Litchfield enquirer., 1829-06-18
HE DIED.

' | HE DIED. ... .. l In these two short but comprehensive words, we read the consummation ofthe brief history of fman--man whose life is like vapour: who appears moment and then vanishes away. Thus terminates the career of the cOnQueror he comes forth
 in thu proud resources of his mind, mar shalling his legions for the storm, and stir- ring up with the breath of the whirlwind, the hot spirit of desolating war convuls- ing society; sapping the foundation of civil order N; shaking the thrones and king doms of the world, and opening the food gates of sorrow on mankind, and he may gaIhar round him | lite tinsel grandanr "r,d associate his name with terror. A little space, and in a acorner of an obscure print we read, "he died" The troubling waves his spirit had invoked are still. and men contemplate what he was, and is, with contemptuous wonder. The man whose soul is wrapped up in ambition, tolls his little hour for fame. and gains, if fortunate, the sum Of his wishes we hear his name sound- ed abroad, and om the next breath tremble the words--" he died.' Then he who calmly reasons, feels the small worth of ti- ties and applauses that end in this. The rich, the poor. the grave, the gay Y; the imbecile, the wise 1; the freeman and the slave and concludes the chapter thus.-- But 1t is when death strikes near us and his arrows reach our own bOsoms, that we feel the force of these expressive mono- syllables. HE DIED, is written against the name of relative, or companion; and then we know that the form, tho face, the every feature with which we have been fa- miiiar is hid away from our mortal vision forever--that the voice we heard so often and so gladly, we shall hear no more that the mind which could charm in its dee yeloremnt of power and knowledge is no longer a tenant of the earth, and the heart that loved us will not beat again while one sand remains in the hour-glass of time, or the pillars of the world remain unskaken. We seem to approach nearer the veil that screens from our view the hidden empire of fdeath--we ask ourselves, whither at this moment is the spirit of the departed? ? The involuntary answer is, where we shall shortly be. Strange that when death spreads among us his visible tokens daily when he stikes so often into the social cir cle, and spares neither at the fire-side, nor at the festive board, we should live in so much seeming forgetfllness of his exist ence. We'll hath 1t been said-
 Man sleeps, and man alone. and man whose fate, Fate irgeversble, entire, extreme,
 Endless, haiF-hung, bFeeze-shaken, o'er the guiL
 A moment trembles, drops, and man for whom
 Ali elsess in alarm: man. the sole cause
 ! Of this surrounding siorm--and yet he sleeps,
 As the storm rock d 10 rest"
 Post Office Department. in a late number of the Register. states that, such is the attention and fidelity in the management of the Post Office, east and north of the Sus- quehannah, that generally not more than one letter out of five hundred directed to the of- ice of the Register, has been lost. He says that he cannot speak thus of the south and south-west; and that his losses have been heavy. notwithstanding the late excellent Post Master General was laboring to bring about q reformation in these quarters.-The Register he says. Is sent with more certainty to the most distant places East. than 1t is the short dis tance Of 50 uliless0uth Ofthe Potomac, except to some of the principal Post Offices.
 n..n 4.