Washington sentinel. [volume] (City of Washington [D.C.]) 1853-1856, 1855-09-04


rs little girl having seen in the papers the
death of gentleman bearing the precise name OF
her uncle, with child-like apprehension urote ID
him, TO inquire the state of the case and, in re-
ply, received the following metrcal letter, which
for its good spirit and pleasant wit we give to our
readers:
How could you, my Nan, my divine little
Hour, suppose that your Uncle had died in Mis-.
souri-that he left Old Virginia, the land of his
birth, TO enrich with his ashes far distant earth
1t was said, when a man had expired Of yore, that
the place which once knew him should know him
no more; but still you suspect me of being SO
green, to die in place that 1 never have seen.
1t is strange, | confess, that man of my name,
should have died obscure, and uncared for by
fame; but still his survivors may cherish the
pride, that their friend left behind him name
when he died. IT'S an i'll wind, I've heard, that
| blows nobody good and in this case the adage is
well understood-for the breath, which my name
sake expiring drew, has waited a letter, dear
| Mamie, from you-so replete with affection il
could not but move the heart OF your Uncle TO
| transport and love.
The health Of our village is not very fair, for
pestent feyers infect the pure air. The mystic
rious typhoid is giving Us fits, and serving his
like sherfs their wrts-l say his ca. sas., Tor
what is quite odd he, will leave a mans property,
knocks at each door--at the hall of the wealthy,
the cot of the poor. lie impresses his kiss upon
fair maiden S lips, and she fades from our eyes
in the last long eclipse He strikes at the young,
and the fair, and the brave, and triumphantly
peoples his realm Of the grave
In truth, If we cannot get rid Of the fever,
| though love Albcmarle, IN determined to leave
her, for find it is hard TO live up TO expenses,
and pidguy sight worse TO die out of my senses.
Would you hear of my children as well as
| Aunt Lizzy. Well, the former are lovely tile
latter is busy, and ii she but reaps the half that
she scws, bountiful harvest she II have ! sup
pose. II ! find you sluggard, q trust that !
shan't,) will tell you like Solomon, $50 10 your
.4uut." For the children In say, though not
with much pride, that the girls cross-tempercd,
and the boy is crosS-eyed-and that Annie, the
baby, is growing away, as if she were a rooster;
and thought il was day. But ] hope you III for
give me-you know but Jest, for the sweet little
things are enshrined in my breast. My heart is a
vase, which like roses they fill, but though broken
IL be, they ire exquisite still.
My wife and two children have Just gone 10
church, and left your poor uncle alone in the
lurch-so I've seated myself, (and what more
could do,) to write, my dear Mamie, letter
to you. Nor Judge me too harshly that thus
should stay, from the forms Of the rgidy righte-
Gus, away-for believe me, my girl, that the heart
which love warns, is religious enough, despite of
their forms. In a world where temptation and
envy will try us, the heart that loves most is al
ways most pious And here as sit all alone with
my pen, away from the hollow professions Of men,
turn me TO those who have known me in youth,
whose hearts are all love and whose lips are all
truth, and my thoughts fly TO home like the car
rier pigeon-for that home is my heaven, and
love my religion.
But now ! must close by once again giving, the
pleasing assurance that | am still lvng-as far
az know-and be sure when ! die, that no one
will hear Of il sooner than i
And | conclude this epis'le 50 quaint, by
sending TO all, the love Of their
SAINT.