The Whig standard. [volume] (Washington, D.C.) 1843-1844, 1844-01-12
From the Ladies' National Magazine.
THE VETERAN. ~
by EMILY II. MAY.

Is
travel-soiled His stick and scaHty bundle lay
beside him on the bank. His head was uncover
ed and the thin grey locks, blowing about in the
wind appealed with silent pathos to the passer
by; for the old man was poor and homeless, and
had wandered from distant seaport, depending
on the charity Of strangers for his daily bread.
He had come from foreign land, where he had
buried the last Of his children--come back toldie
in his native soil when it should please God to
end his weary pilgrimage And for all he knew
there was not one in the wide world of his name
or lineage. a Fp g3 1SiA sfH s't
The Old man at length arose and resumed his
Journey. Towards evening he reached the brow
Of gentle hill. Avlage lay but short dis
lance ahead. 1t was quiet and beautiful place,
Approached by road .fringed with willows, and
crossed by rustic bridges In the distance to the
rightwas seen the white spre of the church, peep
ING above the dark old trees. The houses did not
stand on the street, but were built each in it's lit
tie garden, so that the place had an irregular but
very lovely appearance. 1t was studded with fine
old trees, through whose vistas the yellow after
noon sunbean,s came drowsy down, giving it a
quiet and dreamy aspect, strangely alluring to
one who, like that old man, was weary with tra-e
vel and sorrow, and would fam repose in some
retired corner until death released him from his
tolls. ,.s4i 8a Fsfe 6ss .ssg a... tgs !.
He naused at the entrance of the village, and
looked around Here and there at the doorways,
females were sitting, either knitting or sewing
From the gardens behind the. houses, came the
sleepy hum Of bees, occasionally drowned in the
merry voices of children playing. The whole
scene had an air OF such domestic quiet and hap
piness, that the old man again Land down his bum
die, and sat on the railing of the bridge, with the
faint hope that some one would take pity on his
gray hairs, and offer him supper and bed in this
sweet spot. And as he sat there many thoughts
passed through his mind. He recalled the time
when he too had been careless boy, like those
he saw sporting through the village, with no
thought except that sometime he would become
a soldier and go forth into the world to make
name and fortune, and then come back and en-
ioy it in his native village. He remembered how
he had set out, with sanguine hopes, to realize
this dream. and how he had met disappointment
after disappointment until, at length, sorrowed
and detected, he had come back to a more quiet
life. Then he thought Of the few, the very few
wears Of happiness that followed, until his wife
d;eJ and he was left ruined in his humble for
times with family Of helpless innocents. He
saw again the day on which, with that little
groun he had set forth to a distant land, in the
hone of there repairing his fortunes; and then,
fast and thick, subsequent events crowded on
him-how his eldest daughter had married
AGAINST his consent, and gone he knew not whith-
er-how one by one his children died-how his
scantv property wasted away, and how he had,
a. length. departed, old and in poverty, with the
determination to beg his way back to his native
Irish and there die As these things came up
10 his memory, as he remembered how much he
had already suffered, and how far he had yet to
90 before he could hope to see his journeys end,
the tears again came into his eyes, Tor ne felt
that he could not bear up much longer.
: :" o-day,"h he murmured, have gone dim
oerless. and God knows whether shall find a
meal tonight. An old mans hairs cannot al
wavs win him the crumbs of table or protect
him from insult. All! if my poor child were
vet living, would have some one to protect and
aid me. for she ever loved me-. !! was too harsh
in forbidding her marriage. with Henry, who,
,houoh a wild lad, was a good one, and, If he
lives has made her a worthy husband. Per-
haps INV curse is now reacting upon myself.
Cod knows! But it will soon be over" he said
with melancholy sigh, as be rose feebly and
took up his bundle, I" / feel this old frame CIV
ing way. If could reach my parish might
find some former acquaintance to afford me 2
he'd to die on--but that viii never be, that will
never be-" he said, shaking his head despondngT
", " on the roadside or in ditch will be my last
pillow" j
He staggered feebly along, and was now IN
the heart Of the village. Numerous were the