The word I had not at first intended speaking 
was beyond recall. The hard decision, not clear¬ 
ly made in my own judgment, was precipitated 
under the power of excitement, and so fixed in a 
strong will. Having spoken I would endure. 
1 saw by the aunt's face that she was noton my 
side,—that no good was to be expected from her 
influence. 
“ 1 will report you ultimatum," she said stiffly. 
Then adding a stately “Good morning!” with¬ 
drew [To be continued.] 
THE RED, WHITE AND BLUE 
Red w*j> the lightning* flashing, 
And down through the driving rain, 
We kvw (he rod eye* hashing 
Of the merciless midnight train ; 
Soon many crowded together, 
Under the lamp’s red glow, 
But I raw one figure only— 
Ah 1 why ditl I tremble so V 
The eyes that garni in the darten*** 
After the midnight train, 
Are red with watching and weeping, 
For it brings none, back again. 
Cloud* bang in the West like banners, 
Red banner* of war unfurled, 
And the prairie ftod i* crimeon 
Willi tlie best blood or the world. 
Width flu**: arv pressed to tlie window, 
W. telling the son go down, 
Looking c ut to the coming dai knoa, 
That covers tlie noisy town. 
White arts the hand*, too, and quiet, 
Over tJic pul«lc-e breast; 
No more will tlie vision of parting 
Disturb the white sleeper's rest 
Over sleeper, and grave., and tombstone, 
Like a pitying mantle spread, 
Tlie snow Como* down in tlie night time, 
With a shy and noleclos* tread. 
Blue, f.moke rolls away on the North wind, 
Blue skies grow dusk In tlie din, 
Blue waters look dark with the shadow 
That gather* the world within. 
Rigid and blue are the fingers 
That clutch at the fading sky ; 
Blue lips in their agony mutter: 
“ 0 don I let this cup pass by.” 
Blue c-yes grow weary wiUi watching, 
Strong hands with waiting to do ; 
While brave hearts echo the watchword ; 
<* Hurrah ! for the Red, Wtdtc, and Blue. 
LITTLE JOKERS 
The celebrated portrait, painter, Stuart, once 
met a lady in the street in Boston, who saluted 
him with:—“Oh, Mr. Stuart, I have just seen 
your miniature, and I kissed it, because it was so 
much like you.” “And did it kiss you in return?” 
“Why, no.” “Then," said Stuart, “’twas not 
like me.” 
A n impertinon t writer says:— All single women, 
the best and most sensible of them, as they near 
the thirties, seem to adopt the maxim of Beau 
Brummel, “Starch is the man.” 
“ This snow-storm the boys regard as a joke,” 
said one to Dr. S—, during a late storm. “Yes,” 
replied the doctor, “and it is a joke that any one 
can see the drift of. 
An eminent divine preached one Sunday morn¬ 
ing from the text—“ Ye are children of the devil,’* 
and in the afternoon, by a funny coincidence, 
from the words. “Children, obey your parents." 
Somebody, describing the absurd appearance 
of a man dancing the polka, says, “He looked as 
though he hail a hole in his pocket, and was try¬ 
ing to shake a shilling down the leg of his brow¬ 
sers.” 
Qittte Foroot ’em. —“I say, cap’n,” said a 
keen-eyed man, as he landed from the steamer 
Potomac at Natchez, “I say, cap’n, this’ere ain’t 
all—I’ve left sutbin’ or ’duther ori board, that’s a 
fac. We’ll see now} 1 grant it’s all right ’cordin’ 
to list—four boxes, three chests, two brandy 
boxes, a portmoney, two hams (one part used), 
three ropes of inyuns, and one teakettle. But 
you sec, cap’n, Pm kinder dubersorae; I feel like 
as it Btithin’sahort Though I’ve counted them 
nine times, and never took my eyes off on ’em 
sense 1 came on board, l feel there’s suthin’ 
wrong somewhere.” 
“ Well, stranger, time’s up. You’ve got all I 
know on, so jest fetch your ole woman an’ five 
children out of the cabin, for we must be off.” 
“ Them’s um, by hokey 1 them’s um ! I know’d 
Pd forgot Biilbin’ or ’nuttier.” 
me, or in some plain way signified her desire to 
have me come. All tin* evening 1 waited at home 
for her messenger; hut none appeared. In the 
morning t received a note from her aunt briefly 
at iling tfie accident, and asking to see me. 
“There are reasons why, as things now stand, f 
cannot see you at your own bouse,” 1 wrote buck 
in answer. “Will you not call and see me? I will 
remain ut borne until ten o’clock Gome, if you 
please. 1 very much desire an interview.” 
Her aunt came, as requested. She was tlie sis¬ 
ter of .! ui.ia’h mother, was a handsome middle- 
aged woman, was fond of dress and company; 
vain and superficial, 1 had never liked her. Flu* 
passed fora widow; but common report had it, 
that her luishand was living somewhere at the 
South. This report afterward proved tine, tlie 
husband appearing just in time to save a rich, 
weak old man from marrying her. 
The aunt came. She was in great, trouble, and 
volunteered to censure Julia for not going to her 
own house. 1 did uot think the censure wholly 
sincere. In fact, 1 never put faith in her for 
anything. She was a fluent talker and protester 
of feeling. All her expressions were ardent, and 
in the style superlative. It was meet for me to 
be on my guard, and bo I was guarded. My 
reception of her was grave; my manner very 
serious. 
“How is Jci.ia this morning?” 1 oskedcoldly* 
“She is not in so much pain. It was a fright¬ 
ful affair! ” 1 wonder she hod not been dashed to 
pieces!” And then she went into a wordy ac¬ 
count of the accident. After she had talked her¬ 
self out of breath, 1 said— 
“It would have* boon nearer for her to come 
home. Why did she not do so ?” 
“Mr. IIarbacgh—” She checked herself. I 
knitted my brows sternly. 
“It was her own act. She went past her hus¬ 
band's borne, i • leuturily ” I .-aid, “and I am not 
pleased, not, satisfied touching the motives by 
which she was influenced. All the circumstan¬ 
ces taken into account, her conduct lias a ques¬ 
tionable look, and I ask for explanations- Why 
was I not sent for immediately on her arrival at 
your house? Why was 1 not rent for last eve¬ 
ning? ” 
“Oh, the Doctor said he would call here as he 
went home," interposed the aunt. 
“The Doctor!” 1 spoke with indignation. “ I, 
her husband, could lie notified, informally, thro’ 
courtesy of the Doctor, as he returned homeward 
on his round of visits! Quito a diversion in my 
favor! J toll you, madarn ! Ibis whole thing is 
out of the true order, and has a bad look ! I am 
not satisfied with it afi it now stands." 
My visitor’s facegrew red suddenly—her mouth 
jerked und quivered—tears filled her eyes. 
“Poor child!” she sobbed, “ Hurt. Buffering, 
distressed; and to have this added! It is cruel in 
you Mr. Marion! If you really loved her—” 
“Stop!” 1 said, with angry sternness. “ i will 
have nothing of this! And let me warn you, 
madam, against the folly of lending any counte¬ 
nance to the wrong step my wife has taken. If 
you value her peace of mind, her good name, her 
future well-being, seek, by all means in your 
power, to draw her back to the right path from 
which her feet have clearly diverged. There are 
two ways in life—one leading to honor and hap¬ 
piness, the other to shame and misery. She has 
boon hesitating, for some time, at the point where 
these two ways diverge. 1 have observed it with 
fear and trembling. Alas for her! The wrong 
road hafi been chosen. If she goes onward, she 
parts f rom her husband blights her good mime 
—raises to her lips a cup the wine whereof is 
bitter. By all that is good and holy, lead her 
back—lead her back!” 
1 was strongly vcited—spoke almost vehe¬ 
mently, and with ,io guarded choice of words. 
The aunt was offended, not, drawn to my side.— 
1 ler pride took flame. Tbe evil in her went over 
to tlie side of her beautiful niece. I was unrea¬ 
sonable—a brute—a tyrant—cruel. She said this 
in plain words, with hot cheeks and flashing eyes. 
“1 warn you, madam!” my answer wa*stern 
and threatening; “if you trifle with a solemn 
issue like ibis, you are throwing happiness, like 
chaff, to the winds. You see dial 1 am deeply 
moved, sadly in earnest That to me, think as 
you may, this matter is one of infinite concent. 
1 know just where I stand—what 1 can yield and 
what withhold—what I can and cannot do—what 
I have to suffer, if the worst comes to the worst. 
Take, madam, this into account: I am as inflexi¬ 
ble as iron whpn my course is once taken. And 
in this thing L have taken my course. If Jclia 
ever sees me atyourhouse, she must send for me; 
and I must be sure that she has sent!" 
Written for Moore’* Raral New-Yorker. 
MARRYING A BEAUTY. 
CHAFTER in. 
It was a warm October day, which, coming 
after a cold Bpell of weather, was an invitation 
to the open air. 
“Shall we ride out this afternoon, Julia?” I 
said, as wo sat at tbe dinner table. 
“My head aches,” she answered, m a dull 
voice. 
“ The ride may do it good,” l suggested. 
“No; riding never helps me when I have the 
headache. My remedy is to keep quiet” 
I said no more. She had not spoken of a head¬ 
ache until 1 proposed riding. 1 thought of this 
Treasures.— A treasure of a husband—carries 
the baby. A treasure of a wife— never asks for 
money. A treasure of a sou—has money in the 
funds. A treasure of a daughter—looks the same 
age as her mother; If anything, a trifle older. A 
treasure of a servant—runs to the post in less 
than half an hour. A treasure of a cook—is not 
hysterical whenever there is company to dinner. 
A treasure of a baby—doesn’t disturb Iris dear 
papa in the middle of the night 
Naomi, the daughter of Enoch, waa five hun¬ 
dred and eighty years old when she was marriod. 
Courage, ladies 1 
“There never was n goose no grey, 
But some day, *oon or late. 
An honest gander came that way 
And look her for his mate.” 
On coming home, at six o'clock m the evening, 
it was almost dark — 1 did not find my wife. 
“ Where is Mrs. Marion?” 1 asked of one of our 
servants. 
“ She hasn’t returned yet,” was answered. 
“ Where did she go? ” 
“Out riding.” 
“With whom?” 
There was hesitation, 
manne 
ILLUSTRATED CHARADE. 
An Inducement.- Dr. Chalmers once asked a 
woman what could bo done to iuduce her to 
attend church. “ I don’t know,” she replied, 
“ unless you were to put a pipe and a pot of por¬ 
ter in the pew.” 
I saw by the servant’s 
that she did not think 1117 wife had gone 
away in the right company. 
« With Mr. IIaurauuh,” she said, rather falter- 
ingly, droppiug her 170 a from mine. 
I turned from her quickly and went up stairs. 
The shadows of approaching evil sometimes fall 
heavily upon us, but too late to serve da warn¬ 
ings. I felt night closing round me—a dark and 
starless night. After this could 1 receive my 
wife home again? Gould I open the door and let 
her pass in over the threshold? These questions 
crowded themselves into my miud, and I was in 
too much confusion of thought to answer them 
clearly. Between my soul and her soul the gulf 
bad so widened in an instant, that henceforth w« 
must dwell at an almost inconceivable distance 
from each other. 
Blind as I had been during the long period 
that intervened before our marriage—weakly as 1 
had taken purity and truth for granted —1 yet 
held the marriage relation to be the holiest ami 
most sacred of all relations. You can under- 
Btand my feelings on this subject, when I toll you 
that 1 regard all ti-ue marriages as perpetual 
unions. The muficulinc soul and the feminine 
soul, according to my belief, are e?sentially and 
eternally different, created for union, and never 
perfect in life, action, or use, until conjoined. 
This perfect conjunction does uot often lake place 
in the natural world, because men and women are 
born in evil,and evil, which in all its fonnssprings 
from self-love, forever pula hindrances in the way 
of such conjunctions. In heaven, purified from 
evil, (hose twain become one up to the full mean¬ 
ing expressed by the Church in tlie marriage 
ceremonial. True marriages initiated here, are 
perfected there. If the marriage lie not a (rue 
one—that is, if the woman and the man have not 
an interior likeness; cannot completely sympa- 
. thine with and love the spiritual states and quali¬ 
ties (hat make the others live; and yet, each in 
honorable, true and faithful to the vows given in 
wedlock, their sojourn together in this world will 
be an image of the more interior marriage that 
hhall lilcss them in heaven. They shall find 
there tlie true partners created for them by God, 
There must tie faithfulness here—faithfulness to' 
the marriage compact, even if souls cannot reach 
a true interior conjunction. Without such faith¬ 
fulness, no mail or woman can walk in the ways 
of regeneration, and grow meet for heaven, 
where true marriages alone exist. To be 
unfaithful in marriage, is to put tlie soul in 
jeopardy. 
Our beliefs govern to a great extent our 
actions. My mind was not bo dear, at the time 
to which l am referring, as it is now; still, ruv 
views of marriage were, in the main, what I have 
stated, I regarded it, as a very sacred compact, in¬ 
volving every thing of happiness and misery be- 
Hx talked of dagger* and cif dart/:, 
Of passion* Mid of pains, 
Of weeping e\i* and wounded heart*, 
Of kiMHi> and of chain*. 
He said though Love, was kin to grief, 
She was not born to grieve; 
He said, though many rued belief. 
She .rifely might believe. 
But still the lady shook her head, 
As any lady tuny, 
And vowed my whole was all he said, 
Or all that he could say 
He said my first—whose silent ear 
Was s|o\vly wandering by, 
Veiled in a vapor faint and fair, 
Through the unfathomed sky— 
Was like tin smile, whose rosy light 
Across her young lips passed; 
Yet oh ! it. was nut half *0 bright; 
it changed not half so fast. 
But still the lady shook her head, 
As any lady may, 
And vowed my whole wa* till he mud, 
And all that he could ray. 
And then la* set a cypress wreath 
Upon his raven hair, 
And drew his rapier from it* tJionlh, 
Which made ti e lady stare; 
And raid his life blood’* purple flow 
My second there should dim, 
If shP lie loved mid cherished so 
Would weep one tear for him 
But Ktill tlie lady shook her head, 
As any lady may, 
And vowed my whole wa* all he mud 
And all that be could say. 
(fjlT" Answer in two weeks. 
MOOBE’3 RURAL HEW-YORKER, 
TUM LARGEST (JIRClt-ATWO 
Agricultural, Literary and Family Newspaper, 
18 BUBUBHBD KTXKT BATl'ltnAV 11* 
D. I*. T. moo UK, ROCIII STI H, N. If. 
THUJIH, US' JtUV'AJVCU : 
Two Dollars a Year- To Clubs and Agents as follow*: 
Three Copies one year, for §5; Six, and one free to club 
agent, for {Hi, Teu, and one free, lor $15; and any greater 
nuinhei atsaine rati? — only $1.50 per copy. Club papers 
directed to indri .duals and sent to a* many different ^oel- 
Ortices a* desired, A* we pre-pay American pontage on 
copies sent abroad, $1 .62 is the lowest Club rate for Canada, 
and $2.50 to Europe, - but during the present rate of ex¬ 
change. Canada Ageula or Subscribers remitting for tlie 
Rural in bill* of llieirown specie-paying bank* will not be 
charged postage 
Tug Postaob on the Rural New-Y orker is only 3>4 cts. 
per Quarter to any part of this State, (except Monroe coun¬ 
ty, where it goes frets,) and 6S cis. to any other Loyal 
State, il paid quarterly in advance where received. 
Tiik Cash 3 *8Ti:M i8 strictly adhered to in publishing the 
Rural — copies are never mailed to individual subscribers 
until paid for, and dinars discontinued token the subscrip¬ 
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and keep uo credit books, long experience having demon- 
Rtraled that the CASH Plan is the beet for both Subscriber 
and Publisher. 
Back Volumes, — Bound copies of Volume XJTT, for 1862, 
will be ready in a fow days - price, f3. We would again 
state that neither of the first five volumes of the Rural 
can be furnished by us at any price. Tbe subsequent vol¬ 
umes will be supplied, bound, at $3 each — or if several are 
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unbound, are those of 1&59, '60, 'til and '02- price, f2 each. 
Additions to Clubs are always in order, whether in 
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Please “make a note of it." 
Direct to Rochester, N. Y. All persons having occa¬ 
sion to address tbe Rural New-YORkkr, will Please direct 
to Rochester. A. 1'., and not, as many do, to New York, 
Albany, Bullalo, Ac. Money Letters intended for us are 
frequently directed and mailed to Um above place-. 
The Rural as a Present- Any St bsciuiikr wishing to 
send the Rural to a friend or relative, as a Present, will be 
charged ODly 51-50. It is also furnished to Clergymen, 
Teachein and Soldier* at the lowest club rate-? 1 £ 0 a copy. 
Our LvDucicwiiNTS for obtaining subscriber* to the Four¬ 
teenth Volume of the Rural, for 1863. are of the most 
Lilieral and Substantial character. Premium List*, Show- 
Bills, tec,, sent free to all disposed to act as agent*. 
As* person so disposed can act as local agent for the 
Rural New-Yorker, and those who volunteer in the good 
cause will receive gratuities, and their kindnesses be 
appreciate cL 
No Traveling Agents are employed bv ns, as we wish 
to give the whole field to local agent* and those who lortu 
dubs- 
t3>- See Publisher's Notices on preceding page. 
For Moore's Rural New-Yorker. 
ARITHMETICAL PROBLEM. 
Tm: sum of three numbers in arithmetical progression 
is 27. Tlie square of the mean exceeds the product of the 
extremes by 1C. Required tlie three numbers. 
Battle Creek, Mich., 1862 V? W Byixoton 
53^” Answer in two w eek*. 
For Moore's Rural New-Yorker. 
AN ANAGRAM 
Kudkn a presaidug cthsotmt rect 
Eht valielg mishty suatds, 
Ute inisht a mihgyt nnm si fell 
Tliiw earlg dan synwie hnads, 
Atln teh eusueiJs fo sih barywn rmas 
Ken tsrogn pa moir budas. 
Francisco, Ind., 1863. Lo. E. Dooghtt 
Answer in two weeks. 
ANSWERS TO ENIGMAS, &C., IN No. 677. 
