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When I see a man flattering the people, making great professions of attachment to liberty, who is in private life a tyrant, methinks, look out, good people, that fellow would set you to turning grindstone.

which I have ordered to be prepared for you. || the least expectation or fear of the dreadful her sparkling eye and ruby lip, and giving her Before the fiddles strike up give me leave to issue. They mean not to proceed beyond a sly squeeze, beware, my girl, thought I, or make a short, reflection upon this entertain- the point of safety, and they have no doubt you will find to your sorrow, that you have ment which otherwise appears whimsical and they can easily effect an escape whenever been turning grindstone for a villain. even foolish. By living after the penurious danger appears, but ere they are aware, they manner exhibited by the first course, our are arrested by the iron grasp of habit, and ancestors raised their infant State, and ruined forever. acquired liberty, wealth and power.-These were perserved by our fathers, who lived in that plain way exemplified in the second course.—But if an old man may be permitted, before he leaves you, to speak his thoughts freely, I am really afraid that the profusion which you have witnessed in the last course will, if we continue it, deprive us of those advantages which our fathers by their industry and good management, have transmitted to us. Young people I advise you to be merry this evening, but to think seriously to-morrow on the lesson I have given to-day.'

The Dudley Crest.

Take for an example the young man who occasionally drinks to excess in the social circle; he does not dream that he is entering upon a course that will probably end in confirmed intemperance.—He means no harm he says of the sin, is it not a little one? there can be no danger in it.' But soon his hands are made strong, and he becomes the slave to a sottish vice.

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When I see a man holding a fat office sounding the horn on the borders' to call the people to support the man on whom he depends for his office, well, thinks I, no wonder the man is zealous in this case, he evidently has an axe to grind.

The Blue Devils.

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Thus it is with vicious practices.—However slight at first, they tend, by a strong and We are apt to believe a merry companion necessary impulse to the point of utter the happiest fellow in the world, and envy him, depravity of principle and ruin of character.perhaps, his light heart and airy spirits: but There is no safety but in guarding against the such men have hours of melancholy, when first approaches of evil. To step upon the spirits sink, and a gloom comes over THE most singular combat by which arms forbidden ground, is to throw one's self into them, deeper and darker, than is ever known were ever gained, was one which happened the power of the destroyer, and if God to their less excitable companions. A man in the family of Hotot. The family of Dudley, interpose not to deliver, ruin is inevitable. may be cheerful on paper, though he has a in Northamptonshire, bears for a crest, a It was a wise saying among the ancients, that heavy heart, and is brilliant in company, woman's head, with a helmet; her hair the way of vice lays down hill. If you but though sufficiently wretched when left to disheveled, and her throat-leash loose. The take a few steps the motion soon becomes so commune with his own soul. The extremes occasion of this crest was singular. In the impetuous and violent that it is impossible of high and low spirits, which occur in the year 1390, Hotot having a dispute with one for you to resist it.-Phil. Adv. same person at different times, are happily Ringdale, about the title to a piece of land, illustrated in the following case, related by they agreed to meet on the disputed ground. Who'll turn the Grindstone? Dr. Rush: A physician in one of the cities and decide it by combat. On the day WHEN I was a little boy, I remember one in Italy was consulted by a gentleman who appointed, Hotot was laid up with the gout; cold winter's day, I was accosted by a smiling was much distressed by a paroxysm of the rather than he should suffer in his honor, or man with an axe on his shoulder. My pretty intermitting state of hypochondriacism. He lose his land, his daughter Agnes armed boy,' said he, has your father a grindstone?' advised the melancholy man to seek relief in herself cap-a-pie, mounted her father's steed Yes sir,' said I. You are a fine little convivial company, and recommended to him and went to meet Ringdale at the time fellow,' said he, will you let me grind my axe in particular to find out a celebrated wit by appointed. After a stubborn fight, she dis-on it? Pleased with his compliment of fine the name of Cardini, who kept all the tables mounted him, and when he was on the ground, little fellow,' O yes, sir,' I answered, it is in the city, to which he was invited, in a roar she loosened her throat-leash, lifted up her down in the shop;' And will you my man,' of laughter, and to spend as much time with helmet, and letting down her hair upon her said he, tapping me on the head, get a little him as possible.' Alas sir,' said the patient shoulders, discovered her sex.-Agnes after-hot water? How could I refuse! I ran and with a heavy sigh, 'I am that Cardini.'—Med. wards married into the Dudley family; and Chir. Review. in honor of this heroic action, her descendants have always used the above crest, with the motto, Galea spes Salutis.'

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To Young Men. BEGINNING OF EVIL.-Young men for the most part are but little aware of the dangers which attend the beginnings of evil. No one becomes suddenly abandoned and profligate. There is always a gradual progress. He begins by slight occasional departures from rectitude, and goes from one degree of guilt to another, till conscience becomes seared, and vicious propensity strong, the habit of indulgence fixed and the character ruined. Nothing is more obvious than this connexion, between the beginning and consummation of evil, and yet hardly any thing is more difficult than to convince the young it is reality. In entering upon wrong courses they have not

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soon brought a kettle full. How old are you,
and what is your name,' continued he, without
waiting for a reply. I am sure you are one
of the finest lads that ever I have seen, will
you just turn a few minutes?' Tickled with
this flattery, like a fool I went to work, and
bitterly did I rue the day. It was a new axe,
and I toiled and tugged till I was almost tired
to death. The school bell rang, and I could
not get away; my hands were blistered, and
it was not half ground. At length, however,
the axe was sharpened, and the man turned
to me with now you little rascal you've
played the truant, scud to school or you'll
rue it! Alas! thought I, it was hard enough
to turn the grindstone this cold day; now to
be called 'little rascal' was too much. It
sunk deep in my mind, and I have often
thought of it since.

When I have seen a man of doubtful
character, patting a girl on the check, pressing

LANDLORD,' said a wayfaring Paddy, who was traveling from one section to another of the canal, a few days since in search of employment, Landlord, and what do you charge for a warm breakfast for two?' 'Fifty cents.'

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And what do we git, then?'

Coffee, chickens, beef steak and onions.'
And what 'll you charge for a cowld one?'
A levy a piece.'

And what do you give for that!'

Why, cold eggs, meat and potatoes.' 'Well, give us a cowld one.'

The cold breakfast was provided, and Paddy and his companion commenced paying a tax which had been due to their stomachs for twenty-four hours. One of them seized an egg and on breaking the shell, discovered a little chick as well cooked as could be wished.

'Down with it quick, ye divil ye,' exclaimed his companion, before the landlord comes in, or he'll charge ye with a chicken breakfast. POWER OF ELOQUENCE.-The accomplished sceptic, Chesterfield, was present when Whitfield was representing the votary of sin under the figure of a blind beggar, led by a little dog. The dog had broken the string, The blind cripple, with his staff between both hands, groped his way unconsciously to the side of a precipice. As he felt along with his staff, it slipped from his hand and fell down the descent, too deep to return an echo. He thought it on the ground, and bending forward took one careful step to recover it.-But he trod on vacancy-poised for a moment and fell headlong-Chesterfield sprang from his seat, exclaiming, By heavens! he's gone!'

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clam, dng most merrily. Our traveler
tried to keep dry, but the rain came in from
all quarters. Jack,' said he, why don't you
fix your house ? O cause er rain so I cant.'
But why don't you fix it when it don't rain?'
Oh when er don't rain, er don't need no
fixing.'-Dunstable Telegraph.

and their own modes of worship, and to increase their numbers by such appeals to the reason and the hearts of men as they may make from the pulpit and the press; each has its periodical and the attack of others or its own defenee should be therein conducted. It is not our province therefore, with all due respect to Pietas, his essay nor intention to enter the lists of polemical warfare, and remains unprinted.

Uros more mature reflection, as our paper is too limited to admit of scientific subjects to any extent, it has been WHAT'S a feller got to pay, asked a man a deemed expedient to drop entirely the department devoted few nights since, presenting himself at the to Natural Philosophy. The gentleman engaged to sustain door of one of the churches as the congrega-sufficient can be obtained) the essays designed for that that department contemplates publishing (if subscribers tion were entering. purpose in a duodecimo volume of about 260 pages.

Pay?'-replied an elderly gentleman, why THE ATHENIAN.-This is the title of a new periodical pay attention, to be sure. recently commenced by Blackwood & Co. Philadelphia. The fellow entered remarking that it was It is to be published weekly, in the quarto form, containing dog cheap.

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A POOR Irishman was brought before a magistrate as a common vagrant. The Justice asked him, what brought him over to this ANECDOTE OF NAPOLEON.-In Girardia's country. A ship, your honor.' · A ship, you memoirs it is said that when Bonaparte was impertinent fellow! How do you get your first consul, he visited the tomb of Rousseau.living?' By my hands, your honor, I am a It had been better,' said he, for the repose haymaker.' And how long have you been of France if this man had never lived.' He out of employ? Please your honor, our was asked the reason. He replied, he it business has been rather dull this winter.' was who prepared the French Revolution.' Giardiar remarked, it surely is not for you, citizen consul, to complain of the Revolution.' Eh bien,' replied he, the future will learn that it would have been better for the repose of the world if neither Rousseau nor I had ever existed.'

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Liberty on both SIDES.-A ragged militia officer, and still more bandy legged negro, met at the bar of a public house, where the following conversation took place: Cuff, you're a good honest fellow, and I like to compliment a man what's lived an honest life if he is black; you shall take a glass of drink with me Cuff. Well, capting, I's berry dry, so I won't be ugly 'bout it; some niggers is too proud to drink with militia officer; but when he sober he jis as good as nigger, 'specially if de nigger's dry.'

CONSCIENCE.-Mr. Harvey, uncle to the first Earl of Bristol, was much in favor with King Charles II. and yet, upon a great occasion, he voted against that which the king desired; so the king chid hin severely for it. Next day, another important question falling in, he voted as the king would have him. So the king took notice of it at night, and said, You were not against me to-day.' 'No, sir,' he replied, I was against my conscience

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to-day.'

A GOOD REASON.-A man being overtaken by a shower, sought shelter from the rain in the house of a negro fiddler. On entering he found the negro in the only dry spot in the house, the chimney corner-as happy as a

The Rural Repository.

SATURDAY, FEBRUARY 1, 1834.

'PIETAS.-We acknowledge the receipt of a communication from Pietas,' upon the results of the reformation effected by Luther,' and have decided to notice it more particularly than is our custom with the declined articles of correspondents, that our sentiments upon the subject may be fully known to those who transmit us essays for publication. The effort of Pietas,' is a very able one; it is distinguished for a clearness of thought and richness of style which are very rarely united to the same degree in the compositions of young writers. It is entirely too sending it to some religious periodical, where we have no question it would be gladly accepted. For ourself we cannot receive it, as it is our rule to allow no sectarian production admission to our columus. The article before us is manifestly calculated to excite the fears of the com munity against the encroachments of the Roman Catholic Church. It portrays in fearful colorings the ruin with which Popery has once covered the earth, and augurs a wide spread moral vassalage and the extermination of

sixteen neatly printed pages, and devoted chiefly to literary and scientific subjects. We have been politely favored with the three first numbers, the columns of which are filled with a variety of valuable and interesting matter.

THE LITERARY INQUIRER.-We are glad to see that this interesting paper, published at Buffalo, N. Y. has entered upon its second volume. It is worthy of an ample support, and we trust, from its being somewhat enlarged and hereafter to be published weekly, that its patronage has been equal to its merit.

Letters Containing Remittances, Received at this Office, ending Wednesday last, deducting the amount of Postage paid.

R. S. Davis, Greenwood, N. Y. $1,00; H. C. Barnes, Canaan 4 Corners, N. Y. $1,00; H. J. Taylor, New York, $1,00; S. Wells, Shelburn, Ms. $1,00; S. Betts, Coxsackie, N. Y. $1,00; G. M. Kasson, Bethlem, Ct. $5,00; D. Bryan & J. T. Stocking, Bath, N. Y. $2,00; E. Eames, Sauquoit, N. Y. 80,874.

SUMMARY.

The annual income from the legacy of the late Stephen Girard to the city and county of Philadelphia, is estimated is expected in the ensuing year to increase to the amount at the present time to amount to about 64,000 dollars; and of nearly 90,000 dollars.

It is not, perhaps generally known in this country, that one of the most gifted and powerful writers and poets of is at present, and has been for years, occupying the humble the age, Allan Cunningham, was a mason by trade, and berth of foreman in the workshop of the celebrated sculptor Chantrey at London. Allan is about publishing a new edition of his life of Burns, and other works, in six Black Hawk's life and perilous adventures is now dramatising for the stage, by a gentleman long a resident

valuable to be lost, and we suggest to him the propriety of volumes.

civil liberty in this country, should its advance be un-
checked. We cannot consent that through the medium of
our paper such an impression should be made on any
credulous and unthinking mind. The Church of Rome
has undoubtedly abused the power which she derived from
a contaminating alliance with the State. But we must
consider the spirit of the age, and the character of the

nations, where, and over whom, her sway was exercised.
In addition to this, let us recollect that the books of our
New Testament were selected and compiled by one of her
councils; that when the foot of Vandal invasion crushed

the proudest of ancient empires and buried the monuments
of her art and power, Christianity was preserved by her
fostering care; that amid the wide spread darkness and
barbarity of the middle ages the lamp of learning burned

radiantly in the cloisters of the monastery and from
thence beamed forth, illuminating the world; and that in
the same gloomy period she defended and saved the Gospel
and its religion with all her influence of power and wisdom.
twofold reason.

We must thus reject the communication of Pietas,' for a
We meddle not between religious sects,
and we believe our correspondent is subject to an unjust
prejudice. In this land, the rights of conscience are guar
antied by our Constitution and by law; all denominations
of Christians are permitted to enjoy their own doctrines

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At Athens, on the 17th inst. by the Rev. Adolphus Rumpf, Mr. John Brown, of Coxsackie, to Mrs. Maria Hardick, of the former place.

At Austerlitz, on the 8th ult. by Hiram D. Ford, Esq.
Mr. Elbridge G. Tyrrel, to Miss Lydia Sirls, both of
Tyringham, Mass.

Jacob D. Clark, junior editor of the Delaware Gazette, to
In Delhi, on the 9th ult. by the Rev. Orange Clark, Mr.
Miss Mary N. Hobbie, all of that place.

At the same place, on the 24th ult. by the Rev. O. Clark,

Anthony M. Paine, Esq. senior editor of the Delaware
Gazette, to Mrs. Holister, all of that place.

DIED,

In this city, on Sunday morning, the 26th inst. of Palsy, Mrs. Elizabeth Barnard, relict of the late Capt. Enoch Barnard, aged 50 years.

On Sunday evening, the 26th inst. Mr. Asahel B. Cheeney, aged 24 years.

aged about 35 years, son of Augustus Tremain, Esq. of In Athens, on the 18th ult. Mr. Charles P. Tremain, this county.

On the 13th ult. in the 26th year of her age, at the
residence of her father, the Rev. J. Prentiss, Rector of St.
Luke's Church, Catskill, Mrs. Ann C. B. Smith wife of
Gen. Smith, of Oswego.

At Washington, on the 12th ult. Susan Vanderpoel,
daughter of Benjamin F. Butler, Esq. aged 10 months.
At Great Barrington, Mass, on the 1st ult. at 11 o'clock
P. M. Capt. Nicholas A. Sharts.

ORIGINAL POETRY.

For the Rural Repository.

The Traveler on the Mirage of the Desert.

THE desert's dry and burning sand,

O'er which my wandering footsteps stray-
The parched selenite, where no bland
And cool, refreshing breezes play--
Are far more grateful to my aching sight,
Than the vast mirage, with its silvery light.

Oh how it mocks my fainting heart

With the bright semblance of its crystal streams, That seem to glance, as things of life a part,

From desert sands and summer's scorching beams, Emblem of hope, in distance ever viewed, Still glimmering bright, receding when pursued. Oh 'tis as cheating as the world, when youth First glances o'er its seeming paths of flowers, And fondly trusts the semblance for the truth, And pictures many future blissful hours, Till grave experience comes, and then we find 'Twas but the mirror of a youthful mind. Then shrinks the wearied and repining heart From contact with the world's sad, desert view, Rejects the present, and regrets to part

With the swect dreams illusive fancy drew, Till calm reflection strives, with love, to allure Us back to a world and ills we must endure.

Then hope steals in, to make amends

For the sweet visions time hath stole away,

And with her magic colors blends

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And this he knew, and wove a bright And beauteous chain, with links strong spun, And girt around with texture tight.

He poured the light of intellect

And genius' riches lavishly-
And the temple-arch of mind he decked
With the glorious flowers of pocsy.

He brought not beauty-but he laid
The meed of talent at her shrine-
And the sacrifice of thought he paid-
And the wealth from learning's golden clime.

And she did love him-for she thought

That he was worthy to be loved-Woe! for that dream so dearly boughtHow soon its idleness was proved! For soon she heard them whisper ill

Of what she thought a spotless fameAnd she felt cach high-strung chord rethrill, As they cast reproach upon his name!

They spake of follies, faults and wrong,
And things which nought could e'er retrieve;
But she curbed her rebel feelings' throng,

For this was not her hour to grieve.
The faith in ideal worth, and the trust,
Was broken now, and not one tear
Dropp'd o'er love's flowers, all turn'd to dust-
For eye was dry and heart was scar.
And she was proud, and scorn'd again
Before a worthless shrine to bow-
No! tho' her soul should burst its chain,
She would not-could not-love him now.
Her spirit's pride, which nought could tame,
Disdain'd to cast one kindly look-

For faults and wrong, and sullied fame
Were things her heart but ill could brook!
For she had brought no passion base,

To stain their worship's altar stone-
No offering from their incense-vase,
Save the sacrifice of mind alone.

No marvel then she could not own

One who was not like her-and freeFor she would rather walk alone, Than link with aught of vanity! STELLA.

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BY GUSTAVUS ADOLPHUS LOVELACE, GENT.

THE sun has not a ray, love,

So sparkling as thine eye;
And when from thee away, love,

I nought can do but sigh.
Oh! quick to me return, love,
In grief I spend the night-
How does my bosom burn, love,
When banish'd from thy sight.
When Philomela sung, love,
In Spring-time's happy hour,
We on the accents hung, love,
Beneath a verdant bow'r ;

But Spring-birds all have flown, love,
The Summer-flowers have fled,
The world is sad and lone, love,
And all its beauty dead.

Pine Orchard, January, 1834.

The Silent Multitude.

BY MRS. HEMANS.

A MIGHTY and a mingled throng,
Were gathered in one spot,
The dwellers of a thousand homes,
Yet 'midst them voice was not.

The soldier and his chief were there,
The mother and her child;

The friends, the sisters of one hearth-
None spoke, none moved, none smiled.
Those lovers met, between whose lives
Years had swept darkly by;
And after that heart-sick Hope deferred,
They met but silently!

You might have heard the gliding brook,
The breeze's faintest sound,
The shiver of an insect's wing,

On that thick-peopled ground

Your voice to whispers would have died
For that deep quiet's sake ;
Your step the softest moss have sought,
Such stillness not to break!
What held the countless multitude
Bound in that spell of peace?
How could the over-sounding life
Among so many cease?

Was it some pageant of the heavens,
Some glory high above,

That linked and hushed those human souls,
In reverential love?

Or did some burdening Passion's weight
Hang on this in-drawing breath?
Awe-the pale awe that freezes words?
Fear-the strong fear of death?

A mightier thing-Death, Death himself,
Lay on each lonely heart;

Kindreds were there, yet hermits all-
Thousands-but cach apart!

From the Literary Inquirer.
Life! What is it?
LIFE! what is it? a sea of care,
Where madly sweep the winds of woe;
Its joys are bubbles, floating there,
Frail as the glitt'ring sands below.
Yet, oh! how bright the sunbeam falls
Upon its waves, at morn's first hour;
How rich the music from its halls-

How strong the enchantment of its power,
With merry heart and arm well strung,
With banner bright, Hope's sails unfurled,
O'er its veiled surf our barque is flung,
Like gems to spark' a moment there;

Then, in its lofty pride be hurled

Down, down, a Sarion's lore tells-where?

Life! what is it? a rainbow, flung

By gorgeous hope across our sky

A bud, round which, in love we've clung,
To feel its blighting thorn-then die.
Life! what is it? a midnight dream,
That woos our hearts to joys unknown,
And bids us sport beneath a beam,
That naught but fancy's visions own:
It is to breathe, to smile, to weep,
Whilst gliding down its rolling sea,
Till death brings on its lasting sleep,
And wafts us to ETERNITY.

GARNIER.

Innocent Pleasure. FEW rightly estimate the worth Of joys that spring and fade on earth; They are not weeds we should despise, They are not fruits of Paradise; But wild flowers in the pilgrim's way, That cheer, yet not protract his stay; Which he dare not too fondly clasp, Lest they should perish in his grasp; And yet may view, and wisely love, As proofs and types of joys above.

THE RURAL REPOSITORY

IS PUBLISHED EVERY OTHER SATURDAY, AT HUDSON, N. Y. BY Wm. B. Stoddard.

It is printed in the Quarto form, and will contain twenty six numbers of eight pages each, with a title page and index to the volume.

TERMS-One Dollar per annum in advance, or One Dollar and Fifty Cents, at the expiration of three months from the time of subscribing. Any person, who will remit us Five Dollars, free of postage, shall receive six copies, and any person, who will reunit us Ten Dollars, free of postage, shall receive twdee copies and one copy of the ninth volume. No subscriptions received for less than one year.

All Orders and Communications must be post paid

to receive attention.

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DEVOTED TO POLITE LITERATURE, SUCH AS MORAL AND SENTIMENTAL TALES, BIOGRAPHY, TRAVELING SKETCHES, POETRY, AMUSING MISCELLANY, ANECDOTES, &c. VOL. X.-I. NEW SERIES.] HUDSON, N. Y. SATURDAY, FEBRUARY 15, 1834.

SELECT TALES..

From the Western Monthly Magazine.

The weekly mail had arrived-that impor

Sir William Deane, or the Magic tant event in village life-and the post-office of Wealth.

NO. 19. of it resided, the sensation it produced, was and very considerate devised the means of absolutely overwhelming. rendering them, before his return to England, a little more in accordance with his future rank. To effect this object, he requested Mr. Henson to place the family of Deane in circumstances befitting their station and wealth, and to furnish him with funds to return to England with as little delay as possible, that he might enter upon his estates, and prepare for the removal of his family. To meet these expenses, Mr. Walker authorized Mr. Henson to draw upon a bank in New-York, to which he had sent funds amply sufficient.

was crowded, as usual, with people; all eager and impatient for news. To appease their BY JOHN RUSSEL, OF BLUFFDALE, ILLINOIS. importunities till he could assort and disIn the Boston Spectator,' of June 7th, 1810, tribute his packages, the postmaster handed appeared the following editorial paragraph. out the Boston Spectator' through the lattice A FREAK OF FORTUNE. The blind goddess work that fenced up a corner of the room has been famous, in all ages, for the singular into which was emphatically, and in fact, the and unexpected manner in which she fre- post-office. The owner of the paper seized quently bestows her favors, but never has it it, and rapidly glancing his eye over the inner fallen to our lot to record an instance of her columns-saw and read aloud the article versatility so extraordinary as the following. announcing the good fortune of William Letters were received in town by the brig Deane. It was the very first intelligence of Laura, captain Hill, which arrived in this port the event that had reached the village. For a few days since from Liverpool, announcing an instant, every one was speechless with the death of Sir Robert Deane, of Deane astonishment; in the next, the postmaster Hall; Lancashire, Eigen. By e demise was the sole occupant of his ficc.-In fifteen of this baronet, all his extensive domains in minutes, every man, woman and child, from Lancashire, the yearly rental of which exceeds one end of Milford to the other, had heard thirty thousand pounds sterling, together with the news. The humble domicil of the Deanes his valuable personal property, including was rushed into, without the least ceremony. upwards of a hundred thousand pounds in and twenty courtiers, breathless with running, ready money, all descend to a cousin, the were telling them their good fortune at once. only surviving member of that ancient family. At first, no one thought of calling in But what renders the event so extraordinary, question the correctness of the statement in is the fact, that the sole inheritor of this the Bostou Spectator,' but envy soon sugimmense fortune, is William Deane, an gested that the editor might possibly have indigent tailor, in the village of Milford, been misinformed, and some of the village Vermont. It is said that he is well educated, nobility whose first impulse had been to go and that a singular train of circumstances with the rest and congratulate the Deanes, having reduced him to indigence, he emigrated secretly concluded to wait till the report was to the United States, and was subsequently confirmed, before they condescended to pay driven to his present humble occupation for their respects to a family which they had subsistence. However this may be, the ele- hitherto considered so immeasurably beneath vation from the shop board to the honors of them. This confirmation was soon obtained. knighthood, for the title goes with the estateis immense. Most cordially and sincerely do we congratulate him on his rise to rank and fortune, and hope that when he is seated in the castle of his ancestors, he will remember with affection the land in which he has found an asylum and a home.'

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Mr. Henson, the principal merchant of Milford, whose wealth and influence placed him decidedly at the head of the village, had received by the same mail, a letter from Mr. Walker, the steward of the late Sir Robert. confirming the intelligence in every particular. The letter was in part, confidential, but Mr. Henson communicated all that the public could have any real interest in knowing. The steward of the estate was aware, from report. that the circumstances of the heir were low,

The exact place where Mr. Deane, resided was not known to the steward, which was the principal reason for not applying directly to the legatee himself. However, enclosed in the letter to Mr. Henson, was one to the heir, superscribed.-' to Sir William Deane, Baronet.' This letter was couched in the most obsequious terms, giving him an account of the death of his lamented uncle, and a statement of the annual income of the estates, &c. &c. not forgetting to solicit for himself, a continuance in the stewardship under the new lord of the manor, the duties of which he had so ably and faithfully performed under the late Sir Robert.

Mr. Henson did not hesitate an instant in accepting the proffered agency, and politely told Mr. Deane that any sum he might please to want was at his service. The people of the village were too well acquainted with his shrewdness in money matters, and his careful attention to the main chance,' to give Mr. Henson the credit of doing this from motives of generosity or friendship. No, they knew him too well, not to feel perfectly assured that he had ascertained to a certainty, that the Deanes had become the actual and bonu fide inheritors of an immense fortune, and would repay him fourfold for every cent he loaned them, or expended in their service, the Deanes could not have obtained from him a dollar, even to prevent starvation.

It is now high time to introduce the happy favorite of fortune, the heir of all this wealth and honor, more fully to the acquaintance of

one day inherit the title and estates of his
uncle. We leave to philosophers the task of
accounting for the propensity which some
men exhibit while inebriated, to relate all

The excellent qualities of the mother and daughter afforded a most prolific theme of conversation in all good society, and could any measure of praise have been too great for

our readers. He was then about forty years of age, eighteen of which had been passed in Milford. His arrival there, and subsequent history were well remembered by all the elderly inhabitants. Being young, of hand-their disappointments and expectations.- such unheard of merit, not a small share of some person, and with no apparent fault in Every man in Milford, who would listen to the encomiums heaped upon them to their the world but that of drinking' and the like, him, had heard his story a hundred times, very face, might have been suspected of he had no difficulty in entering the pale of but, beyond the circle of the harrow, it won savoring a little of flattery and sycophaney.— matrimony, soon after his arrival, notwith-him no respect. The nobility of the village-One lady, in the fulness of her heart, seized standing his poverty, with a young lady of the for every country has its nobility, who look lady Deane by both her hands, at a large village, whose merits and accomplishments down with contempt upon all below them-party, and wondered how it could possible were equal to his own. Suffice it to say, that the village nobility so far from allowing his have happened that she had not become they managed to live, and it may be added, claims to equality, like the priest and the acquainted with her before, and why lady happily, notwithstanding the warlike sounds Levite, passed by on the other side, and Deane had never called upon her! Any thing which frequently greeted the ears of the rarely condescended to notice either him or in the world that she or her husband could neighbors, and those who chanced to be his family, even by a nod of recognition. have done for her and Sir William, would passing by. For the honor of knighthood we He was characterized as a miserable, joyfully have been done, had they only called lament that truth requires the acknowledg-profane sot, with whom it would be disgraceful upon them, and made their request known; to have any thing to do, beyond employing but somehow or other, they had never, till him to make or mend their clothes. For lately, enjoyed the supreme felicity of their several years, his family, which now consisted acquaintance. By the by, this same lady, of of himself, his wife, and a daughter of all others, had been the most distinguished seventeen, had inhabited a room in the base- for the insulting disdain she had formerly ment story of a large building in the village. offered to the poverty and low standing of the Deanes.

A thousand little presents flowed in upon the mother and the daughter, from the neighbors, and every hour in the day saw their house beseiged with genteel visitors, who just called to see how they were.' If either of them chanced to catch the slightest cold, it is astonishing how much sympathy and alarm it excited among the ladies composing

they were half frightened out of their wits, for fear it might terminate in consumption.— Every remedy that could be devised, was recommended, and their attention to the supposed invalids was as earnest and assiduous as if their own lives depended upon the issue. So great was the friendship of these ladies, and so very anxious were they to show kindness to lady Deane and her daughter, that they would really have rejoiced to have had them afflicted with a moderate sized fever, merely to alleviate their sufferings and sympathize with and console them.

ment, that often while his wife was seated on the shopboard, mending the habits of others, her loving husband was indulging in very bad ones of his own, at the sign of the harrow, a low tavern at the lower end of the village. Every sixpence he could possibly lay his hands on, stood a fair chance of being Great indeed was the astonishment of the expended at that favorite place of his resort. Milfordites when they discovered that all the The village barber, who was always ready with accounts of his high birth, and princely a joke, and several others, some of whom had expectations, were verified to the very letter!! been respectable in the world, till New What a fortune! Thirty thousand pounds England rum had reduced them to poverty reduced to federal money is upwards of a and disgrace, were his constant companions. hundred thousand dollars; more than twice It is amusing to observe the traits of character as much as Mr. Henson, the richest man in which these tavern friends exhibited when Milford is worth; and this sum the Deanes they had fairly drank down the carping cares are to receive every year. It is truly over-the good society' of Milford. Kind souls, of this mortal life. At such times, especially, whelming! What could they possibly do with the utmost deference was paid to the rank of such an immense sum? How could they ever each other; not as the world considered it, spend half of it! To a man of such wealth, but to the rank which each had either formerly a few thousand dollars would be of no account, held, or would have held, had it not been for and not a few had secret hopes of being the ingratitude of the world, or the treachery materially benefitted by his friendship.—Every of a friend or relation. One of these asso- one envied Mr. Henson for being made the ciates, according to his own account, had temporary agent of such a man. His fortune been a legislator in a distant state, and very would be made, for he could not fail of being rich, till some envious wretches swore falsely amply rewarded, though every one knew that against him, and he was compelled to serve he had no friendship for Mr. Deane, or any an apprenticeship to nailmaking in a peniten-one else, beyond his own interest. The tiary. The latter part of the story was known family of Mr. Deane, or as he was now called to be true, and the rest, of course was taken Sir William Deane, had been immediately re- Let not the reader imagine, for an instant, for granted.―This man was never addressed moved from their subterranean residence, to that any share of the overwhelming attention without his title, and becoming deference. one of the handsomest houses in Milford, bestowed by the ladies and others, upon this But the hero of the whole party was Mr. which Mr. Henson rented and furnished for|| family, was at all owing to the trifling Deane. He was the heir of a noble family in that purpose. Every thing befitting their new circumstance that they had risen to rank and England, and had it not been for the chi-condition was provided, and magic itself could fortune. No, not a particle of it was, by any chanery of the law and the villany of a relative, || hardly have wrought a more striking change means chargeable to that account; for I have would then have been enjoying rank and in the manners and appearance of this family. often heard these ladies declare to Lady wealth, instead of sitting on the shopboard The elite of society, the very first people Deane herself, that it was entirely owing to of a tailor. Every time he indulged in ‘ blue || in the village, lost no time in paying them a the exalted merits they discovered in Lady ruin,' which happened pretty considerably visit. Parties were made in rotation at the Deane and her daughter; and that they would often, the story of his high birth, and the houses of all the principal gentry, solely to do have admired them just as much, and been unbounded wealth of his uncle, Sir Robert honor to Sir William, his lady and daughter. just as familiar with them years and years Deane, of Deane Hall, Lancashire, was sure What a genteel purlite woman lady Deane ago, had it not, somehow or other, unacto be told, with all its particulars and is, said the wife of the minister; she seems as countably happened, that they had not become amplifications. Nor did he once fail to if she was born to the rank she fills! O, cer-acquainted with them till recently. predict, on such occasions, that he should tainly,' was the response of the whole coterie. To do justice to Sir William, he wore his

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