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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-