The daily Madisonian. [volume] (Washington City [i.e. Washington, D.C.]) 1841-1845, 1844-11-19

DESERTED VILLAeE.-.a Sad Pictwe.-N will be
remembered that the village of WoodvilIe, Miss =,
visited by the yellow fever during the past
son, and that death and desolatioD followed in its
train. The Woodville Republican gives the following
produced by the epidemic:
Our heart is heavy and almost d.solate our spirits
die within us, we sit down and think OF the
of the last few weeks. We have Just crawled from
the brink of the grave and pausng in feebIeness and
exhaustion not far from the doorway, we look around
for the sold familiar iacesn-but them not -
The eyes that beamed upon us in joyful welcome,
will look upon us no more. The voices eloquent
and harmonious, TO which we loved to sten are still
and the hands that spoke the hearts friendship
in their manly pressure, stiff and cold are crossed
upon those faithful bosoms whence have been &C
customed TO derive counsel and encouragement now
as still and uneellng as the clods that lie above
them.
1--WE call, but they answer not again" and friend.
ship and love in all their anguish seemed constrained
to inquire,
'Do they love us yetm
But the question falls without an echo, and no an
swer comes back from that shore where our friends
that lately walked these streets with us, have
gone. We look around US. Yonder heap beside
heap, in many row, lie gathered into one neigh
borhood the old and the young-the rich and the
poor all the and anxiees of life forgotten
and the tenemens that held those fiery spirits are
quiet now as if they had never been aught part
and parcel of that dust with which they now minge.
The terrible disease has robbed us Of many of the
very best citizens OF which we could boast. With
the grasp of an invisible Hercules its almighty hand
came down upon the hearts Of men, crushing out ibe
very spark Of life, ere people were well aware that
their friends were in danger Then came The sound
and sight fwoe, such little village never con.
ceiyed of before. The anvil ceased 10 echo forth
its clang, the sledge was unified the bellows breath
ed not, the fire of the furnace burned out.
The saw, the plane, and the hammer grew still
Merchants shut up their stores, and walked home 10
die. No sound came upon the ear, save the cink of
the hammer, the grating of the saw as the under
taker hastily threw together the last narrow with
drawing room OF poor mortality. Then there was
suffering. Disease and death soon had a great ma
ority and the very few that remained to take care
of the many sick, looked more like the ghosts of
those who bad died, than living men and women.
People fled their homes in fright and consterna-
ton. Every thing seemed TO partske Of the general
terror. The foliage OF the trees turned yellow the
sky wss of pale siekly green, and for SIX weeks
the hollow wind came from the north and east in
cessanty with deathllness in its touch enough to
shater the nerves OF the healthy. Our streets were
deserted.
The grass bid fair TO spring up where merry feet
had so recently gone down Yet there was one road
In which no grass grew. II led to the grave ward -
Along that track the hearsc con.tantiy ionrpeyed
With its gloomy rumble, followed by few friend. of
those within it, and obliged TO slack its pace again
and again to let the tttering nvaIids that Struggled
hard TO follow, come up-poor hsf-sick creatures
eSpendng their last strength in this last sad Office Of
friendship, deed 10 be performed for many Of
them, by others as feeble as themselves
But The disease has nearly ceased its rsvsge.-on.
ly because there are m more subjects to ACT
upon. II has swept us like fire and whirlwi,d ~
Had it been in New York city, with its teeming
thousands and been fatal in proportion as Il b,s
with us, it would have swept of fifty thousand p,r.
IONS. -