Parting day Dies like the dolphin, whom each pang imbues With a new colour as it gasps away, The last still loveliest, till-'t is gone, and all is gray.

Rough Johnson, the great moralist.

Mark! Where his carnage and his conquests cease, He makes a solitude and calls it-peace!

Till taught by pain, men know not water's worth.

For what were all these country patriots born? To hunt, and vote, and raise the price of corn?

Muse of the many twinkling feet, whose charms are now extending up from legs to arms.

Here lies interred in the eternity of the past, from whence there is no resurrection for the days - whatever there may be for the dust - the thirty-third year of an ill-spent life, which, after a lingering disease of many months sank into a lethargy, and expired, January 22d, 1821, A.D. leaving a successor inconsolable for the very loss which occasioned its existence.