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the waters of the far-famed Elizabeth river. His superior qualifications in his line of business, soon enabled him in his new place of sojourn, to become the successful rival of some half dozen oyster-loving swains, who were at once addressing a nymph that lived near the swamps of Back river. That he lived happily in his new situation, no one can doubt, and ere he died, he had conferred the greatest favour on his country, by leaving a respectable stock of descendants, some of whom are, even at this day, regularly to be found every morning in the neighbourhood of the market house at Norfolk.

CONCLUSION.

Many years had elapsed, and the untiring hand of time had mellowed down the brighter hue of our hero's youthful life, into the sober autumnal tints of middle age, when it became necessary that he should cross the Atlantic, upon a voyage of business to London.' After some days of a round of visits in that circle to which his wealth and standing entitled him, he performed the business which had brought him from home, and anxiously awaited the hour when he should return. London presented to him its thousand and one attractions in vain. "Home, sweet home," was uppermost in his thoughts, and to while away the time which intervened, he amused himself by examining the many wonderful and curious monuments of art, taste, wealth and glory, with which that City abounds.

It was during one of his excursions to the environs of London, in company with a friend, that he

was tempted to take a view of some tomb-stones in a grave-yard. Amongst many inscriptions which pointed to the remains beneath them, his eye was caught by one upon which it flashed like the glance of a basilisk. In the most retired part of the cemetery, in a spot which seemed to have been never trodden since the body beneath was interred, surrounded by weeds of the most deadly growth, he with some difficulty distinguished the whole of the following defaced epitaph:

BENEDICT ARNOLD.

ETAT

He gazed upon it till his friend, surprised by his manner, asked him the cause of his emotion. "When did that man die?" replied Edgar, in a tone almost sepulchral. "Who is it?" replied the other: “Arnold—Arnold—why really I have forgotten him, if I ever knew him." "Forget a Brigadier General in your King's service," replied Edgar, "that is truly strange." "A General," exclaimed his more volatile friend, that is a good one. Oh! now I have a faint recollection of some such man. Was he not a deserter from the American service?" replied Edgar, "and for his treachery was appointed to the most honourable station in your army." "That may be true," the other calmly observed, "but he met with little favour after he reached this country. The Ministry were too much discouraged by the disgrace and ruin of the British cause in America, to think of rewarding their more honourable servants, much less one so universally detested

"He was,"

for his villainy, as Arnold. He sunk into neglect, became disgracefully intemperate, and at last died in a state of most abject misery. Some charitable person doubtless gave him a decent burial, and his name is now never whispered."

Edgar left the spot in horror; his feelings of hatred and revenge towards the miserable traitor, were at once dispelled, as he reflected that the most dire punishment which he could have inflicted upon him was but slight in comparison to that given by an ungrateful country.

And may such ever be the traitor's doom; may there ever be

"A tongue to curse the slave,

Whose treason, like a deadly blight,
Comes o'er the counsels of the brave,

And blasts them in their hour of might!
May life's unblessed cup, for him
Be drugg'd with treacheries to the brim,
With hopes that but allure to fly,

With joys that vanish while he sips,
Like Dead Sea fruits, that tempt the eye,
But turn to ashes on the lips!

His country's curse, his children's shame,
Outcast of virtue, peace and fame;
May he at last, with lips of flame,
On the parch'd desert thirsting die,
While lakes that shone in mockery nigh,
Are fading off, untouch'd, untasted,
Like the once-
e-glorious hopes he blasted!
And when from Earth his Spirit flies,

Just Prophet, let the damn'd-one dwell
Full in the sight of Paradise,

Beholding Heaven, and feeling Hell!"

766

ADVERTISEMENT.

With this conclude the six numbers, intended to form the first series or set of "The Spirit of the Old Dominion." The work was commenced and has beer continued under all the unfavourable circumstances necessarily attendant upon most of new Periodical Publications, the effects of which have been doubtless discovered in many instances. But, it is to be hoped that the spirit which has prompted the plan and execution of an entirely Original and National Work, will redeem it from the harsher criticisms, which it may really deserve, and that an extension of patronage will allow its continuance to be in a style of execution honourable to the State and creditable to its Editor. As variety is the sauce of life, we have concluded to alter the plan which we had intended to pursue at the commencement of this Work, and to render it more of an Original Miscellany than it has been. This change is necessary to advance the object for which the work was originally established, viz: to form a medium through which a great proportion of the literary talent in the State now suffered to lie dormant for such an opportunity, might be developed. That there are many writers in the State of Virginia, whose performances would do credit to any work, is a fact of which the Editor is well apprized. And it is to afford such persons an opportunity of indulging in their favourite styles

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