k / t flantillig)in 7paritaL WILLIAM BREWSTER, } EDITORS, SAM. G. WHITTAKER, TERMS : The "Illistristanost Jounrat." is published at lie f2llowilur rates : If paid in advance $1,50 If paid within six months after the time of subscribing 1,75 If paid at thread of the year 2,00 And two dollars and fifty cents if not paid till after the expiration of the year. No subscription will he taken for a Ices period than six months, etnfl nopapor will he discontinued, except at the option of the Editor, until all arreareges are paid. 'Subscribers living in distant counties,or in other States, will be regnired to pay invariably in advance. Or 'the above terms will be rigidly adhered to in all cases. ADVERTISEMENTS Will be charged at the following rates 1 insertion.' 2 dn. 3 do. 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Subscribers who do not glee express notice 1 0 the contrary, are considered as wislany to continuo their subscription. 2. f% subscribers myler the discontinuance of their newspapers, the publisher may continue to scud them until all arreserayes arepubl. 3. II subscribers neglect or infuse to take their newspaperl.from the 1/)ices to which they are direc ted, tier, are held responsible until they loam settled their bills and ordered them discontinued. 4. //'subscribers remora to other places without injOrsoing the publi.her, and the newspapers we sent to the former dirrdion, theft am held responsible. . it. Persons who rontinta to receive or take Me p"perfivm the Vice, are to be considered as sot s. .ibers tad., such, reseonsiblefbr subserip hc7, as if thc.ll lord ordered their names entered upon the puhlishers tJoks. G. 'The rourts hare also repeatedly decided dint Post Master who necleeis to ptiform his day at giving reasonable notice au reprind by the regula tions of the. Post (Vire Apftrilheld, g r the neg lect of a person to lake fsu'os the office, newspapers or/dowel/ to..him; renders the Pow . ,l/aster liable to the pada/ter jhr the subscription fier P OSTM AST FIN are required by law to notify publishers by letter when their publi cations ore refused or not called for by persons hr whom they ate sent, and to give the reason sit such refusal, it' known. It is also their duty to frank all such letters. We will thank past. masters to keep us posted up in relation to thiS matter. didoctry,. THE MENAGERIE. Did you ever ! No, I never I Merry an us what a moll I Don't ho frightened. Johnny, dear ; Gracious ! how the jackalls yell ! Mother tell are, what's that man Doing with that pole of his ? Bless your precious little heart, Ile's stirring up the beastesses ! Children, don't you go so near, Heavens there's the Afric COW3CS What's the matter with the child ? Why, the monkey's tore his trowses ! Hece's the monstrous elephant, Fin all a-tremble at the sight ; See his mighty toothpick, boys, Wonder if he's fastened tight ? There's the lion—see his tail ! How he drags it on the floor ! 'Sakes alive I I'm awful scared To hear the horrid critter roar Here's the monkeys in their cage, Wide awake you are to see 'mu Funny, ain't it ? How would you Like to have a tail, awl be 'mu ? Johnny, darling, that's the bear That tore the naughty boy to pieces ; Horned cattle I—only hear How the dreadful camel wheezes ! That's the tall giratib, my boy, Who stoops to hear the morning lark ; 'Twas him who waded Noah's flood, And scorned the refuge of the ark. There's the crane—the awkward bird ! Strong his neck is us a whaler's, A lel his bill is full as long As ever mot one from a tailor's. Look I—just see that zebra there, Standing safe behind the bars ; Goodness me ! how like a flag, All except the corner stars. There's the hell I The birds and beasts Now are going to be fed, my little darling, come, It's time for you to be abed. Mother, 'tisn't nine o'clock ! You said you need not go before ; Let us slay is little while— Want to see the monkeys more. Cries the showman—turn 'em out ; Dim the lights I—there, that will du; Come again tomorrow, boys, Bring your little sisters, too! Exit mother, half distraught, Exit father, muttering "bore Exit children, blubbering still, Want to see the monkeys more. art urchin in a bail fix.--Lattlo boys, when they come late to school, have to bringa written excuse explaining the cause of their tardiness. Sow days since, an urchin, in a city school, earuc extremely late, but without the least fear or anxiety depicted on his countenance. lle hud a 'sense. On handing it to the teacher, it was opened, and read thus: "Missns---- grhale the bearer for running away."--- The model 'sense was accepted, and the little fellow was accordingly admonished in the region of his "sit•dowempons "-- Courier. I SEE NO STAR ABOVE THE HORIZON, PROMISING LIGHT TO GUIDE US, BUT THE INTELLIGENT, PATRIOTIC, UNITED WHIG PARTY OF THE UNITED STATES.". glistelintons. TOM au ium mai: -OR THE DOUBLE BRIDAL. few years ago I made one of the sev enty nine passengers on board of the fast steamer Emily Breton, bound up the Ten nessee. A pleasant, intelligent go-ahead captain a good steward, and a social re fined company made the trip of pleasure, indeed long shall I remember the saucy Emily Breton, and her superb living freight. One lovely summer evening it was whis pered that we were to have a wedding be fore the boat reached her destination,— said whisper started first low and near the stern, somewhere in the vicinity of the ladies' cabin, and speedily making its way to the hall, the bailer, the dock, and then to the main, like the the snow-ball rolling down the mountain, gathering size, from the momentum, as it rolled forward, until the principles in the interesting scene were not only pointed out, but the parson With some scraps of history of each fiction fact and surmise, all laughed up ingeni ously, leaving one in that half pleasant half a:niel slate of suspense and doubt, that opens the eyes so wide and strains the drum of the ear so light to all transpiring around you. Well, we landed to wood at the mg. nificent beech bottotn, the tall heavily leaved trees with silver gray trunks ma. king a deep, cool shade, while the graSsy liver, so clear, so true, that invasion only pointed the false from the real ; wit le cut ting this charming spot in twain, came murmuring a crystal spring brook, soarce ly four spans wide, to loose itself in the mass of Tennessee waters, they in return to be alike lost in the boundless sea. No sooner was the staging out than there emerged from the ladies' cabin a fine manly looking fellow, dressed in fault less taste, intellect beaming in every fea ture, while over his face perfect happiness shone like l'horus on the see. Leaning on his arm, was the most loveable woman it had ever been my lot to behold, her fine hazel eyes— telltales that they were— speaking deep emotion and her expressive lip quivering with suppressed excitement, while her dress step and grace, was that of a queen. "There they are! That's her! Oh, how beautiful !" burst from many a lip, as we instinctively made way to let them pass to the altar, and where that was we had about as clear as idea as a transcendalist generally has of what they are talking about. But one thing 'fun' ahead, and to follow in their wake was the way to see it. As the ladies passed, a gallant arm was offered to each, and thus we marched out of the cabin clown stairs, ac Toss the sta ging, and up the sloping bank. Some fif ty yards up the brook the pair stopped, and joining hands they stood with the clear water between them—bridged it was by the twinning fingers of love pure as itself. All was silent, still, until broken by the minister reading in an impressive manner : 'And of the rib the Lord took from man, made he woman and brought her to man. Adam said and this is bone of my bone and flesh of my flesh, sho shall be called woman because she was taken out of man. Therefore shall a :nun cleave unto his wife and they shall be one flesh.' He then closed the good and holy book and offered a most touching and beautiful prayer,—not a heart but seemed to feel the earnest appeal to the throne of grace.— Then asking the usual questions he pro nounced them husband and wife. The bride slowly sinking on her knees, raised her beautiful face all covered with tears clasped her hands, and in the moat touching sweet voice, tremulous with erne- don, said ~ A nd now, oh, merciful Father, grant that our lives thus united may peace fully flow in one, oven, as this rivulet, until wo reach the river of death, undivi ded in faith and conduct, and be permit ted to enjoy thine eternal smiles in th e land of the pure and blessed." Every pulse scorned stilled, hoping for 'more of this beautiful drama. Not a word not a movement front all that throng—all, all was happiness. Oh, lovely panorama, how thou art ! The happy man was in the act of imprinting a kiss upon the smi ling lips of his magnificent bride, when the clear tones of a manly voice started all from their pleasing reveries, and the uni versal gaze regal on a tall, handsome Ten nesseoan, whose eagle eye spoke the man a fit representative of the State where sleeps a Jackson. I can't stand it any longer. 1 can't by —pardon lathes, but I have a proposition HUNTINGDON, PA., WEDNESDAY, AUGUST 29, 1855. to make on the good faith of a man who never lies or trifles. I must make it or die—so here goes; Now I will marry on this spot to any lady who has the nerve to face such music. Look at me, and if you can love me as she loves (pointing to the bride) I'll promise to be a hus band to yoti, such a husband as a true hearted man will make a woman who cornea trembling under his wing. I say further, that no spot of shame attaches to my name, or ever shall, and this arm sup port and protect the one that will trust it. Who'll take me I and his eye ran slowly and steadily over the crowd of handsome woman around him. His earnest manner and novel speech had aroused an intense excitement, all were surprised and deep sympathy with the fearless, excited orator when, to the astonishment and delight of every one, a lawn like, blue•eyed girl from the flowery banks of Alabama, step ped to his side and looked conhdently up to his eyes with her hands on his arm, and said.— "I am thine." By this, time his arm was around her waist, and parting her curls—black as the raven at midnight—looked steadfastly in her face for a moment and signed the con tract with a kiss that all the married la dies afterwards pronounced to be of the genuine sort, perfectly satisfactory. Rai sing his flashing eyes with triumphant ex pression from the pleasant job, just men tioned, he said : '.Where is the parson? Send him here —on this spot we'll be made one. I never let such luck pass by writing a minute, so go ahead," and on that spot where they first met, were they solemnly united for- When the words 'what God had join ed let no man put asunder,' died away a shout went up that awakened the ech oes for miles, every hand extend to the happy, lucky venturesome fellow, and ev ery lady in the crowd presented the lips of his trusting wife. For a moment I instantly recovered my self possession ; and thrust the weakness from ine, (woman kissing each other always seemed a waste of sweetness but they know best.) and lo7u - gbing, shouting and happy, we all re turned on board. Our generous • captain set a splendid supper, the clerk made out two certificates they were signed by the parson and see. enty•four witnesses—five more made nine you know, men and woman all told every body signed. Then we danced, we laughed, we made children of ourselves. Be that as it may when the watch was changed at solemn noon at night, the bluffs on the dark shores of the river returned only the echo of the real hoarse coughing of the engine of the Emily 13raton, for we all slept, and our dreams vainly tried to vie with the lovely reality of the evening. Singular Scene—A Magician Among the Lunatics. BLITZ, the magician, performed some of his antics in the presence of the Lunatics, in the South Boston Hospital, on Friday last, and the impression produced on the spectators, in some cases was very curi• ous and interesting. 'I he females were the most attracted by the performances, and nearly all of them paid the most marked attention. The men were generally grave —even melancholy, and showed small signs of mirthful appreciation. One of the females watched every tuotion of the conjurer with a most wonderful espres sion of countenance, never smiling, and giving her belief that Blitz was the old one himself. Others were eager and curious: others were smiling and pleasant ; and one fat round faced woman laughed bois -1 terously in her happiness. The signor's egg bag trick was full of marvel to them. As the signor was displaying its wonder ful qualities, one of the stale inmates grave ly asked to see one of the eggs, and hav ing as gravely given his opinion that it was sound, told the audience that the bag belonged to Mary Queen of Scots. At the close of the above entertainment (says the Boston Post,) we asked tho grave gentleman of the eggs how ho liked the performances. "I like nothing but holy things," said he, holding up a little black, well worn Bible. We told him that he smiled during the entertainment as if he enjoyed it. "Yes," said he, quickly. "William did." William who? was as ked. "William, the king of Rome—Wil liam of Orange." A deferential bow ac knowledged his title, and he proceeded to inform his hearers that the. Now England ors were a set of pirates, but that there was no chance of escaping divine wrath, as he was assured by the books of Rovela. tions. Ile was one of the incurable class, a religious lunatic. SABBATH MUSINGS. Upon each loving, happy, sorrowing, human heart is laid, what the poet has ex pressed to be the "burden of mortality." To be subject to the infirmities of the flesh, to feel the spirit's wings borne down by petty cares and annoyances, to do that from which all natural qualifications are averse, these are a pert of that burden which all must bear. Love, which is the essence of all happi ness, wears also on earth the shadow of mortality. It is a subject to continual wounds, and would oftimos die of them if its own prayer availed ; it is subject to mis conception ; it is rarely fathomed ; it finds itself In a desert with only a few husks to feed upon, and would fain in its despair go back and forget the irrevocable past. Its burden is too great, and heart and flesh fail. The happiness whioh comes sometimes over the spirit bite the joyous rush of the mountain waterfall, and sometimes like the smoothly gliding rivulet, has ever blen ded with it the taint of mortality. Our eyes revel in the beauty of the summer landscape, and its sweet influences quiet and hallow the thoughts, bat there steal in saddening memories of those whose cies: eyes once rejoined with ours over nature's loveliness, and we yearn to hear again the chastened melody of voices long since hushed into silence. To the heart once irreparably wounded, the brightest sun light has ever after a tinge of sadness. The face of life is begun with energy, hope and determination. Fate is advers, but the soul resolves Oat it shall not yield and pride and ambition come in to add strength to resolve. Years roll away, and the honest endeavor is unblessed, the overtasked energies are listless, hope itself recedes into the bosom of portentous cloud, and flesh and heart fail. To toil on, the victim of a stern necessity, without change and without anticipation is the only life be reft of all its value. it is the slave's cheer less toil, looking only to a grave. And can it be that among the varied al ' lonnents of God's providence, there can be one destiny wholly dark, that He has left Himself in one human heart without a witness ? No !if upon ell He has laid the burden of mortality so unto nil He offered a hope in heaven. Dost thou sorrow here for those unto whom thy heart had grown so lovingly ? They aro with Him who will receive thee also, if thou wilt but keep thy feet in the narrow way of His appointing. Is the frail temple of thy spirit tortured with pain ? He has a heavenly body that ern know no suffering. propared for those who bear patiently. Art thou o'orweried with thine almost fruitless toil, and dost thou long for rest, even though it be in the repose of the grave. There m rest prepared for the people of God, and thou canst become one of that blessed company if thou wilt strive for the boon. ‘ , llly heart and my flesh fail," said the kingly Psalmist, 'but God is the strength of my heart, and my portion forever." He is then the only tower of strength amid this surging sea of earthly griefs and trials. Love may die, friondshi? grow cold, for tune frown less rarely than smiles, ago dark and unlovely, mny find us poor, and forsaken : but the Friend that clinge th do• ser than a brother, can give all love its one, can make us rich in Ills grace, and afford that blessed companionship that ad :nits none nearer or dearer. Is there one human heart that needs not this refuge bearing at times its deep weight of agony, striving in vain to still its wild throbs, and breaking under the burden of its unshedl tears? Who but God can mea sure its capacity for joy or sorrow ? Who but Him can deal with it tenderly, accor- I to its needs, and heal while he probes ? Serve him and trust in Him on earth, ! though flesh and heart may fail, for the burden of mortality will soon be rolled off the spirit, and it shall doubt and sorrow and grow weary never more. A RELIGIOUS COUIITSIIIP.—A young gentleman.happened to sit at church in a pew adjoiningone in which a young lady, for whom he had conceived a sudden and violent passion, and was desirous of enter ing into a courtship on the spot ; but the place not suiting formal declaration the exigency of the case suggested the follow ing plan. Ile politely handed the fair la dy the bible open, with a pin stuck in the following text-11i1 epistle of John sth— "And now I beseech thee, fair lady, not as though I wrote n new commandment unto thee, but that which we had from tho be ginning, that we lovo one another." She returned it, pointing to Ruth, ii, 10th— " Then she fell on her face and bowed her self to the ground and sold unto him, why have I found grace in thine eyes, that thou should take knowledge of me seeing I run a stranger 1" He returned the book pointing to the I Ith verse of the epistle of John—" Having many things to write unto you, I would not write wills paper and ink, but I trust to come nad speak face to face." Front this interview a mar• riage took place the ensuing week. A Romance of Bohemia. The following poetic incident is told of a young painter, who was ono of the mon eyless adventures known in Paris as Bo hemians : "This hero had remained in a hotel in Naples, living one day on a greatcoat, the next on a pair of pantaloons," sold to a Jew. "One morning the landlord, who saw that the whole wardrobe must, at this rate very soon vanish, appeared before his guest, and said to him." -.Bare are a hundred frances, go back to France ; you can remit the money when you get to Paris." "The young Bohemian, who was a pain tor would not accept the money so liberal. ly offered to him, till he had legitimately earned U.*: , 'The . ord had a wife and two daughters ; the Bohemian immortalized the whole family on canvas, and included a scullion into the bargain." "This accomplished, he took his way to the steamboat accompanied by the land lord, now loth to lose him. Happy youth! The charm that it spreads around is so great that it melts the heart of Neapolitan landlords ! "On the packet, our Bohemian met a handsome young woman, to whom he did not dare to speak, she appeared so much of ft lady, such a noble creature ! "Nevertheless he picked up courage graduaily, and introduced himself to the proud beauty as a young gentleman trav eling for instruction but who had unfcr• tunately left his tutor in the crater of Ye• "The bait took, and the passage of Mar selles was delightful. But bad luck would hare it—the horrible custom house offi cers began to examine the luggage! "Our Bohemian tried to steal off; but he was kept back, his keys were forced from him and his box opened ! It contained three paving stones! "The trunk of the beautiful traveler was next opened." " , Oh, happiness ! It contained nothing but oranges." " , The great lady is herself nothing but a Bohemian ! Delicious mistake ! exqui site discovery !" '✓They started together for Paris and lived there happily, for an eternity of fif teen days," • • • "Take Good Care of Mother." These words fell upon my ears while seated in the cars, a few days since, just ready to start on their swift passage from Fall River to Roston. I looked up as the speaker entered the door, and at the same moment heard a re sponse from a fresh young voice out• side— , 0 yes, I will." The person who had first spoken passed to her seat, some way behind me, and I saw her no more. There was nothing in her appearance to interest one at a glance, and I doubt whe ther a more lengthened observation would have given any impression beyond that of a good, honest, commonsense sort of face, yet my thoughts were busy with her all that two hours's ride. Those simple, but earnest words, bespoke a heart or love—a sense of her duty as a child. My heart warmed to her, and I wondered if she had learned to love line, who in his dying ago ny said : ~ Son, behold thy mother." To the holy John it was enough to say, "Receive her and treat her as you would your own mother." That • would insure all that love could think of, or roverence command—but would it have been suffi cient for all? Are there not many who event to have no thought of the respect and love due to "Mother"—men possessed of thousands, put away from their homes thnt poor, fee ble parent, whose life has been consumed in labor for them, to end the weary rem nant of her days in the parish poor-house. Daughters even speak too often only of the care, and nothing of the pleasure of taking care of mother.' Children, did you ever think it possible that you might some day become so cold and ohanged as to neglect the dear mother you now caress so fondly ? You may—these unkind ions and daugh ters once loved their mother too. Little by little have they grown so clld, and so may you unless you try to avoid it. Shell I tell you how this may be done ? You must think about it, pray about it, act about it. When you are alone at night, ay to re• collect the many times that day your M iler has cared for your comfort, and your heart will swell with gratitude and love ; and then ask God to help you to try and return her kindness, mid keep you from disobey ing her command, [WEBSTER. A Battle field. The grouping of falling men and hor ses; the many heaped up masw of dead, moved strangely by the living maimed among them, showing the points where the deadly strife had been most severe ; the commingling of uniforms, of friends and foes, as both lie scattered on the ground on which they fell, the groups surrounding this and that individual sufferer, hearing his last words, giving to him the last drops of water which will ever moisten his lips upon earth ; the strechers borne from va rious points, each carrying some officer or private soldier, who has now the startling feeling forced upon him, "it has come to this, and yet there may be hope of life ;" his excited but ovcrworn spirit, half fain ting as it is, yet dreaming a mixed fever ish dream of the charge in which ho met his wound, the thoughts of home that fish ed upon the hearts as it seemed to commit that hearts to a moment oblivion of all else, Then comes the first dawn of the hope that life may be spared ; the view of hor rid objects passed, seen with diamond eye; hope of life growing stronger, hut with it now a dread of some operation to be un dergone the sound of guns still heard, begetting a feverish, impatient desire to know the result of the battle. Again a partial waking up at the voice of the sur geon ; he and his attendants seen as thro' a mist; the defended feelings of utter week ness causing all to seem as though they spoke in whispers ; the still further rou sing of the mind as the cordial adminis tered begins to take effect ; the voice of a comrade or friend laying close by himself wounded, yet speaking to cheer; the ope rations borne bravely, and felt the less as it gives promise of a life just now seem• ingly lost to hope; through it all fresh news over arriving from amidst the din of strife yet raging; all this has a life and motion and spirit in it which mocks the real grave horror of the scene.—EßEv. S. 0. 0811ORNII. "Tongues in Trees." Nice observers of nature have remarked the variety of tones yielded by trees when played upon by the wind. Mrs. Tremens once asked Sir Walter Scott if he had no• ticed that every tree gives out its peculiar sound ? "Yes," said he, "1 have; and I think something might be done by the union of poetry and music to imitate those voices, giving a different measure to the oak, the pine, the willow, etc. There is a Highland air of somewhat similar charac ter, called the "Notes of the Sea Birds." In Aery Taylor's drama, Edwin the Fair, there a.e some pleasing lines, where the wind is feigned to feel the want of a voice, and to woo the trees to give him one.— lie applied to several ; but the wanderer rested with the pine, because her voice was constant, soft and lowly deep ; and he welcotned in her a mild memorial of the ocean wave, his birth place. There is a fine description of the storm in Goningsby, where a sylvan language is made to swell in the disnpasion of the tempest. "The wind howled; the branches of the forest stirred, and sent forth sounds like an in carnation. Soon might be distinguished the various voices of the mighty trees, as they expressed their terror or their agony. The oak roared,the beech shrie ked, the elm sent forth its long, deep groan while ever and anon, amid a momentary pause, the passion of the ash was heard in moans of thrilling anguish. HumEnous INCIDENT.--A laughable inci dent occurred in this country some time since, the circumstances of which we got from one acquainted with the transaction. An old gentleman farmer who had two handsome daughters, wait so cautious of his charge, that he would not permit thew to keep the company of young men; how ever they adopted the following expedi ent to enjoy the company of their lovers. After the old Irian retired to rest, the girls would hang n sheet out of the window, and the beau would seize hold of the sheet, and with the assistance of his lady love, who tugged lustily above, would thus gain an entrance; but it so happened that one evening the girls hung out the sheet too early, for the old gentleman, by some ill-wind, was accidentally around the cor ner, and spying the sheet, could not con jecture the meaning of its being there; so be caught hold and endeavored to pull it down ; the girls above supposing it to bo one at tl.air beaux, began to hoist, and did not discover their mistake until the old mica's head was level with the window sill when one of them exclaimed. "Oh Lord 'tic dad i" and letting go the sheet sous came down the old man on the hard ground, dislocating one shoulder, which convinced hint that to make .old maids' out of his daughters was as matter sot so easily accomplished, and withdrawing all further opposition ki their keeping company he was soon a father-in• law VOL. 20. NO. 35. *IT fnmer. When to Bud Trees. In the month of August, or when the fall sap flows most freely, depends much upon the season being early or late. With a sharp knife cut a perpendicular incision, about an inch long, in the shoot intended to be budded, which must (or is best to) be of the present summer's growth; then, at the base of the incision, cut a horizontal gash about three.eighths of an inch in length ; raise or loosen the bark on each side carefully; then take a bud off a twig of this summer's growth, by cutting across the twig one fourth of an inch below the bud, of such a length as to fit in the incis ion prepared for its reception , slip it in carefully under the raised bark ; press carefully together, and bind it with a coarbe woollen string above and below the bud, to hold the raised sides firmly down upon the bud ; let it remain so for ;even or eight days, then cut the string, The next spring cut the top off the twig about an inch above where it was budded. 'l'ho advantages of budding over grafting are many and obvious—first, if it does not grow it will not injure trees. It grows fas ter than grafts, and is much quicker and more easily done. I have always had the best success in budding as described above. BUCKEYE, Wayne county, Ohio, 1855. A Curious Fact. The Magazine of Horticulture, says what is in common language termed a bulbons root is by Linnosus, termed the Hybernacle or Winter Lodge of the young plant. These bulbs in every respect, resemble buds, ex cept in being produced under ground, and include the leaves and flower in miniature, which are to be expanded in the ensuing spring. By cautiously cutting, in the ear ly spring, through the concentric coats du tulip root, longitudinally from the top to 1 the base, and taking them off successively the whole flower of the next summer's tu lip is beautifully seen by the naked eye,, with its petals, pistil, and stamens ; the flowers exist in other bulbs, in the.same manner, but the individual flowers of oth ers being less they are not so easily dissec ted, or so conspicuous to the nuked eye.— In the buds of the Daplme Mezron, and in those of the Hepatioa„and at the base of the Osmunda lunaria, a perfect plant of the future year may be found, complete its all its parts. CoLon OF HORSEB.—A proverb says, good horse cannot be an bad color." Do inestication appears to have the effect of multiplying the colors of animals. The prevailing color of the wild F pecies is the bay ; but Foster says that among the troops he saw in Central Asia, the dun and gray ish brown colors were most frequent. Bell judges the chestnut to be the most common in Tartarian districts. Sir Francis Held states that many of the horses of the Pam pas are piebald. The black is rarely found among the Arabians. The leopard-spotted is said to be frequent in China. With us (England) it ranges from milk-white to coal black. Some persons are inclined to give the preference to the darker colors from the fact that among animals generally the lighter the skin the weaker the ener gy. Load Bacon seems to have entortaih cl the same idea, when ho asserted white to be the color of defect. Hoos.—Give them occasionally a table- spoonful of a compound, three parts ashes and one of salt, for each hog, mixed with their food, and it will destroy the kidney worms. For costiveness, with which they arc often afflicted, take copperas, pulver ised and put in a skillet, and put it Oiler a quick fire ; it will soon boil ; then stir it till well mixed, and take it off to cool; then pulverize it, and give to each hog a tablespoonful as often as the excrement shows them to be costive. It can be mixed with milk or other food. LIMESTONE—Consists of 563 parts of lime and 433 parts of carbonic acid making 100. • In burning, the acid and water escape in the form of steam; it it then quicklime. On exposure to the atmosphere, it absorbs water, slacks, and dissolves in a dry pow der—ic is then hydrate of limo. In this state, it should be used in farming to de- compose vegetation, and neutralize acids in the soil. Lieu ON FOWLS.—A teaspoonful of tur- pentine, to three or four ,1 sweet oil (the turpentine, would probably take the feath• ers ofl the poor birds,)—grease them freely with this, and lot the rural readers know if the vermin do not “vainose." I have no doubt the free use of turpentine in hen houses would rld them and their inmates of these posts.