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"This business does not look very clear," said the magistrate. "What is your name, sirj"
"Bill Snub," was the answer.
"And what is the boy's name?"
"His name is Billy Snub, sir."
"Is he any connexion of your's V asked the magistrate.
"I'm sorry to own it, sir, but he's my only son, bad as he is."
• The magistrate, who had been looking over the top of his spectacles some time, now took them off, and fixed his eyes sternly on Bill.
"This business must be unravelled, sir. There is no evidence as yet on either side; but there is something mysterious about it. It must be unravelled, sir."
At this, a little boy of about Billy's age, came forward and told the magistrate that he knew something about the matter.
"Let him be sworn," said the magistrate, "and now tell all you know about it."
"Well, I've seen Billy Snub selling newspapers 'most every day this three or four months; and I've known him to make as much as a dollar a day a good many times. And I've known he's been laying up his money all the time, only a little, jest enough to buy his victuals with, and abput a quarter or a dollar a day that he took to buy victuals with, for his father and mother. And I've been a good many times in the evening, and put the victuals into the window where his father and mother lived, because Billy didn't dare to go himself, for fear his father would catch him, and lick him 'most to death, for breaking the rum bottle when he sent him to get some rum. And I know Billy had got up to about thirty dollars, for I've seen him count it a good many times. And yesterday his father was asking me what Billy was about all the time ; and said Billy was a lazy feller, and never would earn anything in the world. And I told him Billy wasn't lazy, for he'd got more than thirty dollars now, that he'd earnt selling papers. And then he said, if Billy had got thirty dollars, he'd have it somehow or other before he was two days older."
"You may stop there," said the magistrate; "the evidence is full and clear enough." Then turning to Bill, he continued with great severity of manner, "and as for you, sir, for this inhuman and wicked attempt to ruin your own son, you stand committed to prison, and at hard labor, for the term of one year." Th#n he turned to Billy, and said, " here, my noble lad, take your money and go home and take care of your mother. Continue to be industrious and honest, and never fear but that you will prosper."
The rest of this history is soon told. Billy was greatly rejoiced at the opportunity of visiting his mother in peace and safety again, and of once more having a home where he could rest in quietness at night. Bill Snub had to eerve out his year in prison, but Billy constantly supplied him with all the comforts and necessaries of life which his situation admitted, and always visited him as often as once a week. And when he came out of prison he was an altered man. He joined the Temperance Society, and quit the rum bottle for ever. He became more industrious, worked at his trade, and earned enough to support himself and Sally, comfortably.
Billy still pursued his profession with untiring industry and great success. He some time since purchased a small house and lot in the outskirts of the city, for a residence for his parents; and at this present writing, he has several hundred dollars in the savings bank, besides many loose coins profitably invested in various other ways. He is active, healthy, honest, and persevering, and destined, beyond doubt, to become a man of wealth and honorable distinction, whose name will shine on the page of history as the illustrious head of an illustrious line of Snubs.
Written for the Ladies' Garland.
BY MRS. LYDIA JANE PEIRSON.
"Better is a little that the righteous hath, than great treasures of the ungodly." So said the wise man, and in my observations 1 have found it even so. I know two families who so strikingly exemplify the text, that I cannot but consider them as practical preachers.
The head of one of these families is a wealthy merchant by the name of Henderson. He is a man of probity and honor, high in the estimation of his fellow men; he is ever one of the foremost in any benevolent enterprise; ready to contribute to any religious, or philanthropic undertaking. He scared no expense or care in the education of his children, leaching them to be just, generous, and honorable. His wife was well chosen, being a woman of ability, and lofly spirit, who has been educated after the most approved fashion.
The other family consists of a middle-Bged widow, who has no wealth except beauty, health, cheerfulness of temper, and an ability to maintain her four children by honest labor ; and the aforementioned children she has taught to be obedient, humble, and kind to each other, and to fear and love their Almighty Father in Heaven.
It chanced on a beautiful morning1 in May, that I had occasion to see Mrs. Henderson. I found her in great trouble; even shedding tears over a rich and beautiful carpet. I was surprised.
"Is your elegant carpet damaged V I inquired.
"Damaged? No!" she answered, rather pettishly. "I wish it was burnt up! I sent to the manufacturers in Philadelphia, ordering the most costly and beautiful carpet their looms could produce; and here it is, almost exactly after the pattern of Mrs. Elwell's. True, the materials are far superior, and the colors more brilliant; but these peculiarities will escape common observers, and the world Will imagine that Mrs. Henderson's saloon has no richer carpeting than Mrs. Elwell's little parlor!"
"The world!" said I, mentally. "As if the world will concern' itself about Mrs. Henderson's carpet? I much question whether one half dozen of those who compose the narrow world in which she moves, will be able at the end of six months to say what Mrs. Henderson's carpet is like. How vain that person must be who supposes that his or her affairs engross the attention of the world."
My musings were interrupted by the entrance of Miss Louisa Henderson with an elegant bonnet in her white-gloved hand.
"Look, ma!" she cried, "what a sweet bonnet! Such an elegant shape, such delicate colors, such magnificent plumes, such paradise looking flowers! Oh, ma! I am enchanted with it. There is not such another distingue looking capate in town. I must absolutely have it, and then the second class Misses will not be able to compete with me."
"Why Louisa,]! cried Mrs. Henderson, "you have an elegant bonnet, which was brought from the city for you only three weeks ago."
"Yes, ma; but Sarah Sloan and Nancy White have got bonnets like it."
"An evidence," said the mother, "that your's is a beauty."
"Yes, ma; but then I do not like to wear a bonnet like their's; and this is such an angelic creation! Ma, I must have it."
"But what will you do with the other?"
"I will let cousin Lucy have it; it is just as good as new, and she always admired it so much."
"Well, if she will give you what it cost she may have it."
"Oh, ma! that is unreasonable. Why, I have worn it now a month; and then her fa
ther refused her one like it, because it was so dear?"
"Very well, then you must content yourself to wear it until the season is out."
Poor Louisa burst into a violent fit of weeping, and left the room, declaring that she would not go out until she had a new bonnet.
"I declare I don't know what to do with that girl," said Mrs. Henderson. "She has the most splendid and valuable wardrobe of any miss in this vicinity, and yet she is always craving every new thing she sees. I find it impossible to gratify her; and must begin to lay a check upon her extravagance. She is the most unhappy creature on earth, and yet she has every thing that any person can reasonably require. Her pa is very indulgent, and purchases many things which no other girl in her station thinks of asking for. Yet she is never satisfied."
I listened in silence. The carpet lay before me. I need not record my reflection^.
When 1 was about taking leave, Mrs. Henderson requested, as I had to pass the house of the widow spoken of at the commencement of my story, that I would call and ask her to come and make up the new carpet. I accepted the commission, and accordingly called on Mrs. Nelson, the poor widow. She was sitting with her. hands clasped, and her eyes raised toward heaven, while the bright tears were dropping on a piece of cheap calico which lay on her lap. She apologized, saying—
"I am so very grateful. I have been enabled to save enough during the last two months to purchase this whole piece of calico and some other necessaries. I have been much in want of a nice quilt for my bed; now I can make one, beside a-dress for myself, and some frocks for my children. Indeed, the Lord is very good to me, and performs well his promises to the widow and the orphan."
"But," said I, "you have been obliged to earn all this with severe labor?"
"But," she replied, earnestly, " who gives me strength to labor! Who sends me employ 1 Who inclines my employers to pay me promptly, but the good Lord 1 Oh, madam! 1 feel that every good gift comes from Him. I cannot be thankful as I ought. He has never left me or my little ones to suffer, since, by removing our natural guardian, he took our guardianship more immediately upon himself."
She was proceeding in the same strain when her daughter Mary entered, a sweet looking girl of fourteen.
"Come here, Mary," said Mrs. Nelson, "look what I have got for you!" unwrapping,
as she spoke, a neat chip bonnet, which might have cost thirty-seven and a halt' cents. '.
"Oh, mother, mother, how pretty; how nice!" said Mary. "Now I can go to church as neat as any body; but mother," she said, assuming a pensive look, "I am afra:d you could not well afford this."
"Yes I could, my child," said the joyful mother. "The Lord has been very kind to us. Beside, Mary, you have deserved it. You are a diligent girl about the house, and kind to your little sister, and trusty to go on errands. 1 hope to be able to buy you a neat cloak before winter."
"Oh, mother, how comfortable that would be," she cried; and she put her arm round her mother's neck, murmuring—"oh, what a dear good mother I have!"
"My child," said the mother, "do not forget the Divine Author of all our blessings."
"Dear mother, I will not," cried Mary, "and I will beseech Him to spare you as long as it pleases Him to let me stay in this world."
So saying, she took her bonnet and went to lay it in her little chamber. I then mentioned Mrs. Henderson's errand.
"A new carpet!" repeated Mrs. Nelson, musingly. "How many new things the Henderson's are gettmg of late."
"Yes, they are," cried a young woman who just then entered the room; "but it is all in vain. Their traps will catch no game."
"What do you mean, Sally?" said Mrs. Nelson.
"My meaning," she answered, "is very plain. Mr. Henderson is expending money largely, all with a view of forwarding Miss Louisa's designs upon the rich and handsome southerner, Mr. Baliour. But I repeat, they will miss it."
"How do you know this?" asked Mrs. Nelson.
"Why,you know I lived there untillately, and I heard and saw a great deal. Some people should be more cautious before their servants than they are; for though they deem them another species of animal, they often make uste of their eyes, ears, and tongues, in a manner not the most pleasing or creditable! to their lords and ladies. I know that Miss Louisa is nearly distracted after Mr. Balfour, and Mrs. Henderson is striving to attract him by outshining all her neighbors; but'tis all in vain—Mr. Balfour knows all their calculations, and pees through all their embroidery and rose-wreaths to the trap they are intended to conceal. 'Tis no wonder Mr. Henderson wishes to get Louisa off his hands; her extravagance is sufficient to ruin a nabob, and her temper is excessively bad."
"Are you not wrong to speak thus evil of your neighbor?" asked Mrs. Nelson, mildly.
"Perhaps I am," cried Sally; "but Miss Louisa was so contemptuous in her treatment of me, she can expect no gratitude from me. Indeed she does not wish to be well spoken of by a poor girl like me. But I must do my errand. Mrs. Elwell, with whom I am now living, wishes you to come and assist her all next week in making preparations for a family festival. I must tell you, Emily Elwell is to be married in a few days to Mr. Balfour. Emily is deserving of him, for she is the sweetest tempered creature living."
Having thus disposed of her news, the girl rose to depart. *
"You may tell Mrs. Elwell that I will assist her," said Mrs. Nelson.
"Then you will not make up the new carpet," I inquired.
"No," she answered. "Mrs. Elwell is a pious and sociable lady; and always willing to pay those generously who work for her. But Mrs. Henderson pays so much for material, that she cannot afford to pay a sempstress; and always grudges her money, after
beating us down to half price."
» * * • *
It is now three years ago thatthese simple scenes were enacted, and all my observations since have served to confirm me in the opinion, that the poor widow and her family are happier with the little they can earn, than the Henderson's with all their wealth.
Emily Elwell became the wife of Mr. Balfour, and report says she is not disappointedin her rational anticipations of happiness. Miss Louisa received the first intimation of the marriage in form of an invitation to the wedding, and so little accustomed was she to self-control, that she shrieked aloud, and fell down in a dreadful fit. Poor girl! she had always been indulged in every thing, and this first disappointment almost crashed her heart. For weeks it was the general opinion tfiat she could not survive the terrible shock; indeed she declared that she would not, and seemed resolved to die; but a good constitution triumphed over her determination, and she still lives, the most peevish, misanthropic, and wretched young creature on earth.
Mary Nelson is universally admired and beloved for her beauty, sweetness, piety and genius—and is now betrothed loan excellent young clergyman^having for his sake rejected the profTeredi|M(lresses of Mr. Balfour's wealthy cousin. Wlen I pretended to wonder at the singularity of her choice, and spoke of the superiority of Mr. Balfour's fortune, she smilingly answered in the words of my text—" Better is a little that the righteous hath, than great treasures of the ungodly."
MUSIC BY CYRENIUS WOODWORTH, OXFORD, CHENANGO CO., FORMERLY OF FRANKLIN, DELAWARE CO., N. Y.
1. There is a far-off land, Where love, and joy, and beauty reign: There is a chosen band Who
call that land their own domain, And hold communion sweet and free, Where all unite and all agree.
Who are the favor'd race
Whose beauty, majesty, and state
Excel what poets sing, Where was their native place, Orangel tongues could eer relate; - Their birth, their state, their nature, tell? But they behold him face to face, | Oh, they were an accursed brood, -And taste his love, and sing his praise— In love with sin, estranged from God. - - 3. No night, no storms, no foes 7. Black and impure they were --- Are in that happy country known, Till wash’d in Jesus' precious blood; All there is calm repose, But now, all bright and fair, While, gushing from th' Eternal throne They shine, the sons and heirs of God; Rivers of pleasure, fresh and sweet In holiness and beauty shine, Meander through the heavenly street. All pure, all lovely, all divine. 4. They never say they're sick, 8. When will the day arrive Or feel diseases, or decay, When my unfetter'd soul shall rise, No tears bedev the cheek, No more on earth to live For God has wip'd t all away; Midst sins, and pains, and tears, and sighs, And all their wants ar ll supplied, But clap her wings, and soar above, " And every wish is satisfied. To that fair world of light and love? 5. They need no sun to cheer— 9. For that far-distant land, * -, No moon, no stars, to guide their way; My spirit, dearest Lord, prepare; God's glory, bright and clear, Then send some angel band, Alone, makes their perpetual day. Commission'd to escort me there. . They never sleep, but ceaseless sing On their kind wings I'll mount, and fly * The triumph of their Saviour King. To join the chorus of the sky. --* Words from the New York Observer. o o o -- _a |
Written for the Ladies' Garland.
THE HOSIER'S WIDOW,
OR, THE TWO COURTSHIPS OF
Mr. Daniel Daggett kept a thread and needle shop in one of the narrow streets that intersect Hanover above Salem. He had been brought up to the shoemaker's trade, and worked at it some time with a good run of custom. Bjit Daniel was ambitious. His organ of self-eSteem was large, and he aspired "to get up" in the world. He resolved he would not always make shoes; not reflecting that he who is distinguished in his own handicraft is truly great; that greatness belongs not intrinsically to one pursuit more than another, but to the man who, whatever be his vocation, is skilful therein. Daniel had a very limited store of letters in his head; and the extent of his mathematics was comprised in sundry calculations in the four fundamental rules, done in chalk behind his door, to help his memory of patches and heel-taps. He had heard of aldermen and mayors who had been pot-boys and apprentices, and his ambitious spirit was roused within him ; and as he sat upon his leather-bottomed bench, hammering sole-leather or drivinfpegs, visions of civic honors, and dinners of ftt turtle floated before his fancy, till he imagined himself the chief dignitary of the city, seated in the magisterial chair, and giving laws for the regulation of naughty boys, and erranting swine. But the dropping of his hammer, or lap-stone, would rouse him from these vain dreams of future eminence, to the convictionthat he was only Daniel Daggett, the cobbler.
Daniel, at length, grew dissatisfied with his honest and useful craft, and began to feel it an indignity to handle old shoes with hands that were, perhaps, destined one day to handle ledgers, and hold the sceptre of the city. Daniel was now thirty years of age—and a bachelor. The first step to rising in the world, he wisely thought, was to get a wife; for this increases a man's personal importance, and extends the number of his acquaintances and relations. It gives him also a sort ofj stability in the eyes of his fellow-citizens, and credit with the grocer. So when Daniel had fully resolved that he would begin to rise in the world, and get other men to mend his boots, as the first step, he began to cast about for a suitable help-mate. In making a choice he was natural^ influenced by his aspiring views; and, passing by the daughters and eisters, and widows of the disciples of Crispin—thus openly abjuring his ancient and honorable craft—he fixed his eyes upon Diana Quiring, the grocer's red-haired No. 6,-vol. 6. ^
daughter, at the corner. But Diana turned up her pug-nose at Daniel, and said, smartly, that she " wondered at his persumption and imperance, for to go to persutne to look so 'igh as a ' merchant's' daughter, and he only A low shoemaker." This reflection upon his craft roused Daniel's ire—for he had in his heart an affection for it, acquired by long habit—and he defended it so warmly that a quarrel ensued, and Daniel was forced to vacate the little back parlor of the grocery, where he had pressed his unlucky suit, and seek shelter in his shop, the indignant mother following him to the street, repeating the insulted Diana's words, that "he should have the imperance to court her daughter!"
This was rather an unlucky beginning for our ambitious shoe-maker; but, as he himself remarked, " it takes more than one blow to break a lap-stone," so he resolved, heartwhole, to make another trial—not, however, upon the indomitable bosom of the aristocratic daughter of Peter Quilling, the grocer. His ambition had not cooled, but rather risen by opposition, and he made up his mind to a more desperate attempt than that even of which Miss Diana Quilling was the subject. On the opposite side of the way, three doors below, lived the widow of a hosier, for whom Daniel had made and mended shoes. She was a neat, lively, talking little body, with black eyes, jet black hair, and good teeth. Daniel knew that she had a neat foot, and the remembrance of her foot and smile, and of a small income she was reported to have had left her, came over him amidst his wrath and disappointment on account of his failure with Diana Quilling; and straightway he took his Sunday hat, and crossed the street to Mrs. Pipon's shop—for she kept a few papers of pins and needles, a stick or two of tape, and a bunch of stay-lacings in her window, from which her lodgings took this dignified name. His heart beat against his ribs to the tune of his hammer upon his lap-stone, as he approached the little glass door that led by one step down, into the shop of the lady.
Mrs. Pipon had been looking out of her window, by which she always was seated, with h^jr fingers busy at some kind of sewing, watching her neighbors, when she saw Daniel in his Sunday suit come forth from his shop, lock the door, put the key in his pocket, and walk with a stately air towards the grocer's; for, though she could not see quite up the street so far as Peter Quilling's, she had managed by lifting her window a little ways, to watch him and see him go in!
It was fortunate for Danied that a little girl came into the shop to buy a cent's worth of tape, and so kept her from seeing his disgraceful retreat, and guessing at his business and its unsuccessful issue. She had not,