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The Life of General Francis Marion by Mason Locke Weems

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it was not long before they caught the old weathercock at one of his tricks,
and, soon as the confiscation act was passed, had him down
on the black list, fondly hoping, no doubt, to divide a large spoil.
Marion, who was then a member of the legislature, arose to speak.
The aged culprit, who also was present, turned pale and trembled
at the sight of Marion, giving up all for lost. -- But how great,
how agreeable was his surprise, when instead of hearing the general
thundering against him for judgment, he heard him imploring for mercy!
His accusers were, if possible, still more astonished. Having counted
on general Marion as his firmest foe, they were utterly mortified
to find him his fastest friend, and, venting their passion with great freedom,
taxed him with inconsistency and fickleness that but illy suited
with general Marion's character.

"It is scarcely eighteen months, sir," said they, "since you treated
this old rascal with the most pointed and public contempt,
on account of the very crime for which we wish to punish him.
And here, now, instead of taking part against him, you have declared
in his favor, and have become his warmest advocate with a legislature."

"True, gentlemen," replied Marion, "but you should remember
that it was war then; and therefore my duty to make a difference
between the real and pretended friends of my country.
But it is peace now, and we ought to remember the virtues of men,
particularly of the old and timid, rather than their follies.
And we ought to remember too, that God has given us the victory,
for which we owe him eternal gratitude. But cruelty to man
is not the way to show our gratitude to heaven."

Of the same complexion was his behavior in a large party
at governor Matthew's table, just after the passage of the famous act
to confiscate the estates of the tories. "Come, general, give us a toast,"
said the governor. The glasses were all filled, and the eyes of the company
fixed upon the general, who, waving his bumper in the air,
thus nobly called out -- "Well, gentlemen, here's damnation
to the confiscation act."

The following anecdote of Marion I have heard from a thousand lips,
and every time with that joy on the countenance, which evinced
the deep interest which the heart takes in talking of things
that are honorable to our countrymen.

While Marion was a member of the legislature, a petition was presented
to the house for an act of amnesty of all those arbitrary measures
which the American officers had been obliged to adopt during the war,
in order to get horses, provisions, &c. for the army. The petition was signed
by the names of all the favorite officers of the state, and among the rest,
by that of our hero. Some of his friends, it seemed, had done it for him,
on the supposition that he needed such an act as well as the rest.
But Marion, who had listened very attentively to the reading of the petition,
on hearing his name mentioned as one of the subscribers, instantly arose,
and insisted that his name should be struck off from that paper.
He said "he had no manner of objection to the petition; on the contrary,
he most heartily approved of it, and meant to vote for it;
for well did he know, he said, that during the war, we had among us
a world of ignoramuses, who, for lack of knowing their danger,
did not care a fig how the war went, but were sauntering about in the woods,
popping at the squirrels, when they ought to have been in the field
fighting the British; that such gentlemen, since they did not choose
to do any thing for their country themselves, might well afford
to let their cattle do something; and as they had not shed any of their blood
for the public service, they might certainly spare a little corn to it;
at any rate he had no notion, he said, of turning over
to the mercy of these poltroons, some of the choicest spirits of the nation,
to be prosecuted and torn to pieces by them; but that, nevertheless,
he did not like to have his name to the petition, for, thank God,
he had no favors to ask of them. And if, during the war for his country,
he had done any of them harm, there was he, and yonder his property,
and let them come forward, if they dare, and demand satisfaction."

And I never heard of any man who ever accused him of the least injury
done him during all the war.

Marion continued a member of the legislature, until orders were issued
to repair and put in commission Fort Johnson, to the command of which
he was appointed, with the pay of about twenty-two hundred dollars per annum.
Though this salary had been voted him chiefly because of his losses during
the war, yet it was not continued to him longer than two or three years,
when it was reduced to less than five hundred dollars annually.
Numbers of people had their feelings greatly hurt on this occasion,
and, I dare say, much worse than his own. For he was a man
who cared very little for money; and besides, about that time
he entered into matrimony with that excellent and wealthy lady,
Miss Mary Videau, who, with her affections, bestowed on him
a fortune sufficient to satisfy his utmost wishes, even though they had been
far less moderate than they were. Seeing now no particular obligation on him
to continue longer in the public service, he gladly yielded
to his sense of what he owed to a generous and beloved companion,
and with her, retired to his native parish of St. John's,
where, amidst the benedictions of his countrymen, and the caresses
of numerous friends, he spent the short remnant of his days,
participating every rural sweet with the dear woman of his choice,
feasting on the happy retrospect of a life passed in fighting for
THE RIGHTS OF MAN, and fondly cherishing the hopes of a better.

Chapter 31.

The author's last visit to Marion -- interesting conversation
on the importance of public instruction -- free schools shown to be
a great saving to a nation.

I often went to see Marion. Our evenings were passed as might have been
expected between two old friends, who had spent their better days together
in scenes of honorable enterprise and danger. On the night of the last visit
I ever made him, observing that the clock was going for ten,
I asked him if it were not near his hour of rest.

"Oh no," said he, "we must not talk of bed yet. It is but seldom, you know,
that we meet. And as this may be our last, let us take all we can of it
in chat. What do you think of the times?"

"O glorious times," said I.

"Yes, thank God!" replied he. "They are glorious times indeed;
and fully equal to all that we had in hope, when we drew our swords
for independence. But I am afraid they won't last long."

I asked him why he thought so.

"Oh! knowledge, sir," said he, "is wanting! knowledge is wanting!
Israel of old, you know, was destroyed for lack of knowledge;
and all nations, all individuals, have come to naught from the same cause."

I told him I thought we were too happy to change so soon.

"Pshaw!" replied he, "that is nothing to the purpose.
Happiness signifies nothing, if it be not known, and properly valued.
Satan, we are told, was once an angel of light, but for want of duly
considering his glorious state, he rebelled and lost all.
And how many hundreds of young Carolinians have we not known,
whose fathers left them all the means of happiness; elegant estates,
handsome wives, and, in short, every blessing that the most luxurious
could desire? Yet they could not rest, until by drinking and gambling,
they had fooled away their fortunes, parted from their wives,
and rendered themselves the veriest beggars and blackguards on earth.

"Now, why was all this, but for lack of knowledge? For had those silly ones
but known the evils of poverty, what a vile thing it was
to wear a dirty shirt, a long beard, and ragged coat; to go without a dinner,
or to sponge for it among growling relations; or to be bespattered,
or run over in the streets, by the sons of those who were once
their fathers' overseers; I say, had those poor boobies, in the days
of their prosperity, known these things as they NOW do, would they
have squandered away the precious means of independence and pleasure,
and have brought themselves to all this shame and sorrow?
No, never, never, never.

"And so it is, most exactly, with nations. If those that are free and happy,
did but know their blessings, do you think they would ever
exchange them for slavery? If the Carthagenians, for example,
in the days of their freedom and self-government, when they obeyed no laws
but of their own making; paid no taxes, but for their own benefit;
and, free as air, pursued their own interest as they liked;
I say, If that once glorious and happy people had known their blessings,
would they have sacrificed them all, by their accursed factions,
to the Romans, to be ruled, they and their children, with a rod of iron;
to be burdened like beasts, and crucified like malefactors?

"No, surely they would not."

"Well, now to bring this home to ourselves. We fought for self-government;
and God hath pleased to give us one, better calculated perhaps
to protect our rights, to foster our virtues, to call forth our energies,
and to advance our condition nearer to perfection and happiness,
than any government that was ever framed under the sun."

"But what signifies even this government, divine as it is,
if it be not known and prized as it deserves?"

I asked him how he thought this was best to be done?

"Why, certainly," replied he, "by free schools."

I shook my head.

He observed it, and asked me what I meant by that?

I told him I was afraid the legislature would look to their popularity,
and dread the expense.

He exclaimed, "God preserve our legislature from such
`penny wit and pound foolishness'! What sir, keep a nation in ignorance,
rather than vote a little of their own money for education!
Only let such politicians remember, what poor Carolina has already lost
through her ignorance. What was it that brought the British, last war,
to Carolina, but her lack of knowledge? Had the people been enlightened,
they would have been united; and had they been united,
they never would have been attacked a second time by the British.
For after that drubbing they got from us at fort Moultrie, in 1776,
they would as soon have attacked the devil as have attacked Carolina again,
had they not heard that they were `a house divided against itself';
or in other words, had amongst us a great number of TORIES;
men, who, through mere ignorance, were disaffected to the cause of liberty,
and ready to join the British against their own countrymen.
Thus, ignorance begat toryism, and toryism begat losses in Carolina,
of which few have any idea.

"According to the best accounts, America spent in the last war,
seventy millions of dollars, which, divided among the states according to
their population, gives to Carolina about eight millions; making, as the war
lasted eight years, a million a year. Now, it is generally believed,
the British, after their loss of Burgoyne and their fine northern army,
would soon have given up the contest, had it not been for the foothold
they got in Carolina, which protracted the war at least two years longer.
And as this two years' ruinous war in Carolina was owing to
the encouragement the enemy got there, and that encouragement to toryism,
and that toryism to ignorance, ignorance may fairly be debited
to two millions of loss to Carolina.

"Well, in these two extra years of tory-begotten war, Carolina lost,
at least four thousand men; and among them, a Laurens, a Williams, a Campbell,
a Haynes, and many others, whose worth not the gold of Ophir could value.
But rated at the price at which the prince of Hesse sold his people to
George the Third, to shoot the Americans, say, thirty pounds sterling a head,
or one hundred and fifty dollars, they make six hundred thousand dollars.
Then count the twenty-five thousand slaves which Carolina certainly lost,
and each slave at the moderate price of three hundred dollars,
and yet have seven millions five hundred thousand. To this add
the houses, barns, and stables that were burnt; the plate plundered;
the furniture lost; the hogs, sheep, and horned cattle killed;
the rice, corn, and other crops destroyed, and they amount,
at the most moderate calculation, to five millions.

"Now, to say nothing of those losses, which cannot be rated
by dollars and cents, such as the destruction of morals
and the distraction of childless parents and widows, but counting those only
that are of the plainest calculations, such as,

1st. Carolina's loss in the extra two years' war. $2,000,000
2d. For her four thousand citizens slain in that time, 600,000
3d. For twenty-five thousand slaves lost, 7,500,000
4th. For buildings, furniture, cattle, grain, &c. &c. destroyed, 5,000,000

Making the enormous sum of fifteen millions and odd dollars CAPITAL;
and bearing an annual interest of nearly ten hundred thousand dollars besides!
and all this for lack of a few free schools, which would have cost the state
a mere nothing."

I sighed, and told him I wished he had not broached the subject,
for it had made me very sad.

"Yes," replied he, "it is enough to make any one sad.
But it cannot be helped but by a wiser course of things; for, if people
will not do what will make them happy, God will surely chastise them;
and this dreadful loss of public property is one token of his displeasure
at our neglect of public instruction."

I asked him if this were really his belief. "Yes, sir," replied he,
with great earnestness, "it is my belief, and I would not exchange it
for worlds. It is my firm belief, that every evil under the sun
is of the nature of chastisement, and appointed of the infinitely good Being
for our benefit. When you see a youth, who, but lately,
was the picture of bloom and manly beauty, now utterly withered and decayed;
his body bent; his teeth dropping out; his nose consumed;
with foetid breath, ichorous eyes, and his whole appearance most putrid,
ghastly, and loathsome, you are filled with pity and with horror;
you can hardly believe there is a God, or hardly refrain
from charging him with cruelty. But, where folly raves, wisdom adores.
In this awful scourge of lawless lust, wisdom discerns the infinite price
which heaven sets on conjugal purity and love. In like manner,
the enormous sacrifice of public property, in the last war, being no more,
as before observed, than the natural effect of public ignorance,
ought to teach us that of all sins, there is none so hateful to God
as national ignorance; that unfailing spring of NATIONAL INGRATITUDE,

"But if it be melancholy to think of so many elegant houses, rich furniture,
fat cattle, and precious crops, destroyed for want of that patriotism
which a true knowledge of our interests would have inspired,
then how much more melancholy to think of those torrents of precious blood
that were shed, those cruel slaughters and massacres, that took place
among the citizens from the same cause! As proof that such hellish tragedies
would never have been acted, had our state but been enlightened,
only let us look at the people of New England. From Britain, their fathers
had fled to America for religion's sake. Religion had taught them
that God created men to be happy; that to be happy they must have virtue;
that virtue is not to be attained without knowledge, nor knowledge
without instruction, nor public instruction without free schools,
nor free schools without legislative order.

"Among a people who fear God, the knowledge of duty is the same as doing it.
Believing it to be the first command of God, "let there be light,"
and believing it to be the will of God that "all should be instructed,
from the least to the greatest," these wise legislators
at once set about public instruction. They did not ask,
how will my constituents like this? won't they turn me out?
shall I not lose my three dollars per day? No! but fully persuaded
that public instruction is God's will, because the people's good,
they set about it like the true friends of the people.

"Now mark the happy consequence. When the war broke out, you heard of
no division in New England, no toryism, nor any of its horrid effects;
no houses in flames, kindled by the hands of fellow-citizens,
no neighbors waylaying and shooting their neighbors,
plundering their property, carrying off their stock, and aiding the British
in the cursed work of American murder and subjugation. But on the contrary,
with minds well informed of their rights, and hearts glowing with love
for themselves and posterity, they rose up against the enemy, firm and united,
as a band of shepherds against the ravening wolves.

"And their valor in the field gave glorious proof how men will fight
when they know that their all is at stake. See major Pitcairn,
on the memorable 19th of April, 1775, marching from Boston,
with one thousand British regulars, to burn the American stores at Concord.
Though this heroic excursion was commenced under cover of the night,
the farmers soon took the alarm, and gathering around them
with their fowling pieces, presently knocked down one-fourth of their number,
and caused the rest to run, as if, like the swine in the gospel,
they had a legion of devils at their backs.

"Now, with sorrowful eyes, let us turn to our own state,
where no pains were ever taken to enlighten the minds of the poor.
There we have seen a people naturally as brave as the New Englanders,
for mere lack of knowledge of their blessings possessed,
of the dangers threatened, suffer lord Cornwallis, with only
sixteen hundred men, to chase general Greene upwards of three hundred miles!
In fact, to scout him through the two great states of South and North Carolina
as far as Guilford Courthouse! and, when Greene, joined at that place
by two thousand poor illiterate militia-men, determined at length
to fight, what did he gain by them, with all their number,
but disappointment and disgrace? For, though posted very advantageously
behind the corn-field fences, they could not stand a single fire
from the British, but in spite of their officers, broke and fled
like base-born slaves, leaving their loaded muskets
sticking in the fence corners!*

* Again, as Weems has slandered a great number of brave and true militia-men,
it should be noted, that being desperate to make his point,
he is not entirely frank here in his descriptions of events.
The "poor ditch" described below was doubtless better protection
than "corn-field fences", nor did the militia flee the field,
but only fell back on the main body. Other factors also figured,
such as differences in population density and geography.
Finally, a large number of the New England loyalists (tories),
whose existence Weems denies, fought for the British in the Carolinas.
-- A. L., 1997.

"But, from this shameful sight, turn again to the land of free schools;
to Bunker's Hill. There, behind a poor ditch of half a night's raising,
you behold fifteen hundred militia-men waiting the approach
of three thousand British regulars with a heavy train of artillery!
With such odds against them, such fearful odds in numbers, discipline,
arms, and martial fame, will they not shrink from the contest,
and, like their southern friends, jump up and run! Oh no; to a man
they have been taught to read; to a man they have been instructed to KNOW,
and dearer than life to prize, the blessings of FREEDOM.
Their bodies are lying behind ditches, but their thoughts are on the wing,
darting through eternity. The warning voice of God still rings in their ears.
The hated forms of proud merciless kings pass before their eyes.
They look back to the days of old, and strengthen themselves
as they think what their gallant forefathers dared for LIBERTY and for THEM.
They looked forward to their own dear children, and yearn over
the unoffending millions, now, in tearful eyes, looking up to them
for protection. And shall this infinite host of deathless beings,
created in God's own image, and capable by VIRTUE and EQUAL LAWS,
of endless progression in glory and happiness; shall they be arrested
in their high career, and from the freeborn sons of God,
be degraded into the slaves of man? Maddening at the accursed thought,
they grasp their avenging firelocks, and drawing their sights along
the death-charged tubes, they long for the coming up of the British thousands.
Three times the British thousands came up; and three times
the dauntless yeomen, waiting their near approach, received them
in storms of thunder and lightning that shivered their ranks,
and heaped the field with their weltering carcasses.

"In short, my dear sir, men will always fight for their government,
according to their sense of its value. To value it aright,
they must understand it. This they cannot do without education.
And as a large portion of the citizens are poor, and can never attain
that inestimable blessing, without the aid of government,
it is plainly the first duty of government to bestow it freely upon them.
And the more perfect the government, the greater the duty
to make it well known. Selfish and oppressive governments, indeed,
as Christ observes, must "hate the light, and fear to come to it,
because their deeds are evil." But a fair and cheap government,
like our republic, "longs for the light, and rejoices to come to the light,
that it may be manifested to be from God," and well worth all
the vigilance and valor that an enlightened nation can rally for its defence.
And, God knows, a good government can hardly ever be half anxious enough
to give its citizens a thorough knowledge of its own excellencies.
For as some of the most valuable truths, for lack of careful promulgation,
have been lost; so the best government on earth, if not duly known and prized,
may be subverted. Ambitious demagogues will rise, and the people
through ignorance, and love of change, will follow them.
Vast armies will be formed, and bloody battles fought.
And after desolating their country with all the horrors of civil war,
the guilty survivors will have to bend their necks to the iron yokes
of some stern usurper, and like beasts of burden, to drag, unpitied,
those galling chains which they have riveted upon themselves for ever."

This, as nearly as I can recollect, was the substance of the last dialogue
I ever had with Marion. It was spoken with an emphasis
which I shall never forget. Indeed he described the glorious action
at Bunker's Hill, as though he had been one of the combatants.
His agitation was great, his voice became altered and broken;
and his face kindled over with that living fire with which
it was wont to burn, when he entered the battles of his country.
I arose from my seat as he spoke; and on recovering from
the magic of his tongue, found myself bending forward
to the voice of my friend, and my right hand stretched by my side;
it was stretched to my side for the sword that was wont to burn
in the presence of Marion when battle rose, and the crowding foe
was darkening around us. But thanks to God, 'twas sweet delusion all.
No sword hung burning by my side; no crowding foe darkened around us.
In dust or in chains they had all vanished away, and bright in his scabbard
rested the sword of peace in my own pleasant halls on Winyaw bay.

Chapter 32.

The death of Marion -- his character.

"Next to Washington, O glorious shade!
In page historic shall thy name have place.
Deep on thy country's memory are portrayed
Those gallant deeds which time shall ne'er erase.

Ah! full of honors, and of years farewell!
Thus o'er thy tomb shall Carolina sigh;
Each tongue thy valor and thy worth shall tell,
Which taught the young to fight, the old to die."

The next morning, I set out for my plantation on Winyaw bay.
Marion, as usual, accompanied me to my horse, and, at parting,
begged I would come and see him again soon, for that he felt
he had not long to stay. As the reader may suppose, I paid
but little heed to this expression, which I looked on as no more
than the common cant of the aged. But I soon had cause
to remember it with sorrow. For I had been but a few weeks at home,
before, opening a Charleston paper, I found in a mourning column,
"THE DEATH OF GENERAL MARION". Never shall I forget the heart-sickness
of that moment; never forget what I felt when first I learned
that Marion was no more. Though the grave was between us,
yet his beloved image seemed to appear before me fresher than ever.
All our former friendships, all our former wars returned.
But alas! he who was to me the soul of all the rest; the foremost
in every battle; the dearest at every feast; he shall return no more!
"Oh Marion, my friend!" my bursting heart seemed to say, "and art thou gone?
Shall I no more hear that voice which was always so sweet; no more see
that smile which awakened up such joy in my soul! Must that beloved form
be lost forever among the clods in the valley. And those godlike virtues,
shall they pass away like the empty visions of the night!"

From this deep gloom which strong atheistic sorrow had poured
over my nerves, I was suddenly roused, as by an angel's touch,
to the bright hopes of religion. The virtues of my departed friend
all flashed at once upon my kindling thoughts: his countenance
so stern with honor; his tongue so sacred to truth; that heart
always so ready to meet death in defence of the injured;
that eye ever beaming benevolence to man, and that whole life
so reverential of God. The remembrance, I say, of all these things,
came in streams of joy to my heart.

"O happy Marion!" I exclaimed, "thou art safe, my friend; thou art safe.
No tears of mine shall doubt thy blissful state. Surely if there be a God,
and that there is, all nature cries aloud through all her works,
he must delight in virtue, and what he delights in must be happy."

Then it was, that I felt what a benefactor Marion had been to me.
How dear his company while living; how sweet his memory when dead.
Like the sun travelling in brightness, his smiles had ever been my joy,
his example my light. And though now set in the grave,
yet has he not left me in darkness. His virtues, like stars,
are lighted up after him. They point my hopes to the path of glory;
and proclaim, that, though fallen, he is not extinguished.

From the physicians and many others who attended him in his last illness,
I learned that he had died as he had lived, a truly GREAT MAN. His chamber
was not, as is usual with dying persons, a scene of gloom and silent distress,
but rather like the cheerful parlor of one who was setting out
on an agreeable journey. "Some," said he, "have spoken of death as a leap
in the dark; but for my part, I look on it as a welcome resting place,
where virtuous old age may throw down his pains and aches,
wipe off his old scores, and begin anew on an innocent and happy state
that shall last for ever. What weakness to wish to live
to such ghastly dotage, as to frighten the children, and make even the dogs
to bark at us as we totter along the streets. Most certainly then,
there is a time when, to a good man, death is a great mercy even to his body;
and as to his soul, why should he tremble about that? Who can doubt
that God created us to be happy; and thereto made us to love one another?
which is plainly written in our hearts; whose every thought and work of love
is happiness, and as plainly written as the gospel; whose every line
breathes love, and every precept enjoins good works.
Now, the man who has spent life in bravely denying himself every inclination
that would make others miserable, and in courageously doing all in his power
to make them happy, what has such a man to fear from death, or rather,
what glorious things has he not to hope from it?"

Hearing one of his friends say that the methodists and baptists
were progressing rapidly in some parts of the state, he replied,
"Well, thank God for that; that is good news." The same gentleman
then asked him which he thought was the best religion. "I know
but one religion," he answered, "and that is hearty love of God and man.
This is the only true religion; and I would to God our country was full of it.
For it is the only spice to embalm and to immortalize our republic.
Any politician can sketch out a fine theory of government,
but what is to bind the people to the practice? Archimedes used to mourn
that though his mechanic powers were irresistible, yet he could never
raise the world; because he had no place in the heavens,
whereon to fix his pullies. Even so, our republic will never be raised
above the shameful factions and miserable end of all other governments,
until our citizens come to have their hearts like Archimedes' pullies,
fixed on heaven. The world sometimes makes such bids to ambition,
that nothing but heaven can outbid her. The heart is sometimes so embittered,
that nothing but divine love can sweeten it; so enraged,
that devotion only can becalm it; and so broke down,
that it takes all the force of heavenly hope to raise it. In short,
religion is the only sovereign and controlling power over man.
Bound by that, the rulers will never usurp, nor the people rebel.
The former will govern like fathers, and the latter obey like children.
And thus moving on, firm and united as a host of brothers,
they will continue invincible as long as they continue virtuous."

When he was near his end, seeing his lady weeping by his bedside,
he gave her a look of great tenderness, and said, "My dear, weep not for me,
I am not afraid to die; for, thank God, I can lay my hand on my heart and say,
that since I came to man's estate, I have never intentionally
done wrong to any."

These were nearly his last words, for shortly after uttering them,
he closed his eyes in the sleep of death.

Thus peaceful and happy was the end of general Francis Marion,
of whom, as a partisan officer, general Greene has often been heard to say,
that "the page of history never furnished his equal."
And if any higher praise of Marion were necessary, it is to be found
in the very remarkable resemblance between him and the great Washington.
They both came forward, volunteers in the service of their country;
they both learned the military art in the hard and hazardous schools
of Indian warfare; they were both such true soldiers in vigilance,
that no enemy could ever surprise them; and so equal in undaunted valor,
that nothing could ever dishearten them: while as to
the still nobler virtues of patience, disinterestedness, self-government,
severity to themselves and generosity to their enemies,
it is difficult to determine whether Marion or Washington most deserve
our admiration. And even in the lesser incidents of their lives,
the resemblance between these two great men is closer than common.
They were both born in the same year; both lost their fathers in early life;
both married excellent and wealthy ladies; both left widows;
and both died childless.

The name of Marion continues dear to the people of the south;
and to this day, whenever his amiable widow rides through the country,
she meets the most pleasing evidences, that her husband, though dead,
is not forgotten. The wealthy, everywhere, treat her with the respect
due to a mother; while the poor, gathering around her carriage,
often press to shake hands with her, then looking at each other with a sigh

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