Newspaper Page Text
haughty surprise. lie now i’uur.il that tin: only
step which remained for him was to endeavour to make a second impression on her renovated heart; but he failed. There was still some mys i lerious influence which attached their minds, ! but the alliance on her part had totally changed its former tone, and when she did permit her | thoughts to dwell upon him, it was rather with ’ aversion than esteem; and her family, after ' long cneoun ging his addresses, at length per- : suaded him to forego his suit,which.with a hea vy, hopeless heait.he assented to, and bade her ; adieu. JhttJhc ilye of hi - fortune, was cast; lie could iio Irfflger walk heedlessly by those, scenes where he had spent hours of happiness, and he felt that, wander where he might, that happi ness could never return. At length, to crown his misery, the last ray of hope was shortly af ter shaded hy the marriage of Ins mistress. — W-now abandoned every prospect at home, i and, in order to shake oil that melancholy j which was gathering like iust around Ins heart, : went to the Continent ; but change of scene is but acb/nge of ill to those who mu-t bear with them the cause of their sorrow, and find within that aching void the world can never till. He hurried in vain from one scene of excitement to i anolh$; society had no spell to soothe his me- j mory, and change no charm to lull it; “ Still slowly pass’ll the melancholy da\, And still the stranger wist not where to stray.’’ At length he joined the cause of the struggling Greeks, ami his name has been often and hn- j norahly mentioned among the companions of Lord Byron at Missolonghi. After his lord- ! ship’s death he still remained in Greece, hut his constitution was too weak to he of active ser vice as a Palikari. He had, therefore, taken a post in the garrison, which held possession of the castle and town of Navarino, in the Morea, and was wounded in the action of Ephacteria, in the summer of lS-Jn. The unskilful manage ment of a native surgeon during his confine ment in the fortress, previous to his surrender to Ibrahim Pacha, and a long and dangerous sickness from the malaria of Pylos, combined with scanty diet and had attendance from his Greek domestics, united with his broken spirit to bring on a rapid consumption. It was under these circumstances that Mr R-, who now accompanied him, had found him in a village in the district of Maiha, and had since paid him every attention in his power. By cautious man agement and gentle voyages he had brought him to Hydra, where he was enabled to procure him a passage in a French vessel, from whence he hoped to find a British ship to land him in England, where his last moments might he watched by friendly eyes, and his bones rest wilh his fathers The particulars of this inhos pitable reception I have already recounted; hut we at last saw him lived under the care of an old French otlicer at Smyrna, who engaged to pay him every requisite attention, till he should depart for Europe, or for another world.” “The following day we called to see \Y-. but we found that h’ nan sympathy would “ooti cease for him; the step of death was already on the threshold. The surgeon of H M. S Cam brain had been to sec him. hut all prospects of his surviving had lied. The fatigue ol his re mnval from the vessel, his exposure to (lie sun in (he boat whilst landing, and Ins annoyance at the inn, seemed to have hurried down (In few remaining sands of his gl|g|||||nd he felt •She is it present the wife of a gentleman of emi nence at the Irish bar. Ic.msell that time was drawing to a close with him. lie was | i ifcc'ly collected, and as fully !i' he could, w as giving Ids last directions to his li iend, who had so generously attended him ; he spoke much of Iiis family, and gave particular messages to each, pointing out to K—— the various little trinkets he wished to send them as dying memorials of himself; a ring which he i still wore on his linger, and which bore the in- j scription,“ To the memory of my dear mother,'’ ' he desired might he buried with him, together ' with a locket which was suspended from his ] neck, and contained a lock of raven hair ; he did not mention whose. liut words could not paint the expression of his countenance, nor the •sad sublimity of voice, when for the last time, he feebly grasped the hand of his affectionate friend, thanked him for all his former kindness, and hade him his last mortal farewell; he short Iv after sank into an apparently painless lethar gy, Irom which lie never aroused himself. It was evening before he died; there was not a breath of wind to wave the branches of the peach trees around his window, through which the sun beams were streaming on his death-bed, tinger with the golden dyes of sunset. It was in a rem >te corner in Smyrna, and no sound dis turbed the calm, silent progress of death ; the sun went down at length behind the hills; the clear, calm voice of the Muezzin from his tow er came from the distant city, and again all was repose. We approached the bed of \V-, hut his soul had bade adieu to mortality; he had expired but a moment before, without a sigh and without a struggle.'' “ The following day the remains of poor W. were interred in the English burying ground.— The fen- travellers at the moment in Smyrna, attended, and the Janissaries of the Consul pre ceded the coffin, which was bourne by four sai lors, covered with tin English ensign.’On a soli tary corner of the ccnientiy, beside a group of cypresses, his grave was dug by the attendant ol the Hritish hospital; and his last remains rested hy those countrymen who have fallen victims to the climate of the Levant. Mr A rundel, the chaplain to the factory, read the service of the church over his tomb; and per haps never was pronounced under more melan choly circumstances, beneath the calm, bright sky of Asia, on an eminence which looked down on the bustle of the city, but was far removed from its din and clamor, and disturbed by no sound save the sigh of his friend, the hum of the glittering insects fluttering in the sunshune, and the hollow rattle of the clay on the receptacle of the wanderer's dust.” The following fiiIn is from the pen of the Edi tor of the New York Chrystal Hunter: THE BOY WITH THE GOLDEN LOCKS. And there was, too, in that same hark, A fattier and his son. // A'. White. He watch’d it wistfully, until away ’ t was borne by the rude wave,w herein ’twas cast; Then he himself went down. Bvron. Mr. Albert was an Englishman who had mar ried a delicate woman, possessed of amiable manners. It was an union of love; and Mrs. Albert had the misfortune to find her husband's pecuniary circumstances in a declining; state prior to the period of giving birth to a first child. A knowledge of Mr. Albert^ difficulties preyed upon the fine mind of the wife, and brought on a premature illness. A noble, blue-eyed boy, beheld a father’s face ; but at the same moment, a mother’s spirit sought :i sphere for whioh her parity and amia hie mariners had entitled her. It would he idle to say Mr. Albert did not mourn, and useless to describe his grief. ’The fond heart of a sorrowing husband experiences a dreadful void. Feeling acutely the loss of his wife, and the derangement of his affairs, Mr. Albert determin ed to leave his little living treasure in the care of a kind maiden aunt, sad for the shores of A merica, and try to gain, by his talents and in dustrv, a settled borne for himself and his boy. Only three years passed over his head before he realized his wishes; and, with an anxious heart, lie sought again the British shore, to re reive his child, and carry him to the land of It herty. Mr. Albert could not refrain from a fa ther's and widowed husband’s tears, when he “ called hack the tangles” of the fair hoy’s bright locks, and saw, in his laughing eyes, a resemblance of his sainted mother. \\ hen Mr. Albert got on board the vessel, which was bound for the western continent, oh, how he watched each look, smile, and tear o‘ the child with the golden locks! Never did the first Adam nurture a plant of Paradise with more fondness than this father cherished his on ly son. ; l lie Jmtisti channel is always a dangerous one to vessels, especially in the winter season— and it was at that time of the year Mr. Albert and his fair haired boy left Albion’s Isle. Hut the ship bravely rode the waves, and “ walked the waters like a thing of life.” The captain had the pleasure of safely passing Cape Clear, (the most southern point of Ireland,) and was soon enabled to get all that a seaman, possess ed of a good vessel, requires-plenty of sea room. Mr. Albert did not leave the side of his little child during the period of sea-sickness; but, with all the intense anxiety so beautifully dis played in a mother's love, the father watched the feverish form, and ministered to every little fancy. The boy was naturally strong, and he soon shook off this universal troubler of all per sons unused to sea. And then did he display those beautiful wild flights and innocent joys which a father's sight enjoys, and with which every kind of disposition is gratified. The lit tle merry fellow became a favourite with the captain, officers, and even the very crew. ft was upon a bright day, when" the ship was sailing a southerly direction, that the child stoic from the cabin, f lis father was occupied at the time in listening to an account of the perils en countered by the captain upon a former voyage. The. boy climbed up the side of the ship, and stooped over her bulwarks for the purpose of looking down upon the broad waves. A fright ful situation !! “ Your bright haired boy has gone up the ca bin stairs,” said the captam to the father. Mr. Albert immediately ascended to the deck ; and all the blood of hischpek shrunk to hi&heart w hen he saw the situation of his son. But the boy gave him no time to think, for, partly turning round his neck, and taking his small hands f rom their resting place, he attempted to wave his father towards him. At that moment, a sea struck the opposite side of the vsssel—the boy lost his balance—he fell into the black water, and a huge billow dis played him upon its swelling back ! The wretched father uttered a dreadful shriek and sprang over the bulwark into the sea. The man at the helm was the only person at that time upon deck. He instantly left the wheel, ran down tte cabin stairs, and with a trembling lip told the master of the accident.