and respected Eunice, and held her as the sweetest and brightest example of unobtrusive religion in all his church; moreover, he knew how Josh would feel, and he dreaded the task of conveying to him this painful intelligence, resolving, nevertheless, to visit them next day with that intent, as it was now too near night to make it convenient.

But a more merciful and able Shepherd than he preceded him, and spared Josh the lingering agony of an expectation that could do him no good. Miss Eunice had a restless night after Dr. Sawyer's visit, for, with the preternatural keenness of her disease, she read the truth in his eye and tone, and, though she had long looked on to this end, and was ready to enter into rest, the nearness of that untried cure agitated her and forbade her sleep; but faith, unfailing in bitter need, calmed her at length, and with peace written upon her face she slept till dawn: a sudden pang awoke her, and her start roused Josh; he lifted her on the pillow, where the red morning light showed her gasping and gray with death; he turned all cold.

"Good-bye, Josh!" said her tender voice, fainting as it spoke, and with one upward rapturous look of the soft brown eyes they closed forever, and her head fell back on Josh's shoulder, dead.

There the neighbor, who "did chores" for her of late, found the two, when she came in. Josh had changed since his mother died, for the moment Mrs. Casey lifted his wife from his arm, and laid her patient, peaceful face back on its pillow, Josh flung himself down beside her, and cried aloud with the passion and carelessness of a child. Nobody could rouse him, nobody could move him, till Parson Pitcher came in, and, taking his hand, raised and led him into the keeping-1 -room. There Josh brushed off the mist before his drenched eyes with the back of his rough hand, and looked straight at Parson Pitcher.

"Oh Lord! she's dead," said he, as if he alone of all the world knew it.

66

Yes, my son, she is dead," solemnly replied the Parson; "it is the will of God, and you must consent."

"I can't! I can't! I a'n't a goin' to," sobbed Josh-"'ta'n't no use talkin', if I'd only 'xpected somethin', it's that doctor! Oh Lord! I've swore, and Miss Eunice is dead! oh gracious goody! what be I a goin' to do? oh dear! oh dear! oh Miss Eunice!"

Parson Pitcher could not even smilethe poor fellow's grief was too deep. What could he think of to console him, but that deepest comfort to the bereaved, her better state. 66 My dear friend, be comforted! Eunice is with the blessed in heaven!"

"I know it! I know it! she allers was nigh about fit to get there without dyin'. Oh Lordy! she's gone to heaven and I ha'n't!"

No-there was no consoling Uncle Josh; that touch of nature showed it. He was alone, and refused to be comforted; so Parson Pitcher made a fervent prayer for the living, that unawares merged into a thanksgiving for the dead, and went his way, sorrowfully convicted that his holy office had in it no supernatural power or aid, that some things are too deep and too mighty for

man.

Josh's grief raved itself into wornout dejection, still too poignant to bear the gentlest touch; his groans and cries were heart-breaking at the funeral, and it seemed as if he would really die with agony, while the despairing wretchedness of the funeral hymn, the wailing cadences of "China," poured round the dusty and cobwebbed meeting-house to which they carried his wife in her coffin, one sultry August Sunday, to utter prayers and hymns above her who now needed no prayer, and heard the hymns of heaven.

After this, Josh retired to his own house, and, according to Mrs. Casey's story, neither slept nor ate; but this was somewhat apocryphal, and three days after the funeral, Parson Pitcher, betaking himself to the Crane farm, found Uncle Josh whittling out a set of clothes-pegs on his door-step, but looking very down-cast and miserable.

.66

Good-morning, Mr. Crane!" said the good divine.

"Mornin', Parson Pitcher! hev' a cheer?"

The Parson sat down on the bench of the stoop, and wistfully surveyed Josh, wondering how best to introduce the subject of his loss; but the refractory widower gave no sign, and at length the Parson spoke.

"I hope you begin to be resigned to the will of Providence, my dear Mr. Crane?"

"No I don't, a speck!" honestly retorted Josh. Parson Pitcher was shocked.

"I hoped to find you in a better frame," said he.

"I can't help it!" exclaimed Josh, flinging down a finished peg emphatically. "I a'n't resigned! I want Miss Eunice! I a'n't willin' to have her dead, I can't and I a'n't, and that's the hull on't! and I'd a sight ruther -oh goody! I've swore agin. Lord-amassy 'n she a'n't here to look at me when I do, and I'm goin' straight to the d. Oh land! there it goes! oh dear soul, can't a feller help himself nohow?"

And with that Josh burst into a passion of tears, and fled past Parson Pitcher into the barn, from whence he emerged no more till the minister's steps were heard crunching on the gravel path toward the gate, when Josh, persistent as Galileo, thrust his head out of the barn window, and repeated in a louder and more strenuous key, "I a'n't willin', Parson Pitcher!" leaving the Parson in a dubious state of mind, on which he ruminated for some weeks, finally concluding to leave Josh alone with his Bible, till time should blunt the keen edge of his pain, and reduce him to reason; and he noticed with great satisfaction, that Josh came regularly to church and conference meetings, and at length resumed his work with a due amount of composure.

There was in the village of Plainfield a certain Miss Ranney, daughter of the aforesaid Mrs. Ranney, the greatest vixen in those parts, and of course an old maid. Her temper and tongue had kept off suitors in her youth, and had in nowise softened since. Her name was Sarah, familiarized into Sally, and as she grew up to middle age, that pleasant, kindly title being sadly out of keeping with her nature, everybody called her Sall. Ran., and the third generation scarce knew she had another name.

Any uproar in the village always began with Sall Ran, and woe be to the unlucky boy who pilfered an apple under the overhanging trees of Mrs. Ranney's orchard by the road, or tilted the well-sweep of her stony-curbed well to get a drink; Sall was down upon the offender like a hail-storm, and cuffs and shrieks mingled in wild chorus with her shrill scolding, to the awe and consternation of every child within half a mile.

Judge, then, of Parson Pitcher's
VOL. X.-23

'What, in the name of common sense and decency, do you mean by marrying that woman, Joshu-way Crane ?" thundered the Parson.

"Well, ef you'll set down, Parson Pitcher, I'll tell ye the rights on't: you see I'm dreadful pestered with this here swearin' way I've got; I kinder thought it would wear off if Miss Eunice kep a looking at me, but she's died," here Josh interpolated a great blubbering sob.

and

"And I'm gettin' so d bad! there! you see Parson I doo swear dreadful; and I a'n't no more resigned to her dyin' then I used ter be, and I can't stan' it, so I set to figgerin' on it out, and I guess I've lived too easy, han't had enough 'flictions and trials; ́ so I concluded I hed oughter put myself to the wind'ard of some squalls, so 's to learn navigation, and I couldn't tell how, till suddenly I brought to mind Sall Ran, who is the dall, oh dear! I've nigh about swore agin'! and I concluded she'd be the nearest to a cat-o-nine-tails I could get to tewtor me, and then I reklected what old Cap'n Thomas used to say, when I was a boy aboard of his whaler: 'Boys,' sez he, you're allers sot to hev' your own way, and you've got ter hev' mine, so's its pooty clear that I shall flog you to rope-yarns or else you'll hev to make b'lieve my way's yourn, which'll suit all round.' So you see, Parson Pitcher, I wa'n't a goin' to put myself in a way to quarrel with the Lord's will agin', and I don't expect you to hev' no such trouble with me twice, as you've hed sence Miss Eunice up an' died. I swan I'll give up reasonable next time, seein' it's Sall!"

Hardly could Parson Pitcher stand

this singular screed of doctrine, or the shrewd and self-satisfied, yet honest expression of face with which Josh clenched his argument. Professing himself in great haste to study, he promised to publish as well as to marry Josh, and, when his odd parishioner was out of hearing, indulged himself with a long fit of laughter, almost inextinguishable, over Josh's patent Christianizer.

Great was the astonishment of the whole congregation on Sunday, when Josh's intentions were given out from the pulpit; and strangely mixed and hesitating the congratulations he received after his marriage, which took place in the following week. Parson Pitcher took a curious interest in the success of Josh's project; and had to acknowledge its beneficial effects, rather against his will.

Sall Ran was the best of housekeepers, as scolds are apt to be; or is it in reverse that the rule began? She kept the farm-house Quakerly clean, and every garment of her husband's scrupulously mended and refreshed; but if the smallest profanity escaped Uncle Josh's lips, he did indeed "hear thunder," and, with the ascetic devotion of a Guyonist, he endured every objurgatory torrent to the end, though his soft and kindly heart would now and then cringe and quiver in the process.

It was all for his good, he often said, and by the time Sall Ran had been in Miss Eunice's place for an equal term of years, Uncle Josh had become so mild-spoken, so kind, so meek, that surely his dead wife must have rejoiced over it in heaven, even as his brethren did on earth.

And now came the crowning honor of his life. Uncle Josh was made a deacon. Sall celebrated the event by a new black silk frock, and asked Parson Pitcher home to tea after the church meeting, and to such a tea as is the great glory of a New England housekeeper. Pies, preserves, cake, biscuit, bread, short-cake, cheese, honey, fruit, and cream, were pressed, and pressed again upon the unlucky Parson, till he was quite in the condition of Charles Lamb and the omnibus, and gladly saw the signal of retreat from the table, he withdrawing himself to the bench on the stoop, to breathe the odorous June air, and talk over matters and things with Deacon Josh, while "Miss Crane cleared off."

Yes, indeed, my good friend!" returned the parson; "the trial she has been to you has been really blessed, and shows most strikingly the use of discipline in this life."

66

"Yes!" said Josh, "if Miss Eunice had lived, I don't know but what I should 'a ben a swearin' man to this day; but Sall, she's rated it out o' me; and I'm gettin' real resigned, too."

The meek complacency of the confession still gleamed in Uncle Josh's eyes, as he went in to prayers, but Sall Ran looked redder than the crimson peonies on her posy-bed.

Parson Pitcher made an excellent prayer, particularly descanting on the use of trials; and when he came to an end, and arose to say good-night, Mrs. Crane had vanished, so he had to go home without taking leave of her. Strange to say, during the following year, a rumor crept through the village, that Miss Deacon Crane" had not been heard to scold once for months; that she even held her tongue under provocation; this last fact being immediately put to the test by a few evil-minded and investigating boys, who proceeded to pull her fennel-bushes through the pickets, and nip the yellow heads, receiving for their audacious thieving no more than a mild request not to "do that," which actually shamed them into apologizing.

With this confirmation, even Parson Pitcher began to be credulous of report, and sent directly for Deacon Crane to visit him.

"How's your wife, Deacon?" said the Parson, as soon as Josh was fairly seated in the study.

"Well, Parson Pitcher, she's most onsartainly changed. I don't believe she's got riled more'n once, or gin it to me once for six months."

Very singular !" said Parson Pitch"I am glad for both of you; but what seems to have wrought upon her?"

bled and spilt a lot o' new milk onto the kitchen floor, that allers riled her; so I began to say-'Oh, dear! I'm sorry, Sall!' when she ups right away, and sez, sez she-You han't no need to be skeered, Josh Crane; you've done with 'flictions in this world; I shan't never scold you no more. I 'aint a goin' to be made a pack-horse to carry my husband to heaven!' and she never said no more to me, nor I to her, but she's ben nigh about as pretty-behaved as Miss Eunice ever since, and I hope I shan't take to swearin. I guess I shan't, but I do feel kinder crawly about bein' resigned."

However, Uncle Josh's troubles were over. Sall Ran dropped her name for "Aunt Sally," and finally joined the church, and was as good in her strenuous way as her husband in his meekness, for there are "diversities of gifts:" and when the Plainfield bell, one autumn day, tolled a long series of eighty strokes, and Deacon Crane was gathered to his rest in the daisy-sprinkled burying-yard beside Miss Eunice, the young minister who succeeded Parson Pitcher had almost as hard a task to console Aunt Sally as his predecessor had to instill resignation, on a like occasion, into Uncle Josh.

to believe, are also readers of our venerable, and in its own way valuable, contemporary, the "Gentleman's Magazine;" many of them, indeed, though they may often have seen that periodical quoted as a contemporaneous authority in reference to what now we may almost call ancient history, may be surprised to learn that it actually is a contemporary of ours, that there is a number of it for the present month, and that the "Mr. Urban," who edited it in the days of George II., is still extant in a green old age under the reign of Victoria.

As regards the present idiosyncrasy of our respected friend, we have, however, nothing to do. But we shall not be guilty of any offense to worthy Mr. Urban, or of impertinently interfering with him, if we present the modern reader with a view of what sort of a thing an English magazine in the middle of the last century was. It is not a little curious, we think, to take a look at the moral physiognomy of our great-greatgrandfathers, as it is reflected in the pages before us, and not a little instructive to compare with our own the talk and the walk of another age, as these are there exhibited.

Premising that the "Gentleman's Magazine" was established in 1731, and had thus reached its twenty-fifth year when the volume before us (that of

number for March in it, and shall go over the contents in their order. The first is an account, by an eye-witness, of some minor phenomena observed near Lisbon at the time of the great earthquake there in the preceding year, and contains the usual allowance of rumbling noises, fire and brimstone, "smoak," troubled waters, and the like it may have been acceptable at the time. Next we have "Three Characters highly finished," being an extract from a work "written by a Gentleman of considerable Rank in the great and gay World." These "Characters" are sketches after the fashion set by the essayists of the Addisonian age. As thus:

"Camilla puts you in mind of the most perfect music that can be composed; Flora of the wild sweetness which is produced by the irregular play of the breeze upon the Eolian harp. In Camilla you admire the decency of the Graces; in Flora the attractive sweetness of the Loves"-and so on.

Next we have a letter to Mr. Urban, "On the state of the roads round London;" which state, as regards some of them, appears to have been a deplorable one indeed :

"The Stratford road resembled a stagnant lake of deep mud from Whitechapel to Stratford, with some deep and dangerous sloughs; in many places

'twas hard work for the horses to go faster than a foot-space on level ground with a light four-weel post-chaise."

We may here observe, that in our quotations we faithfully copy the printing of the original, evident errata and all.

Then follows a letter from a celebrated character-rather curious, though on a trifling subject. It relates to a natural phenomenon which had been witnessed in Yorkshire, and which had been described in a pamphlet, "supposed to have been written by John Wesley, the methodist teacher." Touching this pamphlet, an anonymous writer had said, in the "Gentleman's Magazine" for the previous month, that "having caused an inquiry to be made into the fact at no small trouble and expense," he found "the whole to be a falsehood without the least degree of truth for its foundation;" adding, that "those who have deliberately invented and propagated this lie are most certainly of their father the devil, who was a liar from the beginning." To whom, in reply, John Wesley :—

"Bristol, March 8. "MR. URBAN,-I have met with many persons in my life, who did not abound with modesty, but I never yet met with one who had less of it, than your anonymous correspondent, whose letter is inserted p. 56 of your Magazine for February.

"The whole account of Whiston-Cliff, near Black Hamilton in Yorkshire, inserted in one of your Magazines, I aver to be punctually true, having been an eye-witness of every particular of it. And if F. D. will set his name, and aver the contrary, I will make him ashamed, unless shame and he have shook hands and parted. Yours, &c., JOHN WESLEY."

And we have no doubt but that the energetic apostle of Methodism would have kept his word.

Under the title, "Astonishing relation of a moving field," an account of a landslip "near Westran in Kent" follows: we may pass it over without notice, though it was evidently a big event to the writer. "The history of England," says he, "makes mention of a similar case happening at Westran in the reign of Queen Elizabeth."

Then comes the longest article-the piece de resistance-of the number; it is the continuation from a previous one of a "LIFE OF GEORGE VILLIERS, the first D. of BUCKINGHAM," and is not without its merits; but to give the title of it must suffice here.

--

"In the year 1746, during the late war, Mr. Belchier, in conjunction with other merchants, fitted out a fleet of privateers, called the Royal Family". such is the beginning of the next article. It, however, contains nothing nautical, being simply a detail of certain criminal prosecutions instituted against an innocent man by a true land-shark, but which ended in a triumphant acquittal, for "Noads was acquitted with so much honor that the Court granted him a copy of his indictment." There is a reward of honor for you! How satisfactory to have been capitally, though unjustly, accused of perjury and forgery, if, besides being acquitted, you can hand down to your children's children an unsullied name and-" a copy of your indictment!"

Next we have "The Church of Rome idolatrous," the production of a zeal that is not according to knowledge; then, a paper "On the Cultivation of Exotics," which would scarcely teach anything new to the gardeners of this day; then "An original Story of the late Duke of Montague;" then, "Observations on the late Fast," being an Apology for the Quakers who opened their shops" on the day it was observed; and then "Some Account of Alexander Thompson, who was executed for not surrendering himself, pursuant to Notice given in the London Gazette, after being declared a Bankrupt.'

With reference to this last-mentioned article, we are inclined to think that many of our readers will scarcely believe it possible that such a judicial murder could have been perpetrated under the law of England as it stood only a hundred years ago.

But so it was. Thompson, "a native of Peterhead," had contracted debts in London. These altogether "did not amount to more than £200." He fled to Scotland, but having imprudently returned to London, "he was apprehended and carried before Mr. Fielding," the famous novelist, who, as most of our readers must know, was a magistrate, "who soon discovered him to be the person advertised in the Gazette: he was, therefore, committed and tried for that offense, and the commission and his non-surrender being proved, the Jury found him Guilty," and accordingly, as we find in the "Historical Chronicle" of the "Gentleman's Magazine" for the previous month, he was hanged at Ty