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JMLSCEI.LYNtSOUS.
O n* readera doubtless recollect the
story of rle young lady, who went to
change a &100 note, and was robbed
by \ highwayman, whose horse follow
ed her heme—here is the said story in
verse, extracted from the Virginia
Patriot.
In Latin \vc .advantage have,
That “Fortune favors oft the brave,’
Arid if our verse the truth declare;
She Sometimes favors too, ‘the Fair.*
A farmer’s daughter, who resides.
Some miles from Ka*ton, and who rides,
On horse-ba l k thither, oft as cause;
The damsel to that market draws,
Was by her father late sent down,
To get a bank note changed in town.
Not one of all the stores she tried,
Could change the note, so home she hied
1) sc'auraged at her ill success,
And t-eidom in good humor les9.
Put soon a gallant cavalier,
o*ertook the maid and a-ked to share
Her company upon the road,
To which 9he no objection showed.
Thinking the gentleman was quite
Obliging, friendly and polite.
B it oh the most uncourteous knave/
When none was near the nymph to save,
When in the centre of a wood,
Thio* which the road its course pursued,
The unprotected girl lie saw,
Think he did not a pistol draw!
And pointing at her breast, did swear,
That in a moment dead were,
Unless the hundred dollar note,
Which she for change to town had brought
Were handed him without delay—
That done, she might go on her way.
Alarmed, she hastened to bestow
The notn lie claimed—but trembled so,
The paper slipped her fingers through,
And backward to some distance blew,
The Cavalier, dismounting then.
His horse let go, the prise to train:
A id from his presence glad to flee,
She cracked her nag so earnestly,
That se'ting off at racing speed;
The other from his master freed,
Bv his example forwadr moved
To exercise in sport he loved.
H s pistol now the robber fired,
Which only greater haste inspired,
Fo fleeter still the maid dashed on,
And quickly out of sight wa* gone:
Nor stopped, till reached her fathers yard,
Where all the folks astonish'd stared,
To see her ride so bold and free
With a strange horse in company.
But soon the dreadful tale was told,
Os gentleman turned robber bold:
The pistol pointed at her throat,
And o|i. the hundred dollar note,
Forever gone!—Not so, rny dear,*
Her fither cried: ‘shed not a tear;
Y->n gallant steed for more would sell;
You never changed a note so well;
Besides, those saddle hags may hold;
Tilings that are worth their weight in
gold,’
And so they did—for whenunpa ked
Besides false notes; th‘ j re were exact,
Full fifteen hundred dollars more,
To help the damsel s marriage duivei!
For never came the Cavalier,
To claun his gallant steed; or gear.
•Fortuna favet fortibus.
IIUIIML IX THE COUXTRV.
beneath those nigged elms, that yew tree’s
shade,
Where heaves the turf in many a mouldef
mg heap,
Each in his narrow cell for ever laid.
The kmd forefathers of the village sleep.
Gray .
Spring bad revisited the earth with
sunny skies, and nature again ap
peared in her robe of roses, scatter
ing flownß in the paths of human en
joyment. The turn ful birds had a
gain visited the village, and were
singing their morning hymns in tiie
lofty poplars. Every heart seemed
to partake of the general joy, when
suddenly the voice of lamentation was
heard in the village. The angle of
death had arrived, and an aged fa
ther summoned to leave the happy cir
cle. In populous cities such a cir
cumstance excites but little commo
tion: the wheels of Industry still roll
on, and the breach is unperreived; but
in the little community of a village it
is larotherwise. A gloom overspreads
every mind, and every bosom sym
pathises with the widowed heart and
fatherless children. ( have stood by
the death bed o£ the giddy and tbe
gay; 1 have beheld the last convul
sive struggle of the young and beauti
ful—but never have I seen any that
can equal the parting of the fond pa
rent. Human nature can bear no
more: it is a scene, metlnnks, that
would make an angel weep. There
we behold woman's love, hanging, in
the last moment, over the lifeless bo
dy, like a fading flower, while her
tender children weep at her side, over
a father’s love and a mother’s woe.—
Hard must be the heart of that child,
tnat can look upon the fading, dying
eye of a father, and not feel H 9 it were
the last dissolving tic of nature. At
tnat hour remembrance will dwell up
on and carry us back to the blissful
days of childhood, when we prattled
on his knee; and the heart sinks, and
the eye gushes, when we cast our
glance upon that dear father in all the
agonies of death. But the picture is
too painful.
Slowly along the church-way path
I saw them bear him to the lonely
grave. Before went aged men, whose
heads were beginning to blossom for
the toinb, and behind, in sable weeds,
were the mourners, absorbed in grief,
thinking of the breach that never can
be filled. It seemed like a dream,
as the slow and solemn sound of the
bell fell coldly on my heart, and I
wiped a tear from my cheek, as the
thought came over my mind, that 1
too must soon be wrapped in the cold
winding sheet of death, and carried a
long the same path, to be deposited in
the desolate domain. My eye follow
ed the melancholy procession until
they entered the church, where the
minister of God was to give the last
history, and sing the final dirge over
a lifeless father. Blessed minister,
said I, with a sigh, may you stand
at my bed side, when life is about to
he extinguished, and whisper peace to
my departing soul. 1 love a minis
ter of God; for there is a charm in
his smile, and an inspiration in his
soothing language, that, methinks, is
more of heaven than of earih. He
speaks like a kind father to the chil
dren of sorrow, and points out the
path of happiness to poor erring man
So did he speak on this occasion, and
he endeavoured to speak consolation
to the hearts that were torn with an
guish.
I saw them bear the father to tbe
brink of tbe awful grave. A fond
mothers weeping eye looked down in
to the gloomy vault, and a pang of
sorrow sunk dep into her feeling
heart. She wept for her bosom friend
and her fatherless children. They
were at her side, and she felt that they
were withering like roses that bloom
by the solitary tomb. There her son
too looked down into the homo of bis
father, and be burst into tears, when
lie thought that there bis own best
friend must crumble into dust. He
wept, like a fond child, when he re
tic- ted that the cold earth was his
pillow, and that the green grass, wav
ing darkly to the night breeze, would
sing his only lullaby. Youth and
beauty stood round tbe grave, and
they sighed when they remembered
that some of their fathers were be
neath their feet, or would, ere long,
be borne to tbe lonely spot. Many a
j tear drop stole from the blue eye of
beauty, like the dew-drop from the
violet, when she thought that her
lovely form must moulder into dust
with her fathers; and the old men,
venerable with years, looked upon
their children and sighed. And there
stood many an orphan, and widow
too, by the grave, and their hearts
withered as they looked upon the
mournful bier, and remembered the
goodness of his heart. He was the
widow’s friend! Ilis lips were the
counsellors of innocence oppressed,
and his hand was the protector of the
injured orphan. It was he that re-j
I’ ased the grasp of avarice, and caus
ed the blush ot shame on the cheek of
oppression. Yea, it was he that wi
ped the tear from the eye of sorrow,
and relieved the wants of indigence.
He was a friend to justice, and iney
venerated him.—The widow’s tears
have embalmed his memory , and his
name is indelibly written on the heart
of gratitude. Though the es ut< h
eoned pomp of heraldry shall not
mark the place w here he reposes, and
though no funeral fires shall burn a
round his shrine, yet a monument of
affection shall be erected to his re
membrance, more durable than Pa
nan marble, and the pyre shall be
lighted in tbe heart of gratitude and
love. Ido not wish to indulge in hy
perbole, neither do I wish to figure in
fictitious panegyric; but the tears of
sorrow can speak fr me. The ten
derness that, glistened in the eye of
age—the affection that glowed upon
the cheek of youth and beauty—and
the deep drawn sigh that died upon
kindred lips, all speak for me. A
mother’s heart ran f* el for the loss of
a bosom friend, and she can speak
for me. And the little boy, whose
innocent heart bled over the grave of
his fallen father, can speak for me.
beyond the power of words. Ob how
applicable were the words of Jeremi
ah, when the coffin slowly descended
into the grave, and the earth was r-'a
dy to close in upon the fond father f.
ever. Then were the gates of affW
tion and feeling thrown op. n, and tlia?
sorrow which breaks the heart tri
(implied on the ruins of hope. Tin
eye involuntarily sought <>ne nmr
gaze, before the sound of dcsol.itioi
should strike dolefully on the ear of
grief. The parting was like th *
when <lie soul looks out from the f
dy, and shudders at the gloom wl i 1
must surround the tenement it leaves.
—The grave covers all human hopes
Within its gloomy and silent walls all
distincti >n is at an end, and there the
splendor of pomp and pride is shroud
ed in eternal night. There the peas
ant sleeps alike with the gorgeous
monarch; for in the dream of Death
the sceptre falls from his nerveless
grasp. The sleep of death is the
grand pause of nature, the great sab.
bath-day of the grave. Through tne
gates of the grave the rapid tide oflifej
flows iuio the vast oce-.n of eterni- j
ty; audit rolls and rolls on, even to J
the throne ol the great Jehovah. Lif j
is a state of bondage, which confines
the soul in the body, until death, like
a kind philanthropist, unlocks the
door, unbinds the chains, and sets the
prisoner free.—But 1 digress.
I saw them lower the slumbering
father into the d< ep damp grave.
The sound of tho earth, as if fell upon
the coffin, struck chilling’ upon the
ear, and vibrated to the heart. It
was a sound that still lingers on my
ear. It was a sound of all others in
nature the most touching, the most
tender. It was an awful charm, that
broke in upon the heart in defiance of
the fortitude of nature, and melted
down the energies of the soul—yea,
it rolled bat k again up >n the mind the
memory of y ears. O yes, it was the
sound of desolation and death; but it
strut k not on tbe ear of the fallen fa
ther. No, no, he sleeps in peace, with
his brothers and fathers. But it was
a warning note to the living that they
too should follow. It was the clarion
of death—yea, it was the speaking
trumpet of the grave. It rails not
to the clangor of battle, but it hails
the children of peace, and the candid
ates for eternal fame. But ah! it di *d
on the ear of sorrow with m urnlul r
dftnee, and chilled the heart of sensi
bility. It was the km 11 of departed
worth.
The lonely grave now rises to view,
where age, and youth, and beauty,
sleep. No sculptured cenotaph
marks to grauduer’s eye the spot
where sleeps the generous father and
the widow‘s friend: but at the evening
hour afflictions foot shall often tread
the path to dwell in tears. There
shall the sod grow green upon his
grave, watered by tbe homage of the
grateful heart, and there, w hen Sum
mer decks the ground with flowers,
shall the gentle zephyr whisper fa
ther, rest in peace. The mournes
have returned to the desolate man
sion, and the sound of lamentation lias
ceased; but they bend over their sor
rows in silent grief. Nature has lost
her i harms to them, and the return
ing Spring has proved f> them the
sad winter of the heart.
AX IRISH P ETITIOX.
The following petition is to be fonnd
in the Columbian Phoenix, a Maga
zine published in Boston, about twen
ty-five years since.
‘To the Honorable the Com
missioners of Excise, the hum
ble petition of Patrick O’Con
ner, Blaney O’Rrien and Car
ney M’Quire to be appointed
Inspectors, and Surveyors, and
Overlookers, vulgarly called
Excisemen, for the county of
Cork, (its own self my jewel,)
in the kingdom of Ireland. And
whereas we, your understand
ing Petitioners, will, both by
night by day; §we will come
and go, a id walk and ride, and
take and bring, and fetch and
carry, and we will see jdl, and
more than all, and nothing at
all, of such goods and commod
ities as may be, and can be, an 1
cannot be, to pay duty. And
we your aforesaid petitioners,
will at times, and at times*
and no times at all, be present
and absent, and backward and
forward, and behind and be
fore, he everv where and no
where at all. And we your a-
Ibrsaid Petitioners, will come
and inform, and give informa
tion, and notice, duly and truly,
and honestly and wisely, ac
cording to the natter as we
know, and by the knowledge of
ourselves, and every one and
tio one at a ! S; and we will not
cheat the king any more than is
now, and all times lawfully
practised. And whereas we
your aforesaid Petitioners, as
we are Irish protestants by
Sliaint PATRICK, so we are,
and we love the King, and we
will value him and we will fight
for him, and against him, run
for him, and from him, and be
hind him and before and at one
side of him, and t’other side of
him, to secure him, or any of
his relations, or acquaintances,
as far and as much farther than
lies in our power, dead or alive,
as long as we live and longer
too. Witness our several and
seperate hands in conjunction
one after another all together,
one and all three of us both to
ge'her.
B\RN!Y O’BLANEY,
P \ 1 RICK < PIT A NAG AN,
CARNEY OBOOZIE,
TEA CUE O’REGAN.
P—————g.-Tawwa— mm—b——WM
GEORGIA, Warren County.
WHEREAS, Hardy Pitts, applies for
Letter* nisinis*nry fiom the ad minis
tration of the esa.e of William Thomas,
late of said county dec.
These are, therefore to cite and ad
monish *ll persons interested to be and
appear at my office, within the tim*> pre
scribed by law, to file their otyecti -ns.
(if any they have) why said letters should
not be granted.
Z. FRANKLIN, elk. c. o. w. c *