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‘.r> ‘l* ’D * V* vJT A J> -* * life# h^PS* 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-