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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.