The Litchfield County post., 1827-08-16

sleep is not out her slumbers are not over:
the hand of death is yet heavy upon her.
Still We feel it to be strange company; she
seems to speak though dumb. What arc
all those efforts TO preserve from decay
this mortal frame? Those bands OF linnen.
those gums and spices, those embalming
{ preparations, SO artfully devised They
tell us of the dread of annhiIation; they
speak the strong feelings of the soul the
powerful desire for immortality and
strengthen the belief of future life, bv
showing how strongly the God of nature
has implanted the desire in our breasts.
What more do we learn Beads neck
lace Aye, it was female these were
her ornaments. Then the female chuac-
ter has not changed. Women was vain
lhree thousand years ago. She had fine
ny, trinkets, beads THAT is illiberal. She
desired to please. She was lovely, g. her
friends delighted to see hercharns height
ened by ornaments. The desire to render
ones self agreeable, is it not praise-wor-
thy? Ha ha is it laughter or is it the
sound of the trumpet? Hank behold !
Both the sound of the tru,apet and the
shouts of joy; the gay laugh--the tramp
ling of steeds-the rolling of wheels-give
token that from her hundred gates Thebes
is sending forth her warriors to battle
See them pass under the window of the fair
maiden: She is decorated to bid him fare
well, whose footsteps make her heart fut-
ter like captive bird !; she stands ready
to wish him honour and victory and safe
return He bows his head to the neck of
his gallant steed-kisses his hand-dashes
the brine-drop that steals in his eye ;-a
thousand tumultuous passions throng his
breast.-She smiles through her tears, and
window Where are they now where is
Thebes, and where her countless multi
tudes? Nothing of all her pride and power
and greatness, but this poor Mummy, left
Behold this Virgin now exposed to the vul-
gar gaze. How would she have shrunk at
the thought How supreme the folly Of at
tempting to arrest the course of nature
The world and its joys are false : all hopes
of mortal immortality, are false. We are
al! vanity" Dust thou art, and unto dust
thou shalt return" The spirit only can
3urV.vr.--
There's nothing true jut Heavsn."
F.. PuD$ Of Authors.-The following specimen
Of this species of literary articlc,we copy from
the Hampshire Gazette. What must this wo-
man be, if with the universal disposition to
speak favorably of living authors in general,
and of the amiable sex in particular, this is the
best that can be said of her ?r-Boston Weekly
Messenger.
Mrs. Anne Royal.-This self conceited,im-
pudent, ugly woman has been visiting the
principal towns and villages in this state, i'm
Fortunately urging people to buy book, of
which she is the author, and abusing an who
happen to dsplease her. Mr.. Flint, in the
Western Quarterly, justly describes her as
IAN authoress who dribbles the JUNCTION with
out measure upon her friends, and plays
cut and thrust with her enemies without
r1ittens.' She is native of Maryland or
Virginia, but has lived some years in the
Western States. She visited this place last
week, to the great annoyance Of many of our
citizens.
There is something" says the Pittsfeld
Argus, "in the character of the female that
never fails to command respect, even from
cold misanthropy, when adorned with that
noble ornament, modeSty. But Mrs. Royal
can lay no claim to modesty, or even civility.
She abuses every one that happens to be the
victim other caprice-she plunges into pri-
vate families, without an invitation, and sets
down the Yankee gentry. as she calls them,
ifshe dislikes them, in her Black Book. She
is short, thick, addressed, dirty, brazen-fac-
ed and ugly looking woman.
&