The spirit of democracy. [volume] (Woodsfield, Ohio) 1844-1994, 1854-03-01
george Lippard.

So George Lippard. ease sa
The death of this talented man and
singular writer, has called forth many
comments from the press throughont the
country. His spirits had been completely
broken down for some time previous TO his
death, by severe domestic affliction. His
wife, his mother and his children, having
been taken from him by death within .
short space of time, the following, from
the prologue to his last work, will convey
to our readers the state Of his mind pfes
vious to and at the time Of his death.
We are anything but admirers Of his wsil
tings, and can in no ways commend his
books, yet there is in the subjoined ex.
tract so mingled and touching picture
of former domestic happiness and present
desolation, that we cannot forbear giving
it a place in our columns, despite tho
,incture Of his style whichrpervades it:issp
"The lamp has gone out in the old
familiar room! 1t used to shine, late at
night, upon the books, upon the pictures
on the wall, and upon my face as l sat
writing there! aOftentimesit it shone upon
another face, which looked over myishoul.
der, and cheered me in my labor. Bue
now the lamp has gone out-2aHd forever!
The face which looked upon me is gomez
the coffin lid shut down upon It one sum.
mer day! The next room Is dark sfofsvss.
And the next room, where s!eA.hsed, to
sleep with her children is dark and sstilll
The house is desolatel Their are no
voices to break its stillnessl Her yoices
and the voices of our children, are silent
forever on this lower earth. My heart
goes back to that house and to- It's srooms,
and TO the voices that once sounded there,
and the faces which once made il glad
and with more than the bitterness of tsath,
confess that Time caulnsver return. New.
ermore. nevermore. nevermorel Wealth
may come; change Of scene may deadsa
sorrow; wrestling with the world. msy adi-
vert the soul from perpetual brooding, bua
the Truth is stilltthe Truth, that Time can
never return. And this is the end Of alt,
after a life spent in perpetual batgle-lafter
toiling day and night Tor long eyssss-A-
after looking TO the Future. hoping, siruS-
gling-toj find at last, even beforsi ikirty
years are mine, that the lamp has ecus
out, and forever! That those for whom
toiled and suffered-of all my exertions.I
are no longer with me, but whose wsll-
being was the impulse and the aiiimats,
gone to return never-nevermore. Upon
this earth the lamp that lit my way through
life has indeed gone out, aads forever.
But is it itnotlighied now by higher kand
than mortal, and isit not now shining in
a better world than this9 y. f@.sa-A .ef0f'
| Once more Iresumes my pen Hiuds
this work was commenced, DsAshs hes
been busy with my home-Dsai kish,
indeed. laid my home desoiaiess 3fsissa
selfish thing to write for nsoney-ijl ID
a base and mean thing to write e6r fame:
but it is good and holy thing 10 write
for the approval Of those whom sws MOST
intensely love. Deprived oftris sprinx Sf
action, it is hard, very hard, 20 take isp
the pen once more. Write, :wriiel saat
face that once looked over your shoulder,
and cheered you in your task, sllall look
over itno more. Write, wrisel and turn
your gaze to every point Of ths horizon
OF life-not one face of home meets your
eye. tsafe ggiss' sssa.. ,ss21
Take up the pen once more. Danish
the fast-gathering memories choke shem
down. Forget the ACTUAL Of your own
life in the ordeal TO which the pen gives
utterance. Brave old penl Always trust
ed, never faithlessl True through long
years Of toll, be steadsast now, whsn the
face that once watched your progress,
is sleeping in graveyard dust. And when
you write down noble thought, or give
utterance to holy truth, maybe thai face
will smile upon your progress even thSosih
the darkened glass which separates from
the better world. "a tee = ssvss 81 sFpii