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1 
VOLUNTEER’S VISION. 
BT GENOA GHET. • 
Last night, as I lay in the rain 
And looked up to heaven through the night, 
A vision came o'er me and lighted my brain 
With a glory that never will (loud it again 
This side of the river of light. 
And I heard a sweet sound, as it came 
Like the flutter ot feathery wing*. 
And the voice of a seraph kept calling my name, 
And her breath in ray tresses went playing the same 
As the air In an instrument’s strings. 
I told my wild heart to he still— 
That the vision was naught but a dream; 
For I knew not that over the amethyst hill 
The feet of my darling bad wandered at will 
On the banks of Eternity's stream. 
1 said to the sanctified bird. 
“ Oh, why have you come from the West?” 
And she told how the leaves Of the forest were stirred 
By the feet of the angel* who brought her the word 
Of the land where the weary may rest. 
She said shr was tired and faint. 
And her heart was all covered with snow. 
The angels they heard her unaltered complaint. 
They called her, and brought her the robes of a saint, 
And she said She was ready to go. 
I told her the blossoms were sweet 
In the meadows, the same as of yore; 
But she showed me the dew on her sparkling feet, 
Pressed out of the lilies that bordered the street 
By the sand of the Paradise shore. 
I asked her how long I must wait 
Before 1 should meet her afar; 
And I prayed her unfold me the book of my fate— 
But she vanished, and passed through the crystalline gate 
She had left, in her coming, ajar. 
Dear Hugh, there’s a battle to-day. 
And perchance 1 way happen to fall; 
If I’m not at the call of the roll, you may say 
A good-by to the boys in iny name, for I may 
Have said " aye ” to an angel’s sweet call. 
loses by doing this, or you gain by Ibe privilege of 
going away, should by right be shared equally be¬ 
tween you. His decision to remain here is almost 
equal to u promise to abide in poverty and obscurity, 
and that, not from want of capacity to rise, or 
energy to exert his talents, but that he inay better 
secure the comfort and advantage of other members 
of the family.” 
“I will not forget it,” replied the young man, with 
emphasis. £t Whatever wealth 1 may acquire shall 
he shared with him. and my influence, if I have any 
shall make him to be honored w r ho will ever he 
entitled to the nobler praise.” 
liW 
[Written for Moore’s Rural New-Yorker.] 
THE WILTONS. 
BY EULA BRYARI), 
“ Pkisccs, you’ve often asked me how I’d live, 
Should fate at once both wealth and honor give. 
WhaJt soul his future conduct can foresee ? 
Tell me What sort of a lion you would be ? ” 
I don’t understand you, James. You can’t mean 
that you have given up fitting for College?” 
“ I do mean it, father.” 
“ You do! Why, what has changed your plans so 
suddenly?” 
“ It is not a sudden change. I have thought much 
upon it; and the more I consider the matter the 
stronger is my conviction of the duty of my relin¬ 
quishing the design of a profession. I am now 
. twenty-four years old, and have scarcely commenced 
my studies.” 
“I know it, James, I know it.” interrupted Mr. 
Wilton; <( yon have given up all your time to help 
me, although I have had no claim upon you since 
you were of age. But Charles is old enough to 
do a good deal now, and I must get qlong with his 
help after this summer.” 
“But Charles is hardly seventeen, and not so 
strong as some boys of bis age. Besides he dislikes 
farming very much. With your little strength you 
need more help than he will give, and you cannot 
afford to hire. 1 must still he at home a part of the 
time, even if he remains. He is bent on going to 
college, you know. You could not get along, and 
both of us away.” 
“ Your desire for an education is a laudable one; 
and I am sure you will make a wise and virtuous 
use ot the advantages it will give you. Charles 
must be willing to wait for you.” 
“I am sure, father, that he would not willingly 
cause ^ou to suffer, but he has had little care of 
business here, and does not understand it so well as 
I do. He calls it “small business, hard work, and 
poor pay.” So it is; but it is our only means, and 
as such must be diligently employed. Indeed, 
father, I cannot see it to he right for me to leave 
you. If I go and work my way through college and 
professional studies, it will he long, very long, before 
I can hope to aid you pecuniarily, be your need 
never so great. As the girls grow up, your expenses 
will increase, and I must stand ready to assist you. 
Charles is of the proper age to begin ids studies. 
If I have any rights in the matter I cheerfully 
relinquish them to him, glad that his path promises 
to be less toilsome than mine. lie may take what 
little money I have laid aside and go to school at 
once. I will, from time to time, give what aid I can. 
For the rest, he must depend on his own exertions.” 
“ But, my son. I cannot think of your making this 
sacrifice. You have bo long and so fondly cher¬ 
ished the plan, if either must abandon the hope of a 
profession let it be Cha rles, You are hotter calcu¬ 
lated to gain and to value an education,” 
“ Mother does not think so.” replied the young 
man, a touch of sadness in his tone. “ Ho not think 
I do it unwillingly, father. I am sure it is my duty 
to remain with you. I can be as happy here as in 
the sphere I had chosen,” 
“Aye, and as honorable. You are a good son, 
and God will reward you. I could not have asked 
this; I never wished you to make this sacrifice; but 
you have lifted a load of anxious care from my 
mind.” 
James Wilton’s decision had cost him a hitter 
conflict Of this his father was aware; but even he 
knew not how desolate and friendless he felt when 
the long-cherished hope of distinction and useful¬ 
ness in a position so congenial to his tastes and 
talents, was abandoned. When weary or discour¬ 
aged, this fond expectation had buoyed his sinking 
spirits, and bright anticipations had beguiled his 
hours of solitude. The goal was distant^a toilsome 
road between—hut, the vision which beckoned him 
on was fair, and never more wondrously lair, with 
more inviting charms, than when his hand was 
raised to drop the vail which forever closed the 
view. 
Mrs. Wilton commended the wisdom of his reso¬ 
lution. Charles was delighted, and really grate¬ 
ful. The money, at first refused, was accepted 
with — “When 1 get to be a lawyer you shall have 
half my fees.” 
“ You may w r ell promise that,” answered his 
father. “I hope you will never forget what you 
owe to your noble-hearted brother. lie gives you 
four years of time which 1 could claim, and should 
be obliged to, hut tor his generosity. Then his 
remaining here to care for his parents is discharging 
a duty equally incumbent on you; and what he 
Seven years have passed, it is Commencement 
Day at good old Yale. Ilis Alma Mater did herself 
no dishonor when, in assigning their respective 
parts to the ornaments of her graduating class 
Charles Wilton received an appointment. We 
will not say that to James’ mind there came no sad 
remembrances of buried hopes, repressed energies, 
no thoughts of what “might have been,” as lie list 
ened to his brother’s truly eloquent oration, and the 
expressions of admiration which greeted its delivery. 
But there was no lack ot sincerity in the cordial grasp 
of the hand, and affectionate congratulations with 
which he met him at the close of the exercises. “ I 
am proud of you,” repeated his mother. “You have 
done us all honor,” said his father, while his sisters 
showered their praises upon the happy student. 
“Don’t praise me too much, sister Ella,” said he, 
to the sweet little woman by his brother’s side; 
“ bestow some on your husband, who is my patron.” 
Charles had decided on the legal profession, and 
greatly desired to commence his studies at once. 
Thus far he had received much assistance from home. 
His kind friends had willingly stinted their own 
privileges to facilitate his course. But Mr. Wjl- 
ton’h increasing infirmities, with other depressing 
circumstances, laid so heavy a burden on James, 
that his father kindly but plainly intimated to 
Charles the necessity for depending on his own 
efforts for the continuation of his studies, no 
readily acquiesced, hut chafed at the delay. Mrs. 
Wilton remonstrated, but her husband was firm. 
“I know not.” said he. if we canid obtain further 
means for his use. But if w e could, by much exer¬ 
tion, I doubt the propriety of it. lie is one of four 
children, and we have already expended much 
more on him than upon all the others.” 
Charles was invited to return to Yale as Latin 
tutor. Having decided on the necessity of teaching 
for a time, he read i ly accepted the si tualion I lis hours 
of leisure were studiously employed. In a few years 
he was admitted to the bar. Soon after this he was 
summoned home by the illness of his father. When 
he arrived, the sufferer was unable to speak. A 
fond look, a feeble pressure of the hand, alone 
expressed His pleasure at the meeting. In a few 
hours he ceased to breathe. Naught but the inani¬ 
mate form remained of that loved one who 
-’’Showed in charity a Christian's grace; 
Whate er a friend or parent feels, he knew; 
His hand was open, awl his heart was true; 
In what, lie gained, lie gave; he taught mankind 
A grateful always is a generous mind. 
Here rests his clay I hi* soul must ever rest; 
Who blessed when living, dying must be blest.” 
With a sad heart Ch arles bade his friends adieu, 
and set out to seek his fortune in the then “Far 
West.” His talents and agreeable manners fast won 
him friends. The period of his settling in Illinois 
was most favorable for acquiring wealth. The 
golden opportunity was not unimproved by him. 
He engaged largely in land speculations, from 
which he derived great profits. In the practice of 
bis profession he stood high. In a few years lie was 
taken into partnership with an experienced lawyer- 
man of wealth and influence. Soon after, he 
formed an alliance of a more affectionate nature 
with his partner’s daughter. 
Leaving Charles in the full tide of prosperity, let 
us return to the old farm. Julia has married an 
ntelligent, worthy mechanic, and is now living in 
Wisconsin. Helen is near her, engaged in teach¬ 
ing. Thus far, James Wilton has fulfilled the 
prophecy of being a poor man. No bountiful har¬ 
vests reward the labor bestowed on the old worn-out 
farm. Many of his neighbors have joined the west¬ 
ward tide of emigration. To M rs. Wilton’s anxious 
questions, James replied, “No, mother, yon have 
often told me that you never wish to leave the 
homestead. That is enough. I shall never leave 
while you desire to remain.” 
well for my own. That is all that can be required. 
It is a good thing Sister Helen did not get married, 
now mother needs her so much. James’ wife couldn’t 
get along with her work, and take care of her too; 
and I suppose they don’t feel like hiring a nurse 
The wealthy brother did not seek to acquaint 
himself with the state of financial affairs at the farm. 
Ho took an affectionate leave of his mother, charg¬ 
ing them to see that she wanted nothing for her 
comfort, and presenting her twenty dollars. After 
his departure, Mrs. W. declined rapidly. Julia 
arrived before her death. [Conclusion next week.l 
JONES AND JOHNSON. 
BY MARIA B. CUSHMAN. 
It is fifteen years since Mr. Wilton’s death. 
Time, which is ever working changes, has not been 
idle here. The children are Cast losing their claim 
to the designation of “little.” The bloom has faded 
from Ella’s cheek, hut the gentle smile is there. 
Though not so joyous as of old, it has lost none of its 
sweetness. James, too, is changed. The form, once 
so erect, is slightly bowed. Threads of silver gleam 
among the dark locks which shade the ample fore¬ 
head. On the features where toil and care have 
drawn deep linos, is a subdued expression, which 
speaks of patience, self-control, and suppressed 
desires. In striking contrast is Charles’ portly, 
well-formed figure—his easy independence of man¬ 
ner—the air of self-eatisfqction and conscious supe¬ 
riority such as an eminent lawyer, a wealthy 
Influential citizen, may be allowed to wear. Yet, 
who that marked the brothers well but would say, 
“James is the nobler still.” 
For many weary months Mrs. Wilton has been 
suffering from a painful cancer. Chaiu.es was 
affected by the change which age and sickness had 
wrought. It was a joyful meeting to the fond 
mother. She could not tire of gazing on the long 
absent one. Not with the blind, unjust partiality of 
former days, did she now regard her younger son. 
It was one of the joys of James’ toilsome life, that 
his untiring devotion had won for him his rightful 
place in his mother's affections. 
“Well,” exclaimed Charles, after a stroll about 
the premises, “ this is the great farm I once thought 
such a wonderful place. Why, James, you could 
not hire a man to own such a rough old stone heap 
in Illinois. For my part I can’t see why people will 
settle down just where they happen to be born, as if 
there Were no other place in the world. 1 am of 
another kind of stuff. James is a good fellow,’ 
continued he, to himself, as he puffed his cigar; 
“ but old fogy—he was not made to be a rich man, 
that is plain. If he w r as, he would not stay in this 
place, so easy and contented. It’s a good thing to 
have such a one in the family, though, to take care 
of the old folks. How much James? has read, 
though, lie beats me on poetry, history, and gen¬ 
eral literature. So far as intelligence is concerned, 
he would pass in any society. Pity he hadn't taken 
to something besides farming. I W’onder what lie 
means to do with the children. He ought to give 
them some advantages better than this place affords. 
But it’s none of my business. I mean to provide 
William Johnson and Edwin Jones were both 
of them farmers, and they were also near neighbors. 
Their farms were beautifully situated—the soil natr 
urally productive. So far there was not a particle 
of difference between the two places. Yet they 
w’oie a different aspect. Johnson's buildings looked 
nice and tidy. His door-yard was clean, his house 
neatly painted, his windows whole. His barns 
were snug and comfortable, his orchard looked 
thrifty, and the trees were carefully dressed. Now, 
Mr. Jones had no more of a family to support than 
his neighbor, yet the aspect of his house and farm 
was very different. Old rubbish was kicking around 
in his yard that should have been in less unsightly 
places; his house looked weather-beaten and neg¬ 
lected; rags were seen in spots where panes of glass 
are expected to he found; there were large cracks 
in his barn, through which the winds of heaven 
had free course; his apple trees were disfigured by 
old bark and dead limbs;—in short, everything 
seemed to wear a look of dilapidation and neglect. 
Edwin Jones was a hard-working man, yet every¬ 
thing was at loose ends with him, and he often 
found himself wondering how it was that his neigh¬ 
bor Johnson kept along so smoothly and quietly, 
yet had everything in such perfect order. * * * 
One rainy day in the tall, after harvesting was 
over, Johnson was at work in his tool chamber, 
when his neighbor Jones entered. 
“Johnson,” said the latter, after he had watched 
the movemenfs of his neighbors plane a few mo¬ 
ments, “how much did that sled of yours cost? I 
have got to get one this winter.” 
“Ob, that cost mo nothing—I made that myself. 
I got out the timber last winter, so that matter’s 
disposed of; and I feel proud of it, too. It’s my 
first attempt.” 
“Well, neighbor Johnson, 1 don’t see how in the 
world you get along so. Your farm don’t produce 
any more than mine does, and I don’t believe you 
work as hard as J do. Your wife don’t make any 
better butter than mine; your sheep don't grow any 
better wool. You raise more fruit, to be sure.” 
“ I have not so many trees as you.” 
“ No, but the fruit is of a better quality, and finds 
a ready market” 
“Yes, because I have taken pains to obtain the 
best grafts. My trees were the same as yours when 
we started. My cows give more milk than yours 
do in winter, for they have a warmer barn. I raise 
more pork than you do, because my pens are so 
tight and comfortable.” 
“And I suppose you are laying up money?” 
muttered Jones, with a crestfallen look. 
“ Certainly I am—about two hundred a year.” 
“So much!” exclaimed Jones, with a look of sur¬ 
prise; “why, I can't lay up a single cent—in fact, 
’m running behind.’ 
“ Let me tell you the secret,” said Johnson in the 
kindest and most neighborly way. “Last summer 
saw you buy two new rakes and two pitchforks; 
now, how much did they all cost yon?” 
“ Let’s see—two dollars and a half.” 
Well, now, my fork-handles got broke last win¬ 
ter, so did some of my rakes. 1 brought them right 
up here, and when I had leisure I just fixed them 
up. There was so much saved. Now, you have 
nothing at all to do to-day.” 
“No,indeed! it rains too hard.” 
“ But I am at work making my apple-boxes; how 
are you getting yours?” 
“Grandison makes them for me; and I am to 
give him a barrel of apples.” 
“ Which is as good as two dollars. Now, if you 
have as good a pled as mine made, it will cost you, 
at the least, twelve dollars. You see how these 
little things count up.” 
“And all this comes of your having tools to work 
with,” retained Jones, whose eyes were beginning 
to open. 
“Yes, neighbor.” 
“ Well, if 1 had tools 1 might save a good many 
sums in the course of a year; but I never have the 
money to spare for them. W*by, these ’ere tools of 
yourn must have cost mor’n fifty dollars.” 
“Justabout that.” 
“Then I’m mighty afraid I shall have to scrape 
along with borrowed tools. I shall never have that 
sum to spare.” 
“You don’t understand. Let me explain the 
secret. I should never have gone with a fifty dollar 
bill and bought these things. 1 have procured one 
at a time with my grog and tobacco money.” 
“Grog and tobacco money!” repeated Jones, with 
a look of blank surprise. 
“Yes,” said Johnson, with a smile. “Now I am 
going to give you a lecture. I am going to give you 
liie benefit of my experience. The first year 1 began 
on a farm I used to keep spirits by me, and now and 
then took a drink, to keep up my strength, I said to 
myself, In the loDg warm days in haying and 
harvesting, the bottle used to be patronized liber¬ 
ally. But I finally began to see that it was growing 
hard for me to resist; and 60 , after deliberating 
upon the subject, 1 came to the conclusion that rum 
and tobacco did me no good, and might do me much 
evil, and I would leave them off, and I did. So 1 
commenced laying up the money they cost me. I 
saw how much might be saved if 1 could only do 
the v[ork myself 1 had been obliged to pay for, and 
so 1 began buying such tools as 1 thought would 
come handy. At the end of the first year I found I 
had quite a collection, and it had all come from 
money I might otherwise have drank and smoked 
up, and I felt healthier and happier than the year 
beibre. I knew I had laid the foundation lor future 
good. Time passed on; my grog and tobacco 
money kept coming in. It was now a hammer, 
then a saw, then a new auger and another plane, a 
bit-stock, <fcc., till now I have an excellent stock of 
tools; and they are not only a source of great profit, 
but solid comfort in the bargain. I ljelicve, friend 
Jones, in giving up my grog and tobacco I have 
been a great gainer. Now, do you not think you 
would do as well without it” 
“ J ohnson,” said J ones at length, after a protracted 
silence, “ I wish you had told me of this long ago.” 
the ability to fix up his buildings without borrowing 
tools, he begun to take a certain pride in doing it. 
lie re-set his windows, roofed his bee-house, built 
now pig-pens, lightened his barn, and in rainy 
weather was never without a pleasant and profit¬ 
able employment. His cows do not break through 
the barn floor now; and they give as much milk, 
his bees make as much honey, his trees yield as 
good apples as his neighbor Johnson’s do; and all 
this is because he stopped his grog and tobacco 
expenditure, bought his tools, and left off depending 
upon his neighbors; and so he is now a happy, 
thriving and contented farmer. 
“I was afraid it might offend you; it is a delicate 
matter, at best.” 
“I know it; but Edwin Jones is not the man to 
be offended with a neighbor for friendly advice.” 
“Well,” said Johnson, with a look of extreme 
gratification, “it's never too late to mend, and if 
you get in a pinch where fifty or a hundred dollars 
will be of use to you, come to me.” 
Mr. Jones thanked his friend, with a suspicious 
moisture shining in his eye, and shortly after took 
his leave. The very next day he went into town, 
and, instead of filling his brown jug and empty box, 
he brought home a now auger; and a proud and 
happy man was he. at work with his own tools. 
Time passed away, and he soon found himself the 
owner of quite a little lot of implements. This was awarded OUT Thrasher and Cleaner, at till- late New-y ork 
operated in many ways for good. Now that he had 1 ‘‘■’■.which, with the many favorable reports Oom 
^hoertis entente. 
gCHENECTADY AGRICULTURAL WORKS 
G. WESTIXGIIOUSE <fc CO., Proprietor* 
MANUFACTURE TUTOR PATENT 
ENDLESS CHAIN HORSE POWERS 
COMBINED THRASHERS AND CLEANERS, ’ 
THRASHERS AND SEPARATORS 
CLOVER MACHINES, 
Wood-Saws, (Circular and Cross Cut,) 
Also an improved pattern of LEVICR or SWEEP HORsp 
POWERS and LARGE THRASHERS AND CLEANERS ^ 
TIIE FIRST PREMIUM 
M 
i! 
For Moore's Rural New-Yorker. 
ARITHMETICAL ENIGMA. 
I am composed of 44 letters. 
My 1, 5,13, 10, 24, 8, 18, 9, 7 is one of the departments of 
arithmetic. 
My 6. 21, 3, 23, 33 is a number. 
My 24, 6. 9, multiplied by 36, 44, 4, 20, is ten less than 25, 23. 
11, 15, 12, multiplied by 42, 34. 32. 
My 2, 32. 25. 6, 11. 12, 14, 30, is one of the departments of 
arithmetic. 
My 27, 37, 35, 22,19,15, 41 14, 4, 40, 28 is one of the tables 
in reduction. 
My 19, 31, 9, 4, 7 is the name of one of the signs in arithmetic. 
My 41, 39, 39, 43, 25, 31, 26, 9 is one of the fundamental rules 
of arithmetic. 
My 10, 38, 44, 42. 23, 19, 34, 13, 14 , 4, 11, 15 is one of the 
tables in reduction. 
My 27, 6, 16, 28, 21. 32, 7, 4, 17, 13, 35, 10, 34 is one of the 
departments of arithmetic. 
My 29, lfi, 26, 42 is found in lung measure. 
My 36, 26, 4, 20 is a number 
My 20, 37, 44, 39 is found in square measure. 
My whole is a fundamental principle in arithmetic. 
Mesopotamia, O., 1862 Chauncy N. Bates 
JfJr” Answer in two weeks. 
For Moore's Rural New-Yorker 
MISCELLANEOUS ENIGMA. 
1 am composed of 22 letters. 
My 1, 3, 20 forms the name of a celebrated writer of prose, 
which, if joined to my 22, makes him a poet, and in my 
2, 9, 17. 18, 21. may be seen the subject of liis most fete 
brated poem. 
My 17, 12, 19 is a quality that every one should possess, to a 
certain extent. 
My 22, 9, 4 is the name of a play quite common among 
children. 
My 3,14, 8 is the name given by Englishmen to something 
much used in making hem . 
My 7, 12, 21 brings poverty to many a door. 
My 5, 16, 13, 6 is the name of an ancient city. 
My 10, 6, 11 is a boy’s nieknamc. 
My 15, 3,11 is often felt by bad boys. 
My whole is something 1 have always seen in the Rural. 
Brockport. N. Y., 1862. H. F. P. 
Answer in two weeks. 
For Moore's Rural New-Yorker. 
TRIGONOMETRICAL PROBLEM. 
The angle of elevation of an inaccessible object, taken at a 
distance unknown from its base, is 66?.',“; and when taken 
again 120 feet from the point of tire first observation ill a 
direct line, the angle of elevation is Required, the 
height of the object 
Watertown, N. Y., 1862. T. J. Townsend. 
Answer in two weeks. 
For Moore’s Rural New-Yorker. 
GEOGRAPHICAL DECAPITATIONS. 
BKin:An a river in England and leave an oclireous ore. 
Behead a river in Scotland and leave a preposition. 
Behead a gulf in Asia and leave a human being. 
Behead a river in Austria and leave a part of a cutter. 
Behead a city in Holland and leave a disease. 
Behead a river in Micliigan and leave an animal. 
Behead a county in Ohio and leave a bird. 
Behead a river in Virginia and leave an article. 
Behead a county in Missouri and leave a public house. 
Behead a lake in Scotland and leave a declaration. 
Belioad a river in Scotland and leave a troublesome plant. 
Behead a river in England und leave a journey. 
Walworth, N. Y., 1862. J. Emory Tiffany. 
E Answer in two weeks. 
ANSWERS TO ENIGMAS, &c., IN No. 644. 
Answer to Miscellaneous Enigma:—Porter’s mortar fleet. 
Answer to Charade:—Implore. 
Answer to Arithmetical Problem:—56.54 + feet. 
r J7o Business JVlen. 
rpHE 
-L mv mi 
REST ADVERTISING 
MEDIUM of Its Clasp, 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 OF thousands of the most enterprising 
Farmers, Horticulturists, Ac., and thousands of Merchants, 
Mechanics, Manufacturers and Professional Men, throughout 
the loyal States, should give the Rural a trial As the business 
season is at hand, Now is the Timk for all who wish to adver¬ 
tise widely and profitably, to select tbc best, mediums— and that 
the above is first of ite class, many prominent Manufacturers, 
Nurserymen, Seedsmen, Dealers in Agricultural Implements, 
Machinery, Ac., Wholesale Merchants, Educational Institutions, 
Publishers, Land and Iusuiuuco Companies, Agencies, Ac., Ac., 
in various parts of the country, can attest. 
[From the NrW York Daily World, Feb. 15. 1862.] 
Moore's Rural Mew-Youkkr comes to us freighted with 
its usual amount of information, valuable, not to farmers alone, 
but to all who take an interest in the improvements of the 
times. For years it bus maintained an enviable position as a 
family newspaper, a ml we are gratified to learn thatiLspros- 
pecU’were never better than they are at the present tune. >V e 
commend it to the notice of those of our readers who take an 
interest in agricultural ami horticultural matters, and, we may 
add, to advertisers who desire to reach the farming communi¬ 
ties throughout the country. 
[F>om the Nno rork Daily Times.) 
Moore's Rural New-York eh, published at Rochester, has a 
verv large circulation, especially among the agricultural popu¬ 
lation of the Northern, Western, and Middle States, and oilers a 
very excellent medium for advertising to business men of this 
city who desire to reach those sections. It is ao able and 
well-managed paper, and deserves the success It haa achieved. 
f From the New York Daily ikibune,] 
Wk don't cure w bat a publisher charges, so that he gives us 
the worth ol our money. Mr. Moore charges 35 cents a line, 
and hia circulation makes it cheap advertising, 
the circulation of the Rural Nkw-Yokker, b 
it pays us to advertise in it 
> AIUTJMAljNT, GRAY 
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New Spring JPi*ints. 
We have just opened an Assortment of Fashionable Spring 
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Is 
MANUFACTURING 
opened, and 
DEPARTMENT 
to manufacture Gar- 
now opened, and we are prepared 
meote, either in Silk or Cloth, to order. 
It unit A ICR At NORTHROP, 
638 Nos. 69 A 71 Main Street, Rochester, N. Y 
TTIMPLOYMENT. A New Rvterpkinm. —The Frank • 
Jjj lin Sewing Machine Co. wants number of active Local and 
Traveling Agents. A liberal salary and expenses paid, or com¬ 
mission allowed, Address, with stamp, HARRIS BROTHERS. 
Boston, Mass. (Clip this out for reference.) 637-13t 
MOORE’S RURAL NEW-YORKER, 
THE LARGEST CIRCULATED 
AGRICULTURAL, LITERARY AND PAMPLY WEEKLY, 
IS FUHLIHHKO EVERY SATURDAY, 
BY D. D. T. MOORE, ROCHESTER, N. Y. 
We don't know 
iut we know that 
Office, Union Building?, Opposite the Court House, Buffalo Street, 
TERMS IN ADVANCE: 
Two Dollars a Year—T o Clubs ami Agents as follows 
Three Copies one year, for $5 , Six, and one free to club agent, 
for $10 ; Ten, and one free, for $15 , Fifteen, and one free, for $21; 
Twenty, and one free, for $26 . and any greater number at same 
fate—only $1.26 per copy. Club papers directed to individuals 
and sent to us many different FostrOtOcea as desired. As we pre¬ 
pay American postage on paper- sent, to the British Provinces, 
our Canadian agents and friends must add I2.*a cents per copy 
to the club rates of the Rural. The lowest price of copies sent 
to Europe, Ac-, is $2.50—including postage. 
8W Tux Ljcoal Rate ok POSTAGE os Tiut Rural Skw- 
Yorker is only 3t£ cents per quarter to any part of tins State, 
(except Monroe county, wheie it goes free,) and 6K cents to anj 
other Slate or Territory, if paid quarterly in advance at the 
post-ofllco whe.ro received. 
Direct to Rocukster, N. Y.—All persons having occasion 
to address 'lie Rural New- Yorker will please direct to Ilock- 
ester, N. Y, and not. as many do, to New York, Albany, 
Buffalo, Ac. Money Letters intended for us are frequeu y 
directed and mailed to the above places. Please note. 
¥ 
K 
sons using them, prow them to be a superior machine, and 
such are recommended to Die notice of the public, 
Also our Improved Clover Machines are offered to the public 
as possessing all the necessary requirements for hulling n, .; 
cleaning clover at one operation in the most perfect manner 
Prices and description of the above named machines Wiili, e 
found in our IBustrated Circular, which will bo sent free tn a ,[ 
applicants. Address G. WESTINGIiOl'SE ACO., 
C43-Cteo Schenectady, N. y 
The Best and Most Durable. 
Our large, elegant, and superior Pianos of 7 and 7K Octavo 
at low pnees for cash. 
PIANOS FOR SMALL PARLORS, 
6>j and 7 Octaves, elegant and durable. 
All our Piano-Fortes hare the 
INSULATF.D IRON RIM, 
Giving strength and durability, and requiring less than half th* 
usual amount of tuning. 
ROSEWOOD YOUNG AMERICA PIANOS, 
!> 1 3 O . 
Warranted to prove good and give perfect satisfaction, or no 
sale. Send for Descriptive Catalogues 
BOARD MAN, GUAY A CO., 
641-4teo Manufacturers, Albany, N. Y. 
Of’ AU kinds of Pictures known in the Art furnished in 
the best style and at prices which defy competition. [643-eo 
JJUBBAKJD As NTORTLI 14,0I J , 
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