Glasgow weekly times. (Glasgow, Mo.) 1848-1861, 1850-09-26

IeNeTDTaNeu as lTOH lHc nedIls we nau
left behind US: and Scotland for ever"
e.echoed Victory" Heavens he ad.
ded, starting to his feet. and grasping
his staff, as the enthusiasm Of the past
came gushing back upon his soul, "to
have joined in that shout was to live
an eternity in the vibration of a pen.
dulum!"
In few moments the animated soul
tha, gave cloquence to his song drew
itself back into the chambers of hu.
manity, and resuming his seat upon
the low wall, he continued, II left my
old regimen, with the prospect of pro,
motion, and have since served in the
West Indies; but have heard nothing
of my father--nothing Of my mother,
nothing of her love"
While yet he was speaking, the grave.
digger, with pickaxe and spade over
his shoulder, entered the ground. He
approached within a few yards Of
where we sat. He measured off a
narrow piece of carth--it encircIed the
little stone which the soldier had
thrown TO. mark out the burial. place
his family. CONFUSION rushed over
the features of my companions; he
shivered--he graspcd my arm--his
lips q quivered--his breathing became
short and loud-l cold sweat ,rickled
from his temples. He sprang over the
waI--he rushed towards the spot.
Man he exclaimed in agony whose
grave is thar
"Hoo,! ava Wye" said the grave
digger starting back at his manner,
"what ma way is tha, to Cliff body!
are you daft!"
"Answer me-" cried the soldier
seizing his hand, "whose grave is tha,!'
"Mercy me" replied the man Of death
"ye are surely out o your head--it's
an auld body they cad Adam Camp.
bells grave--now are you any thing
the wiser for spierienl"
my father" cried my comrade, a:
| approached him; und, clasping his
hands together, he bent his head upon
my shoulder, and wept aloud.
will not dwell upon the painful
scene. During his absence, adversely
had given the fortunes of his father tc
the wind, and he had died in n humble
cottage unIamented and unno,iced by
the friends of his prosperity.
At the request of my felIowtravcl'
Ier, accompanied him to the house OF
mourning. Two or three poor cot.
tagers sa, around the fire. The coffin
with the lid open, lay across the table
near the window. A few white hairs
fell over the whittier face Of the deceas
cd, which seemed 10 indicate that he
died from sorrow rather than from
age. The son pressed his lips to hi
fathers cheek. He groaned in spirit
! and was troubled. He raised his hea,
S in agony, and in voice almost mar
. ticulate with grief, exclaimed, inquir
= ingly. my mothsr!"
D The wandering peasants started t
+ their feet, and in silence, pointed 10
e lowly bed. He fastened forward-h
S fell on his knees by the bed side.
"My mother!-O my mother" h
exclaimed, "do not you too leave me
Look at mel am your own SON
your own Willie; have you, 100, forge
; me, mother'"
> She too lay upon her death, bed, an
the tide Of life was fast ebbing; but tn
y remembered voice of her beloved so
= drove it back for a moment. Sh
opened her eyes--she attempted
raise her feeble hand, and it fell upo
= his head. She spoke, but he alor
knew the words that she uttered; the
/" seemed accents of mingled anguish,
, Joy, and of blessing. For several mil
, utes he bent over the bed. and we
bitterly. He held her withered han
>, in his; he started; and as we approach
y ed him, the hand he held was stiff an
= lifeless. He wept no longer-he gaze
from the dead body of his father 10 th'
:, of his mother-his eyes wandered wilC
~ ly from one to the other--he smote h
hand upon his brow, and threw himse
70 upon chair. while misery transfxt
!" him, as if thundcrbolt had entered h
~ soul.