• %g.. e • • - • kttl ••• •• ;Tr r - ," •:." • , le;y! , r• f t v: ' =•;,•. jz - ?, -; ' , r ti -.- 1 • ; ,• , , ,peA. f • • .. ° • ,,.." 'Sv . . • • nOr ••• • Auk , k • . `" r-,•-qs4ll:,R‘ • ~•• r y~ • ‘ k • ZZ _ A FAMILY NE11181)A13E11, Cruoteb to Ncius, titrrature, poetru, itircl)anics, 'agriculture, tl)c Eliffusion of Useful Jan:motion, ecncral3ittelligence, 'Anittrieinent, OLUIVIE VII. THE LEIIIGII REGISTER, 'ls published in the Borough of Allentown. Lehigh County, every ti ednesday, by A. L. RUCHE, At $I 50 per annum, payable in advance, and $2 ou if not paid until the end of the year. No paper discontinued, until all arrearages are paid except at the option of the proprietor. L'"Office in Hamilton Street, one door East of the German Reformed Church, nearly opposite .he "Erirdenstiote" OfTi ce. poetical rjepattinent. (From Gleason's Pictorial) The Prairie. 'Behold the prairie, broad, and wild, and free, 'Ocean of emerald grass and golden flowers ! 'Tis God's own Garden, unprofaned by man ; •There the meek grass with its green finger points To Him who feeds it with his hand in clouds : And here the rainbow•tinted flowers send up Their pure, sweet offering of sinless balm; The yellow bee hums out his drowsy sung Upon the bosom of the wild white rose, To waste her nectar and h•_r honeymoon, And steal the radiant drop of crystal sweet, As a voluptuous lover steals the heart Of a confiding maid, then flies away, To stain with sensual kisses rosier cheeks. Let fading flowers of fickle bees beware! Here, striped with green and gold. the serpent, With deadly venom 'math his tongue of lire, Dangerous as malice hid in compliments. Here, showers of insecis guttering in Ole air, On gauzy wings, su various dyed, they 'seem The happy offspring of the gorgeous dowers. Gay birds, like winged blossoms filled with song Your lorik their rouadelaysfrom morn till eve ; The robin, bard of buds, whose ardent hymn Shines out upon his breast 01 flame. [brood• Builds here his neat round nest, and rears his That jewel of the air, ihe [Bright drops of sky and sunshine turned to song,] hiangs hiS moss cradle on the lonely tree, And there God rucks it with his mighty•hand, And watches it with all ihe stars (.1 heaven. The meadow lark.perched on someiowering stern , That hits its crimson bells above the grass, As a tall steeple rises in the town, Is prairie sexton ringing up the sun. And o'er this sea of fragrant beauty skims The twittering swallow, in pursuit of ; Plunging uo•deeper than the critics dip In the uttappreciated page they Al Bete chants the blackbuil his sable plumes, A bit of last night tangled in the hush; The thrush, the jay, the linnet, and the wren, Are prima donnas holding concerts here; While like a dot bt iween the earth and sky, The soaring eagle, royal king of birds, Poisel on his wings, calmly surveys the scene 4 iiaccllniicou i acicctiouta, (From Gl.ason's Illiriam's Choice. Miriam was a happy creature—our Miri am, 1 mean. A keen wit, a good mind, a pure, ocherous heart, were hers. 1 see her now ; her round, rosy cheek, her large lus trous eyes, her cherry mouth, with the sweet dimple on either side, and where smiles were constantly nestling, but which could most expressively curl and pout when it wishes to. tier laugh was peculiar. li would bubble and gush, and then roll and echo, like the sound of a brook among moun tains ; and in the midst of her hilarity she would clap her hands and dance, as though the pulse of her heart beat as good a timbrel as did Miriam of old. Miriam was a splendid specimen of health. She never feared exposure ; and all that the storm got when it beat against her in its wild est fury, when duty brought her out with its power, was a good tinging laugh, as a tink ling brook goes singing on its way, while the 4winzls roar, and the thunders mutter. amid the dat.k clouds. Miriam loved labor. How she would Work ! To see her roll up her •sleeves, and Stand up to the task, was to see 'a valiant spirit that could be grand any where ;and when you looked again, and saw the task performed it seemed as though a •charm had passed over the place, and that 'she had won to her aiatiihe fairies in which she devoutly believed. My admiration in creased When I discovered that the part of •the day that now and then was granted to her was always spent in toil for her mother, and not till the old lady was "as nice as a pin" in everything about home would she sit, an hour with her lover, or indulge in a stroll. ;Miriam dearly loved a stroll, way round the burying around, where the pixies lived —the little black, -Powerful wizzardy crea tures that carried oil faithless maidens, and were somehow benefactors to the good. On a dark night you could see theta like fire flies, flitting .hither add thither ; but woe to the maiden who distnained them ; for they would become ugly bats, then etaring owls, and then terrible giants, with eagles wings! Miriam deaty loved the pixies, and thought they were just right. She nei'et looked tante sober than when I laughed at her zeal . • . in their behalf, arid I never repeated it.— Everybody has their superstition and this 1 M i riarn's. 13ui not only where this class of the fai ries lived did our friend love to stroll. To her the rocks by the ocean shore were grand and she would play with the 1%11‘.5 . as things whose very strength was a delight. whose foam was the perfection of beauty; and her ringing laugh would sound liken cry of de 'iota, amid the rattle of the stones that rolled (lOWA with the returning billow. Standing in the moonlight, there by the ocean, when passing away to her home, Miriam, would cross her arms upon her breast, and look up with an expression that seemed to say that a nature which few knew was awakened , within her, shining there the stars, scarce visible, yet exerting a beautiful influence on "the attempered mind." She was a happy 'creature, and never did sunlight dance over the morning hill-tops more brightly than laughter sported on her face at our last meeting. It was the bloom of fruit too ripe to the core. Miriam was at service in a family I well knew, arid to her was granted one evening every week for recreation. On one occa sion as see was going out, she. observed that her mistress seemed uu willirt ~ and she turn ed round, swinging off her light hat, and ex claimed, "I'll not go out this evening. I'll stay and keep you company." The proposition was received with plea sure; so Miriam went for her sewing, and was soon seated at the little round table [glides . . whose red covering vied with the roses on her cheeks. There she sat with as merry a lace as ever beamed, and yet thoughtfully silent, in true sympathy with her •mis tress's illne s ; for she loved to talk as a foun tain seems to love to play ; and as spark hog and refreshing as the fountain was her con versation, so shrewd was her criticisms on character, and such a fund of anecdote and local history was in her keeping. "Corr•, Miriam, do not keep so still," said heranis tress. "Tell me something, that is pleasant tell me a story about your lovers, and how you like them." "Lovers !" exclaimed Miri am ; ought a young woman to have morn than one ?" "Yes if she can't help it," was the reply. Well there was a time when I couldn't," said Miriam ; •but I've made my choice now." She wits.no coquette, and cared not a farth ing for all the "conquests" she iuioht nave power to make. hut her good nature was boundlsss : and when the reception of atten tions for any one could make them happy for the time, she had no heart fo refuse them and it was easy to see how often this was done as the gracious belle in the hall-room gives her hand in the dance from politeness, and with none the less of grace of manner. The question of her mistress, asking her why she couldn't tell the story of her choice evidentit• touched a.deep feeling ; and her needle flew more swiftlyoill suddenly went into her finger. Miriam gave a little scream and put the bleeding finger in her mouth. us e threw the broken steel into the fire, exclaiming : "There I 1 wont use a sharp, take a blunt, I like em best." .11id you speak of your lovers, Miriam ?' asked her mistress with a jest in her tone. Miriam kissed the tortured finger, as she laughingly answered : "Yes, 1 guess it will do just as well for them, for lovers are like needles, "warran ted not to cut in the eye," and yet are all cliq time doing it." "Yes, 1 um thinking," answered her mis tress, "that William is your sharp, and Ilcn ry - your blunt,.—lsn't it so ?" As she said this, she placed herself more cozily in her armchair, sinking down into its soft cushions most comfortable as though sure of listening to a pleasant .story: Tne very expectation cured her of half illness, as she sat twirling a little lovelock round her finaer, at her temple. • Miriam turned arid gazed straight and steadily into her mistress's face, as though she would assure herself that she was nut being sported with. Then she seemed to hesitate, and to get time for deliberation, she broke her thread, bit ()Ira portion of it two or three times, and then looked through the eye of n needle, as she • held it up to the light, to see if it was clear, and then renew ed the threading. It was a pleasant sight to behold mistress and maid, and there they sat in the equali ty that true sympathy creates ; and howev er much of virtue and happiness may be pro moted, were there more of companionship, and less of command and service, in these relations in life. Miriam felt elevated by the interest which her mistress took in her "aflairs of the heart ;" and there was noth ing within her ability which she would not have cheerfully performed for that mistress that evening. She begun her story with a ringing laugh as though a shower of roses had been.thrown over by her ilv.ughts as she exclaimed: "You know William, but you dont liar- ry. This difference in giving the names told at,ence where her heart was, and her mis tress touched the right chord when she re plied s ALLENTOWN, LEHIGH COUNTY, PA., SEPTEMBER 14, 1853. .1 want to know Harry." "I mean you shall," said Mariam, "he's a jewel." Then came the story of how she made her choice. Among the many who were "attentive" to Nliriam, were William and Harry. whose sire names are of no con,equence in our story, and might riot prove poetical enough for the times. William was one of your spru Cc, dainty always nice and particular creatures, who seem always "fixed up" fur the occasion. One daguerreotype would represent his appearance for ) ears. Ile was the same in manners—smooth, precise, polished, and gentlemanly. Miriam liked I that. It suited her sensibilities and taste.— She said that when she lool,ed at his ever nice wristbands and' collars, the primness of ' every article lie wore, she thought of the work that must be required to keep all that right ; but for that she not care ; it made hum look so well, so genteel and nice. Nice was a great word with her. She was a per fect Philadelphian in her rage for cleanli ness ; she did not make it, as the old divine did, "next to godliness," for it was a part of , her religion ; and she was wont to say that baptism should come first, arid profession afterwards, that the vow might be made With clean lips, while pure hands were lift ed up. She had great faith in water and was eager to write a poem on the virtues of soap. William was so nice that she did like him. All his mariners were clean. And then, too, Ire would talk so wise and good—would tell her so many things about nature and philosophy and science, and was really edu cative to her mind, that was so passionate in its desire fur knowledge, having been sadly cramped in means for early culture. William always had sonic new !Merry for her—he had always been reading a new book, and would tell her about music, and the flowers and the stars, so that she found a beautiful thing, and the universe she felt was really informed by the Divine Spir it. It was true 'bliss to hang on his arm; and hear him talk so richly and touchingly; and he seemed to know so much, and to take such broad views to the fields of sci ence and art, that she felt it was an honor to be noticed by him. But - there was a latk that aflected her not a little. lie seemed to live too Much in himself. There was more of politeness than tenderness, more manner than feeling. Ile had no heart to make any elicit fur the poor or the• sick, and he was too critical to find in chorch-2,oing any satisfaction. She often found herself ask in , whether she loved soinethia, about him, or the man himself ? Ilarry was a wide contrast to his rival.— lie was inure closely packed in form than kViliittin, and was not so much drawn out. Ilk round and rosy face was like hers, and there was always tun beneath that cap that set so jauntly on his head, where the black curls so bounded. flis throat was open to the air by the liberal collar that was rolled over to let him breathe free: and he would wear no jewel but an anchor in gold, that, lie said, was the symbol of all good things— Mf stability amour storms ; for wiry should a man or an anchor slink away into poetic uselessness ? He liked the bird's song the best alter he saw the Creature light fur his nest and mato in the tree. Harry could talk, but it was about democracy and the country—what the newspapers said—what the discoveries were that g ave new means for progress ; and he could tellstories of the great men and the great deeds of our nation's career, till she could almost worship one who taught her what a greatness it was to . be an American. He had broad views about humanity—the, nations of the earth ; and he would talk over the wrongs of the oppressed till he struck his cap lirsner on his head, and his eyes would flash with terrible indignation. He had always a sprightly, freo and easy remark. for young men; but on the approach of an old man, he was grave and respectful, eager to say a kind word, or to do "the old gentleman'' some service. And, then, too, on the Sab bath Hurry's svoice was• in the choir ; and when some grand old hymn, the jubilant song of an adoring soul, was sung, or some soft and touching melody expressed the mourner's trust and hope, there was no voice hke Harry's. ,Once, when she was stroll- ing with him, they came suddenly to the burial-yard, as the last rite was performed ; and his cap came oil in a twinkling from his head ; and, as the crowd passed away, he gave a sweet rose to a child, and hushed her sobbing. Miriam was undecided between the rival lovers, when an excursion, embracing a large number of the town's people, was to take place on the neck, a short distance across the water from the town. As she stood waiting her turn in one of the row boats, she was full of mirth, and her jests flew fast among the crowd, so that when she entered the boat it was with a jump, and a force :hat would have sent her over the other side into the water, had not Harry that in stant leaped into the water, and prevented so sad a beginning for the day. %Villfunt was as near, but was too horrified by the danger o act. The day was beautiful, and the hours passed with wonderful swiftness. Miriam was not only a living j ) . 11 in the midst of the whole company, but she found her heart pondering on what choice would ha a living joy to her. A person was wounded by an accident ; Harry was the first and readiest and tenderest to help. A child was lost ; there was no greater anxiety than Harry's, till he was found. When the "refresh ments" were circulated, there was no eve rybody's-servant hire Harry ; and when a lady came, last of all, Harry turned up a box, set it by the side of a tree, put his sack upon it, and lid the old lady to the seat, with the utmost kindness, .calling her "moth er," or "aunt," as the name Caine handy. William had been very polite. His con versations were beautiful, his conduct fault less, as a model of the nice gentleman ; but the wounded man got no sympathy, the lost child no efiltrt, the old lady no help, from him: He formed a very tasteful bouquet for Miriam, and presented it with a very apt and highly complimentary poetical quo- Latin ; but some one else let fall secretly an oak wreath on her head; she could only guess at the source from whence it came, till she found carved on the bevelled end of the twig that gave it form, the initial of Harry and a tiny anchor. That night, Miriam's choice was made; and, as she came to this part of her story, she asked her mistress if she knew Harry now. "Yes," was the reply ; "I know him as Mitiant's choice." Life at the Five Points. r. Pease, we want to be married.' ''Vast to be married—what fur ?' 'Why you see, ne don't think it is right for us to he living together this way any longer, and we have been talking- over the matter to-day arid you see 'Yes, yes, 1 see you have been talking over the matter over the bottle and have come to a sort of drunken conclusion to get married. When you get sober you will both repent of it, probably." , No, Sir, we are not very drunk now, not so drunk but what we can think, and we don't think we are doing right—we are not doing ds`we were brought up to do by pious parents. We have been reading about the good things you have done for just such poor outcasts as we are and we want you to try and do something for us.'. 'Head ! Can you read ? Do you read the Bible ?' Well not much lately, but we read the newspapers and sometimes we read some thing good in them. How can we read the Bible when we are drunk ?' 'Do you think getting married will keep you from getting drunk r 'Yes, for We are going to take the pledge too and we shall keep it, depend upon that.' 'Suppose you take the pledge and try that first, and if you can keep it . till you can wash some of the dirt away, and got some clothes - on, then I will marry you.' •No : that won't do. I shall get to think ing what a poor dirty, miserable wretch I am, and how I nm living with this woman, who is not a had woman by nature, and then I will drink, and then she will drink— oh, cursed r unt 1 and what is to prevent us ? Put if we were married, my wife, yes, Mr. Pease, my wife would say, •7.'homus'—she would not say 'Tom, you dirty brute,—don't be tempted ;' and who knows but we might be somebody yet—somebody that our own mothers would not be ashamed of.' F lore the woman, who had been silent and rather moody, burst into a violent flood of tears, crying 'Mother, mother, I know not whether she is alive or not, and dare not in quire ; but if we were married and reform ed, I would make her happy once more.' . I could no longer stand the appeal,' said Mr. P., 'and determined to give them a trial. I have married rt good many poor, wretch ed-loaking couples, bht none that looked quite so much so as this. The mnn was hatless and shoeless, without coat or vest, with long hair and heard grimed with dirt. Ile was V trade a bricklayer, one of the best in the 'city. She wore the last remains of a silk bonnet, and something that might pass fir shoes, and an old, very old dress, once a rich merino,'apparently without any. under garments.' 'And your name is Thomas—Thomas what ?' Elting, sir. Thomas Elting,n good true name, and true man, that is, shall be it you marry us.' .Well, well, I am going to marry you.' 'Are you ? There, Mug, I told you so.' 'Don't call me Mag. If I am going to be married, I will be by my right name, the one my mother•gave me.' 'Not Mag. Well, I never knew that.' 'Now, Thomas, hold your tongue, you talk too much. What is your name ?' 'Matilda. Must I tell the other f Yes, I will and I never will disgrace -it. I don't think I should ever have been us bad if I kept it. That bad woman.who first tempt ed me to ruin, made me take a false name. It is a bad thing for a girl to give up her name, unless for that of a good husband.-- Matilda Fraley. Nobody knows me by that name in this bad city.' 'Very well, Matilda and Thomas, take FOR FARMER AND MECHANIC, each other by the right hand, and look at me, for I am now going to unite you in the holy bonds of marriage by God's ordinance. Do you think you are sutTiciently sober to comprehend its solemnity.' 'Yes, sir.' 'Marriage being one of God's holy ordi nances, cannel be kept in sin, misery, filth and drunkenness. Thomas will you take Matilda to be your lawful, true, only wedded wife ?' '•Yes, sir.' 'You promise that you will live with her, in sickness as well as health, and nourish, protect and comfort her as your true and faithful wife ; that you will he to her a true and faithful husband; that you will not net drunk, and will clothe yourself and keep clean." 'So I will.' 'Never mind answering until I get through. You promise to abstain totally from every kind of drink that intoxicates, and treat this wornan kindly, affectionately, and love her as a husband should love his wedded wife. Now all of this, will you, here before the as the servant of the Most High—here in the sight of God in Heaven, most faithfully prom ise, if I give you this woman- to be your wedded wife ?' 'Yes, I will.' 'And you, Matilda, on your part, will you promise the same, and be a true wife to this man ?' 'I will try, sir.' 'But do yeti promise all this faithfully ?' 'Yes, sir, I will.' 'Then I pronounce you man and %vire.' 'Now, Thomas,' says the new wife, after I had made out the certificate and given it to her, with an injunction to keep it safely— 'now pay Mr. Pease, and let us go home and break the bottle.' fhomas felt first in the right hand pocket, then the left, then hack to the right, then he examined the watch-fob. 'Why, whero is it ?' says she, 'you had two dollars this morning !" 'Yes, I know it, but I have only got two cents this evening. There, M r. Pease, take them, it is all I have got in the world ; what more can I give ?' Sure enough, what could he do more ? I took them and prayed for them that in part ing tt ith the last penny, this couple might have parted with a vice, a wicked, foolish practice which had reduced them to such a degree of poverty and wretchedness, that the monster power of ruin could hardly send its victims lower. So Tom and Man were transformed into Air. and Airs. Elting, and having grown somewhat more sober while in the house, seemed to fully understand their new posi tion, and all the obligations they had taken upon themselves. For a few days I thought occasionally o this two-penny marriage, and then it became absorbed with a thousand other scenes of wretchedness I have witnessed since I have lived in - this center of city miseny. Time wore on and 1 married many other couples —often those who came in their carriage and left a golden marriage fee—a delicate war• of giving to the nerdy—but among all I had never performed the rite for a couple quite so low as that of this two-penny fee, and I resolved I never would again. At length; however, I had a call fur a full match to them, which I refused. 'Why do you come to me to be married my friend,' said I to them ? You are both terrible drunkards, I know you are.' 'That is just what we want to get married fur, and take the pledge.' .Take that first.' No, we must take all together, nothing, else will save us.' ' • 'Will that ?' did one of my friends.' Well, then, go and bring that friend here let me see and hear how much it saved him, and then 1 will make up my mind what to do ; if I can do you any good I want to do it.' 'My friend is at work—he hos got a good job and several hands working for him and is making money, and won't quit till night. Shall I come this ev&ting, 1' 'Yes, I will stay at home and wait for you.' 1 little expected to see him again, but about 8 o'clock the servant said that man and his girl, with a gentleman and lady, were waiting in the reception room. 1 told hint to ask the lady and gentleman to walk up to the parlor and sit a moment ; while I sent the candidates for marriage away, be ing determined never to unite another drun ken couple, not dreaming that there was any sympathy between the parties. But they would not come up ; they wanted to see that couple married..- So 1 went down and .found the squalidly wretched pair in company with a well-dressed laboring man, for he wore a lino Week coat, gold watch chain, clean white shirt and cravat, polish ed calf-skin boots; and his wife wns just as neat and tidily dressed as anybody's wife and her face beamed with intelligence, and the way in which she clung to the arm of her husband, as she seemed to shrink from my sight, told that she was a loving as well as pretty wife. 'This couple,' says the gentleman, 'have come to be married.' "Yes, 1 know it, but I have refused.— Look at them ; do they look fit subjects fbr such a holy ordinance ? God never intend ed those whom he created in his own im age should live in matrimony like this man and woman. I cannot marry them.' 'Cannot ! Why not ? Yuu married us when we were worse off—more. dirty-- worse clothed, and more intoxicated.' The woman shrunk back a little more out of sight. 1 saw she trembled violently, and put a clean cambric handkerchief up to her eyes. What could it moan ? Married them when worse off. Who were they f 'Have you forgotten us ?' said the woman taking my hands in hers, and dropping on her knees ; "Have y•ou forgotten drunken Tom and Mag ? We have not forgotten you, but pray for you every day.' 'lf you have forgotten them, you have not forgotten the two-penny marriage. No wonder you did nut know us. I told Ma tilda she need hot be afraid, or ashamed, if you did know her. But I knew you would not. How could you ? We were. in rags and dirt then. Look at its now. All your work, Sir. All the blessing of that pledge and that marriage, and that good advice you gave us. Look at this suit .urclothes, and Tier dress—all Matilda's work, every stitch 'of it. Come and look at our house, as neat as she is. Every; hitt!! in it to make a com fortable home ; and 0, Sir, there is a cradle in our bedroom. Five hundred dollars al ready in . .kaok, and I shall add as much inure nexWKreek when 1 finish my job. So much for one year of a sober life and a faith ful, honest, good wife. Now, this man is as good a workman as I aw, wily he is bou lid down with t he galling fetters titdrauk eaness, and witlitios woman Just as I did. Now, he thinks that he can roforin just 1.1,3 well as me ; but 11e thinks he must rake the pledge of the same man, and have his first efFirt sanctified with the saute bles sings, and then, with a good resolution, and Matilda and me to watch over them; 1 do believe they will succeed.' So they did. So may others by the same means. I mn'trried them, as I shook hands with Mr. Elting, at parting, he left two coins in my hand, with the .simple remarlc that there was another two-penny marriage fee. I was inn hopes that it might havo been a couple of dudars this time, but 1 said nothing, and we parted with a motural 'God bless you.' When we went up stairs I tossed the coins into ory , wife's lap, %milli the re mark, "two petioles again my dear.' "Two pennies ! ‘Vhy husband, they are ea2los—real golden entl , s. Mint a deal of good they will do: What blessings havo, followed that act.' 'And will follow the present, lithe pledge is faithfully kept. 'Trull• this is a good re sult of a Two-Penny Tribune. A Curious Chincse Romance. In sonic Chinese romances and tales, we find a consideable share of wit as well as sentiment. From one of these Voltaire has not disdained to borrow one of the best sto ries in, his"Zadig." A disciple of the sect of Taoutsee, or - Doctors of Reason, while meditating among the tombs, observed a young lady seated by one of them, eagerly vinployed in fanning the structure. On ap proaching the spot and seeing her in tears, he ventured to ask iv hose tomb it might be, and why she took such pains in fanning it ? The lady, with great sinipEcity, replied "You see a widow at the tomb of her hus band ; he was most dear to me, and he lov ed ine in return with eyed to nderness. Af flicted at the idea of parting with me, even iu death, his last words Mere these 'My dearest tvtlie, should you ever think of mar rying again, 1 conjure you to wait, at least, until ihe plaster on my tomb be entirely dry ; after which you have my sanction to take another husband.' Now,' said she, nis the materials and still damp, and not likely soon to dry, 1 thought I would just fan it a little to as.-ist in dissipating Ow moisture.' tvonmu,' . thought the philosopher, pis in a monstrous hurry ;' and having re - cently taken to himself a beautiful wile, he hastened home to apprize her of the adven ture. .Oh, the wretch !' she exclaimed, 'what an unfeeling monster! flow can a virtuous woman ever think of a second husband 1 If, for my misfortune, I should ever lose you, be assured I should remain single for the mat of my life.' !Fair promises,' thought the philosopher, 'are easily made ; but we shall see.' lie suddenly became dangerously ill ; a tender scene occurred ; the lady vowed eternal re membrance, and repeated her resolution to remain a widow to the end of her days.— , Enough,' said the philosopher ; , my eyes are now closing for ever ;' and an saying th e breath departed from his body. The des ponding widow, with loud lamentations, elll braced the lifeless body, and held it locked in her arms. Among the mourners who as sembled on the melancholy occasioti, was a youth of fair exterior, who said he had come from a distance to place himself as a pupil under the deceased sage. With great diffi culty ho procured a sight of the widow NUMBER 50.
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