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Uncle Snooks had a pretty hard time on it sometimes, when the women folks used to come and plague him about not selling any more rum to their husbands. There was one Barney Belcher, who drank up his farm. They used to say his old cow choked him, because he sold her last of all his stock, and died in a fit, while he was drinking the very first dram that he bought with the money he got for her. Barney's wife tormented uncle 'Zeik from morning to night; and her persecution, together with the loss of his property, as I always thought, drove him out of his business, and shortened his days. She was a proper firebrand, though she never took any spirit herself. There was not a happier couple in our parish, when they were first married; and they had a family of four little children, that every body used to notice, for their neat appearance, I've seen them many a time, of a Sunday going to meeting, hand in hand, and all four abreast, along with their father and mother. Barney was a very thrifty farmer, and I never thought he was the man to die a drunkard. It used to be said, that there had'nt been a likelier couple married in the parish for many years; for though they had almost nothing to start with, yet they were amazing handsome to look at; they were generally as smart as a couple of steel traps, and very industrious into the bargain. They did surprising well for years. But he got to be an ensign, and rum and regimentals did the business for poor Barney in less than no time. When he got to be pretty bad, she first came to the house, and then to the shop, to get uncle 'Zeik not to let him have any more liquor. They had a good many talks about it, but uncle 'Zeik would have his way. At last she consulted a lawyer, and came over to the shop, and gave uncle 'Zeik a real dressing, before more than a dozen customers. "Well, Nelly Belcher," said uncle 'Zeik, when she came in, resolved to be beforehand with her, what do you want to-day?" "Mercy," said she, if I can't What care I for your court?" replied she the have justice. You well know what I want. I now day will come and it may come this hour when a request you once again to sell my husband no more higher court may sit; and you shall answer for spirits." "And how can I help it ?" said uncle 'Zeik, more than all this a thousand fold. Then you cold somewhat disturbed by her resolute manner. "Ihearted old man, I will lead my poor ragged childhave taken a lawyer's advice," said she, and you ren, before the bar of a righteous God and make a have no right to sell liquor to common drunkards." short story of their wrongs, and that poor young "Do you say that your husband is a common man's who has fallen by your hands, just as though drunkard?" said he. To be sure I do," she he had been killed with ratsbane. There's none of replied. "I really do not think your husband is you here that does'nt remember me and Barney a common drunkard, Nelly Belcher," said uncle when we were first married. Now, I ask you if 'Zeik. "Snooks," said she, clinching her fist, "you ever you dreampt that we should come to this? are-what you are. You know that Barney is a Was there ever a little farm better managed!—And if common drunkard, and you made him so, you old-I was not a careful, faithful industrious wife to Barlicensed, rumselling, church member." "Go out of ney, I wish you to say the very worst to my face. my shop," cried uncle 'Zeik; stepping towards her. "I would'nt touch the poor woman," said one of the company; she's driven on by the state of her hus

band and children." "Touch the oor woman!"
cried Nelly, stretching herself up-and she was the
tallest woman in the parish-let him lay the
weight of his rummy finger upon me if he dares;
and, though I'm poor enough in purse, Heaven
knows, I'll show him that I've the same spirit of my
father, who thrashed him when he was eighteen, for
stealing a sheep-skin. I won't go out of his shop,
nor budge an inch, till I've said my say, in the pre-
sence of ye all." "Nelly Belcher," said uncle 'Zeik,
you'll have to pay for this." Pay for it!" cried
Nelly, in a screaming voice, and hav'nt you got
your pay already?-Hav'nt you got the homestead
and the stock and the furniture? And did'nt Bar-
ney pawn the children's clothes last Friday, and
bring you every cent he got for them? You've got
every thing from the ridge-pole down; you've got
all here, among your wages of iniquity; and as she
said this, she gave a blow with her fist, upon the
top of uncle 'Zeik's till, that made the coppers
pretty lively I tell ye. "Snooks" said she, "you've
got every thing. I have not a pint of meal, nor a
peck of potatoes for my children. Stop-I'm mis-
taken, there's an old rum jug in the house, that's
been in your shop often enough; you ought to have
that; and there's a ragged straw bed, you shall
have them both, and any thing else you'll find, if
you don't let Barney have any more rum. You've
made your bargain, Snooks, your own way; but
there's a third party to it, that's the devil. You've
got poor Barney's money in your till, and the devil's
got your soul in his fire-proof, and he'll keep it there
till the day of judgment." Uncle 'Zeik offered
'Bijah Cody a handsome present, if he'd turn her out
of the shop. "I'd a leetle rather not, Mr. Snooks,"
answered 'Bijah with a look that showed plainly
enough how much he enjoyed uncle 'Zeik's torment.

Look here Nelly Belcher," said uncle 'Zeik-and he was getting wrathy, for he stamped his foot pretty smart- the second Tuesday in November next the court will sit, and you shall answer for this."

66

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NELLY BELCHER.

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And were my little ones ill-treated? Had'nt they whole clothes for Sunday, and was'nt they constant at meeting for years, till this curse crept in upon

us, like an adder? And till then did ye ever see a likelier man than Barney? And as for his kindness to me and the children till that hour, it's for me to witness; and I say it before ye all, that before he tasted this old man's liquor, there never was a hard thought or a bitter word between us. He was the boy of my foolish love when he was seventeen, and the man of my choice when he was three and twenty. I gave him an honest heart that never loved another, and the trifle of worldly goods that my mother left me; but he has broken the one and squandered the other. Last night, as I lay upon my straw bed, with my poor children, I thought of our young days, and of our little projects of happiness; and, as I saw poor Barney in my fancy just the trim lad that he was with his bright eye and ruddy cheek, I felt my eyes filling with tears, as they're filling now. I hope I I really felt for him; for about this time, two of may never shed another," said she, dashing them off his sons gave him a sight of trouble. They used to with the back of her hand, and resuming her look get drunk and fight like serpents. They shut the of vengeance. "C I'm going to cross your threshold oldgentleman down in the cellar one night, and one of for the last time, and now mark me well, I ask you them when he was drunk slapped his father in the once for all, to sell poor Barney no more liquor. If face. They did nothing but run him into debt; and you do, I will curse you till I die, as the destroyer of my husband, and I will teach my children to curse you when I am dead and gone, as the destroyer of their father.

at last he got to taking too much himself, just to drown care. Old Nelly was right; for uncle Snooks fell into his own pit before he died.

Uncle Snooks continued to sell rum to Barney Belcher, as before, whenever he got any money. It was thought by a good many that Nelly had lost her reason, or very near it, about that time. She found out that Barney got rum at our store, and sure enough, she brought her four little children, and standing close to the shop door, she cursed uncle 'Zeik, and made them do so too. It worried him exceedingly. Whenever she met him in the road, she stopped short, and said over a form she had, in a low voice; but every body knew, by her raising her eyes and hands, that she was cursing uncle 'Zeik. Very few blamed her; her case was a very hard one; and most folks excused her on the score of her mind's being disordered by her troubles. But even then she made her children obey her, whether present or absent, though it was said she never struck them a blow. It almost made me shudder sometimes, when I've seen these children meet uncle 'Zeik. They'd get out of his way as far as they could; and when he had gone by, they'd move their lips, though you could'nt hear a word, and raise up their eyes and hands just as their mother had taught them. When I thought these children were calling down the vengeance of heaven upon uncle 'Zeik, for having made them fatherless, it made my blood run cold.

for rhyming; and she used to come and sit upon the horse-block before our shop, and sing a sort of song, that was meant to worry uncle 'Zeik, and it did worry him dreadfully, especially the chorus. Whenever he heard that, he seemed to forget what he was about, and every thing went wrong. 'Twas something like this—

He dug a pit as deep as hell,
And into it many a drunkard fell;
He dug the pit for sordid pelf,
And into that pit he'll fall himself.

One time when poor Nelly sung the chorus pretty loud, and the shop was rather full, uncle 'Zeik was so confused that he poured half a pint of rum, which he had measured out, into his till and dropped the change into the tin pot, and handed it to the customer.

After the Temperance Society was formed, he lost his license, and got to be starving poor, and the town had to maintain him. He's been crazy for several years. I went to see him last winter with father, who has tried to get him into the state hospital. It made me feel ugly to see him. He did'nt know me, but all the time I was there he kept turning his thumb and finger as though he was drawing liquor, or scoring it with a bit of chalk upon the wall. It seemed as if he had forgotten all his customers but one; for though the wall was covered with charges of rum and brandy and flip and toddy, the whole was set down against Barney Belcher.

SONNET.

BY WILLIAM LLOYD GARRISON.

How fall fame's pillars at the touch of time!

How fade, like flowers, the memories of the dead!
How vast the grave that swallows up a clime!

How dim the light by ancient glory shed!
One generation's clay enwraps the next,

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And dead men are the aliment of earth; ‹ Passing away," is Nature's funeral text, Uttered co-evous with creation's birth. What though 'tis certain that humble name, my With this frail body, shall soon find a tomb? It seeks a heavenly, not an earthly fame,

Which through eternity shall brightly bloom:

After the death of her husband, she became very melancholy, and a great deal more so, after the loss of her two younger children. She did not curse Write it within thy Book of Life, O Lord, uncle 'Zeik after that. But she always had a talent | And in the last great day," a golden crown award!

46

THE MARTYR OF THE ARENA.

BY EPES SARGENT.

Narrated in Gibbon's Roman Empire. Honour'd be the hero evermore,

Who at mercy's call has nobly died! Echoed be his name from shore to shore, With immortal chronicles allied!

Verdant be the turf upon his dust,

Bright the sky above, and soft the air! In the grove set up his marble bust,

And with garlands crown it, fresh and fair.

In melodious numbers, that shall live With the music of the rolling spheres, Let the minstrel's inspiration give

His eulogium to the future years!

Not the victor in his country's cause,

Not the chief who leaves a people free, Not the framer of a nation's laws

Shall deserve a greater fame than he ! Hast thou heard, in Rome's declining day, How a youth, by Christian zeal impell'd, Swept the sanguinary games away,

Which the Coliseum once beheld?

Fill'd with gazing thousands were the tiers,
With the city's chivalry and pride,
When two Gladiator's with their spears,

Forward sprang from the arena's side.

Rang the dome with plaudits loud and long,

As, with shields advanced, the athletes stood, Was there no one in that eager throng

To denounce the spectacle of blood?

Ay, Telemachus, with swelling frame,

Saw the inhuman sport renew'd once more: Few among the crowd could tell his nameFor a cross was all the badge he wore!

Yet with brow elate and God-like mien,

Stepped he forth upon the circling sand; And, while all were wondering at the scene,

Check'd the encounter with a daring hand. "Romans!" cried he- Let this reeking sod Never more with human blood be stained! Let no image of the living God

In unhallowed combat be profaned!

Ah! too long has this colossal dome

Fail'd to sink and hide your brutal shows! Here I call upon assembled Rome

Now to swear, they shall forever close!"

Parted thus, the combatants, with joy,

Mid the tumult, found the means to fly; In the arena stood the undaunted boy,

And, with looks adoring, gazed on high.

Peal'd the shout of wrath on every side;
Every hand was eager to assail!

Slay him! slay!" a hundred voices cried,
Wild with fury-but he did not quail!
Hears he, as entranced he looks above,

Strains celestial, that the menace drown? Sees he angels, with their eyes of love,

Beckoning to him, with a martyr's crown? Fiercer swell'd the people's frantic shout! Launched against him flew the stones like rain! Death and terror circled him about

But he stood and perish'd-not in vain! Not in vain the youthful martyr fell!

Then and there he crush'd a bloody creed! And his high example shall impel

Future heroes to as great a deed! Stony answers yet remain for those

Who would question and precede the time! In their season may they meet their foes, Like TELEMACHUS, with front sublime.

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SONNET.

The Anniversary of Lovejoy's Martyrdom.

BY MARIA WESTON CHAPMAN.

No tears to-day! a lofty joy should crown
A deed of lofty sacrifice like thine,
LOVEJOY! and bid thy name with honor shine,
As to remotest time we hand it down.
That seed of Liberty, so gladly sown,--

We will not water it with griefs and tears;
But, o'er its harvest in the future years
Rejoice, as those before whose gaze hath shone
A vision of the faithful, girt to die

'Mid hostile crowds, in darkness for the right; Yet may we mourn that, ringing through the night,

Sharply to theirs thine answering shots reply. Tears for the blood of others shed by thee;Joy for thy blood poured forth so joyously and free.

THE STREET.

BY JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL.

They pass me by like shadows, crowds on crowds,
Dim ghosts of men, that hover to and fro,
Hugging their bodies round them, like thin shrouds
Wherein their souls were buried long ago;
They trampled on their faith, and youth, and love-

They cast their hope of humankind awayWith Heaven's clear messages they madly strove,

And conquered-and their spirits turned to clay : Lo! how they wander round the world, their grave, Whose ever-gaping maw by such is fed, Gibbering at living men, and idly rave,

"We only truly live, but ye are dead." Alas, poor fools! the anointed eye may trace A dead soul's epitaph in every face.

VOICES OF THE TRUE HEARTED. ·

No. 4.

"FOR BEHOLD THE KINGDOM OF GOD IS

WITHIN YOU."

BY HARRIET WINSLOW.

Pilgrim to the heavenly city,

Groping wildered on thy way Look not to the outward landmark,

List not what the blind guides say. For long years thou hast been seeking Some new idol found each day; All that dazzled, all that glittered,

Lured thee from the path away.

On the outward world relying,

Earthly treasures thou wouldst heap; Titled friends and lofty honors

Lull thy higher hopes to sleep. Thou art stored with worldly wisdom, All the lore of books is thine: And within thy stately mansion,

Brightly sparkle wit and wine. Richly droop the silken curtains,

Round those high and mirrored halls; And on mossy Persian carpets,

Silently thy proud step falls.

Not the gentlest wind of heaven

Dares too roughly fan thy brow, Nor the morning's blessed sunbeams Tinge thy cheek with ruddy glow. Yet midst all these outward riches,

Has thy heart no void confessed— Whispering, though each wish be granted, Still, oh still I am not blessed?

And when happy, careless children,

Lured thee with their winning ways-Thou hast sighed in vain contrition,

Give me back those golden days. Hadst thou stooped to learn their lesson, Truthful preachers-they had told Thou thy kingdom hast forsaken,

Thou hast thy own birthright sold.

Thou art heir to vast possessions,

Up, and boldly claim thine own: Seize the crown-that waits thy wearingLeap at once into thy throne.

Look not to some cloudy mansion, 'Mong the planets far away; Trust not to the distant future,

Let thy Heaven begin to-day.

When thy struggling soul hath conquered,When the path lies fair and clearWhen thou art prepared for Heaven,

Thou wilt find that Heaven is here.

THE BROTHERHOOD OF MAN.

BY JOHN G. WHITTIER.

The population of Lowell is constituted mainly of New Englanders, but there are representatives here of almost every part of the civilized world. The good-humored face of the Milesian meets one at al. most every turn,-the shrewdly solemn Scotchman, the trans-Atlantic Yankee, blending the crafty thrift of Bryce Snails foot with the stern religious heroism of Cameron, the blue-eyed, fair-haired German, from the towered hills which overlook the Rhine, slow, heavy, and unpromising in his exterior, yet of the same mould and mettle of the men who rallied for Father-Land" at the Tyrtean call of Korner, and beat back the chivalry of France from the banks of the Katzbach-the countryman of Ritcher, and Goethe, and our sainted Follen. Here, too, are pedlars from Hamburgh, and Bavaria, and Poland, with their sharp Jewish faces and black keen eyes. At this moment, beneath my window, are two sturdy, sun-browned Swiss maidens, grinding music for a livelihood, rehearsing in a strange Yankee land the simple songs of their old mountain home, reminding me by their foreign garb and language, of

but now

"Lauterbrunnen's peasant girl.” Poor wanderers!-I love not their music; as the notes die away, and, to use the words of Dr. Holmes, silence comes like a poultice to heal the wounded ear," I feel grateful for their visitation.Away from the crowded thoroughfare, from brick walls and dusty avenues, at the sight of these poor peasants I have gone in thought to the vale of Chaumony, and seen, with Coleridge, the Morning Star pausing on the "bald awful head of Sovran Blanc," and the sunrise and the sunset glorious upon snowycrested mountains, down in whose vallies the night still lingers-and following in the track of Byron and Rousseau, have watched the lengthening shadows

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