EIMMEI
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c. F. , READ & 1-I'. H. FRAZIER,
.EDITORS,
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From the Vacia4urg Chronicle
NON. DAVID WILIKOTi
tsIIZADIICU 1113 LASTLY ACCIPITNG T NOWL% - aTioN 00VTEX01.
Great Leader of freemen!
co truthful and bold,
How like in thy Fririt
Our gages of old
Joint Tfancock, and Adams,
. And .fefferson•too,
Were just each " fanatie.s,"
Pear Wilmot, as yon.
For man and his birth tight,
• To the law's utmost verge,
'''Thr pen and_thy suffrage
The combat would urge.
To Shylockjhou yl'eldeat
Of flesh' his fall pound :
tut woe to the scoundrel
If blood stain the wound !
if States in their ecn-'reignty
Choose to maintain
It pet " Institution,"
The sconrce and the chain.
Thon seckest no quarrel—
Thon pri)claimest no Irar—
,' .411 their Ottfi, be the nuisance
Which mankind abhor!
13nt within our o.rn boundf:,
And our common domain,
No blood-hound, no slave-whip,
torture, no chain ! . •
The decree of our fathers
In the year , cighty•Seven,
Had the sanction of good men—
. The blessing of Heaven..
thontirrath or malice,—
• We sternly AVOW,
That the act or Our. fathers
Is law to us now ! • -
No Judge's dictation,
No President's fmwn,
Shall shake our old Fortress
Of Liberty dowzi!
Where the free lab'rer buildeth
Ills wilderness home, •
No baleful miasma- •
• Of'Slavery shall-come. •
Go.l bless thee, brave Wilmot. .
For the words bold and true !
The rapt gaze of thonqands
Is now fixed on You.
• In light and in beauty,
Beneath the bright sky,
, Thy banner, of Freedom
In triumph shall Ey I
The old " Declaration"
'With thee is at:par ;
Arid Marshall than Miley
. Is dearer by far..
Thou didst form thy opinions
InWObington's school,
And thou boldest af , valid
The great-Golden Rule.
The right wbich.thon clairnest
Thyself to Control,
Thou accorirst tolutel brother
. From tropic to pole.
And thousands just like thee
Thy voice shall call forth,
From the great Eastern cities—='
From the South;.ll, est and North
Hurrah for brai-e-WILMOT,
Our Leader so I,eld
Ile's like, in his spirit,
Our NIf.r.CA .of old! JAatrs Atrcs
From Punam's Monthly
UNCLE JOSH.
CRANE . was a Yankee born and bred.
a fataner on Plainfield Hill, and a specimen.
some strange phrases were grafted on his
New England vernacular, it was because for .
ifteen years of his youth he had followed ihe
sea ;- and the sea, to retdrn the compliment,
thereafter followed him.:
His father, old Josh Crane, kept the Sun
bury grist-mill, and Was
‘ a drunken , shiftless
old creature, who ended his days in a bumble-
down red house a mile below Plainfield Cen
tre, being "took with the tremens," as black,
Peter said when he came fur the doctor—all
too late, fur *the " tremens'' had, indeed, taken
on.'him •
Mrs.. Crane, Our Josh's mother, was one
of -tho.4e calm, meek, patient creatures - - by
some inscrutaide mystery always linkell to
such men;, "martyrs. by the pang without
the palm," of whom a npble army shall yet
rise out of is:lew England's - desolate valleys .
and Melancholy hills. to-fake their honor
from the. Ma;tees . hand. For years this wo
.Man lived alone . with her child in this Ant
lered red house, spinning, knitting. washing,
sewing, scrubbing, to earn bread and water,
sometimes charity-fed ; 'but never failing at
tnorning and night, with one red and knotted
hand upon her boy's white hair; and the 6t.h- .
er on her.orn Bible, :to: pray, with an in
tensity ',t t boy never forgot, for his well
being fore er-and ever; for herself she never
prayed, alcind: . .
Then came the country's pestilence, eon
sumption, and after long struggle, relapses - ,
rallies, all received in the same calm patience,
Hefty Crane died in =a summer's night, her
little boy asleep beside her, and a whiPpOor
will On the apple-tree by the door sounding
on her flickering sense die last•minor note of
life.
. When Josh woke up and knew hts mother
was dead. he did nut behave in the least like
Poo little; boys in books, but dressed him
self *thaw Ais or: 2 FFOkr...ao ran for the
nearest nelgtmor..
-"Sakes alive !" said., "Miss" Ranney. " I
never did see such a Otter as that are I . ro in
all my dais! he never said.- rtothite tome
when he came to our tolks's only jest-'Miss
Ramey', guess you'd better come cross dots
to see mother, F;he don't seem to be alive.'
`Dew tell!' sez I, an' so I slipt on my Shaker
Itinnet jist as quick's I could, but be . was off,
spry's a cricket, itn"-,vrhen I got there he' was
a settin' the room to rights, he'd:spanked up
fire, and hung on the kittle; so I red poth
in' but _ stept along.. inter the bedroom,, and
turned down the' kiver, and gin_ a little
screech, I was so 'beat, for sure enough Hetty
Crane was dead an' cold. Josh he beerd - Me,
for he was elos't onto and be never spoke,
hut he come up to the bed and. The put his
. head down and laid his cheek rightalotig hers,.
and 'twant no redder'n been an' stain so'
'bout It IllillUit ; then he cleared, out and 1
never see him no more all day, but 'Miss
Good'in she come in, and she said he'dstopped
there a,f sent her over.
" Well, we laid out - 'Hetty, and fixed up
the !louse, and put a curtain to her winder; ,
and Mks Goodin she'n 'I calkerlated to . set 'I
'up all night, and ice was jest puttin' t# mess,l
of tea to draw, so's to keep lively, when in
come Josh, drip Pin wet, for the dews was
dreadful heavy them August nights, and he
said nottiin' more'n jest to answer when he
was spoke to, and Miss Goodin was a real
feelin' woman, she guessed he'd better be let
alone; so he drink't a cup of tea, attd then
he started off into the bedroom; and when
:she . went in. there, 'long towards midniett
l.liere he was, fast tisleep on the bed beside of
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the corpse, as straight OSA pin, only holdin
on to one of its hands.. *Miss Goixl'in come
back cryin', and I 'thought I should 'a boo.
booed right out, but I kinder strangled it
down, and we set to work to figger out what
was a goin' to be done With the poor little
clap; that house of their-'n, that old Josh
had bought of Mr. Ramey, hadn't never been
paid for, only the interest money whenever
Miss Crane couhl, serape it up, so't that
would go right back into husband's hands,
an' they hadn't got no cow, nor no pig, and
we agreed the s'lectmen would hey to take
him and bind him out. I
"1 tillers mistrusted 144 he'd waked up,
and hecred what we said; for next morning
when we went to call him he was gone, and
his shirts ail' go.to.meetin's, too, and be never
come back to the funeral, nor a good spell
after.
"I know after . Iletty was buried; and we'd
mosolvra to eon whikt thiug4 she had to get
her a head-stone, fur Mr. Ranney, wouldn't
never put in fur the rest of his interest mon
ey, I . took home her old * Bible _and kep' it
fer-. Josh, and the next time I see him was
`five and twenty years after, when he come
back from sea-farin' an' settled down to
fiirmin' on't, and he sot by that Bible a deed-
fel sight, I expect, for he gin' our Sall the
briglitestred an' yeller Jmndanner you ever
see ; she•used to keep it Ito take to meetin' !"
' " Miss".!ltanney :was certainly right io her
.."guess." Jest'. had heard in that
. miserable
midnight the discussion of his future, and,
having a well-foundeldread of the selectmen's
tender mercies, had given a last caress to his.
dead mother and run away to Boston, where.
be , shipped for -a ;whaling-voyage, was cast,
away.on. the Newfoundland shore after ten
years of sea-life, and' being at that time a
stout youthof twenty, sick of his seamanship,
he.had hired hiniselt to work in a stone-yard,
and by the time he was thirty-five had laid.
up enough money !to return a thrifty ',ache..
1,,e,. end,-buying a little farm on Plainfield
Hill, settle down-to . his ideal of life, and be
crime the, amusement of part of the village,
and the oracle of the rest.
•• We boys adored Uncle Josh, for he . sPas
always ready to rig, our bolts, spin: us yarns
a week long, and fill our pockets with apples
red and russet as his own honest face. )Vith
the belles of the ;village, Uncle Josh had no
such favor; he would wear a pig-tail in spite
of scoff and remonstrance ;- he would smoke
''a cutty- . pipe; and be did 'swear like a sailor,
from mere habit and forgetfnlness, for no
Man, not professedly'religious, had a diviner
instinct of :reverence and wow hip than he :
but it was as instinctive for him to swear as
it was to breathiN :and 'some of oar . bbldi v
speculative.and lew-despising youngsters held
that it was no -harm in him, any more than
• "gosh" and " thunder" were in us; for real
ly he meant no . inore... . .
. Hew-ever, Utiele Josh did not quite recip
nicate the entOnpt; of the sex ; before fling
be began to make Sunday night visitations at
Deaeue Stone'.,!to " 1,.i,hi., 41%.; 1,,.t. o .morn
ings," to step-slop, ! and
-wear - a stitT cellar
and stock, insteo of the open tie ho had kept,
with the pie-tail, long after jacket and tar
, paulia• had pig
dismisSed the service; so
the village directly discovered that Josh
Crane was courting - -the schoOl-mistres - s,
".Miss Eunice," who r ' boarded .at beacon
- , Stone's... W iiiit Miss Eunice's surname
might be I iie.vio- knew, nor did it much mat
ter ; she . was the most kindly, timid, and
lovable creature that ever tried :to reduce a
• diariet schwil into manners and arithmetic :
she lives irk-airy memory still, 'a tall, slight
figure, witt6ltetiyter brOwn eyes, and a sad
face, its broad lovely forehead shaded with
silky light hair, and her dress always dim
tinted, faded' perhaps, but scrupulously neat
and stable.' ..
Every bodyl knew why Miss Eunice looked
soek and sad, and why she was still
" M . s" Enniee: she had been disapp'intcel ;"
she .
tt i
loved a man.better than he loved her,
and, therein Copying the sweet angels, made
a fatal mistake; broke her, girl's heart, and
went bekeeping school fora living.
All the yOung people 'pitied and patron ; .
lied her: all the old. women ;Treed that she'
was " areal Clever little fool!" and men-re
garded her With a species•of wonder and cu.. ,
riosity, first, for . having a breakable heart, ;
and, next, for putting that member to fatal
-harm for one of their kind : but
• boys ranked
Miss Eun:ce even above' Uncle Josh; for :
£here lives its boys a -certain kind ofthivalry,
before the werld has sneered it out of them,
that regardsl a sad or' injured woman' as a
creature &alining all their, care and protec
tion ; and it was with a thrill of virtuous in
dignation that we heard of Josh Crane's in-'
tentions toward. Mise, Eiinice ; nor.:W ere wez
very pitiful Jof our old'
.friend, when Mrs.
Stone annourieed.to old. Mrs. Ranney, (who,
. was as-, deaf' as a - post, and therefore very.
useful; passi4ely, in spreading news confided ,
to her,lss this was in the church porch,) that.
" Miss' Eunitis wa'n't a - goin' to hey' Josh
'Crane, 'cause he wa'u't a professor; but she
'didn't want nobody to tell on't," 'so every
-body did: .. l ", - - .
It was, beside, true, : Miss Eunice was a
sincerely religious woman, and though Josh
Crane's simple, fervent love-making had
stirred a thrill .within : her, she bad thought
quite impossible, still, she did not think It
Was right to i marry an irreligious man, nnd
she told lion so with a meek firmness, that
quite broke down poor Uncle Josh, and he
went back - _tio. his farming • with profounder
respect thaniever for
. Miss Eunice, and a
miserable opinion of himself.
• But be.wa4 a person without guile of any
sort: he would have cut off his pig -tail, sold
hit . tobacco-keg i;tried not to swear for her
sake, but he 'coL,ld not- pretend. to be pious,
and he did not. ' . . .
- A year or t W(,) afterward, however, when
both had qui' got pastthe shyness of meet
ing, and setide, if not forgotten time past,
t
there was a r vival of religion in Plainfield—'
no great exc . ' merit, but a quiet springing up
of" good se4," sown in..past generationS it
may be, and jonong the softened hearts -And
moist eves were those of Uncle Josh, Illis
motherfs PraYers had slept in the leaves of
.his mother's -IBible, sod now they awoke to.
be . antiwered. I . : .
It was etiangely touching, even to .old
Parson Pitchitr, Tong used to such interviews
with the 'oddest of all people under excite
ment—rugged "New-Englanders—to see the
simple pattiOe that vivified Uncle Josh's story
of his experience; and when, in 'the midst of
of a sentence about his dead mother, and, her
petitions for his safety, with 'tears dripping
down both abet, he - burst into a hallelujah
taetre, time, sci till the wonls---:- -
Mill
66 FRELEDortm aago 211ON'T aakti / 4,1r ©LAMERY amp wßomaa_99
!MIMI
.M.ONfROSEi 17.1iii : RIA*.:OCT0'13ER '1; :1857a
- "Though seed He buried long in dust," etc. .
and adding to the diversity of rhythm the dis:-
eordanee of his sea-pracked voice, it was :a
doubtful matter to Parson Pitcher whether
he should laugh -or ,cry ; and he Was forbed
to compromise with a hysterical snort, just
as Josh hroUght out the last word of the verse
on a pit-lint • •r:
"Crci-e-e-o.ep •
. ,
So earnest; and honest was he, that, for a
whole week after ho had been examined. and
approved by the Church committee as.a Pro
bationer, he never once thought ot Miss u
nice ; when, suddenly, tis he was reading
Bible, and came across the honorable nientiou
of that name by the apostle, ho- recollected,;
with a sort' of shame-fiteed:Selighit, thatinaw,l
perhaps, site
‘ woUld hare him : so, : withinoi
further. ceremony than reducing his gostyi
flax-colored hair to brder, by means.of a ptick-1
et-comb, and washing his hands,at the pump,
away he strode to the school-house, where it
was Miss Eunice's custom to linger . after
school till her fire was burnt low etiono o li.to
" rake up.";
Josh looked in at the
,windoW,as he "brought
to" (in his own phrase) " alongside- the school
'us," and there sat the lady 'of his love, knit
ting a blue stocking; with an empty chair
most propitiously placed be*fide her in front
of the fireplace, Josh's heart rose upt-niitht
ily, but hei knocked as little -a knock
.as his
great knudkles could effect,, was Lidded, in,
and sat, hithseif down on the chair in a parox
ysm - of bashfolness,.noWii:e helped by Milk
Eunice': dropped eyes and persistent Waite
So he sat full fifteen minutes, every now and
then clearing his throat in a vain attempt to
introduce the point, till at length; desperate
enough, he made a dash into the middle of
things, and buid,led 0% er with: - "Miss Eu
nice, I've gut religion 1 I'm sot out for 4) be
a real pliant 11101. ca n 't you feel to Itev'; me
now ?" -; .
What Ati,S Entiiee's little trembling lips
answered, cannot say, but I . know it *as"
sattsfactory . to Josh, for his first rt verent tm
.pule, after he gathered up her low words
was, to clasp his bands and say—" Amen,".
as if somebody had nskckl a blessing; per
haps he felt le had received one in Miss Eu . -
nice.
When spring came they were married,.und
'were ha . ppy Yankee fashior, without comment
or demonstration, but very happy. Uhele
Josh united with the church, and was no
grace to his profession, save and -except in
one thing—he would swear.! Vain)) , [did
denconc,, 'brethren, and pastor
n assol hint with
m
exhortation, rem on putl *“... 1 vain.
:y did his meek wife look at him Nvith plead
ing eyes:: vainly did be himself 'repent; and
strive and watch; "the t k tutrip it Dagon re
mained," was not to he. easily uprooted...
. At length Patron Pitcher, being greatly
seanda,lizA at Josh's expletives, used unluck
ily in a somewhat melted meeting on church
business,4(for in prayer4neetinp he never
answcred,any calls to rise,)est haliit . should
get the Critcr of him, and shtick the:- very
sinners H tbight exhort) l'arsoli . Pitcher him
self made a pastoral call at the farm, and
found its master in the garden hoeing corn
manfully;
"Goodc
-da, Mr. Crane!" said the old
.
centlem an.
" Good-day, Parson Pitcher, good-day !
d— ha day, sir," answered the unconscious
Jo.h,
" Nilt So hot as 411 for swearers!" sternly
responded the Parson, xhri, being of a family
renowned in New England tor noway
min -
ing matters, sometimes verged upon profni
ty himself, though -unawares. Josh` threw
down his hoe in despair. • •
= "Oh Lord !" said, he, " there it goes again;
I-sweirl the d dose it ! lf.„I don't
keep • a . goins! ParsA Pitcher, what
shall I dew ? it swears of itself. lam clean
beat tryin' tohead itofl: eon- 7 -- not I mean
&infuse it all ! such an old band at the
wheel, sir !" •
"Luckily for Josh, the old Parson's risibles
were hardly better in haintthan his own pro
fanity, and it took him. now a long time to
pick up his vine, which he had dropped in
the currant-bushes, while, Josh stood among
the corn-hills wiping the sweat off- his brow,
in an abject state of penitence. and humility ;
and; as! the Paison emerged like the fall
moon final' the leafy currants, he felt more
eharltably toward . josh than be hid done be
fore. "It is a very bad thing, Mr.-Crane."
said he; mildly. " NUt merely for y ourself,
but it scandalizes the church-niembers, and I
think you should take, severe measures to
break up the habit." .
NViat . tipon airth shall I do, sir ?"
.pite
ously Asked JuSh, "it's the d—dent plague !
oh! I swan to "man I've - done it agin !" _
And here, with a long howl, Josh threw
himself down - in the weeds, and kicked out
like a half-breken colt, -wishing, in his soul the
-earth *ould bide him, and trying to fed-as
bad as he ought to, fur his honest conscience
sturdily- refused to convict him in ibis mat
ter, faithful ae it vas in• 'randy-less:sounding
sins, • _
1 grieve to Fay that Parson Pitcher got
behind an apple-tree, and there—cried, per
haps! for he was wiping his eyes and shaking
all over when he walked oft and JOsh, getting
up considerably in a sta' e of d ust,;if not ashes
and sackcloth, looked Sheepishly übout fur
his reprover, but he was gone.
. Parson. Pitcher convened ^the deacons and
a few of. the uneasy brethren that night in his
sWdy, and expounded to, then. the duty of
charity for paople who would sleep iu 'Meet
ing; had to drink bitters fur their stomachs'
sake ; 'never came to missionary meetings for
fear of the contribution box; or swore Without
knowing it : and.. as Deacon Stone did now
And then snore under the pulpit, and Brother
Eldridge had a " rbeumatiz" that nothing but
chokeberry rum would cure, and that is very
apt tO affect the head, and Brother Peters
bad so firm a conviction that money it the
mot of all evil, that he kept his from spread.
ing, they all agreed to have patience with'
Brother Crane stongue-ill ; and Parson Pitch;
er smiled as he shut the door behind them;
thinking of that first. stone that no elder nor
ruler could throw.
Nevertheless, be paid another visit to Josh
the next week, and found him in a hopeful
state. .
"I've hit on't now, Parson Pitcher!" said
be, without waiting fur a more usual saluta,
tien.'. "Miss Eunice she helped, me; she's a
muter cretur for inventions.; i I'siettgti
there! that's IC! When I'm a goin' to speak
quick, I.natelt up soinethin 'else thees got the
same: letter on the bows, and 'I tell yew! it
goes t- 7 , r else somethin' Bolls! I see
them d-dipper sheep is in m 7 corn--sit aout !
here he scrambled a*ay after the stray sheep,
just in time for ,the Parson, w h o had quieted
his face rind walked in to see Mrs. Crime,
when Josh came back, dripping, atd exclaim
ing "Peppers/rase!, them is the d-drowndedst
sheep I ever seer! ,
This new spell of " Mists &nice's," as Josh
always called his wife, worked well while it
was new ; but the unruly tongue relapsed,
and meek Mrs. Crane had grown to look upon
it as she would upon a wooden leg, had- that
been Josh's infirmity—withoity and regret,
the poorest result of a charity Which "endur
ed* and hOpeth all things," eminently her
ruling trait, . .
everything else went on prosperously:
tbo farm paid well, and Josh laid bp Money,
but never for himself They had no 'children,
a sore disappointment : to both, their kindly
hearts, but all the poor and orphan little ones
in the town seemed to have a special claim on,
their care and help : "nobody.everwent away
hungry from Josh's d&r, or unconsoled from
Miss Eunice's "keeping room;" .everybody
loved theta both; and in time people forgot
that Josh swore ; bat he never did : a keen
pain discomforted lire whenever lie saw a
chldlook up astonished at his oath He hag
grown so far toward "the full ear," that ,he;
understood what an offense his habit was, and
it pained him very much that it could not be
overcome even in so long a . trial ;* but soon
other things drew on to change the current
of Josh's penitent theavhts..
lie had been 'married about ten years when
Miss Eunice began to show' signs of failing
health :.'she was, after the.. Yankee' custom,
somewhat older . than her husband, and of too
delicate make to endure the hard life Con
necticut farmers' wives must, or do lead.—
Josh was as fond of her as• he could be, but
did not know hrov to demonstrate it ; all
&sorts of comforts she had, as far as friod, and
tire,•and clothing went, but no recreation : no
public amusements over visited Plainfield, a.
- sparse and quiet villsge far oft the track of
any railroad ; the flamers could not spend
time to drive round the country with their
wives, or to gri visiting, except now and then
on Sunday nights via neighbor's ; sometimes
to a paring or husking bee, the' very essence
of which was work.; once-a -year a donation
party et the minister's.; and a rare attend
ance upon the sewing circle, distasteful to'
Josh; who must get and eat his supper alone
in that case—these were r.all the amusements
Miss Eunice know. Books file bad none, ex
cept. her .Bible, Boston's Fourfold State; a
dictionary -and an .arithmetic, relics• of her
school ; and, if ever she wished for more, she.
repreSset the thow nu lot to be
enough : she did not know. or dared not be
conscious, that humanity needs something for
its lesser and trivial life, that "by all these
thir.gs men live," as well as by the word and
by bread.
-
So she drudged on uncomplainingly,. and
after ten years of patience and laborlook-to
her bed, and was pronounced by the -Plain
field doctor to have successively "a spine in
the , back." a." rising' of the linigS,". and a
" gittaral erimplaint of the light." (was it vt
tarrhal ?). Duly was she 'blistered, plaster
eti, and finnented; dosed '.With Brandretb's
pill, mullein root in cider, tansey, burdock,
bitter-sweet, catnip, and honeset teas ; sow
bugs tickled into a ball and swalloWed alive;
dried,rattlesnakes' flesh; and the powder of a
red.squirrel, shut into:a red-hot oven living,
baked till powderable, and then put through
that process in a mortar, - and. administered
fasting.
Dearly beloved; l am not imvizing.—
All these. and sundry other and filthiermed
icaments, which I refrain from mentioning,
did once, perhaps do still, abound in the is
lands of this Yankeedoin, and slay their thou
sands yearly, as with the jaw-bone of an ass.
Of course Miss Eunice pined and languish
ed, not merely from:the "simples" that she
swallowed, but because the 'very fang that
had set itself in the breast of JOsh's. gentle
mother gnaWed and rioted in hers. Atleng,th•
some idea of this kind occarred to, Uncle
Josh's mind : he tackled up 'Boker, the old
horse, and set out for Sunbury . ; where there
(7,1.
lived a doe rof some eminence, and return
ed in trim with Dr. Sawyer following in
his own gi i ,. .
Miss Eunice was carefully examined by
the physician, a pompous but kindly man,who
saw at once there was no hope and no help
for his fluttered and panting patient
" When the millennium comes, let us. hope
It. will bring physicians of sufficient fortitude
to forbear dosing in hOpeleas cases.. It is vain
to look fbr such in the present condition:.of
things, and Dr. Sawyer was no better than
his kind ;.he hemmed,-hawed, screwed up one
eye, felt Miss Eunice's pulse again, and ut
tered, oracularly : '
" I think a portion of some sudorific feb
rifuge - would probably allay Mrs. Crane's
hectic.". : -.1
" Well,' expect it would," .confidently. as.
serted Josh ; " can I get it to the store, doe-
tort"
- "No sir !.it should be compounded In
,the
family, Mr. Crane." .
" Dew tell !" responded Josh, rather crest:
Allen, but brightening up as the doeter went
on to describe, in all the polysyllables he
could muster, the desirable fluid ; at the end
Josh burst out joyfully wittk—
" I sw-swan.! t'ain't nothin' but, lemonade
with gumarabic in't !" :
~Dr. Sawyer gave him a look 0/contempt,
and took his' leave, Josh laboring under the
profound and happy 'conviction that nothing
ailed Miss Eunice, if lemonade ' was all that
1 she needed ; while the doctor called, on,..hii
way home, to see Parson Pitcher, and to him
confided the mournful ;fact, that Mice Eunice
wasgetting ready for heaven fast, could
scarcely linger another week by . any mortal
help. Parson Pitcher grieved truly, for he
loved and respected Eunice, and held' her'as
the sweetest and brightest.example of unob
trusive religion in all his church; moreover,
he knew bow Jcstvwould Teel, and be dread
ed the task of conveying to hiti this painful
intelligence. resolving, nevertheless, to visit
them next day with that intent; as it was now
too near night to make it convenient..
But a more merciful and able Shepherd
than be preceded him, and' apued Josh the
lingering ,agony of In expectation
.that could
do him no good: Miss Eiinicee had a reitless
night after Dr. Sawyer's iiisit i .foi, With 'the
preternatural keenness of,..ber disease, she
read the truth in his eye and tone,' and,
though she had long looked on to this end,
and was ready'to enter into rest, the near
ness of that untried cure agitated her and for
bade her sleep • but faith, unfailing in bitter
need, P.altni4 it" at leostb, and with peace
written upon her face she slept till dawn : a
*udden pang awoke her, and her start roused
Josh; he lifted heron the pillow, where - the
led morning light showed her gasping and
gray with death ;hd tamed all cold. , •
" Goad-bye, Josh r' said her tender voice,
fainting as it Apoke,.and with one upward
rapturous' look of-the soft brown eyes they
closed forever, and,-her bead fell bitek on
Josh's shoulder, dead. - •
There the neighbor, who " did
. chores" fur
her of late, found the two, when she came, in.
Josh had changed since his mother . died,for
'the moment 111ris.Casey lifted his wife from
his arm, and laid her patient, peaceful. face
back on..ita - pillow, Josh flung himself down
beside her, and cried aloud with the 'pasSion
and eSsness of a child.. Nobody could
rouse hi obody could. move him, till Par
son Pitch me
. .in, and taking his
,hand,
raised and 4 lerhim into the keeping-room.—
There Josh brushed Ai the inlet before, his
drenched eyes with • the, back of 'his rough,
hand, and looked straight atParson Pitcher.
Oh Lord! - dead," said he, as if he
alone of all the world knew it. • . •
"yes, my son, she is dead," solemnly re-.
plied the Parson ; " it is the will of- God, and
you must consent."
" I can't! I can't !I a'n't a goin' to," sobbed
Josh—" tn'n't no use taikin', if - I'd only.'x
pected somethin', its- that doctor ! Oh
Lord I've swore,
and Bliss Eunice issdead
oh gracious goody ?• what be.l s goin' to dol
oh dear ! oh dear ! oh Miss Eunice !"
Parson Pitcher could not even smile—the
poor fellow's grief was too deep. What
could he think of- to console him, but that
deepest comfort to the bereaved, her better
state. "My dear fiend, be comforted ! Eu
nice is with - the blessed in heaven !"
"I know it! I know it ! she alters waS nigh
about fit to get there without dyin'. Oh Lord !
she's gone to heaven and ha'n't! -
No—there was-no "consoling Uncle Josh;
that touch of nature shoV•ed it. He was
alone and refused to be coinforted ; so Parr
son ritcher made a fervent prayer for the liv
ing, that unawares merged into a thanksgiv
ing for the dead, and went his way, sorrow
fully convicted that • his holy office had in it,
no' stip'entatural power or aid, that some
things aro too deep and too mighty for mail.
Josh's grief raved itself into worn Out de
jection, still too,poi.snant to bear the gentlest
touch ; his groans and cries were heart-break
ing at the funeral; and it seemed ns if he
would realty die with agony, .avhile the do
spairing wretchedness of the funeral hymn .
the wailing edenceS of- " China," poured
round the dusty and cobwebbed meeting
house t.o. which they carried 'his wife, in her
coffin, one sultry r August Sunday, to utter
prayers and hymns above her who nowneed
ed no prayer, and heard the hymns of heaven.
After this, Josh retired to his own honke,
and, according to Mrs. Casey's story, neither
-slept nor ate ; but this was somewhat apoc
ryphal, and three days after the funeral, Par
son Piteher, betaking 'himself to the Crane
tarot, annul -utietv.
clothes-pegs on his door-step, - but. looking
very down-cast and miserable. . •.
" Good-morning, Mr. Ciane!" said the
good divine. .
"Mornin' Parson Pitcher! hev' a cheer?"
The Parson satdown on the bench :of - the
stoop, and wistfully surveyed Josh, wonder
ing how best to introduce the subject of his
loss; but the refractory Widower gave no sign,
mid at length the Parson spoke. .
I hope you begin to be resigned to the
will of ProvidenCe, - my dear Mr. Crane ?"
"No I.don't a sneek hishestly 'retorted
Josh. Parson Pit Cher was shocked. -
"I hoped 'to find '4ll in a better frame,"
said he. . .
"I can't help it. !" exclaimed Jog, flinging
down a finished peg emphatically.. , "I a'n't
resigned I I want 'Miss Eunice ! I a'n't wil
lin' to have her dead, I can't and I a'n't, and
that's the hull on't ! and I'd a -- - -sight ruth
er—oh goody ! I've swore Agin. Lord-a
massy I n she a'n't here to look at me when
I do, and I'm goin' straight to the d—.
Oh land ! there it goes ! oh dear Soul, can't a
feller help himself nohow ?"
i -' And with that Josh burst into a passion of
,ears, and fled past Parson Pitcher into the
barn, from whence he emerged no more.till
the minister'a steps were heard crunching on
the gravel path toward the gate, when Josh,
persistent as Galileo, thrust his head out of
the barn window, and repeated in a kinder
and more strenuous key, " I a'n't Willin',
Parson Pitcher!" leaving the Parson in - a du
bious state of mind, on which he ruminated
for some weeks,finally, concluding to_leaVe
Joshlalone with his 'Bible, till time should
blunt the keen edge of his pain, and - reduce
him to reason ; and he noticed with great sat
isfaction, that Josh came regularly to church
and conference meeting', and at length re
sumed his.work with a due amount of corn
pcAure.
There. was in the village or Plainfield a
certain Miss Burney, daughter of - the afore
said Mrs. Ilanney, the greatest vixen in those
parts, and of course an old maid. Her tem
per and tongue had kept off suitors in her
youth, and had in nowise. softened since.--
- Her name was Sarah, familiarized into Sally,
and as ehe grew 'up to middle age, that pleas
ant, kindly title being .sadly out of keeping
with her nature, everybody
,called her Sall.
Ran., and the third generation scarce knew
she had another name. •
Any Uproar in the village always began
with Sall Ran, and woe be, to the unlucky
boy who pilfered an apple under the over
hanging trees of Mrs, Itanney's orchad by
the road, or tilted the well-sweep of her sfo
ny-turbed well to get a drink ; Sall was down
upon the offender like a hell-storm, and cuffs
and shrieks mingled in wild chorus with her
shrill scolding, to the- awe and consternation
of every child within half a mile. .
Judge, then, of. Parson. Pitcher's Amaze
meat, when, little more - than a year atter
Miss Eunice's death, Josh was ushered into
his study one evening, and after stroking a
new stove-pipe hat for a long time,
at length
said be had "come to speak about heirs' pub.
fished." The Parson drew it, long breath,
partly for the. mutability of man e partly from
pure wonder. .
-" Who are you going to marry, Mr. Crane?"
said be, after a pause: another, man might
bare softened the style of his wife to be--not
Josh. . .
"Sall Ran," said be, undauntedly. Par
son Pitcher arose from !his chair. and with
both hands in his pockets advanced upon Josh
like horse and foot, together; but he stoodhis
ground.
"What in the name of common sense and
decency, do you mean by marrying that wo-
=M&MMM
~...-
PUBLISHER --7:914 . . 8.:NO. 8a:
man, Josh-uway Crane?" thundered the Par
sou.
. " Well, of you'll set, down, Parson Pitcher,
I'll tell ye the rights on't : you see I'm dread
ful pestered with this here swearin' way I've
got'; I kinder thought it would
. wear off - if
Miss Eunice kepa looking at me, but she's -
died," here Sosh 'interpolated a .great blab,
bering Sob.' " And I'm g'ettin" sod bad !
there !you 'see Parson I de swear dreadfnr;*
and I artit no more resigt, led to her - dyin'.
then I used ter - p bccital I can't sten' it, so I Set
to fi,gerin' on it out, -- and I guess I've lived
too easy, han't had enough 'flictiotis and tri
als; so I concluded I bed oug,hter put myself
to the wind'ard of some squalLs r° 's to learn
navigation, and•l couldn't tell bow, fill sud
denly I brought to mind Sall Ban, who is
the .d— and alLoh dear.! I've .nigh about
swore agin'! and I ,concluded . : she'd be the
nearest to a ~cat-o-nine-tails could„, get ta .
tew ter me,, and Vim, I —relaccted_xlat..pld_
Cap'n TlMmas used to say, whew! was a boy
aboard of whaler : Boys,' sez he, `you're
oilers sot to hev' your own way, and you've
got .ter heir' mine, so's its.pooty clear that I.
shall flog vou to rope-yarns or else you'll hey`
,to make li"lieve my way's •yourn, suit
all round.' .So you see, Parson Pitcher, I
wa'n't a goin' to put myself in a way to
quarrel with the Lord's will agin,' and I don't
expect you to hey' nu such trouble with me
twice, as you've hed sence Misi Eunice, up
en' died. I - swan, give - up reasonable next
time, seein' it's Sall !"
Hardly could Parson Pitcher stand this
singular screed of doctrine; or the ShreWd and
self-satisfied, yet honest expression •of
. fitee
With which Josh _clenched his argument.---
Professing
. hiniself in great haste to study; he •
promised to publish as well as to . marry
Josh, and, whenhis odd parishioner Was out
of hearing, inflidged himself with a long fit,tif
laughter, almost inextinguishable, over-Josh's
patent chriStinizer. •
Great waathe astonishment of the whole.
congregation on, Sunday, when Joshes inten
thms were.given out. from 'the pulpit; .and
strangely mixed and hesitating the congratu
lations he received after his marriage. ' which
took place in the foilowing week. , Parson
Pitcher Cook a curious interest-in the success
of Josh's project; and had to acknowledge its
beneficial effects, rather against his will..
Sall Bari was the best of house-keepers, as
scolds are apt to'be ; or is, it in reverse . that
the rule
. began ? She kept the farm-house,
Quakerly clean,
,and every garment of her
husband's scrupulously mended arid . refresh
ed ; but if the smallest profitnity_es4ed Un
cle Josh's lips, he did indeed " hear thunder,"-
and; with the ascetic devotion of a Guyouist,
he. endUred every objurgatory torrent to the
end, though his soft and Kindly heart-would
now and then cringe and quiver in the pro.
cess. •
It was . all for his good, he often-said, and
by the time Sall Rar. had been in Miss Eu
nice's place for an , .eqtial term of years, Un
cle Josh had become so mild-spoken, so kind,
bilio dead wife -mu* be is
rejoiced over it in heaven; even as his breth
ren. did On earth.
And now came the drowning honor of his
life. Uncle Josh was made a deacon. Sail
celebrated the event by a new black -;silk
frock, and asked Parson Pitcher hoine to tea
after the church meeting, and to such a tea as
is the great glory of -a New England house
keeper. Pies, preserves, cake, hiscuit, bread,
short-cake, cheese, honey, fruit; and cream,
were pressed, and pressed again upon the tin
lucky Parson, till he was quite in the condi
tion of-Charles Lamb and the omnibus, and
gladly saw the signal of retreat - from the ta
ble, he withdrawing himself to - the bench on
the stoop, to breathe the odorous June. air,
-afid talk over matters - and things -with - Dea
con Josh, while," Miss Crane cleared oft"
Long and. piously the two worthies talked,
and. at length came -a brief pause, broken • by
-Josh.
- " Well, Parson Pifchq, that 'are esikerld-
Lion of mine about Sall did t come out nigh on-.
ter right; didn't itr z"
" Yes, indeed, my good friend !" - . returned
the parson ; the trial she has : . been to you
:tuts• been really blessed, and shows most -
:'str"ikingly the use of disciplinetin_this life."
" Yes !" said Jorlf, " if Miss Eunice had
livedj don'tAnow but 'what I should .'a been
a swearin' man to this day ; but
,Sall, she's,
rated it out a' me; ..and I'm, gettin' real re
signed, too.';
The meek complacency of the confession
stillgleamed in Uncle Josh's eyes, as he went
in to prayers, but Sail , Ran looked . redder
than the crimson, peonies on her posy-bed, •
Parson Pitcher made an excellent prayer,
particularly descanting on the use of trials;
and when he came' to, an end, and arose- to
say good-night, Mrs. 'Crane had vanished, so.'
he had to go home _without taking. leave of
her. Strange to say, during the' following
year, a rumor crept through the village; that
7. Miss Deacon Crane" had not been heard to
scold once for months; that shd even held
her tongue under provocation ;, this last fact
being immediately put to the test by a few
evil-minded -and investigating boys; -who pro
ceeded _to pull her fennel-bushes through the
pickets, and nip the yellow heads, receiving
for. their audacious thieving no
.rnote,than a
mild request not to "do thati"which actual.
ly shamed them into apologiiing;;; -
With this confirmation,-even Parson Pitch
et., began to be credulous of the 'report, and
sent direetlylor Deacon Crane . to visit him.
"How's . your wife, Deacon?" said 'the
Parson, as scion as Josh was•fairly'seated
the study. - • •. . • •
Well, Parsciri Pitcher, - she's most onsar.-
tinly changed. I : don't believe she's got riled
more'n - once, or gin it to - me once for six
-
months."
"Very singular !", said Paton Pitcher. "I
am glad for. both of your; but what seems to.
have wrought upon her ?" • -•- •
" Well!" said Uncle Josh, with a queer
glitter in his expect she must', ben
to the winder that night you'll I sot a talkin'
on the stoop- about 'fictions and : -her.; for
-text daY I stumbled and - Spilt a - o' - nevi
milk onto the kitchen*floor, that- - alters riled
her; so I began to Oh, sear
.! I'msor
ry ' Sall V when she ups right away, ind.sez
she—Josh, Crane ;:you'Ve done with 'fictions
in this world ;21 . snan't - neter - .scold you no
more. I 'aint a going to made a pack
horse to carry pay husband to heaven !' and
she never - said noMore-to
,me, nor. t to her,
but she's_ ben nigh about as pretty-behaved as
Miss Eunice ever shier, andl hope 1 shan't
take to swearin., guess I shan't,' but Vtin
'feel kinder crawly about beite resigned."
FlOwever, Uncle Josh's troubles were over.
Sall Randropped- her simile for '" Aunt Sal
.
r
KS
-
z 44
=
:.:~~:~
;. ~:~-~<
_-f:-:.:I.:1 , ':':::,,' , :.
MIS
and dna . lly joined the church, and -as -
good in her strenuous way as her husband in
his ineeknees, for there are "+liversities- of_
gilts:" and when the Plaineld bell, one au-
turnn day, lolled, a. long
. series, of eighty
strokes, and deacon Crane was gathered . to
his rest in the daispsptinkled burying-yard _ •••
beside Miss Eunice ; he young minister who:
succeeded Parson Pitcher had almost as bard
task to console Aunt Sally , as his predeces
sor had to instill resignation, ona like °ces
sion, into_Uncle
Hovi THE 'DEVIL LOET:-•••••ThE following hi -
too good to be lost. We clip it from an ex-
change met, and respectfully call-theatten
.tion :to it of some persomi who feet disposed
to spread In the newspaPer lino. - -
A young man whit ardently - desired wealth,
was visited '• by his 'Satanic . majeitY,- - who
tempted him to promise his soul for eternity,
ifbe:rnntd be„,snonliisa-e.....d.4....sarth_with all
the money he could use. The .bargain -
'enneluded—the devil was to supply the mon
ey, and was at last to have the soul, unless • ,
the yonng man could spend more money than -
the devil could furnish... Years passed away
—the man married, was , extravagant in his
living, built palaces, spieulated widely—ldst;
and gave away fortunes, - and - yet his coffers
were always full. He tirned politician, and
bribed his way to power,and fame without •
reducing his " pile of. gold. He became a
" filibuster," and fitted oat ships and armies„
but his banker honored all his drafts.
~1.113
went to St. Paul ti? live, and paid the usual ,
-rates of interest for all the money he could
. borreW, but though the devil made wry fades •
when • be mine to pay the bills, yet they were
all paid. One expedient after another failed .-
-the
—the devil counted the , time, only two years.
.that he must wait for the soul, and mocked
the efforts of the despairing man. One more
trial was resolvCd 'upon-the man started a
newspaper ! The devil grdwled at the bill -
. at the end of the first quarter, was savage in
six months, melancholy in nine,land broke
" dead broke," at - the end of the year.
the' newspaper went down; but the soul was
saved.
- s
A LITERAL RUNAWAY I`f'AtCll.-A capital
story is told by s Texas paper of a runaway
match that came off in that State. It seems
that a couple had resolved to get married,
notwithstanding the opposition, of parents
and relativett of every degree, and securing
the co-operation of a friendly -clergyman ;-
they all three mounted their horses and set
out for a friend's mansion several miles,dis
tent, where the rites could be solemnized
without interference.. They -had not one
far, hovre% er, before_ their :flight was discov
ered, and then there, was as much mounting,
and racing and chasing= as occurred on 'the
occasion of "Young Lochinvar's" celebrated
elopement with the Netberhy maiden.. The ,
lovers and- their faithful pastor soon. heard
the noise of approaching pursuers and gave
their horses the spur. - - I3ut alas! their el l e:
mica were better mounted and gained fast
upon them. It was evident they would soon
be captured, when a felictious .inspiration- of
the maiden came to their 'aid. "Can't you
marry us as we run l" she shouted to the
clergyman. The idea " took," and the - pastor
at once commenced the. ritual. All parties
covered themselves with glory, and just as
the bride's father clutched her bridle-rein,
the clergyman pronounced the lovers man
and Wife. When the ola• gentleman first
learned what bad been done, he was- inclined
to - be furious; but being a gallant old fellow
and admiring a dashing action, he soon con
cluded to forgive the runaways,-in considera
tion of the handsome and novel manner in
which they triumphed over hits.
A COOL AfENGER.—A certain English
gentleman, who was a regular frequenter of
the green room of Drury Lane Theatre •in
the days of Lord Byron 's committee, .and
who always stood quietly on the hearth rug
there with his back to the fire, was in his
usual place one night when a narrative waa\ _
related by Another gentleman, newly , returne&
from the continent, of a barrier-duel 'that had'
taken place in Paris. A young Englishman.
—a - mere boy—had, been despoiled in agana- -
bling-house in the Palais Royal, had charged
a certain Count with cheating him had gone :
out-with the Count, had wasted his fire; and
litta been slain by,the Count under the fright
circumstances of the Count's'walking up
to him, laying his band en, his heart; saying,
"You are a brave felloiv—hve you a moth- 7
,era" and on - his replying in the affirmitive,
remarking coolly, am-sorry for her," and
bCuwing his victim's brains out.
'The gentleman on the heartli rug paused
in taking a pinch of snuff to hear the story,
and observed 'with great placidity, " I am
afiaid 1 must kill that reseal."
A few nights elapsed ; during which the
green room hearth rug was without him, and
then he re,appeared precisely at before, and;:
only incidently mentioned in the course. of
the 'evening, "Gentlemen, h killed that ras.
cat !" He, had gone over to Paris on purpose;
and tracked the Count td the same gambling
houie, had thrOwn a g,kass of 'wine in Ma face.
in 'presence of all the; company assembled
there, hid told that he was come - to.
avenge his young compatriot--and had done
it by putting the Count out or this world,
and coming - backto the hearth rug as it noth
ing had happened.--11thiseltaid Words.
NATURE A ND . Kranntoxi.--To decide
against marriage is first to trampleupon na
ture and philosophy. Natural 'affinities tine
sympathies must be igt, Miss Fiedg---
wick's experience with girls must have taught -
her that a hat-band is charged with heart
quickening suggestions, that a "bass voice is
wonderful music, and that the visiOn of a pair
of spurs is more charming than all the land
seapes in Lenox, to a company of Misses
anYwheie 'between thirteen to eighteen years
old. Ai for boys, we know all about, them.
We reecigniied an. unttccountable Charm in a
waist at the premature ago of eight, the waist
being five yetuts old" or thereabouts." and
I was killed at thirty pa.Fes by the graceibl
swing of a skirt just. as we_steppQd into -the
golden septehrtiad of the teens. Oar young
est, a daughter, who is said to resembla---
wcll no trailer, whom--44 already talking
about i a husband, sod she tuts. 'mat seen her
fifth wintet. Where she got the idea is more
than we can tell, but her doll is-a boy, "as
true as You lire." Falstaff was a coward
upon instinct.; perhaps children are matrimo- ,
vial: in the same way .—Sprinkfield
. .Repud.
. •
fourth page, 10.4 column,
it