Fayetteville observer. [volume] (Fayetteville, Tenn.) 1850-1966, 1852-01-13

Eyes, madam ] again repeated
"you may rest assured that was in
timately acquainted with him."
"And did he die happy?' ST 2 en-
quired with trembling lips, an( sh
gazed in my face with painful iinter
Iest, waiting for reply. :
''Be composed, my dear madam,
/ said, "and rest satisfied with the as
surance that your beloved son diet
extremely happy
"Thank God for that, and for al
his munifcent blessings, which ht
has kindly showered upon me ant
mine through life," SHE said, as she
clasped her hands, and turned hel
dimmed eyes upwards, in fervenI de-
votion. II
After offering up her silent Player
she became more composed, ands was
enabled to inform me of the course
her poor prodigal son had pursued
He was an only son, petted perhaps,
ifsnot completely spoiled by the con-
tinual sunshine of hattery. Six
years ago the chimera ambition, and
the desire for novelty, induced him
to leave his peaceful home. his fond
doting mother, and his affectionate,
confding sisters-his father had died
some years previous to that time
to satiate his ambition by reaping a
fortune on the troubled waves of the
world. Poor boy, little did he know
of the trials and temptations that
awaited him on his journey. Many
times, doubtless, he sadly tested the
old adage by experience, that ''all is
not gold that glitters. During
that long period of manful struggles
with contending fate, no lengthy, or
even brief notice, had been conveyed
to cheer his disconsolate friends with
his happy or unhappy existence.
Hope had long since taken flight
from their sorrowing bosoms, and
they had given him up as irretrieva-
bly, lost, when a. kind Providence,
through your instrum mentality, sent
to their home a hrief account of his
ending struggles with fate.
The pleasure / felt in imparting
to the afflicted widow
cannot be told; it is only by similar
it can be duly appreciated.
Never in my life did I experieh nee
such gratifed sensations as | felt
when ! bid kindly 'adieu to- my
friend, who e exclaimed as |
silently turned away, "Mank God, I
shall shortly meet my son IN HeapeR.' .
While retracing my steps towards
home, l could not prevent my W an
1ering thoughts from dwelling on the
deceased prodigal. / could picture
nim in my imagination, on his weary
post, in a far off distant land, faith
'ully guarding his weary comrades,
Who are wrapt in obliyious slumbers,
rom the attacks of vindictive foe.
/ almost fancied l could see him
y the lurid blaze Of the distant
watch fire, with his death-dealing
nusket in his nervous grasp, d nd
YEARLY to and fro on his
lreary monotonous beat.
] almost think I can imagine his
ceilings, and the passions that a nj
mated his manly bosom, when his
thoughts dwelt on the !
peaceful joys, in his far off distant !
lome. What bright visions of mo tn
rly tenderness and sisterly affection
would float with rainbow hues before |
he piercing eyes of his imagi ton,
esting at last, its soothing influence
N the turged recesses of the heart.
Ah! what visions, indeed, none but
hose who have experienced th he trials
re competent to form proper judg-
nent Of. He fondly anticipated, 1
at no distant day, a return,
Ike the prodigal son mentioned in
he Holy Writ, tohis dearly beloved
ONE, where amidst the enjoyment Of
ocial happiness, he would reed dunt to
is listening relatives bis past joys
nd sorrows, his participations In san
uinary struggles, and his hair
readth escapes from the same:
Or weep DER bis wounds, Oh tales of sor.
row done, H
houldet his crutch and sho " hof fields
were won" H I,
But bow delusive we're those hopes,
ever formed, for Death, IN the /
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