apri 
take the portrait with you aad I will stay here 
until evening.” 
“ Yes, Agnes, and I am very happy that you can 
wear so glad a face, to add to the pleasure of your 
father's anniversary. He has gone out of town and 
will not he home till night.” 
I did not sit down to enjoy my light-heartedness. 
The moment mother had gone, I bolted the door 
and then unlocked a trunk of dresses I had worn 
before my own mother died. I busied myself all 
day in putting them into wearing order. Then I 
selected a white muslin and robed myself in it for 
the evening. I had just finished arranging the blue 
ribbons in my hair, when 1 heard father's step in the 
hall. I stole softly down stairs and heard his pleased 
expressions when mother showed him the portrait. 
Then I entered the parlor. Father and mother both 
looked surprised when they saw me, but very glad. 
The explanations were soon over. 
That was four years ago. We have led very hap¬ 
py lives together since then. 1 am sad to-night, that 
the dear ties are so soon to be sundered. To-morrow 
I am to leave the shelter of the home roof. I shall 
have a strong nnn to lean on, and a true heart to 
confide in: but it will oe hard to go. It will be 
hard to leave them all— Rose and Willie and 
Stella, and the darling baby Sarah, named from 
my first mother, and father; but the saddest parting 
will lie from mother. My heart faints when I think 
of if. 
“.May your step-children be patterns of dutiful 
conduct, Miss Brown.” 
After such conversations, as was natural enough, 
perhaps, I was more strongly fixed in my way than 
before. One day I called upon dear, motherly Mr?. 
Wade. She had been brought up a Quakeress, and 
with her gentle “thee” and “thou ” she gave me a 
lesson. 
“ Agnes! I know just how thou feelest now. I 
have been in thy place. When I was of Ihine age 
my father took home a bride to be a mother to me. 
I did not welcome her. She was gentle and lovable; 
but I would not love her, because my father hud 
married her. I wished her away a great many 
times, and she only staid a twelve-month with us. 
She tried to win my love during all that, time, l 
know. But I hardened my heart against her. In 
about a twelve-month she was taken sick. She was 
delirious. And over and over again Bbe lived, in 
mind, the twelve months she had passed with us. 
She would plead with me. mournfully, to love her. 
and would say— ( It will make me very glad if you 
will call me mother.' I was the constant theme and 
burden of her thoughts. A little before she died 
her consciousness returned. I called her dear 
mother then, Agnes, and begged her to forgive my 
unkindness. But all my repentings and loving 
words could not stay her feet from treading the 
‘dark valley.' I am burdened still with the sad 
remembrance of my treatment of her. Agnes! 
wilt tbou choose to take upon thyself such a weari¬ 
some burden? Thou wilt do most honor to the 
memory of thy gentle mother, by following in her 
gentle ways.” 
Mrs. Wade sent a message to Mrs. Barton. It 
was just after dark when I reached home, and I 
went directly to “ her” room to deliver it. She was 
not there, but I heard her soft, clear voice in the 
uursery. 
“ Please, mama, tell us about your little Lizzie,” 
said Rose. Then I heard for the first time the story 
of a dear little prattler, three years old. whom God 
had taken to heaven five years before. “ Little 
Lizzie's papa has gone to heaven too.” the sweet 
voice added, ■■ and you know that you have a dear 
mama there.” 
“May be Lizzie’s papa, and rny mama, and little 
Lizzie, are keeping lionse together up there,” said 
speculative little Rose. 
- We will talk of these dear ones again.” was the 
only reply. “ 1 wish to have you think very often 
of your dear mama, whom we hope to meet some¬ 
time in that better land. Let us pray together now.'> 
Then came the “good night” kisses. When my 
step-mother entered her room 1 folt half constrained 
to throw my arms around her neck, and bog her to 
forgive me. and let uie call her mother, if she could 
do so after ail my coldness. But pride came, and I 
followed its bidding. I mecrly delivered Mrs. 
Wade's message and left the room with a formal 
“Good night. Mrs. Barton. ' I thought I saw tears 
ill her eyes as I went out, and had an impulse then 
to go hack, but pride said no, and pride conquered. 
I did not go on in my way with as self-satisfied a 
feeling after this. I lost my studied politeness, but 
my stubborn will would not sutler me to substitute 
gentle ways, so I must have been more disagreeable 
than ever, in the family. This state ol things con¬ 
tinued for a fortnight. Father’s wife asked me one 
morning to her room. Now, thought 1. there is to 
be an assumption of authority,—a long lecture, 
some penance, perhaps, and I was not prepared to 
hear her say. “Agnes, L am planning what I think 
will be a pleasant surprise to, your father, on his 
birth-day. To make it a success, 1 need your 
assistance. There is, you know, no large portrait 
of your mother. Russell, [the artist, is in town, 
and says he can paint a good likeness from the small 
ambrotype. It will help him very much to receive 
suggestions from you. and he would like your fre¬ 
quent attendance while he is engaged on it. Will 
you step into his rooms to-day with the ambrotype, 
and give him orders to commence the work imme¬ 
diately?” 
Do you think I threw my arms around her then 
and thanked her for her kind thoughtfulness? That 
was my first impulse: but something whispered in 
my heart. -She's trying to buy you,” so I said 
coldly, “I will do so.” 
Fattier invited me to his study, not long after, ne 
was very kind, but very firm, and the final under¬ 
standing was. that unless my behavior should be 
materially improved within a month, I must go 
three hundred miles away, to Miss McLawrie's 
strict boarding-school. But I made no promise of 
amendment- About this time many of my school¬ 
mates at Mrs. Lyman's Seminary were consecrating 
their young lives to the service ol God. One after 
another of them came to me, and told me with 
beaming faces of the preciousness of having Christ 
for a friend. I was deeply interested in all this: for 
I bad never forgotten my precious mother's last 
words to me. I tided to find the way to the Savior. 
but something seemed to hinder me. When I 
prayed for forgiveness, uo soft still voice whispered 
to my heart. *• Thy sins are forgiven thee.” I began 
to despair of ever finding that peace, that my com¬ 
panions spoke of “ as a river of joy." While in this 
state of mind I heard a sermon from the text, 
- Purge your conscience from dead works to serve 
the living God.” One sentiment only I carried 
away with me. The preacher said. “ If we would 
serve God, we must first forsake any known wrong 
and make reparation, if possible: that so long as we 
clung to our sin, we could find no access to the ear 
of Gon.” Ever since my conversation with Mrs. 
Wade. I had felt that I was doing wrong. My 
step-mother's kindness had strengthened this opin¬ 
ion, and I resolved, while going home for church, to 
take this stumbling block out of the way. I could 
hardly wait for the morning. As soon as father had 
left the house I went directly to my step-mother. 
“ The picture has just come,” she said. “ Would 
you like to keep it in your room to-day?” So we 
carried it up stairs together. When we had re¬ 
moved the wrappings, it seemed to me that the loved 
face smiled approvingly upon me, with my new 
resolutions. 
“ It is perfect.” I said. “ But I wish to speak oj 
something else. I have wronged you — I see my 
error,— can you forgive me? Will you let me call 
you • mother now?" 
I heard no word in reply, but mother clasped 
me to her bosom and we wept together. After a 
little she talked with me very kindly and lovingly. 
Then she kissed me and would have gone, but I 
had another burden 
TUmcvtiscuicnts 
And I made stronger resolves than ever to make the 
new wife’s position as uncomfortable as possible. I 
shudder now to think how I hated her, determin¬ 
ing, before I saw her, never to regard her with any 
kindliness. Next day I went down stairs. Father 
looked sad. He seemed very cold toward me- 
That “miserable woman!” I thought again, and my 
hatred grew. A few days afterward, father had a 
private conference with cousin Matilda. I guessed 
what it was about. When he was gone, she said to 
me:- 1 “Agnes! 1 am very glad your father is going 
to marry. 1 told him three months ago that I must 
leave him, for with my poor health I am totally 
unfit to manage the children, and the care of the 
housekeeping is to® great a burden for me. I have 
heard of Mrs. Granger before, and think your 
lather has made a very wise selection.” 
“If you please, cousin Matilda, we will not talk 
about it In the first place, I cannot bear the 
thought of your leaving us. 
old loneliness back again; 
kind. Then, beside, 
RED, WHITE, AND BLUE 
BY GEORGK W. BUNGAY 
pORTABLE STEAM ENGINES 
manufactured by' 
A. A. WOOD & CO., 
The dim old woods, alt winter mute, 
Bow their young leaves once more to hear 
Tlie blue bird* soft and cheerful flute, 
And streams unfettered shouting near. 
The ground, baptized with crimson rain 
From patriot hearts to honor true. 
Is fragrant with sweet flowers again, 
Whose petals are red, white, and blue. 
Let the blue blossom lean it« head 
l pon the sod where sleeps the brave. 
And lilies white and roses red 
Breathe imltn upon the soldier's grave. 
The brand, blue wing of heaven unfurled. 
Shall shield the slumbering child of Mars, 
And lie who molds and guides the world 
Shall watch him with undumbering stars. 
JV. T. Tribune. 
It will bring all the 
and yon have been very 
I cannot be pleased with 
father's marrying. So, dear cousin, let’s not speak 
of it again.” 
After this everything seemed to go on as usual. 
I could not see any change in father's manner 
toward me, but I felt that he hud grown stern. Tn 
about two months be made another journey. After 
he had gone, cousin Matilda seemed to forget her 
invalid habits, and commenced house-cleaning, 
from “cellar to garret.” The first day I looked on 
while she superintended, and Biddy and Mrs. 
O’Riley did the work. Next morning she was sick 
from over-exertion. “Now that dear good woman 
will worry all day about this house cleaning.” I said 
to myself. “ I might oversee it, aud relieve her. 
But I am not going to assist in these preparations.' 
Then another thought, no better in itself, but bring¬ 
ing about better practical results, suggested itself 
“She shall not have it to say, as Mrs, Peabody 
doesj ‘they were in a most doleful condition here 
when I came. Everything was arranged according 
to the approved method of the representatives ot 
the Emerald Isle.” ’ 
“No! Mrs. Barton (sA<? and her wore beginning 
to be the common appellations with which I desig¬ 
nated her) should find that we were just as comfort¬ 
able and stylish hero without her presence as we 
could be with it.” With this new idea I set at work, 
and Mrs. O'Rilev and Biddy found a more ener¬ 
getic overseer than cousin Matilda had been. Such 
a taking up and putting down and cleaning of car¬ 
pets: such washing of paint and windows; such 
polishing and re-arranging of furniture as we 
accomplished, astonished even ourselves. Every 
household ornament was brought to light, and tried 
first here, and then there, until “just the right place” 
for it was at lenglb found. 
This was my first experience in the actual work 
of house-cleaning. Hitherto. 1 had been a looker 
on: but now, really enthusiastic, I entered wholly 
into the spirit of it. There was not a nook, or cor¬ 
ner, or cupboard, or closet, or drawer, or box, from 
the low attic to the coal cellar, that did not undergo 
a thorough renovation. All completed, Mi’s. O’Riley' 
was dismissed, saying, with her adieus. “ I don't see 
why Misthcr Barton should be afther Yvanling to 
marry, when he has rich a jewel of a house misthress 
as the young lady is, to bo sure.” Cousin Matilda 
“took a motherly pride in my performances, and 
remarked to occasional callers, that she thought 
there were but few girls of sixteen who had so good 
executive ability as 1. The baking was to be done. 
Cousin was not able to be in the kitchen: but she 
gave me full instructions, and I w as as proud as 
Biddy of the pastry our oven turned out. Every¬ 
thing was just ready on the day when father was to 
bring home his bride. Two hours before their arri¬ 
val 1 went to my room, telling cousin Matilda she 
might make whatever apology for me she chose, as 
I should not be down stairs again that night. The 
children had all been coaxed into long naps that 
afternoon, and sat up in eager anticipation of the 
arrival. Little Rosa's mourning dress had been 
replaced by a pink one. the bright colors of which 
seemed to afford her great delight, 
1 beard the carriage when it came. 1 heard the 
joyous exclamations of the children, and father’s 
happy, old fashioned laugh. The gleeful sounds 
angered me, and when occasionally there mingled 
with those the tones of a clear, soft, strange voice. I 
hated it. Bitter thoughts, like those I had indulged 
in Yvlien father came home from his previous jour¬ 
ney took possession of me again. “ I dare say.” I 
said to myself, “ father has not taken the trouble to 
inquire after me, after all 1 have been doing during 
his absence, too!” I did not sleep very much that 
night. When I entered Lite parlor next morning. 1 
found father alone there. He kissed me. and said, 
-Cousin Matilda told me lari night what a famous 
housekeeper you hare been.” He was about to add 
something more, w T hen his wife entered, and he said, 
“Mrs. Barton, this is our daughter Agnes! 
Agnes! your mother.” I mechanically extended 
my hand, but feigned not to notice her offered kiss. 
The children came bounding in. and were evi¬ 
dently already on the best of terms with Mrs. Bar¬ 
ton. Rose went to her with pretty, natural grace, 
and offered with her “Good morning, mama,” 
a greeting kiss. Willie was more shy, but evi- 
dently admired his new mama exceedingly. Even 
baby Stella said "Good morniiT. mama," as if she 
had practiced it for a year. “Just as 1 feared,” I 
thought to myself; “she has already stolen their 
affections from dear mother.”. They all seemed 
very happy at breakfast, but I kept silence. Father 
regarded my black dress and gloomy countenance 
very gravely, but I determined to follow' in the 
course 1 had marked out. Day after day passed, and 
the days lengthened into weeks, and “she” and I 
were still strangers. I kept my own room as much as 
possible, and w hen in her presence, hardly spoke, 
except in monosyllables. I took pains to wear the 
“deepest mourning,” which contrasted strangely 
with the bright spring robes in which the others 
were clad. 
Everybody in the village knew, of course, how 
matters stood. Mrs. Jenkinson was the first to 
speak of them to me. “Agnes, your conduct is 
making a great deal of talk!” she said. “Some 
folks pity you and say you are doing just right. 
But a'lnost everybody blames you. You would 
have more friends if yott would take off your black 
and say ‘ mother,' and it would stop the talk." 
“ Lot people talk if they choose. I thank them for 
honoring me with so much attention.” 
Miss Brown, an “ancient maiden," whose traps 
to catch the widower Lawrence, with seven chil¬ 
dren, were notorious, next took me to task. “ Mercy 
knows," she exclaimed, “ that it is no desirable 
place for your mother. Only a self sacrificing spirit 
of kindness and charity could prevail upon any one 
to go into such a family of children. You ought to 
call her 1 mother,’ and treat her like a mother, too.” 
[Written for Moore's Rural New-Yorker.] 
MY STEP-MOTHER AND I 
1 O W INTO cfe C O 
STEEL AMALGAM BELLS, 
FOR FARMS, PLANTATIONS, SCHOOL-HOUSES, &c. 
These Bellsbeine an alloy of Cast Steel, give out a more sharp, 
clear and much more sonorous sound, and arc of much strong¬ 
er metal than others in the market. 
Father had been away from us on a journey, and 
and we had given him a joyful welcome homo. 
Then cousin M atilda, our housekeeper, after put¬ 
ting the little ones to bed, retired herself, and he 
and I were left sitting together before the parlor 
grate. 
“I am so glad you are home again, dear Father.” 
ne did not seem to notice my remark. Presently 
he said, “I am very glad to have this opportunity 
for a little conversation alone with you. You under¬ 
stood, Agnes, that I Yvas absent on business?” 
“Yes, sir.” 
“ The business I have been transacting is of the 
greatest importance to myself, and to you. and to 
the younger children; aud the result of it is, that on 
my return home from my next journey, yon will 
have two to welcome instead of one. I think you 
will be pleased with the lady of my choice, and I 
am sure that you will do everything you can to 
make her position here a pleasant one.” 
lie seemed to expect some reply from ac, but his 
announcement was so unexpected that I sat lor a 
moment in stupid amazement. Then, suddenly 
comprehending what he had said. I answered:—“A 
short twelve month has not sufficed to make me for¬ 
get my dear, dead mother. It you have been able 
so soon to give to another her place in your heart, 
you are mistaken in expecting me to welcome her 
to our home.” 
“Agnes!” said my father, in a trembling voice, 
“you open afresh the wounds in my heart that no 
length of time can ever heal. In seeking for a wife, 
I have been urged by the interest of my children. 
She who has promised to come to lie a mother to 
you. has won my esteem by her excellent qualities 
of mind and heart. She 1ms buried her dearest 
friends, and—” 
I interrupted him —“I cannot listen to you, 
father—good night!” 
I hurried to my chamber, and throwing myself 
passionately upon my bed. cried until I was 
exhausted. Then I began to form plans for the 
future. They ran somewhat like this:—“I will 
leave home the night she comes. The moment she 
comes in at ouc door, I will go out at the other. I 
can not aud will not submit to a step-mother's 
authority. I can never see any one filling my pre¬ 
cious mother's place. But no! What will become 
of the little ones if I should go? I will not leave 
them. I would tell them all to rise up against the 
new authority, if I dared. But then father would 
certainly banish me somewhere, and that will not 
answer. There is one thing, however, I can and 
will do. I will be most freezingly polite to her. I 
will call her Mrs. Barton, but “mother,” never! 
She shall always know from my manner toward 
her, that I consider her an unwelcome intruder. 
Dear little Stella! she'll grow up believing that 
this woman is really her mother. My angel mother! 
all the little ones, I fear, will lose the precious 
memory of you; but your Agnes will churish it as 
the dearest treasure of her life.” 
I recalled the sad death scene of the year before. 
It seemed but as yesterday that it occurred. Mother 
had been ill tor some weeks. Nurse Willard had 
taken the principal care of her: but either father or 
I had been by her bedside during all the weary 
days and nights. The night before her departure, 
father had watched with her. He had just lain 
down after breakfast, when the nurse, casting a 
frightened glance toward the sick couch, exclaimed. 
“Run. Agnes, call yonr father.” 
“ Is mother worse?” 
“ Yes! dying! When you have called your father, 
bring the children in.” 
Nurse had spoken truly. Only a few brief part¬ 
ing words could the dear lips speak to us. 
“ God will comfort you. iny beloved husband. 
Your love has made my pathway very bright. I 
will wait for you in heaven." 
“For you. my sweet Agnes, your dying mother's 
last wish is, that you may love the Savior, and put 
your trust in nim. You have been a dutiful daugh¬ 
ter. Good bye!” 
“ Be a good girl, Rose, and meet dear mamma in 
heaven.” she said to my little sister eight years old. 
“ Willie, you'll not forget mamma, darling, will 
you?” Five-year-old Willie looked around, 
oppressed with a vague fear, and sobbed aloud as 
the pale lips kissed him for the last time. 
Then nurse brought baby Stella, the darling of 
our flock, who had been with us just a year. Mother 
kissed the smiling little one: oh, so fondly! looked 
around again upon ns all, whispered a sweet and 
last good bye, then her eyes closed. We heard 
her sav, “Jesus. I come,” and in another momeni 
she was gone. I recalled the sad scene over ami 
over again. 
The old-fashioned clock in the diningroom pealed 
out the departing hours. Twelve, then one—two— 
three—four—and five; still I lay thinking, and weep¬ 
ing, until I heard the breakfast bell. I attempted 
to rise, but found myself sick and laint. Cousin 
Matilda came up to my room to inquire after me. 
She was alarmed at my appearance. I know she 
would tell father that I seemed very ill. But during 
the long, long day, as 1 lay there with my terrible 
headache, father did not come to me. Before, when 
I had been sick, ho had bathed my head, and read 
to me, and cared for me' like a tender mother. 
This thought made me led more bitter toward the 
woman lie had said he should marry. “ So soon,” 
I said to myself, “ she has come between father and 
his children.” I repeated the old couplet: 
“ A mother's a mother all the days of her life ; 
A father’s a father tiU he finds a new wife 
She has just been to me with her precious words 
of love and counsel. I leel stronger for them. She 
has been a constant blessing to me since I gave my¬ 
self up to her guiding care. Her good instructions 
will go with me. God bless her, and may he bless 
till good step-mothers, and turn the hearts of their 
children toward them. 
Rochester, N. Y ■ 1862. 
For Moore's Rural New-Y'orker. 
MISCELLANEOUS ENIGMA. 
I am composed of 27 letters. 
My 1, 7,15, 19 is a girl’s name. 
My 2, 6, 5. 13, 14, 15 is the name of a’planet. 
My 3. 17,18, 3 is the name of a Icing. 
My 4. 3, 3. 25,16 is the name of a Commodore. 
Mv 5, 25, 8. 2, 3 is the name of a poet. 
My 9, 22, 12, 27, 10 is the name of a signer of the Declara¬ 
tion of Independence. 
My 20, 21, 11, 24,16, 15 was a hero of the Revolution. 
My 23, 10, 12 is not dry. 
My 18,1 : 22, 7,16 was a U. S. Senator. 
My whole is a proverb. 
Bellevue, Ohio, 1862. Ella L. Cook. 
J3?” Answer in two weeks. 
For Moore’s Rural New-Yorker. 
AN ANAGRAM. 
Imasdt lite simst 
Nda loedset rfsost 
Hwti rbaets rwitss 
Dan tsuotset aobtss 
Eh htursst ihs itssf 
Ganiast liet opsst 
Nad tsill snisist 
Eh eess eht hgsots, 
Monroe, Green Co., YVis., 1862. B. YV. Pritchard. 
[Tjf” Answer in two weeks. 
QARPETINGS. 
2 .Y 0 PIECES NEW CARPETINGS Flip. SPRING Busi¬ 
ness, comprising beautiful styles and new designs. 
OTTLt STOCK 
If more complete in variety than can be found in one house in 
the Suite. Many' pattern- are designed and manufactured ex¬ 
pressly for ourselves, aud arc* not to be found elsewhere. 
ELEGANT WILTONS. ROYAL VELVETS; 
Bigelow and English Brussels 
English Tapt-strrs, American do: 
Lowell, Hartford, and other best makes; 
Extra Imperial 3 Ply- ; 
Extra .Superline Inurun- 
Common uo. 
Wool and Worsted do. 
Cotton and Wool. 
STAIR CARPETS, 
From Is fid to $2,150 per Yard: 
FLOOR CLOTHS in beautiful designs; 
DRUGGETS, i 6. S, ID and 12-4 wide; 
Feltings, Dutch Wool, Ilepip; 
In fact, every Wind of Carpeting the market affords. 
Our arrangement.- with maou&clurer* are such that we shall 
be in daily receipt of goods direct from the looms, for the next 
90 day?, making our slock very attractive at all times. 
We purchase for cash of the makers, which enables us to sell 
a; low as any house in the State. 
ALSO. 
Manufacturer- and dealers .n Husk, Hair, Palm Leaf, aud Sea 
Grass Mattresses. 
Feather Bah and Pillows, made to order, of Pure Live Geese 
Feathers, 
V-p~ Carpet Ware Rooms. 35 State St. Rochester. N. Y. 
636-eotf HOWE A ROGERS. 
For Moore’s Rural New-Yorker. 
GEOMETRICAL PROBLEM. 
How far from the surface of a ball (12) twelve feet in diame¬ 
ter must a light stand to light one-fifth (1-5) of the surface? 
And how near to each other can two such lights stand, and 
each one light different fifths? J. D. II. 
Vadham’s Mills, N. Y., 1862. 
Answer in two weeks. 
KIDDLES AND CONUNDRUMS 
I came to a field and couldn't get through it, 
So I went to school and learnt how to do it.—Fence. 
Why is a kiss like a sermon? It requires two heads and an 
application. 
Why are teeth like verbs? They are regular, irregular, and 
defective. 
Was Eve high or low church? Adam thought her Eve- 
angelical. 
If a bear were to go into a linendraper’s shop, what would 
he want? He would want muzzlin’. 
Why is it impossible for a person who lisps to believe in the 
existence of young ladies? lie takes every Miss for a Myth. 
When are weeds not weeds? When they become widows. 
Is what part of the Loudon Times can we find broken 
English? In the bankrupt list. 
IVhat part of a fish is like the end of a book? The fin-is. 
Which of the English monarebs had most reason to com¬ 
plain of his laundress? John, when liis baggage was lost in 
the 'Wash. 
When was Napoleon most shabbily dressed? When he 
was out at Elba (elbow.) 
What fish is most valued by a happy .wife? Herring. 
W hat part of a fish weighs most? The scales. 
I NEW AND IMPORTANT 
l i n\t :ntk in, 
BY DOUGLAS BLY, M. D. 
j ffi By frequent dissections Dr. Bt.v has 
111 succeeded in embodying the principles of 
1? the natural lee in an artificial one, and in 
y giving it lateral, or side motion, at the 
W ankle, the same as the natural one. By 
so doing he has produced the most com- 
,4 plot* and successful i nventiim ever attain¬ 
ed ed in artificial legs 
A pamphlet containing full description 
and illustrations can he had without charge, bv Addressing 
DOUGLAS BLY. M. I).. 
fi37-tf Rochester. X. 17; or, Cincinnati, Ohio. 
\ fUIAE TREES WOTi SXVI ,E — 30,000 large, 
it straight, thrifty Apple Trees. 4 years old. and in excellent 
condition for transplanting, far snhnt a law pm •■. as they must 
be removed from the premi-eBbefore the first of May next For 
particulars apply to Thomas Smith. Frances St. Rochester, or 
address C. U. ROGERS, Palmyra. N Y. 
Palmyra, Feb. 27. 15K2. 634-tf 
A I.K STOCKS.-1,000.000 one vear.-and 2.tX».W0 
. V two rears old Apple 'locks, at from #1 fit leg'l l*) r> 1 'ill. 
Our Stocks are unsurpassed, nnd we offer them for cash at the 
above w ar prices ENSIGN A FORD, 
614-tf Ohio Nurseries, Toledo, Ohio. 
Answer to Miscellaneous Enigma:—Ericsson's Monitor. 
Answer to Charade:—Eyeless. 
Answer to Arithmetical Problem:—$1,500. 
Traveling Agent- A librrnl ~.ilary aud expenses,paid, or com¬ 
mission allowed. Aihtre**, with stamp. ll.iRRIS BKOTIIEK.S, 
I 7_vli NT FOR. riA I Afi — about 38 acres of land I ring 
’ on the ruual li* miles front Fairport, Monroe Co. The sou 
is a sanfiv loam, and well watered. House nearly new and large 
enough lot a small family. There is a young orchard on the 
premises. Price. S2,3t«, 8500 down and the balance, on long time. 
For Dtrffirr particular* address T , .. , r 
Feb.27.lt®* f(84-tfj C. H. ROGERS, Palmyra, N Y. 
rpHE REST ADVERTISING 
_L MEDIUM of its Class, is MOORE'S RURAL NEW-YORK¬ 
ER, the leading and largest circulated Agricultural, Business 
and Family Newspaper in America Business Men who wish to 
reach, at once. TENS or thousands of the most enterprising 
Farmer?. Horticulturists, etc., nnd thousands of Merchants, 
Mechanics. Manufacturers and Professional Men. throughout 
the loyal States, should give the RURAL a trial. As the business 
season .s at hand. Now is the Timk for all w ho w ish to adver¬ 
tise widely and profitably, to select the bill mediums —nnd that 
the above is first of its many prominent Manufacturers, 
Nurserymen. Seedsmen, Dealers in Agricultural Implements, 
Machinery, &e., Wholesale Merchants, Edncatiouallustitutious, 
Publishers. Land imd Insurance Companies, Agencies, Ac.. &C., 
in various parts of the country, can attest. 
[ From the Xr w Turk Daily World, Feb. 15, lcfi‘2.) 
Moore's Ruual New-Yorker comes to os freighted with 
it* usual amount of information, valuable, not to tanners alone, 
jmt to all who take an interest in the improvements of the 
time- For vt-u-s it has maintained an enviable position as r. 
family nea sjraper. and we an- gratified learn that it-pi -.- 
pecks’were never better Ilian they are at ta* present brae. \\ r 
Commend it in lire notice of those of our readers who Like an 
interest in agricultural hud horticultural matter-, and. wc may 
iidd, lo advertisers who desire to reach the fiiruuug communi¬ 
ties throughout the country. 
f From the Xew York Daily Times.] 
MOORE S Rural New-Yorker, published at Rochester, has a 
very large circulation, especially among the agricultural popu¬ 
lation of the Northern, Western, and Middle States, and offers a 
verv excellent medium for advertising to business men of this 
eitv who desire to reach those sections. It is an aide and 
well-managed paper, and deserves the success it has achieved. 
[From the Xew York Daily Tribune.] 
We don't care what a publisher charges, so that he gives us 
the worth of our money Mr Moore charges 35 cents a line, 
and his circulation makes it cheap advertising. We don't know 
the circulation of the Rural New-Yorker. but we know that 
it pays us to advertise in it. 
MOORE’S RURAL NEW-YORKER, 
THE LARGEST CIRCULATED 
AGRICULTURAL, LITERARY AND FAMILY- WEEKLY, 
JS PUBLISHED EVERY SATURDAY. 
BY D. D. T. MOOltE, ROCHESTER, N. Y. 
TEERIMS I IN -AriDVATSTCBl : 
Two Dollars a Year.—T o Clubs and Agents as follows:— 
Three Copies one year, for So, Six, and one Dee to club agent, 
for $10; Ten. and one free, for 315; Fifteen, and one free, for $-1. 
Twenty, and 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 seut to the British Province*, 
our Canadian agent* and iriends must add 12i* cents per copy to 
the club rates of the Rural. The lowest price of copies sent to 
Europe, Ac., is $2.50—including postage. 
Tn(4 Legal Rave of Postage ns the Rural New- 
Yorker is only 3'i cents per quarter to any part of this State, 
except Monroe county, where it goee free.! and 6 * 1 cents to any 
other State or Territory, if paid quarterly in advance at t le 
Would mother pray with 
me. that God. too, would smile upon me and own 
me as His child?” 
Even as we knelt together the answer came. And 
when we arose l said. “ O, mother, God has heard. 
I know he has forgiven me, my heart is so light.” 
Mother kissed me again and said, "Agnes, your 
angel mother is rejoicing with ns now." As she 
left me I said, “ If you please, mother, you may 
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