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THE worthy sons of St. Nichols have occasionally a very singular method of expressing themselves. One day, last summer, one of them who had been at work in a cornfield came limping up to the farm house, his hand grasping the calf of the leg, and his face expressive of the greatest pain.

"Vat ish de matter mit you, Hans?" exclaimed the good-natured host, who sat at the door smok. ing his pipe.

"Oh!" exclaimed the sufferer, "I pit minself very bad mit a snake, out in ter field!" and he pressed the wounded part with a tighter grasp.

"You pit yourself mit a snake?" said the terrified and humane proprietor; "den vy you don't make fast and tie bandage mit your leg, else you will get a coffin in your pody."

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DUTCH PRAYER.-A Dutch preacher who was wamly inclined in favor of the tory party during the Revolutionary war, happened once to get into an American camp, on Sunday, and was consequently called upon for a sermon and a prayer. He from the force of habit commenced the latter with "Got pless the king-" whereupon there was considerable excitement amongst the soldiers, when he preceived it, with admirable presence of mind continued, “Yes, mine hearers, I zay Got pless te king-pless him mit blenty of hardt dimes, pless him mit a whig barliament-pless him mit defeats on landt unt on te zea-pless him wit all kindths of pad luck-pless him mit sickness-pless him ruit a short life-unt, Lordt, may we have no more of him."

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"LA me!" sighed Mrs. Partington, "here I have been suffering the higamies of death for three mortal weeks. Fust, I was seized with a bleeding phrenology in the himshire of the brain, which was exceeded by a stoppage of the left ventilator of the heart. This gave me an inflammation in the borax, and now I'm sick with the chloroform morbus. There is no blessin' like that of helth, particularly when your sick."

46

"Now, Billy, my dear, give your little sister half of your apple." "I don't want to mother." Yes, do my dear; that's a good boy. It is more blessed to give than to receive." No it ain't, mother, not always. There are some good things I'd as leave give as take--but not apples." "What things then, my dear." "A good whipping,

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CLERICAL WIT-An old gentlman of 84, having taken to the altar a young damsel of about 16, the clergyman said to him: "The font is at the other end of church." "What do I want of the font ?" said the old gentleman. «O! I beg your pardon," said the clerical wit; "I thought you had brought this child to be christened!"

HOW TO FIND ROOM IN AN OMNIBUS.-Conduc"Would any gentleman mind going outside, to oblige a lady?" Unfortunate Gentleman, (tightly wedged in at the back !)—" I should be very happy, but I only came yesterday out of the lever hospi

tal."

Omnibus clears in a minute!

A FRIEND of ours who took the overland route to California, writes to us that he was so hard run in May last, that he had to boil his green cotton umbrella for greens-for a knuckle of ham he had to use an old boot. There's a bill for you.

MRS. PARTINGTON, on hearing that a young man had set up for himself, "Poor fellow," said she," has he no friend that will set up for him part of the time ?" And she sighed to be young again.

A GOOD EXCUSE. "Now my little man, tell me for a pennywhy don't you wash you face." "Lor' bless you! -We never has no water down our court."

LAST Sunday, a little boy attending Sunday school, was asked "what became of Judas Iscariot?" "Killed in the revolutionary war," said the boy quickly.

Ir you ever wish to carry home a shirt full of broken bones, just undertake to part an Irishman and his wife when they are exchanging irons with

each other.

Letters Containing Remittances, Received at this Office, ending Wednesday last, deducting the amount of postage paid. F. M. West Burlington, N. Y. $1,00.

MARRIAGES.

On the 6th inst. by the Rev. J C. Duy, Mr. David N. Hess to Miss Gertrude Dederick, all of the town of Claverack. In New-York, on the 6th just by the Rev. Mr. Tuttle, Mr. J. Warren Coleman, of Albany, to Miss Harriet E. Simons, of New-York.

Mr. H. L. Bodertha, of Hudson, to Miss Mary F. Haight, of In Nassau, on the 5th inst. by the Rev. Wm. W. Pierce,

North Adams, Mass.

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Original Poetry.

For the Rural Repository.

TO MARCIA.

BY MRS. M. L. GARDINER.

THOU art gone little Marcia, no more do I see
Your fairy like form gliding swiftly 'round me;
No more do I hear your sweet charming voice,
Which even in gloom made my spirits rejoice.
Thou art gone litle Marcia, thy Grandmama weeps,
Every night of her life, her pillow she steeps,
With the bitterest tears she ever yet shed,
For those whom she loved, either living or dead.
Last Christmas, thy Father and Mother were here,
Uncles, and aunts, and friends very dear,
Our vine covered lot, was cheerful and bright,
Alas for to day, 'tis as gloomy as night.

Oh, when wilt thou fly to thy green island home,
My sweet Marcia B. oh, when wilt thou come ?
Shall I ever behold thee my own precious child,
With thy cherub like face, and thy eye beaming mild ?
Shall I ever again embrace thee, and call

Thee, my loved one, my darling, my own Marcia Ball.
Shall I ever enfold thee. and sing thee to rest,
As erst I have done on my fond loving breast?
"Twas wrong, very wrong, when I loved thee so well,
To take thee away from thy grandma to dweil.
When no longer ny eyes can follow thy form,
That made e'en the sky look bright in a storm;
God bless thee my sweet one, thy Father and Mother,
And all our dear friends, ever love one another.
When years have rolled bv, are passed and gone,
And the Grandma thou lov'st in the grave lies alone,
Oh, wilt thou remember her love with a sigh,
And once in a while, let a tear dim thine eye.
For never, did mortal e'er love

Another more dearly; death cannot remove
No, not even death can bear from my heart.
Thy image, my DARLING if called on to part.
Sag Harbour, L. I. 1851.

FRIENDS.

FRIEND after friend departs;

Who has not lost a friend? There is no union here of hearts, That finds not here an end; Were this frail world our only rest, Living, or dying, none were blest. Beyond the flight of Time,

Beyond this vale of death, There surely is some blessed clime

Where life is not a breath,

Nor life's affections transient fire, Whose sparks fly upward to expire.

There is a world above,

Where parting is unknown

A whole eternity of love,

Form'd for the good alone;

And faith beholds the dying here

Translated to that happier sphere.

Thus star by star decline,

Till all are passed away,

As morning high and higher shines

To pure and perfect day;

Nor sink those stars in empty night,

-They hide themselves in heavens's own light.

A MAN'S REQUIREMENTS.

BY ELIZABETH BARRET BROWNING.
Love me, sweet, with all thou art,
Feeling, thinking, seeing-
Love me in the lightest part,
Love me in full being.

Love me with thine open youth
In its frank surrender;

With the vowing of thy mouth,
With its silence tender.
Love me with thine azure eyes,

Made for earnest granting!
Taking color from the skies,

Can Heaven's truth be wanting?

Love me with their lids, that fall
Snow-like at first meeting;
Love me with thine heart, that all

The neighbors then see beating.

Love me with thy hand stretched out
Freely-open minded;

Love me with thy loitering foot-
Hearing one behind it.

Love me with thy voice, that turns
Sudden faint above me,

Love me with thy blush that burns
When I murmur," Love me !"

Love me with thy thinking soul

Break it to love sighing;

Love me with thy thoughts that roll On through living-dying.

Love me in thy gorgeous airs,

When the world has crowned thee! Love me, kneeling at thy prayers,

With the angels round the.

Love me pure as musers do,

Up the woodlands shady; Love me, gaily, fast, and true, As a winsome lady.

Through all hopes that keep us brave, Further off or nigher;

Love me for the house and grave-,
And for something higher.

Thus, if thou wilt prove me, dear,
Woman's love no fable,

I will love thee-half-a-year-
As a man is able.

THE MARINER'S HYMN.
LAUNCH thy bark, mariner!
Christian, God speed thee!
Let loose the rudder-bands-
Good angels lead thee!
Set thy sails warily,

Tempests will come ;
Steer thy course stendily,
Christian steer home!
Look to the weather-bow,

Breakers are round thee; Let fall the plummet now, Shallows may ground thee. Reefs in the foresail, there! Hold the helm fast!

So let the vessel wear-
There swept the blast..

"What of night, watchman ?
What of the night ?"
"Cloudy-all quiet-

No land yet- all's right !"

Be wakeful, be vigilant

Danger may be

At an hour when all seemeth Securest to thee.

Now gains the leak so fast? Clear out the holdHoist up thy merchandise, Heave out the gold;There-let the ingots goNow the ship rights: Hurrah! the harbour's nearLo, the red lights! Slacken not sail yet

At inlet or island; Straight for the beacon steer, Straight for the high land; Crowd all thy canvas on, 'Cut through the foamChristian ens! anchor nowHeaven is thy home!

ACTION,

ACTION! action! strong emotion,
Either of delight or wo!
Stagnant air and stagnant ocean,

May my life's bark never know!
Labor loving daughter, weeping,
Full existence let me prove!
Fearing naught but slothful sleeping.
While its marvels round me move!
Though a stringed harp my soul be,
Folding in its chords sublime
Music, which to rouse, is wholly

Past the skill of Fate and Time;
Yet, when'er these powers have fitness,
Forth its numbers let them call

All the pure may feel and witness-
Knowledge, suffering-give me all !
And I'll dream what music lingers.
Like the germ beneath the sod,
To be waked by Angel-fingers,
Nearer to the throne of God.

New Volume, October, 1850.

RURAL REPOSITORY,

Vol. 27, Commencing Oct. 19, 1850,

EMBELLISHED WITH NUMEROUS ENGRAVINGS. Price $1-Clubs from 45 to 75 Cents.

THE RURAL REPOSITORY will be devoted to Polite Literature, containing Moral and Sentimental Tales, Original Communications, Biographies, Traveling Sketches, Amusing Miscellany, Humorous and Historical Anecdotes, Valuable Recipes, Poetry, &c. The first Number of the Twentyseventh Volume of the RURAL REPOSITORY will be issued on Saturday the 19th of October, 1850.

The "Repository" circulates among the most intelligent families of our country and is hailed as a welcome visitor, by all that have favored us with their patronage. It has stood the test of more than a quarter of a century; amid the many changes that have taken place and the ups and downs of life, whilst hundreds of a similar character have perished, our humble Rural has continued on, from year to year, until it is the Oldest Literary Paper in the United States.

CONDITIONS.

"THE RURAL REPOSITORY will be published every other Saturday in the Quarto form, containing twenty siz numbers of eight pages each, with a title page and index to the volume, making in the whole 208 pages. It will also be embellished with numerous Engravings, and consequently it will be one of the neatest, cheapest, and best literary papers in the country.

TERMS.

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No subscription received for less than one year. the back numbers furnished to new subscribers during the year until the edition is out, unless otherwise ordered.

WILLIAM B. STODDARD. Hudson, Columbia Co N. Y.

NOTICE TO AGENTS, &c.

The present Post Office Law, will probably prevent our sending a Large Prospectus as heretofore, in consequence of the extra expense; but the matter contained in one, and all the necessary information concerning Clubs, etc, can be ascer tained from the above. We respectfully solicit all our subscribers to endeavour to get up a Club in heîr vicinity for the next Volume.

EDITORS, who wish to exchange, are respectfully requested to give the above a few insertions, or at least a notice And receive Subscriptions.

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ONE DOLLAR PER ANNUM.

VOLUME XXVII.

W. B. STODDARD, EDITOR AND PROPRIETOR.

HUDSON, N. Y. SATURDAY, MAY 31, 1851.
KLK WHITNEY.

PAYABLE IN ADVANCE.

NUMBER 17.

by way of plaintiff or counsel; and after he has had such experience, his confidence in human testi. mony and human judgment will be most iniserably shaken. No sooner had Whitney broke one antagonist on the wheel than another started up, and hydra-like, held him another fight. Sometimes a southern legislature, influenced by the best spirit, would make him a generous grant for his machine, and then the demagogires would prevent or repeal the law. The most enlightened portions of the community were with him, but they are not always the ruling majority. The narrative of his exertions to get his rights is painful to read; it may be truly called the trials of genius. The opinion of Judge Johnson, of the supreme court of the United States, is worthy of perpetual preservation, for its good sense and manly independence. He acknowledged that Whitney had given every acre of cotton tillage a double value. Although cheered by the wise and assisted by the liberal, Whitney spent the flower of his existence in lawsuits and troubles, and gained nothing to remunerate himself or friends. After his fatigue and disappointment at the south he returned to the east, and commenced making fire-arms. He had a contract with the United THE United States has been prolific in men of was not done until he reached the age of twenty- States' government to furnish them with several There were many difficulinvention. In the growing state of the country three. A man with ever so strong a mind cannot thousand stand of arms. every one followed his own inclination, and there prepare for college as readily as a bright boy. ties in this engagement, from the low state of the arts in our country; but this contract was renewed, was nothing of that narrowness of thought which Other things, besides his Latin and Greek, will is found in those nations where the occupations of press upon him; and, while he should be running and finally became profitable. Mr. Whitney died a verb through the modes and tenses, his mind is on the ninth of January, 1825. in the sixtieth year the father descend to the children for many gener. ations. Necessity is truly the mother of invention, wandering upon his future destinies in life. In of his age, deeply lamented by all who knew him. but utility has much to do in keeping it alive. college, Whitney was distinguished in the higher IIe was a man of genius, without any of those These great American inventors and mechanical branches of mathematicks and metaphysicks. eccentricities which so often leave dark stains on the page of human life amongst those exalted by geniuses, from Sir William Phipps to Jacob Per- In the midst of his studies he now and then diskins, would fill volumes, but our limits will only covered his great abilities as a practical mechanic. superior talents. He was open, direct, fair, and permit us to mention a few. Amongst them Eli In 1792 he went to Georgia, to pass a year or two gentlemanly in all he did. His feelings were acute, as a private tutor. He had become acquainted but he had the entire control of them, and his Whitney, the inventor of the cotton gin, deserves well of his country. He was born in Westborough, with Mrs. Greene, the widow of Major General N. perseverance was astonishing. In his most disastrous defeats he had a self-possession and a calmWorcester Co. Massachusetts, December 8, 1765. Greene, and her kindness was of importance to him His father was a respectable yeoman, and gave in getting acquainted with the principal planters ness that excited the admiration of his enemies.his children a good common school education. Eli in the country around him. From them he learned They never knew when the fight was over, for he arose from disaster like one of immortal vigor, discovered much sagacity at an early age, and the difficulties the cotton growers labored under He lived particularly in mechanics. His father had a work-in separating the seed of the cotton-plant from the and repeated his blows with success. shop-a common thing for every farmer-and staple. He was prompted to set about inventing honored and respected for, his virtues, as well as a machine that would answer the purpose. This for his talents. He was well acquainted with most here his boys were permitted to handle tools as was soon done, and the machine put into operation; of the gifted minds in the country. Jefferson consoon as they could handle a knife and fork. but so anxious were the planters to have the bene-sidered him as a philosopher of extraordinary pow. Among the first of Whitney's inventions was a machine to make nails; and this was a profitable fit of his labors, that they took the machine from business during the revolutionary war, as the arti-him by force. Those who were employed to make cle was scarce in the market. At the age of nineteen he conceived the idea of getting a classical education, and he worried along, with numerous difficuties, in preparing to enter college, which

machines like it claimed to be inventors, and Mr.
Whitney was involved in lawsuits without number
to get his right. No one can tell how vexatious
such suits are but those who have had the trial,

ers of investigation and invention; and Fulton hailed him as a kindred mind, engaged in the great cause with himself, that of doing good to mankind. Sueh men are not duly appreciated while living. There is a lying spirit of envy abroad, that follow them every where, and which seizes every weak

upon the unfinished picture. "There she is, as beautiful as herself save the life! I should be happy if I could give to the eye that heavenly ex

very handsome gilt edged thick book, which from its peculiar shape and aspect, was without doubt, a Holy Bible; perhaps a mother's or a sister's light-parting gift, to which, in his straightened circum-pression that will forever be impressed upon my

ness, or every slight failure in bold attempts, and makes the most of them to injure them, and bring the mighty in intellect to a common level. Frank. lin was denounced as impious for bringing ning from the clouds; Edgeworth was thought a lunatic for his observations on rail-roads; Beddors, for his pneumaticks, was exhibited in printshops, with a fool's cap on; and the wise people of New-York looked upon Robert Fulton, while maturing his plans to start a steam-boat on the North river, as oue only preparing himself to become an inmate of a mad-house. Posterity will do justice to such men, and the gratitude their own generation owed them will be paid in future times. TALE

From the Boston Olive Branch.

THE POOR PAINTER.

OR

THE REVERSED PORTRAIT.

A TALE OF LOVE AND LAW.
BY J. H. INGRAHAM.

"It is in vain to try! I will abandon the attempt in despair!" and the pencil fell from the hand of the youthful artist, who threw himself into a seat opposite his easel, with looks of the deepest disappointment.

He was a handsome young man, if a noble head, fine expanding dark eye, softly sparkling beneath a forehead of true genius, and features of chiseled regularity beaming with intelligence and fecling, constitute manly beauty.

He was pale nevertheless, as if from overwork and much thought, for the true painter thinks and wears out his brain with lofty conceptions, even as the writer does; the pencil for the pen, the palet for the ink-stand, constitute the only dif ference.

He was not only pale, but a look of care unusual to youth, which state is bright rather with hopes than dark with doubts, sat upon his brow, and gave an interesting sadness to his counten. ance. Perhaps he was poor! Genius and poverty are always found in the same pathway, or rather poverty is the shadow of genius.

That he was poor was very apparent by his dress. He wore an old morning wrapper that looked as if it had seen better times than the present, his old black silk vest wanted two or three buttons and was irremediably worn out about the pockets; his linen bosom betrayed, here and there, a darn, as if the work of a bungler at the needle ; for though EDWARD LAURENCE was a skillful wielder of the pencil, he had little skill in the use of the slender steel shaft which is peculiarly woman's bright weapon of industrial toil. His pantalcons, once black, were patched in one knee and darned in the other, but so neatly done that only a piercing eye would detect it, especially in a room partly darkened, as the study of our hero now

was.

The furniture of the room, too, indicated the low purse of the occupant. There were pictures without frames hung about and a small pile of canvass in ore corner. There was a truckle bed nalf hid by a faded green curtain of baize, and a chair or two, and a red painted table that was used both as wash-board, stand and book care; for it was heaped with books and pamphlets, none of them of any intrinsic value, save a

stances, he clung both with religious devotion and filial love, revering it for itself, cherishing it for the giver's sake.

There was no other furniture in the room but the little pots of paint, his brushes for work, a smooth fragment of marble on which to rub and mix his colors, and his easel which supported a half finished portrait of a beautiful girl. Fair brown tresses had 'she and eyes also brown, that rich brown tint which the hazel-nut reflects to the eye when a sunbeam falls upon it. The brow was open and fair and showed that the original was proud and yet gentle, intellectual and spirited, and yet sensible and generous; for the brow expresses more than all other features. It is the fair column upon which the soul within inscribes itself. Her complexion was faultness, possessing that just blending of the roseate of the sunset cloud with the delicate pearl tints of the sea-shells; and the beautiful lips rivalled the pomegranate itself. The artist had evidently suffered his coral tinted pencil to linger about the sweet maidenly mouth, for it was touched and re-touched till the dew of love seemed to tremble upon them as dew trembles in the morning upon the opening bud of the moss rose.

There was an exquisite turn to the chin, like the roundess of a peach, and a nest of cupids was bedded in the sweet depression beneath the ripe under lip. The neck looked as if moulded from pliant ivory, and gracefully it supported the beautiful head which sat upon it with a queenly air, as if upon a throne.

There was not merely beauty and girlish loveliness in the fair portrait, but there was a soul beaming and speaking through the canvass, as if it lived. The looker on that sweet noble counte. uance could understand that she was good and pure, open-hearted and high-spirited, and all that a true-hearted, educated, American maiden of nineteen should be.

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memory. But it is useless to try; I must be sat. isfied with what I have done; and placing the precious prize thus stolen, unsuspected by her, ever before me, let imagination and memory complete what my pencil refuses to achieve. Ob, poverty! Oh penury, and the toil of the heart and hand for bread! Oh lady, if thou knewest how true a heart loved and worshipped thee, thou wouldst think of me with kindness! But thou must never know it! In the silence of my bosom must I bury the secret of my love for thee! Thou shalt know it only when we meet in yonder bright home above, where gold no longer keeps asunder congenial spirits! My reason would urge me to destroy this picture, and banish from my memory, one whom I can never be migher to than I am now; who would scorn and perhaps despise me if she knew that I had dared to catch her features from my memory, and place them on canvass ! But I must love though love bring with it only despair. Even despair is sweet, borne for one so loved and beautiful !”

The artist was interrupted by a rough rap at the door. He hurriedly reversed the picture upon his easel and unlocked the door of his humble studio to the visitor. He was a short, broad shouldered man, wore a white hat with a broad brim which the collar had cocked up behind, was enveloped in a stout grey bob.coat, and carried a formidable looking cane in his hand.

Instantly the face of the painter changed color. The glow of devoted love fled and gave place to the blanched aspect of painful suspense.

"This is Mr. Edward Laurence, I suppose," said the man with a rude blunt manner, as he fixed his little greyish eyes keenly upon him. .. Yes, sir !"

"I have a writ against you!" "A writ?"

64 Yes, sir. A demand of John Horton & Co. for frames and canvass !

The portrait was unfinished. The cyes alone "Is it possible they have sued me?" exclaimwere incomplete. They beamed with gentle fire cd the artist with a slight flush of indignant surand seemed to expand with the noble conscious-prise, while his voice was tremulous with shame ness of purity and truth. Angels would look so to us out of the eyes of a portrait; look as if they knew they were good and noble in their natures, and spotless and all love and benevolence.

The eyes were yet imperfect; at least EO thought Edward, as he touched and re-touched, deepened the hazel tint on the iris, and now brightened, with the most delicate shade of blue, the azure heaven in which the pupil, like love's own sun was bung. Still he could not satisfy himself. He failed to get that expression of the beautiful original, which had haunted his soul for wecks, and given a hue to his very dreams. He strove to fix there a glance which had made his blood bound, and the strings of his heart vibrate as if cupid had swept them with his wing. wonder that the artist despaired! The light of the eye comes and goes like lightning. To fasten it upon canvass would be necessary first to make the canvass live and become animate with soul and feeling,

and grief; for he had never before received a visit
from an officer of the law, and seemed to feel like
a criminal before the officer's protessional assur-
ance and air of virtuous superiority.
"There is the writ ?"

"I was there only last evening and explained to Mr. Horton that I could not pay the bill, and this morning I sent him back every frame but three I bought of him, and all the canvass I had not used.

"He has sued you ouly then for the balance, I suppose."

"It is very singular, sir. I frankly told him my situation, and that I had not seventy five cents in the world. I told him without disguise exactNoly my circumstances, how I have been unfortu nate in not getting sitters and that illness had kept me from my work till I had expended all I had made. He seemed to listen to me with attention; said he would take back the frames and appeared to be satisfied when I promised to pay him as soon as it was in my power; and here be sends an officer to arrest me; Why did he not

"It is all in vain! I can never accomplish it!" he cried as he once more .aised his face and gazed

a shudder? Oh, Christianity where is thy blush? A let me know that he was going to take this course?" "He knew better than that," answered the constable with a knowing air. "There might have been a clean garret when I got here this morning, you know? Between two days, you know ?"

As the picture progressed from day to day, the but lay not a hand upon anything else. There is the door, sir, I follow you!

With these words he took up his hat and pointed to the door. The officer stood irresolute. He looked as if he resolved yet to look at the pic. ture. But there was a light sparkling in the young debtor's eyes that taught him discretion; and muttering something about "he would yet make him wince," he was going towards the door, when it was opened, and a noble looking gentleman of middle age entered as if uncertain whether to come in or not.

"I beg your pardon, sir, but having thrice knocked and not being heard, as you were talking, I ventured to open the door. This is Mr. Laurence's room, I believe!"

"Yes, sir," answered Edward embarrassed and blushing at acknowledging himself while thus attended, for the constable was standing at his shoulder. This personage no sooner beheld the gentleman than he quickly raised his hat and bowed with the most supercillious civility. The stranger cast his eyes from one to the other, and looking serious, said with a kind smile.

"I hope, Mr. Laurence, that I am not intruding upon any unpleasant scene here!"

"I do not understand you, sir!" "You don't. Well you can understand this, I guess!" answered the man, laying one hand on his shoulder and with the other holding the writ up before his eyes. "It is plain King's English!" Edward saw indistinctly, for he was too much confused and overwhelmed to read some words of dreadful meaning about "taking his body and safely keeping it (a barbarous parallel with Shylock's pound of flesh, that disgraces Christian nations) until the plaintiff had his just demand paid, &c." "I see, sir! What do you wish? I cannot pay it!" "It is only seventeen dollars, fifty!" "It is out of my power to settle it sir." "What have you got here? Let me take a look! Pictures, hey! Portraits of nobodies! There is, let me see-one, two, three-there is six pictures of people, they won't fetch at auction, more nor a dollar a piece, unless the folks they was took for bid em in, which can't be 'pended upon. Then here is paints, brushes, and some old books-a dollar more at the most. That is seven dollars in all. Demand seventeen fifty, with costs make it up to twenty clear. Them two chairs and tables I spose might fotch two shillins a piece; that is another dollar. Then here is the bed-stead-an X at that, and what is on it, say three dollars more, that is eleven dollars, and I don't know but what I'm making you a d- -d large allowance on the fixins any how.That's all that I see!" he added, looking roundly so painfully situated" said the visitor, "but I with the same impudent, vulgar freedom of the premises which had characterized him as he made this inventory. "Yes, here is a three legged frame and a picture on it. The frame an't worth a red cent, but let's see what the picture is. If its woods and capes and housen, painted hand. some, It'll fetch more than likenesses of nobody knows who !"

Here he approached and stretched forth his rough grasp to turn the portrait which was upon the easel. Edward had stood motionless between stupor and surprise, watching him proceed with his insulting estimation of the value of his worldly wealth, but he now made a spring forward and laying his hand firmly upon the wrist of the constable he said, in a tone made resolute and impressive by his misfortunes.

"Touch it not!"

"There is two words to that bargain, young man," responded the officer, falling back a step from the determined bearing of the young painter. "I guess I'll see the picture!"

"If you dare to advance one step nigher to it than you now are, I will teach you that a debtor is a man, and that an officer of the law is no more than one !"

"So, this is resisting the law !" said the fellow with a menacing air.

"It is resisting impertinence-no more!-You have a writ to arrest me if I have not the means to pay the debt. It says nothing about levying. It says the money or my body!-Money I have none. Here is my body. I surrender myself!

"It is only an arrest for a debt, Colonel," said the constable with a wink; "such things must be done, you know, sir? Twenty dollars for frames, and no funds, and I was just taking him into retirement."

"I beg, Mr. Constable, you will not go thro' the streets publishing my shame!" said Edward with the keenest mortification at thus being exposed before a perfect stranger.

history of debtor and creditor might be written by thousands of pens which would unfold crimes and sufferings at which humanity would pale. Talk not of the horrors of the Inquisition, or the terrors of the Bastile. We have Inquisitions in every court in the land, and Bastiles in every county of this free Republic.

"Mr. Laurence," said Col. Preston, "I cannot very well give up my intention to sit to gratify Mr. Sharpset, here, in his desire to promenade with you, so if you have no objection, I will pay you in advance for my picture.

"No-oh-sir, no-sir;" stammered Edward, the tears rushing to his eyes.

"Not a word! What is the amount of the demand? I see. There Mr. Constable, there are twenty dollars. Give me a receipt. Here is a pen. Not a word, Mr. Laurence. It is my own affair. I can't very well lose this morning, and so you sce I am favoring myself!"

66 Sir, you are so generous-so-so. "There, Mr. Constable, as you have no further claims on this gentleman, he will, no doubt, dispense with your farther attention!"

"Oh certainly," answered the officer bowing obsequiously, while Col. Preston was trying to make out the spider tracks which Shapset had placed with the pen and ink, beneath the demand. He backed out bowing, and at the door even turned and made a civil, condescending sort of nod to his escaped victim. It is a matter of doubt whether he would not rather have carried him to jail than handled his "costs." A constable can never forgive anything like independence or gen. tlemanly firmness in any of his" subjects." There must be slave-like submission to him or the person is in danger of being imprisoned on his complaint for resisting the execution of the law. Gen. dare say that my visit will prove very timely.-tleman of this class have great reverence for the All men of genius have to contend with these little Law! reverses and you are not an exception. I have When Sharpset shut the door, Edward felt re. seen a specimen portrait from your easel in Dag-lieved. It seemed to him as if he had suddenly get's window and being very much pleased with been redeemed from some horrible calamity, it, I inquired the artist, and have come hither to as in truth he had. If he had entered the walls of order a picture for myself, and another for a a prison, he felt he should never hold up his head friend. I hope you will me give a sitting this again among men. morning!"

"I am sorry, Mr. Laurence, to find you exact.

"You see, sir, how I-I-that is you see I am in this civil gentleman's power. You must ask him, sir, not me !"

This was spoken with the deepest sense of personal degradation struggling with pride. Oh debt, bitter enough thou art to the sensitive, honorable mind; but arrest is the sharp steel that enters the soul! To be turned over to the cold, cruel, jeering keeping of an officer of the law who then loves to act the petty tyrant over minds that his own would grovel to, under other circumstances!--this is the last drop of human woe.

"Now, Mr. Laurence," said the generous stranger, "I wish to hear no thanks. I have done you no service that will not fully repay by your pencil. If I choose to pay something in adthat is as I please. I know you feel grateful and all that, for it is not very pleasant to have the intimate acquaintance of such gentleman as Mr. Sharpsct. But not a word more

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"I have not yet spoken, sir. I hardly know how to articulate a word. My heart is too full. You know-"

"I have done nothing. Come, sir, where shall I place myself? Your light I see is good. You have a picture on the easel. Let me see it?

It is a question yet to hecided, whether the man who takes pleasure in insuitingly executing the "It is yet unfinished, sir," he answered with wil of the creditor, or the creditor who coolly says embarrassment; and removing it with fingers "take his body," is the basest. When will christ-trembling with joy at his escape and a heart swel. endom wipe out from its shield, the stain that ob.ling with gratitude, he placed a clean canvass scures its glory?-When will man cease you under, the name of law to have a claim upon the body of his fellowman? The Jew was content with his pound of flesh. But on every lawyer's table in the land, while I write, may be seen printed writs of arrest calling for the poor debtor's whole body. Can any eye look upon those printed lines without

upon the easel, the only one he had left, his face all the while beaming with happiness. Who could his generous visitor be? That he was a gentleman and a person of consideration was plain. The officer knew him and was obsequious before him : he was therefore a man of wealth; for virtue does not command the reverence of men like Sharpset.

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