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own old

those remarks which have displeased you so much ;

but I fear your defence will find less ready readers than the abuse of old women ; for we have not many friends, and it is partly our own fault. We grow crabbed, sometimes, and selfish, and meddlesome, as we grow old, and display the wilful tempers of children, without their innocence and beauty; and so the men seem to think we are fair marks for ridicule.' • The men think

very wrong then,' cried I, - being liable, in their age, to like infirmities of temper, which they display with no better grace, and with infinitely more power to annoy.

Therein lies the gross injustice of making old women peculiarly the objects of censure, instead of allowing them the same claims to respeciful forbearance which are granted to old men.'

• You cannot expect justice from the world,' said my wife; 'and as for these ill-natured sarcasms on old women, believe me, they are not half so injurious to us as the flattery and foolish homage we meet with, in our earlier days. These indeed sadly unfit us for future plain dealing, and contribute toward making us, what we too frequently are, frivolous and rain. If men would treat us like rational beings, encourage us to think, and to reason, as they do, while we are young, perhaps they would find us less troublesome companions in our old age.'

G. G.

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THERE is a quiet glen, through whose deep shade
The sunlighi faintly quivers. There the boughs,
Fragrant with bloom, seem pictured in the air,
So silently they slumber, while beneath,
For ever bubbling in the shadow cool,
Runs a transparent fountain. Round its brim
The wild flowers gather, and the woodland birds,
Which make the air so musical with song,
Pause in their love chants, and secure from harm,
Here stoop to drink. The water is like crystal,
And from its glassy surface mirrors back
The bending dome of the blue heaven above,
As if there were another heaven below.
Here do I often come, at close of day,
To renovate my spirit, and imbibe
From its deep calin, thoughts of tranquillity;
The turmoil of the world is here unknown,
And the sharp sorrows that afflict mankind
Do seldom enter here, for here is peace.
And should my beart with heaviness be bowed,
Or my fond hopes be blighted, I will come
To this lone spot, that I may gather strength,
And with a Christian confidence bow down
To the great God who made me.

Like this scene,
So full of quiet beauty, may my soul
E’er keep a calm and pure serenity;
And as this silver fountain bubbles up,
And speeds in love upon its joyous way,
Diffusing life and freshness, so may 1,
Forever true 10 the All-perfect will,
Shed forth rich blessings on my daily path,
In silent love and meek beneficence.

39

August, 1838.
VOL. XII.

W..

EASTERN LANDS.

A TALE OF YESTERDAY: EY THE AUTHOR OF THE OLD TOWN PUMP.'

THERE are certain people in this world, who, let the wind blow whichsoever way it may, are for ever grumbling. With this class, every thing goes wrong. Grateful for nothing, the more that is done for them, the more is expected. Half-suppressed mutterings, if the bounty falls in the least short of their expectations, constitutes their staple of repayment. Of this class was BOB MORRIS, a native of Blueville, Rhode-Island. Bob was a tanner by trade, and could, if he had chosen, have amassed a good property, by a steady application to business. But his ambition was of quite another sort. He wanted money, it is true, but his aspiration was, that it might come suddenly, and in one bulk. This he was well assured would one day happen; his mother, before her death, having dreamed, three nights running, that her son Bob would, before many years, ride in his carriage, the possessor of an immense fortune. To sum up all, Bob was idle, and envious of his neighbors' prosperity, little thinking that if he had spent the many years at his trade which he had lost in growling and grumbling, under the portico of the tavern, he might have been as well off as any around him, and have stood a good chance of belonging to the bonorable body of the select-men of Blueville.

One bitter cold night, in December, 183, Bob was seated over a scanty fire, in his miserable shanty, which a humane landlord had permitted him to occupy, rent free. The winds whistled through the wide cracks in the sides of the hovel, and its inmate sat shivering with the cold, his thoughts, as usual, reverting to his own hard fate. 'Ugh! how cold it is!' muttered Bob, his teeth chattering; 'I shan't sleep a wink to-night. 'Tis confounded strange, that some folks are born with silver spoons in their mouths, and others with chains and padlocks on their ankles. There is farmer Hodgson, while ploughing last week, to turn the frost out of the ground, stumbled upon a coal mine. His fortune's cut and dried for him, without his saying 'boo! And here am I, as good a man as my neighbors, no better off in the world, at thirty years of age, than I was when I started. Ugh! how very cold! The cracks in this hut are so wide, that the wind plays 'hide-and-seek' through 'em, and no danger of being caught. Landlords are dreadful close with their purses, nowa-days. To be sure, I don't pay him any rent, but then I think the least he could do, would be to make the house comfortable, and keep it in repair. It's infernal cold! If the old woman's prophecy do n't. turn up soon, I shall stand but little chance of being able to enjoy it. Money I must have; how can I get it? I'll go out upon the highway, and rob some one! No, I won't do that, neither; I might possibly swing for it, which would make it bad.' No, I'll

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Here the cogitations of our hero were interrupted by a loud double-rap against the board which served the purpose of a door. 'Knock away!' continued Bob, in the same muttering tone, but

without stirring an inch; 'some traveller, I suppose, who wants a direction to the tavern. Let him find it himself; I won't be his drudge!'

Again and again was the knocking repeated, until the 'outside barbarian,' despairing of obtaining permission by peaceable means, gave the door, or rather the board, a furious kick, which burst it in.

'Hallo!' exclaimed the intruder, a tall, stout man, wrapped to the throat in a shaggy Tom-and-Jerry, as his eye rested upon Bob, sitting quite composedly before the fire-place.

Hallo, yourself!' replied Bob, scanning him with no welcome glance.

'Why the devil did n't you open the door?' said the new-comer. 'Because I did n't choose to. What's your business here?' 'Precious little to do with you,' was the reply. Look you here, I want to sleep here to-night, and am willing to pay you for it. If you like it, well and good; if not, you can do the other thing; for over that step I don't budge this night. That's all.'

So saying, the stranger pushed Bob out of his seat, and slipping into it himself, began very deliberately to poke the dying embers of the fire. Bob instantly determined to eject him by force from his premises, but a second look at his size and muscle, convinced him that he might come off second best in such an attempt. Swallowing his wrath, therefore, he growled a reluctant welcome.

'What's your name?' asked Bob.

You may call me Joe Jenkins, if you choose; if not, you may let it alone,' was the reply.

'I say,' continued the stranger, after a pause of a few minutes, during which time he had been vainly endeavoring to make a blaze from the scanty coals, what have you got to drink?'

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Plenty of water in the spring,' answered Morris.

'Oh, there is, is there?' said Jenkins, with the air of a man to whom

an important fact had just been disclosed.

let's have some brandy, 'mazing sudden.'

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There's half a dollar;

Quick as thought, Bob clutched the piece of silver, as if he feared his guest might change his mind; and in an incredibly short space of time, he marched into the bar-room of the Red Lion.'

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I want a quart of brandy,' said he, raising his head as high as any in the room.

'I dare say,' replied Boniface, with a wink to a group of such 'loafers' as are always to be found in the bar-room of a tavern; ‘I never knew the day you didn't. But who's to pay for it, Bob?' 'I am, to be sure,' replied he, 'planking' the half dollar. 'Hallo!' exclaimed Boniface, with the utmost surprise, where did you raise that? I'm afraid you did n't come honestly by that money, Bob.'

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Very well, if you won't let me have the liquor, I'll go somewhere else.'

'Oh, no, no!' said the landlord; 'your money is good, Mr. Morris. Who says I ever turned a customer away?'

Bob pocketed his change, without a word of comment, and taking his jug, turned his face toward home. Great was his consternation, upon entering his hovel, at finding his visitor upon the point of splitting up the only table he owned in the world.

• Hallo here ! cried he, setting down the vessel, and catching hold of one leg of the table, 'what the devil are you about ?'

* Don't you see ?' answered Jenkins, wrenching off the top ; 'I'm breaking up this old table for fuel. You shall have one fire, at all events. Devil take it, man ! do you suppose I'm going to freeze ?'

Bob resolutely defended his property, but all in vain. Piece after piece was broken off, and thrown on to the fire, in spite of all he could do ; and with a tear in his eye, he beheld the conflagration of his red pine table.

· And now, my boy !' said Jenkins, “I'll make your fortune for you in Eastern Lands.'

Bob's ears were wide open to receive any thing relating to fortune; so, forgetting his grievances at once, he helped to empty the jug of brandy, and then sat himself down, an attentive listener to what fell from the lips of his guest. Daylight found them in the same position; but a neighbor happening to call at the hut, a little after sunrise, found it empty. Bob and his visitor were among the missing. Numberless were the conjectures as to what had become of the former; no one, of course, kuowing that he had absconded in company with any body. The landlord of the Red Lion' reported, with additions and variations, the story, that Bob had entered his house the evening previous, bought a quart of brandy, and paid for it on the spot, a thing which had never before happened, within the memory of the oldest inhabitant, and for which he could in no wise account; and that he also declared, after getting it safely in his possession, that as he expected to leave the world that night, he had determined his last hours should be merry ones. As this was the most exaggerated story that was manufactured at Bob's expense, it was first deemed barely possible, and finally firmly believed, by one and all. Satan had unquestionably claimed his own, and transported the victim to the infernal regions.

The best story, however, soon wears out; and so it chanced with the tale of Bob's abduction. At first it engrossed the lea-table conversation of every gossip in the village. Then it was declared insipid, by the more fashionable circles. The middle classes followed the example, till at last the lowest laborers forgot the subject, or only mentioned it as a remembrance of by-gove days.

Precisely seven months after Bob's disappearance, on a hot July afternoon, a superb carriage rattled through the turnpike-gate of Blueville, and drove up to the sign of the Red Lion.' Presently there descended from it a man dressed in the extreme of fashion, who, after eyeing his establishment with evident satisfaction, turned to the house.

• Here John, Tom, Dick! where are you all ? shouted the obsequious landlord.

• Landlord !' said the stranger, with a pompous air.
• Your humble servant, Sir.'
Have my horses rubbed down.'
Yes, Sir.

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'Order supper, immediately.'

'Yes - Sir.'

And if it aint done in the best manner, I'll horsewhip you!'

Yes, Sir - yes, Sir;' and the landlord bustled away to execute his orders. Supper was soon announced, and the stranger, entering an adjoining room, commenced devouring the various dishes with hearty gusto.

'What are you looking at, landlord?' said the stranger, pausing a moment to take breath.

'At you, Sir.'

'At me? Why what do you see in me, to attract your attention?' Aint you -you must be Bob Morris ?' 'Robert Fitzmorris, Esquire, if you please. I am no longer plain Bob Morris; call me so again, and I'll throw you out of the window. I've made a fortune within six months; three hundred thousand dollars, all in Eastern lands. Hold on to your eyes, landlord, or you'll lose em; they're half out of your head, already. Keep still about it, or by the powers! if it goes beyond you, I'll not answer for your life!'

Away went Boniface, just as Bob desired, and told it to a neighbor, under a strict injunction of secrecy; this neighbor told it to another, who, in his turn, told it to a dozen others, and before sunset, it was known in every house in Blueville, that Bob Morris had returned an Esquire, and as rich as a Jew.

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Instantly, invitations upon pink, green, and blue paper, were left at the Red Lion,' addressed to Robert Fitzmorris, Esquire, requesting the honor of his company. Crowds flocked around the tavern ; the Lion' was never so well patronized. Head above head appeared at the window of the dining room, wherein the rich man was seated. The lawyer and the justice of the peace came very near tripping one another up, as they entered the bar-room, in their haste to pay their respects. That evening Bob passed at Justice Wormwood's.

Have you any land for sale?' inquired the justice, as Bob summed up the profits that had accrued to him from one speculation.

I believe I have a few lots,' replied Mr. Fitzmorris, slowly, at the same time, drawing a map from his pocket: Here is a plan of the city of Gullem, Maine. Lot fifty-three is unchecked. Come, I'll sell you that; right in the centre of the city, and just where the dépôt of the Grand United North American Eastern Rail Road and Forwarding Company' will be located.'

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But is the road finished?' interrupted the justice.

Not quite,' answered Bob, with a slight cough; when I left, three months ago, there was a bill in the lower house of the Maine Legislature for the incorporation of the company. By this time, it has passed; the track has undoubtedly been commenced, and

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But, consider, my dear Sir,' again interrupted the justice, 'the bill may have been defeated.'

'No such thing!' replied Bob, fiercely. 'Is my word good for nothing?'

'Oh, no, no-pray go on, Sir.'

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