MOdEE’S RttRAL 
Xi A 
THE NORTHERN LIGHTS. 
They shone like? lightning over head. 
They flashed along from shore to shore. 
Tlie bright reflection of their red 
Crimsoned the streets of Baltimore; 
And the men who Saw, serene and clear. 
Their progress through the heavenly heights, 
Made the world ring with cheer on cheer, 
Crying, “ Behold the Northern Lights!" 
They shone on Ellsworth's murdered form: 
They gilded Lyon's far oil' grave; 
Where Baker's army met the storm. 
They smiled a blessing on the brave. 
While treason turned her head in shame 
To feel her secret thoughts laid bare, 
The patriot hailed the sacred flame 
That nerved his heart against despair. 
Men of tiic North! fresh courage take; 
Fear not to meet a little loss; 
Ere long our Northern Lights shall break 
The clouds around the Southern Cross. 
Our banner floats above us yet. 
Aud treason e'rc in darkness fights; 
Not yet our star of hope is set. 
Not yet are quenched our Northern Lights. 
We will not stop to reckon all 
The vacant chairs—'twere needless pain— 
Of those who. at Columbia's call. 
Joined the brave host of freedom's slain. 
From every grave w herein they lie 
Shall one day burst a victor song; 
The Northern Lights are in the sky. 
And all the land shall smile ere king. 
Harper's Weekly. 
ft# J'taug-SWJn 
LITTLE BROWN FACE IN THE FIRE: 
OR, HOW A BACHELOR WAS WON. 
My cousin, Arthur Langley, was a confirmed 
bachelor—at least, so he said, and so all his 
acquaintances believed; but why he was so was a 
profound mystery. He was rich, handsome, of 
unexceptionable family, and entirely independent 
of control. Without being a scholar, he was well 
informed; without having dabbled in art, he was an 
ardent aud intelligent admirer of its works; and his 
address, though not strictly polished, was singularly 
fascinating. 1 often .wondered that he remained so 
gentle and unaffected amid the unceasing homage 
which he had received from his birth. As a child, 
nothing in or out of the house was too good for 
“ Mars. Artur,’* and his negro nurse hid. lied, and 
stole for him in a manner which threatened seriously 
to confuse his notions ol right and wrong. As a 
boy at school, and a youth at college, he won uni¬ 
versal favor, and he had scarcely entered society 
when he became an acknowledged idol. Countless 
were the superb dresses, the jewels and laces which 
were selected and worn with reference to his sup¬ 
posed preferences, and numberless were the books 
read upon bis chance recommendation. Many a 
drawing and singing master was aided in his toil¬ 
some way by the recollection of this favorite beau, 
and bis random word helped more than one sad¬ 
eyed foreigner—French and Italian — to fill his 
classes with remunerative if not studious pupils. 
But I could not perceive that Arthur lclt the slightest 
touch of the grand passion, and in time the girls 
grew tired of their worship, and looked about for 
less impracticable subjects for their charms. 
Humor was busy with the cause of such marvelous 
. indifference. The spiteful said he was scheming for 
money: the sentimental, that death had cut off the 
object of his choice: and the romantic —owing, I 
tear, to sly hints dropped by myself— believed that 
he had fallen in love with a portrait in the shop of a 
picture-dealer in Florence, and that he was seeking 
the original in sorrowful earnestness. Nothing 
could well be further from the truth than these con¬ 
jectures, for the simple fact was that he had never 
seen the most lovable side ol womanhood. 11 is 
mother died when he was very young, and his aunt, 
a wealthy and stylish widow, took charge of the 
household. She fancied herself a model of fidelity, 
and she did really live up to her own standard, 
which was not oppressively high. She Counted the 
silver every Saturday, dusted daily the rare and 
delicate decorations of the drawing-rooms, attended 
scrupulously to the fil ling of the children’s clothing, 
and never failed to be present during their dancing 
lessons. When my uncle fell ill. she fidgeted about 
his room in tasteful morning drees, and when he 
died she attended him to his grave in becoming 
mourning. Josephine Langley profited by her pre¬ 
cept aud example. She was strikingly beautiful, 
and she became elegant and accomplished. After 
reigning in society one season she married a mil¬ 
lionaire, who would have sneered at the possibility 
of loving his own wife, aud who married her simply 
because she would lie an appropriate finish to his 
magnificent mansion. There Arthur saw a cold, 
glittering selfishness running through word and 
deed. He saw it in silly extravagance and reckless 
waste, in time and money withheld from the poor 
and suffering to be lavished in self-indulgence. In 
petty quarrels, harsh recrimination?, and moau com¬ 
pliances, The spectacle disgusted him, and when, 
in the brilliant circle in which he moved, he found 
one lovely girl becoming more pleasing to him than 
another, he recalled some scene witnessed beneath 
the roof of his brother-in-law, and thn tenderness 
faded from his dream, and his air-castles vanished. 
So he tried to content himself with his bachelor 
establishment — a suite of noble rooms in a great 
lodging-house. I lis cook. Pierre, was fat, dexterous, 
and thievish; and Adolphe, his body-servant, helped 
Pierre drink his wine, and wore his shirls and waist¬ 
coats. I disliked Pierre, but Adolphe was my 
abomination — there was so much self-conceit under 
his demure and reverential manner, aud such cool 
cunning under his pretended eagerness to serve. 
More than once I attempted to procure his dismissal, 
but Arthur said that (he rascal amused him; that be 
took him lor his skill, not his. honesty, and that he 
should keep’him as long as he could maintain 
undisputed possession of his hats, bool? and gloves. 
Affairs stood thus when Mr. Hamilton, a distant 
connection of the family, invited Arthur to spend a 
week with him in the country at - The Grove”—so 
he had named his estate. Owing to a mistake in the 
date ot the invitation, Arthnv arrived sooner than he , 
was expected, and all the gnest-ehambers were , 
occupied, so that be was put in Jennie Hamilton's, , 
she having gone out for the night. He was conscious ; 
of a peculiar pleasure the moment he entered the : 
apartment, although he could not perceive its cause. ; 
A cheerful wood fire blazed on the wide hearth, j 
sending a ruddy light to the four corners, deepening j 
the hue of the crimson curtains, and giving it mellow , 
tint to the light-colored paper, ihe toilette service, , 
and the drapery of the bed. In front was a lady’s ; 
sewing-chair, and near it, on a rosewood stand, was . 
a brown work-basket, its bag tied with scarlet rib- vision bad vanished, the fire was out, and be was a 
bons, Ihe long ends of which fell over the edge with shaking with cold, and cramped with his uncomfort- iCf J?$M IPyJC? w£> 
a coquettish grace. The cover was partially lifltsd, able posture in the deep arm-chair. ’ _ 
for Jennie hud been called in haste to visit a poor The next morning Jennie was missing, and all 
old woman in the neighborhood, and had left behind life seemed to have gone from the breakfast table. THE SEARCH FOE TRUTH, 
her two or three slight marks of the hurry of her She was accustomed to preside, and her beaming I!Y C1IAS> n bragdon 
departure. The desire to examine it wan irresistible, good humor and 'nice tact imparted a singularzost -_ 
and — I regret to confess it—Arthur peeped. How to the incal, and dismissed the circle well pleased [Mr. Bragdon. President of the Chicago Garden- 
daintly and yet how convenient every thing was to the day’s duties. Now. Mrs. Hamilton took her er’s Society, delivered the following address of wel- 
within! The very genius of comfort sat in the glit- place, but she was infirm in health, and a servant come before the Illinois State Horticultural Society, 
tering thimble, nestled in the housewife with its poured the coffee so awkwardly that all the aroma on the occasion of its recent meeting in Chicago. It 
needles, its scissors of various sizes, its wax and seemed to exhale irom it. filled the bowls too full, has not yet. been published as delivered. The fol- 
tapes, and glanced from the spools smoothly packed and let a few drops fall into the saucers in a lowing is a corrected copy:] 
in the inlaid spool-box. A new thought came into slovenly manner. Conversation flagged, and there “Mr. President and Gentlemen of the Illinois 
Arthur’s mind, and the popularity of a true union was no one to suggest new subjects, or to draw out fate- Horticultural Society; — A talented woman 
between usefulness and taste presented itself to him the guests on the old. Luckily. Jennie returned once wrote: ‘ What is done interests me more than 
for the first time. IIow wonderful the revelation before the close of the breakfast hour, and the what is thought or supposed. Every fact is impure, 
appeared to him! In the eagerness of discovery his atmosphere was speedily changed. She had but every fact contains in’it the juices of life. Every 
scruples vanished. First, he drew out a neatly- watched with the sick woman, but the crisis of the fact is a clod, from which may grow an amaranth or 
mended stocking, lie handle 1 it as if it had been disease was passed, and. walking home in the clear a palm.’ 
some rare piece of jewelry, and turned it over and frosty air. she had gathered a few bright thorn “ May I not greet yon, sir. and gentlemen, as rep- 
over again, marking every winding of the enmesh- leaves and some clusters of scarlet berries, which resentalives of a class to which this woman, by her 
ing and strengthening threads, which at the moment she put in her brown hair, and which set off—if atiy- confession, belonged—a class who road romance in 
shone to his eyes with a luster like that of pearls, tiling could be said to do so — her Spanish com* reality, philosophy and poetry in fact, and the 
Then he kicked Off one ofhis slippers, and perceived plexion and happy countenance. Arthur silently record of truth in all things—who revel in the won- 
that the great toe was just pushing through the compared her appearance with that of his .sister derful disclosures wliieli follow the study of nature 
yielding silk, and that the second was striving to after a grand party, and gained a still deeper and natural law, reap rich harvests of pure enjoy- 
keep it company. IIis other slipper followed the insight into the connection between labor ami meats in the peaceful pursuits to which you are so 
SEARCH FOE TRUTH. 
BY CHAS. D. BRAGDON. 
[Mr. Bragdon, President of the Chicago Garden- 
if. ®0fttf$ fflt tllf 1J*IMJ0, 
between usefulness and taste presented itself to him 
for the first time. IIow wonderful the revelation 
appeared to him! In the eagerness of discovery his 
scruples vanished. First he drew out a neatly- 
mended stocking, lb' handled i . as if it had been 
some rare piece of jewelry, and turned it over and 
over again, marking every w inding of the enmesh¬ 
ing and stretiglbening threads, which at the moment 
shone to his eyes with a luster like that of pearls. 
Then he kicked off one of his slippers, and perceived 
that the great toe was just pushing through the 
the guests on the old. Luckily. Jennie returned 
before the close of the breakfast hour, and the 
atmosphere was speedily changed. She had 
watched with the sick woman, but the crisis of the 
disease was passed, and, walking home in the clear 
frosty air. she had gathered a few bright thorn 
leaves aud some < lusters of scarlet berries, which 
she put in her brown hair, and which set off—if any¬ 
thing could lie said to do so — her Spanish com¬ 
plexion and happy countenance. Arthur silently 
compared her appearance with that of his sister 
first, but the foot was in no better case, for the heel 
was visible through its gray covering. “ I must buy 
a new package of hose to-morrow,” he said, with a 
half sigh. Turning again to ihe basket he look up 
a cambric handkerchief, hemmed with machine-like 
precision, but without the stiffness that machinery 
imparts to its work. Arthur placed his own beside 
it. observed Ihe edge unevenly turned aud coarsely 
basted, and indulged himself in another gentle sigh. 
Finally he lilted a vest, the size of which showed it 
to be Mr. Hamilton’s, and which had renewed its 
youth under a judicious process.of binding, new but¬ 
toning. and button-holing. A third sigh was audilile, 
and Arthur, after carefully replacing the articles, 
went to the study-table. Upon one cud of it were a 
quantity of artist's lhatcrials, and lying among them 
was a comic pen-and-ink sketch of a domestic inci¬ 
dent, which told the story with considerable spirit. 
Opposite was an open writing-desk, evidently much 
used, and with unmistakable marks of travel on its 
polished sides. Arthur bent down and read on the 
plate, “Jennie Hamilton, from E. F.*’ Who was 
“ E. F.?” Was he a manV Possibly, although the 
appointments, ro far as they were visible, were 
exquisite. Would a man have selected such a oneY 
It was Parisian in make, and Jennie had many 
traveled acquaintances. Edward Framliugbam had 
been to Europe three times. He was the very man 
to have mqde such a present Yes. Ned did make 
it. That was as clear as daylight;. Fly fox. that 
beauty. Suddenly everybody wanted more coffee, 
which They would take from no hand but Jennie's. 
Fresh muffins aud toast were ordered, eggs and 
anecdotes went round and round, and the meal 
ended with bursts qf hearty laughter. 
A party had beou arranged for the evening, one 
of those miscellaneous gatherings of old and young 
which country people like to get together. It was 
to be composed of almost all the neighboring 
acquaintances of the several families then in the 
house—uncles, aunts, and cousins, up from the city, 
to enjoy the present for the sake of the old times. 
“How will they get on without Jennie?” said 
Arthur to himself: “she must sleep this morning, 
at least." He had yet to learn that Jennie was 
never self-indulgent when the wishes or needs of 
another called her to activity. He had a hint of 
this when, in a game of romps with* the children, 
he permitted him self to lie led into the kitchen, 
where he found her deep in jellies and custards, 
cake, and trifles of innumerable kinds, and when, 
returning from tin■ woods at the head of a merry 
train laden with evergreens, she planned the decor¬ 
ations of the rooms, as lavish of care and thought 
as if she had spent the previous night in bed, like 
the uproarious troop around her. She was absent 
from the tea table, but she was ready for the earli¬ 
est of the evening guests, dressed in one of those 
black silks with which Arthur had made acquaint¬ 
ance in her closet, and for ornament only a knot of 
you are so 
Ned! aud Arthur was Conscious of a faint feeling of gay ribbon and her garland of thorn. 
dislike to his old friend. 
A knock at the door aroused him. and a servant 
entered with an apology and went to the closet on an 
errand for her mistress. She did not wait to shut 
the door, but gave it a ptish, thecuiTent from which 
sent n cloud of delicate muslin into dangerous 
proximity to the rnaqtcl lamp. A new temptation 
beset Arthur. Doubtless he should have turned his 
head aside when he replaced the fleecy folds, but he 
did no such thing. He paused at the entrance to 
the closet, and feasted his eyes upon its contents. 
A dozen cambric skirts, white as snow, and without 
any other embellishment than a broad hem at the 
bottom, and a half-dozen prettily-stitched white 
flannel ones, boldly confronted him. Across the 
end hung two black silk drosses, (and he preferred 
a black silk to any other dress,) a Mazarin blue and 
a dark brown one. Opposite them hung a narrow 
thibet. and a gay cashmere morning rdbo, with but¬ 
tons. and laces, and tasseled cords, contrasted with 
the soft fall of the summer apparel, to protect which 
was his ostensible business at the press. Beneath 
were boxes large and small, but closely shut, and a 
narrow shelf covered with pretty slippers, jaunty 
gaiters, walking boots, snow-shoes, rubbers — in 
short, with samples of all the accepted stylos of 
protection for the foot in all seasons of weather. 
Not a speck of dust was to be seen, nothing was 
awry, and regard was had, consciously or uncon¬ 
sciously. to tiie general effect in the harmonious 
arrangement of colors. Even the minutest details 
indicated thorough self-respect. For years Arthur 
had enjoyed nothing more than that long gaze into 
Jennie's closet, half-spoiled though it was by the 
consciousness of the ill-breeding of the act. 
His survey was not yet completed. He scanned 
the book-case narrowly, and carefully noted the 
volumes which it contained. All were in plain J delightful. 
Arthur did his best to make himself agreeable to 
his young hostess, but she told him that he was at 
home, and must take care Of himself, or. if he would 
be very good, he might help her to amuse the 
children. The latter was certainly a novel sugges¬ 
tion, but Ai'ther was fast falling in love, and finding 
it impossible to keep away from bis charmer, he 
established himself as her aid, ordinary and extra¬ 
ordinary. There vas a whole room full of boys 
and girls, and Jennie and Arthur soon found them¬ 
selves busy eno g'h. They danced with the little 
people until the ciders wanted the large parlors, 
and then played games of every kind, served them 
with refreshments, that no shy one should be over¬ 
looked. shawled, and bonnetted, and hatted them, 
and fairly saw them into the carriage and out of the 
grounds. 
By some unknown process one of the guest 
chambers had been vacated for Arthur, who moved 
unwillingly from his fascinating quarters. He 
grumbled about it to himself in a manner which the 
arrangement by no means justified. He said that 
he hated guest chambers—they always had an unin¬ 
habited aspect ; aud then he smiled as he remem¬ 
bered that Mr. Hamilton's were seldom empty. He 
fancied it was chilly, but the thermometer stood at 
eighty. It was on the cold side of the house, he 
argued, but ihe curtain of crimson damask effectu¬ 
ally shut out the north star and its circling constel¬ 
lations. aud he smiled a second time at his folly. 
*Tis the Looks that are wanted, he suggested, but 
moving uneasily in his chair he beheld a glass door 
closing a recess in the wall, and ranged behind it 
were most ot his favorite authors, from Chaucer to 
Hawthorne. He reluctantly confessed that he 
needed only an atmosphere warmed and vitalized 
by Jennie’s presence to make everything else 
covers except a few presentation copies, holiday 
gifts, and illustrated works. There were many 
poets. English and American, with india-iuk illus¬ 
trations more or less finished up, placed between 
the leaves. There were translations also from the 
Greek and Roman author?, a few standard histories, 
choice criticisms, and studies in art, some of the best 
manuals of natural science, and many religious 
writings of different eras and various creeds, 
Arthur nodded approval to each, rolled an easy 
chair to the hearth, and looked steadily into the 
glowing coals. Presently a little brown face 
appeared against the dazzling back-ground. It was 
very plain, but it was crowned with smooth braids 
of shining hair, and the honest countenance was 
lighted by a pair of earnest, truthful eyes, which 
could look through and abash falsehood wherever it 
might be met. A falling brand obscured it for a 
moment, then it grew brighter than ever, and 
silently lifting itself, brought to view the figure that 
belonged to it. It was not a stylish one, but it was 
round and trim, and it was arrayed in a well-fitting 
robe of simple material, edged at the neck and 
wrists with collar and cuffs of glossy linen. The 
new comer bore a striking resemblance to Jennie 
Hamilton, and flitted about with an unembarrased 
air which bespoke her ownership of the surround¬ 
ings. Smiling upon Arthur in a manner which 
made his heart beat as it had jiever done before, she. 
drew the sewing-chair to his side, put the work- 
basket on a cricket at her feet, and picking up his 
handkerchief rehemmed it. chatting the while upon 
such topics as naturally presented themselves. 
Never had the flight of white and jewelled lingers 
over the keys of a piano or the strings of a harp 
bewitched Arthur like the movements of those 
small brown ones managing the needle with such 
dexterous grace; and never hail lie found small talk 
so agreeable as that light midnight gossip. lie 
tried to beguile his visitor into a prolonged stay, 
and brought out his choicest anecdotes one after 
another, until she. thinking one of them especially 
picttiresque, dropped the kerchief, and seizing a 
The period appointed for Arthur’s visit passed 
but too quickly, aud his return home was anything 
but pleasurable. He found Adolphe no longer 
amusing, and Pierre's dishonesty unendurable. 
Ilis beautiful apartment looked cheerless. Ho 
wanted the basket and sewing chair more than ever, 
lie bore it awhile, and then wrote to Mr. Hamilton 
that he was lonely and blue, and longed to get back 
to the cheerful country house. 
“ Poor fellow,” said Mr. ! lamilton. “ it is shocking 
dull, ibis living in chambers. I tried it myself once, 
and came near hanging myself. And it is very 
cheerful here, as Arthur says. He may come, 
mayn’t be, mother, and stay as long as lie likes?” 
Mrs. Hamilton, who never differed from her 
spouse in hospitable intentions, answered “Yes;” 
aud the return mail carried an intimation to Arthur 
that he was welcome to a plate and bed at •• The 
Grove ’’ at any and all times. 
There was a something vastly suspicious in the 
manner of Arthur’s setting out for this second visit. 
A hamper of excellent wine just received from a 
friend in Europe preceded him. because it happened 
to be of a kind that Mr. Hamilton had commended. 
Bruno, (he groat dog, accompanied him, because 
Jennie lilted dogs; and among his luggage was a 
trunk tilled with choice engravings and objects of 
art, while a fine saddle* horse followed him. osten¬ 
sibly because he could not be trusted at the stables, 
but really intended as a present to Jennie, should it 
appear probable that she would accept the gift. 
I heard pretty regularly from Arthur during the 
winter, liis letters being dated from “ The Grove” 
as frequently as from his chambers; but I could 
only infer from their general tone that affairs were 
progressing hopefully. One morning, however, in 
the following spring, upon entering a jeweler’s 
shop. I perceived one of the proprietors in close 
attendance upon a young man. who was standing 
with an open jewel case before him, and giving 
minute directions for the resetting of some magnifi¬ 
cent pearls. “Arthur!*’ r exclaimed, and in a 
minute Arthur was whispering, “Congratulate me, 
coz,—I have won her!” 
Aud so Jennie Hamilton, without beauty, or 
style, or fortune, married my admired and petted 
i ' 
pencil, illustrated it with a few rapid ami graphic cousin: and from That, day to this he has uttered 
strokes. As site placed it within her desk a handful fervent thanksgivings that'lhe lovable home side of 
of letters fell out. The superscription was Ned womanhood was revealed to him before he had been 
„ ... . , 1 . , , captivated by more outside show, or had become too 
Framl ingham s. A pang of jealousy shot through „i<l to acCt .,,[ llie deep and lasting happiness which 
Arthurs heart. He sprang to his feet, and lo! the it never fails to yield. 
devoted, who. to use a hackneyed couplet: 
“ * Find tongues in trees, books in the running brooks, 
Sermons in stones, ami good in every thing.’ 
“May I not welcome you to our city and to our 
hospitalities, as diligent searchers after truth? For 
truth, like nature, is permanent—is enduring. And 
1 may add. pertinently. I trust, that this search for 
truth is the work of this life—the Alpha and Omega 
of our mission here! 
“ It is to be sought out and adopted—searched for 
as for hidden treasure, and With a zeal correspond¬ 
ing to that with which we follow after comparative 
dross. 
“Truth is worthy the labor mankind expend in 
■ finding it. It is omnipotent and omnipresent It is 
every where in nature, and as powerful as it is con¬ 
stant in the exercise of its power. It surrounds us, 
molds our life, controls our existence—is material to 
our existence. 
“Truth is sweet, palatable, profitable—always 
sweet to the honest man, palatable to tbe upright, 
and profitable to all men. It is beautiful, too. 
Shaftsbury wrote a great truth when he wrote, ; the 
most natural beatify in the world is honesty and 
moral truth.' And he might have added—all truth 
is beautiful. 
“ Again. I say. it is to be sought for everywhere and 
by everybody. No one is released from the respon¬ 
sibility of this work in life, for it is the test by which 
we fix the standard value of all things and theories, 
physical substances, and metaphysical nonentities. 
“Every bud that bursts, every tiny grass blade 
that springs from the rested and winter nourished 
earth, every pebble and every dew drop, every 
genu of a new life, is a truth, and involves a multi¬ 
tude of other truths in its existence. 
“Cuusabon says: ‘The study of truth is perpetu¬ 
ally joined xn ith a love of virtue, for there is no vir¬ 
tue which derives not its original from truth. Truth 
is the foundation of all knowledge, and the cement. 
of all society.' Its study, therefore, involves virtue 
and begets knowledge; it is something to do to 
secure it and adopt it. We are to seek it for its own 
sake—seek it for the good it may do us—seek it for 
the power it will give us to do good to others—seek 
it everywhere and constantly. 
“Colton says: ‘Pure truth, like pure gold, hits 
been found unfit for circulation, because men have 
found it far more convenient to adulterate the truth 
than to refine themselves. They will not advance 
their minds to the standard, therefore they lower 
the standard to their minds.’ 
“This may be true of the language of truth, 
abstractly, and f !ton’s words will be appreciated 
by such of you as nave much commerce with men; 
hut it will be ti md that the great natural truths 
which underlie success in all the departments of 
human life, directly dependent upon them, must 
become current ; not only so, but so familiar to us all 
that we shall bo able to detect the genuine from the 
counterfeit, and reject the adulterated. 
“ Something must be done to obtain this result 
We are all convinced of it. We have ample expe¬ 
rience teaching us the fact; our interests demand it; 
we led the pressure of circumstances — circum¬ 
stances which we have not the power to control— 
daily. Wo have not the power , because « e have not 
the knowledge which gives the power—we submit 
per force 'to circumstances—and how tamely do we 
submit! Where is our patient, persistent effort to 
dig up the truth or class of truths that shall bring 
us to relief? 
“ We Lave enemies—open and secret enemies. 
They prey upon us, destroy our substance, neutral¬ 
ize our labor, dishearten and disarm us! Why? 
Because we do not know them—do not know the 
truths which illumine the laws that govern them— 
which disclose* tu us the guise in which they come to 
torment us. and the character of their weapons. 
How shall*we meet them, and what must be the 
Order of battle, what the mode of attack? aud what 
will be the result of a victory on either side? it is 
plain, if we study our own interests, (hat the causes 
which contribute to our adversity must be sought 
out aud removed. The incidental growth of weeds 
and hedgerows in the way of our progress must he 
hewn down and uprooted, 
•• We have friends—open and secret friends, known 
and unknown, appreciated and unappreciated — 
friends that labor for us, promote our interests, min¬ 
ister to our comfort, and aid in the supply of our 
wants. They often come iu disguise, -and we too 
often repel them. They are a good providence to 
us. They prey upon our enemies, and surround 
and defend us from them. They linger about the 
homestead, and in the orchard, garden and field, 
they labor for us. They are active ministers to our 
comfort—faithful and true agents. It is important 
we should know them. It is imperative that we 
learn to distinguish our friends Irurn our enemies. 
The search t'or truth involves the acquisition of this 
knowledge. And I do not underestimate any man’s 
knowledge, when I aver that only the A B C of the 
truths that affect our life aud prosperity, as a pro¬ 
ducing people, have been learned. • 
“ This, then, I think, is the character of the work 
before us—the intent that has gathered us together. 
“ In behalf, therefore, of the Society I have the 
honor to represent, and the lovers of horticultural 
truth in this city, aud as co-laborers, miners, Reivers 
after truth, I give you good greeting, and a right 
cordial welcome to Chicago.” 
-- 
The miud is like a trunk. If well‘packed, it 
holds almost everything ; if ill packed, .next to 
nothing. 
For Moore's Rural New-Yorker. 
MISCELLANEOUS ENIGMA. 
Eds. Rural Nrw-Yorebk:— Inclosed you will find an 
enigma for insertion in your columns at pleasure. It will be 
a little different from those you generally use. and will be 
rather difficult to work out: 
• 
I am composed of 84 characters. 
1st. My 69. 74. 2, 8, 30. II, 38. 52. 4, 38. 11. 34. 64. 37, 70 is a 
query generally asked by my 17, 20, 27. 58. 3. 42 on the 
advent of my 80. 5. 51. 1. 35. 15, 61. 28, 87 into society. 
2d. My 32. 7, 64. 10, 25, 22, 52,13, 69. 36, 55 is n short sen¬ 
tence which iB, at certain times, used with great effect by 
my 11, 67. 27,12, 24, 9, 61, 23, 577 42 who have marriago-' 
able daughters, to the discomfiture, of their 25,28,66. 44,47. 
3d. My 81. 63. 73, 3, 61, when placed before my 81. 23, 48, SO, 
represents a time long to be remembered by all American 
citizens. 
4th. My 38, ol', 62 is in the singular Dumber, but if my 84 be 
added, it becomes plural. 
6th. My 46. 32, 68, 28 is a name which ought to be held dear 
by every 81, 71, 42, 21, 50, 37, 27; but when my 65, 2, 32, 
17, 27, 0, 73. 61 use it, it is changed to that of mv 61. 11, 
I. 14, 5, 41. 
6th. My 16, 35, 39, 19, 50 comes next before my 21, 73. 4.3. 16, 
but my 11, 30, 62, 70, 24 comes last of all. 
7th. My 53, 60, 20. 37, 34, 10 are due by all my 59, 72, 44, 5, 
18, 24. 63, 41, 32, 38, 1, 74 to my 6, 54. 22,18, 72, 3. 42, 74; 
that is, all who have stood up matifully for my 9, 69, 30, 
19, 59, in this the time of our country’s 27, 58. 74, 13, 72, 
6, 10, 42. 
Stfc. My 26. 69, 37. 40, 71, 8 bears the same relation to my 29, 
69, 45. 22 that my 82. 48, 79 hears to the sum of my 29, 
68, 12. 43, 48. 78, and my 23, 64, 32. 9. 1, 48. 75. 
9tli. My 33, 2». 42, 71,10 was the means of raising my 67, 56. 
49. 16, 41. 44. 74 from the 30, 9, 24, 45. 62 to 4, 32. 29, 15, 
thereby causing great excitement among the 33. 3, 6, 42. 
10th My 76, 77, 78, 79. 80, 81. 82,83 is another farm of express¬ 
ing my 1, 46, 6, 51. 7, 48,13.19.9,8,15,61, 32, 67, 4, 58, 38, 
37.10. 12, 11. 44. 72. 2. 71. 37, 52, 57. 22. 27. 16, 37, 52. 29, 
64, 68, 7, 48, 74. 69, 47, 6. 60, 11, 71, 42, 66, 37, 27. 42, 73, 
45, 55, 51, 2, 44, 37. 52, 9. 28, 27, 5(1, 37. 27. 55, 32. 30, 54. 
63, 48. 51, 32, 37. 55. 
11th. By using my 39. 5, 57. 42, 22, 40, 55, 72, 16. 51, 26. 62, 
and my 32, 37, 70, 28, 61, 44, 58, 1, 48, this enigma may be 
worked. 
12tli. My 27, 52, 7, 36. 11. 38, 57, 15 conducts one of the best 
papers for the benefit of ray 68, 20. 72, 61, 3, 41. 10 that 
lias ever beeii published in 13, 2, 55, 74, 6, 24 43, 8. 42. 
13tli: Take away my 14. 73, 20, 27, my 25. 38, 52. 48, and ray 
31. 16. 37. 27. 42. together with my 24, 41. 61,10, my 29, 
5, 8, 63. and my 35. 55, 30, 74 from my 19, 71, 61, 50, 37, 
68. 41. 56, 36, 28. aud nothing will remain 
14th. My 39, 66. 4-1. 4 was once called 36, 73. 9. 65. 44. 41. 58, 
44. 10, and my 21, 66, 51. 37, Hi, 26, 66, 42 w as called 33, 
44.18. 69. I, 28. 72, because they were supposed to be 70, 
II. 27, 42 instead of men. 
My whole may, be divided in two parts, without the first of 
which no love-letter could be written, nor tig newspaper 
printed Nearly all of my first part was used in writing the 
Declaration of Independence. .My last part is of so much use 
to all of us that we could not do without it very well. It 
pleases the possessor to know it well, and those who have not 
a knowledge of it, desire to have. A complete knowledge of 
my whole is seldom attained, and a partial knowledge of my 
whole has mode many a poor man rich 
Cross Creek Village, Pa., 1862. “ Watermelon." 
In order that our young readers may have sufficient time to 
work out the foregoing, the answer will not be published until 
the 22d of February, 
CHARADE. 
Mr first is marked by good or ill. 
Or is a blessing or a woe ; 
My second does each purpose fill 
Of use, variety, or abort ; 
United, they a thing ex press 
That’s never found in scenes of pleasure. 
Whose use a moral may impress, 
And of the first it is the measure. 
ini’ Answer in two weeks. 
For Moore's Rural New-Yorker. 
ARITHMETICAL PROBLEM. 
Sold a hogshead of 63 gallons of molasses for $25, and by 
so doing made as many cents on each gallon as I paid dollars 
for hogshead. Required, purchase price. 
January, 1802, Wm. Chaplin. 
J[3f* Answer in two weeks. 
> _ _ _ 
ANSWERS TO ENIGMAS, dec., IN No. 626. 
Answer to Agricultural Enigma:—In the sweat of thy face 
sbalt thou eat bread. 
Answer to Bouquet of Flowers:—1, Four-o'clock; 2, Fox- 
Glove; 3, Sweet William; 4, White Lily; 5. Blue Bell; 6, Red 
Piuk: 7. Lady's Slipper; H, Rich Lydia; 9, Cow slip; 10. Monks¬ 
hood; 11, Jessa-mine: 12, LaJy of the Lake; 13, Wax Piuk; 
14 DatuaskRose, 15, Lark-spur; 16, Rose-Mary; 17. Morning 
Glory; 18, Car nation. 
Answer to Decapitations:—Clock, boat, boil, pear, brook 
seven, plane, broom, bale, box, bowl, table. 
Answer to Geometrical Problem;—100. 
MOORE'S RURAL NEW-YORKER, 
THE LARGEST CIRCULATED 
AGRICULTURAL, LITERARY AND FAMILY WEEKLY, 
IS PUBLISHED EVERY SATURDAY, 
D. D. T. MOORE, ROCHESTER, X. Y. 
Office, Union -Buildings, Opposite the Conit House, Buffalo Street. 
• TJdRJVtS IN ADVANCE: 
Two Dollars a Year.— To Clubs and Agents as follows:— 
Three Copies one year, for $5; Six, aud one tree to club agent, 
for $ 10 ; Ten. and one tree, for $15; Fifteen, and one free, for $21; 
Twenty, aud one free, for $25; and any greater number at same 
rate —only $1.25 per copy. 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?q cents per copy to 
the club rates of the KrR.vi. The lowest price qf copies sent tc 
Europe, &c, is $2.50—including postage, 
t3?~ The above Terms, and Rates are invariable. Therefore, 
any person who Is nothn agent, seuding the club rate i$1.50 ox 
$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 
single copy price. People who send us toss than published 
rates, and request the paper for a year, or a return of the 
money, cannot be accommodated —for it would be "unjust to 
others to comply, and a great inconvenience to return remit¬ 
tance-''. The only way to get the Rural for less than $2 a year, 
is to form or Join a club. 
The Cash System is strictly adhered to iu publishing the 
Rural— copies are never mailed to individual subscribers until 
paid for, and always discontinued when the subscription term 
expires. Hence, we toree the paper upon none, and keep no 
credit books, long experience having demonstrated that the 
Cash Plan is the best for both Subscriber and Publisher. 
Auditions to Clous are always in order, whether in oneB, 
twos, fives, tens, twenties, or any other number Subscriptions 
can commence with the volume or any number; but the former 
is the best time, and we shall send from it for some weeks, unless 
specially directed otherwise. Please “ make a note of it.” 
Our Inducements for obtaining subscribers to the Thirteenth 
Volume Of the Rural, for 1862, are of the most Liberal and 
Substantial character. Premium Lists, Show-Bills, Ac., sent 
free to all disposed to act as agent'. 
Any person so disposed can act as local agent for the Rural 
New-Yobx Kit, and those who volunteer in the good cause will 
receive gratuities, aud their kindness be appreciated. 
No Travemng Agents are employed by us, as we wish to 
give the whole held to local agents and those who form clubs. 
l'&~ See Publisher’s Notices on preceding page. 
