egEE.SL -
',ltt truntingDon Tiolivid,
WILLIAM BREWSTER, }
SAM. G. WILLTTAKER, EDITORS,
ckcVothq.
WE ARE COXING, SISTER NARY
There is a bemtiful superstition among the
te;rocs, that just previous to the death of any
person, particularly if that person bo good,
•beautiful and religious, the Spirits of heaven
end angels from paradise form a band, and
sing hcavenly melodies beneath the window.—
The following beautiful linen express tide he.
lief. We think we never read anything more
touching.
n stormy night in Winter,
Wheel the'nhals blew cold and wet,
heard come strains of tua.ia
That I never eon forget,
I was sleeping is the cabin
=ere lived Mary, tier and young,
When a light shone in the window,
And a bond.or singers sung:—
We are cowing tinter Mary,
We are corning bye•and•bye ;
Be von wear, sit ter Mary,
E'er the thin) is drawing nigh.
I tried to call my Mary,
But my tongue would not obey
Tiil the song au strange had Glided,
And the singers flown away.
Then I woke her from her slumber,
And told her ev'rything—
But I could not goose the meaning
Or the song I heard them sing.
When the next night Caine, I heard them,
And the third night too they sung,
16 hen I sat beside the pillow
Of my Mary fitir awl young.
.1:s I watched I heard a rustling,
Like the rustling of a wing ; •
I. -I beside my ,!: s pillow,
soon 1 :hem sing
..• ; ,y Mary,
, • ,
,• • •
• . • ' •• 1,1 k int! neha
• .• L 1 to boat ;
. • . . Int to . .-pring,
. . •,, siuniber,
. •,•,• I, • ,tine ones sing:—
• •
;
ia 1.1,01 . 111 g nigh.
;;cittt Salt.
Till RISING OF 16.
on
%.313 N21:71.73.0'3 DEAD SHOT.
EY EC,
(CONCLVDED.)
An ho passed by the bed on which
had thrown himself, his heavy
chain mtled against something that gave
forth a clear, ringin sound.
Kennedy stooped and picked Op n knife;
carrying it to the narrow gra!in.; that al.
I,wed a few rays of light to enter his gloo
my chamber, he to his astonishment found
it to be his own hunting knife. Ile remem
bered what Stirling had said about the use
CZ r knife, hut the knife that he had eft--.
he did riot doubt that he had 1.11 it—Jo•
ving to to his own, might well have aston
ished him.
r:ow began to consider again the
js of nod the latter pail of the
serr.•nce fLished acrufs his mind.
:i'ritinds awaiting me at the wharf, an i
knife to ! He must hove seen hit
Now, I remember i gave him
to clean a tew days agii. Thou Edi
uiiiids will be there. GO some friends, for
sane Sitirling, • hu bits indeed proved hint
sells friend, I have none itt Boston, and
he of course will not Ito there. Nan ver-
How wearisf m , seemed the hours to
him ! lle thoo : ,ht that night would never
come, sod when the sable goddess cast her
mantle upon the earth, he thought the
, fair daughter of the dawn' would never
more resume her diurnal course.
Eight, nine, ten, eleven, gloomily soun
ded il n jail clock. The clock must be
slow ! Each hour increases to the length
of the next !
A drowsiness began to creep upon the
ill patient watcher, and he s ept. Ile
dreamed he was near his hotie in the sun
ny Volley of Virginia. flu opened the
large gate; along the well known road he
loitered on foot ; as he pissed the slaves at
wail( they all ran toward hi ii, they kissed
his hands, they seemed to shout, yet he
head no noise, nor did he feel their kisses
upon his hands. Ile continued his way
to the house in the verandah where his
parents were seated. Ile ran toward them;
his mother rose to meet him ; he clasped
her in his arms, yet he felt her not. As
he released her. she stooped down, and
raised a chain that was attached to his tin
ale, looked inquiringly into his face. He
was übuut to answer when the scene chan
rd. Ile was at the foot of the scaffold ;
his mother was the jailor, who was unlock•
ing his chain ; he ascended the scaffold ;
it bream] that the hangman was Stirling,
whilst at a little distance he saw Grey on
his dares, beseeching his life of the inex
orable Giivernor ; a clergyman advanced
toward him, he started, for the face was
Mary Claxton's t Ae the noose wee ad-
justed, he saw a man that looked like Ed
wards beckon to him to come, and be
awoke.
Big drops of agony wood on his fevered
brow, his nervous fingers had left on im•
press on the wooden post as he clutched it
in his agony.
The door of his cell opened, and the jet
lor entered with his scanty breakfast.
The horrors of the night before had ban
fished all appetite, but he seized the earthen
pitcher of water and drained it to the last
drop.
lie felt refreshed and more calm again;
then lying down on his pallet, slept cairn.
ly and quietly for some hours.
When he awoke, refreshed, Its found
that the jailor had been there with his din
ner. flu searched eagerly for his knife,
thinking that the jailor might have taken
advantafre of his deep slumber to examine
him. His fears, however, were groundless
—the knife was safe. Ile applied himself
now diligently to his dinner, for he had
not tasted food for twenty-four hours, and
was beginning to feel faint. Eagerly he
awaited the arrival of his juilor with his
SUppt r.
, CHAPTER VIII.
For were even Paradise my prison,
Still would I long to leap the cryatai
—Dryden.
Let terror strike slaves mute,
Much danger aunties grout hearts resol t!e,
—.Marston.
At length, the wished-fur time arrived;
the jailor entered with his supper. Kenne
dy grew pale, not from fear, but irom ex
citement.
As the idler turned his back toward
him, he sprang upon him ; in an instant
he had thrown the wretch u, on the bed ;
pointing the knife at his throat, he whis•
pered hoarsely in his ear—.
Stir a single muscle, speak but one
word, and by the Lord of [leaven, you die
that instant.
The cowardly wretch trembled like n
leaf, whi ;at Kennedy soon found a bunch
of kevs in his pocket. and after--er t ral
• etterverietigrweritelellee tits chaff: rife ilext
disrobed his companion of his outer ap
panel, then gaged and bound him and with
a beating heart sallied forth.
Remembering the way he Caine, he soon
found himself opposite the inner gate; the
s %ill portion through which the ja , lors
were in the habit of coining or going to
the warden's lodge was locked ; this how.
ever, was soon opened by one of the keys
that Kennedy had taken B ern the jailor.—
He saw nu one in the court so he entered
boldly.
Nothing was now opposed to him but
the great gate; he remembered Stirling's
words, and entered the house and looked
around for the keys; they were not to be
found. Contrary to his usual ctuuom, the
warden had carried them with in on his
tints to the different wards tbi = evening.
Kennedy saw the nail in the wall on which
its suppostd that they hung, the battered
p!a,ter corroborating his opinion.
flowerer, Kennedy knew that soliloqui•
zing before a nail would not set bins free.
Ile stepped out into the court, and looking
gip, saw to his great satisfactiou that the
lodge overtopped the wall by some few
feet, and that a man could step from the
garret window upon the wall.
'I am not lost yet.' said he, gayly; 'if I
could only get a rope, I could easily let
myself down from the wall.'
The night was now fairly in,and the
warden might return every minute. He
opened a closet in the room, and there
found a coil of strong new rope with a card
I attached. lie had the curiosity to exam
ine this. On it was written—. For the use
of Thomas Kennedy.' It was the hang_
ulna's rope, which had been brought there
that morning.
'Good !' said Tom coolly. I had some
compunctions about stealing anything, but
as this card says that it is for my use, I
conscientiously make use of it.
So saying. he slung the coil over his
shoulderond carefully began to ascend
the stairs. When he reached the third
floor. he heard a tinkling noise, and then
words. He listened ; the noise came from
the garret through which he was obliged
to pass to teach the wall. Stealthily as a
cat Ise groped his way up the dark stair_
case, and seeing the door slightly njur,
he looked in. He saw a man pouring out
some liquor, which by the light of the lamp
looked much like brandy.
.Joe, won't Jim—hic —be mad when he
comes—hic—back, and fln's althliquor—
hic—gone 1 0, this is glo—hic—riaus ;
you berreblevit,' said the man, smacking
his lips; then rousing himself with an effort
he sung a number of verses of a drinking
song, only two of which Fanned) , recol-
lects :
HUNTINGDON, PA., WEDNESDAY, OCTOBER 17, 1855.
"0, brandy is the thing fir me,
Let others like Madeira,
Sberrv, Port, and Burgundy;
But Brandy shell go r.e'er a—
Woe from me whilst I have strength
To lift it my lips up to.
I am as gay as a King or Prince Regent,
Or e'en the Kahn of Timbuctoo.
So ful do 101, lul, &c.
"Jamaica Rum is very nice,
cod Whiskey, though, is rarer
Let every dr:nker tnke his choice,
But Brandy shall go nenrer"...&c.
I glint Kahan of '1 imbuctoo mustabeen
areglarbrick—hic. I dare soy, the olfel.
lernaust—hia—anowd—hic—how to drip'
or they wotineacallim—hic--a Km
Wheresmybed I Cortland it! Where is
—hic—it I Inm a'goin' to leave—hic—
hic—this pla'; the walls are got—hic--a
Mad habit of hit—hic—tin' a fellinarhead
Now if thaold spoo—hic—spooney Jim
was here, he watil'—hic—arbay thiwas*
hic—daunk. Be jobers—hic—ltnner
drunk I easy Nat .Nat—hic—ion a -att—hic
al. In—hic—teller g.g.gen—hic--c-c-cer
as plaisanefeller.'
The man now tumbled into his bed, and
in a few minutes was sound asleep. Ken
nedy stepped carefully into the room end
opened the window. The moon was full
and uutside the wall the street was clear the still water. She had now went suffi•
as day. Kennedy looked carefully up ciently along the shore, and Edwards turn
and down the street ; nothing was stirring. ed her bow to the opposite bank. As *ls
Quickly and silently he adjusted the rope. i inanteuvre was execu.ed, the shrill whis•
A moment after he stood outside the pris- j tle of the boatswain, and the cry of 'Man
on walls, free I the boats I broke the silence of the night.'
CIIAI'TLR a. 'Paddle for your lives, lads 1' cried Ed•
For life I for life their light they ply.—Sco tt.
wards. llte men needed no such injunction.—
Bead on your oars! all your arts employ.
_lli,„„, T hei whistle had not ceased to sound when
the patriots throwing aside all disguise,
Kennedy had not made his escape un- i
perceived. The quarters of Grey, as be 1 seiz ed their light paddles, and under their
fore stated, were opposite the prison. He rt g °r " us strokes ti , "cla canoe flew through
,
was dressed. and netted at the window, for the water.
by the ord,rs of the surgeon he still kept I Kennedy looked at the sloop. A flash
his rosin. Ile saw Kennedy adjust the from tits of her ports added its lurid glare
rep, and slip quietly to the outer side. to the silvery light of the moon, and
As the fugitive turned his face to the moon round shot came skipping from wave to
Grey recognized him. Snatching his wave toward them and plunging with his
sword and pistols from the side table le, ' sing noise beyond iiis.s bur Y 'iris , " her
' bow —Five more guns followed thin insprang down stairs, unmindful of the
wound in his shoulder. Ilate overca:ii.,' (-Wick i.l.VE.gitt ti. illit-101ii,cut?es — ivill / 0 ,
im ,„ .
..
..
... .
Kennedy walked rapidly and silently to now aroused those on both banks, and
the wharf. Aware that when a man I many a oheer burst from the patriot side.•—
shrinks from observation he is most sure' The boats were now manned, and the
to attract it, Kennedy walked rapidly, but cheers of the fugitives gave place to cries
with his head up, returning glance for of dismay, as the swift boats of the sloop
glance. Occasionally, when he thought darted MY in pursuit. The destination of
that he was watched he would stop before the fugitives was Charlestown. Cut off
some brilliantly lighted window of a lute- from that by the boats which were be
retiring shopman, his mean dress in good
keeping with his apparent vulgar curiosity
As lie saw on the opposite side of the street
a number of officers. he walked leisurely
along. Just then a cry up the street, and
a noise of feet in pursuit, broke upon his
ear. Ilesaw at a glance that before he
he could reach the next corner they would
be upon this, and to increase his pace now
would be equally dangerous, as it would
attract the attention of passers by, who had
already caught up the cry of pursuit.
A few paces below where he now was,
was a tobacconist's shop. Into this Kenna
dy calmly walked, and leaning over the
case of cigars, as if searching for one to
his taste, he was much relieved to see by
the aid of a friendly mirror the pursuers
pass swiftly by. Choosing a cigar, he
lighted it and then stepped into the street.
On the opposite side of the street tl.e of.
ficers were standing. Kennedy saw that
he was suspected. Stopping a laggard
soldier, he asked him what was the mutter
The answer was—
'That a d-d rebel had broke jail, and
that ten guineas would be given to the
man who captured him.'
'What's that ?' he exclaimed. 'Ten
guineas ! Ten !'
The man repeated what he had said.
'Then, by the powers !' said Kennedy,
I'll cotch him, if he is to be cutched.'
And he.rati in the direction which the
pursuers had taken. When he found
himself unobserved, he turned into a loss
frequent, d street, and ran toward the ap
pointed place. The wharf was deserted,
and the fugitive thought that his friends
had failed to arrive. 'the sounds of pur
suit came nearer and nearer. He was
lost indeed, and for the first time he began
to despair The moon had gone behind a
cloud, and though lie could not see, the
pattering of feet was heard approaching.
Edwards ! Kit ! ho called in a low
voice, where ore you 1'
The moon came out bright and clear, the
pursuers saw him, and with loud shouts
hastened toward him, each anxious to se•
cure the reward.
Ilint ! Tom is that you I' said a voice
that he well knew.
Without waiting to henr the answer. a
canoe was pushed out from under the very
wharf or pier on which he stood Torn
sprang lightly in. It was no time for con
gratulations.
.Push off lads I They are not a bemired
nice behind.
A t igorons push sent the light barge
some twenty feet from the pier. The pad
dles were got out, and when the baffled
pursuers reached the wharf, tha canoe
was fifty yards from the shore.
Kennedy could distinguish by the light
of the moon the figure of Grey; he was or
dering some men into a boat,
Edwards laughed as he saw the clumsy
affair push off, but he Aimed auddfinly
turned grave as he saw the bow turned to.
wards the sloop-olwar Somerset,oh
lay in the centre of the stream. Th eday
had been stormy and threatening; and
Edwards had hoped that the night would
bathe same. The sky, however,./was
clear; the moon was high and full.
Nothing now remained for the fugitlves
but to paddle steadily along the shore,
keeping if possible, out of the range of the
Somerset's guns, and then strike boldly
across for the opposite bank. One point,
however, was in their favor. The sloop
had not yet taken the alarm, and the cry
of the sentinel still went up .All's well ;
and the canoe bounded unnoticed across
tweets them and the shore, the canoe was
now started for Phillips' farm. Again
cut off, but one place was left them, which
was Sewall's Farm. The strokes of the
fugitives were redoubled. The pursu
ers were rapidly approaching. The
shore was not over a hundred yards distant
but the pursuing boat, for the others had
returned to the sloop, being no much for
the canoe urged by the eight good oars
men, moved two (cot to their one, and was
now not sixty fret astern.
Kennedy seized one of the rifles in the
bottom of the canoe,and aimed it at Grey,
who was stated in the stern of the boat,
urging the men to the chase by the prom
ises of reward. The ball did not reach
its intended destirrstion, but passed through
th body of the bow oarsman, who with a
groan dropped his oar and fell upon his
shipmate. The confusion in the boat
give the fugitive a good start. Again,
however, was the pursuit renewed, though
Kennedy could see that the midshipman
was glancing uneasily around as shots
were being fired from the shore.
Grey, however took no notice of them.
His face, lived with rage, us he saw his 4
victim about to elude his grasp, was better
suited for a demon than a man. He
rose in the boat and fired both his pistols
at Kennedy, who was still standing up
right in the boat. The balls whistled
harmlessly by him. The bottom of the
canoe now grated on the beach, and its
occupants sprung quickly upon the shore,
Their pursuers were now as anxious to get
away from, with perhaps one exception,
as before they had been desiious to come
up with them
~T o your rifles, lads I' cried Edwards,
as he cooked his piece. 'Green, do you
take the middy, IVation you take the cock
swain ; Kennedy, and Kit take the two
stern oarsman; I'll take Grey. Fire I'
Four sharp reports rang through the
night air. The cockswain and one of the
seaman fell dead on the bottom of the boat
and the middy was slightly wounded—
Grey was untouched. Ile seemed invul
nerable. Edwards turned sharply toward
Kit, who had nut fired when the word was
given Theru was a strangeness about
this slave's face that ■crested the harsh
word on his lip, and caused hint to gaze at
bon with interest. The herculean figure
of the black was drawn to its utmost
Height, and him ofes were fined on Grey.
'lt's n use tyin*, M'rs's Edwards,' he
muttered; 'no one but dis chil' can kill HIM.
M's'r Grey you struck me. I said I would
kill ye, andyse a-gwan to do it. De Lor'
hab mercy 'pon me.'
Slowly and deliberately the black rais
ed his rifle to his shoulder and fired.—
Grey clapped his hand to his forehead and
HI dead. Kit had kept his word; the
ball sassed through the brain.
Their comrades hastened to meet the
gallant band, and three deafening cheers
then arose, the windows of quiet Charles
town rattled again. They told the indoor•
inable spirit of American freemen, signifi
cant of the future battles of Bunker Hill
and Yorktown.
Few of that party slept that night.—
Again and again they were made to repeat
their adventures.
Tom was received by Mr. Claxton as
one risen from the dead: But it was with
Kit thnt he experienced greater pleasure.
Again and again did he make hint recite
his last interview with her The wretch
how could he take pleasure in hastening to
the griefs of a young and lovely girl ?
But at last Kennedy caught a few mo.
inents repose, end dreamed of Mary Clax•
ton and his bride and not his executioner.
CEI A PTER X.
And now, fair ladies, one, and all. adieu!
Good loth, good husbands, and goodbye to you.
The morning's dawn saw Kennedy, fol.
lowed by his faithful Kit, sweeping at a
slashing pace along the road to Chemung.
On ! on ! the streets of Lexington rever
berated with sounds of their horses feet;
those streets which n few days before ran
with the blond of friends, foes and his
own.
On !on ! Concord is passed. Sigh not
citizens ! Your countrymen are avenging
those blackened walls !
There's Evergreen I.' exclaimed Tom
joyfully
When they had reached the base of the
bill, Toot threw the bridle to Kit, prefer•
riafi a.a muc-tot-orl loot , an IA to have aerie
for thought, and see Mary, before she ;
Snw lain
Over the fence he sprang, and walked
up through the park towards the back of
the house. lie reached the house unseen
save be one or two servants, whom Ito or
dered to keep silence and remain where
they were.
Ile reached the back parlor without any
further notice whatever. The large fol
ding doors were slightly ajar, and Tom
heard the voice of his sweet cousin in sad
conver•-e with her friend lletty Graham.
Tom looked in; wasn't it disgraceful ?
The two girls were seated on the longe,
their arms thrown caressingly around
cools other.
Never wore two girls more unlike, and
yet more beautiful. Rich set off the oth
er's beauty.
Hefty Graham was the Panic height as
her lair companion, but her face was round
not oval, like Nary's. Her eyes were of
a beautiful teazle, her hair was of a dark
auburn; her hands small and delicate; her
neck and shoulders white no alabaster; her
bust was full and round, awl magnificent.
In this respect, if in none other, she tools
the palm from Mary. A round her head,
binding up her auburn hair, was a small
circle of ivy leaves ; the color tinge of her
dress admirably suited with her hair. It
was of a dark crimson plaid, opening
down the bosom, according to the fashion
of the times.
Tom ! Tom I If thy heart had not been
already given, or rather taken, thou would
not let thy frientl George Edwards carry
ott such a love ly prize without a contest.
'Reny,' said Mary, 'my grief would be
less could I but recall those unfeeling
words [ spoke just before he went to the
fight; it was the lust time I saw him, and
now, perhaps, he may be dead !"
Poor Mary wept bitterly.
Don't cry Molly,' said Hetty, soothing
ly 'it served hint perfectly right,' she ad.
dud with spirit; 'the bare idea of his at
tempting to frighten you an be did, and
when you of course would not like to see
your cousin hurt, rushed toward him to
assist him, I have not the slightest doubt
that the vain fellow thought that you lov.
ed hint more it; was one of the greatest
specimens of impudence that I ever heard
of.'
'l'm in for it!' thought Tom. ought
to have remembered that listeners never
hear good of themselves.'
The noise of Kit bringing in the horses
caused both of the young ladies to run to
the window.
.'Tis Kit, alone, bringing Tom's horse
gasped Mary; he is dead.'
She then threw herself on the lounge,
sod nutty hastened to meet Hit, who was
now clove to the door.
Torn pushed the door open silently and
strode into the room. He pressed his arms
around the mouree's waist crying_
'Molly. is my supper ready ?'
She started and looked eagerly in hir
face, then, resting her beautiful head upon
his manly breast, said, half weepic.r, half
, Tom ! Torn ! how could you frighten
me so
Tom kissed her beautiful brow, and told
her how he too—O, phew ?
'Well ! Did I ever exclaimed fletty,
stinding in the door way. .1 always thought
Mr. Kennedy, that you were the most
impudent man that ever breathed, and now
1 know it!'
There was a marriage in Chemungebout
five weeks after, (by the way it was n
double one.) The spectators of the cere
mony, and there were ninny in that old
church, could not decide which of the
brides was the most beautiful—Hetty Ed
wards or Mary Kennedy. The bridal
party after leaving the church returned to
Evergreen, where a good substantial
New England wedding breakfast was wni
ting for them.
kit was in his glory•. Stationed on the
lawn, with a barrel of ale on the one side
of him and it haunch of venison, etc., on
the other, he did the honors of the lower
House to perfection.
The war is over! America is free !
Let us leave Massachusetts, and turn our
eyes towards the beautiful Valley of Vir
ginia. Commanding a healthful view of
the James RiVer and the surrounding
country stood the old mansion-house of
Kennedy's half-hidden in the tvouds. It
is the begining of that most beautiful of the
seasons, the Indian summer.
On the verandah of the mansion are sea
ted
four persons. Two of them, on old,
benevolent looking pair, are the parents of
that young man whose head is laying in
! doleritly in the lap of a younrs niatrody•
r.irgiivr.ru7r hlna
oror his brow. Kit, junior, son of our
' old friend, now awkwardly brings them n
couple of letters, which upon examination
are found to be directed one to Tom nod
the other to Mary I beg pardon for lay
politeness, I should have said, one to Ma
ry end the other to Tom.
While they are reading them, 1 intend
to look after those three or four children
who are playing, or otherwise amusing
themselves on the lawn (the baby, and
such a baby, is on gran-ma's lap, making
desperate aborts to seize her spectacles,
encouraged in such bad behaviour, by his
grandpa, who laughed heartily at each new
attempt.) The two youngest of those on
the lawn are engaged for they are not
Chesterfield born children in that most tie
ligbtful of all juvenile amusements, the
horror of all nurses and the delight of all
children, the manufacture of sand•pies.----
The two eldest are seated on the grass,
listening attentively to the tale of an elder
ly shave.
. . .
'And did father do that Kitt Enid one
glancing proudly at hie parent.
Tommy I disremember the
name of the battle, Mas'r had fought so
many, but I think it, was Cowpens. ! t was
a!ter that fight when Gen'ral Morgan rode
up to him. He was a brace man, was the
'lt is well for you, C6l. Kennedy, that
'neuver (Kit meant inauctu vre) waecheer
ful. Had failed, I would have cut you
down.'
'The en'my would have saved you the
trouble, atmeral2 svid Mas'r,
.Kit dat Was de way to talk.'
Tit!' cried his ina ,, ter, from the porch.
.Yes, Mar,' said Kit, approaching.
, Go and have the two breakfast rooms
over the•--No confound it The two
halls over the breakfast•--No! that's not it.
What are you standing there grinning
about, you black scamp ? Don't you know
that Gen. Edwards, will be here to mor
row and his wife too? Away with you,
'Ki, yi, yi !' cried Kit, and he rushed
into the house. In his haste he trod on
puss's tail, who was taking u comfortable
snooze on the rug. Not admiring such
treatment, Grimalkin indebted her long
claws in his leg.
Kit was at peace with all the world and
the rest of mankind, and so magnanimous
ly forgave puss far his treading on her tail
and vanished into the interiorof the house.
'Tow,' said Mary, as she folded up her
letter, 'did George write you anything con
cerning his sister in law, Margaret Gra
ham ?'
*No; he only wrote that he would be
here to-morrow with one or two friends..—.
The note was written hastily.'
"You don't know, than, tint' she is mar•
red 1' paid Marc.
VOL. 20.. NO. 42.
'No,' was the answer. 'To whom 1'
Do you remember a young Englishman
named Stirling, formerly a Mnjoi• in the
English army 1 `
'What! Arthur Stirling? Remem•
her him I fly fTeavens ! I would deserve
to be hanged if I didn't mean to say that
he is married, and to Maggie?'
'Even so ; and that is the party that
Edwards alludes to. They will be here
to•tnorroty'
A crop• of delight came from the baby;
he had got the spectacles.
Disctlianmts.
Shocking Corn
The beneits of cutting up corn at the
bottom, an, before it is fully ripe, are now
so generally acknowledged that there is no
nnessity of arguing the matter. Its econ
omy is seen and acted upon by all, here
at the North, except, it may be, these
non-progressives who so love the good old
ways of their fathers and grand-fathers,
and who look with rot on all improve
ments of nowlanOld notions that should
be discountenanced by ail .:! - Sra and sober
men.
The method of bhockiiig the corn in the
field is perhups the moot economical—ta.
king five rows of corn for one of shocks,
or stocks, setting the shockssn the middle
row. The shacks can thus be made
larger or smaller to snit the fancy. Smal.
Icr ones cure quicker, auil are for that rea•
son preferable. Ha good bill is taken the
stalks of corn about it will help to support
the shock. When it is desired to remove
the shock front the field, the standing hill
is quickly cut by pushing the shock partly
over with the left hand, while a long
knife in the eight hand is thrust under the
bottom and the stalks severed
This method eaves laying the corn on
the ground, binding it in bundles and then
loggia totre.ther the shock,—consequent.
wezeomeezemmerwr , --
.omelimes, especia ly if it be windy wen.
tiler, one may be bothered to make the
stocks stand about the itill till there is
enough for a shock. To obviate this ditli•
cohy, art apparatus, or horse for shocking
corn, is used, in some parrs of the Eastern
States. A simple one was originally de
scribed in the Boston Cultivator. It con.
sists of a round stick, about two inches in
diainetet, and long enough to reech just
above the ears of corn as they stand on
the hill. In the lower end is inserted an
iron point some eight inches in length,
shaped somewhat like a large butcher
knife, only much thicker. This is for the
purpose of sticking it readily into the
ground when in_ use. Close at the top
end two onea, holes are bored at right
augir,. Thrown tiles, are thrust two
rods about four feet in length. Them
rods must be so they will readily slip in.
and out. With this instrument and your
corn knife, you are ready for the field.—
Select your row and stick your horse
where you want a shock. Then cut your
corn and set in the angles of your cross
sticks, which readily hold it till you have.
enough for your shook. Then with your
wisp of straw or whatever you use for a
band, hind the tops firmly together. Now
to remove the horse, grasp the other
end of the standard, withdraw the rods,
when the standard is taken out with no
further trouble.
There is this advantage in using such
lan apparatus—one can place the stalks
more readily and as lirmly in their places ;
is not troubled with their falling down be.
fore securing them with a Laud, whilst, if
one wishes he can taken shock away front
any hill, without nay central support, and
in so doing save all the trouble of binding
into separate bundles. So there must bo a.
saving of time and labor enough; even in
oil, day's use of it to pay its costs. When
it is desired to remove the corn from the
field in a day or two, or a week, there
must be a greater saving_beside having
the corn all up in fine condition to with
j stand, without injury, any storm, however
sudden it may arise. At such a time the
saving in the value of the fodder must be
no insignificant item
T. E. W
ClllrSidney Sinithsays :'lt seems neces
sary that great people should say some
sr,norous and puotable saying. Mr. Pitt
s,id something not intelligible in his lasi
woments. G. Rose made it out to be--
, Nave my country, Heaven !"rhe nurse
ou being interrogated said that he asked
for barley water r
lieeThe nerve which never relaxes—
the eye which never blanches»•the tho't
which never wanders—these ere mestere
of victory,
11110. S"
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