Southern Argus. [volume] (Columbus, Miss.) 1834-1842, 1841-02-10

nYou can find It yourself" said the fellow, i,
and pointing once more to The dark dismal pas d
sage way, he very cooly closed the door IN
our face, and we heard him, as he retreated HI
into the interior Of the house, humminp IN q ID,
low tone, popular air. n
Our feelings being aroused, for we now saw
very clearly that all was not right, we deter n
mined to enter this den, for nothing else could \
It be called, and 10 relieve, SO far as our cir
cunstances enabled " to do, the misfortunes
of one whom we had known in her better days.
We entered. Save in one little spot, the pas
sage, fore, ceiling and sides, was dark as
midnight. A few rays, passing through a
small fan light Of single pane, made faint
impression on the opposite wall. Here then
was door. We tappedlsoftly att, but no
answer was given, though we could distinctly
hear sounds within,as Of suppressed breathing
Feeling that they were appref ensive, that it
was some officer Of the law, come to wrest
from them the little which they had LEFT, we
knocked once more, and called Mrs. W. by
} name She knew our voice she opened the
o door, and we entered the ROOM
V Reader, we had before, and we have slnce'
Y witnessed scenes of misery, but such ablect,
e hopeless poverty as we that day witnessed,
# we trust in God, never to see again. o! that
all the cold hearted and grasping misers o.
:, this selfish world, had been there, that they
Il might, for once, have won smile from Heay
Il en-, by breathing fIom their souls one emotion
:, of human sympathy One defaced and tim,
= worn bureau. One cracked looking glas
One broken wash-hand basin, water buckle
y and towel One chair, and one old settle
y which served at once, as seat, as table, an
nu as bed-stead. This was all the furnitur
he which the room contained. And here wa
p- the mother, and here the daughter The mi
nd Their, whose locks had grown gray, with Il
ng same smile of happiness beamlng upon thel
set which had rested there in the first dawn
ut, her infancy the daughter, whose young al
ed, gentle heart had never heaved a sigh, save
lg- that unhappiness which it had someilm
aid dreamed of as known to others, but which
al self had never felt. These two, the moth
ldi- and the daughter, alike unfit to struggle vi
and the tide of misfortune, or to bear up under
to ills of poverty, had been suddenly cast do
from their throne of happiness, into the slou
ure of utter misery. Reader, start not, neltl
nd. doubt you, for it is living truth. Two I
at a tire days had passed by, since these two,
lied mother am the daughter, had tasted sust
b;lo ance of any kind. Fearful, in their mex
two rience, to go forth in search of eod, lest Il
ron might be cast into that living tomb debt
- prison, even more arful than the one
-, which they were already buried nor hav
"1" the means wherewith to purchase had u
60, gone forth, thus had they remained, and
''''' had they continued 10 remain, but for that
0ieu violence, which sent the ravens to the b
ier prophet, and the Quails to the children Of
cent rael when wandering in the wilderness.
low means were small, but, of the little which
mad had. we gave freely.
ping We made the situation OF these unft
deep nate ladies, known to thosewho had tho
hitch ity to give relief, and in a few days, we
IS OF the happiness of seeing them once more j
5 no in comfort, thoughn not in the elegance Of
hand former days. The mother was placed
the situation, which enabled her, by her own
angel tions to supply all the reasonable war
mo- herself and her daughter. A few doyr
) life beng about to take our departure from
and city, we called en- them, at their new al
ed in 1t was our last iareweh' " e iei' 'nsDi'
:, of what has since been their fate, We
.anoo not. Reader, ten long years have passed
49,, our heads since that day. We hav
many ups and downs in life; SORROWS ha
- known, and some joys too have fallen
nv. lot but never has that parting scene,
eo'ii0 blotted out from the tablet of our memo
rug" The smile of thanks, which lighted up tn
ny ihS of that aged mother the tear OF graf
ment, which trembled on the lids of that YOU
tn her nocent !. have often come back to us in ii
sots Of Of our rsOrrow. and the memory thereo
acelul been unto us arecompense for all our sui
which and reconciliation unto life. 1t is one
easant bright openings III the dark wilderness
lie, 10 WHICH, We lidfC CfSA 4Cl4CobOd IN
eir last unkindness, and the lngratitude of man.
wing even when the last dread day shall com
mother the Arch Angel shall sound his trump,
amain- the dead from their burial places, and froI
nm she retreats, those, who, in fear and tumblin
fled for refuge to the mountains, and
thickets; when the great book is opel
erty and WHICH Is iio' iei' uhieoo'ueu any u'oO
,ocence ness, or of charity, that smile of thanks
l,,ou,s be unto the redeemer an atonement fol
,x;sts of our sins, and, .that tear of gratitude
no trials blot out many of our iniquities. These
r neigh ways, Parent of all good; Maker of
no who and of earth, there are thy ways. III
ritv and good which man does, is returned unit
t bv the ten fold; and, the charity of the father
IS ruin. compensed unto children, even unto Il
s of the and the fourth generation.
For the Argus.
- ~ Nh. ED1ToR:-The world never
f wealth speak systematically, when it conceive
~ ,,bon, mal-treateG; and on the other hand
withhods its plaudatorv appreciation, frC