Below is the OCR text representation for this newspapers page.

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