The Rhode-Island Republican. [volume] (Newport, R.I.) 1809-1841, 1832-07-31

horror, agony, madness-ayos madness
and despair. Am mad ! think not.
I remember thee, my Emma thy eve
ry look dwells in my memory, thy gem
tie voice still sounds in my ear swee, as
when it FIRST breathed the enrapiuring
words 81 love thee" Can madness
perceive so acutely I? Can the maniac
reason with the same GOODNESS Of recol-
lection that l now do 7 think not
And our boy, Emma, that first pledge
Of thy love. Him too l remember.-|
Oh I did so doat upon that fair boy
Thou taughtest him the first word he
lisped distinctly, and that word was fa-
tler. Can ever forget the JOY he gave
me when l first folded him to my
heart, when he first opened his bright
eyes upon-the world and gazed uncon-
sciousIy upon the wonders by which he
was surrounded, when he first raised
his eyes to mine and met fathers
glance of love and gladness. But where
is that bright eyed, faclnating boy now ?
Where art thou, my Emma Alas! ]
said not truly that remembered thee
and him, and therefore was not mad
l had forgotten--oh, God Of mercy,
that I could ever forget-l had forgot
ten that thou and thy boy were food
for worms had forgotten thar all my
earthly hopes were extinct, and that l.
aye I-the fond hopes and doating fa-
ther was ---1 cannot write it,
my brain is on fire, and it would
mako me mad indeed to trace the
characters of that one word.
have written many tale of fiction
and sought and received the applause of
the world for the pleasure have given.
No,o will write tale of TRUTH The
world will believe it fiction and pass it
by as such---nevertheless ! will perse
we're, and truly explain the causes which
turned,my Eden into wilderness, which
shut out light, and hspe, and joy from
my benighted mind, aud hurled me, in
one day, from the very pinnacle Of
happiness to the lowest abyss of human
wrelchedness, anguish, and despair
There is not one bright spot in the ho-
rizon Of life for me to dwell upon
look beyond i,-and still despair. l
cannot hope to join the spirits of those
loved ones whose untimely fate has
made blank of existence ) who in
their place Of purity cannot, Ought not
to forgive the demon who wrought their
fall with hellish unrelentingness of
purpose.
AT the early age of twelve waS an
orphan, the sole survivor of my whole
family, the last of thy name and blood.
My mother, after a short illnesss being
only slightly indsposed, as il was
thought, had just breathed her lasss bad
expired in way SO strange and56o sud-
don, completely to battle the4co iec-
lures of her attendanr ryssrtn"
upon the immediate causes of her dissp-
luton.
Twas looked upon by all who knew
me as proud, daring, and reckless boy
generous in the protection afforded 10
those younger than myself, but obstl.
nate in rescnting wrong done me II
the wrong doer were worthy OF my re-
sentiment. Two years before my moth
er's death one of my hands had sustain
ed considerable injury in recon-
tire with boy some eighteen months old
er than was. From that tIme date
the commencement of those evils which
have made me what am. The lad,
whom l had often seen, without know
ing his name, seemed to have imbibed
some prejudice against mes and took
every opportunity to make me sensible
of his iIl-wil. was seated with several
of my young companions at play, upon
pile of lumber, when my old persecu-
tor came up and commenced quarrel
ia more direct terms than he had ever
before ventured to use. My blood boil
ed at the indignity, and ] retorted his
abuse in the most bitter terms.
"You are q coward" said !, :" and
dare not fight me-"
"You are liar" replied he, catch
ing up n nall hatchet which lay near
him, and aiming blow at my left hand
as it rested upon a piece of TIMBER
What turned the blow aside know not
the hatchet glanced as it descended,
my hand was covered with blood in a
moment, but the wound did not, ulti-
mateIy, prove a very serious one. The
cowardly urchin, SO soon as he saw the
blood, fed-but he could not e1cape my
vengeance. clasped him with both
hands and superhuman strength around
the neck spite Of his struggles l held
him fast ill his face Showed evident
signs Of strangula,ion. Still l held him,
reckless of the consequences, though
his eyes glared hidcously upon me and
seemed bursting from their sockets.
"Hold thy hand, Arthur Walsing-
ham," said voice at my elbow, "thou
outstrippest thy destiny, boy. The time
is not yet 49," and my grasp was
broken loose bv A strength I couid not