The spirit of democracy. [volume] (Woodsfield, Ohio) 1844-1994, 1845-05-31
From the Ladies National Magazine
THE DEATH STRUGGLE.
A LEGEND OF THE REVOLUTION.
BY JAMES Fl. DANA.

The little town OF Chichester, situa.
ted on the Nj river, was once
farmore important than it is at present;
for while every thing else in this wide
country prospers, it is falling slowly
but surely to decay. Many years have
passed since | visited it, and even then
it was melancholy sight. Houses
which could remember as once inhab-
tied, were tenantess and often roohess
and fields which when last saw
them were waving with corn, now lay
white and desolate, scorched by the
rays Of an August sun. Fences were
torn down n--tenements were tottering
to ruin--the skeletons of old sloops
lay bleeching on the shore-even an
ancient church-yard hard by was turn
ed into desolate common, and over
the whole scene decay appeared TO
reign with melancholy sceptre.
1t was different once, though that was
years ago. But only allude to the
place to call to mind how heeting eve
ry thing is in this care-worn world.
About mile back Of the village
stands an old, weather-beaten house,
built of thick hewn logs, and consisting
of "A single room below, and narrow
garret above. 1tnow forms the kitch-
en- of more modern structure, but at
the period of the Revolution, and in
deed, until within few years, it stood
alone. 1t is plain old tenement. and
stands at right angles with the road
Behind it is, or was, a garden, stretch
ing down to Il little swamp, through
which runs a stream of clear, cool wa
ter, at which many time have drank.
An apple orchard once stood on the
right of the house, and amodest barn
in front, though time may have evelled
both these, long since, with the dust
But that is neither here nor there--so
| will 60 on with my story.
1t was a bright day in early summer,
when a young girl stood at the door of
the house, looking anxiously up the
road, as if watching for some expected
one. The sun was just sinking behind
the forest trees, pouring his mellow
light along the sandy road, and over
the dark sombre green of the melan-
choly pines. Everything was in re-
pose. Scarcely breath of air stirred
the leaves--the lowing of cattle was
heard from afar-the ripple of the lit
tie stream came pleasantly TO the ear,
and the hum of insects growing every
moment more low, died at last away.
Still that young girl watched. She was
beautiful, but it was the beauty of a
high resolve and of proud form. Nei-
ther did she, when you looked at her
second time, appear SO young as she
first seemed. She was perhaps eigh-
teen, she could not be over twenty, and
yet had it not been for an air of wom-
anly dignity about her, she might have
passed for girl of sixteen only.
"WEat can detain him?" al length
she said, as shading her eyes with her
hands, she looked anxiously from the
door. a Ea3 ahgs I9s0ay
The words had scarcely been spoken
before a figure emerged from the woods
up the road, and with glad smile, she
was rushing forw ard pace or two to
meet the conner, when suddenly she
her steps, she turned as pale
as death, and scarcely circulating
''The Refugee" she hurried back to
the house. ,,
The cause other emotion was easily
explained by the character Of her ap-
preaching visiter. The Refugees were,
At that day, the brigands Of the coun-