I 
XOORJS’S E¥HJI 
former sitting before you is slender, graceful 
Harry, and the sober wife is the girl clinging 
through all time and storm to his protecting arm. 
*• Yes; and I would have married you iu spite 
of twenty uncle Abels,” and then she looked 
askance at the dreaming man. 
Dreaming—no, for he was looking at her with 
a smile that broadened and deepened till you 
saw his great white teeth; and then he took both 
her hands in his, and turned toward her: 
“You little hypocrite, you think you arc 
making a fool of me, all this while—putting mo 
in mind of those pleasant times just a purpose 
to sec what a foolish soft, old heart I’ve got You 
know you are trying to coax me to let Ruthje 
have that youngster, eh? How do you think I 
can stick to my word, when you put me in mind 
- It’s no use. I might as well give iu first 
a.s last to the two young fools and ono old one, 
eh, Susy? J’vc been thinking some time that 
mebbc I was a little hard on Ruthie— and she is 
ro good and dutiful. If she should die, or fall 
into sorrow. J would mebbe be sorry for crossing 
her; and, after all, the lad is well enough, 
I s’pose.” 
And thus the mother won the day; and thus 
we leave them by the hearth and its dying gleam 
on the sober couple dreaming they were young 
again. 
CHAPTER III. 
"What an uproar around the house that clear, 
cold Christmas morning—for Harry was career¬ 
ing up and down tiie ditch on new skates of most 
wonderful construction, and rosy, roguish Ben 
was supremely happy in the possession of a blue 
sled with swan-heads on the runnel's, and the 
name “2:40” in gilt letters on the top; Belle was 
parading a great doll before her admiring friends, 
and Mrs, Maywood went about wrapped in a new 
brochc shawl; but Ruth’s present hadn’t come 
yet—her lather said, “It should have been hero 
before this time,” and he looked at the old clock 
very often. 
Ruth did not seem to care very much whether 
it camo or not. In fact she felt quite indifferent 
to finery of any sort if George were not to see it 
worn. So she went about admiring all the other 
gifts, and speaking her pleasant, gentle words, 
and wishing she, too, could enjoy the'Christmas 
time. 
Thus it happened that she stole softly to her 
own room, where she remained until there was 
the sound of unwonted bustle through the house, 
and her name was called loudly by more than 
oik*. A hurried knock’ at her door, and her 
father put his head in to say, “ Ruthie, your 
present has come. Don’t be disappointed — 
father tried to suit you;” and then he chuckled 
to himself. “It is down in the parlor, and you 
will find it there. I hope you will like it,” 
Wonderingly Ruthie looked at her father, and 
followed him down stairs; and when she reached 
the parlor door, he did not go any further, but 
putting his great hands on her shoulders, he 
bent down to kiss her, and she felt warm tears, 
as he said:—“God bless my dutiful daughter;” 
and quickly turned to go across the hall, leaving 
her to gee her Christmas present first alone. 
Ruthie lived many years, but she never forgot 
that Christmas mowing, nor the looks of that 
evergreen-decked room, nor the first glance at 
George Burn'll, radiant with youth and happi¬ 
ness—as handsome aud gallant a lover as ever 
won a maiden's love. Ah, no, when they were 
old and grey she always remembered her Christ¬ 
mas present. 
Fanner Maywood soon came in, laughed and 
cried at tbe same time; looked happier than man 
ever did before; while mother Susan, with her 
shining eyes.■softly smiled and kissed her daugh¬ 
ter's cheek. 
But amid the hilarity of that Christmas dinner, 
our old friend, the turkey, held an honored place, 
and between the two drum-sticks was found a 
scrap of white paper, which Mrs. Maywood de¬ 
clared must be the one the turkey would not ('at; 
which Fanner Maywood declared was lor a pink 
bonnet with a blue feather for the bride; and 
which George declared was neither more nor 
less than a bank check for a hundred dollars, 
from the most generous father to the best and 
prettiest daughter living; and all this while 
sweet Ruth was looking on with eyes fhiuing 
through her .tears of happiness, glancing shyly 
now and then at. her Christmas present. 
break the heart of me, Thady. jewel; comedown, 
then!” 
The poor girl wrung her hands as she said it 
and cast a look upward that had a visible effect 
on the muscles of the soldier’s countenance. There 
was more tenderness in his tone, but it conveyed 
tbe same resolution as before. 
Its honor, honor bright. Kathleen!” And, as 
if to defend himself from another glance, he fixed 
his look steadfastly in front, while the renewed en¬ 
treaties burst from all three in chorus, with the 
same answer. 
“ Come down, Thady, honey! — Thady ye fool, 
come down!—0 Thady, come down to me!” 
“It’s honor, mother! — It’s honor brother! — 
Honor bright, my own Kathleen!” 
Although the poor follow was a private, this ap¬ 
peal was so public, that I did not hesitate to go 
down and inquire into the particulars of the dis¬ 
tress. It appeared that be had been home on 
furlough to visit his family, and having exceeded, 
as he thought, the terra of his leave, he was going 
to rejoin his regiment, and to undergo the penalty 
of his neglect. 1 asked him when the furlough 
expired. 
“The first of March, your honor—bad luck to 
it of all the black days in the world—and here it 
is, come sudden on me like a shot!” 
“The first of March!—why, my good fellow, 
you have a day to spare, then—the first of Starch 
will not be here till to-morrow. It is leap year, 
and February has twenty-nine days.” 
The soldierwas thunderstruck. “ Twenty-nine 
days is it! Your sartin of that same! Oh, moth¬ 
er, mother!—ill luck fly away wid yere ouhl 
almanac—a base cratur of a book, to be dcceaven 
one after living so long in the family of us!” 
His first impulse was to cut a caper on the roof 
of the coach, aud throw up his cap, with a loud 
hurrah! Ills second was to throw himself iuto 
the arms of his Kathleen, and the third was to 
wring my band off in an acknowledgment 
“ It’s a happy man 1 am, your honor, for my 
word’s saved, and all by your honoris means. 
Long life to your honor for the same. May ye 
live a long hundred—and leap yeans every one of 
them!” 
shoe, but it did not deceive the quick eyes now 
upon her. By the way, what woman ever did 
succeed in misleading another in matters of this 
kind? 
Mrs. Maywood came up close and stood beside 
her daughter a moment in silence, then putting 
bock the hair from her child’s fair face, Btooped 
to kiss it tenderly. 
“Mother, how good you are,” and Ruth put 
both arms lovingly about her neck. Thpn, with 
a shy, backward movement, she laid the damp 
letter In her baud, and turned away her head, 
while the kind matron read these words: 
“Darlino Ruth: — I cannot, dare not meet 
yon. to say ‘Good-bye,’ for I am afraid I should 
find it bard to speak no word to change your 
resolution to abide your father’s decision, that 
we can never be more to each other than now. 
I trust to time to change him, and 1 hope that 
when he hears how steadfast and earnest I can 
be—the time will come when 1 can fairly and 
honestly claim you at his hand. But. O, my dar¬ 
ling, it'is hard to wait—80 hard. Good-bye— 
God bless you, and keep you as the good are 
kept, by angels watching night and day. 
“George.” 
And Mrs. Maywood echoes the bust line, “ the 
angels keep you,” aud adds, “my dear, dutiful 
daughter.” 
In that time the mother forgot the lapse of 
years between them, and only remembered they 
were both women, with women’s loving, throb¬ 
bing hearts. 
“ Ruth!” and Ruth stood up before her silently. 
“Ruth—if your father’s consent and mine were 
given, would you risk poverty and all the uncer¬ 
tainties of future happiness? Would you marry 
George Burrlll?” 
Then Ruth folded her hands tightly together 
over her heart, and lifted her clear eyes to her 
mother’s face, and spoke two words “Yes, 
mother” — that Was all. Nobody spoke after 
that—not even the turkey, that hud been looking 
on curiously the while. Each turned and went 
their way, and no mere spectator would have 
guessed (la* subject of the brief colloquy held 
beside the old churning machine in tbe clear, 
cold air of the winter morning. 
Written for Moore’s Rural New-Yorker. 
A SHOUT FOE FREEDOM. 
TiT A. S. HOOKER, 
Let now n swelling shout go np from where the rocks of 
Maine 
Atlantic’s rolling billows meet and fling them back again, 
To where Pacific’s golden sands flash in the setting sun, 
And bright Nevada’s snowy peaks shine when the day is 
done, 
From where Red River’s sea of pines swell with a stormy 
roar, 
To where the white lipped, whispering shells strew all the 
Texan shore, 
From Washington’s tall monntain-cones, black with vol¬ 
canic smoke, 
To Florida’s rich orange-bowers and groves of princely 
Yes, let a swelling shout go up, and spread from sea to 
sea, 
“America, our native land, America is free.” 
Already dawns a brighter day from out the battle’s night, 
And rolls the smoke cloud from the sky, before the sun of 
Right. 
Henceforth a holier luster glows above each bloodstained 
field— 
Where Freedom's hosts of noble sons made Slavery’s min¬ 
ions yield. 
Too long the lurid night of war, lit by the bursting shell, 
And musket’s flash, aud cannon’s blaze, has had the glare 
of hell; 
But soon the battle's awful roar, the thunder peals shall 
cease, 
And/ree America once more shall hail the dawn of Peace. 
Then let a swelling shout go forth, and spread from sea 
to sea, 
“Thank Gon I our home, America, our native land is 
free.” 
For many months, on bloody fields our brave have nobly 
died, 
And consecrated many spots to be the Future’s pride; 
And still the storm of iron hail pours from the battle- 
cloud, 
Rent by the bursting cannon’s mouth, with hoarsc-toned 
thunder loud. 
Still flames the meteor flag above the lines of flashing steel, 
Where groans and wails and blood and smoko the battle’s 
rage reveal. 
WitJi horrid crash the bursting shell breaks in upon our 
dreams; 
Till every hamlet in our land another Ramah seems. 
But War shall cease his demon rage: how glorious then 
’twill be, 
To feel that every hill and dale in our broad land is free. 
God bath a noble destiny for this our native land: 
The champion of the cause of Right forever she shall 
stand. 
Far in the distant Future’s light, America I see, 
Clad in the shining vestment* bright of sacred Liberty: 
Bearing aloft the glorious flag, each star undinuned, as yet. 
By foul Rebellion’s traitor baud whose blood her sword 
has wet. 
Ws stand within the dawning light that breaks above her 
head, 
And gilds, with glory ever bright, each patriot hero’s bed. 
Then let a swelling shout go forth, and spread from sea 
to sea, 
“ At length our home, America, our native land is free. ” 
Lima, N. Y., Jan. 5th, 1863. 
THE MILKMAjr’S FAVORITE COW 
A New Breed of Chickens.— A farmer was 
greatly annoyed by the scratching of his chick¬ 
ens in the garden, and concluded to experiment 
with them a little. lie therefore procured 
a Shanghai rooster, and the result of the cross 
was a brood of chickens with one long and one 
short leg. When they stood on the long leg and 
undertook to scratch with the other they couldn't 
touch bottom; on reversing the order of things, 
as digging with the long leg while the short one 
supported the body, the first, stroke would result 
in a grand series of somersaults. The conse¬ 
quence was that the hens soon became “a-weary” 
of that fun, and left the garden, and the farmer’s 
good wife rejoiced greatly thereat. 
Sonnet to ye Skaters.— The following lines, 
just at this time, wi}l come home to the feelings 
of many a tyro in the graceful art of skating: . 
Wo to the wight when first he feels 
The slippery skates beneath his heels; 
Who, tremblingly, trie* the dangerous play; 
And scratche* out a first essay; 
Up fly his feet, he feels with dread 
The ice has cracked and cracked bis bead I 
A double damage thus We see, 
Misfortunes march in company; 
Stars twinkle round Ida aching eyes, 
Amazed, he re<-i new liras arise; 
To him celestial wonders ope, 
Without the aid of telescope. 
With shuffling haste he seeks the shore, 
Aud vows, at leant, to skate no more. 
CltAHTKR II. 
Farmer Maywood, and Susan, his wife, were 
left alone that evening beside the fuding fire on 
the hearth. The children had all crept off to 
bed—the farm hands were snoring loudly in the 
chamber above tho wide old kitchen—the cat lay 
curled up on the stonq^ieartb, and a scratch now 
and then at the door told of faithful Dash keep¬ 
ing the “dog watch” outside. The great logs 
wore burned in two, and lay on either side dick¬ 
ering and glowing amid the filmy white ashes, 
that quivered like some living thing soon to fly 
away. 
Tho farmer had drained his mug of cider, and 
Susan sat quietly looking in the fire. 
“Well, Susan, to-morrow I’m going to the 
town, and I s’pose I might as well pick up some 
notions for the children for Christmas lime. I 
promised Ben, the little rogue”—and Farmer 
Maywood’s eyes were gleaming—“I promised 
him a sled and he shall have one, too—ft real 
tearar. And Harry—well, I suppose a pair of 
skates will be just the thing for him. He has 
been very faithful to his work so far, and I guess 
he ought to have 'em—yes, skates for Hairy: 
and Belle pretty nearly made me. promise her a 
doll; so that's settled; and there’s only Ruthie 
to decide about, I can't tell what to choose for 
her:” aud straightway ho fell into a fit of pro¬ 
found musing, that lasted live* minutes at least, 
from which ho started with a query, with his 
hand yet thoughtfully resting on tho stubble-field 
of chin: 
“A pink bonnet, with a blue feather’?” 
He really thought that ought to make any 
woman happy; but, to use a questionable phrase, 
Mrs. S{. “did not see it in that light,” and 
laughed a little to herself at the figure Ruthie 
would cut with such finery. 
Then another long Cogitation, followed by a 
fresh inspiration: 
“ A finger-ring, with a red stone?” 
Mother Susan vetoed this as well, and the bluff 
farmer declared he gave it up entirely, coming 
to the sage conclusion that: 
“ It's mighty hard to suit women folks, any 
way.” 
“ Our Ruthie looks very pale and thin, now-a- 
(fays: have you noticed it?” and Mrs. Maywood 
smoothed out her white apron. 
“ No, she don’t,” said tho Squire, hastily. “All 
stuff and nonsense. You think she's goin’ to 
grieve herself to death about that boy-lover of 
hers, and it's no such thing. Nothing but chil¬ 
dren, any w ay.” 
Susan made pome excuse to change her posi¬ 
tion, and sat down on the low chair beside her 
husband; and by-and-by she said: 
“ How old were you when we were married? 
1 was just Ruthio’s age, you know.” 
He took hold of her pretty, dimpled chin, and 
turned the demure lace toward him. 
“ You little goose, you know well enough that 
I was just twenty-one. What has that to do with 
it?” 
••Only I was thinking that George would be 
twenty-one next month.” 
“Well, I don’t care if he is forty-one. It’s all 
the same. She shan’t have him.” 
A long pause, and both looked straight in the 
fire. Presently, Susan, glancing up, said, 
“ Do you remember old Unde Abel?” 
ay.” 
“ Did I ever tell you how he tried to break off 
our caring for one another?” 
Ah, artful mother Susan! full w r ell you know 
how to touch the hidden springs in that great, 
rough, blundering nature. Sitting there in the 
fading twilight, with a face more matronly but 
scarcely less fair than when you were Harry 
Maywood’s bride some twenty years ago, you 
speak in your soft voice of your days of early 
love,—of cruel Uncle Abel, who worked you 
much ill. Go on, little w r oman,—the rough 
Unintentional Jokes. —The man that makes 
a joke without intending it frequently amuses us 
more than the most ingenious of professional jo¬ 
kers—as when the milkman in a play is charged 
with putting calves’ brains in his milk, he ans¬ 
wered, “ Brains! 1 never had such a tiling in my 
bead !” It was the same sort of a case when a 
juryman having asked the judge to excuse him 
from serving on account of deafness, the latter 
said, “Couldn't you hear my charge to the grand 
jury?” “ Yes, l heard it,” said the man, “but I 
couldn’t make any sense of it.” 
Impromptu.— “ You remind me,” observed 
Jonks to Fitz-Boozey, who was airing a new suit 
of gorgeous appeal! on Broadway—“ you remind 
me of an ancient, cry of the night-watchman.” 
“Do 1? Why?” asked Fit/,, surveying himself 
in a large photograph show case, en passant. 
“ Because you are ‘all swell,’ ” replied Jenks, 
blandly. 
ILLUSTRATED REBUS 
£3"" Answer in two weeks. 
A. CHRISTMAS PRESENT 
For Moore’s Rural New-Yorker. 
GEOGRAPHICAL ENIGMA. 
BY ETHEL LYNN, 
What three wards did Adam use when he in¬ 
troduced himself to Eve, and which read the 
same backward and forward? “Madam, I’m 
Adam.” 
To be called a fool is bad enough; but a stut¬ 
terer makes the thing worse by calling you a foo- 
foo-fool. 
Throw a chimney-sweep into the river if you 
would make a clean sweep of him. 
I am composed of 20 letters. 
My 4, 1, 12, 17, 0 Is a country in Africa. 
My 6, 24, 9, 10 is a cape in Asia. 
My 16, 2, 18, 1, 9 is a river in Asia. 
My 16, 19, 9, 1, 16, 3, 1, 9 is A volcano in Europe 
My 9, 11, 13, 20, 26, 22 is a mountain in New England. 
My 26, 11, 12, 14, 9, 8, 2, 6 is a cape in Britain. 
My 6, 15, 12, 21,17, 20, 6, 15, 8 is a county in Virginia. 
My 23, 5, 11, 26,19 is a rivrr in Ireland. 
My 26, 19, 7, 15, 9 is a river in Washington Territory. 
My whole is a patriotic motto. 
Middleton, Wis., 1863. Ruth Clkwktt. 
Ky Answer In two weeks. 
MOOSE'S RURAL NEW-YORKER 
mu largest circclatkd 
Agricultural, Literary and Family Newspaper, 
IS PUBLISHED EVERY SATURDAY BY 
JD. O. T. ITIOOItE, KOC'HESTElt, N. Y. 
My first is a pronoun of only three letters, 
So easy to guess that no more shall I tell; 
My second arc made of silk, eottou or wool: 
Of each or of all they are equally wall. 
They are used by both sexes, by young nad by old, 
By ladies at parties, by boys when they’re cold; 
They are long and are short, are black, white and gray 
Now give a good guess and tell me, I pray. 
My whole lived in dark ages, in woods and in caves, 
On mountains, in deserts; alone, and yet slaves, 
Bound in fetters more strong than iron e’er made, 
Yet assumed by themselves and proudly displayed. 
Answer in two weeks. 
THRJn8 9 IJV aOV'JIJYCJt : 
Two Dollars a Year —To Clubs aud Agents as follows: 
Three Copies one year, for $£; Six, aud one free to club 
agent, for SKI, Ten, aud one free, for $15; and any greater 
number at auno rate - only Si. SO per copy. Club papers 
directed to individuals and -ent to as many different Post- 
Offices as desired. Am we pre-pay American postage 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 Agents or Subscribers remitting for the 
Rural in bills of their own specie-paying hanks will not be 
charged postage. 
Tub Postage on the Rural Nkw-Yokkkr is only 3>4 eta. 
per Quarter to any paid of this State, (except Monroe coun¬ 
ty, where it goes free,) and IVa cts. to any other Loyal 
State, il'paid quarterly in advance where received. 
Adhere to Trains.-We endeavor to adhere strictly to 
subscription terms, and no person it authorised to uJTertke 
Rural at lets than published rates. Agents aud friends 
are at liberty to Hive, au.ay as many copies of the Rural as 
they are disposed to pay for at club rate, but we do not wish 
the paper offered, m any case, below price. 
Oni Inducements for obtaining subscribers to the Four¬ 
teenth Volume of the Rural, lor 1863, are of the most 
Liberal and Substantial character. Premium Lists, Show- 
Bills, &c., sent free to all disposed to act as agents. 
Back Volumes.— Bound copies of Volume XII1, for 1862, 
will be ready in a few days — price, $3. 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 wifi be supplied, bound, at fa each — or if several are 
taken, at $2.50 each. Tbe onj.v volume- we call furnish, 
unbound, arc those of 1859, ’ft», Ol and '63— Price, f2 each. 
The Cash System is strictly adhered to iu publishing the 
Rural —copies are never mailed to indiudual subscriber* 
until paid lor, and aheatjs discontinued when the subscrip¬ 
tion term expires. Hence, we force the paper upon none, 
and keep no credit books, long experience having demon¬ 
strated that the Cash Plan is tbe best for both .Subscriber 
and Publisher. 
Additions to Clubs are always in order, whether in 
ones, twos, fives, tons, twenties, nr any other number. 
Subscriptions can commence with the volume or any num¬ 
ber; but the former is the beet time, and wo shall send from 
it for some weeks, unless specially directed otherwise. 
Please “make a note of it.” 
Direct to Rochester, N. Y.—All persons having occa¬ 
sion to address the Rural New-Yorker, will please direct 
to Rochester, IV. i'„ and not, as many do, to New York, 
Albany, Buffalo, &c. Money Letters intended for us are 
frequently directed aud mailed to the above places. 
IT’S HONOR 
In the Autumn of 1825. some private affairs 
called me into the sister kingdom; and as 1 did 
not travel, like 1’olylhemus. wilb my eye out. I 
gathered a few samples of 1 rish character, amongst 
which was Lho following incident. I was stand¬ 
ing one morning at the window of mine inn, 
when my attention waa attracted by a scene that 
took place beneath. The Belfast coach was 
standing at the door, and on the roof in front, sat 
a solitary outside passenger, a lino young fellow, 
in the uniform of the Connaught rangers. Below, 
by the front wheel, stood an old woman, seem¬ 
ingly his mother, a young man, and a younger 
woman, sister or sweetheart; and they were all 
earnestly entreating the young soldier to descend 
from his seat on the coaeh. 
“ Come down wid ye, Thady.” The speaker 
was the old woman. “ Come down, now, to your 
ould mother. Sure it’s flog ye they will, and 
strip the flesh oft' the bones I giv ye. Come down, 
Thady, dartin'!” 
“ It’s honor, mother ” was the reply of the sol¬ 
dier; and with clenched bauds and set teeth, he 
took a stiffer posture on the coach. 
“ Thady, come down — come down, now, ye 
lool of the world—come along down wid ye!” 
The tone of the present appeal was more prompt¬ 
ly and sternly pronounced. “ li'shonor, brother!" 
And the body of the spoaker rose more rigidly 
erect than evor on the root! 
O Thady, come down! sure it’s me, your own 
Kathleen, that bids ye. Come down, or ye’ll 
For Moore’s Rural New-Yorker. 
REBUSES ON A DINNER, 
1. One of the sons of Noah. 
2. Three -fifths of impudence, and an herb. 
3. A cooking utensil, a vowel, and a part of the foot. 
4. Equality, and to cut short. 
6 . A vehicle, a consonant, and length of life. 
6 . An under-ground room, a vowel, and two-thirds of a 
grain. 
7. A bird omitting the last letter, and a kind of fruit. 
8 . A boy's nickname, a vowel, and a part of the foot. 
dessert. 
1. Something for bad boys, and the best part of milk. 
2. To ciiop fine, a consonant, arid an abbreviation. 
3. A fruit, one-half of muddy water, a confusion of 
voices, aud a consonant. 
drinks. 
1. A harbor, a consonant, and a plant omitting the first 
letter. 
2. Four-sixths of a receptacle for the dead, and two 
vowels. 
3. A consonant, a pronoun, and two-thirds of a grain. 
Rochester, N. Y., 1863. Eddie C. Ray. 
Jj3f" Answer in two weeks. 
ANSWERS TO ENIGMAS, &c., IN No. 680. 
Answer to Geographical Enigma:—Major General Am 
brose E. Burnside. 
Answer to Arithmetical Question:—4 2-7 miles per hour. 
Answer to Riddle:—Melodoon. 
Answer to Rebuses.— i, Lark. 2, Drake. 3, G-oat. 
4, F-ox. 5, B aboon. 6, G-host. 7, F owl. C-row. 
Answer to Charade:—Lark-spur. 
