but be seemed to hear again his mother’s words, 
“mv prayers will follow you," and he dropped the 
cup and left the room, amid the jeers of the com¬ 
pany. But he cared not now. He felt that he had 
resisted temptation once, and power would he given 
him for other trials. He felt that he was saved. 
Went there not up to heaven the glad tidings of a 
sonl saved from ruin? Did not the angels rejoice 
over him? God only knowetb, but peace reigned 
in the beart thal bad been so long tempest-tossed; 
the peace that arises from love to the Supreme. 
We must now pass over an interval of five years. 
Many visits had been made to the old homestead, 
visits that made Jamie stronger and better prepared 
to meet life's trials, and that were looked forward to 
very much as the child looks forward to the holi¬ 
days. And, indeed, they were holidays to our hero. 
Not only days of rest from toil, but days of unal¬ 
loyed pleasure. His boarding place had been 
changed. Bessie was indeed his housekeeper, as 
he had prophesied she would be, but the house he 
lived in was not his own; it belonged t.o bis brother- 
in-law, Bessie’s husband, Edgar Stanley. How 
different a home it was from his aunt’s. “Gentle 
words and loving smiles” were sure to be his wel¬ 
come as he returned each night from labor. And 
he hastened to greet them, it seemed so like the 
days of his boyhood. 
They were all seated in their little domicil one eve¬ 
ning, talking and chatting as usual, until it seemed as 
though all subjects had been discussed, and a gen¬ 
eral silence pervaded the room. For full fifteen 
minutes every sound was hushed, and all were as 
quiet as though sleep had locked them in his em¬ 
brace. Presently Edgar glanced at the piano, and 
then at his wife, with a smile so clearly defined as 
to its meaning that she could not fail to under¬ 
stand. So, seating herself, she swept her fingers 
over the keys, and filled the room with the rich 
tones that sprang forth at her touch. Then a voice, 
she means to. It is ier disposition to fret, and she 
really can not help it. I love her, in spite of it all, 
and I half think shetoves me too.” 
“But, Jamie, woud you not. rather live at home 
with mother and all >f us?" 
“Oh! 1 don't knot; I rather believe not Aunt 
does not scold as ofbn as she used to, and J do not 
like to live on a farm I would like it if I did not 
have to work so ban; but I get very tired, and then 
father thinks me law. I wish you could live with 
us, and go to school vith me.” 
“ I am sure I wishl could. It would be so pleas¬ 
ant for us to get ourjessons out together. And the 
teachers are very tntcb better beside. I tear I shall 
never know anythin:, if I stay here.” 
“Let us ask fa the and mother if you can. Oh! 
how nice it would le,” said Jamie, as he bent a 
look full of love upn his sister's face. “But per¬ 
haps uncle and auntwould not want you. ’ 
“ i had not though of that,” said Bessie, grow¬ 
ing sober again; •* pobably they would net.” 
Just then an old shoolmate came into the yard, on 
an errand. He was a bad, passionate boy, but for 
all thal, needed nohrsh words to further him on 
in wickedness. Eu Jamie gave him a torrent of 
abuse, to which he returned answers full as pro¬ 
voking, until there las great danger that the strife 
of words would enl in blows. Bessie was per¬ 
fectly astonished. r J> hear such bitter taunts from 
one she had ever rep-rded as near perfection, was a 
mystery she could n>t solve. This exhibition of her 
brother's temper, a fcmper she had never dreamed 
W1 an existence, rased all her energies. She must 
did you not send for me? It is too bad! too bad ! 
and tears chased each other down her cheeks. 41 And 
he to he gone so long. Oh! why did he go?" 
But Bessie did not wait for an answer. She 
hastened to Jamie’s little room, (the place always 
chosen by the children to exhibit their sorrows,) 
seated herself by the window, and wept freely. 
Dinner was forgotten, everything but Jamie gone, 
and she had not kissed him good bye. Every time 
she turned her eyes she met something of Jamie's 
to call forth more tears—something to tell her he 
was gone. ThiDgs she had loved with him she 
cared not tor now. She cared not. even for play. 
Deep in her heart there was a bitter feeling toward 
her brother, for he had passed right by the old 
school-house, and be might have stopped a moment, 
just to see her. 
Meanwhile Jamie had reached the boat, and, all 
life and joyousness, was climbing here and there, 
making friends with the captain and passengers, 
forgetting Bessie, mother, and home — all save the 
boat, at which ho looked and wondered during a 
whole twelve hours’ ride, with childish curiosity. 
But when he took his father’s band in a farewell 
clasp, a longing for familiar faces came over him, 
an earnest desire to see Bessie, and feel his moth¬ 
er’s hand upon his head. Alas! this could not be; 
A DOMESTIC FARCE IN ONE SCENE. 
“ Wht is it, my son, that when you drop your 
bread and butter, it is always on the buttered side?” 
“ I don’t know. It hadn’t orter, had it? The 
strongest side ought to he up, and this is the strong¬ 
est butter I have ever seen.” 
“Hush up; it's some of your aunt's churning.” 
“ Did she churn it, the great lazy thing.” 
“What, your aunt?” 
“No, this here butter. To make the poor old 
woman churn it when it is strong enough to churn 
itself.” 
“ Hush, Zeb, I’ve eat a great deal worse in the 
most aristocratic houses.” 
“ Well, people of rank ought to eat it” 
“ Why people of rank?” 
“ ’Cause it’s rank butter.” 
“You varmint, you! what makes you talk so 
smart?” 
“’CauBe the butter has taken the skin off m y 
tongue.” 
“Zcb, don’t lie! I can’t throw away the butter.” 
“ I’ll tell you what I would do with it—keep it to 
draw blisters. You ought to see the flies keel over 
as soon as they touch it.” 
God help us! Who’s ready ? There's danger before! 
Who’s armed and who’s mounted ? The foe’s at. the door 
The smoke of his cannon hang* black o'er the plain, 
Uis slioubi ring exultant while counting our slain ; 
And northward and northward he presses liis line. 
Who’e ready * (lb, forward' for your* and for mine I 
No halting—no discord. The moments are Kates— 
To shame or to glory they open the gates I 
There’* all we hold dearest to lose or to win— 
The web of the future to day we must spin, 
And hid the hours follow with knell or with chime. 
Who’s ready ? Oh, forward I while yet there is time ! 
Lead armies or councils—be soldier a field— 
Alike, so your vs lor is liberty’s shield I 
Alike, so you strike, when the bugle notes call, 
For country, for fireside, for freedom to all. 
The blows of the boldest will carry the day— 
Who’s ready t Oh, forward ’—there's death in delay I 
Earth's noblest are praying, at home and o'er sea, 
“ God keep the great nation united and free !” 
Her tyrants watch eager to leap at our life 
If once we should falter or faint in the strife. 
Our trust is unshaken, though legions assail— 
Who’s ready f Oh, forward I and Right shall prevail! 
Who’s ready ? “AMready 1" undaunted we cry— 
“ For Country, for Freedom, welt fight till we die ! 
No traitor, at midnight, shall pierce us in resto- 
No alien, ut noonday, shall stab us abreast. 
The God of our Fathers is guiding us still— 
All fnnvard .'—we're ready, and conquer we will /” 
The rebel soldiers are driven into the field with 
the bayonet, and we are must drive them out of it 
with the same weapon. 
If Jeff Davis and his gang be not hung, our good 
mother earth will probably refuse in disgust ever 
to bring forth another crop of hemp. 
The Atlanta Intelligencer says Jeff Davis’s in¬ 
tegrity is not. suspected. Certainly not; it is the 
last quality of which we should accuse him. 
TnK Nashville Union says that Morgan’s bridge- 
burners came to the conclusion, after receiving a 
few rounds of grape from Cn.pt. flush's battery, that 
the Captain was a regular bushwhacker. 
[Written for Moore's Rural New-Yorker.J 
THE RECLAIMED. 
BY MRS. MINNIE WELDON, 
“And so, Jamie, you are really going, are you?” 
“Yes; father says I may. Uncle Walter starts 
to-morrow, and I am going with him. 1 hope it will 
be a clear day; for we are going on the boat, and it 
will be pleasanter if the sun shines.” 
“ But, Jamie, you’ll fall into the water. You can’t 
sit Btill so long; and if you do not, the boat will 
upset” 
“ Oh! not such a kind of boat as that, Bessie; it 
is like a big house, with large rooms, where they 
keep tables and chairs, the same as on land, and I 
can run and play as much as I please. Oh! I shall 
be so happy.” 
“Now, Jamie, tel! me truly; do you really want 
to go, and leave father, and mother, and me, to live 
in such a wicked place, where, you can not see us at 
all?” And tears gathered in the large blue eyes 
and rolled down the cheeks of the child, as she stood 
watching her playmate and brother. 
A little, old-fashioned trunk, formerly Iris moth¬ 
er’s, stood in the middle of the floor, and around it 
lay the few articles of clothing belonging to Jamie's 
wardrobe, and most of his playthings; for he was a 
boy yet, and consequently was blessed with a boy's 
love of play. These he was carefully packing away, 
when his sister’s trembling voice attracted his atten¬ 
tion. Immediately work was forgotten, and putting 
his arms around her neck, he kissed her cheek, and 
begged lier not to cry. “ And, Bessie, I will write 
to yon cvctvy nv^vU-, loo, tvt\d yow uwti tviuv^er wvy lif¬ 
ters; for our teacher said you were improving very 
fast. That will be most as good as having me here 
all the time, will it not? and besides, I'll come home 
to see you sometimes.” But, spite of Jamie's cheer¬ 
fulness, it was a sad little face that looked up to his, 
and as the packing went on, ho could see her turn 
to the little window to wipe away the tears that 
would gather in her eyes, against all her efforts to 
command them. When all was ready, they sat 
down on the uncarpeted floor, as they had often 
before done, to beguile the hours away. But this 
would he the last time in so long, they hardly 
dared to speak of it; so they talked of the past—the. 
happy past—with its childish sports and its bright 
memories; and they glanced far away into the 
future, beholding themselves in the garb of men 
and women, and living in a beautiful house, which 
Jamie said he should build for his little house¬ 
keeper. 
The bright moonlight streamed in at the little 
window, and lighted up two happy faces, whim Mrs. 
Horton came to the door. She stood there a mo¬ 
ment, admiring the picture before her. ller moth¬ 
er’s heart swelled with pride, but a tear dimmed 
her eye as she bade them retire; for she thought of 
the painful separation the morrow would bring. 
“ Are your clothes all packed, Jamie ? ” she asked. 
“Yes, mother; all ready.” 
“ Then, iny son, to sleep, for the ride will he tire-! 
some.” 
But the gentle warning was not heeded by her 
who gave it, for long and long alter the boy’s eyes 
were closed in sleep, a wakeful eye watched over 
him, and a mother’s prayers were wafted to heaven 
in his behalf. She had promised to let him go, not 
because she felt it would benefit him, but to please 
her husband, who saw in the fragile boy too little 
muscle lor the hard labor of a farm, and so con¬ 
cluded to initiate him into the mysteries of a broker's 
life, under the protection of a brother. Night had 
deepened, and the clock told the hour of twelve 
when she kissed his velvet cheek, and, putting his 
little testament into his trunk, she sought her own 
pillow. 
The next morning dawned at last, hut brought 
with it a cloudy sky. Dark and dismal it looked, as 
the rain came pouring down, much to the dismay of 
our travelers, who did not dare to venture out iu 
such a storm. Bessie’s delight knew no hounds. 
She clapped her hands and laughed and danced all 
in the breath declaring she could have her Jamie 
one day more. But she could not spend it with him. 
Nine o’clock came, and she was obliged to go to 
school; but the thought of the long evening she 
should pass with him she loved, raised her drooping 
spirits at being compelled to go, and she started off 
quite cheerfully. About ten o’clock a ray of sun¬ 
light broke thiough the clouds, and rested on the 
lesson she was learning. Bessie noticed it, but 
thought it was too late for them to start; so she 
watched the rain drops sparkling on the leafless 
boughs of the old elm that stood by the school- 
house, and wondered why they shone so, and if' 
Jamie would see any dew drops or trees in New 
York. But a word from the teacher called back 
her wanderings to the still unlearned lesson, from 
which she was not excused until the dinner hour. 
Then snatching her bonnet she flew across the green 
to her own home, just in sight, to spend every mo¬ 
ment of the play-hour with Jamie. 
“ Where is he?" she inquired, when she had looked 
for him in his own room and found him not. 
“ He has gone.” 
“Oh! mother!” and the blue eyes filled, “why 
For Moore's Rural New-Yorker. 
MISCELLANEOUS ENIGMA. 
I am composed of 13 letters. 
My 1, 6, 3, 4, 13, 8 is a pattern. 
My 2.12- 3 is a kind of food growing in the tropical climates. 
My 3, 5, 0, 7, 8, 3, 12, 9, 10, 11,1 is a very important science. 
My 4 6. 6, 7 is a narrow road. 
My 6,13, 3,1 should not be withheld from the needy. 
My O, 2, 4. 8 is a symbol. 
My 7, S, 6, 0. 7 is sometimes called ling. 
My 8, 9, 7, 10, 11. 1 is the science of moral philosophy 
My 9, 8, 3, 4, 13, 8 is a snored building. 
My 10,11, 8 affords amusement in winter. 
is indispensable to potters. 
My 11. 13,12, 2 
My 12,13, 3, 8 is a name applied to Egyptian girls. 
My 13,12,11, 8 is an article of dress. 
My whole is the title of a kind of powder. 
Brantford, C. W., 1SC2. J. N. Mot hr. 
Answer in tivo weeks. 
For Moore’s Rural New-Yorker. 
uii.i-Mjrxtii.irxi.xoJi.jj uiiio'Jxh'lTATlUJX S. 
Behead a city in Burmnli and leave a city in Italy. 
Behead a cape of Persia and leave a verb. 
Behead an island in the Aegean Sea and leave a hoy’s name. 
Behead a lake in Turkey in Asia and leave au article. 
Behead a river in Asia and leave a native of Northern Africa 
Bthead a county in Oregon and leave a house for the lodging 
and entertainment of travelers. 
Behead a county in Minnesota and leave a quadruped. 
Behead a county in Pennsylvania and leave a quadruped. 
Behead a county in North Carolina and leave a personal 
pronoun. 
Behead a county in Missouri and leave a passage by which 
persons enter & house or other building. 
Alabama, Gen. Co., N. Y., 1862. Albert B. Norton. 
J3?" Answer in two weeks. 
Four years have passed away, bringing “sorrow 
to the many and pleasure to the few.” A bright 
spring morning has dawned; trees and fields are 
robed in their brightest green, and sparkling with 
dew, as the rays of the morning sun shine on them. 
All are up at the old farm-house, and have been this 
hour, for breakfast is ready; but no one seems in¬ 
clined to eal All are curiously watching the road. 
Presently a carriage is seen coming. Nearer and 
nearer it approaches, until two forms are dis¬ 
tinctly visible within it, and one is a lady. Jamie 
has not come, aud all the faces that a moment ago 
were bright with expectation, are now downcast 
and sad: for all had longed to see him again, and it 
could not have been his fault that be did not. come. 
The welcome which the visitors received was far 
less cordial than it would hare been had there been 
another. Something of the old feeling returned to 
Bessie. J aiiie did not want to see her. Up to the 
old window in liis room she went, and although now 
much larger than when she helped to pack her 
brother's trunk, tears forced themselves into her 
eyes. She had not even waited to greet, their 
friends. “Jamie has forgotten bis old friends,” she 
sighed; but a familiar hand was on her shoulder, 
some one kissed her, and she stood face to face with 
J Aii ie. With one glad cry she clasped her arms 
around his neck, and stood as they had bade each 
other good night tour years before. Tears were for¬ 
gotten, the bitter feeling gone, and the joy at her 
heart almost made her feet move as she flew down 
stairs to greet their friends. Jamie smiled at the 
change in her face, for ho had seen her before she 
knew that he had arrived, aud had heard her invol¬ 
untary speech in regard to himself. 
When, breakfast was ended, and the conversation 
was again resumed, they went back to the little win¬ 
dow, their old trysting place. 
44 And so you thought I had forgotten you. Bessie, 
did you?” 
“ Oh! that was when I thought you had not come. 
Where did you stay?” 
“I purposely got out of the carriage just the other 
side of the hill, to disappoint you, and I intended to 
come just as I did. when you were all wearing long 
faces, fur the fun of seeing how much I could shorten 
them. I happened to see you as I was coining up 
the walk; and when I had greeted the rest, I came 
quietly up stairs, aud arrived here iu time to hear 
that compliment you were paying me.” 
“What did 1 say, Sir James? You have spoken 
of that before.” 
“I believe the inference was that I was fickle,” 
replied he, laughing at the cognomen she. had given 
him; “and I believe I am not entitled to the appel¬ 
lation of 1 Sir,’ either.” 
“Well, never mind the name, or the compliment 
either, now,” said Bessie. “ How do you like New 
York, and living with uncle?” 
“ Two questions in one; but I suppose I must 
answer them. I like New York well enough; there 
is everything to see and to he seen: but somehow I 
like to get out into the country, where I can breathe 
the fresh air, and roam with you in the old woods, 
or by the river's banks. One feels freer here. As 
for living with uncle, I suppose I shall have to like 
it, whether I wish or no. However, I like uncle, 
lie hardly ever chides me, and he takes my part 
sometimes when aunt scolds: hut I don’t believe 
a child, spite ol hi manliness. lie dared not 
equivocate, neither id he wish to. His mother he 
revered next to Goi>] and he felt that she knew the 
truth, even before le uttered it. Full halt an 
hour he sat there. Not a word was spoken on 
either side. J a mu: was retrospecting. lie saw 
now the precipice on which he stood. He saw 
also the path that 1 ad led him thither, and the 
pleasures that had t lickened around it. Ah! they 
were false; he saw if all now, and wondered he had 
not seen before. Bill had he courage to resist the 
taunts and bitter sco n of bis old companions? He 
trembled as he tbot ;ht of it. But he would,—for 
his mother’s and B cssie’s sake, he would. And 
there was a stronger arm to save; a watchful eye, 
ever open, to guard such as he. To this power did 
he how, aud ask tor [help to sustain him in the diffi- 
must follow. Quietly the 
For Moore’s Rural New-Yorker. 
A RIDDLE. 
I am what many wear 
To screen them from the gaze of men ; 
Transpose me, aud tis true 
That with the low I’m often seen. 
Transposed again, I’ll do 
Through life what all the good have done, 
And after death renew 
That which in life I first begun. 
Reverse and read the same, 
Then see a fruit from Eden's bower 
Plucked by the fairest dame 
That ever felt temptation's power. 
Williamsville, N. Y,, 1862. W. H 
JQf Answer in two weeks. 
“ If she he all that she seems, my son, I can raise 
no objection. Do as you think best.” 
“Thank you, thank you, mother; not only for 
this, but for the kindness that checked my way¬ 
wardness, and led me into ihepath of honor. I thank 
you for what I am, and ever shall. Would that I 
could repay you.” 
“ You can. Jamie. Rescue fellow mortals from a 
similar fate. You have them always witb you, and 
culties that he kn«v 
angel of peace shed her benign influences around 
him; he lelt that hetvas able now, and raising his 
head, he replied: 
“ Ask me not, mother, to what lengths in sin I 
have run. Lei not your heart be pained by a reci¬ 
tal of my wickedness, but let me assure you that a 
mother’s love and pgntleness has saved me. Hence¬ 
forth may Gor> h el line to remember her teachings. 
Would 1 had remembered them long before.” 
“Be it as you si.y, my son. May Heaven bless 
your efforts to dtirighl, aud remember that a 
mother’s prayers will lollow you. Goodnight,” and 
imprinting a kiss outhis tear-stained cheek, she left 
the room. 
Morning came, ;ind the adieus were spoken. 
When Jamie claspil his mother’s band, she gave 
him a look,—such a look of love and tenderness, 
and faith in his promises, that it went to his very 
heart, and strengthened his resolutions to do right. 
The few tears that escaped were hidden as he turned 
away, and again he i was sailing toward the great 
metropolis, hut witijvery different feelings govern¬ 
ing his actions. The same captain guided their 
bark now as then, and he remembered the mis¬ 
chievous boy he ba4 landed at the wharf four years 
before. He could lardly call him by that name 
now. There he sat ipon deck, gazing out upon the 
broad river, whose glassy surface reflected every 
object upon its ba iks, and the beautiful scenery 
around him, but hi seemed not to be thinking ot 
these. He cared n( thing lor the myriad things that 
had diverted him sc much on a former voyage. He 
was thinking of ii s last night at home, and his 
mother’s words. He Avas sure he could never forget 
them. Oh! could he uwdisobey her again. Alas! for 
the depravity of fallen human nature, that it is so hard 
to break the chains which bind to unworthy objects* 
When Jamie arriv id at the city again, his school 
was given up, and he devoted himself entirely to 
met him, and tantalized 
For Moore s Rural New-Yorker. 
ENGINEERING PROBLEM. 
The average height of the barometer at Gouverneur, St. 
awrence Co., N. Y., is 26.91 inches, aud flic mean tempera- 
ire, by Fahrenheit’s thermometer, 51'. What then is Gout- 
■neur’s elevation above the level of the sea ? 
Gouverneur. N. Y., 1862. Edwin A. Dodds. 
Answer iu two weeks. 
ANSWERS TO ENIGMAS, &c., IN No. 658, 
Answer to Mythological Enigma:—Labor ipse voluptas. 
Ausiver to Rebus:—One (P)eaeh. 
Answer to Decapitations'.—Fred, Pink, Snail, Wheat, Mill, 
Cluck, Glass, Harm, Leaves, Clark, Pearl, Hand. 
DROPS OF WISDOM, 
MOORE’S RURAL NEW-YORKER, 
TnK LARGEST CIRCULATED 
AGRICULTURAL, LITERARY AND FAMILY WEEKLY, 
IS PUBLISHED EVERY SATURDAY, 
BY D. D. T. MOORE, ROCHESTER, N. Y. 
Offiw, Union Buildings, Opposite the Court House, Baffalo Street. 
TERMS 11ST ADVANCE: 
Two Dollars a Year—To Clubs and Agents as follows ;— 
Three Copies one year. Tor $5; Six, and one free to oluti agent, 
for $10 ; TeD. and one free, for $15; Fifteen, and one free, forJj.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 a b 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>. cents per copy 
to the club rates of the Rural. The lowest price of copies sent 
to Europe, &c., is $2.50—including postage. 
Direct to Rochester, N. Y.-All persons haring occasion 
to address the Rckal New-Yorker will plrwe direct to^' 
ester, N- T., and not. as many do, to Lew York. • 
Buffalo. &c. Money Letters intended for us are frequen 
directed and mailed to the above places. Please note. 
13 r The Legal Rate oe Postage ox thk Rukal Nbw- 
Yorkkr is only 3J£ cento per quarter to any part of this Sto * 
(except Monroe county, where it goes free,) and 6 h cents 7 
_st.i. If naid ouarterly in advance 
To Adam, Paradise was home. To the good 
among his descendants, home is Paradise. 
The best way to do good to ourselves is to do it to 
others; the right way to gather is to scatter. 
The best repentance for duty neglected is to 
set about another that is in danger of being neg¬ 
lected. 
Tiie passing years drink a portion of the light 
from our cheeks, as birds that drink at lakes leave 
their footprints on the margin. 
Diplomacy may work aB much calamity as a hat 
tie; a few ink-drops may cost a nation more misery 
and exhaustion than a river of blood. 
The progress of knowledge is slow. Like the 
sun, we cannot see it moving; but after awhile we 
perceive that it has moved; nay, that it has moved 
onward. 
See that each hour’s feelings and thoughts and ac¬ 
tions are pure and true; then will your life be such. 
The wide pasture is but separate spears oi grass; 
the sheeted bloom of the prairies but isolated 
flowers. 
business. Old companions 
him with his want of courage when he refused to 
drink. Once, indee d, he had well nigh broken his 
pledge; he raised the tempting draught to his lips, 
