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o * MUTILATED ~ . -CT ERR S. ©Olty: Subsselbore; $200 u yerr; or 41.80 In advunco, to qubseritiers ict a distance) 4t $1,004 your * * ¥Frem foul to fur from hester hag to worse, 1 on was cone cmns ane ha uN af L Che Rellertor Kii Aountrimora®y penocuar Ts Published «very FRIDAY MORNING; by no l K. W. HORENMAN, No. i104 ATATRST, N. v, tog= Tho | upaet will he punclontly malted hy atzong ne abvagty \ \o- Rater of Advertising, Cae aq tinie, or Oud: Insortlogyenens §0 89 Rach adfitionnt TSQON erects ro \0 gy -I9m A discount nuule to yarurty ndvartiacens wi An uP ad ian Peo ncr s e e creases noone vie, Aumicy Job Printing. 'OIROULARY, CARDS, HEAPS Show dithk ___ LASRLS, LAW BANK CHECKS, %o, Invititicts, &e, &o. 116, Stato st., Schenectady. for Printing from «broud, promptly Attended to. hen oh oke n tics t. ca iain te apie anna , Tits following remarkable poo by Robt. gamma“. an English Fosutt, who was horn In 1600 ant axooutad at Tyburn in 15956; is, Ir of thought nnd felicity of ox- préosslon, hardly equalled by nuy similar pro- duetion within our Iknowledgo. Itis a por« Teck mouste of musims, and, with vory alight 'altoratton, would boar cutting up into lines, 'svory one of which would sorvo s an apo- V £ thogim« Wohave iyaffelsed a Tino of rare rhyth= Infor bonitby tew TABE GO 63 The lopporl Gres In tue nury grow gala ; Nost nitked pbouite muow borl Crult and Rewer; - 171,10 sotrlest ight way Aad intornse from pubic; 6 fours inflatenlag: chowan; ofitices cliungo by course; 'Ordors es R #i L \Time goos by tore; fo 'The sea of Forane doth uot ever Naw ; ©] Sho diwa hos favors to the lowest abb ; Tec tides hive equal thing. to come nnd go ; | Hor toon doth woure the Around coursest web; No Joy #o grout but ganneth ton ends Noduce wo fued but may In fing «mond, Notabwaye flt of teal mor ever speiing; NotoodIon® night nor yat ctornat day ; Whe saddest birds a season find to sing ; The coughoot etornia calm may noon ullty. Thie with terms; Cad tetmporeth wll Thy nog muy hoyo to reo; you four to ffl. Acghnuee may wht that by was lost; Thocunct this hatte no lito fist; Ju some tings thy In ull things gong aro uroused ; Rowadl rings nued) bit nong tivo alf they wish, Unirhigtod Jays herd to no mun ; Who loasts l fraomo f who most) halk nover ul. * manson cap con < Ato Coment not yots RV BAMAY (fg comon not pote-iond still I wilt; Flogue take the many he's Troon atuct hate It quite; Hasald hort come at half past sovon; No dogkt It wilt ba newrer ctaven« \Iwas so the other night, Fhimficg he treats mo go, He ated not IP tim pleased or nop \Ela nll the suma to fifin g 04 N hie Ines how wid on [ Asancl foud hoor In ptastng by, My «yas with touts grow dim, I will not tove film any morgee what ware ut tho door= O1 how my honrt does beat; Pib agold: film well when he comas tn ¢ Nop Hths oot hoy Sewer Gott a din Ehoord upon the etreot, O tugging hours, wherq nre your wings t Fly awiftly UIE tho hawe that betugs My Lustnad to ffs wite; Ah hie fe nt nats mad I With fog upon fos coutd dia- (love tin more Cran Ufe, wove eres ank ige What I erate In hor Alben. I wish Chea well f { would this world of ours Might tir fos thee thoso lilly fowers Of whig thy poets toll f Upon whose nett; tr the days of ofd, Cau Garin\ In s of goid ! Lwish thig welt, Iulah thag well ; Aad alis you soon (of it Is pltifal 1) To start for tomes md Teava a longly alty-fnlf Qf sud Altanto fiends; Olle may propitious breozos on (lia Uidson blow, Bo that you bomewardly may sitfirly goy Andict the Brooklyn what? meet cousin Joe I E wish theo woll, Caod bye, I wih theo well ; Atout your Iwill oft Inquire; From your (dear cousin nd my frend (Mauriay! You be nestred I shall And whomalio tolls me thut i letter sho has got; Plt aste hor if your sent yor fove to. ina or fot t Cluod byoj I wish theo well. Furowall, frowelfy Qurowell ; E would the sands of Ug Might full for theo soft us the ehtrus Of veapor bell. And milt «il thy charmed yours) Muy there ba no cates of tours ; durawelly Awrowoll Onn Senroou mame «or save sa ws 0 494+ Domésitc iss. 1 un t€ A marrlod Indy ofthinty add.\ Sivery evenlng t seo In tholr buda ACA baker's dozen \ of curly heads. Uvory moenlgg my stwmnbure groot Tho putter; patter; of foot. Thirteen Itto hourlenre always In a Auttor; HEL thirteon ftclo monuthe ury Atled with broad and BULL Thirton Httl longues nro bosy alt dry tong, Aud Ciirtoom lifts frinds with doing somolhlng wrong. \PII Lam fiin to doy With un energy; too, As did the old womnn that lived m tha shiog. Aud when img poor husband eomnes home. from lits works Fred amt hoopryy. ood fered as a Turk, What do you trink Is the proture he sav 7 A leglom of babies; all in u hreeag- dohtay it exylnp; And Garey u rdghtag; Aud worn oct mumnny: «igh hee ide alf n fytngy Sfrompand gry Wiltionty beating filly Netly { Ohasley ho the pantry outing ourrint folty ; Richard strutting dound In pupe's Sunduy cont; Eorry ine the ghiussy with u ragornt hie throut; llubufll gote bla fingers erushed when Sasy shuts the dagr; Mitipuas thetr netitog with u fartyspound tour ; Stuby ao the cout toil hines to baging Throwlig In fils mite to che universal din Alugl lmg lord and mastur, bang rathor weuk of norvey: +- lia Hoging. to losg Tie In the stuming topsye And then thg. frightened Hicto ones all fy. to ma for aliwitor And so the drama closes 'mld a generid hattor-sikettor; Uil give you my name, test you think mo urayth; Yours, very Mrs dotu Smiths GG Cung rom Tittusr -When at sen on a allownneo of water, and you feel thirsty, atk a pleco of hard bisoult with alamp of white sugar. | In thitet, the salivary glands 'of the mouth are paralyzed, but restore their sotiyn: by sovere chowing, and immodiately thore will bo rotiof,. A friend who has been ort. short allowaneo of water in warm Jatt- tudes, conflrma the truth of the nbove state- mont. emma i oe Rgrs soe latowStephen Clirard of Philadelphin, when anrrounded with fmmonge wealth; and supposed to be taking sapreme delight in its necumulation, wrote this to a friends An to mysolf, T lfve Tiko a galloy slave, dongtrntly oconptad==and oftem passing the night without steoping. C am wrapped up in x {abyrtuth of afiirs, nud worn out with earos. LT do not value fortune. Khe love of labor fg my highest omotion When I rise in the morning, my only effort is to Inbor so hard during the day, that when night comes f every body and everything. ; elcome in inirqafal days, sone more sought P may bo enabled to sleop soun Ty.\ acl tls gISCOLO 7 R -z wlll 4 we PUBLISHED WEEKLY BY FREDERIC w VOLUME XXHIIL . HOFFMAN-OPFFIGE IN COoLonxNaDpE BUILDING, SCI‘IENECTADY, ~. tu ED PAPER: | FRIDAY MORNING, DECEMBER 25, 1857. NUMBER 52. Solict Wale. turns 20 s tuts ut A U NB MXL TLV ; on All for the ost. I do rot think thero could te found in the threo kingdoms a blither old inaid than Miss Mullicent Orme, otherwise nunt Milly, for so sho was universally called by her nephews and noices, first, second and third cousins nay, even by many who could not boast the smullogt tio of tonsanguinity. Dut this sort of universal to the whole neighbor- hood was by no. means disngreeable to Miss Milly; for in a very little body sho had a largo heart, of a most india rubber nature; not, in- deol, as the simile is used in spenking of female liearts that \never break, but always stretch.\ Dut Miss Milly's heart possessed this clastle nature in the best sense, nomley that it ever found room for new occupants; and, morgeyer. it was. remarkable for its qual« ity of eftucing all tnkindaces or injuries as casily as India-rublber removes pencil marks from paper. Aunt Milly-T have a right to call hor so, being hor own nephew Godfrey Estcourt- was at exbromely litle woman. She had prety livle features, pretty little feet and hands, a pritty little figure, and always car- ried with hera proity little work bag in whose mysterious recesses the children of the neigh- borhood loved to dive, seldom. returning to the surface without some pearl of price in the shope of a lozenger or a sugar plum. Her dress was always neat, rathor old fashioned perhaps, but invariably becoming; ber soft brown hair-it really was brown still-lay smoothly braided ander a tiny cap; her white coll was ever snowy; indeed, Aunt Milly's wholo attire seemed to havo the amazing quality of never looking worn, soiled, or dus- ty, but always fresh and new. Yet she was fur from rich ns every one Iknow: but ber in- come was Just énough to suffice for her Tittle golf, Sho lived: in a nutshell of a house, with the sthallest of small handmaidens; indeed cverything about Aunt Milly was on the dim- inutive senate. Sho did not abide inuch at homo, for sho was every whore in request-at weddings, christenings, &e. And to her cre. dit be ft spokon, aunt Milly did not turn her feat from. the house of mourning. She could weep with those that wopt, yet.somehow or other; sho contrived to Infuse hope and des- pair, and In general her blithe nature conver- ted: all life's minor evils into things not worth lamenting about. Hvery one folt that Aunt Milly's entrance into their doors brought sunshine. Sho was a sunbeam in hersel!; there was a cheerfulness in hor light step, her merry laugh, the jing- ling of the keys in her pocket was musical- Sho had a. wordsof encourngement for all, and an {aclination to look on the sunny side of No one was more for in adversity, for slig had the quality of making the heaviest trouble scem lighter; and hor nfailing motto was, \Al happens for the bost.\ All my school boy disasters were deposited in Aunt Milly's sympathizing car; and when I grow up I still kapt to the old habit. Icame to her one day with what I considered my first real sorrow ; it tas the loss by the sud- den: failure of a country bank, of nearly all tha fow hundreds my poor father had laid up for me, My sad nows lind traveled before me, and I wits not surprised to see Aunt Milly's cheorful free really grave as shoe met mo with, \My denr bay, I am very sorry for you.\ \Tt is the greatest misfortune [ could have,\ Teried, ~T wish that wretch Sharpless--* \Don't wish fim anything worse than ho has to bear already, poor man, with his large family,\ gaid Aunt Millly, gently. ''But you don't know all I have lost.- That Laura--\ and here T stopped, Tooking without doubt, very miserable, and possibly very silly. \You mean. to say, Godfrey, that since, in- stead of a littlo fortune to begin the world with, you have hardly anything at all, Miss Laurn Ashton will not consider that her en- gagement holds. T expected it.\ \Oh Aunt Milly, sho is not so moan ns that, but we wore tohave been married in two: yoars, and I could havo got a share in Mortlaka's office, and we could have been so tappy. - Alf that is over now. Ior father says sho must walt, and Laurr is to be con- sidered free. Life is nothing to me! I will go to Central America, or shoot myself.\ \low old are you Godfrey?\ asked aunt Milly, with a quiet smile that rather assured me, \I shall be twenty nest June,\ I said. Young people always put their age in the fu- ture tense, it sounds better. \Itis now July, so that I may call you nincteon and one month, My dear boy the world must be a horrible place, indeed, for you to grow tired of go soon. I would ad- vige you to wait a little while before you get so vory desperaie.\ \Aunt Milly,\ said T, turning away, Cit is casy for you to talk-you were never in love.\ A shadow passed over hor bright face, but Aunt Milly did not ansiggr my allusion. \I do not think any boy of nineteen is doomed to be a victim to a loss of fortuna or hopeless love,\ she snid after a pause, \My dear Codfrey, this will bea trial of your Laura's constancy, and of your own paticnee and industrys Depond upon it, all will turn out for the best.\ \Oh Isighed, \you talk very well, Aunt Milly, but what can I do?\ \I will tell you. You are young, clever, and have been for two years in a good pro- fession. It will be your own fault if you do not rise: in the «world. Every man is, in a gront measure; the architect of his own for- tune; and where, us in your case, the foun- dation of a good education is laid, so much tho cagier is it to raise the superstructure. You may yet be a rich man by your own ox- ertions; tho best of fortaues is a fortune self- carned, \Now as to your heart troubles, my dear (Godfrey. 'To tell the truth, T hardly betieve ; in boyish love-it is often go much of a dream | and go little of reality. Do not be vexed, Godfrey, but I should not be surprised if five years hence you tell me how fortunate it was that this trial came. Men rarely see with the same eyes at nincteen and twenty-five.\ I energetically quoted Shakspeare: \Doubt that the stars are fire, Doubt that the sun doth move; Doubt truth to be a lar, But never doubt I love,\\ Aunt Milly Inughed. | \As both these as- tronomical facts are rather questionable, you must excuse my donbting the final fact also. But time will show. - Meanwhile, do not despair; be careful of the little you have left. Matters might have been #orké with you.\ \Ab Aunt Milly, what a cheerful beart you have? - But trouble never comes to you as it does to other people.\ \\You nre a little mistaken for once, God- frey. By Sharpiess' failure {have lost every farthing I bad in the world.\ T was struck dumb with surprise and re- gret. Poor Aunt Milly! when she was lis- tering to my lamentations and consoling me, how little did I know that she was more un- fortunate than myself. And yet she neither complained or desponded, but only smiled a little sadly, perhaps, and said she knew even this disaster was all for the best, though she could not see it at the time. - She calmly made preparations for quitting her pretty home, confided her little handmaid to one cousin, in whose kitchen the tidy Rachel was gladly admitted, gave hora few household pets to another, and prepared to brave the wide world. Some unfecling people forgot aunt her friendly cirele proved how much they es- teemed and valued her. Some asked her to visit them for a month, three months, a year, indeed had she chosen, Aunt Milly might have spent her life as a passing guest among her friends; but she was too proud to do any such thing. At last a third or fourth cousin-a widow- er of large Cortune-invited \her to reside at his house as chacron to his two daughters, young girls just growing up into womanhood. This proposal, kindly meant, was warinly necepted, and aunt Milly set forward on her long journey, for Elphinstone Hall was some hundred miles off-a formidable distance to one who had never been a day's journey from her own home, now, slas, hers no more. Still neither despondency nor fear troubled her blithe spirit as little Miss Milly set out with | her valorous nephew; for I liad plead so car- nestly my right to accompany her to Elphin- stone's door that the concession was yielded at last. . Of all the gloomy looking old avenues that ever led to the baronial hall, the one we pass- ed was the gloomicst. Poor Aunt Milly shivered as the wind rustled in the trees and the dead leaves fell in clouds on the top of the post chaise. | We alighted, and entered a hall equally lagubdvus und ust much warkher than the avenue. | 'The solemn old porter was warming his chilled bands at the tiny fire; he and the hous» were in perfect keeping- dreary, dull and melancholy. | 'The master was much in the same style-a tail black fig- ure, with a long face and a white neckeloth, was the personified idea left behind by Mr. Eiphinston. | When he wes gone, I earnestly entreated Aunt Milly to return with me, and not stay in this desolate place, but she re- fused. \My cousin seems kind,\ she said. \Ile looked and spoke as though he were glad to see me. - (T was too cold to see or hear much, but I declare I did not rotice this friendly reception.) - My dear Godfrey,\ Aunt Milly continued, \I will stay and try to make a home here, the two girls may be amiable and then I shall soon love them; at all events, let us hope for the best.\ My hopes for Aunt Milly vanished into thin air, when, at the frigid dinner table, where the very eatables seamed made of stone, I saw two young ladies of fifteen or thcx'ea-i bouts; one the rudest hoyden that ever dis- graced female habiliments, the other a pale, stooping girl with sJeepy blue eyes, and lank Tair hair, who never uttered a word, nor once lifted her eyes from the table cloth. R \*What will become of poor Aunt Milly?\ I thought, internally. Yet there she wis, as cheerful as ever, talking to that solemn old icicle, Mr. Elphinston; listening patiently to the lava-flood of Miss Louisa's tongne, and now and then speaking to Miss Euplemia, whose only answer was a nod of the head, or a stare from her immense blue cyes.- \Well I mentally exclaimed, \Aunt Mil- ly's talent for making the best of everything will be called irto full requisition here, 1 suspect.\ Nevertheless, when we parted, she assured rae that she was quite content; that she would, no doubt, be very comfortable nt the hail. \But these two dreadful girls--how will you manage them, Aunt Milly?\ and a faint viston of the tall, stout Louisa, going in a pas- sion ond knocking my poor little aunt of ; her chair came reross my mind's oye. ''Pvor things! they have no mother to teach them better. I am sorry for them; 1 { was a motherless child myself,\\ said Aunt Milly, softly. \They will finprove by and | by; - depend upon it,, Godfrey, all will turn out well for both you and me.\ \Ament\ said I, in my heart, for I thought of my own Laura. How different she was from the Misses Elphinstonces! | And the im- age of my beloved eclipsed that of desolate Aunt Milly, I fear, before I had traveled many miles from the hall. Aunt Milly's epistles were not very freed quent, for, like many excellent people, she disliked letter-writing, and only indulged her very particular friends with a few lines now and then, in which she fully acted up to the golden rule, \If you have anything to say, suy it; if nothing-why, say it, too.\ - Thus my information as to how matters were go- ing on at Elphinstone Hall was of a very slen- der nature. However, when a few months had rolled by, chance led me into the neigh- borhood, and I surprised Aunt Milly with a visit from her loging nephew. It was carly in the spring, and a few peep. ing primroses brightened the old avenue.- Underneath the dining-room windows was a U { come but too true. gay bed of purple and yellow ervcuses which T thought bore tokens of Aunt Milly's care; she was always so fond of flowers. I fancied the hall did not logk quite so checrless as be- fore; the bright March surlsams enlivened, though they could not warm it. In a few moments appeared Aunt Milly herself, not in i the least altered, but as lively and active as | ever. She took me into her own little sitting- booin, sud told me how the winter had passed with her. with her she acknowledged; the girls were accustomed to rim wild; Louisa would have her own way; but then she was guided by love, and her nature was frank and warm.- Phemic, the pale girl, who had been delicate from her cradle, was rather indolent,; but- (oh, what a blessing these duis nre some- times!)-but then she was so sweet and gen- tle. I own, when I again saw the young damsels thus leniently described by Aunt Milly, T did not ses the marvelous change; Louisa seemed nearly as talkative, and. her sister nearly as insipid as ever; still there was a slight improvement, even to my eyes, and I gladly allowed Aunt Milly the fall ben- efit of that loving glamour which was cast by her hopeful erced and sweet disposition. \But now, Godfrey, how fares it with you?\ said my good aunt. \How is Laura? and how are you getting on in the world?\ I could give but a melancholy answer to these questions; for I had to work hard, and law was a hard study. | Besides many peo- ple looked coldly on me after they knew I + was poorer than I had been; and even Laura Milly in her wrouble; but the greater part of | hoo A ' herself was-not so frank and kind. Vague jealousies were springing up in my heart for every smile she bestowed elsewhere; and these smiles were not few. I was, in truth, far from happy; and so I told Aunt Milly, adding, \If Laura does not love me, I don't care what becomes of ine.\ Aunt Milly smiled, and then looked grave. \My dear Godfrey, if Laura married to-mor- row, you would recover in time.\ \No never! \Fo lose the girl I love is to lose every thing in the world.\ - \It may be, you do not know what real love is, my dear nephew. Whe strength and duration of a inan's attachtinent depend chief ly upon the disposition of the wourau heloves. For your Loura-but we shall see. Once more, have couragé, work hard at your profes- sion, and grieve as little about Liura as you can. If she ever did love you she does so still, and otherwise she is not forth the win- ning.\ . i <. I did not agree with Aunt Billy's theory; but I said no more; my heark was too sore. She took me over the house and grounds; both looked cheerful under the influsnee of the soft spring; and then she told me how kind Mr. Eiphinstone was, and how he bad been gradually weaned from bis solitary lifo to take plepsupe in the society ofhis danghs terg. . \\And I hope heis grateful to you, who have made it at all endurable?\ I said. Aunt Milly smiled. | '*Yes, I believe he ds; but I have only done what I ought; the girls both love me dearly, and it is sufficient re- ward to see them improve.\ I did not see Mr. Elphinstone, but I ear- nestly hopgd the solemn, coldly polite, mid- dle-aged gentleman had shared in the general amelioration and reforin effected by the cheer- fal-hearted Miss Milly. Months had glided ibilé years ere I agxin saw Aunt Milly. Everything had changed with me; from a boy I had grown a man, from toying to struggle with the world. I had followed Aunt Milly's advice, and had begun to reap the fruit of it, in the good opin= fon of those whose opinion was worth having. I had also proved the truth of her old saying, \How sweet is the bread of ones own earn- ing!\ - Another of her prophesies, alas! had Laura Ashton had mar- ried-but I was not her husband; a richer man stole the jewel of my boyhgod's fancy ; but-and this was saddest to bear-not be- fore I had found it to be a false pearl, un wor. thy of ny manhood's wearing. Bot I will not speak of this; in spite of Aunt Milly's sage speeches, no one can quite forget his first love. 'When I next visited Elphinstone Hall, it was in the golden days of midsummer. I thought I had never beheld a more lovely place. 'The old trees wero so bowery and full of leaves; the grass lawn so tery green; the flower garden so bright with blossoms.- Age and youth were not more different than the ancient, cheerless hall of former times and the beautiful spot I now looked upon. Even Aunt Milly seemed to share in the general rejuvencscence. The two years which had changed me so much had not made her lool: a day older. She had the same clear, fresh, cheerful fice and neat little figure, but -pere haps a little rounder, the result of a happy life and few cares. Her dress was as tasteful as ever, but not quite so precise, and it was of ricker material. She wore, too, various handsome articles of jewelry, a remarkable circumstance for unpretending Aunt Milly.- I thought hor pupils must be very génerous in presents. . We had not been talking long, when a very gracefal girl crossed the lawn to the French window of Aunt Milly's room. \I will come soon; go and take your walk, Phemic, dear,\ said Aunt Milly. Wonder of wonders! Could that beautiful fair face and golden ringlets which I saw thro' the open window belong to the lackadasical Miss Eaphemia of old? I absolutely started from ny chair. \You don't mean to say, Aunt Milly; that that lovely girl is Miss Elphinstone?\ \Most certainly,\ said Aunt Milly, laugh- ing heartily-her own masical laugh. \Well if I ever saw such a transformation} You are as muck of a fairy as Cinderella's godmother.\ \Not at all; I only did as the gardener does with half cultivated ground: I pulled up the weeds, and nurtured the flowers: As for Phemic's beauty, I never thought her ugly, though you were too much occupied with your disgust at the place to perceive that she really had a fair skin and pretty features. 1 have only made the begt of what I found.\ It had been rather a gloomy one, U | eggs. \And bow bas Miss Louisa turned out in in your hands?\ I asked, smiling. \Look at her; she is coming up the avenue on horse back.\ Lo And a very graceful, fearless horsewoman, the quondam hoyden seemed; her wildness was subdued into sprightly but not unlady- like manners; in short Louisa hed become what many men would admireas a fine, live- ly girl. \Why Aunt Milly,\ I said, \you must havegrown quite attached to these girls; it will really be painful for you to leave them.\\ \\I do not think of leaving them very soon,\ said Aunt Milly, casting dotrn her eyes, and playing with her golden watch-chain, while a faint rosiness, deepening on her still fair check, and a scarcely perceptible smile hover- ing round he mouth distinctly visible. \Indeed!\ said i, inquiringly. '*Yes; Mr. Elphinstone is very kind; he does not wish me to go; the girls love me very much, and my cousin-'** \Follow his daughters' good example!\ I cried, at last arriving at the truth. \\Well, I don't see how he could possibly help it; and so dear aunt, I wish you joy.\ Aunt Milly muttered something in return, Ulushed as prettily as a girl of fifteen, and at last fairly ran out of the room. \After all, everything was for the best,\ thought T, as I attended the quiet wedding of Mr. Elphinstone and his second wife-loved and loving sincerely; though to both the af- fection was but the Indian summer of their lives. - He did not look half so grave and aus- tere as I fancied, and really was a very noble looking man, in spite of his half-century ; and if his winning litle wife trod only ten years behind him in the road of life, why, I have seen many older-looking brides who were not thirty by the church register. Af ter all, what matters years when the heart is still young? 'They both did right in mar- rying, and the Indian summer shines peace- fully on them still. I have nothing more to add, except that I have been for these two years a married man myself, and therefore fally sympathized with Aunt Milly's keeping of her seventh wedding anniversary last week. I may just mention, et passant, that I rare- ly call her Aunt Milly now, Inppening to be her son-in-law as well as nephew. Perhaps, to clear up all mysteries I had better confess that my wife had fair hair, sweet blue eyes, and that her name is Enphemia. Agriaithmal, To Have Elgee in Winter, ___ ~ The question is often asked, \\Why can not bene. loy as well in winter, as in Summer?\ They can, to a certain extent; but they re- quire as a condition, that they be well provi- ded with warm and comfortable lodging, clean;apartments, plenty of food, pure water, gravel, lime, fine sand, and ashes to roll and bathe in: Thers stem naturally to be two seasons of the year when hens fay; early in the spring, and afterwards in suminer, indicating that if fowls were left to themselves, they would, like wild birds, produce two broods in Early spring-hatched birds, if kept in a warm place and fed plentifully and attended to, will generally commence laying about Christmas, or even somewhat earlier. - In cold and damp this is not to be expected, and much may, in different seasons, depend on the state of the weather and the condition of the bird. - It is a well known fact, that from Novem- ber to February (the very time when we want eggs the most] they are to many a bill of expense, without any profit. 'To promote fecundity and great laying in the hen, it is necessary that they be well fed on grain, boiled potatoes given to them warni, and oc- casionally animal food. | Tn the summer they. get their supply of animal food in the form of worms and insects when suffered to run at large, unless their number is so great as to consume beyond the supply in their roving distance. I found it advantageous, in the summer, to open the gates occasionally, and give the fowls a run in the garden and in the field adjoining their yard, for a few hours in the day, when grashoppers and oth- er insects were plenty. 1 bad two objects in view} otie to benefit the fowls, and the other to destroy the insects. It will be found that the fecundity of the hen will be increased or diminished, according to the supply of animal food furnished. Hens moult and cast their feathers once every year, generally commencing in Au- gust and continuing until late in November. It is the approach, the duration, and the con- sequences of this period, which puts a stop to their laying. It is & critical line for all birds. All the period while it lasts, even to the time that the last fedtherk are repliced by new ones, till these are full growu, the wast- ing ofthe nutritive juices, prepared from the blood for the very purpose of promoting this growth,; is considerable; and hence it is no wonder there should not remain enough in the body of the hen to cause her egg to grow. Old hens can not always be depended on for eggs in the winter, they scarcely beitig in tull feather before the last of December; and then,, probably, may not begin to lay till March or April, producing not more than 20 or 80 eggs; and this is probably the cause of the disappointment of those who have sup- plied themselves at the markets with their stock to commence with and get few or no As pullets do not moult the first year, they commence laying before the old hens, and by attending to the peridd of hatchifig, eggs may be produced during the year. An early brood of chickens, therefore, by being carefully sheltered from the cold and wet, and fed onde a day on boiled potatoes, warin with plenty of grain, and occastonally a little animal food, will begin to lay in the fall, or early in the winter.-{[Beinent's Poulterer's Companion. * To weep for fear is childish; to weep for anger is womanish; to weep for grief is hu- mane; to weep for compassion is divine; to weep for sin is Christain. {tinction without a diferente, perHiaps you | - ___ Colebration of a Golden Wedding. Rev. Mr. and Mrs. David T. Kimball re- cently celebrated their \Golden Wedding\ at Ispwich. Al their children, with their grand children, and many, other relatives, came together on the joyful occasion. Six of those now living, who attended the obigixh al wedding party, were present. The whole affair was exceedingly gratifying to the ven- erable couple, who had presed fifty years'of wedded life in a very pleasant and cheerful union, and to all who had witnesssd their affection. | At about 7 o'clock they took their seats under a bower of evergreens, intermin- gled with autumnal leaves, the bride being elegantly attired in her white silk wedding dress of 1807. An nperopriale prayer was then offered and an original song, composed by one of the sons, was sung. A crown was then placed on the head of Mrs. by one of the daughters.. It was wrought by her of flowers of hair taken from the heads of all the members of the fam- ily, from the grandparents to the youngest grandchild, arranged in family groups with the motto: \her children rise up, and call her blessed.\ 'The crown for Mr» Kimball was composed and placed on his head by another daughter, fha consisted of si&t¥en ovals hand- somely s t. | In the central oval was the mot- to: \children's children are the crown of old men'' In the opposite oval surrounded by the words \of such is the kingdom of heav- en,\ were the names of the grandchildren al- ready there, and uniting these were oval min- fatures of the fotirteen who are now living.- When these crowns had been placed upon their heads, Mr. Kimball expressed his ear- nest desire that a chown of pure gold might be laid on each of their heads by Him who crowns for immortality. The grandchildren then brought presents to their grandparents, either in small pieces of gold or articles wrought by their own hands. A little girl of five and a half years brought a shirt; containing more than fifteen thousand stitches, every -one of which was taken by herself, for her grandfather. A Bible was then presented to cach of them by their grandparents tith appropriate directions ns to the use to be made of it. © An original Bti- dal Song and Response, composed by one of co in exbaustion-designated by some as wo tired to death, used up, done over, like. 'The wisest thing yod can do\ such circumstances is to take n cracker .and ® cup of warm tea, cither black-or.green more. - In ten minutes you will-féel a dégree of refreshment and liveliness which be very Stirprising to you; not of the trallsient kind which a glass of liquor affords, b manent; for the tea gives present stimal and.g little strength, and before nutriment begins to be draws from th and treain; and bread.\ ~ 22 who died in London fome years gince, mea ured cight feet two inches.. grath, who died inthe year seven feet inches. E another. Iri iman, was seven. ches, and was peafly equal, size to Daniel Cardanus, a Swedish Dr. Cheselden, the famo of a skeleton. discovered : was the'archi And now -mark -t plio'mptness and wit, is: valed in the Whole history of- \Thero was no architect; Sif; { the confusion\. | ., . . down their cloaks in the dust to form a « pet for.a beautiful oman. upon. And it is not unueua mon. people. follow a 'beatitil such exclamations as \B that gave birth -t0 such beauty. o :cross thestrc \Blessed be the mo th . And Ricas: aign cup; but thik was a uld only be paid to a lad brated for a beautiful foot. | _ journal, gives the following d ce: \L. Never sit down to & table:witl fous or distarbed mind; better a hondred a a termit that meal, for there Wil much more food 'in the world for hungrier stomachs than yours; and besitles, eati der such circutrstances can -only ahd -will alr ways prolong and aggravate the condition:of uns things. - ©2. Never sit down to £ medl tense mental éffort, for physical & injury are inevitable, and no to deliberatcly injure body; \3. Never go to a foll table dur g bodily 'out; and the 12 3. Tart Mzex.-Byrne, a ight inches.. qual wis cleren feet, high;-an emperor, “HQ fine the daughters; and addresses were made by all the sons, in terms of the greatest affection and respect.. An address was delivered also by Rev. Mr. Cleveland, city missionary of |. Boston, who has almost reached his fourscore years and ten. / It.was.in his mo; i ate manner.. _ Mr. Kimball also made a very familiar and comprehensive address . to Jhi wife and their children and grandchildren, brothers and sisters and other relatives and friends who were present. At the appropr ate time weddirg cake was passed round-and |. supper served: in-dagform:; | 1t was indeed a) : wedding feast, both for the mind and the body. - 20 --4op--_-__- The Widow of Omar Pasha, tous Several French journals having announced the presence in Paris of the divorced wife of: Omar Pasha; the follo#ing details of het ca- reer are given in the - She was born at Reps, in Transylvania, and was sent at the agt of clezen to one of the best boarding schools in- Bucharest. Some lessons on the piano developed wonderful musical powers, and at the age of fifteen she. possessed a remarkable talent on that instru- ment. It was at that period that Omar Pasha, who then was the military command- ant at Wallachia, met the young lady at a soiree, and being very fond of in love with her;, and subsequeh‘lly married her. She was then compelled to submit to Mus- sulman habits; the Christian became quite A' Khanoun, (Turkish woman,) and never left the bouse except when veiled and atiended; but, contrary to Oriental habits, accompan- fed her husband in his warlike expeditions. She was greatly delighted with the glory: of his arms, and composed triumphal marches: which were played 'by the Turkish regiments when in battle. - The only child born from this marriage having died from an accident, Omar Pasha hoped by a new union to have an heir, and, perhaps, also to attach himself to the old Turkish party, and he therefore: demanded in marriage the daughter of Hafiz Pasha, its chief. - '\Remain in the harem,\ he said to his wile, but she was too proud to ac- cept a condition so unworthy of her, and de- manded a divorce, which was granted, and she has come to seek an honorable asylum in. France. The lady is only about twenty- three years of age. | She contemplates giving public concerts in Paris, and it is said that she would,; had it not been for the interfer- ence of Lady Canning, have made London the scene of her performances: = 44----- There is a story on record .of an architect repudiating any connection with the building fraternity, in the tage Of the late eminent and talented Mr. Alexander, the architect of _ Rochester bridge, and several other fine! buildings in the county of Kent. He tras under cross examination, in a Special jury | case at Maidstone, by Sergeant (afterward { Baron) Garrow, who wished to detract from the weight of his testimony, and who, after asking what was his name, proceeded thus: ''You ste a builder, I believe?\ \\No, sir, I amt not a builder-I am an ar- chitect.\ \ Ab, welll Architect 6f builder, buildeF or architect, they are much the samé, I supt pose.\ @I beg your pardon, sir; I cannot admit that; T consider then to be totally differ- ent.\ | \Oh! indeed! perhaps you will state wherein this great difference consists?\ _ «*An architect, sir, prepares the plans, con- ccives the designs, draws the specifications, th short, siipplics the mind. 'The builder is merely the bricklayer bf the carpenter-the builder, in fact, is the machine; the architect the power that puts the machine together and sets it going.\\ . \Oh! vety well, Mr. Architect, that will do? And now, after your very ingenius dis- and the Fatted .C: s preacher, *Well, was it maltpr calf that was. killed?\; ** plied-promptly. <'*Because;\ he's steadily in the face, \ now.' <9); shanty we?\ looked complacently on a pijif‘gf' e chickens that were smoking .on the' \there are two,\ | [~. ~. I rade iv'ry vbleskée‘d 'wor ) 'poper that's prented in the fieight \An' d'ye belave what ye sec it the prents?\ inquired Pat.. © «'An' why shouldn't don't think theyc for the. monty!\ 8, \Jour said a mister to his head appren o ney, \you must oqcupy-paygblgpm Fam absent,\ \thank you, sit,\ demurely replied John; \but I'd rather sleep with the bo tice as he was about starting on a; sho’rijong: R LAwrERg.-When Peter the Gregt wasn. ws - ~R \Nay; dearest,\ he replied. And she neighed.- R a-+ | wife? Oh, wilt thou? A Witty Retort, « \ - And she A; k we Shall live lovingly together 40 And they shanticd.-Zou. Journal How a Smaus Box.aor' ‘Tooxk’f‘ said a young hopefol, the other-da many fowls are there-on this table?\ 'Why,'' said the old gentleman, as, als cn Ak c D. \Two replied thi.srtidtt: boy, \Thire are three, sir, and T'H prove i [ Three!\ 're and I'll take the second 5qu d the third for his learning.**> . Wosax.<'An article manufa ed by milliners and dressiniRkers:> .: >= Who wants but little #4 her.head, -, Bat nhuck Belaw to muke litt spredd, England, He ‘cipiesséd'g desire to: visit!) - Old Bailey, 'and witness a criminal trial.. Secing a large number of gentlemen 1 dered wigs and silk-gowns, the:Oz _ his interpteter who they were. **Lawyers,\ was the rep e have only two in'all-tfiy db n tend to hang orie of them 'as soon as Ige home.\ . - - wilt unfaithful td me again?\
