[Written for Moore’s Rural New-Yorker] 
THE FULFILLMENT. 
BT ANNIE ELVIRA HTBBART. 
“ liE will some home !" bo said my heart the day 
Dear A r.srr n kissed my lips and hade them say 
He might go forth, iu mnuhOod’S earnest might, 
To shield our country in the fearful fight. 
My soul met his in fond and loyal pride, 
And spoke, “ Yes I go where traitor hearts deride 
The dear old flag, and labor with the best 
Until its triumph brings the soldier rest, 
And I will wreathe the laurel when you come,” 
Saying, to cheer my heart, “’He will come home!” 
“He will come home !” I murmured o’er and o’er. 
And Trained the flowers be loved about the door; 
And kept his books, and all he loved the most. 
And smiled to think amid the bannered host, 
There moved not one so proud and brave as he, 
(Because none other was so dear to me ;) 
And through the long dark hours of doubt and dread, 
Ever 1 prayed that Heaven would guard his head ; 
And hushed my fears, when woman’s fears would come, 
Still whispering to my heart, ' • no will come home ! 
He did come home. With deep and reverent breath 
A baDd came slowly from the field of death ; 
On and still on. whore peacefully, afar, 
The old home slept beneath the Northern Star. 
With dim, closed eyes and nerveless hands lie came, 
Ami cold, dumb lips, that could not speak my name. 
And thus the wished-for hour has come at last! 
The patriot dream of manhood's morning past, 
Woic these still feet will never wish to roam. 
"Why tremble so, poor heart ?■—be has come home. 
Thus to come borne 1 Dear Father, were this all— 
If in our cup no drop of halm might fall— 
No thought that Freedom's snored form should rise, 
Radiant, ami pure, from all our sacrifice, 
Our anguished hearts the cry could not forego : 
“ Why hast thou given us this hitter woe f” 
But Thine. O Goo, are purposes and power ; 
Sorrowing, tve trust Time through the darkening hour, 
And wait the promise of the days to come, 
Knowing Thy wise design has called our loved one home. 
HOPEFUL TACKETT, HIS MARK. 
BY RICHARD WOLCOTT, “TENTH ILLINOIS.” 
“ An’ the Star Spangle* Banger in triump* shall wave 
01 the lan dov the free-e-e. an’ the ho mov the brave.” 
Thus sung; Hopeful Tackett, as he sat on bis little 
bench in the little shop of Ilerr Kordwainer, the vil¬ 
lage shoemaker. Tims he sang, not artistically, but 
with much fervor uad unction, keeping time with 
his hammer, as he hammered away at ail immense 
“ stoga.” And as he sang, the prophetic words rose 
upon the air, and were wafted, together with an 
odor of new leather and paste-pot, out of the win¬ 
dow, aud fell upon the ear of a ragged urchin with 
an armful of band-hills. 
“Would you lose a log for it. Hope?” he asked, 
bringing to bear upon Hopeful a pair of crossed 
eyes, a full complement of white teeth, .and a face 
promiscuously spotted with its kindred dust. 
“For the Banger?” replied Hopeful; “guess I 
would, Both on ’em—an’ a head, too.” 
“ Well, here’s a chance for you,” aud he tossed 
him a hand-bill. 
Hopeful laid aside his hammer and his work, and 
picked up the hand-hill; and while ho is reading it, 
let us briefly describe him. Hopeful is not a beauty, 
and he kuows it; and. though some of the rustic 
wits call him “Beaut,” he is well aware lhat they 
intend it for irony. His countenance runs too much 
to nose—rude, amorphous nose at that—to be classic, 
and is withal nigged in general oulliue and pimply 
in spots. His hair is decidedly too dingy a red to 
be called, even by the utmost stretch of courtesy, 
auburn; dry. coarse, and pertinaciously obstinate 
in its resistance to the civilizing efforts of comb and 
brush. But there is a great deal of big bone aud 
muscle in him, and he may yet work out a noble 
destiny. Let us see. 
By the time he had spelled out the hand-bill, 
and found that Lieutenant- was in town and 
wished to enlist recruits for Company —, - 
Regiment, it was nearly sunset; lie took oft his 
apron, washed his hands, and looked at himself in 
the piece Of looking-glass that stuck in the window 
— a deliant look, that said he was not airaitl of all 
that nose- took his hat down from its peg behind 
the door, and in spite of the bristling resistance of 
his hair, crowded it down over his head, and started 
for his supper. And as he walked he mused aloud, 
as was his custom, addressing himself iu the second 
person. “ Hopeful, what do you think of it? They 
want more soldiers, eh? Guess them fights at Don- 
elson and Pittsburg Lannen ’bout used up some o’ 
them regiments. By jing! (Hopeful had been 
piously brought up, and his emphatic exclamations 
took a mild form.) 1 Hopeful, ’xpect you’ll have lo 
go and stand m some poor feller’s shoes. ’Twon't 
do for them there blasted Seceshers to be killin' 
oft’ our boys, an’ no one there to pay 'em back. 
It’s time tins’ere thing was busted! Hopeful, you 
ain’t pretty, an’ you ain't smart; but you used to 
be a mighty nasty hand with a shot-gun. Guess 
you'll have to try your hand on old Borey's (Beau¬ 
regard's) chaps; an’ if you ever git a bead on one. 
he'll enter his land mighty shortly. What do you 
say to goiu'? You wanted to go last year, but 
mother was sick, an’ you couldn’t; an’ now moth¬ 
er’s gone to glory, why. show your grit an' go. 
Think about it anyhow.” 
And Hopeful did think about it—thought about 
it till late at night, of the insulted flag, of the 
fierce fights and glorious victories, of the dead and 
the dying lying out ill the pitiless storm, of the 
dastardly outrages of rebel fiends—thought of all 
this, with his great warm heart overflowing with 
love for the clear old “ Banger,” and resolved to 
go. The next morning he notified liis “boss” of 
his intention to quit his serviceHbr that of Uncle 
Sam. The old fellow only opened his eyes very 
wide, grumbled, brought out the stocking, (a Mriped 
relic of the departed Frau Kordwainer.) and from 
it counted out and paid Hopeful every cent that 
was due him. But there was one thing that sat 
heavily on Hopeful's mind. He was in a predica¬ 
ment that all of us are liable to full into—lie was 
in love, and with Christina. Herr Konl trainer's 
daughter. Christina was a plump maiden, with a 
round, rosy lace, an extensive latitude of shoulders, 
and a general plentitude and solidity of figure. All 
these she had; but what had captivated Hopeful’s 
eye was her trim ankle, as It had appealed lo him 
one morning, encased in a warm white yarn stock¬ 
ing of her own knitting. From its small beginning, 
his great heart had taken in the whole of her, and 
now he was desperately in love. Two or three 
limes lie had essayed to tell her of his proposed de¬ 
parture; but. every time the words were coming to 
his lips,(something rushed up into his throat ahead 
of them, and he could not speak. At last, affer 
walking home from church with her on Sunday 
evening, he held out his hand, and blurted out: 
“ Well, good by. We’re off to-morrow.” 
“Off! Where?” 
“I’ve enlisted!” 
Christina didn't faint. She didn’t take out a deli¬ 
cate and daintily perfumed mouclioir, to hide the 
tears that were not there. She looked at bin) for a 
moment, while two great tears rolled down her 
cheeks, and then — precipitated all her charms into 
his arms. Hopeful stood it manfully—rather liked 
it. in fact But this is a tableaux that we have no 
right to lie looking at; so let it pass by how they 
parted—with what tears and embraces, and extrav¬ 
agant protestations of undying affection, and wild 
promises of eternal remembrance, there is no need 
of telling, for wc all know how foolish young peo¬ 
ple will be under such circumstances. We older 
heads know all about such little matters, and what 
they amount to. Oh! yes. certainly wo do. 
The next morning found Hopeful, with a dozen 
others, in charge of the Lieutenant, and on their 
way to join the regiment. Hopeful’s first experi¬ 
ence of camp life was not a singular one. Like the 
rest of us. he had occasional attacks of hoine-sick- 
ness; and as he Ftood at his post on picket in the 
silent night-watches, while the camps lay quietly 
sleeping in the moonlight, his thoughts would go 
back to his far away home, and the little shop, and 
the plentiful charms of the fair-haired Christina. 
So he went on. dreaming sweet dreams of home, but 
ever active and alert, eager to learn and earnest to 
do his duly, silencing all selfish suggestions of his 
heart with the simple logic of a pure patriotism. 
“Hopeful,” he would say, "the Banger's took 
care of you all your life, and now you’re here to 
take care of it. See that you do it the best you 
know how.” 
It would be more thrilling and interesting, and 
would read better, il we could take our hero to 
glory amid the roar of cannon and muskets, 
through a storm of Rhot and shell, over a serried 
line of glistening bayonets. But strict truth — a 
matter of which newspaper correspondents and sen¬ 
sational writers generally seem to have a very nasly 
conception—forbids it. It was only a skirmish —a 
bushwhacking fight for the possession of a swamp. 
A few companies were deployed as skirmishers to 
drive out the rebels. 
“Now, boys,” shouted the captain, “after ’em! 
Shoot to kill, not to scare ’em!” 
“ Ping I ping!” rang the rides. 
“Z-z-z-vil!” sang the bullets. 
On (hey went, crouching among the bushes, creep¬ 
ing along under the banks of the brook, cautiously 
peering from behind trees, in search of “butter¬ 
nuts.” 
Hopeful was in the advance: his hat was lost, and 
liis hair more defiantly bristling than ever. Firmly 
grasping his rifle, he pushed on, carefully waU'hing 
every tree and bush. A rebel sharp-shooter started 
to run from one tree to another, when, as quick as 
thought, Hopeful's rifle was at his shoulder, a puff' 
of blue smoke arose from its mouth, and the rebel 
sprang into the air and tell back—dead. Almost at 
the same instant, as Hopeful leaned forward to see 
ihe effect of his shot, he felt a sudden shock, a sharp, 
burning pain, grasped at a bush,'reeled, and sank 
to the ground. 
“ Are you hurt much, Hope?” asked one of his 
comrades, kneeling beside him, and staunching the 
blood that flowed from his wounded leg. 
“Yes, I expect I am; but that red wamus over 
yonder's redder'n ever now. That feller won’t need 
a pension.” 
They carried him back to t he hospital, and the old 
surgeon, looked at the wound, shook his bead, and 
briefly made his diagnosis. “Bone shattered—ves¬ 
sels injuried—bad leg—have to come off. Good 
constitution, though; he'll stand it.” 
And he did stand it; always cheerful, never com¬ 
plaining, only regretting that he must be discharged 
— lhat he was no longer able to serve his country. 
And now. Hopeful is again sitting on his little 
bench in Monhoer Kordwaiuer's little shop, pegging 
away at the coarse boots, singing the same glorious 
prophecy that we first heard him singing. He has 
had but two troubles since his return. One is Hie 
lingering regret and restlessness that attend a civil 
life after an experience of the rough, independent 
life in gamp. The other trouble was when he first 
met Christina, after his return. The loving warmth 
with which she greeted him pained him; and when 
the worthy Herr considerately went out of the room, 
leaving them alone, he relapsed into gloomy silence. 
At length, speaking rapidly, and with choked utter¬ 
ance. he began: 
“ Christie, you know I love you now, as 1 always 
have, better'n all the world. But I’m a cripple now 
— no account to nobody—just a dead weight —an' 
I don’t want you. ’cause o’ your promise before I 
went away, to tie yourself to a load that'll be a drag 
on you all your life. That contract —ah—promises 
— an’t—is—hereby repealed! There!” And ho 
leaned his head upon his hands and wept bitter 
tears, wrung by a great agony from his loving heart. 
Christie gently laid her hand on his shoulder, and 
spoke, slowly and calmly:—“Hopeful, your soul 
was not iu that leg, was it?” 
It would seem as if Hopeful had always thought 
that such was the case, and was just receiving new 
light on the subject, he started up so suddenly. 
“ By jing! Christie!” and he grasped her hand, and 
— but that is another of the scenes that don't con¬ 
cern ue at all. And Christie has promised next 
Christmas to take the name, as she has already the 
heart, of Tackett. Herr Kordwainer, too, has come 
to the conclusion that he wants a partner, and on 
the day of the wedding a new sign is to be put up 
over a new and larger shop, on which “Co.” will 
mean Hopeful Tackett, In the meantime, Hopeful 
hammers away lustily, merrily whistling, and sing¬ 
ing the praises of the “ Banger.” Occasionally, 
when he is resting, he will tenderly embrace his 
stump of a leg, gently patting and stroking it, and 
talking to it as a pet. If a stranger is in Ihe shop, 
he will hold it out admiringly and ask: 
“Do you know what I call that? I call that 
‘Hopeful Tackett — his mark.'" 
And it is n mark — a mark of distinction, a badge 
of honor, worn by many a brave fellow who has 
gone forth, borne and upheld by a love for the dear 
old flag, to fight, lo suffer, to die, if need be, for it; 
won in the fierce contest, amid the clashiug strokes 
of steel, and the wild whistling of bullets; won 
by unflinching nerve, and unyielding muscle; worn 
as a badge of the proudest distinction an American 
can reach, If these lines come to one of those That 
have thus fought aud suffered — though his scars 
were received in some unnoticed, unpublished skir¬ 
mish, though official bulletin spoke not of him, 
“though fame shall never know his story,”—let 
them come as a tribute to him; as a token that he is 
not forgotten; that those who have been with him 
through the trials and triumphs of ihe fieKUremem- 
ber him and the heroic courage that won for him 
those honorable scars; and that while life is left to 
them they will work and fight in the same cause, 
cheerfully making the same sacrifices, seeking no 
higher reward than to take him by ihe hand and 
call ‘him - comrade,” and to share with him the 
proud consciousness of duty done. Shoulder-straps 
and stars may bring renown; but he is no less a real 
hero who. with rifle and bayonet, throws himself 
into the breach, and uninspired by hope of official 
notice, battles manfully for the right. 
Hopeful Tackett, humble yet illustrious, a 
hero for all time, we salute you. 
SIXTY AND SIXTEEN. 
General St. Adbyn was standing before his 
mirror, busily engaged in the adjustment of his 
neck-cloth. 
“Confound this neckerchief!" he ejaculated, giv¬ 
ing it a pull ibis way and a twitch that. “Jim, 
what’s the reason my neck-rigging won’t set as 
trimly as yours? You young chaps have a knack 
that I somehow can't get the hang of, about.dress!” 
“ I am sure I can't account for it, uncle!” laughed 
a handsome youth of about twenty. “Perhaps it's 
someting incident to your youth, like scarlet fever, 
or falling in love!" 
“That’s just it, Jim! The fact is—now let me 
catch you laughing if you dare, you young rogue— 
I’m going to be married!” 
“Going to be married, uncle!” exclaimed James 
Ashley, in open-eyed astonishment “ I never 
dreamed of it!” 
“ How should you, when you only arrived yes¬ 
terday from a year’s absence in Europe? I’m going 
to call oh her this morning. Jim—come with me, 
and he introduced to the sweetest sixteen alive!” 
“ Only sixteen, do you say, uncle?” 
“Don't look so horrified, Jim—of course, I don't 
expect her to be desperately in love with an old 
codger like me—that would be unreasonable. But 
she’ll make me a sweet, dutiful, little wife, and I— 
there's no use talking; 1 can only say one thing—the 
Lord deal with me as 1 shall deal with this child!” 
The old man lifted his hands reverently towards 
Heaven as he spoke. 
Josephine Clare was sitting among her flowers in 
the sunshine, blonde and golden-haired, with blue 
eyes, and a delicate little mouth, tinted with the 
softest crimson. One liny dimple cleft her round 
chin, and the peachy bloom upon her cheeks was 
such as comes only to sixteen. No wonder General 
St. Aubyn lost his heart to the wonderously beauti¬ 
ful child— it must have been an iron sort of machine 
if he hadn’t. 
She rose with varying color to greet her fine old 
lover as he entered. 
“ Josey,” he said, cheerily, after the words of salu¬ 
tation had been exchanged, " J am not alone to-day; 
lef me introduce my nephew, James Ashley!" 
Josephine lifted her blue eyes to the stranger’s 
face for the first time, with a wild, terrified gaze— 
the peach-blossom red faded from her cheek, and 
the first General St, Aubyn knew, she. fainted in his 
arms! 
“What's the matter?” stammered the veteran, in 
breathless terror. “Is Rhe dead? is she dying? For 
Heaven’s sake, get some cold water. Open the 
windows, somebody—bring burnt feathers!” 
“ Do lay the poor child down. General,” exclaimed 
Miss Betsey Clare, Josephine’s maiden aunt, who 
rushed in at this juncture. “ Don’t hold her so 
tight. There, now, she’s cornin’ round all right, 
don’t you see!” 
The General looked on admiringly—all his mili¬ 
tary tactics seemed as uothing to the deftness with 
which Miss Betsey managed matters! 
“What could have made you faint, my love?” he 
asked, when she was smiling again. 
“I don’t know.” she murmured; it was the—the 
heat, I suppose!” 
“And where’s Jim?” asked the perplexed warrior. 
“If you mean that tall young shaver,” struck in 
Miss Betsey. “ he’s gone home like a feller o’ sense, 
seem’ he could’nt he o’ no use here.” 
“ General St. Aubyn,” said Josephine, in a very 
low voice, “1 know you will think me a silly little 
goose, but please don’t bring that young man here 
again!” 
“Josephine—my own love, why not?” 
“ Because—because,” faltered the girl, playing 
with his watcb-elmin, and hiding her flushed face 
against his breast, “it's a whim of mine!” 
“Well, just as you say, Josey,” said the old 
General, “but I must remark, it’s perfectly unac¬ 
countable!” 
“ Women are unaccountable creatures,” said Jo¬ 
sephine, trying to laugh. “And now tell me about 
your new pictures.” 
But long after the General had gone, the child- 
bride lay on the sofa, shutting out Heaven's light 
from her eyes with closely clasped hands, and 
breathing out the wild, wailing moans that can 
come only from a broken heart! Poor, sacrificed 
Josephine Clare! 
When General St. Aubyn returned to his room at 
the hotel, he fouud James Ashley pacing the floor 
with hurried steps. 
“Uncle.” he said, looking up as the General 
entered, “ T have changed my mind about that far¬ 
away official post in India. Will you obtain the 
appointment for me?” 
“Certainly; but, James, you would be obliged to 
sail immediately!” 
“The sooner the better, sir. Every hour that I 
remain in this country seems an age to me.” 
"Janies!” said General St. Aubyn, regarding his 
nephew with a keen, piercing gaze, “what does this 
mean? And why does Josephine object to seeing 
you again? There is some mystery bore!” 
“ I would to Heaven I had died ere I had gone 
there to-day." gasped Ashley. “ Ask me no further, 
uncle—it is best lor the happiness of all to lmry the 
past in eternal oblivion!” 
General St. Aubyn stood a moment in deep 
thought, as James hastily quitted the room. Sud¬ 
denly a new light seemed to break upon him—he 
grew ghastly pale and clenched bis hand firmly. 
“ I have it!” he muttered between his teeth, “ this 
is the girl to whom James was engaged before he 
went to Europe, and that mercenary scoundrel 
Clare would have broken both their hearts, and put 
me in this false position, to secure his own ends. It 
shall not be!” 
Two long hours General St. Aubyn paced his 
room—the mental conflict was sharp and fierce, but 
(he noble heart triumphed. The next day he sought 
Josephine’s presence, and after a long interview 
with her father, 
••Josephine,” he said, "would you object to cele- 
| brating the wedding next week instead of next 
: month?” 
1 She looked up in surprise. 
“A bridegroom is privileged to be impatient,” he 
said, lightly. 
“ It shall be as you desire.” she replied, passively. 
Pale and lovely as her own pearls, Josephine 
Clare stood at the threshold of the church waiting 
for the bridegroom’s cortege. At length it came, 
and General St. Aubyn stepped forward. 
“ Josephine,” he whispered, "my generous, noble 
girl, I feared the bridegroom of Fixty would he ill 
suited to your fresh bloom, so I have substituted 
one of twenty! Jim, come forward, you scamp! 
And I'm going to be on hand to give away the 
bride!” 
Josephine thought she was in a blissful dream; 
but no—it was true—and, almost ere she could 
realize the new state of things, she was tightly mar¬ 
ried to James Ashley, her first and only love, and 
the General, folding her in his arms, whispered: 
“Y'our father and I have arranged matters all 
right, dearest! Don’t thank me; for although I 
have lost a wife, I have gained the sweetest of little 
nieces! I’m quite satisfied, Josey!” 
And so were Mr. and Mrs. James Ashley! 
NEVER PUT OFF TILL TO-MORROW. 
“I would like to have yon run down to Mrs. 
Bowen's for me. Katy. before sundown,” said Mrs. 
Nelson to her little daughter, who sat busily stitch¬ 
ing away in her little willow chair. 
“ Oh, mother, couldn’t I go just as well before 
school-time to-morrow? I have this pair of pillow¬ 
cases almost done for my dolly, and Aunt Marthyis 
going to give me two nice pillows and a feather bed 
for her, as soon as I have the bed-clothes all made 
neatly.” 
“But, my dear, I wish you to take the money for 
the work she sent home to-day. She is a poor 
woman, and may need it.” 
Still Katy looked reluctantly at the dainty sewing 
work before her, and laid down the tiny ruffled pil¬ 
low-case with a sigh. 
“Perhaps the poor woman is wondering how she 
shall buy food for her children for to-morrow,” con¬ 
tinued the mother. “ Think what a relief it will he 
to have that care off my mind.” 
That thought, was enough for Katy’s really benevo¬ 
lent little heart, and she quickly laid up her work, 
in her pretty rosewood box. so it wouldn’t be in any 
one’s woy, and prepared herself for her walk. 
“ Here is a basket, with some of Ann’s tea biscuit, 
and a plate of butter,” said Kafy’s mother; “you 
may take that to Mrs. Bowen, if it will not he too 
heavy.” 
“No, indeed, mother,” said Katy. her eyes spark¬ 
ling with pleasure, “ I shall love to do it. I don’t 
think they have biscuit and butter very often. Lucy 
sometimes brings just dry bread to school for her 
dinner.” 
“ Why, Kate, I did not think they were as poor as 
that. Here, you take this cup of jelly and some 
grapes to the little sick boy. I dare say they will 
be refreshing. I must call around and see them as 
soon as I can.” 
Katy returned from her kind errand that night a 
little weary, hut very light-hearted. 
“ I am so glad I went to-night, mother,’’ she said. 
“They were just, sitting down to supper, with only 
a little cake made of corn meal and a pitcher of 
water on the table. The woman cried when l gave 
her the basket, she seemed so glad. She gave the 
sick boy his biscuit and grapes first, and I wish you 
could have seen how happy his lace looked." 
“ I am very glad, too, that you went to-night," 
said the mother, “ and I hope you will learn this 
lesson from it—never to put off doing a kind act till 
to-morrow, when you can do it to-day. A good man 
was urged not to go out on a stormy evening, to pay 
a hill to a poor laborer, as to-morrow would cer¬ 
tainly do as well, hut be answered, • Think what a 
blessing a good night's sleep is to a poor man. This 
may relieve some anxiety which would cause him a 
sleepless night..’ The command to God’s ancient 
people is one which we should all remember: ‘The 
wages of him that is hired shall not abide with thee 
all night until morning.’ So, you see, dear Katy, it 
was an act of justice, as well as kindness, to take 
the money to-night, instead of putting it off until 
another day.” 
PRENTICEANA. 
At this time, there seem to be quite as many 
shirks on the land as sharks in the sea. 
In Missouri, Col. Guitar drives ihe guerrillas 
everywhere before him. They can't face his music. 
A true Union woman is like the sugar we some¬ 
times get—a combination of sweetness and grit. 
Ii any of our Mends think that the Union soldiers 
in the field are not doing good work, let them go 
and do better. 
Ii' the rebels feared the devil as much they do a 
gunboat, there might be some hope of their turning 
Christians. 
We hope our Legislature will pass a law that, if 
a man runs upon a battle-field, his wife shall he 
entitled to a divorce. 
Gen. Van Dorn has written a letter, telling what 
he expects to accomplish, ne is evidently a fellow 
of considerable expectations. 
The Grenada Appeal calls the Southern officers 
“game-cocks.” Probably because they wear spurs, 
crow prodigiously, and occasionally get their combs 
cut. 
Barnoi, it is said, has filed his exemption from 
the coming draft, on the grouud that be has but one 
Thumb. 
-» — ♦«-»- 
The Last Excuse. —The Elyria (Ohio) Democrat 
gives the following:—“Every expedient has been 
resorted to by some persons to avoid a draft. The 
latest dodge we have heard related, is told of one 
who, having been examined for various diseases 
and pronounced sound as to all of them, fell back 
upon the morals of the question, and declared a 
draft to be immoral aBd unconstitutional, because it 
is a game of chance T f 
The following is one of the many good things got 
off’ by Van Vleck, of the Kinderhook Hough Notes: 
• He that steals our purse, steals postage stamps — 
they’re ours, they're yours, aud have been slaves to 
thousands, and when they get dirty will do nobody 
any good—but he that appropriates to himself our 
good name, takes two Vs we would like to see him 
get the specie on.” 
Galloping Consumption—C avalry foraging in 
the enemy’s country.— Vanity Fair. 
“ Don't look so cross. Edward, when I call y OU ^ 
shut the door ; gran pa feels the March wind. You have grA 
to spend your life shutting doors, and might as well begin to 
learn now, Edward.” 
“Do forgive me, gran'pa. I ought to be ashamed. But 
what do you mean 1 I am going to college, and then I'm 
going to be a lawyer " 
“ Well, admitting all that, I imagine ‘ Squire Edward Carter’ 
will have a good many doors to shut, if he ever makes much 
of a man.” 
“ What kind of doors ? Do tell me, gran’pa.” 
“Sit down a minute, and I'll give you a list. In the first 
place, th e door of your ears must he closed against the bad 
language and evil counsel of the hoys and young men you 
will meet at school and college, or yon will be undone. L,. t 
them once get possession of that door, and I would not give 
much for Edward Carter’s future prospects. 
“The door of your eyes, too, must be shut, against bad looks 
idle novels, and low, wicked newspapers, or your studies will 
be neglected, and you will grow up a useless, ignorant man 
You will have to close them sometimes against the fine things 
exposed for sale In the store windows, or you will never learn 
to lay up money, or have any left to give away. 
“The door of your lips will need especial care, for they 
guard an unruly member, which makes great use of the bad 
company let in at the doors of the eyes and ears. That door 
is very apt to blow open, and. if not constantly watched, will 
let out angry, trifling, or vulgar words. It will backbite, 
sometimes, worse than a March wind, if it is left open too 
long. I would advise you to keep it shut much of the time, 
till you have laid up a store of knowledge, or. at least, till 
you have something valuable to say. 
“ The inner door of your heart must he well shut against 
temptation ; for conscience, the door keeper, grows very in- 
different if you disregard her call, and sometimes drops asleep 
at her post ; and when you may think you are doing vc-ry 
well, you are fast going down to ruin. 
“If you carefully guard the. outside doors of the eyes and 
cars and lips, you will keep out many cold blasts of sin, 
which get in before you think. 
“This ‘shutting doors,’ you sec, Eddy, will be a serious 
business—one on which your well-doing in this life and the 
next depends.” 
-* ^ •- 
For Moore's Rural New-Yorker. 
MISCELLANEOUS ENIGMA. 
I am composed of 26 letters. 
My 5, 1, 13, T, 24, 11. 8 is a State. 
My 26, 25. 11, 22 is a motion of water. 
My 18, 2, 21 is that on which many parents doat. 
My 19, 10, 16. 1 is a range of mountains. 
My 8, 16, 14. 26,10, 14, 3, 8, 20 is a city in New York. 
My 4. 24, T, 4 is a piuce much loved by the Scotch, where my 
14, 10, 19, 12. lo is taught. 
My 23, 13, 1, 8, 9, 22 is a river noted for its 17, 24, 11, 26, 18. 
My 5, 1, 6. 22. 25 is a rebel conspirator. 
My whole is a maxim, which, if followed, earth would be 
made heaven. 
Centreville, Mich., 1862. Nellie Avery. 
ffjf' Answer in two weeks. 
For Moore's Rural New-Yorker. 
DECAPITATIONS. 
Behead a tool used by bakers and leave a kind of fish. 
Behead a small image and leave a farmer’s tool. 
Behead what we sometimes wear on the foot and leave a girl’s 
name. 
Behead an animal mid leave a preposition. 
Behead an adverb and leave an adverb. 
Behead an adverb and leave a kind of fowl. 
Behead an article of clothing and leave what is often used as 
a protection. 
Behead a kind of fish and leave part of a wagon. 
Alabama, N. Y., 1862. M. A. Williams. 
Answer in two weeks. 
For Moore’s Rural New-Yorker. 
MATHEMATICAL PROBLEM. 
How far can an individual sec the top of a mountain 5 miles 
high, from the top of a shipmast 50 feet in height : Also, 
what is the length of a line from the top of the mast to the 
top of the mountain, the diameter of the earth being 8,000 
miles ? 
Castile, Wyoming Co., N. Y’., 1862. W. Duff. 
Answer in two weeks. 
For Moore's Rural New-Yorker. 
ANAGRAMS OF MOUNTAINS. 
1. One peck shep. 
2. Re do hop. 
3. Do not ro. 
Bloomington, Minn., 1862. 
23*“ Answer in two weeks. 
4. Star ran finer oil. 
а. O my puls. 
б. Haugen chaps. 
Otis Miller. 
ANSWERS TO ENIGMAS, &c„ IN No, 661. 
Answer to Geographical Enigma:—Wisdom is the principal 
thing, therefore get wisdom ; and witli all thy getting, get 
understanding. 
Answer to Miscellaneous Enigma:—Coming events cast 
their shadows before. 
Answer to Geometrical Problem’—A, 5.322; B, 7.425 inches. 
Answer to Anagrams:—Abraham Lincoln, Americans, Com¬ 
mentary, Valetudinarian, Monastery, Legislature, Licentiate. 
MOORE’S RURAL NEW-YORKER, 
THE LARGEST CIRCULATED 
AGRICULTURAL, LITERARY AND FAMILY WEEKLY, 
18 PUBLISHED EVERT SATURDAY, 
BY D. I). T. MOORE, ROCHESTER, N. Y. 
Office, Union Buildings, Opposite tin Court House, Buffalo Street 
1’lull.MS IN ADVANCE: 
Two Dollars a Year—To Clubs and Agents as follows 
Three Copies one year, for $5 ; Six, and one free to club agent, 
for $10 ; Ten, and one free, for $16 ; Fifteen, and one free, forf:!; 
Twenty, and one free, for $23 ; and any greater number at same 
rale—only $125 per copy Club papers directed to individuals 
and sent to as many different Post-Offices as desired. As we P«- 
pay American postage on papers sent to the British Provinces, 
our Canadian agents and friends must add I24i cents per copy 
to the club rates or the Rural. The lowest price of copies Bent 
to Europe, &o., iB $2 50—including postage. 
Tub Cash Svstlm is strictly adhered to iD publishing the 
Rural— copies are never mailed to individual aubscribers until 
paid Tor, and always discontinued when the subscript 1011 term 
expires. Hence, we force the paper upon none, and keep no 
credit books, long experience having demonstrated that the 
Cash Plan is the beet for both Subscriber and Publisher, 
Additions to Ci.rns are always in order, whether in ones, 
twos, fives, t«ji9, twenties, or any other number. Subscriptions 
can commence with ihe volume or any number; but the former 
is the best time, and we shall send from it for some weeks, unless 
specially directed otherwise. Please “make a note of it 
DlRBCT to Rochester, N. Y.—All persons having occasion 
to address the Rural New-Yorker will please direct to Roc i- 
ester, JV. 1", and not, as many do, to New York, Albany. 
Buffalo, &c. Money Letters intended for us are frequen y 
directed and mailed to the above places. Please note 
t3T Tire Legal Rate of Postage on the Rural L'kw- 
Yorkkk is only 37* cents per quarter to any part of this state, 
(except Monroe county, where it goes free,) and «>i cents to any 
other State or Territory, if paid Quarterly in advance at tne 
post-office where received. 
C3r Change of AnnaESS.-Sub.-eribei's wishing the address 
of their papers changed from one Post-Oflioe (u anot ier$ 
specify the old address as well as the new to secure complianc . 
No Traveling Agents are employed by us, as we wu-U to 
give the whole field to local agents and those who term cm j 
