for them all! These veteran Naomis and blushing Ruths had not a second Boaz to deal with. Perchance he might have allowed them to glean after his reapers, but not to harvest and game him.

Deacon Marvel marvelled at none of these things. Unmoved by all this petty (coat?) tumult,-undazzled by the planetary lights of beauty— uncaught in all their toils and by all their toil,-unmindful if not unaware, of the gynocratic conspiracy, he moved steadily along his path, broke up his fallow ground, raked only his hay, tended his tan-pits, and stuck solely to his last "solus cum solo.”

Half a score of years thus passed away. His farm extended and swelled around him like a principality,-his tannery was like the catacombs of Egypt in the multitude of its skinny sepulchres, and in the extent of its embalmed treasures, and the products of his workshop opened for him foreign markets. Time and long practice had so inured him to the performance of his ecclesiastical duties, that he could, finally, present the symbolic plate to the "brethren" without bending the pewter, and pass the sacramental cup to the "sisters" without always spilling its contents into their laps, to their great scandal and indignation. As he grew older his heart seemed to soften instead of getting harder, even as a frozen apple, that has hung hard and unchanged as a rock on its solitary bough through half the winter, will sometimes thaw and soften of a mild and sunny meridian in February. The ardor of female pursuit had waxed (or rather waned) chilly and slow in the lapse of years, and the worthy Deacon outgrew that form of persecution. He began to feel solitary, and fancy it was "not good for man to be alone," and imagine that he had wasted precious time. He heard, as he verily believed, the voice of duty, whispering and whistling through the empty chambers of his heart, like a November blast moaning among dry branches and dead leaves, and urging him to arise and take unto himself a wife. "It is the will of the Lord," said he at last to himself, "for me to marry." And so he resolved "to go in the way of his duty;" to procure a help meet for him, and "to raise up a seed and generation to praise the Lord."

Such thoughts as these having for some time flowed through his mind, like warm summer showers descending upon a glacier,--he cast his eyes about him, both mentally and corporeally, in search of the future Mrs. Marvel. There was a host, composed of several generations of beauty, to choose from; all of them in some sort attractive, and many of them, as he said, "ruddy and fair to look upon." Long did he ponder, and hesitate, and hold solitary communion with his own spirit, unaccustomed to meditate such tender topics; nay, some profane historians have written, that, however strange and original we may fancy it, and however uncommon it may be, for lovers, he actually went apart, knelt himself down in the bushes "remote from haunts of men." and prayed the aid of Heaven in this his strait and extremity. Certain it is, if uniform tradition may be trusted, that he began a habit about this period, of chaunting forth, on all

occasions, in earnest tones, scraps and snatches of Watts' Indian Philosopher to the good old tune of "Ganges," and the astonished echoes of Pleasant Valley learned to repeat the amorous psalmody of the Deacon as he trilled forth

"Sure then, I cried, could I but see

The gentle maid that twinned with me,
I might be happy too :-"

The result of all his reflections and prayers and psalmody, was, that he one day jumped off his work-bench, and into a sudden and brilliant conclusion,

"My stars!" exclaimed he, using the only oath-like expression in which he ever indulged," My stars! the wid-der Becket is the very cretur! Thanks be praised, she is ready broke in to the harness! Billy! Bill, I say, bridle my horse! Sol, fa, sol, sol, mi, fa!"

Could I but see

The gentle maid”

no, the wid-der that-no, that spoils the metre! well, here's the horse. The curious reader has observed that Deacon Marvel ordered Billy to bridle his nag. He did this because he had never yet indulged in the luxury of a saddle, saddler though he was. He had worked so much in his tan-pits that his own natural integuments were as thoroughly cured and hardened as the best of English leather, insomuch that the exercise of riding on the bare spinous ridge of his venerable horse was pleasant and gently exciting to his nether man. For the sake of this pleasure, and for the economy of the thing, therefore, he always rode "a bare back" when he rode at all, which was, indeed, but seldom.

The horse was brought to his shop door,-or rather to a neighboring rail fence, and the Deacon, without stopping to divest himself of his apron, (that saved broad cloth,) mounted first the fence and then the horse, having achieved which feat he trotted as gaily as his Rosinante would bear him, in pursuit of Widow Becket.

It would be doing the Deacon foul wrong to imagine, either because of his fervent exclamation aforesaid, or on account of his now rapid movements, that his mind was unusually agitated or at all confused. No such thing. He was as calm and composed as a bottle of laudanum. He did not even trouble himself with concocting a speech for the widow's ear, believing that he who obeyed the scripture injunction, "take no thought for yourselves what ye shall say," was sure of success when the moment for speaking came. But he moved rapidly and decidedly because it was now the middle of the forenoon, and time was valuable. Humming his favorite air, he quickened his nag's usual shamble into a sharp trot, and pushed towards the attractive widow's residence.

The Deacon's path led him directly through the village, into the very hornets' nest of gossiping old maids and old women. It cannot be wondered at, therefore, that his expedition excited great curiosity and set a hundred tongues in rapid motion. Whoever has been cursed (excuse our

using the most appropriate word,) with a residence in a small country village must remember how all eyes stared at his every movement, and how his complexion, dress, gait, character, sayings and doings, were noticed, remembered, talked of, and recorded in perpetuam. Hardly had the Deacon left the village before reports, surmises, and conjectures were flying like contagion, from house to house, and agitating the whole female hive. Old gossips gathered in grand conclave to interchange their light waves of small talk; and the younger ones got together in little knots, wondering "what it could portend."

Leaving them, with as utter an indifference as did our knight of the leather apron, to their wise confabulations and shallow surmises, let us go on with the lover, who is now in sight of his destined haven, the house of Widow Becket. "She has a hundred acres of land," soliloquised he, as his eye rested on the red cottage and trim garden, and smi ling fields about it," and quite a snug, clever little bit of a house, and is just about the tidiest little woman in all Pleasant Valley. I reckon she is about-let me see-twenty-eight or nine,-yes, twenty-nine years old, as brisk as a bottle of beer, and as round and plump as a partridge. I wonder she never had any children!-The more to come, I reckon. Well, well, we'll see. Whoa! Dobbin."

So saying, he halted in front of a neat, thrifty looking cottage, which was overgrown with "morning-glories" and other creeping plants, and looked like the very abode of rustic comfort. The Deacon hesitated a moment, and then, without dismounting, stretched forth his whip, and knocked loudly on the door. A damsel of very small claims to beauty answered the summons." Thank my stars, 'she is none of the widow's," thought the considerate bachelor-he merely said "Little gal, is sister Becket at home?" (The widow was in full communion.) "Yes, sir." "Call her to the door!" The widow came, with a face so smiling and kindly, that Deacon Marvel's heart (or some other organ in its vicinity,) almost palpitated with the unwonted emotions produced by her charms. "Good morning, Sister Becket," said he, looking unutterable things. "Good morning, Deacon. Wont you get off your horse and come in?"

"Why no, sister, I can't tarry this forenoon: it is a very busy time with me just now. I rode over, Sister Becket,-hem! just to tell you thathem-it's the will of the Lord that I marry you, if y're willing!

The young widow was rather taken by surprise, but it is pretty hard to capsize a widow altogether, and knowing the exact nature of the extraordinary person before her, she just blushed a trifle, folded her hands demurely over her breast, and with pious resignation replied"Well, Deacon Marvel, the Lord's will be done."

So the contract was sealed on the spot. Deacon Marvel choosing his bride, as the Polish nobles did their king, on horseback. The contracting parties in five minutes fixed on the wedding day, and then the Deacon

turned his horse's head homeward, returned gravely to his shop, and as tradition tells us, made three pair of shoes before he slept! Truly he was a marvellous smart man and worthy hero.

CHAPTER II.

Marriage, and so forth.

In the days whereof this writing speaketh, the wickedness of the land had not yet given occasion to all those legal delays and statute formalities which now form such grievous stumbling blocks and stones of offence to ardent lovers. The town clerk quietly received his dollar for recording the notice of the parties' intention of marriage and reading the same aloud in the church; the parson as quietly pocketed his fee, and so the matter was cheaply and quickly disposed of. And very seldom, in those primitive days, was the wedding ceremony conducted with any considerable parade or expense, or the wedding party protracted to an unseasonable hour. The entertainment was joyous but simple;-and no dissipation broke in upon the calm hours and holy delights of the nuptial night. Alas! for the forgotten simplicity and defunct sobriety of the good old times! "Eheu! fugaces!"

Deacon Marvel, even in that unsophisticated age, shocked the sensibilities of his neighbors by the extravagant simplicity of his wedding celebration. He was married at the red cottage in the evening, just a week after his proposals had been so oddly made and so appropriately accepted,―and under circumstances manifesting great contempt for popular notions and "time-honored customs." All that day he was busily at work on his bench, and at noon-tide, without changing his apparel, hurried to the wedding,-as before, mounted on his skeleton horse, and with no better saddle than a chair-cushion secured by a cord. Instead of donning his "go-to-meetin" clothes,-his long swallow-tailed blue coat with broad japanned buttons,-his leaden-colored shorts and silver knee-buckles, his ribbed white worsted hose and varnished shoes,-he made his appearance in working-day trim, with as much cool indifferrence of manner as though he was merely cutting out a pair of shoes. Before proceeding farther our reader should be told, that the Widow Becket, to considerable beauty united a sound judgment and a very tolerable taste. She understood human nature, and especially Deacon Marvel's human nature, and though somewhat offended by his want of refinement on this occasion, she concealed her feelings, and found abundant consolation in the belief that her administration as Mrs. Deacon Marvel would soon "set matters to rights." Half the young flirts, of even those days, would have been pulling the Deacon's hair and ears in an instant, and have teazed him into a pet or a fever about his bad looks. But the shrewd widow received her uncombed groom with but a smile at his outré appearance, and let him court her and marry her after his own fashion.

Our knight dismounted from his charger,-entered the house,-found the parson and a small circle of relations waiting,-slipped his departed mother's wedding ring on the finger of the smiling bride, and a Spanish dollar into the hand of the smiling clergyman, pronounced the vows,— almost upset his wife at his first rude and unpractised attempt at kissing, actually probing one of her beautiful eyes with his nasal protuberance, -ate a slice of cake, drank a glass of cider, and then started for home. In those days horses "carried double," and man and wife rode toge. ther on the same nag. There was then no vexatious doubts or disputes in regard to the right or left side of the lady, as the proper place of her gentleman companion,-for the saddle in front belonged as certainly to him as did the pillion behind to her. Deacon Marvel brought his Rosinante to the horse-block, slipped the cushion back for a pillion, bestrode the bare spine of his patient beast, and then called on "Sister Becket," as he still called her, to take her position. He was readily obeyed. The widow sprang lightly into her seat, and wound her arms around the ribs of her new husband, with a grip so close as to make him catch his breath and feel very peculiar. In this situation they proceeded slowly along, something after the Kate and Petruchio fashion, until they arrived at the Marvel mansion in the village.

There we leave them-allowing our reader to imagine all that fol lowed, the perils of dismounting from their elevated and precarious seat, the hospitalities of the evening,-and the Eleusinia of the night, -reserving future adventures for a subsequent chapter.

CHAPTER III.

The honey-moon and its consequences.

What miraculous consequences sometimes follow matrimony! What curious variations of habits and feelings, and what revolutions in character (as developed in action) grow out of a simple change from single to double blessedness! Deacon Marvel furnished some pithy illustrations of these interjectional propositions. Marriage and its incidents operated on him like sunbeams on a chrysalis. He melted into life, shook off his scaly covering, and instead of a grub came forth quite a butterfly. The villagers were amazed and even alarmed by the rapid process of reformation through which a few months carried the worthy Deacon. They said it was a "fore-runner."

Well might they wonder. Before the honey-moon had expired, the new-married couple rode to meeting (there was no church,) in a wagon of their own, such as had never before blessed the eyes of the inhabitants of the valley: the old family horse-skeleton was consigned to the bark-grinding mill and replaced by a sleek and smart successor, for whom a bridle and saddle were furnished from the best of the Deacon's manufacture; and the good Deacon dashed himself out in an entire new suit, looking some ten years, at least, younger than before. Nor