BY MRS. E. C. KINNEY.

Every body has had an Aunt Peggy—an Aunt Patty—an Aunt Penelope, or an aunt something else; but every body hasn't had an Aunt Polly—i. e. such an Aunt Polly as mine! Most Aunt Pollies have been the exemplars and promulgators of "single blessedness"—not such was she! But more of this anon. Aunt Polly was the only sister of my father, who often spoke of her affectionately; but would end his remark with "poor Polly! so nervous—so unlike her self-possessed and beautiful mother"—whose memory he devoutly revered. Children are not destitute of the curiosity native to the human mind, and we often teased papa about a visit from Aunt Polly, who, he replied, never left home; but not enlightening us on the why, his replies only served to whet the edge of curiosity more and more. I never shall forget the surprise that opened my eye-lids early and wide one morning, when it was announced to me that Aunt Polly and her spouse had unexpectedly arrived at the homestead. It would be difficult to analyze the nature of that eagerness which hastily dressed and sent me down stairs. But unfortunately did I enter the breakfast-room just as the good book was closing, and the family circle preparing to finish its devotions on the knee; however, a glance of the eye takes but little time, and a penetrating look was returned me by Aunt Polly, in which the beaming affection of her sanguine nature, and the scowl of scarce restrained impatience to get hold of me, were mixed so strangely as to give her naturally sharp black eyes an expression almost fearful to a child; but on surveying her unique apparel, and indescribably uneasy position on the chair—for she remained seated while the rest of us knelt, giving me thus an opportunity to scrutinize her through the interstices of my chair-back—so excited my girlish risibilities, that fear became stifled in suppressed laughter. "Amen" was scarce pronounced, when a shrill voice called out—"Come here, you little good-for-nothing—what's your name?" The inviting smile conveyed to me with these startling tones left no doubt who was addressed, and I instantly obeyed the really fervent call. Both the stout arms of my aunt were opened to receive me, but held me at their length, while—with a nervous sensibility that made the tears gush from her eyes—she hurriedly exclaimed—"What shall I do with you? Do you love to be squeezed? When, suiting the action to the question, she embraced me with a tenacity that almost choked my breath. From that moment I loved Aunt Polly! The fervid outpouring of her affection had mingled with the well-springs of a heart that—despite its mischievousness—was ever brimming with love. The first gush of feeling over, Aunt Polly again held me at arm's distance, while she surveyed intently my features, and traced in the laughing eye and golden ringlets the likeness of her "dearest brother in the world!" Poor aunty had but one! Nor was my opportunity lost of looking right into the face I had so often desired to see. It would be hard to draw a picture of Aunt Polly in words, so good as the reader's fancy will supply. There was nothing peculiar in her tall, stout figure; in her well developed features—something between the Grecian and the Roman—in her complexion, which one could see had faded from a glowing brunette to a pale Scotch snuff color. But her eyes, they were peculiar—so black—so rapid in their motions—so penetrating when looking forward—so flashing when she laughed, that really—I never saw such eyes!

It would be still more puzzling to describe her dress. She wore a real chintz of the olden time, filled with nosegays, as unlike to Nature's flowers as the fashion of her gown was to the dresses of modern dames of her sixty years. Though I don't believe Aunt Polly's attire looked like any body else's at the time it was made; at any rate, it was put on in a way that differed from the pictures I had seen of the old-school ladies. Her cap was indeed the crowner! but let that pass, for the old lady had these dainty articles so carefully packed in what had been a sugar-box, that no doubt they were sweet to any taste but mine. I said that Aunt Polly was not a spinster. A better idea of her lord cannot be given than in her own words to my eldest sister, who declared in her hearing that she would never marry a minister. "Hush, hush, my dear!" said Aunt Polly, "I remember saying, when I was a girl, that whatever faults my husband might have, he should never be younger than myself—have red hair, or stammer in his speech: all these objections were united in the man I married!"

One more fact will convey to the imagination all that I need say of Aunt Polly's husband. Late one evening came a thundering knock at my father's door, and as all the servants had retired, a youth who happened to be staying with us at the time, started, candle in hand, to answer it: Now the young man was of a credulous turn, and had just awakened from a snooze in his chair. Presently a loud shriek called all who were up in the house to the door, where, lying prostrate and faint, was found the youth, and standing over him, with eye-balls distended—making ineffectual efforts to speak—was the husband of Aunt Polly. When the lad recovered, all that he could tell of his mishap was, that on opening the street-door a man, wrapped in a large over-coat, with glassy eyes staring straight at him, opened and shut his mouth four times without uttering a syllable—when the candle fell from his hands, and he to the floor! Aunt Polly's spouse was the prince of stammerers! But if he could seldom begin a sentence, so Aunt Polly could seldom finish one: indeed the most noticeable point in her conversation was, that it had no point, or was made up of sentences broken off in the middle. This may have been physiologically owing to the velocity with which the nervous fluid passed through her brain, giving uncommon rapidity to her thoughts, and correspondingly to the motions of her body. It soon became a wonder to my girlish mind how Aunt Polly ever kept still long enough to listen to a declaration of love—especially from a stutterer—or even to respond to the marriage ceremony.

My wonder now is, how the functions of her system ever had time to fulfill their offices, or the flesh to accumulate, as it did, to a very respectable consistency; for she never, to my knowledge, finished a meal while under our roof; nor do I believe that she ever slept out a nap in her life. As she became a study well fitted to interest one of my novel, fun-loving age, I used often to steal out of bed at different times in the night and peep from my own apartment into hers, which adjoined it, where a night lamp was always burning; for she insisted on having the door between left open. I invariably found those eyes of hers wide awake, and my own room being dark, took pleasure in watching her unobserved, as she fidgeted now with her ample-bordered night-cap, and now with the bed-clothes. Once was I caught by a sudden cough on my part, which brought Aunt Polly to her feet before I had time to slip back to bed; and the only plea that my guiltiness could make her kind remonstrance on my being up in the cold, was the very natural and very wicked fib, that I heard her move and thought she might want something. Unsuspecting old lady! May her ashes at least rest in peace! How she caught me in her arms, kissed and carried me to bed, tucking in the blankets so effectually that all attempts to get up again that night were vain! Oh, she was a love of an aunt! The partiality of her attachment to me might have been accounted for by her having had no children of her own; or to the evident interest which she excited in me, causing my steps to follow her wherever she went; though all the family endeavored to make her first and last visit as agreeable as possible. But every attempt to fasten her attention to an object of interest or curiosity long enough to understand it, was unavailing. Sometimes I sallied out with her into the street, and while rather pleased than mortified by the observation which her grotesque costume and nervous, irregular gait attracted, it was different with me when she attempted to shop; as more often than otherwise, she would begin to pay for articles purchased, and putting her purse abruptly in her pocket, hurry toward the door, as if on purpose to avoid a touch on the elbow, which sometimes served to jog her memory also, and sometimes the very purchases were forgotten, till I became their witness.

On the whole, Aunt Polly's visit was a source of more amusement to me than all the visits of all my school-mates put together. When we parted—for I truly loved her—I forgave the squeeze—a screw-turn tighter than that at our meeting—and promised through my tears to make her a visit whenever my parents would consent to it. The homestead was as still for a week after her departure, as a ball-room after the waltzers have all whirled themselves home. Hardly had the family clock-work commenced its methodical revolutions again, when a letter arrived; and who that knew Aunt Polly, could have mistaken its characteristic superscription.

My father was well-known at the post office, or the half-written-out-name would never have found its way into his box. Internally, the letter was made up of broken sentences, big with love, like the large, fragmentary drops of rain from a passing summer cloud. By dint of patient perseverance we "gathered up the fragments, so that nothing was lost" of Aunt Polly's itinerant thoughts or wishes.

Among the latter was an invitation for me to visit her, on which my father looked silently and negatively; but I was not thus to be denied a desire of the heart, and insisted on having an audible response to my request of permission to fulfill the parting promise to Aunt Polly. In vain did my father give first an evasive answer, and then hint at the disappointment likely to await such a step—recall to my mind the eccentricities of his "worthy sister"—endeavor by all gentle means of persuasion to deter me from my purpose, and finally try to frighten me out of it. I was incorrigible.

Not long after, a gentleman who resided in the town with my aunt, came to visit us, and being alone in a comfortable one-horse vehicle, was glad enough to accept my offered company on his way home; so, gaining the reluctant consent of my mother, I started, full of an indefinite sort of pleasurable expectation, nourished by the changing diorama of a summer afternoon's ride through a cultivated part of the country.

Arriving at the verge of a limpid stream, my companion turned the horse to drink, so suddenly, that the wheels became cramped, and we were precipitated into the water, the wagon turning a summerset directly over our heads. Strange to say, neither of us were hurt, and the stream was shallow, though deep enough to give us a thorough cold bath, and to deluge the trunk containing my clothes, the lock of which flew open in the fall. My mortified protector crept from under our capsized ark as soon as he could, and let me out at the window; when I felt myself to be in rather a worse condition than was Noah's dove, who "found no rest for the sole of her foot;" for beside dripping from all my garments, like a surcharged umbrella, my soul, too, found no foothold of excuse on which to stand justified before my father for exposing myself to such an emergence without his knowledge. However, return we must. Nor was the situation of my conductor's body or mind very enviable, being obliged to present me to my parents, drooping like a water-lily. But if ill-luck had pursued us, good luck awaited our return; for we found that my father had not yet arrived from his business, and my mother's conscience kept our secret; so that frustration in my first attempt to visit Aunt Polly, was all the evil that came out of the adventure. Notwithstanding my ardor had been so damped with cold water, it was yet warm enough for another effort; though it must be confessed, that for a few days subsequent to the accident, my animal spirits were something in the state of over-night—uncorked champagne.

The first sign of their renewed vitality was the again expressed desire to visit Aunt Polly. I, however, learned obedience by the things I had suffered, and resolved not to venture on another expedition without the approval and protection of my father, who, because of my importunity, at length consented to accompany me, provided I would not reveal to Aunt Polly the proposed length of my visit until I had spent a day and night under her roof. This I readily consented to, thinking only at the time what a strange proviso it was. Accordingly, arrangements were soon completed for the long coveted journey; but not until I had remonstrated with my mother on her limited provision for my wardrobe, furnishing me only with what a small carpet-bag would contain.

After a ride of some forty miles, through scenery that gave fresh inspiration to my hopes, we arrived at the witching hour of sunset, before a venerable-looking farm-house. Its exterior gave no signs in the form of shrubbery or flowers of the decorating, refining hand of woman; but the sturdy oak and sycamore were there to give shade, and the life-scenes that surrounded the farm-yard were plenty in promise of eggs and poultry for the keen appetites of the travelers.

As we drove into the avenue leading to a side-door of the mansion, I caught a glimpse of Aunt Polly's unparalleled cap through a window, and the next moment she stood on the steps, wringing her hands and crying for joy. An involuntary dread of another squeezing came over me, which had scarce time to be idealized ere it was realized almost to suffocation. My father's more graduated look of pleasure, called from Aunt Polly an out-bursting—"Forgive me, forgive me! It's my only brother in the world! It's my dear little puss all over again! Forgive me, forgive me!" But during these ejaculations I was confirmed in a discovery that had escaped all my vigilance while Aunt Polly sojourned with us. She was a snuff-taker! That she took snuff, as she did every thing else, by snatches, I had also ascertained, on seeing her in the door, when she thought herself yet beyond the reach of our vision, forgetting that young eyes can see further than old eyes; mine could not be deceived in the convulsive motion that carried her fore-finger and thumb to the tip of her olfactory organ, which drew up one snuff of the fragrant weed—as hurriedly as a porpoise puts his head out of water for a snuff of the sweet air of morning—when scattering the rest of the pinch to the four winds, she forgot, in her excitement, for once, to wipe the traces from her upper lip. Had I only suspected before, the hearty sneeze on my part that followed close upon her kiss, would have made that suspicion a certainty. Aunt Polly was, indeed, that inborn abhorrence of mine, a snuff-taker! Thus my rosy prospects began to assume a yellowish tinge before entering the house; what color they took afterward it would be difficult to tell; for the wild confusion of its interior, gave to my fancy as many and as mixed hues as one sees in a kaleidoscope.

The old-fashioned parlor had a corner cupboard, which appeared to be put to any use but the right one, while the teacups and saucers—no whole set alike—were indiscriminately arranged on the side-board, and in it I saw, as the door stood ajar, Aunt Polly's bonnet and shawl; a drawer, too, being half open, disclosed one of her sweetish caps, side by side with a card of gingerbread. The carpet was woven of every color, in every form, but without any definite figure, and promised to be another puzzle for my curious eyes to unravel; it seemed to have been just thrown down with here and there a tack in it, only serving to make it look more awry. While amusing myself with this carpet, it recalled an incident that a roguish cousin of mine once related to me after he had been to see Aunt Polly, connected with this parlor, which she always called her "square-room!" One day during his visit the old lady having occasion to step into a neighbor's house, while a pot of lard was trying over the kitchen fire, and not being willing to trust her half-trained servants to watch it, she gave the precious oil in charge to this youth, who was one of her favorites, bidding him, after a stated time, remove it from the chimney to a cooling-place; now not finishing her directions, the lad indulged his mischievous propensities by attempting to place the kettle of boiling lard to cool in the square-room fire-place; but finding it heavier than his strength could carry, its contents were suddenly deposited on the carpet, save such sprinklings as served to brand his face and hands as the culprit of the mischief.

The terrified boy hearing Aunt Polly's step on the threshold, took the first way that was suggested to him of escaping her wrath, which led out at the window. Scarce had his agile limbs landed him safe on terra firma, when the door opened, and, preceded by a shriek that penetrated his hiding-place, he heard Aunt Polly's lamentable lamentation—"It's my square-room! my square-room carpet! Oh! that I should live to see it come to this!" and again, and again, were these heart-thrilling exclamations reiterated. The lad, finding that all the good lady's excitement was likely to be spent on the square-room—though, alas! all wouldn't exterminate the grease—recovered courage and magnanimity enough to reveal himself as the author of the catastrophe, which he did with such contrition, showing at the same time his wounds, that Aunt Polly soon began "to take on" about her dear boy, to the seeming forgetfulness, while anointing his burns, of the kettle of lard and her unfortunate square-room.

But I must take up again the broken thread of my own adventures in this square-room, where I left Aunt Polly flourishing about in joy at our unexpected arrival.

A large, straight-backed rocking-chair stood in one corner of this apartment, and on its cushion—stuffed with feathers, and covered with blazing chintz—lay a large gray cat curled up asleep—decidedly the most comfortable looking object in the room—till Aunt Polly unceremoniously shook her out of her snug quarters to give my father the chair. I then discovered that poor puss was without a tail! On expressing my surprise, aunt only replied—"Oh, my cats are all so!" And, true enough, before we left, I saw some half dozen round the house, all deficient in this same graceful appendage of the feline race. The human domestics of the family were only half-grown—but half did their work, and seemed altogether naturalized to the whirligig spirit of their mistress. The reader may anticipate the consequences to the culinary and table arrangements. For supper we had, not unleavened bread, but that which contained "the little leaven," that having had no time to "leaven the whole lump," rendered it still heavier of digestion; butter half-worked, tea made of water that did not get time to boil, and slack-baked cakes. I supped on cucumbers, and complaining of fatigue, was conducted by my kind aunt to the sleeping apartment next her own, as it would seem like old times to have me so near. What was wanting to make my bed comfortable, might have been owing to the fact, that the feathers under me had been only half-baked, or were picked from geese of Aunt Polly's raising; at any rate, I was as restless as the good lady herself until daylight, when I fell into as uneasy dreams—blessing the ducking that saved me a more lingering fate before. After a brief morning-nap I arose, and seeing fresh eggs brought in from the farm-yard, confidently expected to have my appetite appeased, knowing that they could be cooked in "less than no time;" but here again disappointment awaited me. For once, Aunt Polly's mis-hit was in over-doing. The coffee sustained in part her reputation, being half-roasted, half-ground, half-boiled, and, I may add, half-swallowed. After this breakfast—or keepfast—my father archly inquired of me aside, how long I wished him to leave me with Aunt Polly, as he must return immediately home. Horror at the idea of being left at all overcame the mortification that my reaction of feeling naturally occasioned, and throwing my arms around his neck, I implored him to take me back with him. This reply he took as coolly as if he were prepared for it. Not so did Aunt Polly receive the announcement of my departure. She insisted that I had promised her a visit, and this was no visit at all. My father humored her fondness with his usual tact; but on telling her that it was really necessary for me to return to school, the kind woman relinquished at once her selfish claims, in view of a greater good to me.

Poor Aunt Polly! if my affection for her was less disinterested than her own, it was none the less in quantity; and I never loved her more than when she gave me that cruelest of squeezes at our parting, which proved to be the last—for I never saw her again. But in proof that she loved me to the end, I was remembered in her will; and did I not believe that if living, her generous affection, that was the precious oil through which floated her eccentricities like "flies as big as bumble-bees," would smooth over all appearance of ridicule in these reminiscences, they should never amuse any one save myself. But really, I cannot better carry out her restless desire of pleasing others, than by reproducing the merriment which throughout a long life was occasioned by her, who of all the Aunt Pollies that ever lived, was the Aunt Polly!