“God bless them both,” murmured “Uncle Joshua,” as he drew his hand hard across his eyes after witnessing this little scene. “I have done good here, but in many a case I might be termed a meddling old fool, and not without reason, perhaps. ’Tis a pity though, that folks, who will get their necks into this matrimonial yoke, would not try to make smooth the uneven places, instead of stumbling all the way, breaking their hearts by way of amusement, as they go.” “What is that you say, ‘Uncle Joshua?’” said Lucy, turning quickly round, and walking towards him, accompanied by her husband. “I have a bad habit of talking aloud,” said he, smiling. “But I thought you were abusing matrimony, uncle—you surely were not?” “Cannot say exactly what I was thinking aloud. I am an old bachelor, Lucy, and have few objects of affection in the world: you have been to me as a child, always a good child, Lucy, too—and now I think you will make a good wife, and find the happiness you so well deserve. Am I right, love?” “I hope you are, uncle. If it had not been for your kindness though, I might never have been happy again,” and tears dimmed Lucy’s eyes at the recollection. “We shall not forget your kindness,” said Clifton as he extended his hand, which “Uncle Joshua” grasped warmly. “I wish every married pair in trouble could find a good genius like yourself to interfere in their favor.” “Ten to one he would be kicked out of doors!” said the old man, laughing. “This matrimony is a queer thing—those who have their necks in the noose had better make the most of it—and those out of the scrape keep so. Ah! you little reprobate!” he cried as he caught Lucy’s bright eye, and disbelieving shake of the head—“you don’t pretend to contradict me?” “Yes I do, with my whole heart too. I would not give up my husband for the wide world, nor he his Lucy for the fairest girl in America!” “Never!” exclaimed Clifton—“you are dearer to me than any other human being!” “W-h-e-w!!” was “Uncle Joshua’s” reply, in a prolonged sort of whistle, while his eyes opened in the profoundest wonder, and his whole countenance was expressive of the most ludicrous astonishment—“w-h-e-w!!” * * * * * PERDITI.[1] BY WM. WALLACE, ESQ. AUTHOR OF “BATTLE OF TIPPECANOE,” “MARCHES FOR THE DEAD,” ETC., ETC. The following poem is respectfully dedicated to the Hon. Elisha M. Huntington, as a tribute of respect to his head and heart, by the Author. PART FIRST—ITALY.