SCENE IN BROADWAY.-A prostrate horse-street blocked up by officious citizens assisting-policeman stands by, whistling cheerfully, bands in his pockets-gentleman approaches him carefully and walks away.

Scene changes. Same policeman reads a newspaper leisurely at the corner of a cross st., and Broadway. Gentleman approaches as before:

(To Policeman.) Will you oblige me with your name, Sir?

Policeman.-What do you want to know for ! Interlocuter. That is none of your business, Sir. A policeman must give his name to any citizen who asks it.

Policeman demurs, but gives it. Interlocutor walks away. Presently the parties repass each other. Policeman, who has been ruminating, rushes out and accosts the questioner:

'Aren't you the gentleman who asked me my name a little time ago?'

'Yes.'

'Well now, I want to know what you asked that question for?'

Answer refused.

Policeman (getting fierce.)-Tell me what your name is, will you?

Questioner (cheerfully)-With great pleasure. My name is FERNANDO WOOD.

Policeman is very humble, apologizes, and has visions of stern reprimands, or possibly a dismissal.

Isn't that pretty well for the first story about the Mayor? People about town are talking of it, in connection with remarks on 'new brooms.'-N. Y. Times.

HIS TIME HAD COME.-A few years ago two men of great physical strength were elected to the legis lature in one of our western states, the one an excitable lawyer, the other a blacksmith, but unfortunately a little deaf. The latter was very troublesome to his friends. His name commenced with the letter A. He frequently voted wrong, by mistake, and lead others wrong. By arrangement with the clerk, his name was put down second in the list, and being a "regular," he submitted, and voted invariably with the leader that had been made thus unceremoniously to outrank him.

One day his athletic friend and brother legislator, the lawyer, got into an exciting political debate-the lie was passed, and in a moment the law. yer had his coat off, ready for a fight. This unlegislative attitude paralyzed, for a moment, the House, which had become proverbial for order and decorum. Directly, however, every person's at tention was drawn to the gigantic blacksmith, who, rushing up to his comrade, exclaimed, pointing towards the other side of the House: "You take the back seats, and I will take the front. I can't legislate, but I can fight."

LONG SERMONS.-These, after all, are the great mistake of clergymen―the crying sin of the pul pit. People will not read long dry disquisitions upon secular subjects, and religious subjects are listened to with pretty much the same sort of uneasy ears. The truth is, a half an hour of good hearty belaboring is about as much as ordinarily sensitive sinners can stand at one sitting; and when sermons are habitually protracted beyond that length, those to whom they are of perhaps the most importance will habitually keep away. The value and efficacy of sermons consist in what is remembered, not in that which is forgotten; and a half dozen curt, epigrammatic sentences, with a small relish of eloquence and rhetoric, is worth more upon a promiscuous congregation that a whole day's work of preaching under the ten hour system.Deacons and class leaders may be suited with ten hour system sermons, but sinners won't be. and there's the difference. Long sermons and thin congregations are inseparable.— Winsted Herald.

Perhaps the oldest tree on record is the cy press of Somma, in Lombardy. It is suppposed to have been planted in the year of the birth of Christ, and on that account is looked on with reverence by the inhabitants; but an ancient chronicle at Milan is said to prove that it was a tree in the time of Julius Cæsar, B. C. 42. It is 123 feet high, and 20 feet in circumference at one foot from the ground. Napoleon, when laying down the plan for his great road over the Simplon, diverged from a straight line to avoid injuring this tree.

THE RULING PASSION.-A lady in a neighboring village, a few days since was badly hurt by the upsetting of a sleigh, and carried into a house near, senseless, with an ugly cut on one of her pretty cheeks. No sooner had the surgeon who happened to be a bachelor, commenced his operation, than animation returned to the lady, and opening her eyes, she lisped beseeching, "Do Doctor sew it neatly." Of course the gallant operator ran the stitches as close as a shirt maker, working a wristband.-Aub. Am.

In an old English churchyard there lies buried an old maid, who not leaving her property to her relations, thereby gave offence. By way of showing marked disapprobation, one of them caused to be engraved upon her tombstone, which bears date 1750, the following lines:

"Beneath this silent stone is laid
A noisy, antiquated maid;

Who from her cradle talked till death,
And ne'er before was out of breath."

"SHE ALWAYS MADE HOME HAPPY."-Such was the brief but impressive sentiment which a friend wished us to add to an obituary notice of one "who had gone on before."

What better tribute could be offered to the memory of the loved and lost? Eloquence, with her loftiest eulogy-poesy with her most thrilling dirgecould afford nothing so sweet, so touching, so guggestive of the virtues of the dead, as those simple words: "She always made home happy."

In the way of pathetics we will back the good old State of New Jersey against anything we wot of. The following choice production may be found in one of her church yards, and has never as yet, been excelled in originality:

"Weep stranger, for a father spilled

From a stage-coach, and thereby killed,

His name was John Sykes, a maker of sassengers.
Slain with three other outside passengers."

Some young ladies, feeling aggravated by the severity with which their friends speculated on their gay plumes, necklaces, rings, etc., went to their pastor to learn his opinion.

"Do you think," said they, "there is any impropriety in wearing these things ?"

"By no means," was the promptly reply, "when the heart is full of ridiculous notions, it is well enough to hang out a sign."

Life is a lemonade made up of different ingredients-fortune that's the water-misfortune that's the lemon-and good fortune, which is the sugar. It is rather pleasant when the ingredients are not disproportionally mixed; but is an unpleasant dose when the lemon is excessive, or the superabundant water makes it insipid, or a large quantity of sweetening makes it mawkish and pull upon the appetite.

It is a common observation that mothers are the fondest of those children that are in themselves the the least worthy of their affection. They will idol ize a spendthrift, a profligate, a rebel, or an idiot in in the one sex, and a flirt, or a fool in the other, in preference and even to the prejudice of a half a dozen well educated, affectionate and high-minded children.

"Do you think you are fit to die ?" said a stepmother to her neglected child.

"I don't know,' said the little girl, taking hold of her dress, and inspecting it-"I guess so—i -if I ain't too dirty."

"Does my son William that's in the army get plenty to eat?" said an old lady to a recruiting sargeant the other day. "He sees plenty," was the laconic reply. "Bless his heart, then, I know he'll have it if he can see it; he always would at home."

LEGAL ADVICE TO YOUNG LADIES.-Don't accept the hand of anybody who tells you he is going to marry and settle. Make him settle first, and marry afterwards.

No man can do anything against his will, said a metaphysician. "Faith," said Pat, "I had a brother who went to Botany Bay against his will, faith an' he did."

Geologically speaking says Hood, the rock upon which hard drinkers split, is quarto.

Napoleon's hat once fell off at a review, whe young lieutenant stepped forward and picked it and returned it to him. Thank you, captain,' the Emperor. In what regiment, sire?' retor the lieutenant as quickly as possible. Napol smiled, passed on, and forthwith had the luc youth promoted.

"Jethro, who is Cupid?" "One of the boys He is said to be as blind as a bat; but if he is bli he'll do the travel. He found his way into at Nan's affections, and I wouldn't have thought a critter could have worked his way into such narro arrangements with his eyes open."

"Halloo driver, your wheel's turning round sang out a little urchin to a cart-driver the oth day. Carty pulled up and looked anxiously fir on one side, and then on the other. "You needn look now,—it's stopped," coolly added the provol ing little rascal.

The marriage of Miss Catharine Jones appears 1 the New York papers, and appended to it is the in formation, that "the lovely bride was one of Eve fairest daughters." But for this it might have supposed she was one of old Mrs. Jones' daughters

'Johnny,' said a three year old to an elder broth er of six, Johnny, why can't we see the sun ge back where it rises ? Why Jim, you little goosey, 'cause it would be ashamed to be seen going down East!'

"Biddy, an' what is it you'll give me for break. fast this morning?" "Fish, Patty, to be sure." Fish? To the divil wid yer fish! What's this you've done wid the three mackerels I bought you last evenin'?"

We know a lawyer who gets so confused by press of business that he frequently mistakes one parchment for another-in fact, he has been known to 'take the will for the deed' occasionally.

A locomotive on one of the principal railroads has been adorned with the title, I still live.' That is more than some of the passengers can say at the end of the journey,

“How did you like brother Case's preaching ?" said a deacon to a free thinker. "The most of any I ever heard," said he; "for I dislike all preaching; and this comes the nearest that can be to none."

COMFORTING-To lose a small fortune in an unlucky speculation, and have all your friends wonder how you could have been 'such a fool.' Isn't it pleasant?

Women are like old fashioned houses, with many doors and few windows. It is easier to gain en trance to their hearts than it is to see through them. That's so.

Why is a woman mending her busband's panta loons, when he is lying in bed waiting for them like the devil? Because while the busbandman sleeps the devil sows (sews,) the tares, (tears.)

A quaint writer, in alluding to youthful affections says: "Although mustard and ham will turn two innocent slices of bread into a sandwich, yet there still will be an unbuttered outside."

A little girl asked her sister what was chaos, that papa read about. The oldest child replied, "Why, it is a great pile of nothing, and no place to put it in."

The parent who would train up a child in the way he should go, must go the way he would train up his child in.

Why is a good sermon like a kiss? Do you give it up? Ans. Because it only requires two heads and an application.

"Bob, did you ever go to the gold mines ?" "Yes." "What did you dig?" "I dug out, as quick as my legs would carry me."

Excess of ceremony shows want of breeding; that civility is best, which excludes all superfluous formality.

A dandy lately appeared in Iowa with legs so thin that the authorities had him arrested because he had no visible means of support.

Who cannot keep his own secret ought not to complain if another tells it,

Lengthened sweetness long drawn out➡a pretty girl seven feet high.

VOL. XX..

Poetry.

WHEN I AM OLD.

BY C. A. BRIGGS.

When I am old-and oh, how soon
Will life's sweet morning yield to noon,
And noon's broad, fervid, earnest light,
Be shrouded in the solemn night;
Till like a story well nigh told,
Will seem my life-when I am old.

When I am old-this breezy earth
Will lose for me its voice of mirth;
The streams will have an under tone
Of sadness, not by right their own;
And spring's sweet power in vain unfold
In rosy charms-when I am old.

When I am old, I shall not care
To deck with flowers my faded hair;
'Twill be no vain desire of mine,
In rich and costly dress to shine;
Bright jewels and the brightest gold
Will charm me nau ght-when I am old.

When I am old-my friends will be
Old and infirm, and bowed-like me,
Or else their bodies 'Death the sod,
Their spirits dwelling safe with God-
The old church bell will long have tolled
Above their rest-when I am old.

When I am old-I'd rather bend
Thus sadly o'er each buried friend,
Than see them lose the earnest truth
That marks the friendship of our youth;
"Twill be so sad to have them cold,
Or strange to me-when I am old.

When I am old-oh, how it seems
Like the wild lunacy of dreams,
To picture in prophetic rhyme,

That dim, far distant, shadowy time;

So distant that it seems o'er bold
Even to say "when I am old!"

When I am old?-perhaps ere then,

I shall be missed from the haunts of men;
Perhaps my dwelling will be found
Beneath the green and quiet mound;
My name by stranger hands enrolled
Among the dead-ere I am old.

Ere I am old?-that time is now,
For youth sits lightly on my brow;
My limbs are firm, and strong, and free,
Life has a thousand charms for me;
Charms that long their influence hold
Within my heart-ere I am old.

Ere i am old-oh, let me give
My life to learning how to live;
Then shall I meet, with willing heart,
An early summons to depart,

Or find my lengthened days consoled
By God's sweet peace-when I am old.

BEN ADHEM.

Abon Ben Adhem, (may his tribe increase,) Awoke one night from a deep dream of peace, And saw within the moonlight in his room, Making it rich and like a lily in bloom, An angel writing in a book of gold. Exceeding peace made Ben Adhem bold, And to the fresence in the room he said, "What writest thou?" The vision raised its head, And, with a look made of all sweet accord, Answered, "The names of those who love the Lord." "And is mine one?" said Abon. "Nay, not 'so," Replied the Angel. Abon spoke more low, But cheerly still, and said, "I pray thee, then, Write me as one who loves his fellow men." The angel wrote and vanished. The next night It came again, with a great wakening light, And show'd the names of those whom God had blest, And lo! Ben Adhem's name led all the rest! 1844.

Leigh Hunt.

When is a broker," queried Jimmy Grimes,
"Like to a vagrant in the olden times?”
D'ye give it up? Well, when by fortune's shocks
The poor unfortunate gets 'stuck in stocks!""

Original.

"They toil not; neither do they spin, yet, verily I say unto you, Solomon in all his glory was not arrayed like one of these."

A good text, from which we intend to preach a short sermon. Our Savior was speaking of "the

lilies of the field." As the lily of Judea was the Lilium candidum, cultivated with us under the name of White Lily, the meaning of the passage can be more readily appreciated. As our readers well know, the petals of that flower are of the most brilliant, wax-like whiteness, and the only ornament they exhibit are the bright yellow anthers which nod to every breeze within the pure white cup. It was a beautiful object with which to compare the splendor of Solomon's attire. Garments were then made of wool or fine linen. The perfection of elegance, we may thence infer, consisted of the purest of white, with a few gold ornaments on the head. The white was expressive of purity and truth; the gold of costliness and freedom from tarnish. This then, in the opinion of our Savior, was the most glorious of all the decorations of the outer man, as most strongly expressive of the inner character.— How pure and simple and yet how elegant such a dress! How exquisite the taste that approved it! How strong was the love of the beautiful that suggested the simile!

We fear that our ladies at present have departed from the pure simplicity of this pattern. They undoubtedly think that Christ, in commending the decoration of the lilies, referred to the red and yellow and orange lilies that grow in our fields, or stare at us in their gorgeousness over the garden palings. The Lilium superbum or the L. Philadelphicum, with its gorgeous red petals, or the L. Canadense with its gay yellow flowers; or even the great, spotted Tiger Lily, are with modern fashions the "Lily" to which Solomon is compared. To make the comparison more complete, it may be said of them with truth: "They toil not, neither do they spin!"

The true rules for taste in dress, so far as colors are concerned, can be expressed very concisely.

Adopt some leading color that shall give a character to the whole dress and let it be as simple as the prevailing fashion or the situation of the wearer will warrant. Let it be a color with which some pleasing and interesting expression is connected.

Adapt every subordinate color to this leading characteristic hue. Even if contrast is fashionable, it is not beautiful nor tasteful, and we should by far prefer the white lily with its golden stamens as a model, to all the combinations that a Paris milliner can invent. There are shades and hues of every color, that every woman of taste will at once perceive suit the predominant character of the dress rather than others.

Adapt every color to the nature of the complexion, whether it is the governing hue of the dress or that of the subordinate ornaments. There ought to be in women an instinct of taste on this subject. But we fear some do not heed it, but place colors in contact with complexions where true taste is often violated.

Adapt every color to the character of the individ

NO. 6.

ual wearing them. Here is where there is the most failure. Every individual has a character of her own, but does not always accommodate her dress to it. Hence, her dress is felt to be incongruous, but the nature or cause of the incongruity is not always seen. In extreme cases, we note and lament it. A delicate taste and a knowledge of character would lead us to appreciate it in all cases.

These hints and the subject is not worth any thing more-we submit to the ladies for their consideration.

Spiritualism.

It is refreshing to turn from some crude string of phrases like those of Andrew Jackson Davis, mere masses of words to which neither writer nor reader attaches any distinct idea, to an Essay like that in the London Quarterly for January, 1855, on Psychological Inquiries, If any of our readers have been interested in the so called Spiritualism of the day, we advise them to carefully study this notice of Sir Benjamin Brodie's book. It comes from a man of positive science, and no mere sciolist. As we love the truth, let us cling to facts as we find them in nature, and let metaphysical speculations alone. We cite and paraphrase a few sentences, to show the character of the article.

No one has any right to discuss a metaphysical question as to the nature of the intellectual powers, who neglects to master the results of modern physiology.

The impression remains for some time in a nerve, and the brain is capable of perceiving only a certain number of impressions in a given time.

One of the most important facts about sensation is, what is called the law of externality. One would think we ought to aefer our sensations to the spot in the brain where we know they are elaboratedbut this we never do, always assigning the objects which we see, the sounds we hear, the odors we smell, to some space out of the brain.

as

This law of externality, together with that of the persistence of impressions for a time in a nerve, explains the phenomena of hallucinations. Sir Benjamin Brodie says, "A friend of mine, on awaking in the morning, saw standing at the foot of his bed a figure in a sort of Persian dress. It was as plainthe chairs and tables ly to be seen and as distinct in the room, so that my friend was on the point of going up to it that he might ascertain what, or rather who, it was. Looking, however, steadfastly at it, he observed that, although the figure was as plain as possible, the door behind it was plainly to be seen also, and presently the figure disappeared. Considering the matter afterwards, he recollected that he had had a dream, in which the Persian figure played a conspicuous part; and thus the whole was satisfactorily explained, it being evident that the dream, as far as this part of it was concerned, had continued after he was awake; and so that the perception of the imaginary object had existed simultaneously with that of the real ones. The same thing occurred to the same person on another occasion, and similar histories have been related to me by others. It is probable that this is the history of many startling and mysterious tales of ghosts and spirits."

A gentleman eighty years of age, after a fit, which was considered apoplectic, was haunted by the ap

42

pearance of men and women, sometimes in one
dress and sometimes in another, coming into and
These figures were so dis-
oitering in the room.
tinct that at first he mistook them for realities, and
wondered that his family should have allowed such
persons to intrude themselves upon him. But he
soon learned his error and then talked of them as
he would have talked of the illusions of another.

A lazy mind which will not take the trouble to analyse sensations, runs the hazard of madness. It is a doubtful compliment to say that a man has his senses about him, he may have nothing else and so become the dupe to every kind of imposture from animal magnetism to table-turning.

Velocity of Railway Trains—their Speed and
Safety.

Few persons realize how great is the velocity attained by the trains on our first class lines of Railroad. Not that the speed is greater than is consistent with safety, this I do not believe; as upon all well conducted roads the trains are run with care and at a reduced rate of speed at such points as safety requires. Upon straight portions of the track, however, remote from stations, the speed of express trains, at every trip, will reach fifty miles per hour.

It seems almost incredible that, as we glide smoothly along, the elegantly furnished car moves nearly twice its own length in a second of time; about 74 feet! At this velocity we find that the locomotive driving wheels, six feet in diameter, make four revolutions per second! It is no idle piston rod that traverses the cylinder thus, eight times per second.

If a man with a horse and carriage upon an unimportant public road in a country town should approach and cross the track at a speed of six miles per hour (which would be crossing rapidly) an express train, approaching at the moment, would move towards him 257 feet while he was in the act of crossing a distance barely sufficient to clear the horse and vehicle. If the horse was moving at a pace no faster than a walk, (as the track is usually crossed) the train would move toward him, while in the act of crossing, more than 500 feet. This fact accounts for the many accidents at such points. The person driving thinks he may cross because the train is a few rods distant. Under no circumstances does a train cross any public road without timely warning from both bell and whistle when within 80 rods of the crossing. This the law rigidly compels.

W.

FOR THE COURANT.

"The Mind Rusts in the Country." So says Fannie Fern, and so say I, with my whole heart; Preach not to me of the luxuries of the farmer,-sweet rural quietude-beautiful sceneryglorious nature,-I tell you they're nothing! It may do for a change, to while away a few days in the summer time, since variety 's the spice of life; but-I, sigh for no such pleasures. As for quietude it's always found with me when out the way of noisy children; and scenery! What more beautiful. sight than to view from your house-top, a great and powerful city, alive with business and activity.Multitudes througing its streets, from the straggling beggar to the bustling millionaire, representatives of almost every nation on the broad earth; While in the distance you view the mighty Ocean, and nearer the thick forest of masts that glide over its waters. Nature! is not that sea one of her noblest works? With 'a few hours' walk or half hour's ride, you are far enough from America's greatest city to satisfy any ideas of country life. I tell you it is weary, dreary, this living forever, 'mong hills, and mountains and plains! 'Tis seeing nothing, being nothing, knowing nothing! 'Tis setting in one corner of the world, with your finger in your mouth watching it roll over. "The mind rusts in the country," to be sure it does! Is n't it there where 'T was n't any of my every body goes to rust? fault, that I grew in the country. How I long to be transplanted to some fair city garden where in its rich soil I too might flourish and perhaps be beautiful: I've no fancy "to waste my perfume on the desert air," I'd rather the world should know I live! I'd rather my living should do that world some good! But how could I leave the sweet roses that have grown up and bloomed by my side, with a little rose bud among them, fairer and brighter than all ? And the two tall graceful willows, that lean sa fondly over us-watching us so tenderlyour shield from every storm: and the bright green grass-plot where we grow. Oh! No! No! I cannot leave them. So until some miraculous change shall transplant us all I must still remain, as I am, a WILD ROSE.

The Grave of Henry Martyn.

The following is an extract of a letter from Mrs. Van Lennep, (late Miss Bird of this city,) dated Tocat, Nov. 14th, 1854. Many of our readers that have been acquainted with the life and labors of Henry Martyn, will be gratified to know that while his published memoirs have embalmed his memory, the cherished spot also where his ashes rest, has been rescued from oblivion:

*

* "You conjectured rightly that one of our first excursions would be to the burial ground where lie the mortal remains of Henry Martyn. It is at some little distance from our house, up a hill side, and on account of illness in our family, I had been prevented from visiting it until accompanied by our new associates and missionary visitors, the P's. It had been reported to us that, since the last missionary visited Tocat, the grave stone had disapIt was peared for some time it had not been seen. supposed, as often happens in these countries, that this stone had been kidnapped for building purposes, in which case we should have little hope of ideutifying the spot where that man of God was laid fortytwo years ago. We went forth, however, as on a sad and doubtful errand. As we wound our way up the hill, and left our horses under one of the two trees which alone shade the bleak hill-side, a company of boys, women and young children gathered wonderingly around to see what we were, and what our business could be thereabouts. Fortunately we came across the Sexton of the Armenian Church close by, who offered to point out the locality and insisted it that the stone was there. Two men, upon for the sake of a bakshush which we readily offered, began vigorously digging away upon the spot indicated by the Sexton. They dug down some distance, but to no purpose, and we began to despair Presently, of finding the object of our search. however, the corner of a stone was struck on one side of the opening, and, beginning again from the surface in another direction, throwing off soil to the depth of a foot or more, with grass and weeds thickly overgrown, the flat, white grave stone was gradually laid open, and to our great joy, we were soon brushing away the earth and reading the distinct inscription. You may imagine our emotions better than I can describe them. I did not come away without gathering some of the withered weeds growing out of the soil which had concealed the grave stone; these I have pressed for absent friends.

Last Sabbath, Nov. 12th, we for the first time, worshipped in our chapel. Old Hundred was the first tune its walls re-echoed and more than one present wept tears of joy. Would you not like to and would you not have been present, dear

have thought with us that perchance the spirit of that missionary martyr who, here, in his early prime, fell by the way, might be hovering near and rejoicing with us at the opening of a temple in which to worship the living God and to publish salvation to these perishing multitudes."

FOR THE HARTFORD COURANT.

Mr. Editor :—
You published lately two extracts from the forth-
coming History of Connecticut by G. H. Hollister
Esq.-one a remarkably just resume, of the life and
character of our great old revolutionary Governor,
Jonathan Trumbull-the other a highly graphic
description of the moulding of bullets, at Litchfield,
from the old Bowling Green leaden statue of
Here are two more extracts
George the Third.

from the same work with which we have beer
favored-one a sketch of our venerable Colonia
Governor George Wyllys-the other a sketch of the
renowned Lady Fenwick. They are each exquisite
ly composed-true to history-and poetically touch

ing in their appeal to the sensibilities of the reader. The writer shows himself every inch a man of feeling, as well as of historic verities-perŝuasive by force of a soul as well as instructive and didactic by force of a finely adjusted mind, and a strong purpose of good. How we shall all welcome a History that can send out such avant-couriers as the Portraiture of Trumbull, and the Bullet Scene, which you have already published, and the two sketches which I send you now. Just glance over them, worthy Editor! You cannot but agree with me in what I say respecting them-and "faith" you'll "prent 'em."

GOVERNOR GEORGE WYLLYS.

W.

In the midst of these stirring events, died George Wyllys, Esquire, third governor of Connecticut, who, bad there been left no written memorial of his worth, could not have failed of a traditionary fame more enviable. though less glaring, than that of the proudest military conqueror. He came of an old and honorable family, and was, before he left England, the possessor of an elegant mansion and a valuable estate in land, situated in Knapton, in the county of Warwick. Few English gentlemen had less occasion to become an adventurer; none had less cause to seek his fortune in the trackless labyrinths of the American woods. His birth, his wealth, his intellectual endowments, enriched by the most refined culture, entitled him, in the best of English neighborhoods, to the confidence and friendship of that order of English nobility, whom Burke has signalized as the "best society in the world." So that, whatever may be said of others, it cannot truthfully be said of Wyllys, that he sought to better his fortunes by emigration. He knew well, that as the world understands the term, he could not improve his condition, and that to change it, was to make it worse. His eye was not to be dazzled with the surfaces of things. With the earnestness that characterizes all noble natures, he sought after the truth, and, by the gradually increasing light of religious liberty, saw in that early dawn, the shadows of superstition beginning to grow pale and dim. He loved the traditions, the institutions, the customs, immemorial as the green old oaks and flowering hedges of his native island. Yet, like John Hampden. Herbert Pelham, and Sir Harry Vane, though he lingered over the past with a loving step, his gaze was still fixed on the future. He was one of the few men of that harsh, intolerant age, whose large natures-incapable of bigotry, whether lurking under the folds of the surplice, or haunting the secret chambers of the conventicle -soared above the poisonous atmosphere of political strifes, and panted for a liberty, religious_and civil, that should strike its roots in a deep, fresh soil, and bear those "golden apples" that in later years, requiting the culture of such hands as his, were to blush upon the branches of the Hesperian tree. Perhaps, too, he foresaw, and was not unwilling to avoid for himself and his children, the baleful fires of that bloody conflict, so soon to light up the English coast-the struggle between the old and the new, between prerogative and progress, of which all Europe was to "ring from side to side"a struggle destructive as the whirlwind, yet tend. ing to purify the moral atmosphere, as all great convulsions of the elements are said to vitalize the air. In 1636, Mr. Wyllys sent over his steward, William Gibbons, with twenty men, to purchase and prepare for him, in Hartford, an estate suitable to his rank, erect a house, and make preparations for the reception of himself and his family. Two years after this, he bade adieu to the home of his childhood, and sailed for America. He arrived in Connecticut early enough to give to the framers of the Constitution of 1639, the benefit of his sound judgment and elevated views, and was elected a magistrate annually under it, from the time when the freemen adopted it by acclamation, to the day of his death. In 1641. he was elected deputy governor, and in 1642 he was made governor of Con

a monument, sleeps near that of Hooker, in the old cemetery of Hartford, guarded by the piety of the thousands who inhabit the city, and who have succeeded to the noblest inheritance in the world-a spotless public life.

The Charter Oak Place, where he lived and died, with all its thrilling historical associations, has none that should tempt the lover of the heroic past more eagerly to visit its shades, than that it was the home of Wyllys.

LADY FENWICK.

Not far from this time-at what precise date is not known, but probably during the year 1648died at Saybrook the Lady Alice Boteler, since, and still known as Lady Fenwick. She was a daughter of Sir Edward Apsley, and married, first, Sir John Boteler, and after his death became the wife of Col. George Fenwick, with whom she sailed for America. Not only is the date of her decease unknown, but not a circumstance alluding to so interesting a fact has come down to us. Near the remains of the old fort, probably within its limits as it was first built, and close upon the river-bank, where the plaintive murmurs of the Connecticut blend with the heavy moanings of the sea-upon supporters that seem to stoop with the weight of their burden-rests a table of grey sandstone, bearing a scroll without an inscription or a name. Yet to me, as I looked upon it, without a tree to droop. over it in summer, or screen it from the fierce winter winds-without a flower to symbolize the beanty and loveliness of the high-born sleeper-no epitaph could have spoken with such eloquence as the silence of the monument and the desolation of the spot. It spoke to me, as it may have done to others, of the crowning excellence and glory of a woman's love, who could give up the attractions of her proud English home, the peerless circles wherein she moved and constituted a chief fascination, to follow her husband to this desolate peninsula, where the humble houses of wood within the inclosure of the fort, opened their forbidding doors with a grim welcome that must have chilled her heart. Here she lingered in obscurity till she died. Perhaps when her husband was away at Hartford, or Boston, as he often was, attending to the interests of Connecticut, as she looked off upon the blue waters, her eye was dimmed with tears of disappointment as she in vain sought the long expected sail that was to waft that noble coterie of lords and ladies, knights, and gentlemen, to Saybrook, whither they had promised to flee from the civic strifes that beset them at home. But that sail was only seen in her dreams, and the towers of the new city that was to have sprung up under the plastic touch of the patentees of Connecticut, were lost with the other fantasies of the night in the glimmering moonbeams that fell upon her startled eyelids through the frosted window-panes. She died in her place of voluntary exile. Two hundred years have rolled away. The shrill cry of the plover now as then pierces the ear as it flies over the spot. But the rude fort, with its walls of wood and earth, is gone. The Connecticut swarms with vessels of every de.scription, filled with a free population that need no cannon at the mouth of the river, as in that iron age, to guard them from violence. How much can be learned from an old, solitary tomb! The dead need no monument, but are themselves a monument of the "dead old time." Their names, when uttered, are vital as their ashes shall be on the morning of the resurrection. But let not the sons of a State, in whose bosom sleeps the dust of Alice Apsley, forget that the forbidding aspect of her tomb, though it dishonors not her, disgraces them; and if she has left no other claim upon their affectionate remembrance, let them bear in mind that she was at least the wife of Fenwick !

Raising Wheat.

Messrs. Editors:-The days of brown bread and corn cakes have pretty much passed by in this region, and wheat is now considered an article of prime necessity. Whether this necessity be real or fancied, or whether health will be promoted by the change, it is not my present purpose to enquire.

Few persons, I believe, are aware of the amount of money annually paid by the people of this courty for wheat flour. I sometime since asked a leading flour merchant in Hartford, how many barrels

he thought were sold yearly in Hartford. He replied that he had no certain data by which to determine, but should think probably 75,000.

I should think it likely that as many barrels are brought into the county by the New Haven and Northampton Rail Road, as are carried out of the county from Hartford. Thus we have 75,000 barrels of flour purchased and consumed in the county yearly.

This at $12 a barrel, which has been about the average price for some months past, would cost $900,000. But suppose my informant over-estimated one-third and there are but 50,000. This at the current price would amount to $600,000. But suppose again we call it $6 per barrel, which I think is not far from the average price for a number of years, and we have $300,000 annually paid by the people of this county for wheat flour. This is a large sum to be paid for this article by our county, especially when we consider the large quantity of other breadstuffs used,

Now if this sum cau be saved in the county every year, it will do much to increase the wealth and comfort of the inhabitants.

This I think may be done with care,and my object is to try to convince my brother farmers that they can, not only raise their own wheat, but supply the market of the county, much better than to have this large sum sent abroad every year.

We are now free from three great enemies of the wheat crop, the Hessian fly, wheat midge and weavil; and 1 think there is little difficulty in realizing crops as large as the average in many of the wheat growing states.

By examining the Report from the Patent Office for 1852, I find the following statements in relation to the wheat crop. Habersham county, "not more than 8 bushels, with proper cultivation over 20." Lawrenceville, S. C., "average product per acre from 7 to 10 bushels." Cabarras county, N. C., "the average yield about 10 bushels per acre."Kent county, Del., "the average product per acre treated with 300 pounds of guano, is about 15 bushels, without guano 5." Kelley's Island, Ohio, "14 per acre." Clinton county, O., "the average yield per acre is about 12 bushels. Adrian, Mich., "the average product of wheat per acre in this State has not exceeded 10 or 11 bushels." Henry county, Ind., "about 15 bushels an average yield per acre." Bedford county, Tenn., "the average product per acre has been about 10 bushels." Howard county, Mo., "average crop 10 or 11 bushels per acre." Adams county, Ill., "average product per acre from 10 to 15 bushels." Jefferson county, Iowa, average yield from 8 to 12 bushels per acre.'

I think there would be little difficulty in the farmers of this county raising crops better than the average of any place named. The general average of the whole is 11 bushels and 13 quarts to the acre. I have raised my own wheat for six or eight years and have obtained an average quite beyond any named above. I have failed but one year of getting wheat of an excellent quality, and that failure was owing in great measure to inexperience.

In August, 1852, I ploughed a lot which had been mowed two seasons, and was in fair condition, but by no means rich, and sowed with wheat. This lot produced 20 bushels of excellent wheat per acre. The land was ploughed but once, say 10 inches deep, and 200 pounds of Patagonian guano to the acre ploughed under, but a strip being left without gua no, no benefit was perceived. Also a part of the lot was sub-soiled with no perceptible difference in the crop. I have obtained a good crop by turning under a coat of clover rowen. In the fall of 1853

ploughed a piece of ground which had been mowd since 1840, and manured well every second ear. To this I applied 250 pounds Peruvian guano er acre, and after one deep ploughing worked it in with cultivator and harrow. This was the best land have ever tried with wheat, and it proved too ood. The wheat began to lodge before it was half rown, and if the summer had been wet, I should robably have lost the whole crop. As it was I obained 19 bushels of excellent wheat to the acre.Last fall I sowed seven acres, 3 of turf land and 4 ifter corn. The turf land was ploughed once, say 10 inches deep, and to one acre on each side, Peruvian guano was applied at the rate of 275 pounds, and on one acre in the middle 250 pounds Superphosphate of lime, and 24 bushels of common salt. These were all applied with the seed and worked in with the cultivator and harrow. At the commencement of winter the wheat looked well, but there was a difference in favor of the guano.

I have tried different quantities of seed, but think 14 bushels about the right quantity. I put my seed into a strong brine made of common salt, stir it thoroughly, and skim off all the light grains and foul seeds which rise to the surface, and after draining it in a bucket, put it in a large box and stir in slacked lime until it is dry enough to sow. This is useful on two accounts, it cleans out foul seeds and is believed to be a sure preventive of smut.

I have been particular in stating my manner of cultivating wheat, not because I think it perfect, but from the belief that my way of producing this grain is much better than not to produce it at all; and from the hope that those who have succeeded better, will tell their experience, and that I shall thus be benefitted in common with others.

At the county fair in 1853, there were several applications for premiums on crops of wheat, when the product was I think 37 to 38 bushels to the acre. The producers of these crops would confer a benefit on the farmers of the County, by stating their mode of cultivation. I have known several instances when 40 bushels were produced to the acre.

I hope the farmers of the County may be induced to try the wheat crop, (in a small way at first, if they please,) and not be discouraged should they experience some failures.

I have addressed the farmers of Hartford County; but farmers in other parts of the State might be equally benefitted by saving the money they now pay for wheat flour. RALPH R. PHELPS.

Manchester, Feb. 1855.

Miscellaneous.

A Thrilling Narrative.

We present to our readers the following letter from the Rev. C. M. Butler, late Chaplain to the U. S. Senate, descriptive of the recent narrow escape from an awful death of the Rt. Rev. Bishop Mcllvaine and a large party of fellow travellers. We find it in a recent number of the Western Episcopalian, published in Ohio:

CINCINNATI, Feb. 5, 1855. On Thursday morning, Jan. 30, Bishop McIlvaine started for Cincinnati, on his return from a visit to Louisville. He took the steam ferry boat at Louisville for the purpose of crossing the river, and tak ing his seat in the Jeffersonville train. The day was bitter cold, and the Ohio was full of ruuning ice, going down in large fields to the Falls, which lie just below Louisville. The boat became fixed, in the middle of the river, in a large mass of solid ice, and could neither advance nor recede. Instantly she was at the mercy of the current, and began to move toward the Falls. The imminence of the danger became at once apparent. There were about two hundred passengers on board→→

men, women and children-besides omnibuses, wagons, horses and their attendants. It now seemed almost certain that all must be lost. Under Bishop McIlvaine's care was a daughter of Bishop Smith. The Rev. Mr. Sehon, a Methodist Minister of Louisville, and his wife, were also on board. It seemed impossible that a soul could survive if the boat should be wrecked on the Falls. The current, the cold, the breakers, the eddies, the ice breaking over the Falls, would have rendered escape even for the strongest and hardiest swimmer, impossible. Help from either shore could not be extended so long as the drifting continued. Nothing could reach the boat in time to rescue a single person. Inevitable death was all that the most fearless and confident could see before them. The boat and passengers were given up on shore. Where was help to come from? Some there were on board who did know where to look: and did look there, where all true help is found in time of need.

The Bishop then said to Mr. Sehon that he would go into the room where the women were and draw their minds to prayer. They went together; but though the utmost caution was used to prevent alarm, the word prayer was no sooner uttered, than the lamentation and cries made it impossible for prayer to be heard. After endeavoring in vain to calm these poor people, some of the calm ones with Mr. and Mrs. Sehon, and Miss Smith, gathered close around the Bishop, as he offered a brief and appropriate prayer. After this there was more composure. And now the hand of the Lord appeared. Man could do nothing. The boat was drifting on to its apparent inevitable wreck. But-was it not guided in answer to prayer?-she struck the hidden reef at the commencement of the rapids! That was the salvation-though it was not then known or recognized as such. How long the boat could hold that place against the pressure of the current, and the prodigious momentum of the acres of ice, which constantly struck and ground against it; how soon she would be pressed over, or lifted up and turned over, or crushed under the accumulating mass of ice, where no help could reach her, no one could say. Each new onset of ice was watched with intense anxiety. But that which was terror to those on board, proved to be one of God's instruments for their safety. As the ice struck against the boat, it formed such a mass that it rested on the rock beneath and formed a break-water; and the more violent was the onset of the ice, the more strong and massive did it become. The boat lay, as it were, under the lee of this hill of ice, though some of her length was still unprotected. In this passive resistance to the assaults of the current and ice, the boat lay about two hours before help came. Meanwhile the passengers could not see that any movements for rescue were being made on shore. They were too far off to see what was doing.

From the Louisville shore they were distant half a mile, and on the Indiana shore there were no inhabitants. During this time high rewards were offered on the Louisville side, to any one who would attempt a rescue. The clerk of the Jacob Strader had a son in the stranded boat, and offered a large price for his deliverance. The life boat of the Strader was launched, and three taen came out in her, and took out the youth and two young women connected with the officers of the Strader. It took the boat an hour to get back. In course of another hour, some four or five boats, capable of containing each from four to five persons, came out from either shore. Meanwhile, the women had become quite composed. Many of them behaved in a very exemplary way throughout the whole period. As soon as these skiffs came near to the boat, the determination seemed unanimous that the women should all go first, and the determination was carri ed out. The colored women were as kindly cared for as the white. Whoever came first, entered the boats first. The last woman that came was a white woman. Such as had husbands were allowed to have them with them. The Rev. Mr. Sehon went, as was proper, with his wife, in the second boat, and Bishop McIlvaine consigned to him the care of Miss Smith, and bade them farewell. Our good Bishop was strongly urged, by those in the skiff and on the boat, to go with the lady in his charge; but he resolutely refused to avail himself of the privilege which all seemed anxious to accord to his age and character. Que or two colored men were al lowed to go in the skiffs with their wives. Not a word of interference or remonstrance in reference to this arrangement was uttered. "Remember the

Arctic," was heard, as the women were put in. All the while the ice was crushing against the boat, and noue knew how soon she would be driven where no boats could reach her. At length the last woman, as it was supposed, had been put on, and the boat was not full. At the urgency of those who were most active, Bishop McIlvaine consented to get into the skiff. But before it had pushed off another woman was found, and he at once called to her to come and take his place.

The next relief was a flat boat, given by Messrs. Gill, Smith & Co., of Louisville, to whoever would take it. It was manned by a gallant crew, who knew that such a craft must take the falls. Two Ealls Pilots came in her. One steered and the other commanded. Capt. Hamilton, a cool and intrepid man, took the command. On her flush deck, which was even with the sides, and covered with straw, about fifty men, of whom Bishop McIlvaine was one, were placed. As there was not room to stand, because of the oars, nor room to sit, they were compelled to kneel. By this time the boats which had put off had been carried down, and were just able to reach the island at the head of the Falls, where there was much suffering from cold, and whence the women were with difficulty got to the Kentucky shore. As the crew of the flat boat started for their fearful trial of the Falls, Capt. Hamilton ordered silence. "Let no man speak to me," said he. He ordered the draught of the boat to be measured.The answer was-"It is fifteen inches." He auswered "It is a poor chance;" and evidently thought the case very desperate. He had not expected that the boat would be loaded so heavily. His effort was to reach a particular chute of the Falls, as that which alone afforded any hope of a passage.All this had occupied but a minute or two. The powerful current had brought the flat almost to the spot where, in another instant, she was to be wrecked, and all lost in the breakers and ice, or they were to be safe. There was perfect silence. What a solemn moment! How appropriate was the kneeling position which was maintained' The Lord saw those hearts that were before him in a corresponding attitude of prayer and faith. Our beloved Bishop sheltered a poor shivering colored boy under his cloak, and commended himself and his fellow voyagers with composure and confidence to his covenant Lord and Saviour

In the crisis of passing down the chute the boat struck. It seemed then that all was lost! The silence was unbroken. Grating over the rock, she was a moment free, and again struck. Her bottom grated on the reef, not a work was spoken, the boat floated on, the Captain cried out, "Try the pump!" "No water," was the answer. God had delivered them! The gentleman who kneeled next to the Bishop heard him solemnly murmur, "The Lord be praised for his mercies!" Now the fearful eddies and breakers were a danger not to be thought of, after what had been passed. Three miles below Louisville, at Portland, the passengers were landed safely, with a great sense of gratitude to the intrepid pilots and their brave crew; and most deeply indebted to the mercy of God. They had been about four hours on the water. After this successful passage, a larger boat capable of holding more freight, and without too much draught, took off the remaining passengers, and passed the falls safely. The ferry boat, with the omnibuses, wagons, and horses, remains on the rock; and the last news speak of her as being, at present at least, in a posi tion of safety.

A Yankee at the Dutch Court. Yankees are proverbial for enterprise the world over; and, judging by the following description in a Paris letter to the N. Y. Commercial Advertiser, degeneracy has not yet crept in among the race. The hero of the narration is a Boston gentleman, aud is well known to many of our readers.

Another Yankee has taken the Dutch? An unknown Yaukee lately appeared at the Hague with the ingenious invention which he had brought from the land of notions for an European market. He found upon his arrival there that two or three agents of almost similar inventions had preceded him, and that, either from want of value in the instruments themselves, or, from the slowness of Dutch ideas of progression, no attention had been paid to them, and consequently no money made.

Our Eastern friend determined to strike out a new course. He knew that if the King designed to look at his invention, all Dutchdom would be in