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tremengious goold watch in his hand, 'twixt his thumb and finger, with its mouth wide open; and you can't think, aunty, what a biddin' thar was to git it. He had a mallet in his hand, and every once and a while he'd smash it down very mad 'cause they would n't bid high enuff. When he sighted me, says he 'Let the gentleman come to the counter; he looks as how he knows the vally of a goold watch.'

'The bidders let me cum right amongst um. One chap said: 'I wish I had more of the ready about me, and I'd go another ten.' Says I: 'If I had sold my fur, I'd like to have that watch.' The red-faced chap said: 'Put um up; several fellers want furs, and they 'll bring more here than any whar else.' ''Done,' said I. So I bid fifty dollars for the watch, and then the furs was put up, and they brought the money- no more nor less.

"How's that,' said I; 'they ar worth more money any day.'

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'Says he: 'They smell so bad, or they 'd brought more. You're all right; the watch will bring a cool hundred any day among gentlemen; but what kin one expect from sich a set of blackguards as are here this mornin'?'

'Good,' said I.

'I did n't like the way they did business at that store; and jist as I was a-goin' to make a row, they stopped sellin', and we all went to a great room, furbelowed off very hansum. Sich sights of things to eat and drink was never seed afore. I got pretty much shot in the neck, when in cum a feller they called Alderman Turtlehevey, and the chap what sold watches they called Noisy Tom. "T was a most nat'ral name, for he made sich a thunderin' noise that I couldn't hear myself think.'

'Why, Mosey,' interrupted Miss Hardpan, 'did n't you feel proud to be in sich company? '

'Proud! no; it cum nat'ral as small-pox; and could n't help but think that natur' made me for somethin' else as to live in the clouds, 'mong snow-storms and hurricanes.'

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'I always thought so,' interrupted his aunt, and now I knows it, for sich a dreamin' — I never saw the like. Mosey,' continued she, 'I'll tell you a secret;' but before she proceeded, she turned her head toward the retired members of the family, to be assured that they were all asleep, and after satisfying herself that that was the case, she said in a low voice: 'Do you know whether Noisy Tom, as you call him, is a Bachelder?'

'A Bachelder?' added Moses, 'a Bachelder did you say? Why, aunty, 'spose he was, do ye think he'd have you, specially when he 's got such lots of goold thingumbobs?' The number of disappointments Miss Hardpan had been subject to crossed her mind, and she became silently thoughtful; and so did Moses, and they looked steadily at the fire, as it was flickering in the embers; but at length a smile of approbation lit up Moses' features, when he recommenced the conversation by saying: 'Aunty, them warnt all coon-skins I tuck to York; the skunks was inside, and I's jist thinkin' what they'll say when they find it out.'

'My stars, Mosey, you'll never dare to go back agin,' said his aunt Hardpan with downcast features, his declaration upsetting the last hope she had of

conquest among a thousand of others that had gone before it, of no more reasonable prospect of accomplishment than the one she had just bidden adieu to. 'I don't know that, for it's hard to tell which was best sold, the skins or the watch; for I tuck it to a shop to put it in order, and the chap, after lookin' at its insides, through a little glass, with one eye shot, said it warnt worth a rabbit's paw: not in ezactly them words, but in somethin' squintin' that way.'

Miss Hardpan was beating time with the tips of her toes, in sympathy with her own ideas, the little time she remained silent, when at length she began again to fondle the watch, with as much affection as if it were a baby born in wedlock. After continuing her caresses for a time, she exclaimed: 'It's a beauty; yis, it's a beauty!' She then put it to her ears, shook it once or twice, as if to awaken it from a long slumber, and said with some emotion: 'Why, Mosey, don't it talk?'

'No,' replied he gravely. 'It's a young un, I'd think, if 'twould cry; but as it do n't and can't talk, I guess 't was born deaf and dumb.'

'It's a beauty any how,' was her reply, and added: 'Somehow hansum things never do go. There's Tom Derrick's Sue—she's a hansum puss, but does n't go. She's been on the old man's hands a good while.'

Miss Maria then surveyed her own person, evidently reflecting why she did n't go herself; and to make a finish of what she had begun, arose from her seat, and viewed the rest of her person in a piece of broken mirror, sticking in the cranny of the wall, revolving all the while in her own mind the reason her lovers were so shy.

Moses, guessing what was passing in his aunt's mind, said: 'Never mind, aunty, all he-critters has their day, and t' other sort frolic in the arternoon.'

'My eyes, Mosey, that's so!' she ejaculated with a smile, after a short consultation with her own heart; 'that's so! We an't good for much till arternoon, and then we feel so prankish! O my! I can't tell ezactly how it is, but somethin' like a hundred fellers fallin' in love with one all together, who keep up sich a sighin'.'

'I wonder,' interrupted Moses, 'if they can beat Capting Murky's furniss, for that goes like a reg'lar nor'-easter, jist afore a storm in December.'

'That's it, Mosey!' she spiritedly replied; ‘I was tryin' to think of somethin' like it; for when I think of these things I'm full o' poetry, and can hardly hold up till I let fly:'

'SEE all creation a-courtin' to go,
Little birds and pigeons too;
Big JIM STORKER he'd be thar too,
If I'd said Yis, when I meant No.'

'Well, aunty,' replied Moses with a kind of hiccough, which he intended for a laugh, ‘I think it a great blessin' to be made happy so easy, but I've no turn for poetry, or I'd try my hand too; but somehow or t'other, it don't jingle when I tries, beside I allers git rheumatics arter; but whether it cums from that, or thinkin' so much about goin' to York, and gettin' in for an alderman, I do n't know; but I guess it's from one or t' other. I orter be thankful 't an't from both, or 't would be worser than rheumatics — would n't it, aunty? You

knows all about penerial, and how it sweats a feller, and takes out of him all his grease-spots; and how it cures one that's lazy, and likes dreamin' in the day-time. But rheumatics is a different thing, and seems to like chaps best who haint any grease in um.'

He tried to court me once, and shed, and as I turned up my He was lookin' doleful enuff.

'That's so, Mosey; thar's Jim Storker, he's long as a rail, and penerial would no more sweat him than a bite of straw would physic a hoss. And as to rheumatics, he's too thin to ache any how. it beat all creation. I was milkin' under the head, who should be thar but tall Jim Storker. 'Says I: 'Jimmy, what's the matter?' 'Says he 'Maria, I love you.'

'Says I, (and I larfed,) 'I do n't love you.' "'Cause why?' said he.

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''Cause I can't,' said I; 'love comes and goes like snow in Jinuary, by nat'ral causes; and it's natʼral for me to love when I can't help it.' So he boohoed out like a calf, and went to the house, and was taken sick. I tried him with tanzy, bone-set, and then penerial; and thar was nothin' in him, and nothin' could come out. It dried him up like a smoked herrin', and the first high wind arter blew him away, and he never was seed arter.'

So

A sudden crash up-stairs interrupted the conversation, and Moses proceeded at once to ascertain what had happened. He found matters worse than he expected. A considerable portion of the roof had sunk under the pressure above, and Miss Hardpan's comfortable quarters were filled with snow. choked were they, that she must have suffocated had she not have been discreet enough to have abandoned them as she did. But these accidents had occurred more than once to the cabin of old Dolebear; consequently the alarm was not so great as a similar misfortune would have been to a more substantial building. All hands now put themselves at work to secure the beams of the floor overhead, which was effected by props kept on hand for such occasions.

THE LAST DAYS OF CHATHAM.

BY G.

M. TOW LE.

FEW incidents of history are more touching or more memorable, than the death of a great statesman or soldier while in the active discharge of patriotic duty. The decease of an illustrious man, who is ripe in years and in honorable renown, in the quiet seclusion of his chamber, is a beautiful and interesting scene; but fails to awaken that reverential awe which is occasioned by the departure of one who is summoned on high with his armor on, fulfilling in the last hour the noblest objects of life. To be called away in the freshness of intellectual vigor, in presence of co-workers, and while exerting energy in behalf of one's country, is an event reserved for a few, and fails not to enhance the glory of a well-spent life. So died the great Earl of Chatham. His fame had surpassed that of all his predecessors in the public arena of Great Britain. He had risen from a middle rank to the first honors of the state. By a brilliant and burning eloquence, an accurate knowledge of detail, and a proud and uncompromising spirit, he had successfully opposed the ministry of Newcastle, and had become himself the controller of the destinies of the British empire. A war, unsurpassed for centuries in the magnitude of its operations and the importance of its results, had been conducted by him with brilliant success, and had been brought to an honorable and glorious termination. After leading for many years the Lower House of Parliament, he had been rewarded in his old age with an earldom, and reflected honor upon the hereditary legislators of the realm by his presence among them. By the grace of his manner and the finish of his address, he had obscured the declining years of the versatile Chesterfield. By his sonorous and thrilling diction, he had snatched from the brow of Grenville the laurel which had been awarded to him by the common acquiescence of his countrymen. By his prompt and energetic legislation, he had eclipsed the renown which a haughty posterity had claimed with justice for Halifax and Walpole, Oxford and Pelham. By the earnestness and consistency of his devotion to the common weal, he had shared with Sidney and Milton the love and confidence with which a people ever regard those who are zealous for their honor. By the impassioned philippics which he directed against those arbitrary ministers who, in spite of the remonstrances of public opinion, had persisted in declaring 'taxation no tyranny' toward the American colonies, and had acted up to that pernicious precept, he secured to himself the esteem of a great nation and their descendants through all time. Against the unreasonable hatred of the reigning sovereign, against the malicious prejudices of a proud and insolent nobility, against the dogged opposition of a shallow but avowed favorite, against the wealth, talent and prestige of the entire Tory influence; amid the gloom of impending tyranny, the premonitions of a tempest fearfully imminent, the operation of every foul art, and the fulmination of every

absurd slander, this great man had stood forth in a valiant defence of constitutional privilege and the advancing claims of a people disenthralled. No one could doubt the sincerity of a man who could for years reject the most alluring offices of honor and emolument, and resist, though possessing an ambitious spirit, the venal offers of corrupt ministers. No aspersion could be cast upon the character of one who remained during the flower of his manhood and his glory, on the benches of a hopeless opposition, and in spite of court, majorities, and the oft-repeated taunts of such hirelings as Fox and Doddington, continued. to avow and to urge the doctrines from which he had never swerved. Gradually he had attached to himself the favor of an immense majority of his countrymen; and the King, though cordially detesting him, was forced to admit him to the highest trust within the reach of a British subject. His body, long tried by distressing and dangerous disease, had, for some time previous to his death, given evidence of an approaching dissolution. The activity of his mental faculties, however, discovered no abatement, and in spite of corporeal pain, he continued to arraign in the Upper House the ministers whose errors were gradually involving his country in calamity. In the intellectual vigor of the prime of life, when men commonly put forth their best energies, and when the will has been so far subdued that it is no longer the master of, but becomes the cooperator with the judgment, and when he thought he discerned in coming events the downfall of his enemies and the establishment of those principles which it had been his life-long labor to achieve, he was struck down in his place of duty and of honor, before his opponents and his confederates, in presence of a multitude petrified by the great calamity which now befel the nation. What a scene does this present! The most illustrious of living statesmen felled by the dread destroyer in the midst of his appeals for justice and liberty! The most eloquent of living orators struck down, even while the silver tones which had thrilled thousands of his countrymen were filling with their earnest pathos the splendid hall of Westminster, and just as the fire of inspired enthusiasm burst from that eagle eye! The place, the occasion, the audience there assembled, were appropriate to such an event. It was on the spot where the cowardly and despotic John had been compelled by the haughty barons of England to affirm the Magna Charta of their liberties. It was the hall where each succeeding Plantagenet had reäffirmed with solemn oaths the obligations of that great instrument. It was the hall in which had resounded the earnest and passionate eloquence of Shaftesbury, Hampden, and Russell, in behalf of the rights of man. It was the hall in which, at the close of the preceding century, William Prince of Orange had assumed the throne left vacant by the ignominious flight of the lawful sovereign, and had affixed a willing signmanual to the Declaration of Rights. The same precincts had been for more than a quarter of a century the scene of his own victorious progress, where he had compelled the attention of an unwilling audience, where he had successfully restrained the excesses of a powerful ministry, where he had defended the virtue and capacity of the people against the undue influence of exclusive oligarchists, where he had won the love of friends, the respect of enemies, and

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