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TilK LAST MAN.— By T. Campbell.
All worldly •hupcs shall melt in gloom,
‘1 lie Sun hiinselt niiist die,
Be to re lliis mortal shall assume
Its immortality!
I saw a vision in my sleep,
That gave my spirit strength to sweep
Adoun the gulf of lime!
1 saw the last of human mould,
That shall Creation's death behold,
As Adam saw her prim#!
The Sun’s eye had a sickly glare,
I lie Earth with age was wan,
The skeleton's of nations were
Around that lonely man !
Some had expir'd ill light—the brands
bid! rusted in their bony hand ;
In plague and famine some!
Earth’s cities had no sound or tread ;
And ships were drifting with the dead
to shores where all was dumb.
Yet, prophet-like, that lone one stood,
With dauntless words and high,
Th U shook the sere leaves from the wood
As if a storm pass’d by,
Saying, we are twins in death, proud Sum,
Thy face is cold, thy race is run,
’ 1 is mercy bids thee go :
For thou ten thousand thousand years
Has! seen the tide of human tears,
That shall no longer flow.
\\ hat though beneath thee man put fortli
I lis pomp, his pride, his ‘kill;
And arls that made fire, flood, and earth
The vassals of his will ;
Yet mourn I not thy parted sway,
Thou dim discrowned king ol day :
For all those trophied arts
And triumphs that beneath thee sprang,
Heal'd not a passion ora pang
Entail'd on human hearts.
Go, let oblivion's curtain fall
Upon the stage of men,
“Nor, with thy rising beanie recall
Life’s tragedy again.
Its piteous pageants bring not back,
Nor waken flesh, upon the rack
Os pain apew to w ritlie ;
Stretch’d in disease’s shapes abhorr’d,
Or mow n in battle by the sword,
Like grass lieueath the scythe.
Even I am weary in yon skies
To w atch thy fading fire ;
Test ol all sum less agonies,
Behold not me expire.
My i.ps that speak thy dirge of death,
Their rounded gasp and gurgling breath
To ?ee, thou shall not boast,
Tim eclipse of Nature spreads my pall,
The majesty of darkness sli-tll
Receive my parting ghost!
This spirit shall retire to Him
‘1 hat gave its heavenly spark ;
Yet, think not, Sun, it shall be dim
[ When thou thyself art dark !
N'o! it shall live again, and shine
In bliss unknown to beams of thine,
By nun recall'd to breath,
W ho captive led captivity,
AV ho robb'd the grave of Victory—
And took the sting from Death !
Go, Sun, w bile Mercy holds thee up
On Nature’s awful w aste
To drink this last and bitter nip
Os grief that man shall taste —
Go, tell the night that hides thy face,
Thou saw'st the last of Adam’s race,
On earth's sepulchral clod,
The dark’ning universe defy
To i|ueucli his immortality,
Or shake Ills trust in God !
. AUTUMN FLOWERS
These few pale autumn flowers,
How beautiful they are ;
Than all that went before,
Than all the summer store,
How lovelier far !
And why f They are the last ?
The last, the last, the last !
Oh! by that little word,
How many thoughts are stirr’d
That w hisper of the past
I’ale flow ers ‘ pale perishing flowers !
Y'e are of precious things ;
Types of those hitter moments,
That flit like life’s enjoyments,
On rapid, rapid wings.
Last hours v itli parting dear ones,
That time the fastest speeds ;
Last hours in silence shed,
had words half uttered,
.Last look of dying friends—
A\ ho would not fain com press
A life into a day !
The last hours spent with one
Who, ere the morrow’s sun,
Must leave us for an age,
Oh ! precious, precious moments!
i’ale flowers, ye are the types of those,
The saddest, sweetest, dearest,
Because, like those, the nearest
To an eternal close.
Tale flowers, pale perishing flowers,
1 woo your gentle breath ;
(I leave the the summer Bose
i'or blither, gaverhfow s,)
A e tell of change and death l
siris
Interesting anecdote ot the celebrated captain
Smith, the Father of Virginia taken from
Unmshaw’s History of the t . States.
“ A character so distinguished in
the annals of Virginia; so marked
by nature, with those hold traits of
spirit and of genius ; arrests the
historian’s pen, and claims a more
than ordinary notice, a degree of
attention in some measure propor
tioned to the transactions with
which he is associated.
Capt. John Smith, the Father of
Virginia, was born of ancient fam
ily, in 1769 at Willoughby, in Lin
colnshire, and eduiated in the
schools of Alford and Louth. His
parents, who died w i en he was on
ly in his thirteenth year, left him a
small estate; which, however,
through his own want of economy,
and the inattention oi his guar
dians, soon became inadequate to
his support. He then accompanied
a son of the famous Lord Willough
by into France; ai d,after remain
ing there a short time, returned to
his relations, who gave him a few
shillings, out of his own estate, as
a sort of acquittance from any fur
ther demands. He next served,
for some years, in the low countries i
against the Spaniards. Thence pas-’
sin over into Scotland, he remain
ed there a short time amongst his
friends, but weary of the success
ive intemperance of company, in
which he had never felt delight, he
retired, with a faithful servant into
the midst ol an extensive forest,
and, on the margin of a little hrook,
entwined an arbor of boughs; in
which he lay, with no other bed
than leaves, no covering, except
his ordinary dress. His study con
sisted in Machiavel’s art of war,
and Marcus Aurelius; his exercise
a good horse, with his “ lance and
ring ;” his food, the deer, the ram
bling inhabitant of the woods. Sa
tiated, at length, by retirement, he
allowed himself again to intermin
gle in society, was again disgusted,
and entered a second time into the
wars against the Spaniards, but,
abhorring a contest, in which one
Christian was employed in the
slaughter of another, he determin
ed to use his sword in a cause more
congenial with his feelings. Ac
cordingli,after various misfortunes,
and extraordinary romantic adven
tures, he joined the Hungarian ar
my, at that time fighting under the
banners of Austria, against the
l urks. By his ingenious strata
gems, he contributed highly to his
partv's success; and when encamp
ed beiore the walls of Regall, in
Transylvania, he had an opportu
nity of distinguishing himself in a
most singularadventure. So much
time had been spent by the Chris
tians in erecting their batteries,
that the Turks were apprehensive
lest their enemv would depart with
out making an assault upon the
town, and thereby prevent them
from gaining honor in the repulse ;
an honor the more desirable, as
many ladies of exalted rank were
anxious observers of the siege, and
longed, after so much delay to see
“ some court-like pastime.” In that
chivalrous age, when every soldier
fought under the patronage of a fa
vorite mistress, to request was to
insure performance. A Turkish
Noble immediately challenged any
Captain of the besieging army to
single combat, “ for each other's
head.” The challenge was readi
ly accepted. The champion was
appointed by lot, and fate selected
the intrepid Smith. Ihe combat
soon commenced, and soon the
Turk paid the forfeit of his head :
—the ladies desirous of another
trial; and again the undaunted
Smith was rewarded with a head,
the request was repeated and the
issue was the same. Shortly af
terwards he aided in taking the
place by storm ; and for his former
exploits, which nothing but the
manners of the age can palliate, his
name was enrolled in the heraldic
ret orcls of Transylvania, with the
appropriate armorial beaiing of
three Turk’s heads.”
Anecdote of JUr lleckford, at Fonthill.
An anecdote illustrative of the
character of this singular individu
al, and of the strong curiosity which
the fame of his edifice, and its con
tents have induced, is told in the
neighborhood of Fonthill. A young
man, residing at some distance
from the Abbey, and, it would
seem, an ardent lover of antiqui
ties, had made repeated efforts to
get within the sacred boundary of
the domain, but without success.—
The Cerberus at the gate was in
corruptible, and lie was assured,
that any application to Mr. B. would
be useless. Determined, at all
hazards, to gratify his curiosity, he
at last, resolved to scale the wall,
and leave the rest to chance. With
some difficulty, and after patient
search, he at length lound a spot
which was accessible, and, at great
personal risk, gained the park.
He then proceeded, vvithjconsidera
ble caution, to the. Abbey, the ex
terior of which he began to exam
ine with wonder and He light-
Finding he was uninttrupted, and
observing a sort of death-like still
ness prevail, he grew more bold,
and ultimately approached the prin
cipal entrance, the construction of
which he was minutely examining, |
when a servant suddenly burst up-i
on him, and, in tones ol alarm, de-|
mnuded his busines. The young,
man stated the objectof his visit,
and offered a large bribe if he might j
be permitted to ascend the tower.
The servant assured him that it 1
was as much as his life was worth, j
to comply with his desire, and ad- j
vised, him if he v alued his own
safety, to retire, as speedily as pos
sible. Nothing dismayed, the in
truder persisted in his entreaties,
and was again repulsed, when, .to
the dismay of the servant, the gloo
mv master of the mansionapproach
eii, and, in rather gentler terms, re
peated the inquiries of tire domes
tic. The young man, at once dis
covered the importance of his in
terrogator, and, taking off his hat
stated the object of his visit, and
endeavored to excuse the presump
tion of his trespass. Mr. Becktord
in reply, said, he had certainly ta
ken a rather singular mode of hi eat
ing in upon his privacy ; neverthe
less, as he had gone so far, that his
labors should he still further re
warded, and, he would himself,
show him the object which proved
so attractive. Mr. Rockford then
accompanied him through every
| part of the magnificent pile, poin
ting out, as he proceeded, with the
j greatest politeness and urbanity,
! every thing worthv of notice, and
j intermixing, in their walk, a num
j her of the most amusing anecdotes,
| connected with the history ot the
1 different rarities which were pres
ented to their view. Finally, af
ter having taken the circuit of the
{building, they again reached the
hall, where Mr, Beckford,in a mo
t n.ent, disappeared from his unirv
i vited guest. Almost at the same
I instant in a rich livery, a servant
; approached,and, inviting the young
man to follow him, led him into a
j room splendidly furnished,in which
{ was spread, on massive plate ,acol
] lation for one person, which con-
I sisted of the most luxurious viands,
and which was rendered the more
j ac ceptable, by an abundance of the
‘choicest fruits, and French wines.
The \ oung man was desired to par
take, and he did so, with as much
freedom as he was solicited. Du
ring his meal, he was assiduously
waited on by the servant, who,
however, refused to answer a sin
gle inquiry relative to ihe eccentri
city of his master, or to the nature
and character of the visitors to that
scene of solitude.—Having at last
exhausted all pretence tor further
delay, he rose to depart, but, before
he quitted the room, he entreated
the servant to convey to his mas
ter, his sincere thanks for the un
deservedpoliteness with which he
had been treated. At this season,
Mr. Beckfortl again appeared, and.
on the young man’s attempting to
express his acknowledgments, he
requested he would desist; he ow
ed him, he said, no obligation; he
had found him under his roof, and
he felt it his duty to afford him the
rights of hospitality ; but, having
now gratified his wishes, he desir
ed he would retire. The man was
moved by his manner, and said,
that he had but one other fav or to j
ask, in addition to the many that!
he had conferecl upon him, and
; that was, that Mr B. would have
the kindness to send one of his i
servants down with him to the gate, *
to desire he might be permitted to]
depart; as from the difficulty he!
found in getting in, he was appre
hensive he would find it equally
difficult to get out. To his sur
prise and discomfiture, however,
Mr. Beckford thus replied— u No,
sir, as vou got in, you will please
to get out. In what I have done,
I have only conformed to the laws
of hospitality ; and, as you came
in an uninvited guest, you cannot
complain of being left to go as you
came ;” and he instantly quitted
him. We have only to conclude
: the anecdote by stating, that near
ily the whole night was spent in at
j tempts to climb the wall, before the
adventurer succeeded in gaining
the open country; and this he at
last effected, with the loss of the
skirt of his coat, and one of his
shoes We have heard, that per
sons, of the highest distinction,
have been refused admission to the
abbey.
Fonthill Abbey lias since been sold
to a Mr. Farquhar,says a London pa
per, by private contract for 350,0001.
Dear bought Keeper ence.
Bought experience is the best, they
say, if it is not bought too dear: but
l have known thousands of i nstances
in which it absolutely profit ed noth
in,r, though purchased at ail expens
ruinous and alarming. “ M ark that
pretty miller,” said my grandfather
one evening as we were reading by a
candle ; “ see how its wings si one and
how it darts and flutters about; it is
enraged at the candle, and is -determi
ned on a combat.” ‘Shall I catch it,
grand-pa ?’said l; ‘ no,’ he replied,
‘ vou would only kill it if you did, and
if you let it alone it will fly into the
candle itself and burn its wiags off;”
it happened just as he had said ; bounce
it went into the blaze, and fell trem
bling, fluttering, And expiring on the
table. ‘ Boor thing,’ said 1, * could any
thing be so silly!'—‘Ah!’ said ray
grandfather,‘ifyou look about you as
you grow older, you'll find many who
boast of reason playing at the same
game that has ruined the poor in
sect.’
1 was naturally of an inquisitive
! turn of mind, and could not rest un
! til l had penetrated to the bottom of
I every thing that interested me*, and
’ that I could comprehend. I did not
j understand precisely what my grand
father meant, and bore it constantly
on my mind, frequently pondering it
j over. When one evening, as l was
(driving the sheep to pasture, by star
j light, I saw a man staggering away
trom a still house, so much in liquor
that he kept his feet with the utmost
difficulty. The story of the miller
j came into iny mind—l remembered
j the remark of my good old grand-pa,
and thought I comprehended it at once.
Poor man, sa'ul I, he has been in the
candle.
Not long afterwards, I was sent to
collect a small sum of money, in a
distant town, and having to stay a
night at a tavern along the road, l took
my seat after supper among the nidi
in the bar-room who were drinking
beer, am! amusing each other with sto
ries. While there, a young buckish
looking fellow came in, and before long
got at gaming, and lost 20 dollars in a
few minutes— there is another fellow
in the candle, 1 exclaimed, as lie with
drew sheepishly through the back-door
and sneaked away home.
When l returned, Sam Pelt and the
constable with him was at the house.
Sam was pleading with my grandfa
ther to be his security for a sum of
money for which he had been sued.—
But he oulv got a small lecture on his
misconduct—and when he was gone,
the old gentleman observed, there goes
a chap who might have been wealthy
but for his villanous propensity to test
the payment of everv cent he owed at
the law ; the execution now out against
him will probably carry him to gaol,
and yet the original sum was hut two
dollars. He lias added cost to cost,
until, in maintaining the suit, he has
spent every cent he has, and now is
I unable to pay. “ Ah ha !” said I, * Sam
has been in the candle, has her’ My
grandfather acquiesced and I felt proud
at having discovered the meaning of
his observation.
Since that time I have almost daily
had the old story brought fiesh to my
mind.
j When I see a man abusing his wife,
his relations or his neighbours, l think
of the miller and the candle. He’s
in a fair way to burn his finger.
When I seen man getting above his
business, speaking contemptuously of
it, and neglecting it while he saunters
about the streets, I remember the mil
ler and the candle. Ten to one but he
gets singed in the end.
\\ hen I see a man pushing and sho
ving one way, and another, to get
into office himself, I think, good mail,
you may get through safe, but take
care! you arc buzzing among can
dles.
When l see a pretty, gay, sprightly
girl of sixteen, laughing and whisper
ing, and gigling, and playing Imp and
jump with every wild fellow who wants
to be her beau, I would like to speak
a word of caution to her—take care
you don’t get your pretty wings burn
ed—you are playing with a candle.
I would advise any one, friend or
foe, not to buy experience r.t a market
so dear as this. The commodity will
cost more than it comes to.
Oliver Oakwood.
Politeness may be said to be of two
kiuds, viz. native and acquired—to a
man of good heart, and cheerful dis
jiosition, good manners are intuitive
! and the possessor must ever be a po
lite and agreeable companion—on nt .
other hand, a man without any of those
essential requisites, may bec'., me t j ie
very “ pink of politeness,’’ c jp ler j, y
study, or long association with good
company whenever it is the case, it
becomes habitua’, and never is forgot
ten under any circumstances. I have
seen a man U very polished and agreea
Ide companion, when his better .aiflaid
dead ll* ins mansion, and although in*
loved her very tenderly, and regret
ted most sincerely Ins loss, yet, lie
could noth’ finitentivc to computis,
so strong was the ruling passion. 1
have seen Frenchmen in the last stage
of misery, veiy teaaciou- oi
good'breeding —I recollect one w
was in a dungeon in St. Domingo, ,
chains, and without the hope ofii’bei
tv to have said toa friend who \j s j.
ed. him, “present my love to Mida
with whom I am very much please’
But, in confirmation of what I h ;;
said, there is an old story on recon,
positively asserted to be true—it
of an Knglisffi Duke, who ha i
been in ill health, and who was visited
by a German Baron, a friend of his
when the duke, discovering his disso
lution was at hand, hurried to his ea
sy chair in a distantcorner of ih?rooin
begging, at the same time, the Barm's
•pardon for abruptly seperating hj m .
self from him, stated, that as he u,.
dying he hoped to be excused f, Jt
any unseemly grimaces that he
be guilty of making—to which tln
other, not a whit his inferior, reply
“ I beg your grace will not throw any
restraint on yourself, on my account;’
A member of that shrewd hut
highly respectable body, denomi
nated the Society of Friends, f ee ].
ing inclined, after a hard Hay’s
journey, to regale himself with *
glass of wine, requested the land
lord of the inn where he put up for
the night, to bring him a bottle of
his best red port, and to prevent
scruple s as to measure, to draw the
cork and decant in his presence!—
The order Boniface began imme
diately to obey ; but the bottle hap.
pening to burst and spill the wine,
while he was in the act of drawing
the cork, exclaimed, “curse the
bottle merchant for sending suck
an unsound bottle’” which latte:
circumstance caused the spirit of
the shrewd guest to move him to
say, “ Friend, do not curse thv hot
tie merchant; it is thy own fault,
Tor if thou wilt be so silly as t<*
jeratn a quart of wine into a botth
; that will not hold a pint and a half,
i thou must expect it to burst, there
i fore thou shouldest calmly put up
with thy loss, and not abuse thy
bottle merchant.”
The follow ing anecdote is said
to have actually occurred in the
[ western part of this State.—-An
1 agent soliciting subscribers for ffit
; life of Bonaparte, shevVed his pros
j pectus to a man, who read, “one
dollar in boards , or one dollar and
; twenty-five cents, in sheep.'” After
; considering fora moment, he re
j plied, that “when he should be
I called on for pay, he might not have
boards or sheep on hand, and he
would not subscribe.
N. V. Statesman.
A young lady being addressed
by a gentleman much older than
herself, observed to him that the
only objection which she had to an
uuion with him, was the probabili*
ty of his dying before her, ar,d let
ving her tor feel the sorrows of wid
owhood : to which he made the
following ingenious and delicate
complimentary reply : “ Blessed i:
the man that has a virtuous wife for
the number of his days shall b*
doubled.”
“ We are not worst at once— The
course of evil begins so slowly, and
from such slight sources, an infant’s
hand might stem its breach with clay-
But let the stream get deeper and |<li i
losophy, aye, and religion too, shall
strive in vain to stem the headlong tor
rent.”
If habits arc difficult to be eradica
ted, we cannot watch with too much
care the formation of any, which may
be inconsistent with our happiness.—
If we cannot conquer them withon*
the exercise of great forbearance Mid
self-command, let ns guard againfit
their first approach and much paw
and sorrow will be saved us. Let us
ever recollect, that if once, we suffer
them to be formed we may not have
resolution tosubdue them. It, must. I'-’
misery indeed to go down to the pr
with our conscience burther
the humilia ting truth, th t We *|, aV c no f
exerted the power ;, t becoming better.
• llr 'uts shoe (f j g ua ,.d with great cm ’
t .ie habits of their children. The con
sciuu.sness ol having neglected to brie?
tip our children in the practice ot yu”
tue and goodness, must be a very p al
ful reflection to one who thinks arigh”
I’o us they are indebted for life. b" r
life is a poor gift without moral pri C1 ’
ple. The situation of a parent is ur-c
of great responsibility. Their o" 11
and their children’s happiness dep-’ |iU
on the manner of acquitting tliemsel v”
of this trust. .Society is interested
that we should give to them use! ‘
and upright members, and if we shorn 11
ie disappointed in our efforts, we h a “
e best consolation that this wot 1
gives us, the performance of duty.
Plymouth Memorial-