356 
’3 I 
'ut' .J 
PRAYER FOR THE UNION. 
BT H. CLAY I'KKPBS 
A land of law and Gospel peace, 
Of richest fruits and flower*— 
God’* F.den of the Western World,— 
Whai land no bleat aa our*? 
How aball we prove our gratcfal thank* 
To Thee. O, bounteous Hirer! 
Whose own right baud bath made ub one, 
By lake, and gulf, and rlvcrf 
Lord, write thl* law on every heart: 
“ Our Pit ion note and ever 
For Thou baa taught ua through Tby Son, 
That those whom Thou hunt, joined in one 
No human band should sever. 
The hero soul* whose prophet dream a 
Shine out in classic story, 
Find here, at last, the "promised land," 
The rhrinn of freedom's glory. 
Our hallowed ling of Stars arid Stripe*, 
What memories brighten o'er it; 
The hope of millions yet unborn— 
E'en despots bow before it! 
Lord, write this law on every heart: 
•* Our Union mv> and everl" 
For Thou didst teach us through Thy Son, 
That those whom Thou hast joined in one 
No human hand should sever. 
The serpent crept In Five’s pure heart, 
And by bis cunning won It; 
Woe, woe unto our Kden-land; 
Tbe serpent's trail is on itl 
A million hands, by madness nerved, 
Would strike their commou mother; 
A million *oul» cry out for blood - 
The blood e’en of u brother. 
O, God, to whom our fathers prayed 
In bonds of sweet communion, 
Stretch forth Tby strong, almighty hand, 
To still the tempest in our land, 
And save oar blessed Umoifl 
She 
| Written for Moore's Kural New-Yorker.J 
ESTHER MILLER’S VOW. 
BY ANNA DANFORTII. 
" You It friend, Mr*. Lkiohton, ha* left u*. Her 
work on earth la done, and she haa gone higher.” 
I read thia Bajj new* from a letter juat received, and 
&a I read it exclaimed aloud, 41 Dear Mra. Leighton*” 
“Anna Dan forth* what do you mean?” The 
voice of Esther Miu.kr rang out sharp and Intense 
at the first word, hat at the laat it waa low and 
hoarse. I looked up startled, and aaw upon her 
face a look of keen Borrow,— of fierce despair, 
rather,- such aa I never aaw before upon mortal 
visage. Esther was my companion and friend in 
my father’s house, for I waa motherless. She had 
been for the past five years our village sohool-inis- 
tresH. Indeed It waa aH my own teacher that I had 
first known and loved her, and when Death, swoop¬ 
ing earthward, carried hence my mother, and left our 
great, dreary house with no inhabitants but my quiet 
old father and myself, she had yielded to my Inter¬ 
cessions and accepted his Invitation to make our 
house her home. Esther never spoke of any previous 
home or friends, and it seemed almost impossible to 
me that she had not dropped down from Home other 
sphere, or that she had ever loved or been loved 
npon earth, before Bhe came among us. Bhe was 
one of those calm, bhv*° » "bo, upon «t.artiinjr 
occasioun, nasfi np with such brilliant corruscatlons 
of feeling and expression as show na at once that 
only by the moat severe discipline and trial they 
havo learned that serenity which astonisliCB and 
tjniets tho observer. 
Indeed, when she first came to ns, she often wept, 
and there were frequent days of sadness and tearful 
melancholy, but for a long time ber face had worn a 
quiet, aad, unchangeable smile. Never before bad I 
seen her so strangely moved, but often had said to 
myself, "there la, surely, Home 'bidden meaning' 
behind the peaceful exterior Esther Mii.i.ku shows 
the world.” 
"Anna Dan forth, what do yon mean?” Bho had 
Htarted up, dropping the delicate embroidery over 
which she had been employed, and was gazing 
intently into iny face. 
"What is it, Esther,” I cried, nervously. " What 
have I said? What have I done? I am sure I said 
nothing.” 
" You apoke to me,” she exclaimed almost fiercely. 
"Yon called my name.” 
1 explained more than once the involuntary ex- 
elamatiou which had escaped me. Tbe Hocond time 
she seemed to comprehend, and the color and excited 
look went out of her face leaving, it so ghastly that I 
thought she was dying. Soon, however, tho old 
smile came back to her face, and settled there so dim 
and tearful that the tears sprang to my eyes. 
" Hut why,” 1 asked, " has it affected you so very 
sadly? There is surely some meaning in all this.” 
" Yos, Anna, I will tell you. Vo good, certainly, 
is coming of this secret grief, and if it. will not be 
burdensome, you shall hear the story of my life.” 
Like most young girls, eager for glimpses into 
the real tragedies of existence, and alwaya expecting 
to draw therefrom some choice bit of romance, I 
urged her to go on, little thinking how the time 
would come, and bo soon, when with a vision sharp¬ 
ened by sorrow and suffering, life would be to me 
sncli a constant weeping tragedy that my soul would 
shrink from all these heart rending personal histories. 
She drew an ottoman close to my feet, luid her face 
in my lap, and for many moments sat in a kind of 
shuddering Hilence. 
"Anna, you spoke my name,” she begun at length, 
and her voice took a sharp, hitter, accent which I had 
never heard before, lmt which it did not lose through 
the whole of her narrative. " You call mo Ebtmer 
Killer. Esther was tho name my mother called 
me by, and my name was Esther Dank, when 1 was 
a maiden, but is now Mrs. Esther Leighton.” I 
gave a start of surprise, nud she threw her arms 
around me. "You Bhall hear it now,” she ex¬ 
claimed, "yon shall not go until you know it all. 
Oh, Anna Danfokth, far back in my childhood, I 
remember almost nothing but suffering and woo. My 
father,— or he who should havo been a father to me, 
•—was only a dread, a shatiio, a curse. T never loved 
him. I believe 1 always bated him. I remember 
when he was not a loathsome, bloated drunkard; but 
I do not remember when he did not make a fiend of 
himself, by occasional intemperance. My mother 
and myself, for we were all, (or rather one, a darling 
sister was too soon in heaven to mingle her tears 
with ours,) struggled with a miserable poverty alone 
in the world, for iny mother seemed to neither look 
for or accept sympathy from others. 
"Well, I grew to womanhood, wept over my own 
shame; wept, too, over my mother’s living death; 
and at last, when I aaw her die, I wept alone over 
her murdered body, slain, it is true, not by the hand 
of violence, but by a crushed and mangled heart, and 
you may be sure my whole soul was filled with loath¬ 
ing at the very name of that foul stuff whose touch la 
death. On my knees, while she was dying, and with 
her hand clasped In mine, I repeated after her the 
vow that none who looked with approving eyes even 
npon the wine cup, should be written upon my list 
of friends. 4 Goi* keep you, ray child, and may you 
never be a drunkard’s wife,’ were the last words she 
ever uttered. 
"There were dark weeks following this; they 
lengthened themselves to monthB, and finally to 
years. How I spent them I hardly know. There 
were days of hunger, and cold, and of suffering 
almost untold. Sometimes I would be left alone for 
weeks, subsisting upon what the mercy of the drunk¬ 
ard had left me, and upon tho roots and nuts or 
berrieB I could find in the woods; sometimes I would 
drag out a few miserable weeks in the kitchen of 
somo of our neighbors. How I was haunted by the 
spectre of my drunken father. Occasionally, with 
something like hope I looked forward to the dim 
future, but more frequently there seemed enwrapping 
mo a cloud of darkness which might be felt Oh, 
yes, how it was felt, and how it turned the sweeteHt 
waters of ray soul to bitterness and despair. 
" My mother had educated me, and at seventeen I 
resolved to bear It no longer. So takingwith me my 
slight wardrobe, ray mother’s Bible and her picture, 
I went on foot, and without my father’s knowledge, to 
a distant place, where a person who had known my 
mother obtained for mo in the country a small 
district school. The first three months passed quietly 
and pleasantly, — I might say happily,— for my 
spirits, naturally boayant, rebounded vigorously now 
that the dreadful incubus resting on me in the 
presence of the curse of my life wus removed. I 
scarcely knew myself, I was growing so happy and 
gay. Tho fall months passed in the same way. I 
love to remember those days, for though they would 
have been a weariness to Home, with the cares and 
anxieties of teaching, to me they were only a bless¬ 
ing—a delight. Hut the whiter, — I scarcely dare 
remember the winter. It proved to be the dazzling 
daylight of my life. For the first time in my life I 
had a friend. And such a friend. If there be no¬ 
bility in goodness, In honor, in brave and earnest 
love,—if purity, and right, and hatred of everything 
weak, or low, or vile, dignifies man, then, I said to 
myself, surely the noblest of the race is now my 
friend, ever henceforward to be the friend and pro¬ 
tector of the drunkard's daughter. 
" It is sweet to all, no doubt, to be loved; but to 
one whose life has been as mine had, so lost and for¬ 
saken, it was beautiful, glorious I I looked forward 
joyfully to tho rest and peace before me, and yet 1 
was in no haste for the wedding day, for I was so 
happy where I was, in the home of his uncle, that I 
almost trembled at the thought of any change, lest 
the charm Hhould ho broken. Oh, why did those 
who professed to love rue so well let me go blindfold 
to misery and utter despair? 
44 Well, the spring came and we were married. 
Why should I forget that day,'—that day, so beautiful 
in the skies above my bead, so brilliant in tho light 
which it cast upon the path before me,—a path which 
I saw thickly strewn with only thornless flowers? No, 
I will not forget, I will remember it always to thank 
Goo that I have a least seen sunlight and flowers. 
There were a few weeks of bustle ami rejoicing, and 
then wo went to our home and began tho new way of 
life before us,— I, with nothing but hope, and trust, 
niin conneu-nee. i coma sit Here ail night and talk 
of the few sweet months that followed; and tbongh 
you might get weary of tbe story, I never could. Hut 
they bad a speedy end. Oh, if tho bitterness which 
followed could have been as short!” 
Here poor Esther's voice was lost in a passionate 
burst of grief, and when I raised her head and looked 
Into her agonized face, 1 begged of her to rest and 
tell me wlint yet remained of her sad history, at some 
future time. Bho shook her head and would have 
gone on, hut a sudden faintness overtook her, and I 
was obliged to ring for aid to take her to bed. 
" 1 have commenced my story, and must finish it,” 
said E8TJ1BR, an honr later, aa she lifted her pale 
face from the pillow, and motioned me to be seated 
upon tho bed by her side. " One bright moonlight 
night I sat by the open window, devising plans for 
future pleasure, — for 1 was fast forgetting what 
sorrow was. The evening was clcur and remarkably 
light. By some means 1 fell asleep, and was 
awakened by the clock striking twelve, and at the 
same moment 1 saw four men approaching the gate, 
and, oh! Anna, they were carrying in their armB tho 
body of my husband. Quicker than 1 can tell you, 
the conviction came to my mind that he was dead, 
and the blank, dark future lay spread out before me. 
Yet I had said in my heart, 4 Thank G0» for this brief 
space of rest and happiness. I will bear this bravely 
and like a Christian who has learned to say 'Not my 
will, but thine.” A strange, intense, despairing 
calm took possession of me, and I seemed impelled 
to action. When they came to the door, J had 
already lighted the gas, prepared a lounge to receive 
him, and had even started a fire, for though it was 
still August, the night, I thought, was chilly. Those 
were surely strange laces for the hearers of the dead. 
‘Is he dead?' I sobbed out as they dropped the body 
heavily upon the lounge, and a convulsive sound 
came from the open mouth.” 
"Well, if he is, it isn’t the first time by a good 
many dozens,” replied one, coarsely. "Don’t fret, 
madam, lie’ll come to.” 
“Not dead? yes, worse, far worse. Death, real 
death, is beautiful, is grand, is deifying; but this 
was vile, degrading, loathsome. Ho was drunk I 1 
had thought I was a Christian. I had said that my 
will was given up,—was IobI in the will of God. 
Day by day upon my knees I had prayed, ' Forgive 
mo my trespasses as T forgive those who trespass | 
against me.’ I had said, ‘Though he slay me, yet 
will I trust in him.’ But now, my peace on earth 
and my hopes of Heaven lay prostrate, side liy side, 
murdered once more by the sin accursed of God 
and man. With my head bowed upon my band, 
and alone by the loathsome ‘body of this death,’ 1 
went over In my mind all the past,- my miserable, 
half-starved childhood, my mother’s agony, aud 
tours, and death. I stood again by her dying bed, 
and heard once more her tearful injunctions to slum 
the society of any who, ever so seldom, dared to 
look upon the wine when it was red. ‘God save 
you from being a drunkard’s wife.” llow those last 
wordH rang In my ears. Alas, that oven u mother’s 
prayers had not availed in my behalf. 
"And then I thought howl had been deceived, 
and I believed thut all tho love I ever had cherished 
for him was turned to bitterness and hatred, 1 
glanced for a moment at the future, -it was only for 
u moment, for in that glance the tenderest thoughts 
ami hopes of my heart were turned to fierceness. I 
remember I stood up and cursed the drunken 
remnant of a man, who was not then, and thence¬ 
forward never could be, my husband. Then I left 
him. Before the sun rose and looked npon my 
torture, I was far away from what had been my 
home. I did not know, did not care whither 1 went. 
I seemed to be escaping from my misery. It was 
three days before I stopped for rest or food, aud I 
bad come from a Southern city to within a few toileB 
of this place. I believe I was really insane, and all 
that fall I doubt if my reason controlled my notions, 
for it passed in a sad, dreamy apathy; and, aa the 
winter approached and deepened, I remember a 
gradual waking up to a sense of my situation and 
sorrow. With consciousness came a longing desire 
for work,—something to turn my thoughts into a 
new channel. Every night I sobbed out, in the 
bitterness of my Honl, 4 Would God it were morning,’ 
and every morning, ‘Would God it were night,’ I 
sought, and at length obtained the situation which I 
came here to fill, aud was known among you as 
; Esther Miller, for I had renounced, with my hus¬ 
band, his name. 
‘‘During the first two years 1 was here, I never 
once bent my knee,—never once lifted np my heart 
or voice to ‘Our Father which is in heaven.’ I 
could not, for among my soul’s most precious thingH, 
I cherished tho hatred which had been born in it 
that night toward the man who had deceived and 
well nigh destroyed me. I may have done wrong; I 
know not. God, who best knows the weakness of 
my nature, and angels, I believe, bare witness to my 
innocence, when I repeat my vow never to be a 
drunkard’s wife; and if I havo erred in following 
too hastily the dictates of the instinct which prompted 
me to flee from the fate I saw before me, He is merci¬ 
ful, and I doubt not has forgiven. I pray for Edward 
Lkiohton now, forgiving him in my heart, knowing 
for how much I, too, must he forgiven. I have 
made two hasty journeys into the neighborhood of 
my old home, and though I have never seen him, 
yet I have learnt that he is ‘joined to his idols,’ a 
wreck, a disgrace only to his manhood.” 
Thus Esther’s story ended. 1 am myself not 
without sin, therefore let me not cast the first stone 
at her. 
It was a year after this when the cholera broke 
out in our little village. Its poisonous breath tainted 
the air, and for a time death reigned triumphant 
among us. My father, who was a physician, scarcely 
ate or Hlept; and J, whom ho had accustomed from 
earliest childhood to the sight of sickness aud suffer¬ 
ing, went constantly among the sick and dying. 
One night Esther and rnyself, both oppressed with 
sadness, for now every feeling heart was turned to 
a fountain of tears, had retired to our rooms, 
resolved, if possible, to compose our minds to rest. 
I bad fallen Into a light slumber, when I was aroused 
by the violent ringing of the bell, and a moment 
after 1 beard my father’s voice, calling upon me to 
dress speedily and cotno to him. Esther was 
already in the parlor when I arrived, and my father 
was telling ber of some one who was sick and suffer¬ 
ing at a small public house near at hand. 
"The man will die, no doubt," 1 heard him say, 
"for he seems to he suffering in mind as well as 
body. Hut there is no one to care for him. The 
landlord, himself, is sick, and everybody in the 
house seems panic-stricken. You will do well to go 
together,” he continued, turning to me, "as I can 
only remain with you a few moments.” 
When we reached tho house, Esther hesitated a 
moment in the I" 11, and I followed my father to the 
bedside. I won have shrieked with terror, only 
rimt i Dad gn--, ■) net ustouied to such sights. The 
glassy eyes, rolJji-. ♦.» m.d fro, tb« peculiar purple 
pallor of the skin,- which seemed as if strained 
over the bony forehead and cheeks,—the look of 
utter and inexpressible weariness, were all familiar. 
The stamp of death was plainly discernible upon the 
brow which, distorted as it was, showed signs of 
early beauty. My father whispered rue that the man 
lmd been grossly Intemperate, and that there was no 
hope. I always shrank with u kind of loathing from 
those cases where this dreadful disease had laid its 
hand upon thoso whose former habits had already 
defiled them, and rendered them such fitting prey; 
but a look of quiet reproof from my father restored 
me, and 1 laid my hand, which was almost icy cold, 
upon his forehead. He started up suddenly, crying 
out— 
"Oh. Katy, Katy, have yon coine?” 
A quick, wild shriek startled me, and the next 
moment Esther, pale and utmost gasping for breath, 
knelt at the bedside. I comprehended the truth, aud 
begged of my father to take her away, hut she would 
not be moved. All night she knelt there, starting 
up now and then to offer him some cooling drink, 
and murmuring, again and again, "God help me.” 
Tbe constitution of the man wrestled fearfully 
with the deuth-commissioned disease, but at sunlight 
he was dead. There were two or three intervals of 
consciousness during the night, when he was aware 
of her presence and spoke tenderly to his poor wife. 
But, oh, what a shattered wreck of manhood wus 
there. The foul destroyer had stamped upon face, 
and form, and mind, his own hateful Heal; and the 
vile blasphemies which rang from bis lips during his 
spasms of pain, waken me now, by their memory, in 
terror from my sleep. May God have heard his wild 
prayer for forgiveness,—the last words his lips 
uttered. 
What passed between them when I left them alone 
in his sane momenta I never knew, for when his 
distorted face was stilled in death, and h s cramped 
limbs straightened for the grave, the hand of the 
noouday waster was upon herself, and in a few hours 
Katy Lkiohton slept beside her husband. "Bury 
us together,” she whispered, " bury us in one grave.” 
• So we buried them. If not thither, "where shall 
rest be found?" 
A STRING OF PEARLS. 
Suspicion js the virtue of a coward. 
The tonguf is the worst part of a bad servant. 
When yot> cannot see both ends, the middle is 
uncertain. 
A .ik a l.oi' t man poisons his own banquet, and then 
partakes of it. 
We pass iur lives in regretting the past, complain¬ 
ing of the present, and indulging false hopes of tbe 
future. 
Some mefi are drones in the money-cells of to-day, 
who fill thi honey-cells of to-morrow and a thousand 
morrowB. 
The country is a sugar-plum, which should be 
taken wlidn we want tbe bitter pill of city life to go 
down easily. 
The bdw loses its spring that is always bent; and 
the mind will never do much unless it sometimes 
does noting. 
Wink at small injuries rather than avenge them. 
If, to destroy a single bee, you throw down the hive, 
instead of one enemy you make a thousand. 
iuuw 
PRENTICE-ISMS. 
^ - 
Jeep. Thompson, the noted secession leader, says, 
in his proclamation to the citizens of South Mis¬ 
souri: “Come and join us; we have forty thousand 
Belgian muskets coming, lmt bring your guns with 
you, If yon have any.” " I have millions of money,” 
said a dashing gent to the girl about to rtin away 
with him, "hut yon might as well scrape up all the 
Jewelry and spare change you have got.” 
A Memphis paper complains of a systematic at¬ 
tempt of certain Kentucky papers to rob Gen. Folk 
of his reputation. We havo heard of an unfortunate 
man who came very near being robbed of a hundred 
chickens; nothing prevented except that he hadn't 
the chickens. 
The New Orleans Bee says that Louisiana Iisb 
contracted for a large amount of heavy ordnance. 
Probably she has reason to hope that this ordnance 
won’t be as destructive to herself as her ord’nance 
of secession was. 
Bulwkr’s " Last of the Barrons ” was not last. 
There was one more Barron left, and we’ve got him 
in Fort Lafayette. 
How the Rebels smoke our plans. — By way of 
Port Tobacco. 
Quite Natural! —At the last accounts from Vir¬ 
ginia, the Rebels were still on the Cheat. 
Where Burden’s riflemen should he stationed when 
they get to Washington — at Bhuter’s Hill. 
Floyd’s latest exploit— He ran away—by Ganly. 
Important to National Hymmers— a Prussian 
Salem has just been introduced into our army. 
Latest stock intelligence from Missouri—Southern 
bonds are falling off. 
♦ • ♦ • 
Warranted Safe in Any Climate.— "I have 
joined the Home Guard,” said Mr. Furguson. 
" What for?” said Mrs. Furguson. 
" When ho many of our soldiers are away, Mad¬ 
ame,” said Mr. Furguson, “our country needs some 
Safeguard." 
"Well,” said Mrs. Furguson, "you have certainly 
Joined tbe Safest Guard I know of I” 
A chap, calling himself Reuben Hill, recommends 
ft quack nostrum known as "Dyspeptic Cordial,” 
which, ho says, cured himself of the rheumatism, 
his wife of tbe sick headache, his daughter of the 
fever and ague, and his mother of a bad cough, 
besides mending the cellar stairs and putting the 
baby to sleep- ’ 
-. ■ ♦ ■ «- 
" Will you let us alone?” a hero cried, 
And a bold financier wn« he, 
“ A loan 7" all the bulls arid bears replied 
“ Nol nary a red from mel” 
And they looked at King Cotton, as lie sat onJiis throne, 
With Jeff. Davis for prince, and they “ lot him alone.” 
< « ♦ »-»-’-- 
A Yankee has invented a new and cheap plan for 
boarders. One of his hoarders mesmerizes the rest, 
and then eats a hearty meal — the mesmerized being 
satisfied from sympathy. 
" Well, deems,” said Zeb, " I Kissed Julia for the 
first time last night, and I declare it electrified me.” 
"Mo wonder," said -teems, it was galvanic 
battery.” 
For Moore's Rural New-Yorker. 
MISCELLANEOUS ENIGMA. 
I am composed of 18 letters. 
My 1, 10, 7, 4 is a cloth made of cotton. 
My 2, 7, 18, 3 is a solemn affirmation. 
My 8, 7, 9, 18 is to stop. 
My 4, 14, 7, 8 is not far distant. 
My ft, 2, 0, IS, 10, 11 ia a waterfall. 
My fl, 7, 9, 11, 10, 8 is a small cable. 
My 7, 18, 18, t>, 10, 18 is a bracelet. 
My 8, 7, 10. 11 is to rub out 
My 9, lfl. 7, 10, 10, 13 is one who gleans after the reapers. 
My 10, 17, 18. 6, 13, 2, 4, 14 is to exalt. 
My 11, 18, 16, 13, 18 Is a commotion of the elements. 
My 12, 8. 14. 11, 3 Is not old. 
My 13, 10, 7, 9 is no whim. 
My 14, 7, 8, 9 is a nobleman. 
My 16, 10, 17, 18, 0 is a part of the year. 
My 10, 8, 4, 7, 16, 14, 17, 18 is liked by iadieB. 
My 17, 14, 6, 18, 7, 13 waa the beverage of the gods. 
My 18, 8, 7, 17, 11, 16, 16 is a part of a ship. 
My whole is the name of a man who was once a candidate 
for President. 
Rochester, N. Y., 1861. G. Van Inokn. 
tigf Answer in two weeks. 
For Moore's Rural New-Yorker. 
GEOGRAPHICAL ENIGMA. 
I am composed of 18 letters. 
My 9, 13, 14, 9, 12 is a country in Asia. 
My 12, 4, 12, 16, 9, 12, 13 i* * pen in Asia. 
My 14, 12, 13, 17, 15, 18 is a river in Europe. 
My fl, 17, 4, 12, 16 is a mountain in Europe. 
My 6, 6, 1(1, 12, 7, 12, 4, 11 is one of the United States. 
My 13, 3, 7, 16, 3, 4, 13 is a town in North Carolina. 
My 1, 4, 3, 13. 1 is it river in Canada. 
My 2, 12, 7, 12, 9, 9 is nn island in Oceanica. 
My 8, 17, 3, 10 is a county in Texas. 
My whole is what every American citizen should cherish. 
October, 1801. Gbo. W. Eaknkst. 
fTsP Answer in two weeks. 
For Moore's Rural New-Yorker. 
POETICAL ENIGMA. 
Mr form is slender and frail, my complexion is light, 
1 am active in business and appear rather bright; 
I was drawn from my bed where in contentment I lay, 
Hanged, beaten, and bruised, in a most, savage way; 
My temper aroused, and It yet remains high, 
I would break sooner thnn bend, such firmness have I. 
1 am made of high stuff, as my looks plainly show. 
And inoocent blood I oft causa to flow; 
I cause premalure death -many a heart-rending sigh, 
Yet the tear of affliction never moistened my eye 
1 am the tool of police makers, ami render my aid 
In closing up breaches imprudently made; 
1 work for the living I w-ork for the dead— 
Hut for me many thousands would lack daily bread. 
I am pushed, pulled, and twitched, from morning till night, 
My motions are swift as a bird's In its flight; 
No creature of earth is more useful than I, 
You can't, live without me, it's of no use to try— 
I seek not your pity, nor your sympathies claim, 
Ail the favor I o»k is to just tell iny name. 
Honooye Falls, N. Y., 1861. J. C., Jon’r. 
tTW Answer in two weeks. 
ANSWERS TO ENIGMAS, &c„ IN No. 014. 
Answer to Geographical Enigma:—The good alone are 
great. 
Answer to Charade:—Broom-stick. 
Answer Charade:—Popular. 
A Seasonable Announcement — which please Read, and then Show or Proclaim to your Acquaintances. 
MOORE’S RURAL NEW-YORKER, 
THE LEADING AND MOST POPULAR 
Agricultural, Literary and Family Newspaper in America. 
PROSPECTUS OF VOLUME XIII, FOR 1862. ’ 
THE RURAL NEW-YORKER, widely known as the most Vuluable and Popular Journal in 
its Sphere — as the Rest ami Giikafest combined Agricultural, Horticultural, Literary and Family 
Newspaper — will enter upon its Thirteenth Year and Volume in January, 1H02. Those familiar with 
ita Objects, Character aud Reputation, and the manner in which it has been Conducted for the past 
twelve years, are aware that The Rural has surpassed all rivals in the various important essentials of a 
COMPLETE RURAL, FAMILY AND NEWS JOURNAL, 
One which ardently seeks to promote the Pecuniary Interest and Home Happiness of the tens of thousands 
of Families it visits. For years it has excelled in Variety and Usefulness, and Reliability of general 
Contents,^as well as in the number and quality of its Illustrations ; —and now the Correctness of its 
Record of the Kkiiellion and other News of the Day renders it, more than ever before, 
THE PEbPLE’S FAVORITE HOME WEEKLY. 
This fact is abundantly manifested by the recent large additions to its immense circulation, which prove 
Its increasing popularity throughout the Free and Border States, the Canadas, Ac. Its recruits include 
numerous Farmers, Horticulturists, Mechanics, Manufacturers, Professional Men and Sensible Women, 
from Maine to Minnesota and Canada to California. The Rural has long been pronounced the 
BEST JOURNAL OF ITS CLASS ON THE CONTINENT! 
Recently, however, its pages have been rendered xdt ire interesting and valuable to the general reader 
than formerly—for, in addition to a great amount of Practical, Timely and Entertaining Reading, (upon 
Agriculture, Horticulture, Domestic Economy, Science, Art, Education, Ac., Ac., with a variety 
of Engravings, Musio, Talks, Foreign and Domestic Correspondence, Poetry, Ac.,) it contains a 
complete and carefully prepared Weekly Summary of 
THE LATEST WAR NEWS, 
So that every reader maybe fully and reliably informed of the Events of the War for tiie Union. In 
former years The Rural has kept aloof from partisan questions, but during the great struggle for the 
perpetuity of our National Union, it cannot be neutral concerning the vital issue before the People and 
Country, and therefore ardently sustains "The Union, the Constitution, and Enforcement of the 
Laws.” In fact, the Rural New-Yorker is and will continue to be 
THE PAPER FOR THE TIMES, 
Furnishing a weekly variety of appropriate and interesting reuding for the various members of the Family 
Circle. We trust ita earnest advocacy of the Right and condemnation of tbe Wrong will commend it, as 
hitherto, to the friends of Pure and Instructive Literature in both Town and Country. To its 
readers, who know how instructive aud valuable are ita Practical Departments,— and that ita Literary 
and News pages cannot fail to interest and entertain, while the moral tone of the whole paper is 
unexceptionable, — we especially appeal, in the confident belief that they will aid in augmenting its 
circulation and usefulness at a time when encouragement will most strengthen the enterprise. 
VOLUME XIII, FOR 1W(W, 
Will, in both Contents and Appearance, maintain the enviable reputation Tuk Rural has acquired.— 
It will he published in Suferior Style— with New 'J'ype, goad white Paper, and many fine Engravings. 
Its Form will continue the same as now —Double Quarto —with an Index, Title Page, &c., at close of 
tho year, rendering the volume complete for binding and preservation. 
TERMS, Always In Advance — Two Dollar* a Year. To Agent* ami Club*: Three copied for $5; Six for $19| 
Ten for $16, Fifteen for 121; Twenty for $26, anil any additional number at tho latter rate, ($1.26 per copy.)— with a free 
copy to every person remitting for a club of six or more according to term*. Ifif' A* we are obliged to pre pay American 
postage on all paper* sent abroad, our Canada friend* must add 13 cts. per yearly copy to above rates. 
Now is the Time to Subscribe and form Clubs, as Subscription* can begin with the volume or any number. 
Efficient Local Agent* wanted in all places reached by tho United State* and Canada mail*, to whom we shall try to 
give Good Pay for Doing Good. (fgf* Specimen Numbers, Show-Bills, inducement*, Ac., »cnt free to all disposed to 
benefit their neighbor* and community by introducing the paper to more general notice and support. 
Octobkr 26, 1801. Address D. D. T. MOORK, Rochester, N. Y. 
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