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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 *