THE CAPTAIN—A LEGEND OF THE NAVY. 
A NEW PONE BT ALFRED TENNTBON. 
He that rales by terror 
Doeth grievous wrong; 
Deep as bell I count his error— 
Let him hear my song. 
Brave the Captain was: the Eeamen 
Made a gallant crew, 
Gallant sons of English freemen, 
Sailors bold and true. 
Bnt they hated his oppression, 
Stem he was and rash; 
So for every light, transgression 
Doomed them to the lash. 
Day by day more harsh and cruel 
Seemed the Captain’s mood. 
Secret wrath, like smothered fuel, 
Burnt In each man's blood. 
Yet he hoped to purchase glory, 
Hoped to make the name 
Of his vessel great in story 
Wheresoe’er he came. 
So they passed by rttpes and islands, 
Many a harbor mouth, 
Sailing under palmy high lands, 
Far within the South. 
On a day \rtien they were going 
O’er the vast expanse, 
In the North, her canvass blowing, 
Rose a ship of France. 
Then the Captain's color Lightened, 
Joyfully came his speech; 
But a cloudy gladness lightened 
In the eyes of each. 
‘•Chase ! v he said; the ship flew forward, 
And the wind did blow; 
Stately, lightly went the Norwood, 
Till she neared the foe. 
When they looked at him they hated, 
Had what they desired: 
Mute with folded arms they waited— 
Not a gun was fired. 
But they heard the foeman’s thunder 
Roaring out their doom; 
All the air was torn in sunder, 
Crashing went the boom, 
Spars were splintered, decks were shattered, 
Bullets fell like rain. 
Over mast and deck were scattered 
Bloo,d and brains of men. 
Spare were splintered; decks were broken, 
Every mother’s son— 
Down they dropt—no word was spoken— 
Each beside his gun. 
On the decks, as they were lying, 
Were their faces grim; 
In their "blood, as they lay dying, 
Did they smile on him. 
Those in whom he had reliance 
For his noble name, 
With one smile ol still defiance 
Sold him onto shame. 
Shame and wrath his heart confounded, 
Pale he turned aud red, 
Till himself was deadly wounded, 
Falling on the dead. 
Dismal error 1 fearful slaughter! 
Years have wandered by— 
Side by side beneath the water 
Crew and Captain lie; 
There the sun-lit. ocean tosses 
O’er them mouldering. 
And the lonely sea-bird crosses 
With one waft of wing. 
Ito Jtei fill 
SHEPHERDESS OF THE ALPS. 
Translated from the French for the Rural New-Yorker 
By O. O. B. 
In the mountains of Savoy, not far from the 
road from Briancon to Modane, is a solitary val¬ 
ley, the aspect of which inspires the traveler 
with a gentle melancholy. Three hills forming 
an amphitheater, over which are spread here 
and there a few cabins of the shepherds, the 
torrents which fall from the mountains, the bou¬ 
quets of trees planted here and there, and the 
ever green pasturages, make up the ornamenta¬ 
tion of this rural spot. 
The Marquis he Fokkose was returning from 
France to Italy, with his wile. Having broken 
a spring of their carriage, and the day being at 
its decline, they were compelled to seek an asy¬ 
lum in this valley, where they could pass the 
night. As they advanced toward one of the 
cabins which they had perceived, they saw a 
flock of sheep taking the 6ame road, conducted 
by a Shepherdess whose gait and manner aston¬ 
ished them. As they approached Btill nearer, 
they heard a Heavenly voice whose plaintive aud 
touching accents made the very echoes moan. 
“ How the setting sun glitters in its mellow 
light! It is thus," 6aid she, "that, at the end 
of a painful career, the exhausted soul goes to 
rejuvenate itself in the pure source of immor¬ 
tality. But, alas! the end is fur ahead, aud life 
is slow!" 
While Bpeaking these words, the Shepherdess 
walked on with her head bowed down; yet the 
negligence of her attitude seemed only to add 
to the nobility aud majesty of her form and Btep. 
Struck with what they saw, and more still 
with what they had heard, the Marquis and 
Marchioness de Fonrose redoubled their steps to 
overtake this Shepherdess, who had so strongly 
excited their curiosity aud admiration. But 
what was their suprise when, under the most 
simple coiffure, under the most humble vest¬ 
ments, they saw all the graces and all the beau¬ 
ties united! 
“My daughter,” said the Marchioness, seeing 
that she avoided them, “fear nothing; we are 
travelers who are compelled by an accident to 
seek refuge for the night lu one ot these cabins. 
Will you be good enough to serve ns a 
guide?" 
“ I pity you, uiadame,” said the Shepherdess 
lowering her eyes aud blushing; “ these cabins 
are inhabited by destitute people who can lodge 
you but very poorly." 
“ Without doubt you lodge there, yourself,” 
replied the Marchioness, “and I can very well 
support, for one night, the inconveniences which 
you suffer continually.” 
“But I am formed for that,” said theShep- 
herdness with charming modesty. 
“No, certainly not,” said M. de Fonrose, 
who could dissimulate no longer the emotion 
which she had caused him; “no, yon are not 
formed to suffer, and fortune is very unjust to 
you! Is it possible, amiable person, that so 
maty charms can be buried in this desert — un¬ 
der these garments ?” 
“Fortune, monsieur,” replied Adelaide — 
such was the name of the Shepherdess—“for¬ 
tune is cruel only when it takes from ns that 
which it has before bestowed upon us. My call¬ 
ing has its gentle pleasures for those who know 
no others, while habit creates needs for you 
which the shepherds never feel.” 
“ That, may he,” said the Marquis, “ for those 
to whom Heaven has given birth in this obscure 
condition; but you, astonishing girl, you whom 
1 admire, you who enchant me, you were not 
bom what you are now— this air, this gait, this 
voice, this language, all betray you. Two words 
which yon have spoken announce a cultivated 
mind, a noble soul. Finish then by telling us 
what misfortune can have reduced you to this 
strange abasement.” 
“Fora man in misfortune,” answered Ade¬ 
laide, “there area thousand means of escape 
but for a woman, as you know, there is no 
honest resource save in servitude; and In the 
choice of masters one does well, as I believe, to 
prefer good people. You will see mine, and you 
will be charmed with the innocence of their life, 
with the candor, the simplicity and the honesty 
of their habits.” 
While she spoke thus, they arrived at the 
cabin. It was separated by a partition from the 
stable where the unkowu caused her 6heep to 
enter, counting them with the most serious at¬ 
tention, and not deigning to occupy herself 
longer with the strangers who were watching 
her. An old man and his wife, such as Phile¬ 
mon and Baucis are painted to us, came to meet 
their guests with that honest manner of the 
villagers which recalls to us the Age of Gold. 
“We have nothing to offer you,” said the 
good woman, “but lresh straw for a bed, and 
milk, fruit, and rye bread for nourishment; hut 
of the little which Heaven gives us, we will par¬ 
take with you, with good heart." 
The traveler. on entering the cabin, were sur¬ 
prised at the air of orderly arrangement every¬ 
where observable. The table was a single plank 
of walnut polished to its best, in which was 
mirrored the enamel of the earthen dishes des¬ 
tined to receive the milk. Everything presented 
the image of a cheerful poverty where the first 
needs of nature were agreeably satisfied. 
“It is our dear daughter,” said the good wo¬ 
man, " who takes care of the housekeeping. In 
the morning before her flocks go iuto the open 
country, and while they are feeding about the 
house upon the grass covered with dew, she 
washes, cleans, and arranges everything with an 
address that enchants us.” 
“What!” said the Marchioness, “ this Shop- 
herdness is your daughter T ’■ 
“Ah, madamet would to Heaven she was;” 
cried the good old woman, “It is my heart 
that names her thus, for 1 have a mother’s love 
for her; hut I am not so happy as to have borne 
her in my bosom— we are not worthy to have 
given her birth.” 
“Who is she then ?—from whence does she 
come? and what misfortune has reduced her to 
a shepherd’s condition in life?” 
“ All this is unknown to us. It is four years 
since she eime here, in the dress of a country 
girl, and offered herself to tend our flocks. We 
would have taken her to do nothing, so much 
did her good countenance and the sweetness of 
her speech gain over otrr hearts to her. We 
suspected she was not a vlil )ge lass, but our 
questions afflicted her, and wo believed it our 
duty to abstain from them. This respect has 
but augmented, as we hare come to know her 
heart better; but the more wc seek to abase 
ourselves before her, the inore she humiliates 
herself before us. Never has a daughter had for 
her father and mother more sustained atten¬ 
tions, or more tender assiduities She cannot 
obey us, for we take good care never to order 
her; but It seems sbe divines us, and all that we 
would wish she does before we can perceive that 
she has thought of it. She is an angel who has 
descended to console our old age.” 
“And what Is she doing now in the stable?” 
demanded the Marchioness. 
“ She is giving the flock a fresh litter, and 
milking the ewes and goats. It seems as though 
this milk, pressed ont by her hand, becomes 
more delicate; and when I goto sell it In the 
city, I cannot supply the demand, they find it so 
delicious. While guarding her floek, the dear 
girl busies herself with work in straw and order, 
which everybody admires. I wish you could 
see with what skill she interlaces the flexible 
rushes. Everything becomes precious under 
her fingers. You see, Madame,” continued the 
good old woman, “yon see here the imago of 
a life of ease and tranquility : it is she who pro¬ 
cures it. for ua This heavenly child Is only oc¬ 
cupied with rendering us happy.” 
“Is she happy herself?" asked M. de Fon¬ 
rose. 
“ She tries to persuade us that she is,” replied 
the old man; “ but I have often shown my wile 
that, when returning from the pasturage, her 
eyes were moistened with tears, and that she 
had the most afflicted air iu the world. As soon 
as she sees us, she affects to smile, yet we very 
well see that she has some trouble that consumes 
her; but wo dare not usk her what it is." 
“Ah, Madame!” said the old woman, “how 
I have pitied this child when she would insist 
on taking her flocks to the pasturage notwith¬ 
standing the rain and ice! A hundred times 
l have I (- one down upou my knees to her, to beg 
that she would leave me to take her place; my 
prayers were useless. She would go at the 
rising of tbe sun and return in the evening, be¬ 
numbed with the cold. 1 Judge,’ she would say 
to me, ‘ whether I 6liouid allow you to leave 
your fireside and expose yourself to the rigors 
of the sensou. I can hnrdly resist them myself.’ 
Yet she brought under her arm the wood which 
warmed us; and when I would pity her for the 
fatigue she nave herself, she would S8y, ‘leave 
Off, leave off, my good mother, it is by exercise 
that I protect myseJf from the coldlabor is 
made for my age.’ Finally Madame, she is as 
good as she i? beautiful, and my husband and I 
never speak of her hut with tears iu our eyes.” 
“ What if some one should take her away from 
you?” demanded the Marchioness. 
“ We should lose,” interrupted the old man, 
“all that we hold dearest in the world; hut if 
she were to be happy we would die content with 
that consolation.” 
“ Alas! yes,” resumed the old woman, burst¬ 
ing into tears, “ may Heaven accord to her a 
fortune worthy of her, if that be possible! My 
hope has been that her hand, so dear to me, 
would close my eyes, but I love ber better than 
my life-” 
Her arrival interrupted them. She appeared 
with a vessel of milk in one hand and a basket 
of fruit in the other; and after a salute full of 
charming grace, she busied herself with her 
household duties, as if no one was observing 
her. 
“ You give yoorself a great deal of trouble, 
my dear child,” said the Marchioness to her. 
“Iam trying, Madame, to fulfill the inten¬ 
tions of my masters who desire to give yon the 
best reception they can. Yon will make,” con¬ 
tinued she, spreading upon the table a cloth of 
linen coarse, indeed, but of extreme whiteness, 
“you will make a frugal, country, repast. This 
bread Is not the finest in the world, but it has 
much savor, the eggs are fresh, the milk is good, 
and the fruits, which I have just gathered, are 
such as the season affords us.” 
The diligence, the attention, and the noble 
and becoming graces with which this marvelous 
Shepherdess rendered them all the duties of hos¬ 
pitality, the a spect she showed to her masters, 
when they addressed her, or when she sought to 
read in their eyes what they would have her do, 
all this lilted M. and Madame de Fonrose with 
astonishment and admiration. When they had 
retired to their couch of fresh straw which she 
herself had prepared, they said to one another— 
“our adventure is a wonderful one—we must 
clear up this mystery—we must take this child 
with us.” 
At the break of day, one of the people who 
had worked all night at the repairs of the car¬ 
riage, came to report it again ready for use. 
Madame de Fonrose, belorc leaving had the 
Shepherdess called to her. 
“ Without willing to penetrate,” said she to 
her, “ the secret of your birth, and the cause of 
your misfortune,* caerythiDg I see, and every¬ 
thing 1 hear, interests me in you. I see that 
your courage Dos elevated you above your ill- 
fortunc, «u<! \at you have made your senti¬ 
ments conform to your present condition. Your 
charms and your virtues render it respectable, 
but it is unworthy of you. I can, amiable un¬ 
known, procure you a better destiny, and the 
intentions ol my husband are in perfect accord¬ 
ance with mine. 1 hold at Turin very consider¬ 
able estates —I lack an intimate friend, and I 
should believe that I took to those places an in¬ 
estimable treasure, if you would consent to ac¬ 
company me. Pat aside from the proposition— 
the prayer that I make to you, all ideas of servi¬ 
tude—I cannot believe yoh were formed for 
that state; but it I should ever find that my 
prejudices had deceived me, I would love better 
to elevate you above your birth than to leave 
you below it. I repeat to you, It is an intimate 
companion that 1 wish to attach to myseif. For 
the rest, do not trouble yourself with the fate of 
these good people, for there Is nothing I will 
not do to repay them for the loss of you. At ( 
least they shall have enough to end their lives 
peaceably in the ease of their condition in life, 
and from your bands they shall receive the bene¬ 
fits which 1 design to bestow upon them.” 
The old people, who were present at this dis¬ 
course, while kissing the hands of the Marchion¬ 
ess and prostrating themselves at ber knees, 
implored the unknown to accept thesege-nerous 
offers; representing to ber, through their tears, 
that they were upon the verge of the tomb; that 
she had no other consolation than to render 
their old age happy, and that at their death, 
wheu left alone to herself, their dwelling would 
become u frightfnl solitude. The Shepherdess 
embraced them aud mingled her tears with 
theirs. She thanked M. and Madame de Fon¬ 
rose for their goodness with a sensibility which 
embellished her still more. 
“I cannot,” said she, “accept your benefac¬ 
tion. Heaven has marked out my place, and its 
will be done; but the memory of yonr kiud- 
11 C 6 SCB is engraven on my heart in lines never to 
be effaced. The respected name of Fonrose 
will be ever present in my miud. There remains 
to me but one favor to ask of you,” 6aid she 
blushing and lowering her eyes, “ whieh is, that 
you will conceal this adventure in eternal 
bounce, aud h-wye the world forever ignorant of 
the fate of a young unknown who wishes to live 
and die In forgetfulness,” 
M. and Mudame de Fonrose, moved and 
afflicted, redoubled a thousand-fold their en¬ 
treaties, but she was immovable, and the old 
people, the travelers and the Shepherdess sepa¬ 
rated with tenrf iu their eyes. 
During their journey M. and Madame de Fon¬ 
rose occupied themselves only with this adven¬ 
ture. It seemed to them like a dream; and with 
their tiuuginutipns filled with this kind of ro¬ 
mance they arrived at Turin. It may well he 
believed that silence was not retained upon the 
subject of theiit rcnconlrt, and that It afforded an 
inexhaustible subject for reflections and conjec¬ 
tures. The young Fonrobb, who was present at 
these conversations, did not lose a single cir¬ 
cumstance. He had reached the age when the 
imagination is most lively, and the heart most 
susceptible tender impressions; bnt was 
possessed of one of those characters whose sen¬ 
sitiveness never exhibits itself outwardly, aud 
when touched is only the more violently agitated 
because the sentiment which affects it is not en¬ 
feebled by any source of dissipation. All that 
Fonrose heard told of the charms, the virtues 
and the sorrows of the Shepherdess of Savoy lit 
up in his heart the most ardent desire to see 
her. He had created for himself an image of 
her which was ever present; he compared 
it to all that he saw, and all that he saw was 
effaced by it. But the more his impatience in¬ 
creased, the more care he took to dissimulate it. 
The sojourn at Turin became odious to him. 
The valley that concealed from the world Us 
most beautiful ornament, attracted his whole 
soul. It was there that happiness awaited him. 
But if his project became known, he foresaw 
the greatest obstacles: consent to the journey 
he meditated would never be given; ii was the 
folly of a young man from which sad conse¬ 
quences would be apprehended; the Shepherdess 
herself, frightened at his pursuit, would not fall 
to conceal herself; he would lose her if he be¬ 
came known to her. After all these reflections, 
which occupied him during three months, he 
took the resolution of leaving everything for 
her; and determined to go, in the drees of a 
shepherd to seek her out in her solitude, and to 
draw her ont from it or perish in the attempt. 
He disappeared —he was seen no more. His 
parents, who awaited his return, had at first 
much inquietude. Their fears augmented every 
day. Their deceived expectations threw desola¬ 
tion over the family; the uselessness of their 
researches brought Ihe climax of their despair. 
A quarrel, an assassination, everything of the 
most sinister character presented itself to their 
thoughts; and these unfortunate parents ended 
by mourning for dead this cherished son, their 
only hope. While his family wa6 in mourning, 
Fonrose, in the dress of a shepherd, presented 
himself to the inhabitants of the neighboring 
hamlets in the valley, which had been but too 
well described to him. His ambition was ful¬ 
filled ; the care of a flock was confided to him. 
—fTo.be continued. 
jgp* A breeze-kissed honeysuckle diffuses a 
pleasant fragrance, but its aroma has not the 
tropical richness of Phalon’s “ Night-Blooming 
Cereus.” Thai marvellous seem, voluptuous 
yet not too powerful, seems closely akin to the 
fragrant charm with which Nonrmahal enchant¬ 
ed her liege lord in “The Light of the Harem.” 
Sold everywhere. 
THE GREAT 
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NOW IS THE TIME TO SUBSCRIBE. 
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matters; War News; Stock, Financial. Cattle, Horse, Dry 
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The Reverts of the American Institute, Farmers’ Club 
and tbe various Agricultural Reports, In each number, 
are richly worth a year’s subscription. Read what a sub¬ 
scriber in St. Louis says: 
8T. Lntrts, Mt>., July 16Ui, 1S65. 
I71C Editor of The Tribune. 
Dn.\n Sir.-I have had it la contemplation lor some 
time, to write and tell you of the pleasure 1 get front the 
weekly perusal of the proceedings of the Farmer’s Club; 
Aral 1 will tell von how recently I became aware of Its, 
existence. About tbe llrst of September, 1663, 1 noticed 
an advertisement, aud a cut of the Tribune. Strawberries, 
and Immediately subscribed for the Weekly Tribune, in 
wtdeb I found the proceedings of vour Club. I have read 
them constantly, until they have become to rue a neces¬ 
sity, and I look tor Monday as red letter day In my cal¬ 
endar, and was I to be confined to one agricultural paper 
alone, should prefer The Tribune to anything I have Vet 
seen. Yours, JOHN HENWOOC. 
Another subscriber writes: 
I neglected (roTgoti to Tenew my subscription to The 
Tribune, tiutll isolate that 1 missed the first July No. Can 
you help me to It? Fortlons of the Fnrmrns’ Club re¬ 
port* U‘ that number particularly t wish to preserve. Iu 
fact, that feature of the paper constitutes one of the main 
reasons why 1 take it. And I have no doubt, that It re¬ 
ceives a goodlv shnre. of lu patronage from persons who 
wlidi It well, tint, would not otherwise bring themselves 
to the subscribing point. 
Yours truly. 0. A. ALEXANDER. 
Waynesville. 111., July 25. 
TERMS. 
Mall subscribers, single copy, 1 year —52 numbers. .*2 CO 
do Clubs of five. 9 OO 
Ten copies, addressed to names of subscribers.17 50 
Twenty *■ “ ” “ .8t 00 
Ten copies, to one address. 16 OO 
Twenty “ “ “ 80 OO 
An extra copy will be sent for each club of ten. 
Drafts on New York, or Post-office orders, payable to 
the order of “Tire Tbibcnh." being eator.aro preferable 
to any other mode of remittance. 
Address TnE TRIBUNE, New York. 
CANVASSERS WANTED to SELL 
IT CAN BE FILLED. TRIMMED. LIGHTED, REGU¬ 
LATED. OK EXTIN DC 1S1IKD, WITHOUT 
REMOVING THE 
SHADE OR CHIMNEY! 
It Is acknowledged to be the only successful 
For Moore’s Rural New-Yorker. 
GEOGRAPHICAL ENIGMA, 
I am composed ot 42 letters. 
My 22,1, 31, 5, 35,15.13,17 is an elevated city of Asia. 
My 3(1, 30, 8, 20, 24. 5, 38, 7 is a river of Asia. 
My 39, 13, 33, IS, 7, 82,21, 6. 30 is a seaport of Spain. 
My 11. 23, 80, 27, 2, 40,13, 41 is one of the flee ports 
of China. 
My 22,29, 30,14, 40,1, 8 is a bay on the coast of the 
United States. 
My 42, 7, 27,8, 85,12,10, 81, 3 is a small republic in 
Europe. 
My 2, 37, 9, 20, 22,10 is a division of Europe. 
My 22,4, 8,19, 83, 8 is the name of a group of Islands 
In the Indian ocean. 
My 24,14, 30, 31, 37 is the name of peaks in Virginia. 
My 8, 28,17,19, 85,18 is one of the Alps. 
My whole ie a Proverb. 
Pamelia, Jeff. Co., N. Y. Albert W. Parrish. 
Answer in two weeks. 
-•-» - - 
For Moore’s Rural New-Yorker. 
MISCELLANEOUS ENIGMA. 
I am composed of 19 letters. 
My 4,10, 7, 5 Is a production of the Southern States. 
My 7,19, 6, 13 is a coin. 
My 13, 8,15 Is a tiameral adjective. 
My 18,17,18,.10, 9 is otie of the dead languages. 
My 11,14,10 Is a vehicle. 
My 3,12,10, 3 is one of the United States. 
My 1, 3, 4,13 iB a fortification. 
My 2,10, 0, 7, 8, 18, 6 is a name endeared to every 
American heart. 
My whole is the name of an English lady univer¬ 
sally beloved. 
Bellevue, Ohio. Calibta M. Wtlib. 
tl£T~ Answer in two weeks. 
-.»•- 
For Moore’s Rural New-Yorker. 
AN ANAGRAM. 
NirrHEssA sepdless attes; 
'1st ou and peertixmen, 
Pymlis atth the cswi dan regta 
Amy vhea ojy and tin-eminne; 
Kara si ton tsl lclpa nirfeed— 
Soney’m not het sett fo 0, 
Tub a meal todeenet dinra 
Tatb liwl kame hte teba fo it. 
Canadice, N. Y. C, J. Andrubs. 
py Answer In two weeks. 
ANSWERS TO ENIGMAS, Ac., IN No. 812. 
Answer to Geographical Enigma;—A little learning 
is a dangerous thing. 
Answer to Miscellaneous Enigma: — Iowa State 
University. 
Answer to Anagram: 
Voyager upon life’s sea, 
To yourself be true, 
And whate'er your lot may be 
Paddle your own canoe. 
Never, though the winds may rave, 
Falter nor look back; 
But upon the darkest wave 
Leave a sbinlof? track, 
Answer to Puzzle • 
Up and down so you seo 
That Is the way to unravel me. 
Answer to QuestionIf we used five digits instead 
of nine, we should then have 1,2, 3, 4, 5,10,11,12,18, 
11, ID, 20, 21,22.23, Ac., one-fifth of twenty three be- 
: , V. rftft ft,i,l I Ii i rH tl.rri hnitltT t hfftft 
COMBINING SAFETY AND ECONOMY WITH 
CONVENIENCE AND BEAUTY. 
Tbe. facility wl’h which It Is operated, together with ita 
adaptation for general use cvcrywliet e, Is only equaled 
by j:as, while Its 
ECONOMY CANNOT BE SURPASSED. 
WITH OUR NEW AND 
IMPROVED REFLECTOR SHADE, 
more light can be produced from tbe small sUc or “ A’’ 
burner than Is usually produced from the large size or 
“ B " hnrncr of common lamps. 
Great Saving of Glass as well as Oil! 
Out Shades and Chimneys never need be handled ex¬ 
cept tor cleaning, and arc of course less exposed to break¬ 
age jhftn lu old-iaehloned lamps. We have 
Ranging, Bracket and Table Lamps, 
of various sizes, appropriate for the 
Church, Hotel. Private House, or Store, 
and are prepared to furnish a building in all Its apart¬ 
ments as completely as It could be done with gas-fixtures 
and at VRET MUCH LESS EXPENSE. 
On receipt of price, from plneea where our 
Lamps are not being soul, we will send Free ok Kx- 
penke What wc especially want Is Good Uitnvns- 
sers to thoroughly introduce this new invention. Vie 
grant EXCLtiaiVK bale In tbe territory assigned, and 
offer Li netuL ijuiuceue.vts for good, reliable men. 
For Circulars, Terms, &<•.., address 
JULIUS 1YKM A: CO., 
No. 78 Beckman Street, New York. 
HTlvte' Patket Lami-s are secured by Letters Pa¬ 
tent In the llnlted States, Great Britain, France, Austria, 
and Belgium. 
E DWARD WKIISTKH, Attorney and Coun¬ 
sellor at Law, Conveyancing and searches of 
title to real estate specially attended to, and a limited 
amount of land surveying done tn connection therewith. 
Office No. 5, Lyons' Block, Rochester, N. Y. [793-tf 
, Rochester, N. Y. 
£./» FROM OO OENTS. 
Agents come and examine Invention, or samples sent 
free oy mail lor 50 eta.; retails for six dollars easily. 
770-481 R- I- WOLCOTT. 170 Chatham Square, N. Y. 
D rain tick mag mink, hf**t in use. 
manufactured by A. 1.A TOURKETTK. 
78SWf 
1.A TOURKETTK, 
Waterloo, Seneca Co. N. Y 
MOORE’S RURAL NEW-YORKER, 
TUB LAHGK6T-C1RCULATI>*© 
Agricultural, Literary aud Family Newspaper 
IS PUBLISnKD SYS ST 6ATURPAY 
BY D. D. T. MOORE, ROCHESTER, N. Y. 
Office Union Biiildmgs, Opposite Uie Court House, St. 
TERMS, /.V AV FARCE: 
Three Dollnrs a Ycitr—To Clubs and Agents as 
follows:—Five copies one year, for fit; Seven. and one 
free to Club Agent, for fl9; Teu, and one free, for $23; 
and any greater lumber at the same rate — only $2-50 per 
copy. Club papers directed to Individuals and sect to as 
many different Post Offices ns detdred. As we pre-pay 
American postage on copies sent abroad. f~.70 Is the 
lowest Club rate for Canada, and fS.SO to Europe, - bnt 
during tbe present rate of exchango, Canada Agents or 
Subscribers remitting for the Rural in bills of their own 
specie paying banks will not be charged postage The 
best way to remit l* by Draft on New York, tlesa cost of 
exchange,)— and all drafts made payable to the order of 
the Publisher, RAY HE RAJLKD AT UIS BISS.. 
83f Tbo above Terms and Ratos must be strictly ad¬ 
hered to so long as published—and wo trust there will be 
no necessity for advancing them (taring the year. Those 
who Munitions than specified price for a club or single 
copy, will Ire credited only »* P« r rates. Persons Heading 
loss than full price for this volume will find when their 
subscriptions expire by referring to figures on address 
label —the figure* indicating thu No. of the paper to 
which they have paid being given. 
