The ladies' garland. [volume], October 27, 1827, Page 78, Image 2

About The ladies' garland. [volume] (Harpers-Ferry, Va. [W. Va.]) 1824-1828

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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.