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The Anderson intelligencer. (Anderson Court House, S.C.) 1860-1914, October 18, 1860, Image 1

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From the PcnUnular Gazette.
Flirtation.
This is emphatically" the ago of flirta?
tion. Marriage has become an institution
1.00 old fashioned for anybody to patron?
ize. The demand for white kid 'doves
has diminished, and lho milliner's chance
for selling that lovely bridal hat. has
"grown small by 'degrees and beautifully
less."
Well, we will .now ask who is '.<> be
blamed. Nol ?ja^Jtuv^ganty?ungman j
Ussome dedaimei-s* would have us belioVc. .
No indeed, the .sin ruu>i rest upon the
shoulders of female flirts.
Now this is a bold, assertion 1 know.
Und I imagine now, that I can almost see
some half-dozen young ladies sharpening
their wits and pens to take me down for
saying so, and 1 guess that their argu?
ments will be, that men are more prone
to this evil than women.
"Well, suppose we do flirt, and I own
that we do; we have learned it from such
as you. No true man is a flirt until dis?
appointment makes him one, and then
loosing all faith in every thing, he un?
wisely ^determines to make others suffer
for the pang at his own young heart
which can never more leave it. Nature
did not make him so. The heart must
first be poisoned by having its affections
called forth, and then thurst back upon
?itself to wither ere he proves false to the
""??claTes of 'i^i^^nt^iV^y^tiKC^??. .
Now who is this female flirt ? Not that
man-killer whom we meet at the water
places or in the ball room, whose polished
brow, spotless cheek,*"faultless heaving
bosom and cArlcd hair?brushed with
great pains, and covering, perhaps a
thimble full of brains, all proclaim in
trumpet tones the coquette. Nor is it
this young hopeful, Wh\t suffers you to
drive her out of evenings?hand her up
the steps, or hold .her parasol?present
Tier with rose-buds, or twine her fan so
elegantly?buy peaches for her on the
cars?pick up her lallen gloves?hand her
to her carriage, &c.
While she flatlcrs vor. incessantly?
comparing your eyes to' stars, und your
lips to rose-buds. You receive her atten?
tions for what they are worth, you lay no
Stress on her hifalutin compliments, but
swallow them as a dose nauseating at the
time, but producing no future bad effect.
You understand her, and her arrows
fall to the ground without so much as
reaching your heart._ This creature should
not be called a flirt. In fact.-evcry body
knows her to be simply a lady of honor.
I rather like your man-killer for she
has never killed any~bpdy yet, and very
likely never will. She is convenient, for
she helps to kill time, and while she fan?
cies she is slaying your, heart she is only
helping to murder your tedious hours.
But the genuine flirt] is not known as
such. The enigma of her profession is
not written upon her brow; she is not.
known as a coquette, for she <?oes about
her work quietly?keeps up her reputa?
tion and is generally known as a lady.
You form her acquaintance in some quiet
fcparlor, and she at once, murk - yO'ti fur
her victim, particularly it'you arg just
from school [or fresh from the country
She begins by telling you that she detest
coquetry in "every form and WrhsH. thai
she seldom goes to balls, pic-nicks. A c.
because not being able to flatter or flirt,
she is not a favorite. Her manner is so
delicate and yet so marked that our vani?
ty is pleased. She does not tell you that
she is happy to be in yo\w . compairy. or
that your voice is sweet. Oh, oh no, she
understands her business to well for that.
She monopolises yonv attention, she
effectually keeps yoc from visiting oth- J
ers, she. ^seldom visits any V.^welL-Jjp--1
cause that is not her game. She plays
her cards well, for her only object is to
make you believe that you are all the
?world to her. . She will never tell you
that she loves you, but site will use words
the. enigma of which you can take in any
sense that you please. Sho will talk of
love, read lovo poems, sigh softly, and
look at you. She will mark every bright
' ning of the eye, every flush of the check
and every tremor of the lip. She knows
exactly what to say, and how much to
say, and when to say it. In fact she nev?
er commits herself, and her tendcrost
sentences are so carefully worded that
?aul Piy himself could make nothing of
tiem. She teaches you, the language of
tic eye, and knows exactly when a shot
h'ts told. I must say that I think this
w?man would make a good surgeon, for
sh> can look upon the death throes of
hei victims unmoved. Sho makes the
hunan lieart a study, and knows exact?
ly bj tho expression of your eye, what
emotion is moving you. Well, weeks
glide on, and madam rumor says that
you are engaged, and what is more, sho
know* it, but does not oare a fig. What
is it ti her if she is keeping you away
from ithers who would perhaps mean
mk i
something? And when she feels confi?
dent that sho has won your love, she
veils herself under the mask of friend?
ship, and merely calls 3'ou her friend.
Having become the mistress of your heart
she will then slide away gradually, leav?
ing the trail of the serpent over all your
dreams of happiness. Sho is blameless.
The world would call hors?. You nev?
er addressed her. Site never spoke of any
thing warmer than friendship. And now i
while your happiness is sacrificed to her
egregious vanity, she walks the earth
proudly ami perhaps blameless in the
eyes ?f $o< icty, where loving looks and
accents endearing count for nothing, hut
nay, not all the waters of the Atlantic
could wash that sin from her soul.
Now I ask what becomes of the victim;
Does he pine away and die? No. Men
have died and the worm's have eaten
them, but not for love. A fate worse,
than death is his. He finds himself like
the miser who goes to sleep fancying his
treasures safe, and wakes to find himself
pennyless. He has trusted all, the fatal
die is cast, and he has been deceived ; he
makes one woman the standard of all,
and when she falls from the pedestr.l
where fancy has pictured her, he then
looses faith in everything, his trust in wo?
man is gone, his soul is poisoned, and he
becomes'what true gentlemen and ladies
alike despise.
But when I sec him in the bajl-ro?m,
the center oCa tlo-ya^as hear! less as him?
self, and when I hear his hu .' ringing
laugh and heartless jest, and when*!] look
on the brow which blushes no more, and
on the practiced eye which smiles but to
deceive; yes, when I see him I arcing oth?
ers on to the rock where he himself was
wrecked, and glorying in the epithet of
heart lessness, I sigh because a noble na?
ture is rained, and to go back to the time
when he was young and innocent, and
lay the blame on her who. all hough the
first to cry out agaiiisl him, made him just
what, now is.
I admit now thafho is wrong, but he
has in the first ph/cc been most shameful?
ly and cruelly wronged, and by one of the
same sex, whom he now glories in de?
ceiving. It was from her that he learned
his first lesson in deception; and now let
me ask, that vhile you despise their ways,
that yon also pity them.
:?-?*k
HAiTixrss.?It is hard to form a true
estimate of any man's happiness* because
happiness depends most upon those things
which lie most out of sight. Those joys,
like those sorrows, are most real, dee])
and strong, which run on in a silent
strean without making any noise : such
are the joys which arise from eas}- reflec?
tions, moderate desires, and calm content.
"We see the false glare of greatness
wlu'ch surrounds some men, and are apt
to gaze at it with a foolish face of won?
der. But we see not tho.se miseri'es which
sometimes lurk beneath these pompous
appearances.
What avail al! the pomp and parade of
life; which ai*pear abroad; if, when we
shift the gaally flattering scene, the man
is unhappy yher? happiness, like charity,
musi bei^n it home? Whatever inirredi
1 en is pi' Mistf-Proyidciico may have poured
into his cup. domestic iiii.-i.>ri.unes will
render the whole com post lion disiustei'td.
Fortme and happiness are two very dis?
tinct ideas of life, and a wrongness of
thinl/ing. may confound them.
K:r better is a dinner of herbs where
lov< is than a stalled ox, and hatred there
wbh. That is, it is better to have peace
wthout plenty, than plenty without
pac1. That, where there but a slender
subsistence, yet an uninterrupted intcr
-^iui^re^^j^^y^^ among
those of the saineMaih*tly,*iiiij<ur io u nra^. ?
solid satisfaction than to fare sumptuous
ly every day. or to live in great and pom?
pous buildings, great and noble apart?
ments, everything great, hut, perhaps the
owners themselves.
Industry.?Every young man should
remember that the world always has and
always will honor industry. The vulgat
and useless idler whose energies of mine;
ami body are rusting for the want of ex?
ercise, the mistaken being who pursues
amusements as relief to his enervated
muscles, or engage in exercises that pro
dticc no useful end. may look with scorr
on the laborer engaged in his ton); but lijj
scorn is praise; Ids conlcmpl ;s an honor,
Honest iudustry will secure the respect o
the wise and the good among men. am
yield the rich fruit of an easy conscience!
and give that hearty sell-respect which ii
above all price. Toil on, then. ypun<j
men and young women. .Be diligent h
business. Improve the heart and tin
mind, and you will find " the well spring
of enjoyment in your own souls," and se?
cure the confidence and respect or' al
those whose respect is worth an effort b
obtain.
Aaron Burr as an Orator.
Few public speeches have produced a
more marked und decided effect upon the
audience, than the address of Mr. Burr, on
taking leave of the Senate, in 1805. lie
appeared before them under circumstances
not the most favorable to success. The
prejudices of hjs hearers were against him,
f?tjthe most part strongly so. He was
i known to be man of almost unbounded
, ambition, bid had aspired to the highest
' ofiice. in the gift of the nationj and had.
failed to secure it. His prospects were j
bliglfted. His political career was now to {
I terminate. Leaving "the Senate, lie ivas
; to bid adietij at the same time, to all hopes
! of political distinction, and retire to pri?
vate liie. a disappointed man. Not mere?
ly this. JIe was known, moreover, to be
a man of u little principle, whether polit
eal, moral, or religious?? selfish man.
; whose own will- was his only law, and
who in the pursuance ol* his chosen plans
and enterprises, suffered no consideration
of right or honor to impede Iiis progress.
He had been from the first a marked man
?not more by his splendid abilities than
by the distrust with which the more pru?
dent and sagacious statesmen of that age
regarded his course. Washington had re?
ceived him when a youth, among his per?
sonal followers and aids, but never gave
him his confidence. There was on him,
at the time of which wo speak, a still
deeper disgrace. Hardly a year had
elapsed since, on slight provocation, he
h.m] challenged one of the most pure
minded statesmen of the age to mortal
combat, and quenched the figiu <>C that
noble life. His country had not forgotten
nor forgiven the death of Hamilton.
Under all these disadvantages, Burr
rose to make his parting address to the
Senate. And such was the art and power
ol' his address, as not only, for the time,
completely to divest his hearers ol' their
personal prejudices against himself, but
entirely to enlist their sympathies, and
win their admiration. The effect, as de?
scribed by one who was present, was over?
powering and most wonderful. '"The
whole Senate were in tears, and so un?
manned that it was half an hour before
they could recover themselves sufficiently
to come to order, and ehoo.se a Vice Pre?
sident pro tern.
"At tlie President's. on Monday, two of
the Senators were relating these circum?
stances to a circle which hail collected
around them ;?one said he wished that
the tradition might be preserved as one of
the most extraordinary events he had
ever witnessed; another Senator, being
asked, the next day that on which Mr.
Burr took his leave, how long ho was
speaking, after a moment's pause, said he
could form no idea?it might have been
an hour and it might have been but a mo?
ment ; when he came to his senses he
Seemed to have awakened from a kind of
trance."
Taking into view all tho circumstances,
would probably !>e difficult to find on re?
cord a ease; more full cxhibithjg the power
of t rue eloquence.
-^
Women Ci?ixO to Bkd.?Some fine
writer gives the following as the manner
in which.a young lady goes to bed :
"'When bed time arrives she trips up
stairs*w1th fi candle in hand, and if she
Had pleasant com;.any during the evening,
with some agreeable ideas in her head.
The caudle On the toilet, and her luxuri?
ant, hair speedily emancipated from the
thraldom of combs and pins. 11' she usu?
ally wears ?? water curls," or uses the
" iron." her hair brushed very carefully
from her forehead, and the whole com?
pletely secured; if not. why then her
lovely tresses are soon hid in innumerable
. bits of paper. The task accomplished, a
night cap appears, it may be with plain
muslin, or pcrlTapv, with heavy lace; which
hides all save her sweet countenance?A_s^
soon as she tics the strings, sbc pobably
takes a peep in the glass, and half smiles,
and blushes at what she sees. The light
is out?her, fair, delicate form gently
presses the couch, and like a dear, inno?
cent, lovely creature as she is, falls gently
to sleep, with a smile on her still sweeter
face.
Wo don't approve of the description,
and feel safe in saying thai the young
lady at least takes olf her shoes and
stockings, and becomes separated from
her hoops civ her form presses the couch.
The Milwaukee Daily Advertiser thus
j Minis up on the Hanging question :
" After a careful consideration of all the
arguments for and against capital punish?
ment, we have come to the conclusion that
toe - debt of nature' should never be paid
if it can't be collected without an execu
[tion,."
-~~rT-'
George Colmau being once asked, if he
knew Theodore Hook?"0, yes." was his
reply, " Hook and 1 (eye; arc old associ?
ates."
i
A Kind "Word.
Is it not easy spoken
Ah tlic word that givcth pain?
May not friendship's chain when broken,
Ue by its kindness linked again ?
Nay, while light ar.d joy impressing,
Truth and rectitude accord,
Fraught with every sovereign blessing.
In the kind, forgiving word !
Shall the heaving breast of ocean
To the spring mild gale concede'.'
And the heart of wild emotion,
.Breathing kindliest;, scorn to heed ?
Xo, the tender thought revealing,
That no anguish can impart,
Language, eloquent of feeling,
Cannot fail'to reach the heart!
Tuneful voices?were they lent us,
With the music charms of love.
That should folly e'er incent us,
They might like our passions prove?
Christians li ving one another,
Meek and gentle, of one mind?
Brother! dost thou love thy brother ?
Speak, oh, speak uuto him kind.
-o
Triflos.
A cloud may intercept the sun,
A web by i lscct workers spun
Preserve the life within the frame,
Or vapors take away the same.
A grain of sand upon the sight
May rob a giant of his might !
Or needlepoint let out his breath,
And make a banquet-meal for Death.
How often, at a single word,
The heart with agony is stirred,
The ties thai years could not have riven,
Are scattered to the winds of heaven,
A glance, that looks what lips would speak,
" Wi)l speed the pulse and blanch the cheek ;
And thoughts; nor looked, nor ye! exprcst,
Create a chaos in the breast.
A smile cf hope from those we love
May be a n angel from above ;
A whispe red welcome in our cars
Be as the music of the spheres.
The pressure of a gentle hand
Worth all that glitters in the land;
Oh ! trifles aro not what they arc,
But fortune's ruling voice ami star.
-
Life.
IIV THOMAS MOORE.
Wiiu. that surveys tins span of earth we press?
This speck of life in time's great wilderness,
This narrow isthmus 'twixt two boundless seas,
The past, the future?two rrlrcmi'ier?
Would sully the bright spot, or leave it bare.
When he might build him a proud temple there,
A name, that long shall hallow all its space.
Ami be each purer soul's .high resting place?
Hon..?Tlu- last refuge of man is hope.
When tfliictions come upon him fast anil
thick- when care feVcra his brain and
sorrow gnaws his heart; when the tide
of misfortune has prtrted the last cord
that held his bark to her moorings, and
the sound of its parting sinks like a death
knell into his inmost soul, awakening all
its sympathies to the fearful reality of the.
moment?the intensity ot excitement
gives way to a burst of anguish, a bitter
tear of disappointment, or to the more
strange, uncontrolable, yet silent power,
despondency. Biit il is lor a moment
only?one convulsive throb?one long
draw.i, heart-heaved sigh, and it is all
over?a flush passes over tliu heart like
the fleeting sun-shadow of an April day,
and Tope, the divine prince ofcheats, the
?lorious emperor of deceivers sits, smiling
on it> throne'.
And so, not satisfied with having been
belboled a thousand times ten thousand
Mines before; not content to wipe away
the :ear of sad and melancholy disappoint?
ment that has just been made to gush
from the fount of life's feelings; not ima.
giniag that the scene of sorrow ihrotlgji
which he had just passed, could be enac?
ted ovo'* again, and that the same foot
thai spurned him can spurn him again?
he foils down and worships its light as the
Persian kneels to the sun-god of his soul's
idolatry:?
*^ii.'e hope for life even in its latest hour,
We hope for health when sickness fast draws near,
Wc hope for freedom when in skrv-cr^yiower:
Wc hope for courage when assailed by fear ;
Wc hope for all the sweetest joys of life,
When most afilictcd with its deepest strife."
-?
Manners of Younu Ladies.?In en?
deavoring to avoid everything like dis?
play, young ladies, especially, should be
careful not fall into the opposite extreme
?that of prudery. There is more sincer?
ity, if there be less nicety, in the conduct
of a really virtuous woman, than t here is
in that of a prude, and some degree of free?
dom so far from being incompatible with
the strictest virtue, is one of its principal
privileges. If a lady is obliged to receive
company en dishabille, it is a sign of bet
good breeding if she appears perfectly at
ease, and makes little or no apology .t'ot?
her appearance. A person who changes
her manner with her garb must be innate?
ly vulgar.
-o-.?
A lady being asked her opinion about
moustaches, replied, i;I always set my
face against them."
Benjamin "West.
Benjamin West, tho celebrated painter,
was born in 1738, in Springfield, near
Philadelphia, of Quaker parents. At the
age of seven he begun to manifest his
pictorial talents, by sketching, with pen
and ink. a sleeping infant with which he
was entrusted. From some indians he
obtained red ami yellow, and his mother
gave him some indigo; and to supply the
want of camel's hair pencils, he clipped
the fur of the cat. He was allowed to
follow the bent of his genius, arid, im?
proving as he tidvunced in years, he be- .
came a portrait painter, and produced
some meritorious historical pictures. In
his twenty-second year he visited Italy,
and. after remaining there some time, he
settled in England, in 1703. He soon ac?
quired a reputation abroad, and his
patron, Archbishop Drummoiid, intro?
duced him to George the Third, who im?
mediately gave him a commission to paint
the "Death of Kegulus," and continued
ever afterwards to employ him. In 1701,
he was appointed President of the Royal
Academy. Among his last aud perhaps
best works, are "Death on the Pale
Horse," and "Christ^Healing the Sick."
America could furnish this wonderful
artist with no specimens of the sublime
and beautiful, either iu statuary or paint?
ing; of course, when he arrived in Eng?
land, great curiosity was excited as to the
effect which some of those stupendous
works <if art would produce upon his
mind. A magnificent Apollo was first
shown him. where the god was represent?
ed with bow and arrow, in all the intense
eagerness of the chase. There was a
lite, a vitality about it. which West had
TTf'ver before seen. He raised his hand in
astonishment, and trite to all his earliest
associations, he exclaimed. "My (lodJJiow
like a young Mohawk warrior!"
Mr. West met with-munificent patron?
age in England, but "he always retained
a strong and unyielding affection for his
native land." The countenance of the
King nobly bestowed upon this highly
gifted American, could not- fail to excite
envy among his courtiers. A malicious
individual, knowing his partiality lor the
laud of his birth, resolved to make him
give some unguarded proof of it which
would be unpleasing to his majesty, in?
censed as ho then was against the Amer?
ican colonies. With an air of much .sat?
isfaction, he one day informed the King
that the Americans had ?let with a most
disastrous defeat, and turning to Mr.
West, he exultingly asked, '"How do you
like these tidings, sir?" Mr. West, bow?
ing low to his majesty^ answered, ," I am
a loyal and grateful subject to my king,
but I can never rejoice at any misfortune
which befalls my native land." "A noble
reply," said his sovereign; "and I assure
you, Mr. West, no man will ever fall in
my estimation, because he loves his coun?
try."
Mr. West retained his love for America
to the day of his death; and he refused
immense sums for some of Iiis most mag?
nificent pictures, which he painted as af?
fectionate gifts to the public .institutions
of his native State. He died in 1820. ?
Beautiful Extract.?One fountain
there is, whose deep lying vein has only,
just begun to tht'ow up its silver drops
afiiong mankind?a fountain which will
allay the thirst of millions, and will givo
to those who drink from it, peace and joy.
It is knowledge ; fountain of intellectual
cultivation, which gives health to man?
kind?makes clear the vision, brings joy
to his life, and breathes over his soul's
destiny a deep repose. Go and drink
therefrom, thou whom fortune has not fa?
vored, and thou wilt soon find thyself
rich! Thou mayest go forth into the
world, and find thyself evorywhore at
home; thou canst cultivate in thy own
little chamber; thy friends arc ever round
thee, and carry on wise conversations
with thee : nature, antiquity, heaven, are
accessible to thee! The industrious kiug
dTmT*(nM^Ai-ajit, the works of man, the
rainbow, and mnsTe^Ss^cct cltpi-ds. offer
to thy soul hospitality.?Fredereka Bremer?
-??
The Rev. E-?. who lived not a thou?
sand miles from Portland, was preparing
his discourse for the next Sabbath. Stop?
ping occasionally to review what ho had
written, and to erase that which he was
disposed to improve, he was accosted by
his little son, who had numbered but three
summers?
i; Father, does God tell vou what to
preach?"
;- Certainly, my child."
;,Theu xcliat makes yon scratch it out?"
-*
Ciiilduood.?There are seasons often
in the most dark or turbulent periods of
life, when we are suddenly called from
ourselves bythe remembrances of child?
hood ; something touches tho electric
chain?and 16! a host of shadowy and
sweet recollection? steal upon us.
A Beautiful Character.
'?A just man is always simple. 'He is a
man of direct aims and purposes. There
is no complexity in his motives, and
thonce. there is no jarring or discordancy
in his character. He wishes to do right,
and in most cases he docs it; he may err,
but it is by mistake of judgment, and not
by perversity or intention. The moment
his judgment is enlightened, his action is
corrected. Setting before himself, always-,
a clear and worthy end, ho will never
pursue it by any concealed or unworthy
means. We may carry our remarks for
illustration, both into private and public
life. Observe such a man in his home;
there is a charm about him, which no ar?
tificial grace has ever had the power to
bestow; there is a sweetness. T had al?
most said a music in his manners,? which
no sentimental refinement has ever given.
His speech, ever fresh from purity and
rectitude of thought, controls all that are
within its hearing, with an unfelt and yet
resistless sway. Faithful to every do?
mestic, as to his religion and his God, he
would no more prove recreant to any
loyalty of home, than he would blas?
pheme the Maker in whom he believes,
or than he would forswear the Heaven in
which he hopes. Fidelity and truth to
those bound by love and nature to .his
heart, are to him most sacred principles;
they arc in the last recesses of his moral
being, they are embedded in the life of
his life, and'to violate them, or-even
think of violating' them, would seem to
him spiritual oxterminntion?thc suicide of
his soid. Nor is such a man unrewarded,
for the goodness that he largely gives, is
largely paid back to him again; and
though the current of his life is transpa?
rent, it is not shallow; on the contrary,
it is deep and strong. The river that
tills its channel, glides smoothly along in
the powert^"its course; it is the stream,
which scarcely covers the ruggedness of
its bed. that is UirTJuient and noisy. With
all this gentleness there is exceeding force;
with all'this meekness,-there'is impern>
live command; but the force is the force
of wisdom; and Hie command is the
command of love. And yet the authori?
ty which rules so effectually, never gath?
ers an angry or'an irritable cloud:over
the brow of the ruler; and^this sway
which admits of no resistance, does not
repfessjpthe honest impulse of nature, one
moment of the soul's high freedom, one
bound of joy from the heart's unhidderi
gladness, in the spirits of the governed;"
-
" TuouonTFUL^ Kindness.?'It is- very
easy, oftentimes, to do an act of kindness
impulsively, and on the s2mr ?f an occa?
sion. And as so done, it may bo often
both useful and gratifying to the recipient;
may confer a real favor, and merit thanks
and the feeling of gratitude. Bnt how
much more beautiful and nohlctta^his,
and how much sweeter, and happ^^^I
total influence on life and characte'r.*^..
that kindness which is thoughtful, con
sideratc,">nticipatory; which busies itseH
with contributing to the good of others,
which-thinks beforehand what their wants
are to be.'and how they may be met most
pleasantly and efficiently; which 'thus
sows the seeds of liappiness and progress
along the commonest waysides of life ami
shods an influence of refreshment 'and
peace on all the circle. To such a friend,
the affections turn with an 'attachment
whicli is full, overflowing, most ultimate.
Around such, grow up ine^faTn'eTali^elltts--.
tiful associations, and grateful memories."
For such friends, there is nothing -we
would not bear, or attempt to accomplish.
They arc enshriued in. our warmest and
sweetest affections; and heaven itself
takes a new charm from the hope, of thore
meeting and communing.with them, for?
ever:?Exc
The Death of the Just.?Sublinv: ..ro
are the words, "Blessed are the dead who
' die in the Lord!"; Would it be brcUgi.oys
to say, " Happy are the. dead who dk>,be?
loved!" Their fond and ardej^>iiearta
had iij3yjxJ?r>r^fr--^iillcd by the witheHng*'
ifflTTld of infidelity and ingratitude. They
died in an ecstatic dream of perfect bliss
on earth, and never were a wakened lotho
world's mocking realities! They diet when
tiny felt and believed in their heart of
hearts that they were dearly beloved?
could- not be loved more deeply; with that
conviction death in a worldly acceptation
can never be untimely. Probably they
died still sufficiently animated by a latent,
lingering spark of life, to press the hand
that was so often linked in mutual pres?
sure in happy days?to feel the burning
tear of anguish drop on the pale cheek
to hear the sad, the awful last word,
adieu!?an expression that habit lias re
dered trivial, but which bears'withj^j*|
the teuderest solicitude tbo moi
meaning, since, in pronot
all that we cherish ur
ai:d safeguard of God!

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