Newspaper Page Text
THE KANZ AS NEWS:
Kb&ki Iverj Salcrfay Ionia, zt Enpcra, fossa. Tekhs 7Ve Dollars per a tin tan, in advance. Rates of Advertising. First insertion, per line, ten cents; each subee fluent insertion, five cents; one dollar a line, per annum. Displayed advertisements one-half over the above rates. All transient and foreign adver tisements must be accompanied by the cash, to in sure insertion. The office of Tsz Kakzas 2Tkws is furnished with a complete assortment of the newest styles of Type, Borders, Flourishes, Cuts, Cards, Fancy x apera, worw- mvmm, w-v-, uvuug ui proprietor to print CictLAis, Caxbs, Cxmxiticxtu or Stock, Dsei, Postiss, and all other kinds of THE PEOPLE ALWAYS CONQUER." Job PanrrraG, in a manner unsurpassed .in th country. Particular attention paid to printing all kinds of Blanks. , Orders for work promptly attended Urwlien accompanied with Cash. "Ex celsior" is our motto, "" " " By P. B. Plumb. EMPORIA, KANZAS, OCTOBER 24, 1857. Vol. l-No. 17. i O ill The Kanzas News. SATCRDAT,:::::::::OCTOBER 24, 185T. From Putnam's Magazine for September. UNCLE JOSH. A. SEW KXGL1SD 8TORT. Josh Crane was a Yankee born and bred, a farmer on Plainfield Hill and a specimen. If some strange phrases were grafted on his New England vernacular, it was because for fifteen years of his youth he had followed the sea, to return the compliment, thereafter fallowed him. His father, old Josh Crane, kept the San bury grist-mill, and was a drunken, shiftless old creature, who ended his days in a tumble-down red house a mile below Plainfield Center, being 'took with the tremens,' as black Peter said when he came for the doc tor all too late, for the 'tremens had, in d:vd,' taken him off. Mrs. Crane, our Josh's mother was one of those calm, meek, patient creatures, by some inscrutable mystery always linked to such men; 'martyrs by the pang without the palm,' of whom a noble army shall yet rise out of New England's desolate valleys and melancholy hills, to take their honor from the master's hand. For years this woman lived alone with her child in the shat tered red house, spinning, knitting, wash ing, sewing, scrubbing, to earn bread and water, sometimes charity-fed; but never failing at morning and night, with one red and knotted hand upon her boy's white hair, and the other on her worn out Bible, to pray, with an intensity that boy never for got, for his well-being forever and ever; for herself she never prayed, aloud. Then came the country's pestilence, con sumption, and after long struggles, relapses, rallies, all received in the same calm patience, Hetty Crane died in a summer's night, her little boy asleep beside her, and a whippoor will on the apple-tree by the door sounding on her flickering sense the last minor note of life. When Josh woke up and knew his moth er was dead, he did not behave in the least like grfod little boys in books, but dressed himself without a tear or a sob, and ran for the nearest neighbor. 'Sakes alive!' said Miss Ranney, 'I never did see sech a creturas that are boy in all my days! he never said nothin' to me when he came to our folks' only jest 'Miss Ran nev, I guess you'd better come cross lots to see mother; she don't seem to be alive.' Dew tell!' 6ez I, an' bo I slipt on my Sha ker bunnet jist as quick's I could, but he was off spry's a cricket, an' when I got there he was a setlin' the room to rights; he'd spunked up a fire, and hung on the kittle; so I sed nothin', but stept along in ter the bed -room and turned down the kiver, and gin a screech, I was so beat, for sure enough Hetty Crane was dead an' cold. Josh he heerd me, for he was clos't onto me, and he never spoke, but he come up to the bed and he put his head down and laid his cheek right along hers, and 'twant no red der'n her'n and staid so 'bout a minnit; then he cleared out and I never see him no more all day, but Miss Good'in she come in, and she said he'd stopped there and sent her over. 'Well, we laid out Hetty, and fixed up the house and put up a curtain to her win der, and Miss Good'in she'n I calkerlated to 6et up all night, and we was jest puttin' a mess of tea to draw, so's to keep lively, when in come Josh, drippin' wet, for dews was dreadful heavy them August nights and he said nothin' mor'n jest to answer when he was spoke to, and Miss Good'in was a real feelin' woman, she guessed he'd better be let alone; so he drink't a cup of tea, and then he started off into the bed-room, and when she went in there, 'long towards mid night, there he was, fast asleep on the bed beside of tlie corpse, as straight as a pin hol din' on to one of its hands. Miss Good'in come back cryin', and I thought I should 'a boo-hoo-ed right out, but I kinder stran gled it down, and we set to work to figger out what was going to be done with the poor little chap; that house of their'n that old Josh had bought of Mr. Ranney, hadn't never been paid for; only the interest money whenever Mrs. Crane could scrape it up, so't that would go right back into husband's hands, an they had'nt got no cow, nor no pig, and we agreed the s'lelectmen would hev to take him and bind him out. I allers mistrusted that he'd waked up, and heerd what we said, for next mornin when we went to call him he was gone, and his shirts an' go-to-meetias, too, and he never come back to the funeral, nor a good spell after. I know after Hetty was buried, and we'd Te solved to sell what things she had, to get her a head stone, for Mr. Ranney wouldn't never put in for the rest of his interest mon ey, I took home her old Bible and kep it for Josh, and the next time I see himwas five and twenty years after, when he come back from sea-farm' an' settled down farmin' on't and he sot by that Bible a dredful sight, I pect, for he gin' our Sal the brightest red an' yeller bandanner you ever see; she used to keep it to take to meetin' ! ' 'Miss' Ranney was certainly right in her "guess.' Josh had heard in that miserable midnight the discussion of his future, and having a well-founded dread of the select men's tender mercies, had given a last ca ress to his dead mother and run away to Boston, where he shipped for a whaling Vo3"3. was cast away on the Newfound land shore after ten years of sea life, and bring at that time a stout youth of twenty, 8ek of his seaman-ship, he had hired him self to work in a stone-yard, and by the time he was thirty-five had laid ud enough money to return a thrifty bachelor, and, buying a little farm on Plainfield Hill, set tie down to his ideal of life, and become tke amusement of part of the village, and the oracle ot the rest. We boys adored Uncle Josh, for he was always ready to rigour boats, spin us yarns a week long, and fill our pockets with ap ples red and russet as his own honest face, w ith the belles of the village, Uncle Josh -bad no such favor; he would wear a pig-tail in spite of scoff and remonstrance; he would smoke a putty-pipe; and he did swear like a a sailor, from mere habit and forgetfulness, for no man, not professedly religious, had a diviner instinct of reverence and worship than he; but it was as instinctive in him to swear as it was to breathe, and some of our boldly -speculative and law-despising young sters held that it was no harm in him, any more than 'gosh and 'thunder were in us; for ieally he meant no more. However, Uncle Josh did not quite recip rocate the contempt of the sex; before long he began to make Sunday night visitations at Deacon Stone's, to 'brush his hat o' mor nings,' to step spry, and wear a stiff collar and stock, instead of the open tie he had kept, with the pig-tail, long after jacket and tarpaulin had been dismissed the service; so the village directly discovered that Josh Crane was courting the school-mistress, Miss Eunice,' who boarded at Deacon Stone's. What Miss Eunice's surname miajht be I never knew, nor did it much matter; she was the most kindly, timid, and loveable creature that ever tried to reduce a district school into manners and arithmetic; she lives in my memory still, a tall, slight figure, with tender brown eyes, and a sad face, its broad lovely forehead shaded with silky light hair, and her dress always dim tinted, jaded perhaps, but scrupulously neat and stable. Everybody knew why Miss Eunice look ed so meekly sad, and why she was still Miss tunice; she had been 'disappointed; she had loved a man better than he loved her, and therein copying the sweet angels, made a fatal mistake, broke her girl's heart, and went to keeping school for a living. All the young people pitied her; all the old women agreed that she was 'a real clev er little fool!' and men regarded her with a species of wonder and curiosity, first for hav ing a breakable heart, and, next, for putting that member to fatal harm for one of their kind; but boys ranked -Miss Eunice even above Uncle Josh; for there lives in boys a certain kind of chivalry, before the world has sneered it out of them, that regards a sad or injured woman as a creature claiming all their care and protection; and it was with a thrill of virtuous indignation that we heard of Josh Crane's intentions toward Miss Eunice; nor were we very pitiful of our old friend, when Mrs. btone announced to old Mrs. Ranney, ( who was deaf as a post, and therefore very useful, passively in spread ing news codfided to her, as this was in the church porch) that Miss Eunice wan'nt a going to hev Josh Crane, cause he wa nt a professor; but she did'nt want nobody to tell on t, so everybody did! It was beside, true, Miss Eunice was a sincerely religious woman, and though Josh Crane's simple, fervent love-making had stirred a thrill within her she had thought quite impossible, still she did not think it was right to marry' an' irreligious man, and she told him so with a meek firmness that quite broke down poor Uncle Josh, and he went back to his farming with profounder respect than ever for MLss Eunice, and a miserable opinion of himself. iut he was a person without guile of any sort; he would have cut off his pig-tail, sold his tobacco keg, tried not to swear for her sake, but he could not pretend to be pi ous and he did not. A year or two afterward, however, when both had got past the Bhyness of meeting, and set aside if not forgotten the past, there was a revival of religion in Plainfield no great excitement, but a quiet sprouting up of 'good seed' sown in past generations, it may be, and among the softened hearts and moist eyes were those of. Uncle Josh. His mother's prayers had slept in the leaves of his mother s .Bible, and now they awoke to be answered. It was strangely touching, even to old Parson Pitcher, long used to such inter views with the oldest of all people under ex citement rugged New Englanders to see the simple pathos that vivified Uncle Josh's story of his experience; and when in the midst of a sentence about his dead mother, and her petitions for his safety, with tears dripping down both cheeks, he burst into a hallelujah meter tune, adapting the words "Though seed lie buried long in dust," etc., and adding to the diversity of rhythm the discordance ot his sea-cracked voice, it was a doubtful matter to Parson Pitcher whether he should laugh or cry; and he was forced to compromise with a hysterical snort, just as Josh biought out the List word of the verse on a powerful fugue. Cro-o-o-o-op 1" So earnest and honest was he, that, for a whole week after he had been examined and approved by the church committee as a probationer, he never once thought of Miss Eunice; when suddenly, as he was reading his Bible and came across the honorable mention of her name by the apostle, he rec ollected with a sort of shamefaced delight, that now perhaps, she would have him; so, with no further ceremon v than reducing his flax-colored hair to order, bv means of a pocket comb, and washing his hands at the pump, away he strode to the school house, where it was Miss Eunice's custom to linger after school till her fire was burned low enough to 'rake up. Josh looked in at the window as he bro t to,' in his own words, 'alongside the school 'us,' and there sat the lady of his love knit ting a blue stocking, with an empty chair most propitiously placed beside her in front of the fire-place. Josh's heart rose up mightily, but he knocked as little a knock as his great knuckles could effect, was bid den in, and sat himself down on the chair in a paroxysm of bashfulness, no wise help ed by Miss Eunice's dropped eyes and per sistent knitting, bo he sat lull nueen min utes, every now and then clearing his throat in a vam attempt to introduce the point, till at length desperate enough, he made a dash into the middle of things, and bubbled over with 'Miss Eunice, I've got religion! I'm sot out for to be a real pious man; can't you feel to have me now?' What Miss Eunice's little trembling lips answered, I cannot say, but I know it was satisfactory to Josh, for his first reverent impulse, after he gathered up her low words was, to clasp his hands and say 'amen,' as if somebody had asked a blessing; perhaps he felt he had received one in Miss Eunice. When spring came they were married, and were happy, Yankee fashion, without comment or demonstration, but very happy. Uncle Josh united with the church, and was no disgrace to his profession, save and ex cept in one thing he would swear! Vain ly did deacons, brethren and pastor assail him with exhortation, remonstrance and ad vice; vainly did his meek wife look at him with pleading eyes; vainly did he himself repent and strive, and watch, 'the stump of Tl f . 1 V :i uprooted. At length Parson Pitcher, being greatly scandalized at Josh's expletives, used un luckily in a somewhat excited meeting in church business, (for in prayer meetings he never answered any calls to rise, but habit should get the better of him, and shock the very sinners he might exhort) Parson Pitch er himself made a pis to rial call at the farm, and found its master in the garden hoeing corn man fully. 'Good day, Mr. Crane!' said the old gen tleman.' 'Good day, Parson Pitcher good day! d d hot day, sir,' answered the uncon scious Josh. . 'Not so hot as hell for swearers!' sternly replied the Parson, who being of a family renowned in New England for noway minc ing matters, sometimes verged upon profan ity himself, though unawares. Josh threw down his hoe in despair. Oh Lord!' said he, 'ihere it goes again, I swear! the d dogs take it! If I don't keep a goin'! Oh, Parson Pitcher, what shall I dew? it swears of itself. I am clene beat tryin' to head it off, con no! I mean confuse it all! I'm such an old hand at the wheel sir!' Luckily for Josh the Parson's risibles were hardly better in hand than his own profanity, and it took him now a long time to pick up his cane, which he had dropped in the currant bushes while Josh stood among the cornhills wiping the sweat off his brow, in an abject state of patience and humility, and as the Parson emerged like a full moon from the leafy currants, he felt more chari tably disposed towards Josh than he had done before. 'It is a very bad thing, Mr. Crane,' said he, mildly. 'Not merely for yourself, but it scandalizes the church mem bers, and I think you should take severe measures to break up the habit 'What upon arth shall I do, sir?' piteous - ly asked Josh, 'it is the d dest plague! oh! I swan to man I've done it again!' And here, with a long howl, Josh threw himself down in the weeds, and kicked out like a half-broken colt, wishing in his soul the earth would hide him, and trying to feel as bad as he ought to, for his honest con science sturdily refused to convict him in this matter, faithful as it was in less sound ing sins. I grieve to say that Parson Pitcher got behind an apple tree, and there cried per haps! for he was wiping his eyes and shak ing all over when he walked ofF, and Josh, getting up considerably in a state of dust, if not ashes and sack-cloth, looked sheepish ly about for his reprover, but he was gone. Parson Pitcher convened the deacons and a few of the uneasy brethren that night in his study, and expounded to them the duty of charity for people who would sleep in meeting; had to drink bitters for their stom ach's sake; never came to missionary meet ings for fear of the contribution box; or swore without knowing it; and as Deacon Stone did now and then snore under the pulpit, and Brother Eldridge had a 'rheu matiz' that nothing but chokeberry rum would cure, and that is very apt to affect the head, and Brother Peters had so firm a con viction that money is the root of all evil, that he kept his from spreading, they all agreed to have patience with Brother Crane's tongue-ill; and Parson Pitcher smiled as he shut the door behind them, thinking of that first stone that no elder could throw. Nevertheless, he paid another visit to Josh the next week, and found him in a hopeful state. I've hit on't now, Parson Pitcher!' said he, without waiting for a more usual saluta tion. Miss Eunice she helped me, she's a mas ter creatur for inventions I s sugar ! there! that's it !' When I'm goin' to speak quick, I catch up something else that's got the same letter on the bows, and I tell yew! it goes ! 'r else it's somethin'. Holla ! I see them d dipper sheep is in my -corn Git aout ! git aoutl you d dandelions ! git aout !' Here he scrambled away after the stray sheep, just in time for the Parson, who had quieted his face and walked in to see Mrs. Crane, when Josh came back, drip ping and exclaiming "Peppergrass ! them is the d drownedest sheep I ever see !' This new spell of 'Miss Eunice's,' as Josh always called his wife, worked well while it was new ; but the unruly tongue elapsed, . and meek Mrs. Crane had grown to look upon it as she would upon a wooden leg, had that been Josh s infirmity with pity and regret, the purest result of a charity which 'endureth and hopeth all things,' eminently her ruling trait. x.verything else went on prosperously; the farm paid well, and Josh kid up money, but never for himself. They had no child ren a sore disappointment to both their kindly hearts ; but all the poor and orphan little ones in the town seemed to have a spe cial claim on their care and help. Nobody ever went away hungry from Josh's door, or uncon soled from Miss Eunice's keeping room.' Everybody loved them both, and in time people forgot that Josh swore ; but he never did. A keen pain discomforted him whenever he saw a child look up astonished at his oath. He had grown so far towards 'the full ear that he understood what an of fence his habit was, and it pained him very much that it could not be overcome, even in so long a trial ; but soon other things drew on to change the current of Josh's penitent thoughts. . He had been married about ten years when Miss Eunice began to show signs of failing he<n ; she wa3, after the Yankee custom, somewhat older than her husband, and of too delicate a make to endure the hard life Con necticut farmers must, or do lead. Josh was as fond of her as he could be, but he did not know how to demonstrate it ; all sorts of comforts she had, as far as food, and fire, and clothing went, but no recrea tion. No public amusements ever visited Plainfield, a Eparse and quiet village fir off the track of any railroad ; the farmers could cot epend time to drive round the country with their wives, or to go visiting, except now and then on Sunday nights to a neigh bor's ; sometimes to a paring or husking bee, the very essence of which was work ; once a year a donation j?artv at the minister's; and a rare attendance upon 'the sewing cir cle, distasteful to Josh, who must get and eat his supper alone in that case these were all the amusements Miss Eunice knew. Books she had none, except her Bible, Bos ton's Fourfold State, a dictionary and an arithmetic, relies of her school ; and, if ever she wished for more, she repressed the wish, because those ought to be enough ; she did not biow, cr dared not be conscious, that hjrinvuiity neds something for its lesser and trivial life that 'by all these things men live,' as well as by the word and by bread. So she drudged on uncomplainingly, and after ten years of patience and labor took to her bed, and was pronounced by the Plain field doctor to have successively 'a spine in the back,' a rising of the lungs,' and a gitteral complaint of the lights (was it catarrhal?) Duly was she blistered, plas tered and fomented ; dosed with Brandreth's pills, mullein root and cider, tansy, burdock, bitter-sweet, catnip and boneset teas ; sow bugs, tickled iuto a ball and swallowed alive; dried rattlesnake's flesh ; and the powder of a red squirrel, shut into a red-hot oven liv ing, baked till powderable, and then put through that process in a mortar, and ad ministered fasting. Dearly beloved, I am not improvising. All these, and sundry other and filthier me dicaments, which I refrain from mentioning, did once, perhaps do still, abound in the islands of this Yankeedom, and slay . their thousands yearly, as with the jaw-bone of an ass. Of course Miss Eunice pined and lan guished, not merely from the 'simples' that she swallowed, but because the very fang that had set itself in the breast of Josh's gentle mother gnawed and rioted in her's. At length some idea of this kind occurred to Uncle Josh's mind. He tackled up Bo ker, the old horse, and set out for Sanbury, where there lived a doctor of some eminence, and returned in triumph' with Dr. Sawyer following in his own gig. :Miss Eunice was carefully examined by the physician, a pompous but kindly man, who saw at once there was no hope and no help for his fluttered and panting patient. When the millennium comes, let us hope it will bring physicians of sufficient forti tude to forbear dosing in hopeless cases. It is vain to look for such in the present con dition of things, and Dr. Sawyer was no better than his kind. He hemmed, hawed screwed up one eye, felt Miss Eunice's pulse again, and uttered, oracularly : 'I think a portion of some sodorific febri fuge would probably allay Mrs. Crane's hectic' Well, I expect it would,' confidently as serted Josh; 'can I get it to the store, doctor?' No sir ; it should be compounded in the family, Mr. Crane.' Dew tell !' responded Josh, rather crest fallen, but brightening upas the doctor went on to describe, in all the polysyllables he could muster, the desirable fluid. At the end Josh burst out joyfully with I sw swan ! t'aint nothing but lemon ade with gumarabac in't !' Dr. Sawyer gave him a look of contempt, and took his leave Josh laboring under the profound and happy conviction that nothing ailed Miss Eunice if lemonade was all that she needed ; while the doctor called, on his way home, to see Parson Pitcher, and to him confided the mournful fact that Miss Eunice was getting ready for heaven fast could scarcely live another week by any mortal help. Parson Pitcher grieved truly, for he loved and respected Eunice, and held her as the sweetest 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 in telligence, 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 tpared Josh the lingering agony of an expectation that could do him no good. Miss Eunice had a rest less 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 near ness 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 woke her, and her start roused Josh. He lifted her on the pil low, 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 sooke. 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 hi3 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 alqud with the passion and carelessness of a child Nobody could rouse Lim, nobody could move him, tiB. ar son Pitcher came in, and, taking his hand, raised and led him into the keeping room. There Josh brushed off the feist before his drenched eyes with the back of hi 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. Yes, my son, she is dead,' solemnly re plied the parson ; 'it is the will of God, and you must consent I can't! I can't j I a'nt agoing to,' sobbed Josh 't'ant no use talkin' if I'd only expected somethin it's that doc tor ! Oh Lord I I've swore, and Miss Eu nice is dead ! Oh gracious goody I what! be I agoing to do ? Oh dear ! oh dear I oh Mi&s Eunice !' Parson Pitcher could not even smiles the poor fellow's grief was too deep. - What could he think of to console him, but that deepest comfort to the-bereaved, her better 6tate ? 'My dear friend, be comforted. Eu nice is with the blessed in heaven.' 'I know it ! I know it ! she allers was nigh about fit to go there without dyin'. OhLordyl she's gone to heaven and-1 ha'nt !' No, there was no consoling Uncle Josh ; that touch of nature showed it He was alone, and refused to be comforted ; so Par son Pitcher made a fervent prayer for the living, that unawares merged into a thanks giving for the dead, and went his way, sor rowfully convicted that his holy office had in it no supernatural power or aid that some things are too deep and mighty for man. Josh's grief raved itself into worn out 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 ag ony, while the despairing wretchedness of the funeral hymn, the wailing cadences of 'China, poured round the dusty, and cob webbed 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, neith er slept nor ate, but was somewhat apocry phal, 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, bui looking very downcast and miserable.- Good morning, Mr. Grane,' said the good diviue. 'Mornin', Parson Pitcher ; have a cheer ?' The Parson sat down on the bench of the stoop, and witfully surveyed Josh, wonder ing 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 an't resigned! I want Miss Eunice! I an't willing to have lier dead, I can't and an't, and that's the hull on't ! and I'd a sight rather oh goody ! I've swore again. Lord-a-massy ! 'n she au't here to look at me when I do, and I'm goin' straight to the d . Oh land ! there it goes 1 Oh dear soul, can't a fellow 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 crunch ing on the gravel path towards the gate, when Josh, persistent as Galileo, thrust his head out of the barn window, and reported, in a louder and more strenuous key 'I an't willin', Parson Pitcher!' leaving the par son in a dubious state of mind, on which he ruminated for some weeks, finally conclud ing 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 reg ularly 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 afore said Mrs. Ranney, the greatest vixen in those parts, and of course an old maid. Her tem per and tongue had kept off suiters in her youth, and had in nowise softened since. Her name was Sarah, familliarized into Sal ly, and as she grew up to middle age tliat pleasant, kindly title being sadly out of keeping with her nature, everybody called her Sal Ran., and the third generation scarce knew she had another name. Any uproar in the village always began with Sal Ran, and woe be to the unlucky boy who pilfered an apple under the over hanging trees of Mrs. Ranney's orchard by the road, or tilted the well-sweep of her stony-curbed well to get a drink ; Sal was down upon the offender like a hail-storm, and cuffs and shrieks mingled in wild cho rus with her shrill scolding, to the awe and consternation of every child within half a mile. Judge, then, of Parson Pitcher's amaze ment whenv little more than a year after Miss Eunice's death, Josh was ushered into his study one evening, and, after stroking a new stove-pipe hat for a long time, at length said he had ' come to speak about bem' published.' The parson drew along breath, partly for the mutability of man, partly of pure wonder. Who are you going to marry, Mr. Crane?' said he, after a pause. Another man might have softened the style of his wife to be not Josh. Sal Ran,' said he, undauntedly. Parson Pitcher arose from his chair, and, with both hands in his pockets, advanced upon Josh like horse and foot together ; but he stood his ground. '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 swearing wav i re got . 1 kinder thought it would wear off if Miss Eunice kep a looking at me, but she's died.' Here Josh interpolated a great blubbering sop. 'And I'm gettin' so bad there ! you see. Parson, I do swear dreadful ; and I an't no more resigned to her dyin' than I used to 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 had oughter put myself to the wmd'ard of some squalls, so's to learn navigation, and I couldn't; tell how, till suddenly l brought to mind Sal Ran, who is the devil and all oh dear, I've nigh about swore again ! and I concluded she'd be the nearest to a cat-o-nine tails 1 could get to tewierme. and then I recklected what old Cap'n Thom as used to say when I was a boy aboard his whaler : 'Boys,' says he, 'you're allers sot to hev your own way, and you've got to hev mine ; so it's pooty clear . that I shall flog you to rope-yarns, or else .you'll have to make b'lieve my way's yourn, which'll suit all round. So you see, Parson Pitcher, I wan'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 had since Miss Eunice up and died. I swan 1 11 give up reasonable next time, seein' it's Sal.' Hardly could Parson Pitcher stand this singular creed of doctrine, and the shrewd and self-satisfied, vet honest expression of face with which Josh clenched his argu ment. Professing himself in great haste to study, he promised to publishas well a3 to. marry Josh, and when his old parishioner was out of hearing, he indulged himself with a long fit of laughter, almost inextin guisnsble, oer Josh's patent Christianizert Great was the astonishment of the whole congregation on Sunday, when Josh's in tentions were given out from the pulpit; and strangely mixed and hesitating the congrat ulations he received after his marriage, which took place the following week. Parson Pitcher took a curious interest in the success of Josh's project i and he had to acknow ledge its beneficial effects, rather against his will. Sal Ran was the best of house-keepers, as scolds are apt to lie ; 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 re freshed; but if the smallest piofanity esa caped Uncle Josh's lips, he did indeed "hear thunder,"" and, with the asceted de votion of a Guyonist, he endured every ob jugatory torrent to the end, though his soft and kindly heart would now and then cringe and quiver iT the process; It was ail for his goodj he often said; and by the time Sal Ran had been in Miss Eu nice's place an equal term of years, Uncle Josh had become so mild spoken, so kind, so meek, that his dead wife must have re joiced over it in heaven, even as his brethren did on earth. And now comes the crowning honor of his life. Uncle Josh was made a deacon Sal celebrated the event with 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 Eng land house-keeper. Pies, preserves, cake, biscuit, bread, 6hort-cake, cheese, honey, fruit, 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 ot 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.' Long and piously the two worthies talked, and at length came a brief pause, broken by Josh. Well, Parson Pitcher, that are calkerla tion of mine about Sal did come out nigh onter right, didn't it?' " 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.' Yes,' said Josh, 'if Miss Eunice had lived, I don't know but what I should 'a been a swearin' man to this day ; but Sal, 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 Sal Ran looked red der than the crimson peonies on her posy -bed. Parson Pitcher made an excellent prayer, particularly descanting on the use of trials 2 and when he came to an end, and arose to say good ni?ht, Mrs. Crane had vanished, so he had to go home without taking leave of her. Strange to say, during the follow ing 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 ber fennel bushes through the pickets, and nipped the yellow heads, receiving for their audacious thieving no more than a mild request not to 'do that,' which actually shamed them into apologtzmg. With this confirmation even Parson Pitch er 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 onsar tainly changed. I don't believe she's, got riled more'n once, or gin it to me for si months 'Very singular 1' said Parson Pitcher.- 'I am glad for both of you ; but what seems to have wrought upon her ?' Well, said Uncle Josh, with a queer glitter in his eye, 'I expect 6he most a ben to the winder that night you'n I sot a talk in on the stoop about fliction and her ; for next day I stumbled and spilt a lot o new milk onto the kitchen floor. That allers riled her ; so I begun to say, 'O dear, I's sorry, Sal 1' when she ups right away, and says, says she 'Yon han't no need to be skeered, Josh Crane, you've done with flic tion in this world ; I shan't never scold you any more. I an't 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 sweann', I guess I shan't, but I do feel kinder crawly about bem re signed.' - : 1 ; i' '- However, Uncle Josh's troubles Were over Sal Ran dropped her name for 'Aunt Sally, and finally joined the .church, and was aa erood in her strenuous war as her husband in his meekness, for there are 'diversities of gifts ; and when the Plainfield bell one au- tumn aay touea a long series oi eignty (strokes." and Dpimv-.ti CrartA waj mineral to his rest in the daisy-sprinlded burying- yard, beside Mis3 Eunice, the young minis ter, who succeeded Parson Pitcher, had al most as hard a task to console Attnt Sally a3 hi3 predecessor had to instil resignation on a like occasion into Uncle Josh.