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BY GARDNER & BARROW the GEOIiGIA MIRROK, Is published every Saturday, in Florence, .jtewart county, Ga. at THREE DODLARS a year, if paid iu advance, or FOUR DOLLARS, it' not paid until the end of the year. Advertisements will be conspicuously inserted at One Dollar per square, (15 lines) the first, and 5 0 ce nts for each subsequent insertion. Nothing under 15 lines will be considered less than a square. A deduction will be made for yearly ad vertisements. All advcrtisenvjnts handed in for publication without «limitation, will be published till forbid, and char red accordingly. Sales of Land and.Negroes by Executors, Ad ministrators and (*u irdiaus, are required by law t 0 |,B advertised in a public, Gazette, sixty (Fays previous to the day of sale.- Tic- sale of Personal property must be adver tls- 'ia like in,xuvier forty days. Notice to Debtors and Creditors of an estate must be published forty days. Notice that- application will be made, to the Court-of Gr unary far leave to sell fraud and Nc rvus ;n.ts*. be published weakly for four months. i|;' a Alt Letters on business must be i*os puo tn insure attention. job MintingT /~iO\N ECTE D with the office of the MIR ROR, is a splendid assortment of STS-OS And we are e-nabled to excirte all kind of Job work, iii the neatest manner and at tin- shortest notice. V:f 4 Vs. v , k *V> 'i of every . description will constantly be kept on hunk -ugh as INDICTMENTS, DECLARATIONS, SI iUMENAS. JURY SU.MAIONSES, EXECUTIONS. COST EXECUTIONS. SHERIFF’S RILLS OF SALE, do DEEDS, LAND DEEDS, .11'S. SUM MOSSES, do EXECUTIONS, Month AC E'S do osAKDi.vxsnir. let. administration, do TESTAMENTARY, And a g);eat many others for Justices, of the pr ice. Administrators, Executors. Xm \ S ALE of lots iu .this town will take place on f i. Tuesdav th--* jfithof Otitniicr .neat, 'Terms—(.Vue four-til cash, the balance in three amiaal instalment's. This t» .v;t is i»cautifully situated od a high bluff of the Ever Chattahoochee, in the county of Bar bum-, Alabama, about one mile below the mouth of Hateheehtibbee, and from twenty-five to thirty miles belo w Colnmbtis. It possesses local advan tages inferior to no place upon the liver. r J he bluff on which it stands is a continuation of the r.-ks, dividing the waters of the Hatehechubbee ;md (’ov.Mjkee creeks, affording the most eligible location for an exc dient road into the interior of Harbour, Rnswli and Macon, by which the pro ihu't of th.- i led and fertile cotton lauds of those counties can he c isily c I'nveyed to marker. . Trie road from Ci.lnmbus to t'Toremfe and Irwinton, " ill ins. throui'll this town. -Situated below the S.i.uf. Shoalsajul Woolfolk’s bar, which are the principal obstructions in the river, it can be np proachmi without difficulty by steam- boats at al most till si won of the year. Indisputable titles will be given to pit'chasers. For the proprietors, J AMES E. GLENN, Agent. N. IE The cash payment may be made by a good paper,well indorsed, payable (id days, at ■my Bank iu Columbus. Aug. lf> 21 ts lANDS Jb’OirSALE. The subscriber offers for sale the fol- lowing valuable lots ot Land, lying in WwoSS? a rieli and prosperous part of the. State, ■ , on very liberal and accommodating terms. Ns. 91 in 7th district, Randolph. DO in 10th „ do 127 in 10th „ do ; (3 in stli „ do 14p in 2d ~ Stewart. 117 in 18th ~ do 140 in 29th ~ Sumter. 215 in 29th ~ do 32 in 2d „ Muscogee. 9(5 in Gth ~ .do 34 in 17th ~ Sumter. Fov further information apply at the office of dm Mirror, or to the subscriber, in Appling, Co lumbia county, Ga. WAD gLuV ER. August 11 20 5t VALUABLE LANDS FOR SALE. sKgJ&fe The Subscriber offers for sal" a val nable TRACT OF L AND whereon, he now lives, lying ip Stewart county, one mile and a halt trom I' lorftnce, Containing 1,000 acres, of which there is between 200 an i 30(1 acres in cultivation. On the premi se- there are comfortable houses, a good GIN 1 HORSE, superior GIN and (SEAR. Also, n F[RST RATE. SAW MILL, which has only been in operation about 6i\ months; suirounded by an inexhaustible quantity of pine timber, near •several towns, situated on the Ghaltahpochee riv er. The, land is rich and level. I have good spring water, and a healthy and beautiful situa tion for a residence. Any person wishing to pur chase will call and view the premises. JOSEPH REESE. •Inly 2* 18 eotf From the Southern Literary Messenger. ON HEALTH. To Mothers. BY MRS. L. H. SIGOURNEY. Have we not all of us seen, with pity and re gret, some sickly mother, burdened with the cares id her household i k eeling that there were em ployments w hich none could discharge as well as herself— modifications o( duty, in which the in ierest of her husband, the welfare of her chil dren, the comfort of her famiiy, were involved duties which she could , not depute to another, without ..loss—she continued to exert' herself, above and beyond her strength. Still her step is languid; and her eye joyless. Trie “spirit, indeed, is wilting, but the tlesh is weak, lief littlc ui.es observe her dejected man ner, and become sau; or, they take advantage of her want of energy, and grow lawless. She, herself, cannot long persist in a course of labor that involves expense of health, without some men tal sympathy. A temper the mpst amiable, will sometimes become irritable or complaining, when the shrinking nerves require rest, and the deu&nds of toil, and tne claims upon painiul thought, are perpetual. Efforts, which to one in health* are like dew-drops shaken from the eagle's wing, seem to the invalid like the ascent of the Alps, or like heaping Beliou upon Ossa. Admitting that-a sickly woman has sufilcent Self control to repel the intrusion of fretfuluess, and preserve a subdued equanimity, this, though certainly deserving of praise, is falling short of what sire should wish to main The meek look.' of resignation, though it may cost her much to maintain, is net all that a husband w ishes, w ho. coming froth the vexed atmosphere of business or ambition, would fain find Hi his Peine the smile of cheerfulness, the playful charm of a mind at ease. Meir, prize ino'.r than our sex are always aware, the health-beaming countenance, tire elastic step, and all those demonstrations of domestic order, in which unbroken activity delights. They love To see a woman equal to tier ow n duties, and per forming them with pleasure.. They do not like to have the principal theme of domestic conver sation a detail of physical ills, or to be expected to qqestiou, like a physician, into tiro, variety of symptoms which Viavq supervened since their de parture. Ur if tliis may, be occasionally doire, with a.good grace, w here ill-health is supposed to be temporary, yet t.l;e .saddening effects of. an en tooblcd i<> use Hi lion, cßtjuor always bo ro.-i *tr,J ■».. him who expected to find in a w ilea “yoke-fellow, able to endure tRe rough roads and sharp ascents of life. A nature possessing ..real capacities of .sympathy and tenderings , may doubtless be -sof tened by the exercise o: ibo. capacities. Still, the good gained, is o'niy from the patient, perhaps the chri.st:an endurance, of a disappointment.— But w Letts those capacities do not exist, and where religious principle is absent, I lie perpetual influ ence siehlv and, moiHiiful witg, is as a blight on those prospect which allure to matrimony. Eol iy, moroseness, and lapses into vice, may be olten traced to those causes which »obe home in gloom. If to-a father the infillejice of. continual ill health in the'partner of Lis joys, is so dispiriting, how much more oppressive is it to those little ones who are by nature allied to gladness* Child hood, whose richest heritage is its. innocent joy, must hush its sportive laugh,and repress its mer ry footstep, as if its plays were sius. Or if the diseased nerves of the mother do not habitually impose such sacrifices, it learns, from nature's promptings, to flisliio i its niatjners. or its voice, ur its countenance, after the melancholy model of the sufferer whom it loves, and so forfeits its beau tiful heritage of young delight. Those sicknesses to which the most robust are subject, by giving exercise tu self-denial auii offi ces'of sympathy, from all the members of a house hold, are doubtless often blessed as means of im provement, and the messengers which draw more clbselv the builds of true affection, lint it must be sutfieiejii'y obvious, that 1 amide to that want of constitutional vigor, or ot that confirmed fee bleness of habit, which either create inability for those duties which in most parts ot our country deyoXe upon a wile, a mother, and the .mistress cl a fimilv, or else cause them to be 01 charged in languor and wretchedness. And 1 speak of them, that the attention of those \viio conduct the ear liest. ’ physical education of females. may. be quickened to search how an eviLof such magni tude mav -be obviated. Mothers,’ is there ,auy thing we can do to ac quire for our daughters, a- good constitution ? Is there tnithin tlie'.>e}u;m«o» sometimes expressed, that our sek arc becoming nr re and more efiemi nite ? Are we as capable of enduring fatigue as were our grand-mothers 1 Ale ire as well versed in the details of hosekeoping, as able to bear them without inconvenience, as our methets ? Have our daughters as much stamina of constitution, as much aptitude for domestic duty, as we our selves possess? These questions are not interes ing to us simnly as individuals* 1 hey affect the welfare of the community. For the ability or ;n --ahilily of woman to discharge vkhat the-Almighty has committed to her, touches equilibrium of so ciety, and the hidden springs of existence. Ten derly interested as we aj e (or the health of our offspring, let ns devote peculiar attention to that of our daughters. Their deljeate frames require more cave in order to become vigorous, and are in j fTKl rc danger from the prevalence of fashion. I I plead tor the little girl, that she may have air ' and exercise, as well as h> r brother, and that she : uuiy not he too much blamed, if in her earnest ! pi,iv she happen to tear or soil her apparel. 1 plead 1 that she be not punished as a romp, if she keen ly ''moved those active sports which city gentility j proscribes. 1 plead that the ambition to make \ her accomplished, do not chain her to the piano, _ till the spinal column, which should consolidate the frame, starts aside like a broken reed; —nor bow her over her book, till the vital euergy which ought to pervade the. whole frame, mounts into the brain, add kindlcss the death-fever. FLORENCE, GA. SATURDAY, SEPTEMBER 1, 1838. Surely we ought to acquaint ourselves with the outlines of the mechanism of tiiis etir cLy-tem ple, iliatwe interfere not, through ignorance, with those laws on which its organization depends. Rendered precious, by being the shrine of an un dying spirit, our ministrations for its well-being assume au almost fearful importance. Appoin ted, as the mother is, to guard the harmony, to study the arts on which its symmetry depend.;, she is forced to perceive how much the, mind is affec ted by the circumstances of its lodgment, and is incited to cherish the mortal for the sake of the immortal. Does she attach value to th* germs of intellect ? Let her see that the casket which contains them, be uot lightly endangered or carelessly broken. Does she pYay for the welfare of the soul ? Let her seek the goad of its companion, who walks with it to the gates of the grave, and rushes again to its embrace on the morning of the resurrec tion. ’1 hose who educate the young, should he ever awake to the evils of compression in the region of the heart and lungs. A slight ligature there, in the earlier stages of life, is fraught w ith danger. To disturb or impede the laborers who turn the wheels of life, both night and day, is absurd and ungrateful. Samson was bound in fetters, and ground in the prison-house, for a while, but at length he crushed the pillars of the temple, and the lords of the Philistines perished w-ith him— Nature, though she may be long in resenting an injury, does nut forget it. Against those who violate her laws, she often rises as a giant in his might, when they least expect it, inflicts a fearful punishment. Fashion seems long enough to have oppressed and insulted health in its strong holds'. She cannot even prove that she lias ren dered the form more graceful, as some equivalent for her ravages. In ancient Greece, to whom our painters nod sculptors still look for the purest mo dels, was not the form left untortured? the vol ume of the lungs allowed free play? the heart permitted. Without manacles, to do the great work the Creator assigned it ? The injuries inflicted by compression of the vital parts, are too numerous to be readily recounted. Imparted digestion, obstructed'circulation, pul monary disease, and nervous wretchedness, are in their train. A physician, distinguished by practi cal knowledge of the Protean forms of insanity, assarts that lie gains many patients from this cause. Ahotlier medical gentleman of eminence, led by philanthropy .to investigate the subject of tight lacing, has assured thu public, that multitudes annually die bv the severe discipline- of busk and w-OsOt. This them v is sustained by colly Ural proof, and illustrated by tWotions. It is not sufficient that we, mothers, protect our vouuser daughters, while immediately under our authority, from such hurtful practices. We should follow them until a principle is formed by which thev can protect themselves from the ty ranny of fashion. It is true, that no young lady acknowledges herself to be laced too tight. lim its that shun the light, and shelter themselves un der subterfuge, are ever the most difficult to. erad icate. A part of the energy which is essential to their reformation, must be expended in hunting them from their hiding-places. Though the suf ferer from tight-lacing, may not own herself to be uncomfortable, the- laborious respiration, the constrained movement, perhaps the curved spine, bring different testimony Rut in these days of diffused knowledge, of heightened education, is it possible that any fe male can put in jeopardy the enjoyment ofhealth, even the duration of existence, lor a circumstance of dress? Will she throw an illusion over those who try to save her? and like the Spartan culprit, conceal the destroyer that feeds upon her vitals ? lie knoic not that it is so. Who, that has tested the omnipotence of fashion, wll doubt it ? r ! his. is by no means the only-sacrifice of health that she imposes. But it is a prominent one. Let us, who are mothers, look to it. Fully aware, as we must be, of danger of stricture on the lungs and heart, during their season of develbpeinent, why should we not bring up our (laughters without any arti cle of dress which could disorder the seat of vital ity ? Our sons hold themselves erect, without busk, or corset, or frame work of,whale-bone.— Why should not oar daughters also? Did not God make them equally hprijht? Ycj. But they have “sought out many inventions.” Let us educate a race who shall have room to breathe, Ret us promise, even in their cradle, that heart shall not be pihiounl as in-a vice, nor their spines bent like •» bow, nor their ribs lorced into the liver. Doubtless, the husbands and fa thers of the next generation wi’l cive us thanks. Let us leave no place in the minds of those whom we educate, for the lunatic sentiment, that the miiuTs healthful action, ami the integrity of the organs on which- it operates, are secondary to the vanities of external decoration. I( they hav * received front their-Creator a sound mind in a sound bfoiy, teach then! 'that they are accounta ble to Him fi >r both. If fhey deliberately pennit injury to either, how shall -they answer for it be fore the High Jtldge ? But how shall the mother answer If, in whose hand the soul of her chiM was laid, as a waxen tablet if site suffer fashion to cover it with fantas tic images, and folly to puff' out her t'everi h breath, melting the lines that wisdom pencilled there, till what heaven would Fain have polished for itself, loses the fair impression, and becomes like common earth. Hartford, Conn* CONTEMPLATION AND ACTION. Jean Paul Richter thus beautiful Iv contrasts thpse two qualities of the soul: “Who is the greater sage, he who lifts himself above the stormv time and "contemplates it without action; or he who frdm the high region of ca'mness throws himself into the battling tumult of the times ? Sublime is it when the eagle soars upward through tlm storm info the clear heaven ; but ! subhmer. when floating in the serene blue above, ! he darts down through the thick storm-cloud to I the rock-hung evrv, where hisunfoathered young t live and tremble.” I . From the Southern Literary Messenger. The Indian Captive. As related by a first Settler. BY HORATIO KING. In the month of September, 17—, my health having become considerably irfipared, 1 was ad vised by my friends and the physician of the vil lage to jmirncv. •> means of improving it. Pos sessins? naiurally a dispositi- n to become acquain ted with the situation of the country, especially in my own state and neighborhood, 1 readily acce ded to the advice. But the next question which arose, was—where should 1 travel,—how far. and in what parts? It was agreed, finally, that 1 should g' to the White Mountains. 1 ac-eo riling lv prepared for my journey, and on the morning of the sixth of September, after receiving from iffy friends their united wishes that 1 might have a pleasant season and return in improved health, 1 took my departure from the beautiful village of , situated on the hanks of the kenebec, in the State of Maine. The distance from my ow n resi ience to'die mountains was mostly perform ed in carriages with an occasional tide on horse back. On arriving at the hospitable habitation of Mr. . the dwelling nearest the mountains, 1 had, much to my satisfaction, become recruited and so much improved in strength a« to feel almost like climbing the mountains at a breath. .Sin gularly enough, as I thought, 1 happened there at a time when no other stranger was present —not a solitary being could be found to accompany me to the heights of Mount Washington, even so much as an humble guide But I was now determined not to return without seeing the originally pro posed end of my-journey. To scale the heights before me. a stranger and alone, was to be sure, no desirable task; but my ambition led me to at tempt il even at the hazard of loosing my wav and becoming exhausted. 1 started from my friend's .at eight O’clock in the morning of a delightfully pleasant day, ami before the sun had Reached the middle of its daily course. 1 was well nigh a? the summrtof the mountain ; yet, not without feeling that I eonld not endure such exertion with the freedom of one who Lad never been broken down by disease. It is needless to say that I amused myself with the grand prospect afforded and the wild scenery around, until if became necessary to return. 1 made, on mv ascension, by the path, such marks and observations as 1 thought would enable me to find my way back without difficulty. But I was ini-mken. The entire afternoon was consumed in fruitless endeavors to find the path wilieh f hnd followed oil [n He IIP- I was now wearv and faint; and the sum as he sunk beneath the western horizon, seemed to tell me, in fearful language, that I should never look upon his coun tenance, nor feel his enlivening influences again ? But there was no time to be hist—my life was in danger! I flew first to one extremity of the height which 1 had ascended and then to the other, little removed lioni derangement in viewing the awful horrors of my situation. Alas! night" had come over me—a fair;?, fatigued and sick being, and almost unmanned by fear. But what was my surprise, mingled with jov, at this crisis, on seeing at a liule distance from me. and coming towards me, a tall but well-proportioned man, with a nnts k>t, in his hand, whom 1 took- to be an Indian! “Ah, young man,” said he, oil coming up, “what has brought yon to this lonely place at. this hour of the night?—have you. no guide, no pro tector, nor means’ of securing yourself to-night from this cold, -damp air?” “None!” said I, tfnd I immediately informed hitrrof my advehture and the reason of my being hus exposed. “Rash and unfortunate youth!” said the stran ger, “you deserve some punishment for thus vol untarily exposing yourself to danger anil death ! have you no food with you ?” “Not one morsel!” 1 answered. “In my nurry and anxiety to reach the mountain this morning, l entirely forgot to take any with me !” Putting his hand into his pocket, he drew forth a small piece of broiled meat and n slice of bread— “ Here.” said he “eat tills—it may afford you a P ,le strength, and prevent vim from becoming en tirely exhausted ;—a singular freak this for a pale face like you!” he added,—and i thought lie was about to leave me. ‘(For. Heaven's sake, my dear sir!” I eVclaim ed. -“would you leave me here in this chilling air an< ! on these cold and dreary mountains to perish, without a friend and aione ?” Hi's ken black eyes were fixed full and s?e.anily upon me, as if to read the inmost secrets of niy heart.—when he approached, and taking me by the liand— - " “Hear me!”’ said he, sternly,—“\\ ill you swear?” “What ?—-by whom?” I replied earnestly. “By Him who has sent me hither to save you ! Swear that you will r.ot, in my life-time, reveal to any living being, the spot or dwelling to which 1 may lead vou—and all shall be well.’ I swore" He then requested me to follow him. In silence and with some.- for 1 had be come much exhausted, I obeyed He le ime a considerable distance to a part of the mountain where it was evident the footseps of few if any but his own were ever marked; and on guiding me into a secret and curious cave, the old man (1 had already observed that from his appearance he had numbered at least three score aud ten,) looking at me with a smiling countenance, said— “ Here, young stranger, is the place that l call my home; sit down,” said he, “on, that smooth stone, and I will soon kindle a blaze—l have also some game in my pockets which I have just had the fortune to seize, that with a little roasting will please the palate and repair the system. You have been a rash youth,” continued he, “but you lire safe no tv, and as soon as you regain your strength, I will put you in a way, should you wish it, to find the fool of the mountain ” We had found it necessary before reaching I the cave, to procure a torch, by which I was en ! aided to see mv way well along the narrow, and in many places perilous path that we were phligeil to travel. The old man soon built a good fire, and I before one hour had elapsed he had prepared a Vol. I.— No. 23. supper, which appeared tome, under thecircum stances,' more inviting even than the sumptuous viands ot the rich; 1 never ate with a better rel ish. In the meantime 1 could not banish the wonder and surprise excited by the fact, that an individ ual possessing the faculties, both mental and physical, of my kind protector, should take up his abode in a place so cold ami barren, and af fording so few opportunites fbr a life of ease and happiness. I was exceedingly anxious, as was uni uni, to learn the history of one whore whole character appeared so singular and strange.— Could 1 dare solicit of him 'he desired informa tion J ] almost trnrd to ask ii;—but the hospi table board having been removed, and the old man seeming in a cheerful mood, 1 ventured to offer an intimation that a little conversation relative to Ii is own history would to tne be peculiarly inter esting,—and it had its effect, llis eyes flashed, and lie sat for some time in silence, At length, .drawing liis seat nearer to me, and with a look which seenird tosav that none but himself should ever know his history, he observed. “I am old, young stranger, as you see—ready almost to lie down ill my grave. There are, it is true, many incidents connected with ray life, «Inch, if related, might perhaps amuse one of your age and capacity -luif'it grieves me to think of them! I vvill, however, if you are not too much fatigued,” he continued, “tell you a short story.” 1 was of course anxious to hear what he might have to relate, knowing that if I could learn noth in” of his Own life, his knowledge of early eveuts enabled him to give a narration of many rare and interesting occurrences, aid 1 begged that he would proceed. “About sixty years ago,” the old man commen ced, “there lived on the banks of the Androscog gin, in what is now called the town of Bethel, a man who was married and had two children, a son and daughter, and who obtained a livelihood by hunting and fishing. At that time, there were several tribes of Indians in the neighborhood, and this friehdly and peaceable family were not un frequently disturbed by their near approach and niciitly yells. They, however, managed by pru dence and caution to live Safely there for several years, until at lencth one evening of a beautiful summer day. just as the sun was going down be hind the frees, a hostile and wondering tribe of Indians approached the humble, but hitherto com paratively quiet, dwelling of those lonely settlers. The mother and her little daughter of seven years were emnlaveiLuithe hm-.s# w t iL. dm fallow •■■J son, who was then about ten years ol age, were gathering wood at a short distance from his dwel lin,r. The lather, leaving Lis little boy busily en gaged in picking up sticks, went with his arms full of wood to the house, and had no sooner readied it, than lie saw Ids hostile foes coming up, and standing almost directly between him and his son. He railed to him, and thought at first to run to his protection, but saw on a moment’s reflection that by etidcavoring to savr his life he would endanger his own (for already several arrows were pointed at him,) and put it out of his power to protect his wife and daughter, who were alarmed almost to f; inting in the house. The only alternative left him was to flee to his house and prepare to defend them and himself there. The Indians now gave a horrible veil, and attempted by every means in their power to enter; butthe father was enabled to beat'them back until his wife had loaded one or two muskets, which were inufiediately discharged upon them with good effect. The contest was continued for aboiU a half hour, the wife loading and the husband firing the guns, when the In dians-finding their attempts to enter the house fruitless, and that powder and balls were mope fatal in their effect than their own weapons, they tbok their departure, such of them as were able, veiling mostly hideously. The bight passed ; but the fear of the Indians and the thought that their child might already be suffering the most cruel tortures, prevented the parents, as may well be supposed,'from receiving one moment's rest. The morning dawned, and six Indians were seen lying dead on the ground near the hftuse. The brave hptiter had not feftght without carrying sorrow to the bosom'of his enemies, thougli he suffered the loss, as he b dieVed, forever .of hip little Charles, whom the Indians he well knew would preserve only to torment, lie'ventured out and imme diately saw- at a short distance from the house another l Indian, who, from his appearance, he judged had been wounded. In his wrath he ap proached and would, have despatched him at ouee had not the Indian, in a most heart-touching man ner, begged to lie spared, offering at the same time as an inducement to the hunter to let him live, to prevent the life of his son being destroyed and return him safe to his parents. On his promising to this, he was taken into the house and a little, attention to his wouuds enabled him to follow his savage couarades. * *** **«J* “Years passed away, but no son came. The hunter nbw felt that he hid been deceived, and regretted that he had not despatched the savage at a blow. Ten years had now already elapsed, and all hopes of ever seeing Charles had long since been abandoned. The mother had made herself, in appearance and feeling, old and almost helpless bv grief and mourning, and Ellenor, her daughter, was in the last stage of consumption, partly from the same cause, and from seeing an affectionate mother sinking so rapidly. She could remember her little brother, and how he looked before the savages came and took him away. Her thoughts were ever upou him; arid the following lines, composed and presented her by a friend, she was often heard to sing with a pensive air, as she sat at her window in the evening twilight: O, blest were those hours when gay on ihe banks Os the clear Androscoggin f played With my own honest Charles,—and when by the side Os my mother, I kneeled, as she prayed! Then sickness, and sorrow, and cold discontent Were unknown to a childhood so free ! ' And death, with hh arrows, so awful and sure,