The Yazoo Democrat., 1854-03-29

GEORGE LIPPARD.

III
The death Of this talented man and singular
writer has called forth many comm snts from the
press throughout the country. His spirits had
been completed broken down for some time pre-
vious to his death, by severe domestic affection.
His wife, his mother and his children having
been taken from him by death, within a short
space of time, the following. from the prologue
to his last work, will convey to our readers the
state Of his mind previous TO and al the time of
his death. Weare anything but admirers Of his
writings, and can in no ways commend his
books yet there is ia subioined extract so min
gled and touching pictuse of former domestic
happiness and present desolation, that we cans
not forbear giving it place in our columnsl
despite the tincture OF his style which prevades
il:
"The lamp has gone out in the old familiar
room 1t used to shine. late at night, upon the
books, upon the pitures on the wall, and upon
my face as sat writing therei oftentimes it
shone upon another face which looked over my
shoulder, and cheered me in my labor. But
now the lamp has gone out--and foTeverl The
face which looked upon me is gone; the coffin
lid shut down upon it one summer day The
next room is dark foreNr. Aud the next room.
where she used to sleep with her children-it is
dark and still The house is dsolate There
IRE no voices to break i,s stiffness! Her voice
and the voices Of our children, are silent forever
on this lower earth. Ny heart goes back to that
house and to its rooms, and to the voices that
once sounded there, and the faces which once
made it glad-and with more than the bitterness
gF4.-
Neyermcre, nevermore, nevermore! Wealth
may come; change of scene may deaden sorrow
wrestling with the world may divert the soul
from perpetual brooding, but the Truth is still
the Truth. that Tine can neper return And
this is tks end of all, after life spent in perpet
ual batte-after toilin2 day and night for long
years-after looking to the Future; hoping.
srugg ing, suffering-to find at last, even before
thirty years are mine, that the lamp has gone
and suffered--of all my exertions--are no longer
with me but whose we'll being was the impulse
and the ultimate gone, to return never-neyer-
more Upon this earth the lamp that lit my
way1through life has indeed gone out, and for
ever. But is it not Lighted now by a higher
hand than mortal, and is it not now shining in
better world than thisT
"Once more resume my pen. Since this
work was commenced, Death has been busy with
my home-Death hath, indeed, laid my home
desolate. It is selfish thing to write for mon.
ley--it is base and mean thing to write fol
fame; bat it is good and holy thing 20 write
for the approval of those whom we most intense
Iy love. Deprived of this spring of action, it il
hard, very bard to take up he pen once more
Write. write but the face that once looked ovei
your shoulder, and cheered you in your task
shall look over no more. Write, write! and
turn your gaze to every point of the horizon o.
flife-not one face of home meets your eye.
Take up the pen once. more. Danish the
fastgathering memories-choke them down
Forget the ACTUAL of your own life in the idea
to which The pen gives utterance. Brave ole
pen Always trusted-never faithless True
| through long years Of toll, be true and seadfas
now. when the face that once watched your pro.
gress is sleeping IN graveyard dust. And wher
you write down a noble thought, or give utter
ance to holy truth, may be that face will smile
vpon your progress. even through the darkenec
glass which separates the present from the bette
/ world"