S84 
?nc 9 
RURAL 
[Written for Moore’s Rural New-Yorker.] 
THE DYING- SOLDIER’S DREAM. 
bewildered, confounded, fihocked, and surprised; 14 Yes, Bobby,” said Jack, briskly, ‘‘you’re two 
everybody but ine—I don’t know bow 1 looked, but bricks. 
" * .. . . T nrs-r-r T Col I Ofi TnlCDroVilo ! 
BY s. W. WIUXEY. 
Os a pallet of straw, in the far southern land, 
Lay the bravest and best of a heroic band; 
Fair and lofty bis brow—bright and piercing his eye, 
Out of which looked a soul that could danger defy. 
The storm heat amain ou his fragile cloth tent, 
Where its flickering glimmer a dim taper lent. 
It was midnight, aud all save the sentries were still, 
And the vast camp seemed slumb'ring o’er valley and bill. 
The soldier was haggard and pale, save a flush 
That redJened each check, like a pure maiden’s blush. 
It told of the fires that were wasting away 
The strength of Ins manhood In lile's early day. 
By his side kneeled his captain—an athletic form, 
That often had breasted the battle’s dread storm : 
lie watched while, a moment, the sufferer slept : 
He loved his brave comrade, and silently wept 
Short rest had the sleeper,—soon opened his eyes, 
And, gazing around, with a look of surprise, 
“ Where am I ?” he whispered.—“ A' 11 I not at home ? 
My mother—my sister—come hither, oh come! 
They come not—they speak not—although but just now 
Their kiss of affection was warm oti my brow, 
1 sat by their fireside, while, brim full of glee, 
My little twin brothers were perched ou each knee. 
u My cap they both lifted, and each of the pair 
With thi ir soft tiny hands smoothed down my rough hair ; 
While my mother and sister—a picture of bliss 
Bending o'er me imprinted that w arm-hearted kiss. 
Where am 1 ? alas' now the vision has fled ; 
Soon, Captain, aye, soon, I shall sleep with the dead. 
Give the loved ones at home my dj \w$fare.wM 
Until with the angels together we dwell- 
“ In my haversack there is my Bible,—a gift 
Front the hand of my mother the morning I left,— 
Her name on the fly leaf, wrote by that same hand ; 
Bv my sister's a hymn ou the 1 Uright Spirit Laud.' 
Bring that blessed book—read that name, and that hymn, 
I would read them myself but my eyes grow so diin. 
Oh, thank you ! Now read, for my soul to lean on, 
That beautiful chapter, the fifteenth of John : 
You will find a smutl ribbon my mother put there, 
With one end turned in at the SaviOUR’B last prayer.” 
With tremulous accents the Captain complied ; 
Calmly listened the soldier—and peacefully died. 
flue 
[Written for Moore’s Rural New-Yorker.] 
AN AUTHOR IN THE FAMILY. 
BY BARBARA G. MOORE. 
It was a wild, wet, November night. Out of 
doors all was dreary enough. The heavy-laden, 
dun-colored clouds were speeding aloDg the sky at 
the rate of cver-po-many knots an hour, casting 
anchor now and then to throw overboard part of their 
rain-cargo, which came down,helter-skelter, In great 
fitful splashes upon the already soaking earth, the 
wind, that“ grand old harper,” was holding a great 
musical soiree in the tree-tops and chimneys now 
shrieking and screaming like a lunatic; now sob¬ 
bing like a tired child, and anon sighing in tones as 
sweet and low as the mothers lullaby to her first 
little babe, or a lover’s whispers to the maid he 
adores. 
Inside, all was cozy and cheerful. The shades 
wfre drawn; llie ruddy coals sent forth their enli¬ 
vening radiance from the open grate, and the kero¬ 
sene lamp its pleasant light from the table. Near 
the latter article of furniture sat papa, in arm¬ 
chair and slippers, reading a late periodical; near 
papa was statioued the partner of his joys and sor¬ 
rows, busy as usual, with her needle; on one side oi 
the fire, grandma was “ toeing off” a huge woolen 
stocking; and in the opposite corner of the ‘-ingle- 
side” sat Uncle Jewel, smoking his beloved meer¬ 
schaum, while on a rug at uncle’s feet—stretched 
out in comfortable indolence—lay McClellan. 
Now, don’t be startled, reader, nor for a moment 
suppose that “Geo. B. McClellan, Major-General 
U. S. A..” was really lying on the rug in our humble 
si ting-room- Dear me, no. Our McClellan — 
“Mac,” for short—is a large and handsome specimen 
of the canine persuasion, and Gkorgids Rex gave 
him that name, because he thought he had discov¬ 
ered “points” (that's the term, I believe, isn’t it?) 
in our youthful quadruped which corresponded in 
a slight degree to those of the glorious young 
General. 
The rest of us were scattered around the room— 
and as it would take too much time and paper to 
describe so large and lovely a family, the reader 
must please imagine us. (We are good looking, 
every mother’s son of ns!) 
There was a pause of about five minutes in the con¬ 
versation. aud everybody seemed listening to the 
voice of the storm without, when papa broke the 
silence by ejaculating, “Bless my soul!” very sud¬ 
denly, very loudly, and in tones of the deepest sur¬ 
prise, holding his paper out at arm’s length and 
eyeing it fiercely. 
Every one looked up to see what was the matter, 
and I began to shake in my gaiters; tor 1 knew what 
was coming. Papa vouchsafed ho explanation ot 
his strange conduct, but still continued to regard 
the paper in his hand with wide-eyed, open-moulhgd 
astonishmeut, until a second time, losing his self- 
possession, he gave vent to his excited feelings by 
saying, “ The Deuce!” 
Mamma, being an energetic, courageous woman, 
and withal possessing a little of the spice of curi¬ 
osity in her composition, determined to inquire into 
oh! I felt unutterable things, and I*presume I 
blushed every color from black to cerulean blue. 
There was an awful silence for about three 
minutes and forty.fi ve seconds, aud then everybody 
began to fire off nasty little short sentences and 
exclamations at my devoted head. 
But itdidn’t console me any, fori felt so miserable! 
I didn’t cry—it’s against my principles to do that— 
but, oh! the unspeakable state of mind t was in! 
If I am principled against crying, my grandmother 
is not; in fact, she excels in that rather moist ac¬ 
complishment; and, just then she “lifted up her 
voice” from behind the red silk handkerchief “and 
“Our Bobby an author!” exclaimed Carl, his voice” from behind the red silk handkercluet and 
pretty grey eyes as large as saucers; “O dear me! wept” Of course, mamma joined in the chorus, 
vou’ll die an old maid, sis, as sure as shooting!” and and then ensued a duet of'sobbing and sighing and 
he stroked his infant moustache with an air of pity. 
“That’s so, die an old maid,” repeated Jack, who 
is two years younger than Carl, and his echo and 
faithful imitator upon all occasions from the oiling 
of his hair to the adjusting of his neck-tic. 
“A b.ue stocking!” quoth Georoiur Rex. “0 
wiping of eyes and noses that can “better be im¬ 
agined than described,” to use a very uncommon 
expression. 
The boys looked on awe-struck, while papa 
relieved the monotony of this feminine weeping and 
wailing by giving vent to energetic little yells and 
afternoon, when suddenly, as we were loading, there 
came a clap of thunder from an almost 
“Clear sky ” 
on our ears, and we saw in the west a cloud a little 
bigger than a man’s baud, portending rain. We 
were not far from the barn, and hoping to get loaded 
and into the barn before the rain reached us, the 
sheaves were thrown on by two men. and loaded by 
Ilnrt with great dexterity. Our hopes were quite 
sanguine Tib would be reasonable this time — first, 
because she had had hard thunder shower experi¬ 
ence enough to know that it was not pleasant to her 
nor at all obliging to those employing her; second, 
because she was “ homeward bound," and a little 
effort would put ns all under dry cover. She made 
no hostile demonstration till the rack was loaded, 
when, at the usual word, she refused to budge one 
inch. The men proposed to pound her, which my 
Special IVotices. 
READERS, 
Barbara, who that ever knew you when you were manly groans. Altogether, it was a very affecting inch. 1 he men proposed to pound ner, wmen my 
an innocent little girl in pantalettes, would have performance, and lasted for the space of six minutes father forbade, but suggested to Hart to sn. He 
- n ^ i it i fr 1 __ _ V... J n 1-l 1 I 1 m r, n I rt mol r.il lCillO YTr |1 Ori tUrilPIl rllfltT T1 llTYl 
thought, you would come to this!” and seventy-five seconds by the clock. Then papa, 
“Literary!” howled papa from the arm-chair, “ O, quite worn out, {feebly requested the females to sub- 
the deu—dickens!” side, as it was lime to have evening prayers. They 
“ Tommy Trot,” said Uncle Jewel, “what’s all obeyed, aud the hook being brought, papa read the 
this about? what have you been doing, Tommy?” Parable of the Prodigal Son, and pray ed a lengthy 
“Writing, sir,” I replied, not daring to lookup, prayer, all for my especial benefit. I suppose J 
and feelmg very much ashamed of myseli generally, ought to have been veiy much obliged to him, but 
“For the newspapers, Tommy?” I am afraid I wasn’t; I felt too depressed to be 
“ Yes, sir,” very faintly. grateful for anything. 
He resumed his meerschaum in silence; but there Alter we were comfortably seated again, papa 
was a look of unmitigated woe on his face. I began arose, flourished his handkerchief as if it were a 
to feel worse. triumphal banner, and hemmed and hawed in a 
« I thought Barbara would be such a help and manner suggestive of a speech, 
a comfort to me when she grew up,” sighed mamma. “ My friends, said he, solemnly, “ it haB pleased 
“In my day,” said grandma, in a severe tone, Providence to give me a large family of children; 
“gals were brought up to work, and not to be or, to express myself in a more poetical manner, 
ashamed un’t, either; and we never used to hear olive-branches of every size and age clamber the 
any talk about litery folks, nor blue stockings, nor paternal walls—all of them luxuriant, and flourish- 
newspapers, and Rich! For my part, I don’t see ing and-and-green!” 
a If I. i - : i i .... 1*_ .-V r. 4‘ (bn a ,tta l itinn a)wiD • 
what Barb’k’y thinks she’s corning to!” 
“It’s terrible, grandmother,” said Georgius, 
gravely, “ and there will be no such tbiug as keep¬ 
ing anything private here any more; she will be 
dragging us and all our household gods into print 
when she gets swamped for ideas, and can’t draw 
on her imagination any longer. That's the way 
with these authors; they always ‘show up’ their 
friends and relatives and all their affairs to the pub¬ 
lic, sooner or later, and that will be the way with 
Carbary, Dear me!” and the young man shook 
bis head with a melancholy sigh that sounded as if 
it had been drawn from an empty hogshead; “dear 
me, it will be a sad day for us when all the neigh¬ 
bors and our friends, to say nothing of strangers, 
will know all our family affairs!” 
Appalled by this sad picture, grandma threw 
down her knitting, and buried her weeping physi¬ 
ognomy in a red silk pocket hand kerchief. 
“ If you ever put me in print, Bobby,” said Carl, 
“I must have my new neck-lie on, remember; my 
hair parted so, and my moustache-fully developed. 
Won't 1 cut a‘big’figure, though?” 
“And your striped Sunday go-to-meeting panta¬ 
loons,” added t, eagerly, forgetting, in the ardor of 
my profession, the disgrace I had brought upon the 
family. Carl is so handsome, and he would make 
such a lovely hero! I delighted for a moment in 
the thought ol dressing him up in print, but mam¬ 
ma’s stern voice speedily brought me to a “ sense of 
my situation,” as our minister says. 
“Barbara, you hardened girl, 1 am ashamed of 
yon—disappointed in you! To think I have only got 
but one daughter, and she is turning out io be a 
writer! and there was a look on mamma’s face such 
as one would have supposed Mrs. TuLi.tVKR(“MUlon 
the Floss”) to wear when she was accustomed to re¬ 
mark, “U seems bard as 1 should lmve but one getl 
an’ her so comical: folks'll 11 think it’s a judgment 
on ine as I’ve got such a child—they’ll think I've 
done smnnmt wicked.” 
1 began to feel very “low” indeed, and contem¬ 
plated crawling into an enormous hole in the heel 
Of papa’s sock which I was darning; but just then 
Georgius asked papa if he would not read aloud 
Barbara’s first literary effort, for the edification of 
the family; and, as the rest of the folks seconded the 
motion, papa adjusted hia spectacles, cleared his 
throat, and began. 
My story, in manuscript, seemed to me the very 
embodiment of poetry and love; but when read 
aloud in papa’s spasmodic, jerky, excited utterance, 
it didn’t sound a bit nice; and I didn't wonder that 
he stopped every few moments to groan, or that 
mamma and grandma frequently interrupted him 
with their sighs, and the boys with irrepressible 
tgles. 
The story was entitled “ Red-haired Suke, or, the 
Maiden’s Destiny: A Tale of Love, nalo, Blood, 
Brimstone, Murder, and Matrimony.” It was written 
to illustrate a favorite dream of mine; that ot humble 
and homely young women being loved devotedly and 
distractedly for themselves alone—the indispensable 
riches and beauty being in possession of the fortunate 
beings of the male persuasion. The first part of this 
remarkable and thrilling romance, (that which was 
read to our family circle.) broke off at a very exci¬ 
ting place, where the rich, proud, handsome, and 
high-born St. George I’m Augustus Kodol- 
ruus Eugene is standing in the moonlight under 
bis lady-love’s window, singing, to a hand-organ 
accompaniment, some heart-rending verses of his 
own composition, beginning thus: 
“ 0 maiden fair. 
With fiery hair. 
And eyes of livid green,” etc., etc., 
when her papa, a very disagreeable, coarse, common 
sort of an old gentleman, rushes upon the heroic 
the meaning of this irregular proceeding on the young lover with a carving knife, and threatens to 
part of her lord and master; accordingly, she do a lot of impolitic ami nasty things; half-a-dozen 
opened her mouth with — 
“Mr. Moore, if you have got done making 
remarks which are highly improper and very unbe¬ 
coming in a man of your years, and before the chil¬ 
dren, too! perhaps you’ll be so good as to tell us 
what’s the matter, and what ails the paper?” 
For reply, papa put his finger on a certain part ot 
the paper, aud very energetically thrust finger and 
paper into an alarming proximity to mamma’s nasal 
organ. That worthy lady looked intensely indig¬ 
nant, but offered no comment, probably influenced 
by the important fact that she was “ before the 
children.” 
“Well,” she observed, after a moment’s scrutiny, 
“I don't see anything unusual in the paper.” 
“You don't?” shrieked papa, “O bless my soul, 
Mrs. M,, 1 thought you were a woman of discern- 
bull-dogs seize upou his aristocratic nether extremi¬ 
ties, while Sukey’h mamma, an excessively evil- 
minded and vicious old lady, amuses herself with 
aiming forks and darning needles at the adorable 
St. George Fitz Augustus Rodolphus Eugene 
from the basement windows. In this critical and 
rather unpleasant situation I left him, “to be con¬ 
tinued in our next,” while the air was dark with the 
hideous terms of coming police, and the red-haired 
but devoted Susan, was tying her garters together, 
preparatory to descending the walls and sharing 
her lover’s fate. 
Papa concluded with a most jaw-breaking howl, 
and leaned hack in his chair perfectly exhausted, and 
quite incapable of even a respectable-sized groan. 
Mamma and grandma exchanged looks of pious 
horror, and then, the latter, overcome again, intro- 
ment,” and he snatched the paper from the handB of duced her venerable “ pbizmaliogany ” once more to 
his spouse. 
“You don’t see that!” reading in spasmodic jerks, 
“ ‘ Written for - By — Barbara — G. — Moore!' 
You don’t know who she is, I suppose, Mrs. M?” 
ironically concluded this excited pater-l'amilias, 
dropping back into his chair with a low howl of 
agony, and mopping his dripping countenance with 
an ample bandanna. 
Everybody looked aghast, astonished, astounded, 
the sympathizing folds of the red silk pocket-hand¬ 
kerchief. 
Georgius sat regarding me with looks of grave 
wonder, while Uncle Jewel completely shut him¬ 
self from view by clouds of smoke. Carl, as 
usual, was the first to speak, and, after he had 
finished laughing, he burst out vivaciously with his 
favorite term of compliment : 
“ Bobby, you’re a brick!” 
A Flight, titter from one of the male olive-branches; 1 
1 didn’t laugh—it’s against my principles. 
“All boys,’ went on pupa, with emotion, "but ' 
one; and that one,” shaking his handkerchief at 1 
me—“-agirl! your grand-daughter,mother; brother ' 
Jewel, your niece, whom you distinguished by the < 
pet name of Tommy Trot; boys, your only faster; t 
Mrs. Moore, our daughter, whom, several years 
ago we carried to the temple erected for holy wor- I 
ship and dressed iu a long, white frock, (Barbara, < 
not the temple.) and had baptized by the name we I 
saw in the newspaper to-night. Little did we then I 
think,” shedding tears, “ that, instead of growing up 1 
to be the pride and comfort of our old age, she 
would develop tastes and inclinations and propen- i 
sities that are peculiarly dreadful and highly re pro- i 
hensible in a young female! Had it. been one of the 
boys I should have, endeavored to become resigned; i 
but to think that our only daughter should be in i 
any way accessory to forty-horsc-power-sensation- 
love stories-!” bore papa squeezed the handker- : 
chief tightly between both bands and rolled up his i 
eyes to the celling by way of supplying the hiatus. 
“It is my duty,” continued be. after a moment’s > 
pause, “to pul a stop to this sort of thing, and I in¬ 
tend to do it. Therefore, resolved, that Barbara 
be henceforth prohibited the use of pen or pencil; 
be put through a severe course of the broomstick 
exercise, dish-washing aud stocking-darning, and 
be. kept on a low die/, and if that don’t cure her of 
her passion tor writing love-and-murder non- 
senFe, nothing will. The idea of a woman dabbling 
In literature! prove:' most conclusively the truth 
of the poet’s observation: 
‘A little learning is a dangerous tiling.’” 
“Ifthat’s so,” whispered Carl, “what a bad way 
poor papa must be in!” 
“Now, Barbara,” continued my paternal rela¬ 
tive, handing ine a lamp, “you may go to your 
room and reflect upon wtiat 1 have said, and I trust 
it may bring you to a realizing sense of—of—” 
“My situation,” suggested I, meekly. I didn’t 
feel funny when I said it, and I don’t Ihink there 
was anything funny in the remark; but the boys all 
roared out laughing, and I beat a hasty retreat to 
my room. When there I did reflect upon all that 
had been said, and 1 then came to the conclusion 
that I was a genius, aud that writing is my forte. I 
felt it in that most guscepible part of me—my bones; 
and I resolved to continue writing, though all the 
world should oppose me, and 1 have done it. While 
the household are asleep, I burn the “midnight 
oil” aud scribble to my heart's content; and the 
stories thus written I send to the world under the 
signature of “Lillie Loony.” 
I am quite sure that I shall become famous in 
course ot time, and that people will be dedicating 
poems to me, and calling patent medicines and 
hoop-skirls and things alter my lovely nom de 
plume. Won’t papa be surprised, though, when he 
finds out that the “low diet” didn’t have the de¬ 
sired effect, and that the young and talented 
“ Lili.ik Loony ” is his own Barbara G. Moore! 
A MUSICAL HOUSE. 
Wuen I was a boy, my father owned a sorrel mare, 
which was called Tib. She was ordinarily sluggish, 
but possessed good speed and great power. She 
never frightened at anything, and aside from her 
laziness, was a good beast, except on particular 
occasions, when she, without any apparent cause, 
would refuse to go. For a long time she was sub¬ 
jected to the usual treatment, of balky animals — 
severe whipping, pounding, torturiug, etc. But my 
father and the hired man gave it up as a bad course, 
and she was released from this harassment. A 
close observation of her tantrums led me to the 
conclusion that she was subject to puroxyms of the 
nervous system, growing out of electrical changes 
in the atmosphere. She was always true to draw or 
travel in bright, clear, blue-sky spring or summer 
weather; and for the dozen years that we owned 
her. we were never troubled with her in a cold, 
frosty, still winter’s day. But ou a summer’s clay, 
when the electric fluid passed rapidly from the 
earth’s surface, and dyspeptics would look like 
committing suicide, and rheumatics would pi edict a 
change of atmosphere, when thunder caps white and 
gorgeous as au East Indian palace lifted their heads 
in the north-west, betokening the clash and flush of 
coming storm, then look out for old Tib. .She would 
suddenly stop in the furrow, in the harvest field or 
highway, and pitchfork lines, or apple tree clubs, or 
bundles of fired straw under her belly, could not 
s start her. Like a sentinel at bis post, she was deaf 
. to al 1 urgencies and appeals, save one. That would 
I start her after awhile. The same result would be 
. witnessed in a winter’s day, when the air was from 
the South and tbawy. So she was always worked 
> vvitb these reservations, for she was uot always 
- reliable. After we had owned her about eight years 
i my father hired a man by the name of John Hart. 
1 He was a pious mao, and liked above all things to 
3 sing. One bright August morning we were drawing 
in wheat, and old Tib had been drafted into harness. 
She had worked well till about four o’clock in the 
had a full, manly, melodious voice, which rung from 
his throat in tones sweet and beautiful, for he knew 
all the ballads from Robin Hood to Yankee Doodle, 
and the Methodist hymns from “Blow the Trumpet” 
to “How happy arc They.” ’Twas a scene for 
Turner’s pencil. In the west the heavens were 
black as Lrebus. In the east lay huge thunder caps 
white as snow, like Pelion upon Osse. North and 
south the rain had flanked us like the wings ot an 
army. Here and there fell a big rain drop, harbin¬ 
ger of more, whilst around the load stood the hired 
men, aching to pound old Tib into mince meat. 
Hart was on the load. “ Sing,” said my father, 
nart began aud sung a hymn, every two lineB ol 
which was a cbotus of 
“Blow ye tin? trumpet! Blow I 
Sing glory I Hallelujah I ” 
and his eye dilated, and bis breast heaved, and he 
forgot that behind him, but a little way off, was 
thunder and lightning enough rightly expended, 
to “ blow ” up halt of creation ; and that before him 
was a crazy old mare within ten rods ot a good barn, 
too mad, or too upset, however, to make her way to 
it. lie thought of his mission, which was to sing 
God’s praise’mid flushing fire and thunderstroke, 
and he tilled his mission full. 
“Sing away!” cried my father, “singaway, Hart! 
the old hag is relenting—1 see it in her eye ; and the 
tip of her ear is playing to your music like the 
lingers of a maiden to a guitar. Hhe likes the Hal¬ 
lelujah strain. Jr soothes her brain, which seethes 
under this thunder like lead in a red-hot cauldron. 
Ila ! ha! give her the rein ; she’ll go—hurrah ! were 
in time —hurrah! there has been no such singing 
since TimOlheus sung at the feast of Alexander.” 
We had made a discovery. Hart’s voice could 
control the old mare io her tantrums, like the lyre 
of Orpheus the trees ; and whilst he lived with iny 
father, a Methodist hymn would always start her. 
She was a Methodist from instinct, and Hart always 
declared that Tib knew a Methodist from a Presby¬ 
terian hymn instauter.— Dr. Jackson. 
Logic. — Granger, who was a remarkably ugly : 
man, contended that he was the handsomest thing in 
the world. He proved it thus: “ The handsomest 
part ol the world,” said he, “is Europe; of Europe, : 
France; of France. Paris; of Paris, the University; 
of the University, the College of-; in the College 
of-the handsomest room is mine; in my room I 
am the handsomest thing; ergo—I am the handsomest 
thing in the world?” 
A Man hired an over-cute fellow to saw a load of 
wood, agreeing to pay him sixpence an hour. He 
showed him a specimen of the shortest stove wood; 
but the fellow turned on his heel, declaring “ he was 
not quite so green as to saw wood, short as that, for 
sixpence an hour!” 
“ Mamma,” paid an Inquisitive little lady of some 
six summers, “ what makes the sea so hot in a 
storm?” “ Hot my dear?” mamma answered; “ what 
makes you think it is hot?” “ Why, mama, I havem 
just been reading about the boiling waves.” 
A burglar was once frightened out of his scheme 
of robbery by|ihesweet. simplicity of a solitary spins¬ 
ter, who, putting her night-capped head out of the 
window, exclaimed, “go away! ain’t you ashamed!” 
Qtttm Ut till fjmuuj. 
For Moore's Rural New-Yorker. 
GEOGRAPHICAL ENIGMA. 
I am composed of 17 letters. 
My 3, 8,13,12 is a river in Wales. 
My 4, 9, 8, 11, 5 is a river in Vermont. 
My 12, 1, 6, 13, 17, 3, 13 is a county in Virginia. 
My 7,13, 2, 17 is a county in Delaware. , 
My 16, 8, 17, 3 is a mountain in Oregon. 
My IS, 4, 5, 9,13 is a river in France. 
My 7, 11,9, H is a range of mountains in Africa. 
My 16, 13, 1 is u river in Alabama. 
My 16,1,17, 1,10. 4, 0, 8,1 is it division of South America. 
My 3,1,10, 17,15 is a river in Hindostan. 
My 13, 10, 4, 15 is at) island in Polynesia. 
My 13,1, 3, 11, 9 is a city in Canada. 
My 14,13, 5, 11.1 is a city in Sardinia. 
My 13, 17, 9,1 is u mouutaiu in Sicily. 
My whole is a name that will live forever in the annals of 
Ancient History. Emma Farit. 
Whitefield, Marshall Co., HI., Sept., 1862. 
Answer in two weeks. 
For Moore’s Rural New-Yorker 
MATHEMATICAL PROBLEM. 
A cannon hall is discharged from a cannon at an angle of 
elevation of 45“ and descends to the horizon at a distance of 
600 feet from the point of projection. Required the velocity 
of the ball, the greatest altitude, aud time of flight. 
Verona, N. Y., 1862. S. G. Cagwin. 
Answer in two weeks. 
For Moore’s Rural New-Yorker. 
CHARADE. 
My first it is an instrument 
By pedagogues much used at present; 
My second is a class of people 
That live upon this mighty beetle; 
My third the man that does command 
[ Upon the sea or on the land; 
My whole it is a welcome bird, 
The name of which it revokes the word. 
Tin: Rural New Yorker for 1863.— Timely Annoimct- 
vtcvl about Club Term?, dr .— Illness of sevenil weeks dura- 
ntion having Tendered it impossible for us either to prepare 
and issue. Prospectus, Prills, &c , for 1863, or answer the many 
inquiries received'from Agents and others concerning terms, 
inducements for clubbing, etc-, we will state that it tg our 
purpose (D V.) to render the ensuing volume of the Rural 
at least equal, in all respects, to either of its predecessors. 
We intend to devote more time, labor and money upon the 
next, than we have upon the present volume, and hope and 
believe it will be more acceptable and valuable. But we can 
not do this, or even what vve have done the past year, and 
furnish the paper at the low club rate of f 1.25 The recent 
great advance in the price of paper and other material, and 
the high taxes to winch publishers are subjected, necessitates 
change in the price of newspapers, and many of our contem¬ 
poraries have already announced an advance of 25 to 50 cents 
per annum. We had hoped to be able to offer the RURAL for 
1863 at its present low rates, but can not without losing money. 
Among the taxes which we must pay, that on printing paper 
alone is about $100 per month, and the advance in price of 
the article is much more than that; in fact, wc estimate that 
the same quantity of printing paper vve use this year, will 
next j ear cost us (including the tax) Five Thousand Dollars 
more than ever before. Though the largest, this is hut one 
item. The tax upon advertisements is another material one; 
but this we will cheerfully endure—the only trouble 13 that 
advertising does uot promise to he very profitable during the 
rebellion. Our subscribers will he the gainers, however, for 
the less advertising the more reading matter. 
Considering that money is plenty aud cheap, while most 
kinds of produce and manufactures bring good prices, we are 
confident none of our reasonable subscribers (and of course 
all are tueh) will object to our dropping the $1 25 rate, and 
making f 1.50 the lowest dub price of the Rural fur 1863. 
Indeed, the paper will he cheaper, all things considered, than 
formerly ; and. as vve are determined to do the best vve can- 
giving full “value receivedfor every dollar paid on sub¬ 
scription—vve trust Agents and Subscribers will see the Rural 
through the war. and many years thereafter. And. as the 
season for recruiting for the ftORAL Brigade is at hand, we 
hope old friends aud new will enter upon the campaign with 
vigor. In a levy days we will bo prepared to furnish Show 
Bills, Prospectuses, &c , to all disposed to aid in maintaining 
aud increasing the circulation and benefits of the Rural. 
Our inducement* for mbi ts will be substantial and liberal. 
To Ritual Agents—Premiums, Sir..—On looking over our 
Agent’s Book wc find that a number of efficient friends of the 
Rural are entitled to premiums for former successful efforts 
in aid of its circulation. Iu most it’ not all cases, the premi¬ 
ums have not been ordered, or proper directions given as to 
the manner of forwarding them. Some geueroESly decline 
receiving anything; yet us the premiums were offered in good 
faith, our purpose is to pay all that are awarded, and licnco 
those claimants who have not sent orders and directions, or 
whose requests have been overlooked, (as may have been the 
case in some instances.) will please advise us of their wishes 
in the premises — selecting the books or articles preferred 
(where they have the choice.) and giving directions as to how 
and where to forward. Attention to this will oblige us, as we 
vvi»h to pay the few premiums due our friends before com¬ 
mencing the Winter Campaign. 
Back Volumes.— Bound copies of our last volume are now 
ready for delivery—price, 33; unbound, $2 We would again 
state that neither or the first five volumes of the Rural can be 
furnished by us at any price. The subsequent volunieB will be 
supplied, bound, at $3 each — or iI several are tnlcen, at $2 50 
each. Die only complete volumes we can furnish, unbound, are 
those of 1859, 'fid and til price, $.2 each. 
Willett, 1862. 
£3?" Answer in two weeks. 
Henry C. B- 
ANSWERS TO ENIGMAS, &c., IN No, GGG. 
Answer to Biblical Euigma— Oh that I had wings like a 
dove 1 for then would I fly away, aud be at rest. 
Answer to Acrostical Enigma—Michael Corcoran. 
guMigltn' to tUc gubUr. 
Om* Fm I! CVnn paigii - 
RECRUITS WANTED FOR THE RURAL BRIGADE 
The Last Quarter of Vol. XIII of the Rural New-Yorker 
commenced two weeks ago—with October. Asalargc number 
of subscriptions expired with Sept., (all which have No. 663 
printed after their address,) we would remind those interested 
that a prompt renewal is necessary to secure the uninter¬ 
rupted continuance of the paper We hope they, and thou¬ 
sands of would be subscribers, will avail themselves of the 
favorable opportunity now presented to renew or subscribe. 
Single, Club and Trial Subscriptions are now in order and 
respectfully solicited. _ 
THE BEST, AT HALF PRICE ! 
lu order to introduce it more readily to the notice and 
support of comparative strangers, preparatory to the com¬ 
mencement of a new volume, vve have concluded to offer tho 
Rural New-Yorker for the ensuing Quarter—Oet. 1st to 
January, 13 numbers—at ONLY Hark Price, thus placing it 
within tho reach and menus of all nnn-mihtarHers who wish 
to give it u fair trial. We will send 4 copies for II; 8 for 
$2; 12 for $3; 20 for 35, fee . and mail to as many persons 
and post ollices as desired. Wc cannot make a farthing’s 
direct profit, yet shall be glad to thus circulate 5,000 to 20,000 
trial copies—for, though vve may lose temporarily, it is be¬ 
lieved the bread thus cast abroad will return ere long, while 
thousands of families will be benefited by making the acquaint- 
tanee of the Rural and becoming permanent subscribers. 
A REQUEST, AND WHEREFORE. 
We ask its friends all over the land to aid iu circulating the 
Rural s Campaign Quarter. Almost any one can readily 
obtain from 4 to 20 subscribers. “Where there’s a will 
there’s a way,” and have not its friends in the East and West, 
North and South, the will to extend the circulation and use¬ 
fulness of the favorite Rural Weekly of America? Who 
will aid in recruiting for the Rural Brigade? 
MOORE’S RURAL NEW-YORKER, 
THB LARGEST CIRCULATED 
AGRICULTURAL, LITERARY AND FAMILY WEEKLY, 
JB PUBLISHED EVERY SATURDAY, 
BY I>. D. T. inOOltE, ltOUIlKHTKlt, N. Y. 
Offitt, Union Building!, Opposite the Court Homo, Buffalo Street. 
The Rural Nrw-Yorkkk is designed to be unsurpassed in 
Value, Purity, Usefulness and Variety Of Couteuts, and unique 
and beautiful in Appearance. Its Conductor devotes his per¬ 
sonal attention to the supervision of its various departments, 
and earnestly labors to render the Rural au euuueutly Keliidle 
Guide on ail the important Practical, Suientibc and other 
Subjects intimately connected vvitb the business ol thOBe whose 
interests It zealously advocates, as a Family Journal it U 
eminently Instructive and Entertaining — being so conducted 
that it. can be safely taken to the Hearts aud Homes ol people 
of intelligence, taste and discrimination. It embraces more 
Agricultural, Horticultural. Scientific, Educational, Literary 
and News Matter, interspersed with appropriate and beautiful 
Engravings, than any other journal,—rendering it the most 
complete Agricultural, Literary and Family Newspaper 
in America. _ 
TERMS IN ADVANCE: 
Two Dollarb a Year—To Clubs and Agents as follows:— 
Three Copies one year, for $5 ; Six, and one tree to club agent, 
for *10, Ten, and one free, for *16, and any greater numbei at Ban e 
rate—ODly *1 60 per copy. Club paperB directed to individuals 
and sent to as many different Post-Oflices as flesh ed- As we pre¬ 
pay American postage on papers sent to the British Provinces, 
our Canadian agents aud friends must add 12M cents per copy 
to the club rates of the Rural. The lowest price of copies sent 
to Europe, io., is *2,50—including postage. 
Tuk Cash System is strictly adhered to in publishing the 
Ru kal— copie b are never mailed to individual subscribers until 
paid for, and always duconiinued when the tubscnpuim era 
. exjdret. Hence, we force the paper upon none, and “ eep “ 
credit books, long experience having demonstrated that 
Cash Plan is the beat for both Subscriber and publisher, 
ra- Change or Address.—S ubscribers wishing the address 
Answer to Miscellaneous Enigma— Three cheers for our of their papers changed from one Post-Office to another, mu 
flag that proudly waves, red, white aud blue. specify the old address as well as the new to secui ecuui i 
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