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tended her hand to roe. ‘My blessing
and my prayer* shall follow you , who
have promised to be the faithful guardian
of my child.’
*Go<| forever shield you, Adelaide,’ I
cried, a* 1 tenderly kissed her hand; and
diseng iging myself Irojwi thegra*pof her
little girl, I quitted the apartment.
It was iny last interview with Adelaide.
I saw the being whom I had so londiy
lov. and, no more! When the cold winds of
autu tin swept the leaves lorm the trees,
Adel aide was at rest in the grave; her gen
tie spirit had pas-ed away from this scene
of sio and suffering. I have faithfully
fulfilled my promise respecting her child
Ten years have now passed away since
sh e came under my roof; and her affection
ate attenti *n-, and engaging cheerfulness,
enliven rny declining years, and soothe the
many melancholy thoughts which, even
now, often press on mv spirits, when I
think es her mother—of Adi I aide, my
lir-t n■ and only low
UA BINKT.
■■ I-... - ■!. !■■■■ ■■■!■■ 1.1.1 l ■ Mil I .lII——III —II 11. I. I■ ■—
a tun ’ \to \\ .tun iM2M.
i———i m i --H mi h'i
jLV Jio PUL J’ Cl IE.Vr.
In this place, on 8 tnrdny evening
last, young I'liilander I'aris, a litil
buy, was killed by tin* accidental di*>-
ch u*ge of a pistol in the hands of
David II Ider, an ppmilice Imy
I appears, that a gentleman of tin
village had called over at the shop
wli’ ir Holder was at work, to borrow
of Hie owner of the shop, a horseman s
pistol, for tin* purpose of taking smn
negroes to jail. Holder was sent to
the dwelli *g house for tin* pistol,
find while returning with it, blew int*
it, and ascertained tint it was not
charged. Sin afterwards. Holder
W >s dispatched upon some other er
l*aud and during his thserice* the gen
tleman who burrowed the pistol step
]) din and loaded it, and jdaced
a small pocket pistol together, on the
shelf agiiiu observing to a young
man in the slnqi, that he presumed
no p**rs m \v mid interrupt the n un
til he returned and took them away
—and then left the shop. Holder
M m Jifterwaids returned, and was
by the absence of the other
young man, with directions to close
the shop. In a few moments alter
vwrds. the deceased nod his brother
entered. It semiis they had not been
there hut n short time before the pis
t'd * attracted their curiosity, and they
b* g, in t project wi It them. The little
buy that was killed, was sitting near
t'o* window upon the wni kher* h; when
II Ider addressing him, said I will
snoot yon, ami presented the largest
pistol at liis lie d—it fired and dis
charged the whole of its contents in
the left temple of the innocent and
unconscious Imy, who lived but, a few
minutes afterwards. The presump
tion is, Holder did not kn w of their
having been loaded in his abs ure.
jNo'lung like ill-will could he shown
bv him towards the deceased—in fact,
h hardly knew bi n; they It <<| no
quarrrl, or angry wolds as any one
knew ; the young lad seemed tru
ly penitent that he had killed the hoy;
and “wept as for a broth* r d*a ‘!”
An It quest was In ltl on the follow
ing morning—Verdi* t, ‘ that thede
to . sed < ame to his death fr*nn the ac
cidental discharge of a pistol in the
hands of David Holder.”
What a serious admonition! How
oDen are children permitted to use
ami sport with fire-arms before they
are made acquainted with the dan
gers to which th**y are thereby expos
ed. How often lias onr blood been
chilled to sec persons of riper years
pointing these distru* tive instruments
towards their nearest ami dearest
friends, supposing them to bo empty,
for the sake of mere sport and merri
ment! ah! what a bad example for
children! what dear bought pleasure
this—when an immortal spirit is
hurried nut of life in the twinkling
ot on eye” by our guilty negligence
and inconsiderate folly.
Baptism —Forty pers. ns, says the
State ‘Milan, were baptizvn on Monday
the 14th nisi, at Monk meeting house,
Putnam county; and seventeen the
day before at Crooked Creek. For
ty-two were baptized at Ro< ky
Creek, Monroe county, on the 17th,
and thirty five at Shil >h and County
Line, on the 6th. Thirty at Hunting
Creek-—and twenty at Paran on the
13t.1i instant.
For the CABINET.
THE VESPER , .Vo. VII.
EMILY BERNARD.
(JI Sketch written for a Lady's Jllbum.)
Her lii'e ‘uvus 1 ke it lovcJy rose,
It bloom’d awhile then putted away,
Ephemeral p.ice, how soon it goes,
I. ke bubbles of the foamy spray.
Her yoicli’twos like the ros s bloom,
SwiH pus.smg as the whirlwinds breath,
Her lovely form now fills the tomb,
And shows the mighty power of Death.
‘•Memory is the Album of toe heart, ’
that gent!** resting phee where dwells the
fond recollections of you h, and the a-so
nations of early days ami innocent en
joyment*, when the heart, l.git and bum
vant as the bubble that floats on tlv 3 ?ur
lace of a gently passing stream, delighted
to revel in the sweets of imaginations and
anticipations ot fu ure hapiness.
in the quiet retirement from the toils
ami cares <*l riper years, how fondly w*-
cling to the incidents of youthful years
and scenes of unadulterated p|pa-urt—
those lov’d companions too with whom
m* shared our innocent sports and joyous
,revelry, remain yet entwined around the
heart, like (he clinging tendrills of the
Ivy clasping (he stimly t >ak. they encircle
die corroding cares of worldly toil and in
quietude and for a few blissful moments,
draw b ick the heart to those scenes which
passed without cares or sorrows.
Yet in recalling to the mind our early
companions, how often does the heart
turn in sadness, from a scene so solemnly
impressive, to ask the question, where are
they ? the echo alone answers, when*!
L ke the shadowy dreams of fanev, thy
are gone ! No pleasing voice salutes the
ear with the greetings of friendship. Per
haps the monumental marble, in (he village
church yard, points out their resting pl ace
and the rose ami violet bloom over the
quiet sod which shelters the dust>>f a form
once fairer and purer than natures -w et
est flower, the promi*- and solace of a tend r
fither or a gentle mother’s declining age,
now hi leaving no prop beluml to
support the weight ot years and soothe
t!i**ir sorrows.
Pei haps the recollection may dwell on
a son, once th * p’ id a of many fond friend-,
now a wanderer from the land of h s bo th,
the haggard victim of penury or disease,
on a t'-reigi strand, without one feeling
heart to alleviate the sufferings whi h ar>
rending Ins bosom and driving him, with
an irre-istahle current, down the fleeting
mar. h ot time, on that j urney, from
whose quiet bourne, no traveller returns.
Tlnnk not, gentle reader, this is a pic
ture of imagination, even now, the sad
dening realiiy passes before me. In vain
do 1 look .Pound me, for ih-se with
whom I have s >ent so many happy days
of unalloyed dehghi—thev are gone, and I
their memory, Ike the last mellow rays of
the setting sun, tall sadly, yet tenderly,
upon tire heart.
Among the earli st companions of my
childhood, none hold so vnid an impres
sion on my m morv, a* Emily Bernard,
the only daughter of a widow lady who
came to resole in my native village, while
I was a school boy. in my thirteenth y. ar.
Emily was then eleven, and one of the
laire-t flowers of her sex, to which the
bounty of nature had added an uncom
mon share of understanding. The rose
of health then bloomed on her fair cheek,
in unrivalled sweetness, and her bright,
black eyes, beamed asparkhng lustre sur
passing even the dreams of the youthful
poets imagination. She was, indeed, a
little Hebe, the pride and admiration of all
her acquaintances; raised by a tender mo
ther, then in her first year of widowhood,
this the only survivor of a numerous fa
mily of children, all of whom, with their
father, had fallen victims to the due ra
vages of consumption, within a few short
years. Can it be wondered that the moth
•
er nursed this last remaining stem with
peculiar care, and would sometimes ima
gine that, in the blooming glow of health,
she could trace the hectic flush which
marks the approach of the relentless de
mon of disease.
Years passed on, ami each returning
year aided the developement of a mind of
superior order, yet, during the chilling in
fluence of winter, 1 often thought 1 could
trace the usurping lillies displacing the ro
ses which were wont to bloom, in native
loviness, on her cheeks. I marked too,
the mother’s anxious fears, whenever
any of her friends noticed any change in
the health of Emily, or expressed a fear
that the disease she inherited from her
lather were likely to prey on her. None
who knew her could but feel an interest
in the health of one so rarely lovely, while
they gazed on her animated countenance.
At the period of my sixteenth year, I
was entered at a distant academical insti
tution, to complete my education, and af
ter being absent about twelve months, re
turned home to spend the winter holydays
with my friends. 1 learnt that the fair
Emily, with her mother , had returned to
their native city, to stay during the win
ter. With many anticipations of pleasure,
I accepted an invitation Mrs. Bernaid had
Itdt for rne, to visr them during the vaca
tion. When l m l Emily, alas! how chang
ed, the rose that bloomed once so sweetly
oh her che< k had faded with the la-t lin
germg hues of autumn, and the deadly
cankering disease was fa-t blighting tiri
n'.ce fair floweret. Bale as mat ble, and e
ma ia(* and with lingering debility, she met
me a( the door, and as I imprinted a ki-s
ort her blanched cheek, a flint tinge vva9
all the deepest sense of female delicacy
ould call to. where once th* blushes play
ed deep as the rosy tints of morning. I
led her into the drawing room, where I
met her mother, and w hile I anxiou ly no
tired her countenance, I traced the writh
ing anguish of a mother’s feelings, who
saw, but too plainly, how soon death wa
to nip the last prop of her declining years.
Fearing to give pain (o her amiable daugh
ter, she endeavored, but oh ! Imw feeblv.
to conceal her poignancy, for if (here is
aught in thp female di-position that can
not be concealed, *t i a the yearnings of a
mothers h art, when the last glimmer of
hope is expiring, and the reality presses
up *n her*, that she must soon see her be
loved offspring shrouded in the cold sleep
of death—lt is a scene where ’twere mock
ery to speik worldly consolation. The
hope of a Siiv ioors redefining love, and
the prospect of a blissful eternity, among
those si-Uf r spirits, which surround the
throne of He-v-n, ofi’ers all that can
soothe the rending bur-t of sorrow,
which pres- so heavily on a mother’s
heart. And who shall dare say thattherc
is a mother who would n>t wi-h the. time
of earthly probation prolongu and. even if
(his assurance were in certain prospect.
Y**s. if ever there was an angel shiouded
m the frail tenement of humanity, it was
Emily Bernard ; no guile had ever crept
into her gnntle bosom, and sh**, all con
cerns of >er situation, awaited the ap
proach of (he messenger who was to sum
mon her home without fear find without
anguish : vet the thought of parting with
he. ami *hle mother, could not but.awaken
painfull feelings, and when this was re
called more vividly before her, by noti f -
i g h r mothers apprehensions, she at
tempted an appearance of cheerfulness
which but feebly concealed her real
fjt-li; gs.
A xmus to dispel the gloom whifh
clouded her countenance, I led her to If i
harp, anil requested her favorite air “wl/y
heart and lute. ’’ Never did I think I ha*;
before heard her play it so sweetly, h* i
feeling* seemed entirely in unison witi
thesubj ct ; there was a p tho* and feel
mg in the gei tie modulations of her vui e,
which s emed almost supernatural. An
gehc spirit! I saw her. for the last time
Soon afie. I returned to school, a letter
from her mother, informed me of hei
death. She had rien early on a fine
Spring morning, and walked in the gaid n
to inhale the sweet and healthful breez**.
and after some fatigue, seated herself un
der one of the arbour*, where she Appa
rently sunk into (he calm slepp of Death
without a struggle H**r mother was the
first who sought and found her ; Much a<-
she had expected th's blow, it weighed
tooheivilv on her declining health—She
soon followed, and now calmly reposes
beide her beloved F.mily, beneath the
cold clod of the valley.
EUGENIO
For the CABInBI\
Mr. Editor.
Ever since the alienation of man from
his maker, avarice ha* had more or
less ascendency over his affections. Tho’
his countenance erect, points him to the
skies—yet the surface brushed by his
feet, unfortunately engrosses his attention.
He appears to have forgotten his high ori
gin and seems unconscious, that he car
ries with him the obliterated image of hie
glorious Creator.
Amazing! that he, who, on the bright
morning of creation, mingled his notes of
praise with the anthems of the angelfb
choir, now wades the mire with the brute,
and grovels in the dust with the worm!
With desires boundless as eternity', he
would budd upon the treacherous sands, 11
the temple of his hope*, and vainly
strive to satiate the demands of immortali
ty itself, with the trash of this world!
Os all the sordid passions vvjiich bind
him to the earth, avarice is the most im
perious and inexorable. It sets en
throned upon the heart, like a cruel ty
rant, and will not have a rival. It is seen
to actuate early childhood—and too often
lastens the hands of dying old age upon the
glittering dost which it would fain carry
with it, but cannot. The Savage can be
controlled by it, when force itself can
not drive him.—No rank so elevated as to
be beyond its influence; and no station so
Imy, but it will stoop to honor. It never
slumbers. No stratagem can elude its
vigilance. No sphere is large enough
for its ambition. No prey can cloy its
rapacity. No treasures can fill its cof
fers!
A noble and generous ambition has no
connection with this close arid nigardly
disposition. It rises higher for its ob
jects of persuit, ad seeks even the same
things with other and better inotivp*.
ii rests it* hopes of happiness on moral
excellence. It is no less enterprising,
no less decissive and no lep9 vigilant in
carrying forward the accomplishment of
(hose great and useful institutions which
bless -society and adorn our species. \Ve
admire energv of character. We would
not decry emulation. This quickening
impulse animates the student in his re
searches; inspires the poet; lights up the
orator; directs the patriot’s sword with
nerve; and accelerates the dull march *>f
Zion’s weary pilgrim! Rob man of ibis
cheering and eulivtng spirit—and you
leave him—the wreck of a storm , to
float idly and uselessly upon the currant of
the woi Id!
Nor would we discourage the acqulsi
tion of wealth. It is the worship of the
‘goideo calf’ that is interdicted by Heav
en. The reasonable enjoyments of
this life are not denied u*. The avari
cious man never does eijoy the things of
this* world a* h<* ought. He is too st.<ngy
to all->w himself liberally. Old John Ell
wees with bis millions of dollars was
always haunted with the ghosts of lean
ness and poverty —which his troubled
imagination conjured up continually a
bout him. Hence he was afraid to eat
enough lest he should want and could not
get —and even (dial affection itself could
not make him sensible of the charms of de
cency. He went to Parliament as a num
ber with is w diet: & yet he could bet free
ly at a game of cards. A love of gaming is
not (infrequently the offspring of avarice.
Heaven’s munificence is poured forth a
rouud u* in great profusion. We should
use, not wa-te, nor abu-e it. The only
thing for which riches are desirable is,
as has b en remarked by a good and
wise man, the means, which they afford
•h ir possessor of doing good. Wealth
when it flaws in the channel of benevo-
; *>nce gladdens and enrichens every region
thro’ which it rolls. The barrenness of
the heath puts on the verdure of spring;
poverty smiles; melancholy laughs; igno
ence is instructed—‘and the poor have
the Gospel preached unto them.’ 1( ia
g *od in its place. It procures the means
of h.ippiness in peace, and gives power
and strength to the arm ot war.
Avarice is the worst enemy of human
felicity. It summons to its aid every
faculty of soul and body and makes the
man a complete slave. Instead of re
straining this all and soul de
stroying passion within reasonable bounds
by education, how often is it fostered in
the child’s heart by every incentive of
precept it example. It is taught to listen
with admiration to praises bestowed on
that man, whose only qualification is that
he is very rich ; and the equipage of
flfiride is muih more frequently the theme
of conversation than other things of more
durable worth. Thus its heart is cap
tivated wi>h this love of money. The
child is taught to regard silver and gold
asfarmoie valuable than a good name
and a good conscience. A mind thus
arly chained down to venal pursuits and
imbued with such sordid principles would
rower rise though pregnant with ‘celestial
fire.’ The throne of God is demolished
and an alter is erected to Mammon! Av
arice is no less an enemy to intellectual