Anti-slavery bugle. [volume] (New-Lisbon, Ohio) 1845-1861, 1849-03-23

ted his ~payment-Sir cents for each shirt,
beyond the cost of material. With mi
croscope eyes the contractor examined
the stitches; he detected the mans
hand.
wont do; wont do. Who made
these 2
MY wife part, | part
Thought SO; thought so. Can't have
them. Poor trash," replied the store
keeper. 'lll give you the cost Of the ma
~terial; not a cent more.'
My wife is sick; we are starving
Take hers, they are we'll made,' cried
the unhappy substitute.
'All or none. Cost ofmaterial or moth
ing. Keep them; find a market if you
cam
Too proud TO chatter: in debt for the
flannel; wholly unused to such scenes,
Spalding took the offer Of the human
vampire, and, with a heart sick against
his fellows, and half rebellious against
his God, turned away.
He paid the merchant who had trust.
ed him for most Of his materials. The
remainder of the money and the rem.
nant of flannel left from his last piece, he
laid away until the owner should ap-
pear.
And now began a series Of sacrifices,
self-denials, and sufferings, which we
dare not attempt to describe. Every
saleable article was sold, except the
sword and the portrait of Wellington
Johns wages were reserved for rent.
The money due the strange visiier of the
snowy night lay in the drawer, but no
one thought Of touching it. At last, an
offer was made Of some work, if a pecu-
liar material could be had. Ferdinand
went to his old friend; he had none; there
was none, he thought. in town, unless at
Reuben Small's. With feet of lead, Fer
dinand once again presented himself be-
fore the man who gave freely TO the poor,
Reuben remembered the straw hat
Had he cash? No; but he could refer
to mex door to prove his punctuality,
Reuben shook his head. The article
was scarce-was a cash article.
But | am poor, sir-destitute.'
Then work.
How can |, without material {?
Are you a seamsiress
'My wife is, sir
'And you, like a lazy vagabond, de-
pend on your wife, do you, sir |! Leave
my store y
Reuben went home, full of virtuous
indignation.
How placid falls the fire light over this
Saxony carpet, these velvet covered
lounges, these damask curtains; how
merrily it dances in the tall pier glasses /;
how roguish!y it opens for an instant the
beauties Of that landscape by Whi,tridgc,
then plunges it in darkness again, and
laughs at you from the engraving after
Toniers, or glooms from the copy OF
Rembrandt. The silent centre table is
heaped with the soul heard voices of the
dead--Milton, Dante, Southey--how
strange they must feel in their suits OF
gold and morocco, A little woman sits
by the gate, rocking ~anxiously. She
shades her face with a paper. Perhaps
it's the National Era? No: she's q
kind little woman, and mothers the poor
but she hates a~nti-slavery. She has ar
uncle, a rich uncle, in Louisiana. The
negroes she feels sorry for, but what bust
ness has the North TO NEEDLE with Sla.
very? She would like to have that CUES.
lion answered She gives a dollar q
month 10 send King James's translation
TO Rome; but what has Ohio 10 do with
slavery
The outer door opens: there is a
scrubbing and grunting--a knocking of
feet, clearing OF throals, and blowing OF
noses, and the little woman rocks more
and more %nervously. Then Reuben en-
tiers. oh! Mr.. Small, says the little
wife, hurriedly-'I've heard Of such a
case I! such a easel
Reuben had that day-it was just a
week after Spalding last saw him-giv.
en- five dollars to the agent Of the Pro-
testant Society, and something almost
Of a (rown crossed his brow at this
threatened attack on his pocket; how.
ever, it might have been a wrinkle of
fire light.
The T%hompson's hat hadn't a pillow
case in the house, wasu't nothing TO it,
said Mrs. Small. 'The Browns case
was a sad one,' she continued mo tea,
no sugar, for an age but this is real STAR
vation, Reuben--positive starving to
death You must go with me to NOR.
row morning and see it. Well have the
carriage, and go after breakfast, and you
can be back by eleven
where is ii? Where would you take
me, my love I'm a man Of business
remember, Mrs. Small, a man of bust
ness
But you must go, Reuben; you mus
go. Uncle Stiles, who told me about it
said you must go, he wished you &c
CO.
'Ah we'll, my love, we'll! Deacon
Stiles, we'll! If he desires ii, Of course
| respect the Deacon, Mrs. Small. Blu
oos ba tn LnoW onu thinU IF IN,