The Southern journal., 1846-01-17
MISCELLANEOUS.
Reported originally for the Phila. Sat. Cour.
The Mechanic Hero of Brandy
wine.

The Mechanic Hero of Brandy
wine.
From the Lecture Of George Lppard, ESQ.,, de-
livered on Tuesday evening, before the
William Writ Institute. being the
first Of a series on the Romance
of the Revoluton.'
Near Dilworth corner, at the time
Of the Revolution, there stood a quiet
cottage, somewhat retired from tie
road, under the shade Of stout ches-
nut tree. 1t was quiet cottage, nest.
ling away there in one corner Of the
forest road, dear home in the wilder
ness, with sloping roof, walls Of dark
grey stone, and easement hidden a
mong vines and flowers.
On one side, amid an interval of
the forest trees, was seen the rough
outline ola blacksmith's shop. There
was small garden in front, with II
brown gravelled walk, and beds Of
wild flowers.
Here, at the time Of the Revolution,
there dwelt stout blacksmith, his
young wife and her babe.-What
cared that blacksmith, working away
there in that shadowy nook OF the for
est, for war? What feared he for the
peril of tho times, SO long as his strong
arm, ringing that hammer on the an
vii, might gain bread for his wife and
child?
All, he cared little for war, he took
little note Of the panic that shook the
valley, when some few mornings be-
fore the battle Of the Brandy ywine.
while shoeing the horse of a Tory Re-
fugee, he overheard plot for the sur
prise and capture of Washington.
The American leader was to be lured
into the tolls Of the Tories; his person
once in the British camp, the English
General might send the Iraito,
| Washington home, to be tried in
London.
Now our blacksmith, working away
there, in that dim nook Of the forest,
without caring for battle or war, had
still a sneaking kindness for this Mis-.
ter Washington, whose name rung on
the lips of all men. So one night,
bidding his young wife hasty good
bye, and kissing the babe that reposed
on her bosom, smiling as it slept, he
hurried away to the American camp
and told his story to Washington.
1t was morning ere he came oack.
1t was in the dimness Of the autumnal
morning, that the blacksmith was
pIodding his way, along the forest
road. Some few PAGES ahead there
was an aged oak, standing out into
the road-a grim old veteran Of the
forest, that had stood the shocks Of
three hundred years. Right beyond
that oak was the blacksmilh's home.
With this thought warming his
heart, he hurried on. He hurried on,
thinking Of the calm young face and
mild blue eyes of that young wife,
who, the night before stood in the
cottage door, waving him out of sight
with heckoned good.bye-thinking
Of the baby. as it lay smiling as it
slept on her bosom, he hurried on
he turned the bend Of the wood, he
looked upon his home.
All! what sight was there!
Where, the night before, he had
left "a peaceful cottage, smiling under
a green chesnut tree, in the light Of
the setting sun, now was only heap
Of black and smoking embers and a
burnt and blasted tree!
This was his home. m
Aud there stood the blacksmith ga
zing upon that wreck Of his hearth
stone;-there he stood with folded
arms and moody brow, but in mo-
ment smile broke over his face.
He saw it all. In the night his
house had taken fire, and been burRed
to cinders. But bis wife, his child
had escaped. For that he thanked
God.