The Rhode Island American, And General Advertiser

the following truly interesting narrative we copy from the Augusta, (Georgia) Herald, of the 18th ultimo. The young of both sexes are requested to read it with attention.

Died a few days since, in a state of distraction, Miss MARY-ANN MOONEY, aged 21 years.

The circumstances attending the death of this unfortunate female are published with a view to the benefiting of her own sex, and as an awful and solemn admonition to the inconsiderate of the other.

This young lady was the daughter of Mrs. S. Mooney, who lives a few miles from this place. An honest, and respected old lady has by her industry of subsistence, and by her prudent management her little family has been from want. Mary-Ann was her oldest favourite child.

She with her mother and other family, lived in a cabin near this beaten road to the printing office. Mary-Ann was handsome, and had just arrived at that age when the heart is alive to the impulses of love, and susceptible of tender emotions. A young man of apparently genteel appearance, and genteel dress, who travelled the road frequently, at length became acquainted with her, and by degrees, his visits became more frequent, and his conversation more interesting. He soon discovered a strong partiality for her, and by degrees, his visits became more frequent, and his conversation more interesting. He soon discovered a strong partiality for her, and commenced upon this theme, compliments upon her person induced her to attend her daughter to the door of the next toll gate. A customer 'The old lady more experienced than her daughter thought she discovered something in the manner of her customer that she could not approve of, and that her favourite was wearing upon the brink of a fatal precipice, from which she ought instantly to snatch her. As soon therefore as the Cloth was disposed of she told her daughter of her dangerous situation and forbid her ever again visiting the store. The poor girl, unsuspecting the generosity and goodness of one who appeared to her all perfection, thought her mother's fears unfounded and her prohibition unreasonable. But considering it a duty to be, as she had ever been obedient, she endeavoured to conform herself to parental directions. After a while, however, Mary-Ann was missing from home, and her mother, with tender solicitude and anxious forebodings, for many days sought her sorrowing. At length she was found at a house not far from town, and under the protection of the person she had been instructed to avoid. Distressed and almost distracted the mother spent her days in ceaseless sighs and unavailing tears—her child—her darling child she said was lost, was lost forever. Sobs and tears supplied the place of words, and in the excess of her anguish the old lady seemed as if her heart's blood would stream from her eyes. Some short time after, the person, whose affection and friendship Mary-Ann supposed she had permanently secured, and who, she said, had promised to make her his wife, became indifferent towards her, and, by avoiding her society, called forth all the tender sensibilities of her soul, and filled her mind with inexpressible agony. She sought her friend in town, but was unable to obtain an interview with him; and without innocence to prop her fortitude, her mental powers were overcome by her disappointment, and she became wild and frantic. Some female acquaintances of the family kindly undertook to return her to her mother, and having placed her in a carriage, they went before, to announce to the old lady the object of their visit. When informed of it her colour forsook her cheeks, she trembled, and bursting into tears, asked how she could receive a child whose character was destroyed; but while they were in conversation, the poor, unfortunate Mary-Ann was brought to the door and when her mother beheld her emaciated form, her pallid visage, and her wildly staring eye, she forgot her resentment; and clasping her in her arms, cried out, O! my child! my child! my lost and ruined! The scene which followed I could not describe; the tears of benevolent females, who had thus reunited the family, testified that they felt what they could not express on the occasion. But Mary-Ann, poor girl, was wholly unconscious of the feelings she had excited, and, at times, would ask the cause of the sorrow she seemed to witness, and then declared that she was happy, very happy indeed. She was then told that she must now stay and comfort her mother but she replied, O no. I cannot stay here, I must go to my friend, my dearest friend, I cannot stay with any one else. She would then cry, and rave and run, and exhibit a most deplorable spectacle of miserable insanity and frantic wretchedness. It was at length found necessary to confine her, as her delirium in a few days increased to perfect madness. Every ray of reason extinguished, she would tear off her clothes, bite and mangle her flesh, and present such a dreadful spectacle of horrid distraction as has seldom been equalled perhaps never exceeded. In this condition she continued for some time, occasionally calling out for her friend her dearest friend, her beloved husband and then again would rave and tear her shoulders and arms with her teeth. At length death, the friend of the friendless kindly came to her relief, and her sufferings and her life closed together and may the Angel of Piety consecrate her memory. This plain and unadorned narrative of facts may suggest some useful reflections to the young of both sexes, for whose sake it is published. To one it shows, what all experience confirms, that no dependence should be placed in any professions of regard, which are accompanied with invitations to depart from duty. And to the other it presents some of the consequences which may follow from an ensnaring triumph over unsuspecting innocence. And for the consideration of both, it may be added, that at the dread tribunal of impartial justice, and before a judge who is no respecter of persons, the injured and the injurer, the betrayer and the betrayed, must hereafter appear and happy will be those who are prepared for the event—inconsiderate people suppose it in their power to sport with the feelings of their fellow creatures with impunity, but they will find themselves most egregiously mistaken.