 26, 24, 11, 21, 18, 19 is an adverb of time. 
My 14,1, 16, 17, 13, 19 is a verb in the infinitive mood. 
My whole is an old saying. 
Leicester, Ltv. Co.. N. Y., 1861. S. E. Cox. 
O'" Answer in two weeks 
ILLUSTRATED REBUS. 
II vvtoXo 0 0 SSL 
Iff 
ox AS 
83^” Answer in two weeks 
For Moore s Rural New-Yorker. 
MATHEMATICAL PROBLEM. 
Two ships, the Brooklyn and Star, are intending to can 
oonudo Fort Moultt lo and Fort Johnson, and wish to nscer 
tain if they are near enough to have their guns take effect on 
the two forte They know the distance between the forte to 
he 600 rods. They separate and measure the angles, and find 
them to he as follow* —At the Star, tin- Anglo subtended by 
the two forte was measured, and found to be 41’ 2.V; aud that 
by Fort Moultrie and the other (ship, was found to be 60* 12'; 
at the Brooklyn, the angle subtended by the two forte was 
measured, and found to be 48' 10'; and that by Fort Johnson 
aud the other ship, was round to be 47“ 40'. Required the 
distance between the two ships; the distance* between the 
ships and the forte. R. D. McCkasse.w 
Rochester, N. Y., 1861. 
1 Answer in two weeks. 
ANSWERS TO ENIGMAS, &c., IN No. 576. 
Answer to Geographical Enigma —Slander, whose edge is 
sharper than the sword. 
Answer to Miscellaneous Enigma:—True love. 
Answer to Rebur:—AVhen a great be empty, put coal on. 
When a great he full, stop putting coal on. 
Answer to Charade:—Eye-lash. 
Answer to Mathematical Problem:—32.933 + miles 
MOORE’S RURAL NEW-YORKER, 
TUB LARGEST CIRCULATED 
AGRICULTURAL, LITERARY AND FAMILY WEEKLY, 
18 PUBLISHED EVERY SATURDAY 
BY D. D. T. MOORE, ROCHESTER, N. Y. 
Terms in Advance: 
Subscription — Two Dollars a Year. To Clubs and 
Agents as follows —Three Copies one year, for $6 ; Six, and one 
free to clnb agent, for $10; Ten, and one free, for $16, Fifteen, 
and ods free, for £21; Twenty, and one free, for $25; and any 
greater number at same rate—only $1,25 per copy—wilh an 
extra free copy for every Ten Subscribers over Twenty Club 
papers directed to individuals and sent to as many different 
Post-Offices as desired, As we pre-pay American postage on 
papers sent to the British Provinces, our Canadian agents and 
friends must add 12/£ cents per copy to the club rates of the 
Rural. The lowest price of copies sent to Europe, Ac., is $2,50 
— including postage *3T" Agents who take Special Premiums 
for clubs formed previous to April 1st, are also entitled to one 
extra (free) copy of the paper for a clnb of either Six at f-10. Ten 
at $15, or Twenty at $26and those who do not compete lor 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 IStil.j can get a second premium by Bending 
another club, or receive a Dee copy of the paper for every addi¬ 
tional ten subscribers forwarded. 
CyTs* above Terms and Hates are invariable, and those 
who remit less than specified for a single copy or club, will be 
credited only as per rates, and receive the paper accordingly 
Any person who is not au agent sending the club rate ($1.50 or 
$1.25) for a single copy (the price of which is $2) will only receive 
the paper the length of time the money pays for at full siugle 
copy price. People who send a s less than published rates, and 
request the paper for a year, or a return of the money, cannot 
he accommodated— for it would be unjust toothers to comply, 
and a great inconvenience to return remittances The only way 
to get the Rural for lens than $2 a year is to form or join a club. 
Jdvertisin - g - —Thirty-Five Cents a Line, each inser¬ 
tion. A price and a half for extra display or 52/* cents per line 
of space. Special Notices, (following reading matter, leaded,) 
Sixty Cents a Line. I'^“The Rural New-Yorker has a far 
larger circulation than any similar journal in the world, and is 
undoubtedly the best advertising medium of its class in America. 
6 
