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first Dodd was what he desired to make others, but he was tempted beyond his strength. If any are not startled at the guilt of such a crime, they may at least tremble at the anguish and the remorse which follow its commission.

Dr. Dodd was publicly executed in London, June 27, 1777, in the 49th year of his age. He desired to live, and clung tenaciously to life, abhorring the mode of his death, and believing almost up to the day of his execution, that his sentence would be commuted. But it was deemed necessary by the government that an example should be made of him to deter others from so dangerous a crime. The more eminent the social position of the perpetrator, the more important it was to enforce the law.

The close of Dr. Dodd's life was one of pious resignation. At times his conduct in prison was reprehensible, but yet there were indications of sincere penitence-even hope did not desert him on the scaffold. He encouraged the belief that he should survive the execution, and this his friends urged him to cherish. They hovered about the prison, and by various pretexts and the liberal use of gold, endeavored in vain to seduce the keepers from their integrity, and thus secure the escape of the culprit. When this proved abortive, a partial arrangement was made with the hangman by his medical friends so that the position of the rope would neither dislocate the neck nor produce suffocation. It was of no avail. The tragedy over, and justice satisfied, the body was given to his friends. But all efforts at resuscitation were fruitless. The unhappy man was dead!

Huntingdon, unlike his distinguished English predecessor in guilt, never expressed regret for his crimes, or visibly suffered from remorse. He was stoical to the last, and although his conduct was vastly more criminal and aggravated than that of Dr. Dodd, yet he has never acknowledged his guilt, or shown the least compunction for it. Dr. Johnson assured his distressed friend, that "morally or religiously considered, his crime was not one of very deep turpitude. It corrupted no man's principles, and it assailed no man's life. It only involved temporary injury, and one which pecuniarily could be easily repaired." But there are higher considerations, both Divine and human. Forgery involves consequences of momentous importance to the business relations of life. It destroys confidence between man and man; it weakens moral obligations and takes away the sacred use of one's own name, by imposing it with deliberate fraud upon a third party. The inviolability of a man's signature is the great element of confidence, upon which the business transactions of life are based. Human laws throw around it every possible safeguard, in the way of prevention. In every civilized country, the penalty for forgery is severe, and justly so. For it is not merely the pecuniary loss which is to be made up, so much as it is the great wrong to society, in the undermining of confidence, which has to be punished.

IVY is the beauty of old ruins, and our faith is not unlike it, for it springs up so strongly from amidst fallen hopes.

A POOR WAYFARER'S GRAVE.

BY PARVUS.

**One more unfortunate."

Ox the morning of the 18th of May, 1848, our usually quiet neighborhood was thrown into a state of excitement by the report of a dead man having been found at a certain spot close by the roadside. The report spread from house to house and field to field, and the farmers and others, quitting their labors, turned their steps towards the indicated spot. The report appeared to be founded on facts, for the almost half decomposed body of a man was found lying about fifty yards off from the public highway, in a path of chestnut sprouts. It was not possible to tell who the unfortunate victim had been, as he was no more recognizable from his features, having been almost destroyed by the process of decomposition. On this account, those who gathered together were, for some time, not able to conclude who the poor wayfarer had been. However, after a short deliberation, the legal mode of procedure was adopted. A justice of the peace being on the ground, a jury was chosen and an inquest on the body was held. None but circumstantial evidence could be produced, which appears, however, to have been sufficient to render the verdict, that the unfortunate man had come to his death whilst under the influence of intoxicating liquor, justifiable. This, as far as we are able to recollect, was the sum and substance of the verdict.

The evidence produced was to this effect: In the first place, a bundle was found, evidently belonging to some wayfarer, who had left it there. This was thought had belonged to the deceased, which appeared to be the fact, as was proved by other things. On opening the bundle a number of papers-some letters, if our memory serves us right-were found, from which the name of the unfortunate man was found to have been Gustavus Adolphus Lemke. On further search, a bottle with some brandy was found, which proved that some foul play had been practised. It was well known that the individual whose name had been discovered, had been addicted to drinking; further, it was remembered by some one present that he had been in the neighborhood only a short time before, and was said to have had his flask filled not half a mile from the spot where he had been found. Moreover, the stature of the deceased still more strengthened the belief that the bundle, papers and flask of brandy must have belonged to him. According to this testimony the verdict was rendered as stated above.

After having thus attended to the requirements of the law, the neighbors proceeded to the burial of the corpse as best they could. A rough box was procured into which it was rolled-this being the only possible way of handling it; a grave was dug, and there the mortal remains of he poor, homeless wanderer found their last resting place. We were

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not present at the solemn and mournful performance, and although we frequently passed by, close to the place where he sleeps the long sleep of death, yet about seven years passed by before our eyes beheld the spot where rest his bones in the bosom of good old mother earth. Not that we felt unconcerned about him, nor because we never thought of him and his sad fate, but much rather because it is so sad to think of his ignominious end.

Of the previous history of the subject of this article we know not much. We recollect having seen him at different times. The first time we met him, he was in a state of intoxication. So a second time, although then not so much under the influence of liquor. He was, excepting his dissipated habits and their necessary consequences, a man of good qualities. Kind-hearted and obliging, and treating everybody with proper respect and politeness. A German by birth and education, he possessed a well cultivated mind and polished manners. He was a very good scholar, who had no doubt enjoyed the advantages of a liberal education, having perhaps been a graduate of one of Germany's best universities. Judging from all this he may have been descended from a noble family, and may have moved in the highest circles of society before the demon of dissipation got him into his power.

We remember that he was at times engaged in teaching school, by which he earned a little something towards his support. Kind friends, beyond the wide expanse of the blue waters of the Atlantic, sent occasional gifts to supply his wants, which is another proof that he must have been of respectable extraction. But he fell fell deeply! He is buried alone. His grave is sunk in, and no one fills it up. No tears were dropped upon his mound-no friend pays his regular visits there, and the poor victim of alcohol sleeps the long sleep of death unmourned and unsung, except it be by those who know not where his bones are deposited-where he awaits the sound of the last, the resurrection trump. How sad! Truly, "the way of the transgressor is hard.”

The thoughts that crowded themselves upon our mind as we passed by the spot, from time to time, were many and solemn. We passed the place hundreds of times and at almost every hour of the day and the night, but very seldom without thinking of him who sleeps there. We passed by and sat at the grave when the sun was about taking his exit from our view-when the trees cast their lengthened shadows across the fields and the evening breezes sighed softly but mournfully amongst the leaflets above us. We passed by at the midnight hour, when the pale beams of the moon dimly revealed the objects around us-when the hum of busy life was hushed-when sleep locked in the senses of man, and when almost the silence of death hung over the surrounding country. We passed by in the morning, at the dawning of day, when "rosyfingered Aurora" painted the eastern firmament and reminded a person of the "dayspring from on high"-when the lamps which had burned brightly in the azure vault above, during the night, grew dim-when the pale moon had sunk behind the mountain, or began to fade away in the light of the coming day, and when the sweet notes of the feathered songsters began to resound in the groves. We passed at noon-day, when all around was activity-when herds of cattle roamed over the adjoining fields or reclined under the shade of trees-when neighbors

were at work in their fields, earning their bread in the sweat of their brow.

We passed by in the Spring, when the tender leaflets appeared on the trees when tender blades of grass and modest flowerets peeped out of the earth, and the lately returned warblers of the grove cheered us by their sweet music. We passed by in the Summer, when the golden, waving grain was ripe for the sickle-when long rows of mowers, with strong arm, swung their scythes, laying low the tall grass (fit emblem of mortal man!) in the surrounding fields-when the rich sheaves of a bountiful harvest were gathered in, and the hearts of young and old were full of rejoicing over God's goodness. We passed by in the Fall, in the days of sered leaves-when nature prepared for the repose of Winter-when the sweet flowers were no more, and the music of the feathered songsters was hushed, they having flown to a more genial clime. We passed by in cold and dreary Winter, when the ground was covered with a white robe-when cold blasts from the northwest swept over hills and valleys-when nature reposed during the cold season, awaiting the resurrection of the Spring. Thus, whenever we passed by, our thoughts would turn to the lone slumberer in the grove. How sad to

think of his fate!

The following reflections have often been before our mind. He died alone. No kind father, no dear mother, no faithful brother, no gentle sister near to minister to his wants. What thoughts may have crowded his mind! What desires may have filled his heart! How he may have longed to see a dear parent, a beloved brother, an affectionate sister or a kind friend at his side! How he may have wished for one to convey his last, his dying words, across the deep blue waters of the mighty ocean and communicate them to his loved ones at home! To those who could not know to what a miserable condition he had now comedying unsheltered and uncared for-stretched out under the blue vault of heaven, his death-bed the bare ground, or at least a few dry leaves.

Perhaps he died at night, when the bright stars looked peaceably down upon him; perhaps in the morning, when the darkness of the night hied itself westward; perhaps at noontide, when the sun stood at its meridian height; perhaps at eventide, when "fading, still fading the last beam was shining," or when the dusk of eve began to obscure objects at a distance, and when he may have seen cheerful lights at the neighboring farm-houses. Ah! how terrible it must have been thus to die. Within a few hundred yards of a dwelling, and yet not able to reach it, and no one near to lend a helping hand-when within the sound of passing teams and conveyances-when within hearing distance of the farmer following his plough-when within sight of cheerful lights in happy homes, mocking, as it were, the poor, helpless sufferer, and adding new agony to his sufferings. Ah! how hard must it not be, to die within reach of help and yet not able to obtain it. If the sufferer was not unconscious he must have heard persons pass by within fifty yards of the place where he died. He must have felt that help was near, but he had not the power to call for it! Oh, how this must have added to the intensity of his anguish of soul! Suspended between hope and fear at times, perhaps hearing the sound of human voices and hoping that relief was at hand. He listens-he strains his ear to catch every sound

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-he hears approaching footsteps-the persons are nearing themselveshe hopes soon to be taken under some hospitable roof and to have all his wants supplied. Oh, what a cheering thought! But, alas, he is disappointed! As he listens, the sounds become fainter and fainter until they die away. His heart sinks in him; no relief has come. Thus he hopes and fears, fears and hopes until the lamp of life flickers and dies.

His was a sad death! To die without a friend near-to meet the "king of terrors" solitary and alone. Ah, how sad! No one to speak a kind and encouraging word—no one to drop a tear of affection—no one to speak of a Saviour, of a home beyond the grave, of a re-union above, of a life of bliss and glory in heaven! To depart this life without having an interest in Him, who is "the resurrection and the life," is at all times and under all circumstances an awful thing, but under circumstances like the above, it is doubly so !

And now, gentle reader of The Guardian, let not this example be set before you in vain. Stand still for a few moments and reflect. Turn your thoughts inward, cast a glance into your own heart, and ask yourself the question, Am I safe in the way I now go? Alas, how many young men are prowling the broad road to ruin! How many are hastening onward to a drunkard's death and a drunkard's grave! Yea, much more shocking will be the death of many, than was that of our poor, wayfaring outcast!

Such examples should teach us to take heed in time lest we be seduced by the tempter. How frequently do we not hear of the brightest intellects being obscured and destroyed by dissipation's poisonous embraces. How many men of extraordinary talents become victims of the intoxicating cup. How many promising youths-the pride and hope of parents and friends-go to college with bright prospects before them, but return with confirmed habits of dissipation. Alas, alas, many a parent's heart has been broken, and many a grey head has in sorrow gone down into the vault, because of a ruined son.

In view of these facts, we would say to one and all, beware! Temptations beset us on all sides. The demon of intemperance especially seeks his victims. He has many who lend him a helping hand in leading astray the unwary and unsuspecting. Many are his devices; his snares, laid for the feet of the young and heedless, many. Oh, young man, take heed unto your ways. Walk circumspectly. Behold the many temptations that surround you. Be on your guard. "Watch and pray that you enter not into temptation." Think of the misery of a life of dissipation-think of the terrible end of the drunkard-think of the judgment-day-think of an endless eternity to be spent in misery and wo!

In regard to all intoxicating drinks, choose as your watchword, Total abstinence! In large letters inscribe on your banner, TOUCH NOT, TASTE NOT, HANDLE NOT, and may the Lord be your strength and support in all your temptations. Thus will you be secure in life, in death resigned, and happy in eternity. The Lord grant it.

PROPERTY left to a child may soon be lost; but the inheritance of virtue will abide forever.