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By J. W. Burke & Cos. THE OLD AND THE NEW YEAR. Sixty-five! OH jear! So thou Hast for aye depaited now: All thy fit ill hopes aud sea s, All thy transit nt sm les and tears, A!1 thy many anxious schemes, jNow appear like fading dreams. Such as owed to Time their birth Have bu' proved themselves .of earth, Born to dazz! and to die, Linked not with Eternity Sixty-six! The year’s begun! Hail’d by many! known by none ! Glad ome bells, with merry peal, Thine auspicious birth rev- a 1 : Who may hear thy parting knell, Gob and he alone, can tell 1 Joyous *ongues around express, F' r thee, hopes of happiness : Sober’d hearts, too, here and there, Greet thee with a voiceless prayer. lint thy glory and thy gloom . Still are in the future’s womb: Whatsoe’er of good or ill Shall be given to fulfill, May we look to Him alone Who can make that good our own : Who can guide us from each ill, While we seek to do His will; And when we fr m time must sever, Take us to Himself forever. Utistdlanj). COROLINN: A Persian Tale. CHAPTER I. < Here.’ said I, ‘he-e once flourished an op- lent city ’ 'iaere was once the seat of a powerful empire !’— Vulney. The sun had passed the meridian, and the shadows of the rocky peaks of the Hetzerdera, or the summit of the Uousand mountains, as they i a» o b* * n called in the glowing poetical la guage of F- rdosi, had begun to str tch selves over one of the most rich and beautitul and stricts in Persia —the fertile plains of Persepo lis and Sebiras. The clouds which in rude masses were piled above the Hetz rdera, were touched on iheir margin with crimson, and purple ar and gold ; and while they showed, in bold relief, against the spotless, b'ue sky, they were in ail their brilliancy and magnifies: ch reflected from the smooth, flowing lily sprink led liendemir The fragrance of the orange groves and the beautiful banana, blended with the breolti of the clustering roses, which bord ered the tranquil Bendemir, came over thesense in a” their sweftrtf-«s ; and the ripe tempting blush oi the delicious peach of Persia, was ml - gled in the same garden with the scarlet bioss soms of .1 e pomegranate. The towering and majestic columns of ruin ed Persepolis raised their proud htads in the mid;t of siler co and desolation ; and their sha dows, a i they lengthened across the ruins, dar kened the dust formed by the accumulation o p ua >ruil mounds for cuntless centuries. What apace tor moralizing! Persia’s prQud mon archs, where were they ? Cyru l , the man des tined by Heaven to bumble Babylon—Cam by ses, who brought to a final close the long line of the Pharaohs, ar and caused the sun of Egyp t an glory lo set in desc.ation and blood, had here marshalled their legions—here displayed their unbounded magnificence and power;— but now perhaps the very whirlwind which is sweeping through the col urn r sos that stupen dous temple, is sporting with their dust, and mingling it with that of their meanest and veriest slaves. Here too, Schira3 lifts its tow _ ers, spreads its beautiful gardens, and from its " minarets is heard the follower of Ali, calling the faithful to prayer. But the bustle of Schi ras is hashed ; its streets are deserted; its crowds have poured forth from its gates ; and the pranc ing of Persian steeds, theglaDcingofscimetars, and clouds of smoke, plainly designate the course pursued by the immense cavalcade.— bchiras was indeed that day empty. All who <cou and possibly join the throng, had willingly assisted to swell the tide of human beings, that Schiras had that day poured forth to greet tha triumphant entry of Abbas Mirza, the son of the reigning Shah, who had been appointed ■ Governor of the province, and who, in addition v&o the usual parade on such occasions, had re solved to make a magnificent entry, graced with the splendor and renown he had acquired by his successful teimination of the Afghanis tan war. The immerse crowd had slowly made their way to near the foot of the first range of the Heizerd-ra; and within view of that sublime and terific pass, which forms almost the only opening through the mountains, ar.d from whence the eye catches the first glimpse of the beautiful plain of Schiras, were waiting under a burning sun, with breathless impati ence, the approach of the prince In the throng and jost ed oy soldiers and moolah, Emir and Sa acene, mb gled with Armenian merchants and dancing girls from Ispahan,—the fl *wer of its Harem, and pilgrims from the Ganges— was to be seen a solitary Englishman, mounted on a spirited Persian charger, and accompan ied by a single attendant, whose turban and . aftag'ian sufficiently showed his Asiatic origin. Murmurs of impatience and dissatisfaction had begun to buzz through the multitude, when a baud of Persian cavalry approached, descend ing the pathway, and instantly hushed all symptoms of disapprobation. These heralds of the approach of the prince were far more rich ly and splendidly dressed than anything which Francis Everington had ever seen, accustomed as he in some measur i had been to the dis plays of oriental magnificence. Francis Everington was a young Englishman, who had accompanied Mr. Morlei on his em bassy to Persia; but who had been left sick at Ispahan when the embassy left that country, and was now with his faithffil attendant, Ha mors, on his way to Bassorah, on the Persian gulf, with the intention of obtaining a passage to India, and from thence to Europe. He had taken a position beneaih a cluster of orange trees, which served in some measure to shade him from the intense heat of the sun, on a small eminence, from whence he had a fine view of the mountain pass, the descending cavalry, and the multitude by which lie was surrounded. He had stationed himself, too, fortunately, at the point where the prince was to pass, at whose feet, wit h the ready submission of Eastern slaves, SECULAR DEPARTMENT OF THE SOUTHERN CHRISTIAN ADVOCATE all were now anxiously waiting to prostrate themselves. ihe attention of the living mass of human beings had been so much engrossed by the par ty which they considered as the harbingers of the prince, that Everingion and his servant were scarcely noticed, and they were standing neatly alone, when a Circassian merchant, hav young woman in his company, was seen making his way through the crowd, and ap proaching the orange-trees. The dress of the man sufficiently indicated to the eye of Ever ington his rank and wealth; had either been doubtful, a glance at his companion would have instantly removed them. The rich embroidered velvet pantaloons, worn by the Persian ladies— the splendid muslin robes—the shelega, or gir dle, by which it was confined—the turban, fas tened over a profusion of the finest looks, by diamond but ons—and the rick Cashmerian sliawi, which was thrown carelessly over her head, and served, when necessary, the purpose of a veij—all demonstrated that a person of no ordinary rank stood before them. ‘•That is the rich merchant, Ilermap; and that female, his daughter, Corolina, the most beautiful girl ever seen in Persia, 1 ’ said Ilamors, to Everington, as the strang :rs came up. AHth the instinctive politeness which charac terized Everington, he removed from his station beneath the crange trees, that the young lady and her father might have the benefit of the shade. The young lady accepted the offer, but the father declined ; and motioned to Evering ton to resume his station, which thus brought him in immediate contact with the fair Circas sian. A glance at the young lady showed that she was tall and elegantly formed ; and the exact symmetry of her person was shown by the dress which Persian ladies know so well how to ar range, Partly overcome by the fatigue of the ride, and partly by the excessive heat of the day, she no sooner found herself screened from the sun by the orange bower, than she directed her female attendants to divest her of her head dress, and Everington had the happiness of see ing the beautiful creature unveiled, and in all her loveliness. Never had our young English man beheld such a vision of beauty, as met his eyes, in the surpassing girl before him; and while he inwardly admitted the truth of llamors’ assertion, lie cursed the custom and the fate that doomed such a lovely creature to be offered in the market to minister to Persian vanity and lust. It was evident, as had been hinted by Hamors, that she was intended by her father for the harem of the prince, should she be fortu nate enough to attract ,his notice. No sooner was her splendid turban removed, than her curl ing tresses, thickly sprinkled with pearls and gems, and unconfined, except by a single clasp of brilliants, flowed around her neck and bosom, in all their unrestrained luxuriance. She had not alighted from her high-spirned and snow white steed, which, with proudly arching neck, and pointed ears, seemed justly vain of his burden ; but with a countenance in which lofty feeling was mingled with consoioui* purity and* virgiu innocence, she -at, hardly sensible of the interest she excited, and, like the goddess of beauty, an object worthy of the involuntary homage paid by all around her. The troop of cavalry had now reached the foot of the mountain, where they were received with shouts by the assembled multitude, and with the most profound respect by the mufii and judges of the city. They announced that the prince might be expected in half an hour, and they, as harbingers of his approach, were ordered to make the necessary arrangements for his reception. They therefore speedily com menced dividing the multitude into two divis ions, which lined the road for a great distance on both sides. In spite of some grumbling and menaces on the part of the soldiers, at the ob stinacy of the infidel, as they termed Evering ton, he refused to quit his station, and main tained his position beneath the orange trees, and by the side of the enchanting Corolinn, who had been joined, on the advance *of the troops, by her father. Scarce had these pre paratory measures been taken, when a discharge of artillery from the mountain announced that Abbas Mirza was at hand. Soon the advance guard appeared winding over the rocky crest of the pass, and in martial order descended to the plain. They were splendidly attired, and mounted on black horses ; the long horse-tails of their caps streaming in the wind, and their scimetars flashing like lightning in the bright rays of the sun. Then came twenty elephants, the first of the trophies of his victories over the rebellious Affghans. These moved in sin gle file down the pass, caparisoned as they were when the fortunes of war placed them in the possession of the Persian prince. Following these came a train of two thousand captives, the flower of the AtFghanistan army, men who had escaped the hard fought, but de cisive battle which had sealed their fate. They were separated into divisions, by detachments of the cavalry; and though bound and bare headed, they showed no marks of cowardly de jection, but bore the undaunted air of men, brave and robust, but unfortunate indeed, and conscious that the cause in which they were suffering was just. One hundred of the bravest of their number had been selected and put to death, as examples to those who might hereafter be engaged in such projects; and these were reserved to serve as slaves of the victor in car rying on those works of improvement he had already projected. Then came a train of two hundred Atfghan maidens, who had been torn from the happy hills and valleys of their native homes, to swell the train of the conquerors, and in all the budding beauty of youth, were des tined to increase the captor’s wealth by their sale, or minister to the licentious appetites of the musselmans, their inhuman masters. They were unveiled, and as the beautiful train passed the place where young Corolinn was sitting, a sigh swelled her gentle bosom, and Everington saw a tear trembling on the silken lashes of her dark eye3, as slib gazed with interest on their saddened features, and contrasted her situation with theirs. “Alas!” thought Everington, as he looked •with admiration on the lovely girl, and saw these proofs of her sensibility; “how little difference is there between their doom and that to which you are destined.” Next came a train of five hundred led horses, each attended by a slave, and their rich cajfiiri sons, their long waving manes and tails, their proud walk and curving necks, were a full proof of their value, and the estimation in which they were held. Then came the imperi al flag of the empire, borne by the king’s stan dard bearer, its broad folds of silk decorated with the arms of Nadir Shah, ‘waving in the wind. This splendid memento of Persian great- Macon, Georgia, Friday, January 5, 18GG. ness was always guarded by a chosen body of nobles, who had sworn on the Koran to pre serve it or perish. The prince’s hand of music next followed in the procession, and over the sweet notes of flute and tabor were heard at in tervals the spirit-stirring notes of the Abyssin ian trumpet; and the thundering peals of the gong and tumbalon .choed from summit to sum mit along the mountain and over the plain. Amidst the discharge of cannon and the shout s of the immense multitude, which seemed to rend the air, next appeared the Prince Abbas Mirza himself, dressed in the most rich and splendid manner—his apparel glittering with gold and diamonds—his beautiful milk-white steed richly caparisoned, and impatiently spurn ing the ground, over which the pace of the pro cession compelled him to move at so slow a rate. The prince appeared tc be not far from thirty; of fine and commanding figure, and an exterior which denoted the successor to the crown of Persia. He managed his horse without the least effort—aud ex ibited in every movement that grace and ease for which the Persian in Asia, like the Frenchman in Europe, is distin guished. Then came, borne in closely covered palanquins, on the shoulders of black eunuchs, and surrounded by a guard of the same unfor tunate race, the favorite wives and concubines of the prince, those that constituted his harem, but were now as always, effectually secluded from the gaze of those around, and the critical observation of the multitude. Then came an other guards, and the procession was closed by an immense rabble of all classes, similar to that which awaited their arrival iu the plain. OLD GRIMES. Old Grimes is dead—that good old man— We ne’er shall see him more; He wore a single-breasted goat That buttoned down before. • His heart was open as the»day, His feelings all were true; His hair was some inclined to gray, He wore it in a queue. Whene’er was heard the voice of pain, His breast with pity burned ; The large round head upon his cane From ivory was turned. Thus ever prompt at pity’s call, He knew no base design; His eyes were dark, and rather small, His nose was aquiline. He lived at peace with all mankind, In friendship he was true; His coat had pocket holes behind, His pantaloons were 1 lue. But poor old Grimes is new at rest, Nor fears misfortune's frown; He had a double breasted vest, The stripes ran up and down. He modest merit sought to find, And pay it its dea -jrjp; He had no matioe in his mind, No rutile or his shir '? * His neighbors he did not abuse; Was sociable and gay ; He w’ore not rights and lefts for shoes, But ghanged them every day. His knowledge, hid from public gaze, He nevi r brought to view ; Nor made a noise town-rneeting days, As many people do. Thus undisturbed by anxious cares, His peac- ful moments rail; And everybody said ho wa > A fine old gentleman. Albert G. Greene. THE BARING BROTHERS. The Barings came to Exeter from Bremen, and Matthew fixed himself at Larkbar, (the Larochbere of Saxon times,) to carry on the woollen trade with foreign lands, a trade of which, in the West of England, Exeter was the centre. The reputation and the success of the house of the Barings was mainly owing to the business habits, the prudenee, and the activity of the wife of Matthew, whose name was tra ditionally known as Madame Baring. The ladies in those days took an active part in the management of thejr husbands’ affairs. They superintended the laoors of the women engaged as burlers, who pulled the goods over benches, and with burling irons, a sort of large, sharply pointed tweezers, held in the right hand, picked out the black knots, and other defects left by the weavers, which, with a whisk in the left hand, they swept into open bags at their sides. It was one of the duties of the mistress to now and then go from one end to the other of the long line of burlers, encouraging the dili gent and reprehending the lazy. Matthew Baring fully appreciated the servi ces of his wife, and built for her on the banks of the river a handsome fishing house of brick, from whose windows she could uninterruptedly and comfortably indulge in piscatorial amuse ments. Pollutions have driven away the fish, the fishing-house has been mzed to its founda tion ; the fisher-lady has b?yp long slumbering under the turf of the St. LeotjjTd cemetery, and the memento raised over her burial place by her eldest son, John, the senior partner of the great house of John and Francis Baring,, has wholly disappeared. Most of the members of the family are inter red in the church yard thus described, which was separated from their domicil of Mount Dadford only by a bridge thrown across the public road, but some of them repose in the “Saints’ Rest;” of the Exeter Presbyterians, and others in a very pretty but obscure burial place attached to a Unitarian chapel, a few miles from the city. John and Francis Baring were both men of singular sagacity. Perhaps they forasaw the decliue and decay of that staple trade upon which their father had laid the foundation of his own and their prosperity ; at all events they sought a wider field than Exeter offered. I had in my possession a copy of a tender for part of a loan to the British Government, in the reign of George 11., in which the ambifion of the great house of the Brothers Baring was limited to the adveuture of three hundred pounds sterling. Two peerages and a baronet cy, and what millions upon millions have been since associated with the name. —All the Year Round. , The best description of weakness we have ever heard, is the wag’s query tq'his wife, when she gave him some chicken broth, if she would not try to coax that chicken ju?t to wade through the soup once more. AN INVOLUNTARY AERONAUT. n 1852 a celebrated aeronaut advertised that he would make an ascension from Oakland, California. It was a total novelty to. niue teuths ot those whom he addressed, and the public rushed thither in crowds. In the cen tre of the space from which the ascent was to be made the huge sphere floated, held down to vulgar earth by a dozen ropes, grasped by as many persons selected from the bystanders. Ihe navigator of the heavens had not yet m !e his appearance, and the audience were getting impatient, as manifested by their shouts and curses. He was probably playing freeze-out poker with some flush miner, in some adjoining tavern ala Artemus Ward, and could not be choked off. lu.a few minutes more the “ma chine would have been tom to shreds, when, a gu-t of wind arising, the balloon was sudden ly wrenched from the hands that held it, and rushed like a rocket straight toward the clouds. Did we say wrenched from all? No—not from all ! A cry of horror rose from the lately tur bulent crowd; for there, clingiug to a slight wooden cross-piece attached to one of the cords, was a small, dark object, which every one pro nounced to baa human being. A lad who had been selling papers among the throng was one of those who had volunteered to hold the guys, and not being sufficiently alert, he had been earned oft with the balloon. The spectators were appalled, and every obsei’ver momentarily expected to see him drop; But the young ad venturer had no such idea, and those wlio had glasses saw him clamber, monkey-like up the coid, and seat himself astride the cross-piece. Upward the balloon ascended, till, in the glow ing i ays of the sun, it seemed like a speck; then vanished altogether, sailing northward. It wouljl have been difficult just then to have in suied the life of that boy at any premium. As for the involuntary aeronaut, what must have been his feelings as he found himself thus sev ered from the firm earth to which he had been accustomed ! At first his little heart was in his throat, and he seemed to have suddenly fallen from some vast height into an abyss of fathom less air. The world vanished instantaneously from sight. The boy had unfortunately wound the cord about his hands in such a manner that it was impossible to let go at once. Yet know ing the fate that awaited him should he fall, he had, by the exertion of an amount of strength wonderful in one so young, contrived to assume the position of comparative safety already no ted. Ihere he saw the wind-driven clouds of a diflerent. stratum rush past him with frightful velocity, and, looking down, could dimly dis cern the landscape, and the ocean with its ships, spread out as on a map. During the afternoon the people of Benicia saw the car dash by, and little thought of the throbbing heart that, from that awful eminence, awaited in cold and anxie ty the coming night. The blood began to con geal in the veins of the little traveler; the act of breathing grew difficult; his muscles, increas ed to such a fearful tenison, were beginning to relax; a numbness seizing on the fluffs tb,u gv;j.3ped cord. Afc w minutes rnJ-e must evidently terminate the fearfulridethrougn space. All at once the rope attached to the valve was thrown against the boy. He clutch ed it in his despair as an additional hold upon life. Boy! The valve opens! The gas rapid ly escapes ! I lie balloon is at once nearer the earth ! It rushes into tfle leafy embrace of a grove of trees, and after a violent struggle, rests. When some ranch men, who had been watching the descent, reached the spot, they found the young adventurer seated on the ground at the foot of an oak, looking the very picture of as tonishment, but none, the worse for his journey, except a few scratches. We have heard of persons whose hair, from terror, turned gray in a single night. The hair of the lad, on coming down, was a bright red, but as it was red before he went up, we don’t know that this was anything remarkable. We meet him—the boy then, the man now—daily; he looks like any other mortal, and seems to have forgotten altogether the circumstances to which he was indebted for his elevation.— California Mercury. Why so much beauty in Poland. —“ B ecause,” said Bayard Taylor, “there, girls do not jump from infancy to young ladyhood. They are not sent from the cradle to the parlor, to dress, to sit still and look pretty. No, they are treated as children should be. During child hood, which extends through a period of seve ral years, they are plainly and loosely dressed, and allowed to run, romp and play in the open air. They are not loaded down, girded about, and oppressed every way with countless frills or superabundant flounces, so as to be admired for their clothing. Nor are they rendered delicate or dyspeptic by continual stuffing with candies and sweet-cakes, as are the majority of Ameri can children. Plain, simple food, free aud va ried exercise, and abundance of sunshine du ring the whole period of childhood, are the secrets of beauty iu after life.” Babies. —The effect babies have on progres sion is self-evident. No one ever knew a baby inferior to any preceding baby. On the con trary, each one is a little in advance of any yet born ; and when we think of the vast number yet to be, and how every one will be a trifle su perior to its predecessor, what a glorious future awaits us 1 We shall eventually reach perfec tion. How can those persons who believe that we retrograde instead of progress, reconcile this fact with their absurd theory ? " '*•••* 7 Unmarried people often kill themselves; married ones each other. “Death’s door” is an uncomfortable one to be at; debt’s a good deal more so. If in all duels and prize-fights both parties were killed, the world would be the gainer there by. By the sound of a lady’s laugh, we can tell whether her teeth are good or bad. If they are bad, the tone of the laugh is modified by com ing through puckered and compressed lip§. If you are yourself a lazy liver, you will pro bably be affected with one. Brain without pluck is as valueless as pluck without brain. When is an undertaker like one of his own jobs? When he’s a eoughin.* W hy is it vtilgar to send a telegram ? Because it is making use of flash language. Dove in men is like th® distemper in dogs. Neither puppies nor men are Worth anything until they have had it. * Yol. L—No. 1. % souse, J"rm mb fttrW. =====77 J,'.' , "-S3 For the Mirror of the Times. GARDENING,—THE TWO NEIGH BORS. W— lives in a grove of forest-trees. He has a few horses and a few cowl Mto— D’cembet—he is raking up his leaves and throwing them into his stable iind cow pen. Vyhen trampled fine and intermixed with his stable and cow-pen manures, he intends to remove and put the marureon hisgarden, where, by deep plowing or spading he will cover, it up to mellow and enrich his soil; when next year—as it was this year—ne ex p cts to have a luxuriant crop of lettuce, squashes, cabbage, tomatoes, ontOLs, turs tips, salsify, etc., etc. J lives in a grove, too, just over the way in full view of W. Mr. J. has stock, stables, lots, etc., but it so happens that whenever there is a little sunshine and gentle brec.z?, Mr. W sees asmoke at Mr. J—s Well, what of that, you say ? Well, the writer says this : Mr. j— ought to do with his leaves and lots as Mr. W— does, if either he, his wife, or children love veg etables. “ Provided. nevertheless ”if he burns his leaves and neglects the culture of his garden, and yet he or his ciave vegetable diet next year, they ought to beg it of some one who lives too far awav trim them to witness this trequent cor fiigration for the purpose of saving labor in raking leaves, etc. So thinks the Writeb. December, 1865. —«► . - - Tcrntps.—ln this country our farmers do not place a proper estimate upon the green or root crops. The cereal orops occupy their attention to the neglect of others. The turnip is by far the most valuable of the root crops. It contains a large amount of nutrition, and as a food for cattle it is unsurpassed. In producing turnips, the demand for the cereals is lessened, and as tlie cultivation of the latter, generally, is more Laborious and difficult than that of the former, an advantage is to be secured by a change in our system of farming. In Great Britain and other countries, the turnip is regarded as an important product of the farm, and it. is culti vated on a large scale. In some districts it con stitutes the principal article of food for cattle during the fall and winter. Nothing aids more in improving the condition of cattle or horses than a free supply of good and sweet turnips. While they afford nourishment they keep the bowels regular aud the system in a healthy state. Many of our most successful breeders feed their fine horses upon turnips aud carrots in the win ter, and when they form an article of food, the animals thrive and look well. Nothing gives sucb a s/nootli and glossy coat to flieraeo'-hcrsc as a judicious supply of turnips. We trust that our farmers will soon learn to place a high value upon the root crops, and cultivate them upon a larger scale than they do at the present.— Field and Farm. • Eggs.— -These luxuries are now “five for a quarter,” and dangerous to handle even at that price, if you deal with a grocer who picks them up hero and there, regardless of age. We take it for granted, however, that our agricultural readers never purchase eggs. Their vocation should keep them in supply, and with ordinary care and attention - to their fowls, eggs will bo plenty. There is much in breed in egg-laying qualities. But the most is in good treatment— making the hens at home. A crowded place will not do. Too many hens together is bad. Why? Because it interferes with tranquility. The points of success are: Warm quarters} roomy, clean, unmolested; plenty of food; a variety of feed, varied daily with animal food of some.kind, it matters little what; water changed often; pulverized earth to wallow in; light, and as much cheerfulness as possible. Then select good bree ,s. The middle-sized Dominique, sin gle combs, yellow legs, are perhaps the best. The Spanish are good layers, so are the Creoles. Brahma Fowls.—A writer in the Western Rural says. The BrahmaPootra is a most valu able variety, being hardy, beautiful, and excel lent in every respect. Although bearing a close resemblance to the Cochin, it is a distinct breed. Their habits are quite dissimilar and their eggs larger. The hens excel as mothers and layers of fine large eggs during the winter. Even when snow covers the ground, they lay regularly an average' of five eggs a week. .The pullets attain full size at an early age, and are in their prime when eight months old. The worst accusation their enemies can.advance against them is, that no one knows their origin. All in England are descended from fowls imported from the United States, and the best account of them is, that a sailor appeared in an American city with anew kind of fowl for sale, and that a pair bought from aim were the parents of all the Brahmas. Rice Croquettes.— Wash well offie tcftcupful of rice ; put it to boil in a pint of milk, and the same of water, until quite tender, but dry; while hot, add a piece of butter the size of an egg, two tablespoonfuls of white sugar, two eggs, the rice and grated peel of lemon; stir this up well; have ready the yolks of two eggs beaten on a plate, somq fine cracker crumbs on another; make up the rice with your hands in rolls about three inches long and two inches round; dip in to the egg, then inft* the crumbs; fry 'them in hot lard to a light brown. Serve hot. Bread Pudding. — Take a pound pf stalls bread; boil a quart of milk; pour it on the bread, and let it soak one or two hours ; thefl rub it quite fine with the hands.* Beat up four, or five eggs, and add them to it; also a table spoonful o*‘ cinnamon, or any other kind of spice, two cups of sugar, and a little chopped suet, or a quarter of a pound of butter. Bake or boil„it two hours. Moss Biscuits.—Weigh half a pound of flour, to which add an ounce and a half of butter and five ounces of sugar, rub them well together, and mix with one whole and one white of egg, and a teatqjoonful of milk, then add two ounces of ground almonds, which rub well into the paste; afterwards rub the whole through a’gauza sieve, taking it off in small pieces, which lay upon a lightly-buttered baking-sheet, an 1 bake, them in a moderate oven. T.ooth Wash. —The oafest, cheapest, most universally accessible, and most efficient., ft a piece of white so*p, with a moderately stiff tooth brush, every morning. 1