MOOSE’S MML SEW-YOEKEE 
mmwz 
ui 
THE FALL. 
Away to the mountain, away to the fountain, 
Hie off to the hill circled glen; 
Go bathe in the billow, clMp waves for a pillow, 
The summer ia on us again. 
Hearts loving and tender, communion surrender, 
When the woods breathe their jubilant call; 
“From the cities come hither, ere spring (lowers wither,’ 
We shall all meet again “in the fall." 
There are carpets of ilowers, spread out in the bowers, 
Gay pictures not hung on a nail; 
8 oft couches of clover, in meadows ail over 
Be studded with daises so gale. 
There are mirrors not gilded, but in the green builded, 
Just polished by breathings of June; 
And arches so solemn, where shadow and column 
Make twilight beneath them at noon. 
All softened and shaded, by curtains vine-braided, 
Leaf curtains gold-shot with the sun; 
In the moon's glowing splendor, when evening grows 
tender, 
The emerald line fades 10 dun; 
Then lamps angel lighted, for pilgrims benighted, 
Are hung from the night’s bending arch; 
And for lullaby soug, all the summer-night long, 
The cricket shall chirp in the larch. 
Here, then, in the mountains, by strange bitter fountains, 
Seeking health, changing place, for a whim; 
We leave one another—friends, lover, and mother— 
Leave eyes that without u» grow dim; 
We part from them lightly, who pray for ns nightly, 
Our names with a bcuiaou call, 
Each merry to morrow we drive away sorrow, 
With the thought—wc shall meet “in the fall.” 
God gTant that the portal to glory immortal 
May lie through the old homestead door; 
Where faces that love us may circle above us, 
To bid us good-by evermore. 
But if ’tis denied us that loved ones beside us 
Shall gather—His hand doeth all; 
And there loving stronger, we'll wait for them longer, 
If we fail to meet here “in the fall.” 
IS# 
THE LOWLY LADY. 
The sad but stately procession had passed 
into the church, and even the aisles of the ven¬ 
erable building were thronged with persons. 
One might, have thought, who looked upon the 
Coronet, glittering on the cushion of crimson 
velvet, and all the other insignia of high rank, 
that curiosity alone had drawn ihilher such a 
crowd; but a deeper interest was marked on 
every countenance, aud the firm voice of the 
minister bad faltered more than once as he read 
the solemn service. Yet the coffin wus that of a 
child—a little, tender infant, w ho had died in its 
first unconscious helplessness. Every one 
thought of the father, standing up among them, 
and looking so desolate iu his grief. More than 
one fond mother wept, and drew her red cloak 
closely around the infant on her bosotn, as she 
gazed around upon the mournful pomp, and the 
little Coffin, and theyouug nobleman—childless, 
and worse than widowed—oh, yes! worse than 
widowed] ns he stood (here, and followed with 
his eyes the movement of the men then placing 
the coffin of his child in the shadowy darkness 
of the open vault below him That church was 
a place of agonizing recollection to the young 
Earl of Derby. Often bad heontered it a happy 
husband; and, as tie walked slowly down the 
aisle to bis carriage, be could not help recalling 
the day when his beautiful and modest bride had 
suddenly out of the lane into a wood, overhang¬ 
ing the river, and directed him to follow it 
through a large corn-field, and tip a very steep, 
sandy lane, aud then for about half a mile over; 
but such directions are tiresome enough, when 
one is obliged to listen to them to learn one’s 
own way—here, they would be even more so. 
Besides, I am not sure the earl attended to the 
poor woman, for he lost his way. He walked 
on. wrapped in his own melancholy thoughts, 
bnt soothed, iu every sense, by the cool, fresh 
air, the gurgling flow of the river, and all those 
distant sounds which, in the quiet fields, on a 
fair, calm evening, fall so sweetly indistinct upou 
the ear. But the sun had set before the wan¬ 
derer awoke to the recollection of the purpose 
before him. He looked around him: he saw 
green and sloping bills, mauy stately trees, and 
the same calm river flowing gently below, but 
no house. At Iasi, where the leafy shade was 
deepest, he discovered a pile of old. quaintly- 
shaped chimneys, opposed against the glowing 
sky. He had not proceeded far in the direction 
of the farm-house, which now plainly appeared 
among the trees, when a light step seemed to 
approach him. and (ben stopped suddenly; and 
he beard the sound of unrestrained weeping. A 
hazel copse separated him from the meadow 
whence the sound proceeded; but, on peeping 
through a little opening, he saw that a young 
girl was sitting on the bank of the meadow on 
the other side. For a little while she continued 
weeping—only for a little while—then clasping 
her hands together, she raised her head, and her 
whole heart seemed to look up to heaven in her 
meek and steadfast gaze. 
Still she sat there, almost without, stirring, ex- 
cept that, once or twice, she looked down upon 
the green grass, and her hand dropped, half for¬ 
getfully, and half playfully, among the flowers 
that grew in wild luxuriance beside her, as if she 
was pleased with, but scarcely knew she noticed 
them. Just then the rich song of the nightingale 
burst upon the stillness of the evening, and stole 
away her ear; and though her thoughts seemed 
yet to linger on about the subject which had 
made her weep, she listened 1111 at last she 
smiled — and so minute after minute passed 
away, and gradually she forgot all her trouble, 
and the only expression on her fair face was 
innocent gladness. 
Let no one suppose that, in this fair country 
girl, we have met with any maiden of gentle 
birth, brought down to a low estate by the hard 
uses of adversity; nor any wonder of her native 
village, gifted with talents of the highest order. 
Oh, no! Lucy was none of these. Wbat was 
she? A fair and happy maiden of low birth—if 
to bo born of poor and honest parents be low 
birth; of no accomplishments or education be¬ 
yond reading aud—let me remember—yes, she 
could write. She read well, for her voice was 
full of natural melody; and practice, and gen¬ 
uine feeling. and, above all. piety, had made her 
very perfect. 
Lucy's features were not beautiful: but, their 
they both were,) she could not marry him. She 
turned—as gentle, loving daughters will, on all 
such occasions—to her own tender mother, and 
she had not to speak; her mother could read her 
looks, and she could not resist the tears which 
rose so suddenly into the soft eyes of her duteous 
daughter. Mother?, or wives, I mean to say 
have a winning way of their own—particularly 
mild, submissive wives, such as Lucy’s mother 
and what with tier own influence as a wife, and 
her own woman’s wit, or (in truer words) calm 
good sense, it was soon agreed that Lacy should 
marry her lover on this condition:—that the 
answer to a certain letter, to be written by him 
for u character, etc., proved satisfactory. 
In due time, to the very day, a letter arrived 
directed to Lucy's father. With this letter the 
father and nncle were quite satisfied; and now 
Lucy, who had been, at times, unusually eilent. 
recovered all her cheerfulness, and went about 
the house singing (so her mother thought) like a 
nightingale. Thomas Clifford—for po he called 
himself—wivs married to his Lucy, und all the 
fair and modest girls of the neighborhood were 
waiting round the church door, to fling baskets 
fuls of flowers in the little path, as Clifford led 
his bride to their own cottage. 
He heard the blessings of many poor, aged 
creatures, who lingered about in tho sunshine of 
the churchyard, upon his humble, yet lovely 
bride. Every one who met them on that happy 
morning, smiled upon them, and blessed them. 
“High rank, heaps of gold, could not buy such 
blessings as this!” he said to himself; “but my 
sweet and pious Lucy has won the love of every 
heart These people, too, have known her from 
her childhood!” 
modest, innocent expression, was better than 
mere beauty. Her hands were not the whitest 
in the world, though delicately, nay, exquisitely 
shaped; their palms might have been softer—but. 
if it might have been said of her, as of the fair 
and happy milkmaid, “she makes her hand hard 
with labor,” it might have been well added, “ and 
her heart soft with pity;” for they who knew her 
say she was the kindest creature that ever lived, 
and speak of a gentle aud winning oourfeous- 
clung, iu trembling bash fulness, to his arm, when ness of manner that gave a charm to every look 
he had there, for the first lime, called her his and every word she nttered. But although she 
wile. “I am sick of this idle pomp!” he said to was one of nature's own sweet gentlewomen, 
himself, as he entered the wide hall of his own and unaffectedly modest and pious, she was only 
magnificent residence, attended by his train of a poor, uneducated country girl. There was 
servants, and met by the obsequious bows of the one. however, who soon began to find new hope 
men who had conducted the funeral; “1 am sick -new life. I might almost say-in the society of more closely around her’the arm which encircled 
Lucy; one who, in spite of all the pride or aris- her slender waist; “would 1 exchange my hus- 
tocraey of his habits, and his prejudices, began - - ■ • 
to feel it a privilege to be addressed as a familiar 
friend by the pure-minded maiden—who felt, in 
his inmost heart, the influence of her modest, 
cheerful piety, und paid her, from his heart, the 
homage of respect and love that was the sweeter 
from being half made up of gratitude. 
lie could not. help smiling, when he made his 
proposals, in due lorm. to the relations of his 
for they did not choose to have 
“ That is a grand place, indeed!” said Lucy, as, 
toward the close of their second day’s journey, 
they approached an ancient and almost princely 
edifice; “but does our road lie through the 
park ?” 
“Not exactly through the park,” he replied: 
“but I thought my Lucy might like to see these 
fine grounds, and the house and gardens. I 
have known the gardeuer and the housekeeper 
for years; and I am mire we shall find thqm very 
civil, and willing to show us any little attention 
in their power, and we have time enough 
though the sun is getting low, for we are just at 
home.” 
Lucy was delighted. She had never seen a 
nobleman’s house before, she said. 
“ Well, all those large rooms, and the pictures, 
aud all the fine furniture are very grand,” said 
Lucy; “but my eyes ache with looking at them. 
1 like this garden a great deal better. What, a 
beautiful one it is! But may we sit down iu this 
arbor of honeysuckle so near the house?” 
Lucy sat iu silence for some little time, gazing 
round her at the venerable house, and the trees 
and gardens; at length she said: , 
“1 wonder if the lord of this gre 4 place u 
h(«!ppy? Is the Earl of Derby a good man, dear 
husband? Is he kind and free-spoken to the 
poor? Is he a married man?” she added, look¬ 
ing with a smile of peculiar sweetness in her 
husband’s face. 
“ How mauy questions you have given me to 
answer, Lucy! Let me consider. Yes, he is a 
married man; he married, not many months ago, 
a young country girl—such another us yourself, 
dear Lucy.” 
“Poor thing!” said Lucy, and she sighed from 
her very heart. 
“Why do you sigh, my own dear wife?” he 
demanded. “Do you envy that poor country 
maiden?” 
“Do I envy her?” she replied, in a voice of 
tender reproach; “ what a strange question! Do 
I envy any one?” and, as she 6aid this, she drew 
and stately banners of the house of Derby above 
her; but, perhaps, of all the high-born dames of 
that ancient family, none ever knelt there with 
a purer heart, or with an humbler spirit, than 
that LOWLY LADY. 
Trlth amd its Developments. A philos¬ 
opher should aim solely at truth, and should 
refuse to estimate the practical tendency of his 
speculations. If they are true, let them stand: if 
they are false, let them fall. But whether they 
are agreeable or disagreable. consolatory or 
disheartening, safe or mischievous, is a question 
not for philosophers, but for practical men. 
Every new truth which ha*ever been propounded 
has for a time caused mischief; it has produced 
discomfort, and often unhappiness, sometimes by 
disturbing social or religious arrangements, and 
sometimes merely by the disruption of old and 
cherished associations of thought— Buckle. 
Children.— It. is said that man would be little 
better than a savage but for woman. With equal 
truth we may assert, both men and women would 
be hard and selfish beings but for children. These 
call out, and refine, and soften ihe best feelings 
of the parental bearL Their little needs are so 
many, and their simple innocence so affecting, 
and their very caprices so winning, that love 
and attentionfiow out of them almost instinctively. 
That must be a hardened nature which can bo 
unmoved by the soft touch, the playful childish¬ 
ness, and the hundred little pranks ot a baby. 
^mlisctncnte. 
GREAT BOOK 
AGENTS! 
Dr. Randall’ 8 new work on Shkep Husbandry 
recently announcer! a* in preparation, ia now In prr-., 
and will be published early in Sept It is entitled Thz 
Practical Shspubrd, and mnst prove the best ami most 
COun.RTB practical work on the snbject ever published in 
America The demand for a good Sheep Book la grea' 
and this one is designed to supply it fully. Ha sato roust 
be immense in all parts of the country where sheep are 
kept. The book will he furnished to Agents on such 
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anch as will attend to the business thoroughly. For cir¬ 
cular* containing terms and other particulars, address 
r>. X>. T. MOORE, 
Editor Rural New-Yorker, Rochester, N. Y 
1863-4. 
1 863-4. 
STRAWBERRY. 
j)USSELL 
This Great Strawberry combines all the properties to 
make it the boat Strawberry jet Rnowr, -a'toraeren rear’s 
trial, being the larce-t sad mo*' prolific bearer—color, fine 
varnished scarlet, willi an exceeding rich aroma, full of 
vinous J,ice ami for delicton«ni>ssniisurp>i>tseii—fruit firm 
are. does not tnjwr hi/ ntnanuti/f o» the vincf— very hardy 
in its growth, erujiinng seveie fro-'. 
Good genuine Manta. Well packed, will be sent out after 
the l.Mn o r Aumi^bfoT fl.so p-rdozen. or$9 0 ) per luo. cash 
t 0 Trnt’ar,y < 1 r«. No plants Mini 1 lose than one dozen. 
[709-Sll Addre-e GRORGE Cl.API , Auburn, N y 
Auburn, N. Y., July 28. IS 6 S 1 
Parents ought to take Buch tender, proud, in¬ 
tellectual interest in the pursuits and amusements 
of their children, that the children shall feel the 
glory of the victory dimmed, unless their parents 
are there to witness it.— Ohio Educational. Monthly. 
fat tbc 
'JHE CECAMPIONT. 
HICKOK'S PATENT PORTABLE 
KEYSTONE CIDER AND WINE MILL. 
10,000 ur csr axd approved. 
T ?«» !$? ir ?! ll .« uywhme is now ready for the fruit har¬ 
vest of ISO. It IB, If |io«*ibl«. made better than ever be¬ 
fore, and *ell worthy the. attention of all fanners wanting 
fcnen m&cuioes. 
It baa no superior in the market, and is the only rail! that 
wdljiroperly grind grape*. For wde by all respectable 
If v our merchant does not keep them, toll him to send 
tor one Tor you, or wntc to the maniifictursr v-urself 
Address the manufacturer, W. 0. HlCKOK 
f 7w Eagle Works, Harrisburg Pa. 
NEW WORK ON CATTLE. 
For Moore’B Rural New-Yorker. 
ORNITHOLOGICAL ENIGMA 
A 
CATTLE AND 
THEIR 
KMTmAClA’U 
DISEASES: 
I am composed of 65 letters. 
My 21, 2, 12, 69, 22, II is an ocean bird, by my 20, 4, 13, 
62, !>, 22, 36 called 3t», 40, 66 , 49, 53, 12, 31, 34, 22, 3, 
37, 20, 31, 18, 10, 31, 62, 7. 17. 
My 8 , 41, 22, 60, 64, 37 Is a bird native only to 1, 39, 11 , 
12. 01, 31, 4, but was Introduc'd into 63, 6 S, 45, 29, 65, 
44, 65 by the Jesuit .Missionaries. 
My 21, 23, 2, 60, 34, 24, 26 is a name given to 15, 41, 43, 
14, 25, 38, 49, 32, 2, 36 in their wild state. 
Mj 42, 61, 30, 48, 63, 40, 10, 42 build their ne»ts of 39, 41, 
24, under the eaves of 30, 4, 12, 14, 42. 
My 28, 30, 29, 39, 23, 28, 3, 65, 11, 35 Is the ornithological 
name for web-footed birds. 
My 39, 1, 62, 29, 67. 22, 69 is a name given to the common 
65, 41, 31, 60. 
My 36, 55, 6 , 54, 82, 60, 5, '18, 53 is regarded as the 64, 39, 
36, 29, 11, 39 of 60, 39, 32, 12, 19, 31, 34. 
My 50. 33, 1, 35, 31. 37, 15, 33, 41, 20 is the ornithological 
name for the 86 , 47, 55, 14. 
My 66 , 23, 25, 22, 31, V4, 46 is the name given to the male 
27, 1, 6 , 31, 26, 33. 
My 31, 9, S3, 69, 40, 12 is a powerful bird of prey. 
My whole Is a quotation from Shakspeare « Macbeth. 
Lsit Kendall, N. Y., 1868. “Harrik.” 
Answer in two weeks. 
THEIR HISTORY AND BKKKDS, CROSS 1.VO A.Vri BRKJCU1NO 
AND rmn.vn AND ba.nackwk.vt with thr dimkakks ’ 
TO WHICH THEY ARB 8CBJKOT, AND THK RKMK- 
DIKB BUST ADAPTED TO TllKIR CURB To WHICH 
IB ADDED A I.IST OF MKFUCINRH C.SKI) IN 
TREATING CATTLE. WITH NT HEROD'S 
IM.CSTiuriON.M. 12 mo., cloth. 
Price. $1,28. 
KY ROBERT JENNINOS, V. S., 
Professor ot Pathology and Operative Surgery in the 
Vetennary College of Philadelphia; late Pro'essor 
of \ eterlnarv Medicine In the Agri u turnl Col 
lege Of Ohio; Secretary of the American 
veterinary Assm-iatiau of Philadel¬ 
phia ; Author of "The Horse 
and bj» Diseases," 
etc., etc. 
fail to ii set the approval of every 
Hariner and Stock-raiser It i.. arranged upon the same geri- 
eral Plan as the treatise on *• (he 1 torse and hi* Diseases," 
have^alresif'v been soIdY “" Wttr<J of Wpl «* 
, J'Via eP . *>K<™o-Pjotr*ONlA is exhaustively 
tresled. Indeed, wbat , given on this subject alone, is 
well worth the price of the hook 
Agent* and cwnyssrer* will find tht* a desirable work. 
Ley""." " C £ TT, 8 and the III Diseases," or of 
The iyii.SB AND flrs Di scab Its, will be sent post-paid to 
any addres- or. receipt of price. #1.25 each. 
Send all orde 
its to 
7»:-6t 
JOHN E. POTTER, Publisher, 
617 Sansom St., Philadelphia. 
For Moore’e Rural New-Yorker. 
MISCELLANEOUS ENIGMA. 
Great Discovert 
Applicable to the 
useful Arts. 
of all this mockery! I will bear it no longer. 
Would that I were a poor, hard-working peasant, 
with some honest hearts to care for me and love 
me! J am hearliiy tired of your great people.” 
Not many weeks after the funeral of the heir 
of the noble house of Derby, a solitary wayfar¬ 
ing muu Stopped at the turning of a little foot- 
paih, which led down the sloping side of ihe hill 
overlooking the village of H-. He had been 
leisurely wandering on since the early hours of sweet Lucv;_ _ w ____ ,,, 
the^morriiug, and had not yet found the place their child* thrown away upon one who, for 
wherq he wyuld rest for the night “Here. fit I aiifrht thev knew in fhn PQ mf tvtmLf Vva 
ryuld rest lor the night, “llure, at 
least, is a happy scene,” he said, as he looked 
down upon the little village at the foot of the 
hill. About titty or six ty persons were scattered, 
in careless groups, about the pleasant green. 
Some of them were dancing beneath a venerable 
grove of elms—others were crowding around the 
ouly booth which had been raised in the rustic 
fair. “At least, 1 may witness their enjoyment, 
though L cannot share it, be said; and. in a few 
moments, be was standing beneath the old trees 
on the green. 
Lut, although he was not recognized as the 
Earl of Derby, and disgusted by the attentions 
paid to his rank and station, he found the famil¬ 
ial iLy (it vulgar minds and low manners not 
quite so agreeable as he had perhaps expected. 
Quietly he turned away from the noisy scene 
lit; passed o.er the old bridge, w hich crosses the 
clear and shadowy stream, and turned down a 
lane, the banks t.f which were overgrown with 
wild flowers und straggling bushes of birch, traf¬ 
fic .emly high and thick to meet overhead, and 
fornVa perfect bower of grateful shade. A poor 
woman was returning home through the lane 
with her children, her infant sleepingsimndly on 
her bosom, and a curly headed nrchiu distend¬ 
ing his cheeks with puffing at a little painted 
trumpet, the horrid grating of which had all the 
charm of novelty and noise to him. The young 
moiher looked so boi and tired, und wilhal p<> 
good-humored, that the earl could not resist ask¬ 
ing her if she could direct him to a lodging. 
“ Not in that merry village we have just lefi,” be 
saiii, “for 1 am umvell and tired.” 
The woman pointed to a little path, not very 
far from the spot where they stood, which turned 
aught they knew to the contrary, might be 
little better than a beggar, or a sort of (they did 
not quite say the word) “vagabond.” They 
doubted, and questioned, and wavered, and 
questioned him again, till the earl began to feel 
uncomfortable, and to stammer aud blush; and 
thus, id fact, to make them really suspicious—for 
he had quite forgotten to provide against this 
most probable issue of his suit to them. 
“Yon see,” said an old uncle, at last, who was 
the head of the family, and the best spokesman, 
“you may be a very good sort of a young man. 
and I have nothing to say against you; but you 
are, or at least have been, till now. when you’re 
plucking up a bit. a poor, sickly, idle body"; and, 
suppose you fall ill. or take to no kind of em¬ 
ploy. and have nothiug coming in of your own- 
why, Lucy’s fifty dollars, and the hundred that 
I shall leave her, when, please heaven! I die. 
will go but a very little way. I tell you whar.” 
he said, “brother and sister,” (turning to Lucy's 
parents, and looking very wise,) “don’t be in a aud at the domestics around her, and at la* 
burry to give your consent; Lucy, though J sav she began to comprehend everything. Eagerly 
it, is as good a girl as any in the laud, and fit for s he seized her husband’s hand, which Bhe Lao 
a lord—yes! I say it again, (though you seem to dropped in her surprise, now affectionately ex¬ 
tended to her; then, with an effort that was very 
Viand with any one?” she added, looking up ten¬ 
derly and lovingly into his face. “ I sighed iu 
pily for the poor young lady (for a lady she is 
now); such a change is enough to turn her 
head!” 
“Would it turn yours, Lucy?'' he said. 
“Perhaps it might!” she replied, in the sim¬ 
plest and most natural manner. “But is she 
really happy? Does she love him for himsell 
alone?” 
“My sweet Lucy,” he began, and, as he spose. 
his wife thought that he had never seemed so 
lenderly respectful toward her: “my sweetest 
Lucy, you alone can answer these last questions. 
You smile! I see you look amazed upon me; but 
1 repeat it, you alone!” 
“But first,” said Lucy, very artlessly, “ I must 
be lady here; you must make me Countess o! 
Derby!” 
She bad scarcely said this, when, from one ot 
the castle turrets, a bell began to toll. Clifford 
rose up instantly, and, without saying a word, 
led his wife to the castle. They entered the 
chapel there, in which the servants and the ten 
ants had all assembled, and the chaplain was 
preparing to commence the evening service 
then leading the wondering Lucy into the midst 
of diem, he presented her to them as their future 
mistress, the Countess of Derby, bis wife. 
Lucy did not speak—she could scarcely stand; 
the color forsook her face, and she looked as one 
about to faint She stared first at her husband. 
I am composed of 20 letters. 
My 8, 15, 11 is much liked by ladies. 
My 1, 3, 6 , 10,2, 16, 6 is very useful to community. 
My 4, 19,11, 8 , 1, 12, 3 is delightful in children. 
My 13, 17, 3, 18, 10 is a very useful animal. 
My 12, 6 , B, 1, 9, 7, 3 Is sometimes appended to windows. 
M.v 11, 5, 1, 9, 10, 12, 16 is a part of speech. 
My 5, 18, 13, 8 is enjoyed by the industrious. 
.Vly 1, 19, 9, 16, 3 is an article of diet. 
My 19, 15, II, 4 is done by farmers. 
•Vly 1, 16, O, 13, 3 is disagreeable in children. 
My 9, 7, 9, 10, 12, 18 is found only in winter. 
My 7, 14, 6 , 19, 11, 20, 3 may be fonud in the columns of 
the Rural, 
My 10, C, 6 , 1 is a useful farm implement. 
My whole promises to be of the greatest benefit to the 
farming community. Jean. 
Genesee Co., N. Y., 1863. 
nr Answer in two weeks. 
AN 
For Moore’s Rural New-Yorker. 
ANAGRAM. 
Sit lewl ot awlk iwtb a feurchel raeth, 
Heverwer rou torfeun lael, 
Tiwh a lirfendy cenalg nad na poen nadh, 
Dan a Ienteg rowd rot' lal. 
Ceins file si a nortliy nttd cudlifft taph, 
Hewer loit si het torpiun fo nam, 
Ew lal houdl* veudeaor, livrbe pasgins ganol, 
Ot auiek ti sa thosmo sa ew anc. 
Sharon, Mich., 1863. Eunie P. Rockwell. 
t3P Answer in two weeks. 
A new tiling. 
Its Combination. 
Boot and Shoe 
Manufacturers. 
Jewelers- 
Families. 
It is a Liquid. 
Remember. 
Finis. 
701-26teo] 
DSEFUL and VALUABLE 
DISCOVER Y ! 
jEIIIATOINr’S 
INSOLUBLE CEMENT! 
Is of mote general practical utility 
than any invention now !..■!• re the 
public If has been thoroughly test¬ 
ed during the last two ye„r> hv practi- 
calmen, and pronom red hr 1 ' to he 
SlU’KRJOH TO AN Y 
Adhesive Preparation known 
Hilton's Insoluble Cement ise new 
thing, and the result ot years of 
study; its combination i»on 
SCIENTIFIC PRINCIPLES 
aud under nocircumslaiiceMorehange 
of temperature, will it I ernme , ; „ r . 
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HOOT and I8HOE 
Manufacturers using Machines, will 
find it the best article kofiwri h r Ce- 
menting the Channels, an it works 
without delay, is not alfecttd by any 
change ot temperature. 
JEWELERS 
Will Oud it sufficiently »dh'-‘jye for 
their use. as has been proved 
IT 4S ESPECIALLY ADAPTED 
TO LEATHER, 
And we claim aa an especial merit, 
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without stitching. 
IT IS THE ONLY 
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I’ Hrrift nr*, Ci-or f.-err/y Toyay 
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And articles ,.f Household use 
Eemeniber Hilton’s Insoluble 
CkMKNT i- in a liquid torn, .no aa 
easily applied as paste lllltou • In- 
soluble Pcmcot i-iinsrdnlih. in wa'cr 
oi oil. IIUtoH a ln«slufcJe Cement 
adhere* oily aubstances. 
SuppH«*d iu Family or Munutacrurers’ 
Packages from ounce* to bki fi e 
HILTON BROS A 
PnapHeturt, 1‘rnvitlmce, ft /. 
For Moore’s Rural New-Yorker. 
ANAGRAMS OF LAKES. 
I can argua. 
Elve U Page, 
I) soap to sel, 
Linen Laces, 
Commerce, Slieh , 1863. 
13*- Answer in two weeks. 
U quen al, 
Catharin P. Nort, 
U kiss Sam, 
I’m Anaie Lout. 
S. Shratt. 
ANSWERS TO ENIGMAS, &c., IN No. 708. 
smilD, young man.) —fit for any lord in the 
land.” 
Lucy had been very busily plucking the with¬ 
ered leaves from a geranium, which her lover 
had given her: but now she turned round, pale 
and trembling, for she feared the effect of her i 
uncle’s harangue upon her father, who was apt, around her with smiles, which, perhaps, spoki 
to he as positive as his brother. She trembled, more at once to the heart than the best wisdom 
and her heart throbbed with agitation, for she of words. The Earl of Derby led his wife to hie 
cared not if he whom she loved were penniless; own seat, and placed her beside him. 
but she felt that, without the consent of her Lucy knelt down upon a cushion of embroi- 
parents, (servants of God, and kind parents, as dered velvet, with the sculptured escutcheons 
visible, but which gave new interest to her in 
the eyes of all present, she regained somewhat 
her natural and modest self-possession, and, 
raising her innocent face, she courteeied to the 
ground, and met the respectful greeting of those 
Answer to Puzzle and Enigma:—Slate. 
Answer to Mathematical Problem:—62.139* yards. 
Answer to Anagram: 
Turn y our steps 
Wherever fancy leads, by day, by night— 
You walk, you live, you speculate 
With no incurious eye; and books are yours. 
Within whose silent chambers treasure lies, 
Reserved from age to age, more precious far 
Than that accumulated store of gold 
And orient gems, which for a day of need, 
The sultan bid>-s within ancestral tombs; 
And music waits upon your skillful touch. 
Furnished thus, 
How can you droop, if willing to be raised ? 
Answer to Anagrams of Bays:—Honduras, Vermillion, 
Setubal, Panama, Esteros, Saudiego, Chesapeake, An- 
tongil. 
MOOSE’S RUSAL NEW-YORKER, 
THK LAROK8T OJKOOLATKD 
Agricultural. Literary and Family Newspaper, 
18 rtrBLISHKD KVEKY SATURDAY BY 
D. D. T. MOORE, ROCHESTER, N. Y. 
Office, Union Buildings, Opposite the Conrt Home, Buffalo 81 , 
TE «.»/#, /JY nY'AA'CE ; 
Two Dollars a Ykak— To Club* ami Agent* as follows: 
Three Copies one year, for *5; Six, aud one free to do 
age.nt, for flu Ten, noil one free, for $15: nod any greater 
number at sjuui- rate —only $1.50 per copy. Onh paperr 
directed to individual* and sent to as many difiereot P»t 
Offices as desired. As we pre-pay American postage on 
copies sent abroad. $1.62 ia the lowest Club rate for Can*!*, 
and $2.50 to Europe,—but during the present tale of ex- 
cnange. Canada Agsnu- or Subscribers remitting for tor 
Kckal a bills O' their own spece-oayinir bants will noth* 
charged eostage 
ADHKtca to Tkkms.— tVe endeavor to auher* strictly to 
subscription terms, and ««, person is uut/iortzea to offer the 
Rural as less omn puoustitu rates : Agent* auo friend* 
are at liberty to met areav as many copies of the Kurai. a* 
they are disposed to pay tor at club rate, hut we do uot wish 
the paper offered, uu any case, below price. 
ThkPostaob on the Rural Nkw-Vorkkk is only 6 
per quarter to auy part of this Slate, I except Monroe conn 
ty, where it goes free,) and the same to any other Loyal 
State, if paid quarterly in advance where received- 
Direct to Rochkhtkr, N. Y.—Ail persons having occa 
sion to address the Rural Nkw-Vorkkr, will plejiae direct 
to Rochester If. V., and not, as many do, to New York. 
Albany, Burtolo, Ac. Money Letters in tended for us are 
frequently directed and mailed to the above places. 
