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Written for Moore’s Rural New-Yorker. 
AFTER’THE BATTLE. 
BY EMILY t.KWlS. 
Tire nurse with noiseless step has gone; 
’Tis still as Death were here, 
I listen to the solemn hush, 
And tremble ar with fear. 
The fever’s burning hot 
Through every quivering vein, 
Oh 1 could 1 bear some voice I love, 
’Twoubi charm away my pain. 
There’s no soft hand upon my brow, 
No word of hope to cheer, 
Oh God 1 to be so —to alone, 
And yet with Death so near. 
The sunlight faded from the wall 
An hour ago— 
From off the walls at home, I know 
It faded so. 
It flung a gleam of glory 
O’er the casement shadows dim, 
And o’er my sister's brow, while soft 
She sung our vesper hymn, 
It flickered o’er my mother's hair 
And lit the silver-threading there, 
And smiled upon her features 
As she knelt, with faith, to pray 
For her boy who has been fighting 
For his Country's flag to day. 
Dear Mother I may thy prayer 
All availing at His throne 
Woo 6omo pence, some angel gladness 
For thy boy who dies alone. 
Oh I one may fearless meet his fate 
Amidst the rush and sway 
Of thousands doomed alike to die 
In battle's dread array; 
But to lie through all the stillness 
And the shadow* night will bring, 
Through the silence catch the echoes 
Of sweet song* you used to sing— 
Seem to meet the glad young faces, 
You have loved so well before, 
Then to start, while you remember, 
You may never sec them more. 
Oh 1 to lie and listen sadly 
To your heart heat weak and slow. 
And to fed n faintness coming, 
And your pulse ia getting low,— 
And to pine for love’s consolings, 
Pining vainly, still, you know— 
Oh I pen, nor voice, may ne’er make known 
The grief of him who dies alone. 
Hark 1 'tis a voice from yonder star— 
In love It speaks to me, 
Peace, peace, poor weary, wounded one, 
There’s rest beyond for thee. 
And / think I bear glad music, 
Anthems, swelling grand and free, 
Bravely, bravely, sinking spirit— 
There Is victory there for thee.— 
And the burthen of this anthem, 
Of this angel's glad refrain, 
“ He who dies for Home and Country; 
Freedom’s own; shall live again.” 
And I sec our starry banner, 
From those battlements out-flung, 
And Peace flags from every tower 
Of the Heavenly oily hung.— 
So my heart, though faint, is thrilling* 
To a music not its own, 
God has sent his Spirit, breathing 
Peace to him who dies alone. 
Hillsdale, Mich., 1863. 
llii 
Written for Moore’s Rural New-Yorker. 
PAITH, WIFE OF EOBEET GAINES. 
Note. —While tarrying last week in the rural village of 
A-, I was informed by my hostess that there was to be 
a burial in a little retired churchyard attached to the only 
house of public worship in the place, on that morning, 
The funeral services had been performed further back in 
the community, where the person resided, and the re¬ 
mains were brought hero for Interment. Donning my 
hat and cloak I fell in with Ike funeral procession as it 
wound up the gTcen-earpeted aisle of the bnrylng-ground. 
and stood with others beside the bier to look for the last 
time upon her who rested there. The entire cover was 
removed, and I saw the face of n young girl,—a face won- 
drously fair, though the features were by no means regu¬ 
lar. Hair of a dusky golden hue, clustering in waves that 
careful hands had failed to dissipate, about the low, white 
brow. Her form was slight—very slight,—and over the 
pulseless breast the pale hands were clasping a simple 
cluster of spring violets. A pence not of earth had settled 
upon that still, calm face, circled as it was in a wreath of 
myrtle, the sweet flowers of pale blue resting gently 
against her snowy cheek. As I was turning away I felt a 
hand upon my shoulder, and a low, subdued voice, atifling 
a sob, said “Could anything of eurth look more like the 
.angels ?” “ She is vcTy, very beautiful,” 1 replied invol¬ 
untarily ; •< who is she T” “ Fan ti Gainks, wife of Ron- 
EKT GAIXXB,” was the reply, — “come this way a mo¬ 
ment,” and she drew me aside from the group around the 
open grave, and told me this story of Kami Gaines, 
which I have written down. It was a short story, and 
simply told, and when it was finished n dull, heavy sound 
struck upon my car. I looked up to see that wo were left 
alone, and that the first spade of dirt had fallen in upon 
tile coffin. There was another grave, longer by many 
inches, beside this, newly made I knew, for it was turf¬ 
less. .1 left them resting side by side, “ Lovely in life, 
and in death not long divided.” ’ Sere Browse, 
" Give me 1 God speed' Fay. for I am going 
on God's mission/’ 
The couple were standing together at the end 
of the path down which they bad come. He was 
a tall, broad-shouldered man, wearing that uni¬ 
form which always quickens the pulsations of 
our heart to look upon, for is it not the insignia 
of all that ia truest and noblest in manhood ? 
His companion was a young girl, of slight form, 
pale-faced, and a world of thought shadowed in 
i the tranquil depths of her clear hazel eyes. The 
light brown hair was parted away from the low 
forehead and gathered back in shining bands. 
She did not answer at first, and he spoke again, 
\ “ Have yon no word of blessing for me Fat, 
you alone of all my friends ?” 
“Why should you wish for mine since you 
1 have Heaven’s blessing?” was answered at 
length, the white lids dropping quickly over 
eyes that for a moment had been raised to his 
'i face. 
“I was foolish enough to think that perhaps 
you might—remember me sometimes.” 
He spoke hesitatingly, while a wave of rich 
blood swept across his bearded cheek. 
“And if 1 did ?” 
“The assurance would be a greater blessing 
to me tban any I have yet received fiom friends. 
When the country no longer needs my services 
may I come back for your sake, Fay ?” 
His head waa bending close to her’s- else he 
could not have heard the two short words 
scarcely above a breath, “ Come back.” 
“Heaven bless you. Fay. I will take your 
answer as a prophesy of good.” 
He held the little hand for a moment in a close 
embrace, pressed the bloom of his lips upon the 
snow of her forehead, and without another word 
they parted. 
Perhaps gome one of you, who within the past 
year has parted with the dearest friends you ever 
knew, and watched them go away to what was 
almost certain death,—or so it Fcemed to you— 
perhaps you know how all the light seemed gone 
from heaven, the joy from existence, as Faith 
Mautyn stood there in the shadow of the great 
elms, the dying leaves drifting about her feet in 
a shower of crimson and golden bloom. True, 
she had known him but a short time, and they 
were from the humble walks of life,-but in the 
heart of each was a living and true appreciation 
of the grand and sublime, the beautiful and good 
throughout all tke world, and to them all that 
iB lovely iu the life by which we are surrounded 
was but the visible token of an inner and spir¬ 
itual realm of thought and feeling. Faith, 
orphaned while a child, had been taken into the 
family of a wealthy farmer, where, as is too often 
the ease, she had grown up to her young rnaiden- 
boodin a loveless home. There were none to listen 
to or appreciate the pure, innocent thoughts of her 
childhood, so she shut them up in her own soul, 
growiug more and more shy as she grew older, 
her gentle heart aching so sadly for sympathy 
and love, and nothing—nothing in all the wide 
world to satisfy its longiogs. 
Some one has said that “ great men are bom, 
not made.” Culture cannot train a currant to 
an apricot, though it may make a large, juicy 
currant. Robert Gaines was the apricot, “ not 
blighted by the east wind and trodden under 
foot, but expanded in tender pride and sweet 
brightness of golden velvet” He had been em¬ 
ployed on the farm during the season, and his 
coming had been to Fay the awakening of a new 
life. To her the heavens and earth put on a new 
beauty and all that is in them became glorified. 
Before, she had lived because it was given her to 
live, she hardly knew wherefore, henceforth 
hers should not lie n purposeless existence; 
there was an object something for which to labor, 
some one to love,—one to love her. Perhaps 
there had been a lingering hope in her heart 
that he would write to her, but. in this she was 
disappointed. AVeeks lengthened into months. 
She saw' by the papers that his regiment was 
immediately placed in active service. Once ghe 
noticed his advancement to the post of color- 
sergeant—a short note in the daily paper, accom¬ 
panied by a graceful little compliment to his 
fidelity and gallantry, signed by his captain and 
colonel, and as she read it there was a quick, 
proud flash of color on her cheek, a kindling of 
light in her eye. From him she received no 
tidings; yet she did not doubt him,—her soul 
reposed in perfect faith and confidence on his 
truth and honor. Then there was a time when 
we all waited so anxiously, hour by hour, to hear 
how the battle went upon the bloody field of 
Fredericksburg. 
Goo pity all those who, with whitening cheek 
and anguished heart, read in the fatal list of 
“ killed and wounded ” the name of some dearly 
loved one j Alas, fur the broken circles around 
the home lire! Alas, for the stricken hearts 
made desolate that must go sorrowing to the 
grave 1 Well, it passed. AYhat need have we 
to tell of the agony, oh ! the bitter, heart-break¬ 
ing agony, that came to thousands of homes in 
our dear Northland. It is enough for those to 
know who have sat through the long, dim night- 
watches, alone with the great grief that was 
stifling them,—crushing out their life. 
But this time our little Fay was scatheless. 
The liolidumfollowed close upon this. All New- 
Year’s day Me had been busy making prepara¬ 
tions for the evening, for they were to have a lit¬ 
tle convivial party at the farm-house. At four 
o'clock everything was done; the last finishing 
touches bestowed upon gracefully looped cur¬ 
tains and tastefully arranged parlors; the table 
in the large dining-room was spread with care 
and liberal hospitality. Fay’s nimble fingers 
had placed the side dishes, and re-arranged, 
to note the most pleasing effect, the white 
cakes gleaming like miniature Arctic icebergs 
in their frosty splendor. A fragrance as of 
summer was breathed into the room from the 
large rose geranium she had placed by the 
window. A closely-fitting robe of dark gray 
stuff, edged with Ringings of crimson, had re¬ 
placed the course printed cotton of the morning. 
She was bending over the geranium crushing the 
fragrance from a half-withered leaf between her 
fingers. She heard a step cross the threshold. 
It paused just inside the room. It was the farmer 
who had stoud to her in place of father. For the 
first time he was noticing how tall she had grown, 
what a graceful form she had, what fairy-like 
fingers, what a nameless charm in the calm, 
thoughtful, almost plain face. lie approached 
her side and laid his hand with something like 
tenderness on her head, and said in gentler tones 
than she had heard for months, “You have 
grown quite a young lady Faith; I had not 
thought of it before, though others have, it seems,” 
and with a half smile he handed her a little 
square package. She took it with eager, trem¬ 
bling hands. To you it would have been nothing, 
but to her, who had never known a friend except 
the farmer and his wife,—and their sympathies 
had never been wakened by the sweet voices of I 
childhood calling them by the endearing names 
“ father,” “ mother,”—to her it was much. She 
ran up to her little room over the kitchen. The 
air was keen and frosty, but she did not feel it so. 
With nervous baste she undid the fastenings. A 
little ivory box inlaid with mosaics in bright 
colors,— a leaf-shaded cottage embowered in 
climbing roses. She removed the cover, and at 
once the wintry atmogphere was laden with the 
perfume of the spring. An aromatic cluster of 
simple wild flowers resting upon a l>pd of soft 
green moss. No name,—not a word,—but she 
knew who had been thus mindful of her, 
indeed w'ho could it have been if not -Robert 
Gaines, tbe brave soldier, in his far away tented 
home of the South. This was tbe renewal of her 
joy,—a proof that it had not been only a blissful 
dream. Tbe bleak winter's day bloomed as lux¬ 
uriously as the glowing summer-time. Tbe air 
was redolent of delicious incense from swelling 
buds and fairy petals bursting in beauty in the 
vernal freshness of her soul’s garden. Every 
faculty of her existence was consecrated by love 
to this imperial spirit, superior to circumstance, 
or position, or accident of birth or fortune. You 
remember how the spring violets faded and died; 
and yet when the years had. glided by, you 
walked again by the low moss-bed, and you saw 
from the same root another flower as perfect in 
form, as delicate in coloring, as fragrant of per¬ 
fume; so you must not tremble for Faith resting 
so securely on this certainty of happiness. 
Heart and soul take courage! what has once 
been ours Can never pass from our possession as 
the annual bloom can never pass from the flower- 
root; and thus this flower of love that had blos¬ 
somed upon her life was her'S forever, though it 
might become purified from every earthly ele¬ 
ment. 
Again weeks passed. She lived in the memo¬ 
ry of the days gone, and in anticipation of the 
joyous future, more than fear and trembling for 
the gloomy present. It was near the close of tbe 
short winter days, the last of February, that a 
gentleman called at the door and inquired for 
Faith Mautyn. She had opened the duor for 
him. < 
“I am Faith Mautyn,” she said. 
“There is a sick soldier down to A-. He 
came in last night. The journey aggravated his 
disease, and I doubt if he be living now. He 
wished me to call here and give you this.” 
He handed her a scrap of paper torn from an 
old yellow envelop. “I cannot ‘comeback’to 
you, Fay,— come to me.” 
Faith nether turned pale nor fainted, though 
her heart stood still and her brain reeled. For a 
moment, every object, trees, shrubs, houses, rail¬ 
ing, and the white glittering snow, seemed 
blended and whirling about her, but only for a 
moment. She had asked no questions,—what 
need of that? The man she loved was sick and 
dying within three inilea of her. Farmer Os¬ 
borne was sitting in his easy chair, looking over 
tbe daily paper. 
“Uncle,” — she always called him uncle,— 
“will you harness the horses and take me down 
to A-now?” 
Something in her face and manner awed him. 
He went out like a child accustomed to obey, 
and by the time Faith had donned her shawl 
and wound the Jong white cloud edged with 
bright crimson about her head, the horses were 
at the door, tbe bright silver mountings of the 
harness flashing in the departing snn-rays, and 
the bells tinkliDg, with every proud arching of 
their gracefully curved necks. 
“Robert Gaines has come back from the 
war sick,—he is down to A-, and sent for me,” 
was the explanation she vouchsafed to him as 
they glided over the smooth road. 
“Is he, child? We’ll bring him right back 
with us.” answered the foster parent, drawing 
his arm a little closer about her, as it lay on the 
back of the cutter. 
Oh, it is sickening, sorrowful, soul-saddening, 
the while the blood boils furiously in our veins, 
to see how indifferently these sick and wounded 
soldiers are treated by some.—by some abso¬ 
lutely neglected. At first they were heroes; but 
the heroes of every day grow, to some, common 
men after a while. They forget that these 
wounds are for us,—for the common inherit¬ 
ance,—that these Dien bleed and die for vs— and 
they go as peacefully to the work-shop, the 
counter, the farm labor, the lecture, the concert, 
the pulpit, even, with as untroubled heart as 
though a few hundred miles distant men were 
not dying by scores, and hundreds, and thou¬ 
sands, in their stead. To some,—those who in 
the home circle have counted one, two, three, 
perhaps, more vacant seats within a year or 
two,—to them they can never be other than 
heroes and martyrs. 
They found Robert Gaines in a small upper 
room, damp and chilly, with no fire and no 
means of warming the apartment, and with no 
attendant Early in the afternoon the landlady 
had gone np and arranged the clothes wbouf 
him, given him his food, and then hastened away 
to attend to her pressing household cares. 
When her father had inquired for him, Faitii 
had listened with beating heart to the answer. 
“ ne didn’t seem so very sick when he came in 
last night, though he was bad enough then, to 
be sure. He got hurt several weeks ago. There 
was a little skirmishing party sent out from Suf¬ 
folk to tbe Blackwater. A piece of shell struck 
him ia the side.—he is hurt internally. The 
doctor says he could not have recovered, but 
this journey has hastened the end.” 
*• Why. Faith, how pale yon are growing- 
lean on me,” exclaimed the farmer, all at once. 
This, then, was the end of all her hopes,—the 
burial place of every joy. He did not look 
much emaciated.—hope revived when she saw 
him. She went to the bedside and bent low over 
it; he drew one arm about her neck, and her 
face down close to his. 
“God bless yon, Fay! I knew you would 
come.” He kissed her lips, her cheeks, her 
hands, her forehead. “Did you know I had 
only come back to say good-bye. Fay, before I 
go again?” 
“You must not leave me, Robert; we will 
both go home together.” 
“Not together, Faitii; though at the last I 
hope we’ll both go home. I’ll waif for you ‘ over 
the river.’” 
It was touching, the childlike simplicity of his 
tones, the trust and confidence he reposed in 
every one. I have noticed it in many of these 
invalid soldiers. 
“When we parted. I did not ask you to be my 
wife. I feared,—I know not what It would 
soften the pain of dying if I might call you 
mine; if for one short hour I might know that 
you were my wife, that no one had the right to 
take you from me. pardon the selfish thought, 
Fay,— it was only for a moment” 
“ I am yours, Robert,— your bride in heart” 
“It will only be for a day, love,—if you would 
allow God’s minister to bless our ‘union of 
hearts.’ 
“You will not die, Robert.” Even while 
she spoke, there was a sinking at her heart as if 
to falsify her assertion, and she raised the heavy, 
damp locks from his forehead and kissed his pale 
brow; “but if any gift that I can bestow will 
give you pleasure or joy, it is my happiness to 
grant it.” 
“Again, God bless you, Fay, my wife. Oh, 
Faith! must wo part now? We might have 
3.Cucrtiscmcnts. 
A YOUNG LADY of experience wishes a situation, in a 
family, to teach Music, Latin and Higher English. 
713-2t Address TEACHER, Manlius, X. Y. 
F ARM for sale—C ontaining l.W acres, One mile from 
Seneca l'ali* Address, 
713 Box 316. Seneca Falls. N. Y. 
F IVE QCIHES <]20 sheets.!' nice commercial note paper 
for So ets.) single quires, fora simple, 12 (its.; 100 fine 
white envelopes, SO eta ., 10' Baft do., 40 els. , All the above 
gent pogt-pai !■ Address, GEO. K. SNOW A HAPGOOD. 
71A-3t Fathtinder Olllcrt Boston, Mass. 
P EMBERTON SQEARE ENGLISH AND FRENCH 
Bo.4kdj.vu and Day School for Yopnu Ladies, Bos¬ 
ton, Mast, Rev. GSO. Garnett. A. M.. Principal. ForCata- 
loeues, including Circulars, application may he mode per¬ 
sonally or by letter to tbe Principal, 36 Pemberton Square, 
Boston, Mass. 7l3-4t 
r pHE EUREKA FEED CUTTER. 
.1 Culler dtlapleil to I he U'ouli of Far mere. 
Trus Machice has important improvements. It, musiiES 
and CUTS the heavies-, corn stalks and bar and straw with 
rest rapiditv. by hand or horse power. Knives are cylin- 
rlcal with (hear cut. and one can t>e rwriJu ground' and 
kept in complete cutting order by ordinary flitm help. It 
is well made, easily operated, simple, durable and effective. 
Hundreds nre in operation to the perfect satisfaction of the 
owners. Orders promptly attended to. Send fir « Circu¬ 
lar. Manufactured only br H K. PARSONS. ArtT.. 
7U--*t Novelty Works, Harrisburg, Pa. 
r jTHE BOARDMAN, GRAY & CO. 
riAJMO FORTES. 
The subscriber, lato a memher of this fim, hna located 
hisi’fflco nt 786 Broadway, New York City, with full ar¬ 
rangements to supply these superior instruments to the 
public and trade at tne very lowest prices. WHOLESALE 
and RETAIL Send lor Price Circulars, and address all 
order*. SIBERIA OTT, 
726 Broadway, New York. 
been so happy,”—there was a faltering in the 
voice of the brave volunteer. 
“No, no, don’t say that; we must not part I 
cannot give you up. In all the wide world I 
have nothing but you. God will not take you 
from me.” 
PIANO STOOLS. 
ABBOTT’S IROX COLT MX AND FRET STOOLS .-The 
best, neatest, and cheapest stool made. Also, ROSEWOOD 
STOOLS, all kinds. Sole agenev. The trade supplied. 
Address all orders. SIBERIA OTT, 
726 Broadway, Xew York. 
PIANO-FORTE TUNING SCALES. 
She wound her arms about his neck, as if their 
feeble embrace defied the “king of terrors,” 
while the last falling tearB rained over her face. 
He lay perfectly still for a moment, with closed 
eyes. After a while he looked up. 
“It is over now,—the bitterness of parting. 
You said your father came down with you?” 
“Yes, I will call him;” and leaving his side 
she called to her father, in the hall below. He 
came up, and after the first salutations were over, 
Robert said to him, 
“ Mr. Osborne, before I went away, I loved 
your little girl, Fay,—I love her now. With her 
consent, and yours, I always meant to make her 
my wife. I thought we might live many years 
in the peace and prosperity that I would toil and 
battle for. That dream is past. I know that my 
days are numbered, I do not regret that I have 
given my life to the dear country, but in the 
little while that remains, I would like to have 
her by me. It would be a pleasure to know that 
It was her hand that held the cup to my lips, 
that ministered to my wants, that wiped the 
death moisture from my brow and closed the 
frozen lids down over my glazing eyes. Shall it 
be so, Mr. Osborne? Will you give me little 
Fatth to be my wife?” 
The former looked from Robert to Faith, 
and from Faith to Rorkrt, in dire perplexity. 
At length he spoke. 
“ Aud Faith, —what does Fay say ?’* 
“That her place is by the bedside of the man 
she loves.” The womanly voice was firm and 
clear, what though the toneB were low, and her 
face crimsoned with burning blushes. 
“Then let it be so, my children,” answered 
the farmer, holding a hand of each. “We’ll 
take you home with us aad doctor you up, and 
when you're well, we’ll have a merry wedding, 
and the old farm-house walls shall echo to the 
same mirthful sounds that filled the rooms in the 
long ago.” [Concluded on page 305, this No.] 
For the Rural New-Yorker. 
MUSICAL ENIGMA. 
I am composed of 36 letters. 
My 2, 8, 84. 2S, 11, 31 is the queen of orchestral music. 
My 7, 13, 19, 16, 27, 35, b is an instrument similar to the 
clarionet. 
My 27, 21, 1, 6, 7, 26, 2, 29, 9 is the name of a celebrated 
mtteical composer, 
My 10, 22, 2, 34, 16 is the name of su ancient dance. 
My 7, 30, 4, 18 is an instrument of many strings. 
My 0, 3, 12, 34, 14 is one of the middle voices. 
My 15, 7, 10, 20, 24 i». next to the fundamental sound, the 
most i mportant in a chord. 
My S3, 28. 25,10 ia a Cllinof c instrumeBt. 
My 7, 34, 28, 32 is a sign that you may atop as long as you 
please. 
My 14, 26, 19, 23, 36, 17 is what most children love to 
sing. 
My whole is what all true artists feel. 
Paint Lick, Ky., 1853. ■ L. R. 8. 
tiT Answer in two weeks. 
For Moore’s Rural Xew-Yorker. 
MISCELLANEOUS ENIGMA. 
SOMETHING NEW 
BOOTMAN’S Tl'XJNG SCALES enable persona to tune 
their own PiaDos correctly; inximplo in construction and 
operation. Prices, fkom $6 to $io. Sx.vd for Descrip¬ 
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orders, SIBERIA OTT, 
726 Broadway. New York. 
CHRONOMETER WATCHES. 
FASOLDTS PATEXT ISOCHRONAL POCKET CHRO¬ 
NOMETERS —The beat time-keeper? in the world. I Vi 1 1 
not vary ok minute in a veur Sole intent. Trade supplied. 
Send lor Circulars, and address orders, 
SIBERIA OTT. 
726 Broadway, New Yolk. 
MEL0DE0NS AND ORGAN HARMONIUMS. 
The best made is this country, WHOLESALE AND 
RETAIL, at lowest prices. Send for Circular, and address 
orders. Siberia OTT, 
726 Broadway, Xew York. 
Purchaslug and Information Agency. 
Articles of every description purchased. Information 
given on any business matter- Circulars sent od applica¬ 
tion, KivicK lull Information relative to the Aeeucv, and 
references. Address Siberia OTT, 
712-2teow 726 Broadvtai. New York City. 
Gkkat Discovery 
Applicable to the 
useful Arts. 
A new thing. 
Its Combination. 
USEPUL and VALUABLE 
DISCOVERY1 
TTITL’TOTST’S 
INSOLUBLE 0EMENT! 
Ia of more general practical utility 
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BCIM2IUOK TO AW 
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Hilton^ Insoluble Cement is a new 
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RCIEXT1FIC I'KINCII’LES 
and anderno circumstances orchange 
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Boot and Shoe 
Manufacturers. 
HOOT and HITOE 
Manufacturer?, using Machines, will 
und it the host article known for Ce- 
imentiug 1l.e Channels, as it works 
without delay, is not affected by any 
change of temperature. 
Jewelers jEWEijinRS 
! 'Vill find it cMUclet'Uy adhesive for 
their use, as has been proved. 
Families. 
It is a Liquid. 
Remember. 
Finis. 
701-26teo] 
IT IS ESPECIALLY adapted 
TO LEATHER, 
And we claim a* an especial merit, 
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That is a sure thing for mending 
furulturej Crockery^ Toy*, 
Hour , Ivor iy, 
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Remember Hilton’s Insoluble 
Ccmk.vt is in u liquid form and as 
?--■>“iIV applied a* panto llllton’e In- 
soluble Cement i? insoluble in water 
>r oil. Ililtun n Immlfitil,' Cement 
adheres nilv uilaUttoer. 
Fu prilled in Family or Manufacturers’ 
I’.'icKHge? from 2 ounce* to Ilk) lbs. 
IIILTON HBUS A CO., 
proprietors, Providence, R. I 
t>EST pamily sewing machine, 
WHEELER At WILSON 
MANUFACTURING CO. were awarded the First i'mznium 
at the Great International Exhibition, Loudon, 1862. 
Priucipal Office, 505 Broadway, N. Y. 
566 8. W. DIBBLE, Agent, Itoeheater, N. Y. 
A BEAUTIFUL MICROSCOPE, M AON IF k JMi Five 
Hundred tunes, for 30. cents! (coin prelerred.) Fjvb, 
of different powers, for *1.00. Mailed Dee. Address 
6C7-tf F. M BOWEN. Box 220, Boston. Mass. 
MOOSE’S EUEAL NEW-Y0EKEE, 
THU LARGEST CIRCULATED 
I AM composed of 12 letters. 
My 5, 9, 3, 4, 7, 12 is a boy’s name. 
My 11, 2, 6, 4 is a wild animal. 
My 10, 1,12 means any period of time. 
My 8, 6, 10, II is a kind of drink. 
My whole is the name of a General in the Federal 
army. John G. Benson. 
Cold Brook, N. Y , 1863. 
tjT Answer in two weeks. 
For Moore’s Rural New-Yorker. 
AN ANAGRAM. 
(XvT hewn syee rae ghiretbst 
Ni teh loyfuj ruho, 
Ton newh tasreh era tishetgbr, 
Od ew lefe rule drifenhis’sp opwre. 
Tub ewlin baseds ear wrongidc, 
Dnour the residief aetrhh, 
Nad pdoe ifreg rou 'shoem dineagsuor, 
Hetu we now’ reh throw. 
Wethersfield. Conn., 1863. t. a. m. 
T3T Answer in two weeks. 
ANSWERS TO ENIGMAS, &c., IN No. 712. 
Answer to Chemical Enigma;—Wisdom and conceit, 
like oil and water, never combine. 
Amswer to Poetical Enigma;—The letter N. 
Answer to Anagram; 
June, to-day, has been unbinding 
All the beauty of her hair; 
The pure fragrance of her tresses 
Floats through all the golden air, 
And tbe greenness of her garment 
Lies about us everywhere. 
Agricultural, Literary and Family Newspaper, 
JS PUBLISHED EVERT SATURDAY BT 
D. D. T. MOORE, ROCHESTER, N. Y. 
Office, Union Bttildwss, Opposite the Court House, Buffalo Bt, 
TUll.nS, /.V JDrJJYCE i 
Two Dollars a Year— To Clubs and Agents as follows; 
Three Copies one year, for *5; Six, and one firee to clu 
agent, for $10; Ten, and one free, for $15; and any greater 
number at Borne rate —only SIM per copy. Club papers 
directed to individuals and sent to as many diff erent Post- 
Offioes as desired. As we pre-pay American postage on 
copies sent abroad, $1-62 is the lowest Club rale for Canada, 
and $2.50 to Europe, —but daring the present rate of ei- 
change, Canada Agents or Subscribers remitting for tbe 
Rural in bills of their own epecie-paTiu? bankB will not be 
charged pontage 
iHEiiK to Terms — We endeavor to adhere strictly to 
icription terms, and no person >e authorized to offtr the 
;al at List mar. published rates. Agents and triends 
at liberty to give a*cay as many copies of the Rural as 
7 kje disposed to pay foi at club rate, but we do not wish 
paper offered, in any case, below price, 
re Postage on tbe Rural Xkw-Yorerr is only 5 eta 
quarter to any part of this State, (except Monroe coon- 
vhere it goes free,) aud the tame to any other Loyal 
e, if paid quarterly in advance where received. 
kbct tg Rochester, N. Y.—All persons having occa- 
to address the Rural Nkw-Yorekb, will pleas* direct 
I ocMtler, TV. y., and not, as many do, to New York, 
my, Buffalo, &c. Money Letters intended for us are 
neatly directed and mailed to tbe above places. 
