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" And to me," said Maria.
“Yes," said Emily," he thought considerably of you, but not so much as he did of me."
"I say he did!” " And I
he didn't!" “ He did !" “ He didn't!" “Don't look at me with your squint eyes!" “Don't shake
red head at me !" “Sisters!" said the black-haired Henrietta, this unseemly wrangling. I, as his first wife, shall strew flowers on his
grave.” “No, you won't," said Susan. “I, as his last wife, shall strew flowers on his grave. It's my business to strew !”
“You shan't, so there !'' said Henrietta.
“You bet I will !” said Susan, with a tear-suffused cheek.
“Well, as for me,” said the practical Betsy, “ I ain't on the Strew, much, but I shall ride at the head of the funeral procession !"
“ Not if I've been introduced to myself, you won't,” said the golden-haired Nelly; "that's my position. You bet your bonnet-strings it is."
“Children," said Reginald's mother, "you must do some crying, you know, on the day of the funeral; and how many pocket-handkerchers will it take to go round? Betsy, you and Nelly ought to make one do between you."
“I'll tear her eyes out if she perpetrates a sob on my handkercher!" said Nelly.
“Dear daughters-in-law,” said Reginald's mother, “how unseemly is this anger. Mules is five hundred dollars a span, and every identical mule my poor boy had has been gobbled up by the red man. I knew when my Reginald staggered into the door-yard that he was on the Die, but if I'd only thunk to ask him about them mules ere his gentle spirit took flight, it would have been four thousand dollars in our pockets, and no
mistake! Excuse these real tears, but you've never felt a parent's feelin's.”
“It's an oversight," sobbed Maria. “ Don't blame
DUST TO DUST.
The funeral passed off in a very pleasant manner, nothing occurring to mar the harmony of the occasion. By a happy thought of Reginald's mother the wives walked to the grave twenty abreast, which rendered that part of the ceremony thoroughly impartial.
That night the twenty wives, with heavy hearts sought their twenty respective couches.
But no Reginald occupied those twenty respective couchesReginald would never more linger all night in blissful repose in those twenty respective couches-Reginald's head would never more press the twenty respective pillows of those twenty respective couches never, never more !
In another house, not many leagues from the House of Mourning, a gray-haired woman was weeping passionately. "He died," she cried, "he died without sigerfyin', in any respect, where them mules went to !"
Two years are supposed to elapse between the third and fourth chapters of this original American romance.
A manly Mormon, one evening, as the sun was preparing to set among a select apartment of gold and crimson clouds in the western horizon-although for that matter the sun has a right to “set” where it wants to, and so, I may add, has a hen-a manly Mormon, I say, tapped gently at the door of the mansion of the late Reginald Gloverson.
The door was opened by Mrs. Susan Gloverson.
“ Is this the house of the widow Gloverson ?" the Mormon asked.
“ It is,” said Susan.
“And how many is there of she ?" inquired the Mormon.
“There is about twenty of her, including me,” courteously returned the fair Susan.
66 Can I see her ?”
- You can.
Madam,” he softly said, addressing the twenty disconsolate widows, “I have seen part of you before ! And although I have already twenty-five wives, whom I respect and tenderly care for, I can truly say that I never felt love's holy thrill till I saw thee! Be minebe mine!" he enthusiastically cried, and we will show the world a striking illustration of the beauty and truth of the noble lines, only a good deal more
"Twenty-one souls with a single thought,
Twenty-one hearts that beat as one !'' They were united, they were !
Gentle reader, does not the moral of this romance show that-does it not, in fact, show that however many there may be of a young widow woman, or rather does it not show that whatever number of persons one woman may consist of-well, never mind what it shows. Only this writing Mormon romances is confusing to the intellect. You try it and see.
REFLECTIONS ON WATER.
I held not (touching hands and face), “ That dirt is matter out of place,"
A question worth solution.
Yet, though I did not care to dip,
Upon your bosom gaily.
And you'd the tribe call’d scaly.
How oft, intent on roach and dace,
Your finny public vexing
And not a rhyme perplexing.
How often did I
In ripple and in dimple : Till fancy painted what I wished, And I beheld them, as I fished
With gentle, being simple.
How oft with friends and playmates too,
Among the flag-roots glide in !
Reversed the glassy tide in.
Alas! now I am older grown,
Worn out in worldly scrimmage;
More strange than watery image.
Sunshine has given place to shade,
Each day they're getting duller.
Though done in water-colour.
The element becomes, I vow,
66 Soft water !" What is harder ?
A thing that damps my ardour
A thing for which I have to pay
other quarter day,
(There's nothing to console in The thought that if you're in arrear They'll cut it off) a thing, oh, dear!
A thing to make a hole in!
A SINGLE GENTLEMAN.
E. H. Jones.
The reason why I came to put up the bill in my
window, No. 2 Gillyflower Row, “ Lodgings for Single Gentlemen," was on account of findin' plain-work so tryin' to the eyes at my time of life. My sight was beginnin' for to go beyond spectacles to bring back again. So I thought, why should a pore old widow woman like me set and eat the very eyes out of her head adoin' of needle-work, when other folks, without any little trifle comin' in of their own, can go and make a very tidy thing out of lodger-tendin'? No, I makes observation to myself, it isn't as though I had any body dependin' upon me; and single gentlemen ain't much work; they haves their brefkast of a mornin'; you