Sweet Rose, in air whose odours
And color charms the eye; [wave,

Thy root is ever in its grave;
And thou, alas! must die!

3.

4.

Sweet Spring, of days and roses made, | Be wise then, mortal, while you may,
Whose charms for beauty vie;

Thy days depart, thy roses fade,
Thou too, alas! must die.

For time does swiftly fly,

The thoughtless soul that laughsto-
To-morrow, too, may die. [day,

HISTORICAL COLLECTIONS.

From the Hartford Pearl.

THE DOALE, AND THE MOTHER.

A TALE OF THE REVOLUTION.

Bristol without one. The British lived in a most sumptuous manner, spending their days in feasting and rioting, trusting in a fancied security, while the wrath of an insulted nation was gathering black and mighty above them, ere long to burst in a storm of vengeance on their devoted heads, shaking the country to its very centre, and scattering the myrmy dons of proud and tyrannical kings from the land of the free. While they were indulging in the midst of luxury, Washington, at Valley Forge, borne down by fatigue and hunger, nay, almost by famine, was plotting the means which ended in driving them from our shores, and raising the "star spangled banner" of liberty over a free and happy people.

The winter of 1777, which so much distressed our army, was distinguished as is well known by a more than ordinary series of calamities. Such was its intense coldness, that it has ever gone by the name of " the hard winter," and is still called so by all those who took any part in our revolutionary campaign. Sir William Howe was succeeding in all his enterprises throughout Pennsylvania, and, by a succession of victories, had spread a disheartening feeling throughout the A poor woman, by the name of Copely, American Army, which, in proportion as its with a family of small children, was suffering enemies succeeded, lost that energy for which more in the heart of British plenty, than her they were so much distinguished, and which disheartened husband was with the Ameriwas about to win for them the glorious title cans at Valley Forge. By the wicked tyof their country's preservers. After aban-ranny of the soldiers, she had been left aldoning Germantown, Sir William concen- most without nourishment for her little ones, trated his forces at Philadelphia, and stationed and she repeatedly applied to the officers for his troops on both sides of the Delaware, to a pass, but they either disregarded her enprevent the inhabitants adjacent going thither treaties, or, having more weighty matters on for provisions, and to destroy foraging parties their hands, neglected to furnish her with it. sent out by our army. After many fruitless solicitations, she resolved to apply to Sir William himself. Upon hearing her story he promised her a pass, but promises were all she received from the haughty leader, and at last, stung by these repeated disappointments, and urged forward and emboldened by the cries of her children, she resolved to set forth without the necessary safe-guard, and endeavor to reach the "Mills" by a circuitous route.

Valley Forge, distant about twenty-five miles from Philadelphia, had been fixed upon by Washington for the winter quarters of the Americans, where they experienced hardships unparallelled in the annals of war. Their way might have been traced thither, history tells us, by the track of blood from their feet, which they left in marching without shoes or stockings over the frozen ground between Whitemarsh and Valley Forge. All the circumstances of this distressing campaign are too deeply graven on the heart of every freeman to need relating here.

At this time the situation of the inhabitants of Philadelphia, who could not follow Washington, was heart-rending in the extreme.Subject as they were to the daily, nay, hourly abuse of the British, insult upon insult heaped upon them, not only by the soldiers, but by the officers, themselves; and, forced to obey the tyrant of an hour, they could do nothing to redress themselves, but were obliged to submit, laying up their wrath for a future day of retribution, which, happily, was not far off. To obtain even the necessaries of life, they were obliged to go to Bristol, a distance of about twenty miles from Philadelphia, and they had not only to go that distance, but even such a privilege was denied them unless a pass was procured from Sir William, for British sentinels had been placed at small intervals along the road, rendering it next to impossible to reach the "Mills" at

After giving her little ones to the care of a friend as needy as herself, she commenced this arduous undertaking, alone and without a pass, without a friend on the route, without a chance of finding any refreshment during the whole of the journey. As she toiled on the tedious way, sometimes a sense of her loneliness, and the long route she had undertaken, would come overpowering upon her, and she would be almost induced to abandon the project and to return to her unhappy home; but with the thoughts of home came the images of her children, while she seemed to hear their bitter cries, and then, new nerved, she would again press on, resolved to surmount every obstacle, or perish in the attempt. She kept the regular road till near where a sentinel was placed, and then leaving the beaten path, she plunged into the trackless forest to avoid them, and then turning into the main road; thus she contrived to pass many of them unquestioned and in safety. This she continued to do through the day, but owing to her serpentine route, she made but little progress towards the Mills.

By the kind aid of the miller's wife, she was brought from her exhausted state into something like life. Long before she had gained the least strength, did she try to get away from her detainers, but they, knowing she would never reach home in such a con

When the shades of evening approached, and she found herself far from any habitation where she could have passed the night, torn and wounded by the brambles and bushes through which she had forced her way, her resolution began to fail; but as the thoughts of home flashed across her mind, she redoub-dition, would not suffer her to undertake the led her energy to reach some human habitation, were it nothing more than the enemy's guard house.

journey. She staid some days with the kind family, but at last they yielded to her repeated solicitations, and permitted her to set out. After filling the bag with flour for which the miller would receive no remuneration, she commenced her return.

Thus she toiled until night set in, when not only her courage but her strength began to fail her. The agonizing mother now only looked for some tree to ascend, thinking it Many now remember the six Dowells, or, better to pass the night upon the limbs, than as they were more commonly called, the upon the frozen ground. She tried to climb Doales, who, about the time we are writing, several, but was so benumbed with the cold, began to be distinguished for their heroic and faint with fatigue and hunger, her feeble bravery. They were a hardy brotherhood, limbs refused to aid her. At length she not one of them less than six feet high, found one, rising but little from the ground,"strong of limb and swift of foot." and in a horizontal direction, which seemed to afford a resting place; by an exertion which required all her strength, she succeeded in reaching where the limbs so crossed each other as to give a transient resting place to the weary traveller.

They lived entirely by plunder, but never plundered Americans. Extremely partial to them, they did all in their power to harrass and weaken the British, and if their secret deeds could be brought to light, no doubt many a Harvy Birch exploit could be found The horrors of that night to her, who thus among them. Their achievements were of in the middle of cold winter had left her such a nature as could not fail to become the home, and was now alone in the depths of talk of both armies. Danger seemed never the forest, can better be conceived than de- to enter their imaginations. Total strangers scribed. Afraid to sleep, lest she should to fear, their only apparent object was to sleep to wake no more, or should lose her hold plunder from Sir William's troops; though on the limbs and fall to the ground, where sufficient evidence had been obtained that she must evidently perish-almost frozen under this cover they secretly did the Ameriwith the intense cold-rubbing her limbs cans more good than many of that day were with one hand, and clasping the icy branches willing to believe. But they so managed it with the other, she sat ruminating on the as to be high in the confidence of the leaders difficulties she had yet to contend with. At of both armies. At one time they would be times her resolution would seem to leave in the heart of Philadelphia, dressed in the her, but the chilling winds moaning through British costume, and indulging in all the the leafless trees, would remind her of the luxuries of the place, doubtless with some voice of her little sufferers at home, which end in view, which could not be discovered was enough to raise the spirits of the faith-by their demeanor; at another time they ful mother, even in this dreadful hour of peril would be suffering the privations of the and of trial. American camp, and yielding assistance at Valley Forge.

They did not live together, but were scattered over the country, though they evidently acted in concert, and had some fixed plan or method by which they regulated their actions.

It would be fruitless to narrate the feelings of the doubly distressed mother through this long and dreary night. With what rapture did she hail the glimmerings of light in the eastern horizon! Never was the light of day more welcome to the released inmates of a dungeon, than was the first ray of the sun on The almost dying Mrs. Copely commenced that eventful morning, and yet it arose to her journey with the additional encumbrance witness new horror and suffering. The he- of a bag of flour, and was returning with a roic mother, supported with the hope of giv- comparatively light heart to her home.— ing food once more to her little ones, kept Home! how did she redouble her speed and her toilsome way. After suffering almost in- strain every nerve, at the thought of the hapcredible horrors, which she bore with the py faces she should make at home! Many magnanimity far above that of a Spartan mo- dangers lay between her and that loved place ther, she at last reached the Mills. She-she had yet many difficulties to encounter, could only articulate "Food! food for my which would have appalled a stouter heart babes!" and sunk exhausted and almost life-than hers, but urged on by such motives, she .ess at the miller's feet. I could not be otherwise than heroic. She had

passed in her usual manner the guard at Frankford, and had hardly regained the highway, when a tall, active man, sprang from the bushes into the road before her. She had frequently heard of the Doales, but had never seen one of them; but from the similitude of the stranger with the description she had received, she did not doubt it was one of them who stood before her. Uncertain whether he was a friend or a foe, she stopped short in her way, afraid either to retreat or advance, and standing half bent down with the weight of the pack, her anxious face fixed intently on the figure before her, she seemned ready either to supplicate compassion from the British officer, or to demand assistance from the American.

py faces she would make at home came over her. Already, in anticipation, she was seated in her home by a crackling fire, watching the baking bread, and looking with delight upon the smiling faces around her. Giving herself up to grateful reflections, without thinking of the road, she had nearly arrived at Vine street, when the cry of "Halt" broke upon her ear in tones which banished every pleasing dream from her mind, and made the blood run chilly through her veins. She started, and, almost overcome with fear, found herself in the custody of a British sentinel.

"Woman! where is your pass?"

"Oh, sir, I have none-for my children's sake, I"

Such an attitude struck to the heart of the "Curse your children, and you too! what kind Doale, for it was one of them, who in- business have I with the rebel brats. It were stantly came forward and relieved her appre- better for them to die, than live and be enehensions, by placing a letter in her hand.-mies of their King. You are without a pass One glance showed her the well known hand--this flour is mine-go your way and thank writing of her husband, and she kissed it my generosity that you are not sent to the over and over again, mingling thanks to the guard house." Doale and thanks to her Maker in a most incoherent manner for preserving her husband. After she had finished reading it, he said:

The poor woman said nothing, for she knew any thing she could say would not avail her; the thoughts of her helplessness crowded dark and heavy through her mind. After encountering so many privations and

"Your husband is still well, madam, and he requested me to say, that he would short-hardships to gain this little store for her family be with you and his little ones."

Tears stood in the eyes of the matron as he mentioned the young objects of her care, and she involuntarily grasped the flour still closer, as if she feared the hard-earned booty || would be wrested from her. The Doale con- || tinued:

"Money is scarce with both you and your husband, nay, I see you look at your burden, as if it contained the wealth of the world, but it cannot last long. My means are ample-here," continued he, offering her a purse "here's a little to keep you from want these hard times." She hesitated to receive it. "Do not refuse it, madam, the amount is small, but this is all I have with me. Take it—I shall never miss it. Give me no thanks, but hasten on your way-there is a sentinel but a short distance before you—take the road to the left-be quick-farewell-may Heaven bless you!" and, pressing the purse in her hand, he disappeared.

66

May Heaven bless the excellent man," said the mother, as she looked first at the gold and then at the place where the Doale vanished, as if to assure herself of its reality;|| but, recollecting his caution to be quick, she turned down the road he had directed.

As she pursued her way along the narrow path pointed out to her, she indulged herself in pleasing anticipations, which she had before hardly dared to think of. Her burden seemed less heavy as the thought of the hap

ly, to have it thus wrested from her by a brutal soldier, without one effort on her part to preserve it, seemed too much, and she was about to exert herself to gain something from the retreating ruffian, when the benevolent Doale came out of the wood apparently to her aid. Her hopes were again raised-but his whole demeanor seemed changed, for the tall stately Doale was substituted the sloping form and averted face of an humble supplicant. With an appearance of humiliating meekness, he approached the soldier with agitating steps, begged of him to return the flour to the woman, offering to pay him the price of it if he would.

"Fool!" exclaimed the sentinel, "what business have you to interfere? Off, or you shall pay the price of your temerity."

The Doale's eye lighted up with a momentary expression of fierceness, but was instantly quelled, and he repeated his request, offering to pay double the price of the flour, if he would return it.

"Have a care how you speak to me; yonder is the guard house, and with one word I can bring the whole guard down upon you,' replied he, apparently feeling something like fear, as the Doale began to raise himself, and exhibit his personal strength.

He again urged him to return the flour, telling him of the privations she had suffered, and of her distress at home.

"The devil take her distress and you