The New Hampshire Gazette And Republican Union

Advantages of a Calamity

We read a capital story in a French paper, respecting the advantages of a calamity. The narrative was very verbose, and so we will tell the tale in as few words as possible. A widow lady was living near Lyons, at the period of the inundation of the Rhone. She was young and beautiful, and had just accepted the hand of an old fellow of fifty-five or sixty, who passed himself off as a spruce bachelor in the prime of life. They passed a certain evening together in social chat, talking over their union, which was to take place the next day. Mr Leonard, the bridegroom that was to be, finally took leave, and retired for the night. He lodged on the second floor. He had made some progress in preparing for a repose, when a violent commotion was heard, and Mrs. Danville, the widow, burst into his room.

"What is the matter?" exclaimed the beau.

"Oh! mon dieu!" exclaimed the lady, "the river has risen and inundated my apartments and I am forced to ascend to yours for shelter."

Here she paused and uttered a wild shriek; for, on looking around her, she beheld a glossy black wig hanging on the back of a chair, while the bald pate of her lover glistened in the lamp light. She thought his voice sounded strangely, and, on looking on the dressing table, the enigma was explained by the appearance of a fine set of teeth. But she had no time for explanation, for the river was still rising, and finally came up to the second story windows. Mr Leonard opened a window and roared for help. A boatman pulled to his assistance.

"Can you take a couple of passengers?" said he.

"There's only room for one," replied the boatman.

"Then here goes," cried the affrighted lover, and he jumped into the boat and left the widow to her fate.

The latter rushed up stairs, and entered an apartment on the third floor—it was occupied by a handsome young painter, who started on seeing her.

"You here, madam?" he exclaimed, "I thought you had saved yourself, else I should have risked my life for yours.

"But tell me," said the lady, "who painted that picture on the easel?"

"Pardon my daring, madam," answered the painter, "it is an attempt at your portrait. I have labored on it in secret, and with ardor, for my soul was in it. It was a labor of love. Yes, lady, at this dreadful moment, I may speak out and confess that I love you, though another claims your hand."

"He is unworthy of me—I have cast him off forever."

"Then you pardon my boldness in painting your portrait.

"If you like it, the original is at your service."

We need not say that the offer was accepted. In the meantime the flood had subsided; and, although in the morning, Mr Leonard came back in a canoe to claim his bride, with two spruce watermen to carry him to church, he was repulsed with disdain, and had the chagrin of seeing his youthful rival perfectly happy. To the young painter, the inundation of the Rhone was a fortunate event, and he recognized the truth of Shakspeare's assertion :

"There is a tide in the affairs of men,
Which, taken at the flood, leads on to fortune."