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VOLUME I. |
BY C. R. HANLEITER.
!P © g IT S3 Y„
“ Much yet remains unsung
THE WIFE.
“How much the wife is dearer than the bride !’’
LORD LYTTLETON.
She stood beside him, in the spring-tide hour
When ilymen lit with smiles the nuptial bower,
A downcast, trembling girl; whese pulse was stirr'd
By the least murmur, like a frighten’d bird ;
Timid, and shrinking from each stranger’s gaze,
And blushing when she heard the voice of praise j
She clung to hint as some superior thing,
And soar’d aloft upon his stronger wing !
Now mark the change: when storm-cloudsgather fast,
And man, creation’s lord, before the blast
■Shrinks like a parched scroll or withering leaf,
•And turns revolting from the face of grief—
’When, in despair, his scarce uplifted eye
Sees foes who linger, fancied friends who fly—
Woman steps forth, and boldly braves the shock,
Firm to his interests as the granite rock ;
She stems the wave, unshrinking meets the storm,
And wears his guardian angel's earthly form !
And if she cannot check the tempest’s course.
She points a shelter from its whelming force!
When envy’s sneer would coldly blight his name,
And busy tongues are sporting with his fame,
Who’ solves each doubt—clears every mist away,
And makes him radiant in the face of day ?
t?he who would peril fortune, fame, and life,
For man, the ingratc—The devoted Wife.
Mrs. C. B. Wilson.
IT AJLiES,
DEBBY WILDER.
Or the Farmer's Daughter .
BY SEIJ A SMITH.
There lived a few years ago, in the inter
ior of one of the middle States, a sturdy
farmer, well to do in the world, by the name
of William Wilder. He had wandered
away from Yankee land in his younger days,
to seek his fortune, and having been em
ployed by a respectable Quaker to work
<mi his farm, he had contrived, with true
Yankee adroitness, to win the affections of
the old man’s daughter, and had married
her. His wife having espoused one of the
world’s people, contrary to the rules of her
order, was of course “ read out of the so
ciety but William loved her none Hie less
for that; if anything, he felt a little rejoic
ed at it, for he thought it seemed to bring
her a little neater to him. He had no par
ticular objection to ” them theeingand thou
ing sort of folks;’’ he had always found
them a pretty good sort of people, but he
had no idea that he should ever join them
himself, and therefore felt a sort of relief, a
something that he could hardly describe,
when told that his wife was “ lead out.”
Mrs. Wilder, hoWever, never overcome,
and, perhaps, never tried to overcome, the
habits which had grown up with her clfild
hood and youth ; she always called her hus
band, William, and continued through life
to speak the Quaker dialect. Hut this from
her lips was never ungrateful or unwelcome
to Wilder’s ears; for one of the sweetest
sounds that dwelt in his memory was when
he asked her a certain question, and her re
ply was, “ William, thee has tny heart al
ready, and my hand shall be thine whenever
thee*may please to take it.”
William Wildei’ was a thrifty and stir
ring man ; in a few years he found himself
the owner of a good farm, and was going
ahead in the world as fast as the best of his
neighbors. Nor has the whole sum of his
good fortune yet been stated. He was blest
with a daughter; a bright rosy-cheeked,
healthy, romping girl, full of life and spirits,
and her eye exceedingly beautiful.
This daughter, at the period which is now
to be more particularly described, had reach
ed the age of eighteen years. Her com
plexion was naturally fair, but a little brown
ed from exposure to the sun, for she had
lieen accustomed from childhood to be much
in the open air. If this, however, had de
tracted aught from her beauty, it was more
than compensated by the vigor and elastici
ty it had imparted to her frame, and the
bright and deep lustre it had brought to her
dark hazel eye. She was an object of en
grossing love to her parents, and of general
attraction in the neighborhood.
” There’s that Joe Nelson alongside of
Debby again,” said Mr. Wilder to his wife,
rather pettishly, as they came out of church
one warm summer afternoon, and commenc
ed their walk homeward. “ I wish he
wouldn’t make himself quite so thick.”
“Well, now, my dear, I think thee has a
little too much feeling about it,” returned
Mrs. Wilder. “ Young folks like to be to
gether, thee knows, and Joseph is a clever
and respectable young man ; nobody ever
says a word against him.”
“ Yes, he’s too clever to be worth any
thing,” said Wilder; “ and, by-and-by, he’ll
take it into his head, if he hasn’t already,
to coax Debby to marry him. I’ve no idea
of her marrying a pauper ; I’ve worked
too bard for wliat little property I’ve got to
be willing to see it go to feed a vagabond,
who never earnt anything and never will.
I don’t believe Joe will ever be worth a
hundred dollars as long as he lives.”
“ Well, now, my dear, I think thee is a
little too hard upon Joseph,” said Mrs.
Wilder ; “ thee should remember he is but
just out of his time. His father has been
* jittojwflfv : ®rtootta to iUtcrature, aortcwlturc, iMn,Tittc, ESuriitfon, iForfljjn an# ©omrotfc Sntmtjjfwce, (ct.
sick several years, add Joseph has almost
entirely supported the whole family.”
“ Oh, I don’t deny hut he’s clever enough,
and kind enough to his father and mother,”
said Mr. Wilder; “ all is, I don’t like to see
him so thick along with Debby. How
should you feel to see him married to Deb
by, and not worth a decent suit of clothes?”
” Well, I should feel,” said Mrs. Wilder,
“ as though they were starting in life very
much as we did, when we were first mar
ried. We liad decent clothes, and each of
us a good pair of hands, end that was about
all we had to start with. I don’t think Wil
liam, we should have got along any better
or been any happier, if thee had been worth
a hundred thousand dollars when We were
married.”
This argument came home with such force
to Wilder’s bosom, that he made no attempt
to answer it, but walked on in silence till
they reached their dwelling. Debby and
Joseph had arrived there before them, and
were already seated ih the parjor. Seeing
Josebh as they passed the window, Mr.
Wilder chose hot to go ih, but continued his
walk up the road to the high ground that
overlooked some of his fields, where he
stood ruminating for half an hour upon the
prospect of his Chops; and more particular
ly upon the unpleasant subject of Debby
and Joe Nelson. The young man had be
come so familiar and so much at home at his
house, that lie could hardly doubt there was
a strong attachment groWihg up between
him and Debby, and he began to feel very
uneasy about it. He had always been so
fond of his daughter, and her presence was
so necessary to his happiness, that the idea
of her marrying at all was a sad thought to
him ; hut if she must marry, he was deter
mined it should be, if possible, to a person
of some property, who would at once place
her in a comfortable situation in life, and
relieve her from the foolish anxiety, so com
mon in the world, lest his own little estate
should he dishonored by family connections
not equal to it. While he remained there
in this musing mood he recognized Henry
Miller coming clown tlie road, and lie re
solved at once to take him home with him
to supper. Miller was a dashing business
young fellow, who kept a store about a mile
and a half from Wilder's, and was reputed
to be worth some five or six thousand dol
lars. He had heretofore been a frequent
visitor at Wilder's house, and there was a
time when his attention to Debby, weie
such as to cause Mr. Wilder to expect that
the trifty young trader would become his
son-in-law. Debby, however, was hot suf
ficiently pleased with him to encourage his
attentions, and for some time past his visits
had been discontintfed.
“ Good afternoon, Mr. Miller,” said Wil
der, presenting his hand ; “ glad to see J’tiu,
how do you do ? fine day, this.”
“ Yes, fine day,” said Miller, “excellent
weather for crops ; how are you all at
home ?”
*’ Quite well, thank ye,” said Wilder.—
“ Come, you must go down to the house
with me. Why have you been such a strang
or lately ?”
“ Oh, I’ve generally been pretty busy,”
said Miller, coloiing a little, “I don’t act
much time to visit.”
“ Well, you must go down to the house
with me now, and stop to supper,” said
Wilder; “ yoa can have nothing to prevent
you to-day,l’m sure.”
Miller colored still deeper ; said he did
not think he could stoj>; he only came out
to take a bit of a walk, and did not think of
going any further than the top of the hill
where they now stood. Mr. Wilder, how
ever, would not take “ no” for an answer,
and after considerable importunity he fire
vailed upon Miller td Accept his invitation,
and they descended the hill together and
went into the house.
“ Debby, here's Mr. Miller,” said Wilder,
as they entered the parlor.
Debby rose, handed a chair, and said
“ good eveningbut her face was covered
with blushes, and she returned again to her
seat.
Mr. Millet seated himself in the chair, he
glanced across the room and recognized
Joseph Nelson. The two young men nod
ded at each other, and both seemed some
what embarrassed.
“ Where’s your mother, Debby ?” inqitif
ed Mr. Wilder; “ Mr. Miller’s going to stop
to supper.”
At this moment Mrs. Wilder entered the
room.
“ How does thee do, Henry ?” said she,
presenting her hand, “ I hope thy mother is
well.”
“ Very well indeed,” said Miller, and af
ter a few more remarks, Mrs. Wilder retir
ed to superintend the preparation of sup
per.”
“ Excuse me, Mr. Miller, a little while,”
said Mr. Wilder, “ I want to go and show
Joseph that field of corn of miuc we were
looking at, back of the hill. According to
my notion it is the stoutest piece there is in
the country. Come, Joseph, go up and
look at it.”
“ I think it is the stoutest piece I’ve seen
this year,” said Joseph ; “ I saw it about a
week ago.”
“Oh, it has gained amazingly within a
week,” said Mr.^Wilder, “come, go up and
look at it.”
Joseph was altogether unaccustomed to
such attentions from Mr. Wilder, and he
looked not a little confused as he took his
MADISON, MORGAN COUNTY, GEORGIA, SATURDAY MORNING, JANUARY 7, 1843.
hat and followed him to tho door They
went up the road, and Mr. Wilder took him
all around the field of corn, and examined
hill after hill, and looked into the other fields
and found a hundred things to stop and look
at, and talked more to Joseph than he had
before for six months. Joseph suspected
that this walk was undertaken by Mr. Wil
der for the purpose of leaving Miller and
Debby in the room together, but he bore it
all patiently, and answered all Mr. Wilder’s
remarks about his crops and his fields with
apparent interest, for he knew too well the
state of Debby’s feelings, both toward him
self and toward Miller, to feel any uneasi
ness. At length Mr. Wilder concluded sup
per must be nearly ready, and they return
ed to the house. On entering the parlor
they found Miller alone, reading a newspa
per. Mr. Wilder looked vexed.
“ What, all alone, Mr. Miller ?” said Mr.
Wilder; “ I shouldn’t have staid so long,
but I thought Debby would amuse you till
we got back.”
“ Miss Debby had some engagement that
required her attention,” said Miller, “ and
asked to be excused ; but I have found my
self quite interested in this newspaper.”
Wilder went out and met his wife in the
hall, and asked her how long it had been
since Debby left Mr. Miller alone in she
parlor.
“She left iff tlnee minutes after thee
went out,” said she, “ and I couldn’t per
suade her to go back again. She said she
knew thee went out on purpose to leave her
and Henry alone there together, and she
would not stay. It’s no use, William, these
things always will have their own way, and
it’s no use trying to prevent it.”
The supper passed off rather silently and
rather awkwardly. Mr. Wilder endeavor
ed to lie sociable and polite to Aliller, and
Debby. performed many little silent acts of
politeness toward Joseph, and Mrs. Wilder
as usual was mild and complaisant to all.—
But an air of embarrassment pervaded the
whole company, and when they rose from
the table Henry Miller asked to be excus
ed, and said ii was time for him to return
homeward. Wilder endeavored to pershade
him to stop and spend the evening, but Hen
ry was decided, and said he must go. Af
ter he had gone, Joseph and Debby return
ed again to the parlor, where they were
joined a part of the evening by Mrs. Wil
der ; but Wilder, after walking up and down
the dining room, for ah hour or two, retired
to bed ; not, however, to sleep. His m ind
was too much engrossed with the destiny
of Debby, to allow of repose. He counted
the hours, as they w'ere told by the clock,
till it had struck twelve. Mrs. Wilder had
been two hours asleep, still he had not heard
Joseph go out. After a while the clock
struck one, and in a few minutes after that,
he heard the outei door rather softly opeu
ed and closed ; and then he heard Debby
tripping lightly to her chamber.
“ Ah,” thought Wilder to himself, “ it is
as my wife says; these things will have
their own way. This staying till one o’clock
looks like rather serious business.”
The next clay Debby bad a long private
interview with her mother; and, after din
ner, Mrs. Wilder wished to have some con
versation with hei husband in the parlor.
“ Well, my dear,” said she, “ Debby and
Joseph are bent upon being married. It
seems that they made up their minds to it
some months ago ; and now they have fixed
upon the lime. They say they must be
married week after next. Now, I think,
we had better fall in with it with as good
feeling as we can, and make the best of it.
Thee knows I have always said these things
will have their own way, and when young
folks get their minds made up, I don’t think
it’s a good plan to interfere with ’em. As
long as Joseph is clever and respectable,
and good to work, I thir.k we ought to feel
contented about it, although he is poor. It
seems to me that there is as many folks that
marry poor, that make out well in the world,
as there are that marry rich.”
After a little reflection upon the that ter,
Wilder came to the conclusion that his wife
had nearly the right of it, and told her he
would make no further opposition to the
match j they might be married as soon as 1
they chose.
“ Well, my dear,” said Mrs. Wilder,
“ Debby needs a little change to get some
things with, this week, in order to get rea
dy to bo married.”
“ llovv much will she want this week ?”
asked Mr. Wilder.
“ If thee can let her have fifteen or twen
ty dollars,” said Mrs. Wilder, “ 1 think it
would do for the present.”
“ Well, now, I’ve no money by me,” said
Mr. Wilder, “ except a hundred dollar bill,
and it’s impossible to get that changed short
of sending it to the Hank, a distance of ten
miles. I tried all over the neighhoi hood
last week to get it changed, hut couldn’t
succeed. 1 shall be too busy to go myself
to-morrow, but if Debby has a mind to get
on to the old horse in the morning, and take
the bill to the Hank and get it changed, she
may have some of the money.”
This proposition was soon reported to
Debby, who said, “ she had jest as leave
take the ride as not.”
The matter being thus amicably arranged
with Mr. Wilder, there was nothing to hin
der going forward with comfort and des
patch in making preparations for the wed
ding. Debby was in excellent spirits, turn
ed off the work about the bouse with re-
markable facility, and evinced unusual soli
citude in her attentions to her father, an
swering all his wanis before he had time to
name them. .And on the other hand. Mr.
Wilder was in unusual good humor toward
Debby. Having at last brought his mind to
absent :o the arrangement which he had so
strongly opposed, his feelings were now in
a state of reaction, which caused him to re
£ ird Debby with uncommon tenderness.—
His eyes followed her about the house with
lsoks of love, and a tone of kindness breath
el in every word he uttered. The next
niorning his old gray horse whs standing at
ts door and eating provender, full two
hours before Debby was ready to start; and
As". Wilder had been out half a dozen times
to examine the saddle and bridle loses that
everything was light, and had lifted up the
horse’s feet, one after another, all round, to
see if any of the shoes were loose. And
when at last Debby was jready, he led old
gray to the horse-block, and held him till
she was well seated in the saddle, and then
he handed her the bridle, and shortened the
stirrup-leather, and buckled the girth a little
tighter to prevent the danger of the saddle's
turning, and when he had seen that ail was
right, he stepped into the house and brought
out his small riding whip and placed it in
her hand, and giving her a hundred charges
to take care of herself, and be careful she
did not get a fall, he stepped up on the
horse-block, and stood and watched her as
she turned into the lead and ascended the
hill, till she was entirely out of sight.
Debby trotted on leisurely over the long
road she had to travel, but she was too full
of pleasant thoughts and bright anticipa
tions to feel weary at the distance or lonely
in the solitude. The road was hut little
traveled, and she met but two persons in the
whole distance, one as she was descending
a hill about a mile from home and the other
in the long valley of dark woods about mid
way in her journey. Had she been of a
timid disposition, she would have felt a good
deal of uneasiness when she saw this last
person approaching her. His appearance
was dark and ruffianly, they were two miles
from any house, in the midst of a deep si
lent wilderness. But Debby’s nerves were
unmoved ; she returned his bow in passing,
and kept on her way with perfect compo
sure.
She reachedtheend of herjouraey indue
time, hitched her horse in the shed at the
village hotel, and inquired of the waiter at
the door the way to the bank. As he vas
pointing out to her its location, she observ
ed a tall, dark looking man, with black whis
kers and heavy eyebrows, looking steadily
at her. She, however, turned away without
noticing him any further, and went directly
to the bank. When she reached the door
shs found it closed, and learnt from the by
stmders that the hank, from some cause or
other, was shut for the day. In her exceed
ing disappointment, she stood silent for some
time; uncertain what she should do.
“ Is it any thing Miss, that I can help you
about ?” said a gentleman at the adjoining
shop door.
Debby replied that she wanted to get a
bill changed at the bank.
“ Oh, I’ll change it for you,” said the gen
tleman, “ if it isn’t too large ; come step in
here.”
She accordingly stept into the store, and
giving him many thanks, handed him the
bill.
“Oh, a hundred dollars,” said he; “I
can’t do it, I haven’t half that amount in the
store. But you go across there to the a
pothecary’s I think it likely enough he may
do it.”
Debby thanked him again, and went across
to tire apothecary's. Here she made known
her wishes, but with no better success. The
apothecary looked at the bill, and opened
his pocket-book, and then discovered that he
had paid away all his small notes that day
and couldn’t change it. As she turned to
go out, she encountered a man behind her,
whu seemed to have been looking over lier
shoulder. She looked up at him, and re
cognized ihe tall man with black whiskers,
whom she had noticed at the hotel. Leav
ing the druggist’s shop, she observed a large
dry goods store, and thought she would try
her luck there. Still she was unsuccessful.
As she was leaving the store, she met the ‘
tall man with black whiskers again. He j
looked smilingly upon her, and asked her to
let him see tho Dili, for ho thought it proba
ble he could chaiige it. After lookitig at it,
he returned it to her again, observing, if it
had been a city hill he would have changed
it, but he didn’t like to change a country
bill.
Having tried at two or three other places
without effecting her object, Debby found
she must give it up, for she was now told it
probably would not be possible for her to
get it changed till the bank should be open
ed tho next day. Nothing further remain
ed, therefore, that she could do, and she con
cluded to return immediately home. As
she rode out of the hotel yard, she observed
again tho tall man with black whiskers,
standing at the corner of the house, and ap
parently watching her movements. She
could not but think he had considerable im
pertinent curiosity, but she rode on, and was
no sooner out of his sight than he was out
of het mind, for her own perplexing disap
pointment engrossed all her thoughts. She
passed over the first two miles of her home
ward journey almost unconscious of the dis
tance, so busily mas she enmity over is her
mind various expedients to remedy the fail
ure of her present undertaking, feometimes
she thought she must return again to the
hank tho nevt irmruiliar: luit.th*. mm r v
rather more of an undertaking than she had
anticipated, and she shrunk a little from the
idea of a repetition of it. She thought of
several of their neighbors, of whom she pre
sumed it might be possible to borrow a few
dollars for a short time. But then she knew
her father was so strenuously opposed to
borrowing, that he would on no account al
low it to he done ; and would never forgive
her should he find out that she had done it
without his knowledge or consent. She
might get trusted for most of the articles she
wanted, but several of them of the most im
portance were at Henry Miller’s store, and
she would not ask to be trusted there, if she
never obtained the articles.
*•- Her reveries were at last broken off tiy
the sound of horse coming up at rathef a
quick trot behind her. She looked ovbr her
shoulder, and there was the tall mau with
black whiskers, mounted on 8 large and
beautiful black horse, within a few yards of
her; she shuddered a little at first at the
idea of having his company through the
woods, but as he came up he accosted her
with such a bland smile and such gentle and
easy manners, that she soon recovered from
her trepidation and rode on with her wont
ed composure.
“ Rather a long road here, Miss,” said the
stranger, lookiug at the dark woods that lay
in the great valley before them. “ How far
do you go, Miss ?”
“ Seven or eight miles,” said Debby hes
itating a little.
“ I am happy to find company on the
road,” said the stranger, “ for it is rather
lonesome riding alone. I trust you’ll alhlw
me to he your protector through the woods.”
Debby thanked him, but said, “ she was
never lonesome and never afraid. Still, in
a lonely place it was always more agreeable
to have company.”
“ Did you make out to get your bill chang
ed ?” said the stranger.
“T 4 o,” said Debby, “ I tried till 1 was
tired, but I could not find any one to change
it. I don’t know but I shall have to corrie
back again to-morrow, for it is impassible to
get it changed in our neighborhood.”
The stranger made himself very agreea
ble in his conversation, and Debby began to
think that her fee'.iilgs at first had done him
injustice, and she tried what she could to
make amends by being social and agreeable
in her turn. A couple of miles mors had
been passed over in this way, not unpleas
antly, and they had now reached the deep
est and darkest part of the valley through
which the road lay. The heavy woods was
above them and around them, and not n sound
was to be heard except the murmuring of a
little, brook, over which they had just passed.
The stranger suddenly rode to her side, and
seizing the rein of her bridle, told her at
once she must give him the hundred dollar
bill.
“ Now this is carrying the joke too far,”
said Debby, trying to laugh ; “in such a
place as this too, it’s enough to frighten one.”
“ It’s no joke at all,” said the stranger ;
“ we will go no further till you give me the
hundred dollar hill.”
Debby trembled and turned pale, for she
thought she saw something in the stranger’s
eye that looked as though he was in earnest.
“ But surely you don’t mean any such
thing ?” said Debby, trying to pull the rein
from his hand. “ It’s too bad to try to fright
en me so here.”
“ We mustn't .dally about it,” said the
stranger, holding the rein still tighter—“you
see I am in earnest, by this,” drawing a pis
tol from his pocket and pointing it toward
her.
“Oh ! mercy,” said Debby, “ you maj t
have the money, if you will let me go.”
“ The money ia all I want,” said the
stranger, “ but there must be no more dal
lying ; the sooner you hand it over the bet
ter.”
Debby at once drew forth the bill and at
tempted to hand it to the stranger, but her
hand trembled so, it dropped from her fin
gers just before it reached his, and at that
moment a little gust of wind wafted it back
gently toward the brook. The stranger
leaped from his horse and ran back two or
three rods to recover it. Debby was not so
far gone in her fright but she had her thoughts
about her; and seizing tho rein of the strang
er’s horse, she applied the whip to both horses
at once, and was instantly off upon a quick
canter. The man called in a loud threaten
ing tone, and at onco fired his pistol at her;
but as she did not feel the cold lead, she did 1
not stop or turn oven enobgh to give him ft
farewell look. The remaining five miles of
her journey was soon passed over; and as
she came out into the settlement and passed
the dwellings of her neighbors, many were
tbe beads that looked from the windows and
the doors, and great was tbe wonderment at
seeing Debby riding home so fast, and lead
ing such a fine strange horse.
Her father, who had seen her come over
the hill, met her some rods from tho house,
exclaiming with looks of astonishment—
“ What upon earth have you here, Debby ?
Whose horse is that 1”
“ Why Debby, what has tliee been lin
ing ?” said Mrs. Wilder, who was hut a few
steps behind her husband ; “ thee docs not
look well; what is the matter ?”
As soon as they wero seated in the house
Deddy tokl them the whole story, and Mrs.
| NUMBER 41.
W. T. THOMPSON, EDITOR.
Wilder’s eyes were full of tears during tho
whole recital. When she had rested a litllo
and the gush of feeling began to subside;
Mr WiliLr fait en rryntrAjl ut Liu rlauahler’a
escape, that lie began to feel in excellent
spit its. lie led [lie s.anjn
door and began to examine him.
“ Well, Debby,” said he, “ since yoti’ve
got home safq at last, we may begin tb talk
about business a little now. The hundred
dollar bill is gone; but I’m thinking, after
all, you haven’t made a very had bargain.—*
T hat’s the likeliest horse I’ve seen this many
a day. I don't think it would be a very dist
ficult matter to sell him for two hundred dol
lars. At any rate I’ll take the horse for tbe
hundred dollars, and you may have the nd
ble for tbe twenty dollars you Was to have
out of it.”
” And the saddle bags, too, 1 suppose,’*
said Debby, feeling a little dispbsfcd to join
in the joke.”
“ Yes, and the saddle bags too,” said Mh
Wilder; “ no, stop we’ll see what Is in tbeid
first,” he continued, untying thefn frotn the
saddle. “ Oh, there’slots of shirts, and stock
ings, and handkerchiefs, ahtl Capital good
too. Yco, Debby tbe saddle bags are
yours; these things come ih Very good titoe
for Joseph, you know.”
Debby colored but said nothing.
“ Now, William;” said Mis. Wilder; “thee
is a little too full of thy fun.”
“No fun about it,” said Wilder, replacing
the articles in the leather bags. Here, Deb
by, take ’em and take care of’em.”
Debby took the saddle bags to lier diatri
be r, not a little gratified with the valuable
articles of clothing they contained. She
emptied the contents upon the bed; and on
examining to see if everything was out, she
discovered an inside pocket in one of the
hags. She opened it and drew therefrom
an elegant pocket book, she found it contain
ed a quantity of bills. She counted them
and her heart beat quicker and quicker; sot 1
before she got through she had fifteen hlih
dred dollars in good bank money.
Debby keptlierowncounsel. InafeW days
it was rumored tbet Joseph Nelson bad pur
chased an excellent little farm in the neigh
borhood, that had been offered for sale Sofoe
months since at a thousand dollars; tthtl Was
considered a great bargain.
u Joseph,” caid Wilder the hfext time tin y
met, “ I am astonished to hear thatyou have
been running in debt for a farm in such
times as these. I think yoti ought !o bflve
worked tlnee or four years and got some
thing beforehand, before running in debt to
much.”
“ But I haven’t been running in debt,’’
said Joseph.
“Haven't you bought Sanderson's farm?”
said Wildst/i
“ Yes, I have,” said Joseph.
“At a thousand dollars?” said Wilder.
“ Yes,” said Joseph, “but I have paid for
it all down. I don’t run in debt for any
thing.”
Mr. Wilder Was too much astonished to
ask any further questions.
Joseph Nelson made an excellent farmer
and respectable man; he was industrious
and got rapidly beforehand ; and Mr. Wild
er Was always proud of his son-in-law. It
was sotno ten years after this when Mr.
Wilder was sitting one day and trotting his
third grandson on his knee, that lie said,
“ Debby, I should like to know how Jo
seph contrived to purchase this farm at tbe
time you were married.”
Debby stept to the closet, brought out the
old saddle-bags, atitl opening them, pointed
to the inner pocket, saying; “ the money
came from there, sir.”
THE MYSTERIOUS WEDDING.
A DANISH SfokY.
There existed in former times a village
called Roerwig, about a mile distant fffiin
the shore. The moving sands have now
buried the village, fetid the descendants of
its inhabitants Mostly shepherds and fisher
men, have fetnoved their cottages close to
the shore. A single solitary building, situ
ated upon ft hill, yet reats its head above the
cheerless shifting desert. This building and
the village church were the scene of the fol
lowing mysterious traffiaction :
In an early year of the last century, tho
venerable cure of Roerwig was one night
in his study-absorbed in pious meditations.
His house fay at the extremity of the village
and the simple manners of the iuliabitauta
were so little tinged With distrust, that bolts
and locks were unknown among them, and
every door remained open and unguarded.
The lamp burned gloomily—and the sul
len silence of the midnight hour was only in
terrupted by the rushing noise of the sea, on
whose waves the moon shone reflected, when
the curate heard tho door below opened,and
tho next moment the sound of men’s steps
upon the stairs; He was anticipating a call
to administer the last offices of religion to
someone of his parishioners ou the point of
death, when two foreigners, wrapped up in
white cloaks, entered the room. One of
them approaching, addressed him with po
liteness:
“ Sir, you will have the goodnew to fol
low us immediately. You must perform a
marriage ceremony ; tho hrido and bride
groom are alieedy waiting your arrival at
the church. Anaglke sum,” here the strtu
ger held ottf a pursf full of gold—“will re-