ni te

weeping. Hie then endeavoured to discover the state of het mind ; but she put a stop to it by saying firmly, * Father, 1 am betrothed. Schiitz,” she continued,

with & sigh, “has my pity, but duty and honor + ae left the professor to conclude the sentence him- + _ .

Love is not so harsh to his votaries, as he is some- times e8id tobe. Henrietca’s betrothed returned to his parents, and in his letters written afterwards to his mis- tress, he let some hints escape him that his parents now started some objections to the match.—Henrietta was eagle-eyed. In an answer returned by next post, she gave her lover perfect liberty to follow his own inclina- tions, renouncing every claim resulting from his pro- mise. The result was, that the gentleman accepted of the permission she gave to him. No woman likes even the@emblance cf desertion ; but we will not say whether Henrietta felt glad or otherwise on this occasion. Suf- ce it to say, that one day on which her late lover’s let- ter came, she entered her father’s study just when twi- light was setting in. “Well, my girl,” said the profes- sor, kissing her fondly when she came in, “I have been idling for a half hour musing upon poor Schmitz. But I must have candies, and to my writing.” So saying, he stretched his hand to the bell; but Henrietta caught it, exclaiming. “Oh no, dear papa, it is too early for can- dies! You study too much; and I wish to speak with you.” “Well my love, won’t we be still the better for lights?” “ No, no,” said she, sitting down hy his side. After a pause. she began, “Papa, I know you love Schmitz-——” “I do,” said the professer, “and would to heaven you could, and did love him too, Henrietta !” The young lady let her head fall on her father’s should- er, as she replied, “I can—and do, papa! Every obsta- cle is removed, and Henrietta will be his, if she can pro- mote his felicity !”

The professor read the letter which his daughter gave to him, and kissed her again and again with delight. It was not long ere the joyful father was by the side of the slowly recovering Schmitz, and informed him of the change which had occurred. The good news was like to have proved as fatal as his despair. But he recover- ed from his emotion, and ere long was led by his bene- factor to the presence of Henrietta, one evening of whose company cheered and restored the artist to some- thing like a new state of being.

But on the morning following this meeting, what was the surprise of Henrietta and her father to learn Schmitz had Jeft the town by daylight inacarriage with four horses, taking with him al! his plates and drawings !— Poor Henrietta was thunderstruck—was miserable !— She had now surrendered her whole heart to the artist _~but he was a maniac ? What else could be the mean- ing of his conduct? The professor himself was in ter- ror for the reason of his friend. Meantime, day after day passed, and no letter or intelligence of any kind ar- sled to quiet the dreadful anxiety under which they labored. On the ninth day, however, while Henrietta sat gazing from the window 1m the direction in which he had departed, a carriage drove straight upto the pro- fessor’s door, and Schmitz sprang out. Ina few mo- ments Henrietta was in his arms, and he had not only quieted her fears, but replaced them with the deepest joy. He had gone to Munich, and thrown himself at the feet of the Elector Palatine—had told his history, shown his work and certificates—and had moved the Elector so much by his «ale, that the prince had his services in requisition as an engraver, and had assigned to him a fixed salary of six hundred florins, =“ Now,” said Schmitz, when he had told his tale to his mistresss and her father, “now am more worthy—or at least more the equal—of my Henrietta.”

Few who know anything of the history of continental engraving are ignorant of the great merits, in his art, of the hero of this little story. The circumstances related here are in strict accordance with the truth.

THE HONEST LAWYER’S FEE.

{t is now five years since the Widow Stiles called on me one worning before breakfast, and asked me to re- commend her to some lawyer, as she thought her friend Stubbs was less correct than he might be, asked her to step into the parlour, and went myself to my breakfast and my wife, whose advice Talways asked en auch points. We had known Mrs. Stiles many years, her husband was a great land owner ina goodly town of the western country, and with & disinterested love, that deserved some better aim, ever pressed on his helpmate, the first rule of life, to get all she could, and keep all she got. He died, and Mrs. Stiles became more and more religious and almsgiving, but more and snore fond of wealth, and sensible of the admirable ad- vice which her husband had given her. ci

{ stated the facts to my wife, and waited her opinion.

Well, William, said she, after drinking a cup of coffee

apou my story, ‘ { fear the old lady has — money- wetting claim in view ; you know she has of late given all her affections to getting Imore wealth. I would therefore recommend her to the most honest and consci- entious lawyer in town, and not to the moat thorouzh ene. She relies on your judgment ; ase i not for her

seeming but her real good.’

THE EXAMINER.

Hilen used them ; at length I found him, and taking my hat, walked with the widow to his office, r We found Mr. Sawyer at his desk ; he arose and gave us Chairs, and awaited Mrs. Stile’s statement. But before 1 go on in this point, let me say a few words of this phenomenon, this man with his head under his left arm close to his heart—this honest lawyer, in the broad- est, highest sense of the term. He was a man of thirty- five; he had studied law because he liked. the study, and

now he continued in the profession, in spite of bad op- ponents and bad courts-—betause he thought he had done, and might yet do much good labor ; not alone by Saving the innocent and needy from the strong and cru- el, but preventing strife, putting a stop to half knavish practices, —_ dissuading men and women from unjust and passion-feusing quarrels. Mr.Sawyer thought it not only r for him to refuse acting for those whose claims he thonght dishonest, but he counted it also a duty and a privilege, nay a mere Christian character to strive to persuade them to forgo such claims, He sought fame and extensive practice a8 a means whereby to exert a mora] influence, over the community; he thought a lawyer bound toserve not only his client only, but his God and his country, and looked on him, who for gain would prosecute a suit which he tho’t unfair, as a traitor to his country and his religion, in act, whatever he might be in intention. In short, as Bill Blunt said, “ Sawyer is such a hanged fool as to think it an Attor- ney’s business to help the parson to make good Chris- tiana,”

And now we shall let Mrs. Stiles state her business. It seems that her husband had sold and conveyed sever- al Jota, which her father had left in trust for her, and in such form that she, meaning to release her fee in the lots, had merely released her right of dower—these lots she understood she could get back.

‘Did you ever receive money for them?’ said Mr. Sawyer.

* Certainly, sir.’

‘ Was it a fair, full price for the land ?

‘It was all we asked, sir.’

‘Did you sign the deed willingly ”

‘ Of course—do you think Jared would have driven me to it?

‘ Do you mean to convey a full title in fee, Mrs.Stiles ?”

‘Beyond doubt ; but as we did’nt, they tell me the land never passed.’

‘Suppose, Mrs. Stiles, the money had been paid before you had drawn the deed, should you have thought it honest, after getting the money, to refuse to give the deed.’

‘Why, lawyer, that would have been thieving, right down.’

‘Well, Mrs. Stiles, you have not yet given the deed, shall { draw one for you to sign ?

‘Why, bless your soul, Sawyer, that is the deed you have got im yeur hands,’

‘ Of course not.’

‘But you mean to give a full title in fee ?

‘ Yes.’

‘Well, this is not such a title any more than a sheet of blank paper : you have not yet given the deed. Shall I draw a quit claim for you to sign ?

Mrs. Stiles looked at me, and looked at the window, looked very much puzzled, and somewhat abashed. At last she said, ‘But don’t the law say the land is mine, Squire ?

‘We can’t tell that,” said Mr. Sawyer , ‘till the case is tried. First let us get things straight, and have the bargain complete, aud then, if you please, we will go to law about it.’

The widow was fairly caught in the corner. At length, with a gasp, she asked how much he would charge for a quit claim deed ; this charge, the Attorney told her, the other party would willingly pay, be had no doubt, and taking down a blank to fill it. Before we leftthe bargain was complete, the deed was signed, witnessed and acknowledged.

‘And pray, said the widow, as she walked home, ‘what sort of a lawyer do you call this man? ! verily believe that he has cheated me Gut of a}! them lots; 1 have a great mind to go back and tear the deed all to flinders,’

I assured her that not only was it too late, but that she had done the proper thing under tle cir- cumstances,.and advised her in future to employ no one put Mr. Sawyer. Much to my surprise, she took my advice, and that gentleman was benceforth her counsel- lor and solicitor.

Last week the Widow Stiles died, leaving me her executor. After the funeral, we opened the will, and found it, to our astonishment, in her own hand- writing.

‘Know all men, it began, ‘ that whereas I'm going to give something to my Attorney, I write this myself :— that is, I, Jane, relict of Jared Stiles, being of sound mind and body—know all men, that, whereas, said At- torney, to wit, vide licet: James Sawyer, of this said town that I’m of, namely, the town of Jackson, whereas, I say, first led me to see the folly of giving my old age to the henping up of filthy lucre, and caused me to turn ‘aside from a course that was, as [ have since seen, wholly wrong, for which he be blessed in this Jife and forever, Therefore, know ye, : respect and love for said Attorney, to wil,

acquaintance . over — twice swerlng to the terms * ho- the gense ia Which | knew

I counted my legal aver, before I hit the one ar agsy and ceascientiqus,’ in

. . .

James Sawyer, who hasof late, been unfortunate and

imuch distressed in worldly matters, Ido hereby, by ths 1 le f,

‘these. presents, give, beqneath, will jeave, transier,

make over, and pass unto the aforesaid Sawyer, every cent I’ve got in the world ; goods, chattles, lands, monies, books, dress, jewels, for his and his heirs’ good, Jeaving itto him to give to my several friends such articles ae are marked with their names. Witness my hand and seal, November 20th, 1846. , ‘Jane Srines.’

Knowing, as I did, Mr. Sawyer’s troubles in these

hard times, | shook his hand most joyfully.

began the practice because he had to get a living; and’

i

ithe sea nor the land, as has been done since. They bac

‘It isa fee, my friend,’ said he ‘that [ must thank you for.’

‘She must leave $50,000,’ I replied.

‘] was thinking,’ answered he,‘ not of the money, but the change of life and heart; that is the fee I prize.’

In a Ticut Prace.—The New, Orleans Spirit says, that a well known Greek, “ Major Dupiey,” being ask - ed as to the* tightest place he had ever got into, looked reflective, took a drink, and replied as follows :—

“ Well,.the first time | went down South, going from Natchez to Orleans on the old Monselle, the same that’s bursted her biler since, | came across & rough up-coun-~ try sort. of fellow—a varmint-looking chap, from some- where bach of Memphis. Ihadn’t been a board long, before he and me got yoked at a game of Twenty Deck, and by the time we tied up at the Levee in Orleans, I'd got pretty much all he had (about $400) and had * gin him a wrinkle, in a ginera) way, into the bargin.’ We both stopped at the same house in Camp street, and the first night we got there, just after supper, my up-country friend beckoned me out of the bar room, and taking me some ways up a dark alley that was next the hoiel, he put up his hand to the back of his neck, and drew an eighteen inch bowie--a perfect cleave. Mermini! I thought he was going to divide me, and I sung out, ‘Stranger, put up your scythe—how much do you want?’ May be I didn’t feel better when he broke his mind to me, and I found out that he wanted to ‘epout’ hie knife to me for a * Ten,’ o go to the masquerade.”

Srrancrk Mope oF arriving av a VeRprct.—i was inacase a little time ago in which one of the parties, from an humble anxiety to save his client the costs of a Special Jury, acquiesced in a Common Jury who, to his consternation, gave a verdict for four hun. dred pounds to the plaintiff, whom the Jate Chief Justice Tindal had told them, was not entitled to one farthing ' One of the jury afterwards decjared that he had been resolved to give a verdict for the plaintiff, and afte: several hours’ altercation they put four slips of paper intc a hat, bearing respectively the four sums, one farthing, fifty pounds, four hundred pounds, and one thousand! ft was agreed that the foreman should draw one of them, and the verdict be accordingly ; and he crew the ship — bore the sum of £400!—Warran’s Practice of the

Ww.

Deatu.—Death comes equally. to us all, and makes usall equal when it comes. The ashes of am ogk in a chimney are no epitaph of that oak to tell me how high, or how large, that was; it tells me not what flocks it sheltered while it stood, nor what men it hurt when it fell. The dust of great persons’ gravee is speechless too; it says nothing, it.distinguishes no- thing. As soon the dust of a wretch whom thou wouldst not, as of a prince whom thou couldst not loox upon, will trouble thine eyes if the wind blow it thither. and when a whirlwind hath blown the dust of the churchyard into the church, and the man sweeps out the dustofthe church into the churchyard, who will undes take to sift those dusts again to pronounce—This ie the patrician, this is the noble flower, and this the yeomar, this the plebeian bran.— Donne.

CAUSE OF THE FALL OF Basyion.—Babylon, arer - nant of the Assyrian empire, presents another instance of the banefulfeffects of intemperance. It, like Nineveh, had grown rich, great and powerful, while its inhabi tants were temperate; and when intemperance became rife, it shared the fate Nineveh. The very night of its overthrow was one of general debauchery; the king, with his satraps and nobility, were drinking in the ves- sels brought from the temple of Jerusalem. ‘The so). diery, and even the men on guard were wallowing in drunkenness; and in this condition were surprised ané hewn down by the Medes and Persians, who had fo: some time been beseiging the city, and having turned the course of the river, availed themselves of its bed s* a path, and marched into the city beneath its mighty gates. The king and his drunken companions were slain in the midst of their revelry; thus furnishing another memorable example to posterity. Burns’ Ter tolallers’ Companion.

Manninp tn. THE Treaterntn Crenreay.-—Tie, had neither looked into heaven, nor earth, neither in'e

philosophy without scale, astronomy without demonstre- tion. They made war without powder, shot, cannon 6. jmortars ; nay, the mob made their bonefires withou

\squibs or crackers. They went to sea without compass, ‘and sailed without the needle. They viewed the sturz | without telescopes, and measured altitudes without bo- ‘rometers. Learning had no printing press, writing fc

namely his mistress adeal board for a love letter, a billet dr.

might be of the size of any ordinary trencher. T’bey _were clothed without manufactures, and their riches roves were the skins of the most formidadle mongiery,

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