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Dennis Van Vleet (1808-1834)

Contributor:
Stefani Evans on 15 March 2005
Source:
Dennis Van Vleet obituary, The Watchman, Connersville, Indiana, 8 November 1834, no page, no column; micfofilm, Fayette County Public Library, Connersville, Indiana, copy sent 2000 by Paulette Hayes, Librarian, to Stefani Evans
Comments:
 
Related Links:
Van Vleet - Hinkson marriage announcement, The Watchman, Connersville, Indiana, 13 June 1834
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OBITUARY
As for man, his days are as grass: as a flower
of the field, so he flourisheth:--for the wind pas-
seth over it, and it is gone; and the place thereof
shall know it no more.--Psalm 103, xv, xvi.
---DIED, at his residence in this Village,
on Tuesday morning last, Mr. DENNIS
VAN VLEET, one of the Editors and Pub-
lishers of this Paper: Aged about 26 years.
---Above is a bare announcement of the la-
mentable and melancholy bereavement
which has befallen us and this community.
We scarcely know how to say more. There
are passages in man's existence so sorrow-
ful that the voice falters, the tongue fails
and the pen is palsied. The heart feels cold
and heavy as a wedge of iron, immersed and
sunk down in a flood of anguish. How pain-
ful is it then to strive to tell the tale of our
sorrowing! On such occasions there is an
eloquence in Silence more touching than
tongues can articulate. It comes over the
wounded heart--moves the torn fibres of
the soul like the sympathysing breath of a
mourning angel. But when we must part,
it is sweet to say Farewell! When the
Grave has just covered over our dear friend
and companion, then how sweet it is to find
vent for the full-flooding and aching mel-
ancholy of the heaving bosom!----Last
week the deceased had a severe attack of
the Fever. But it was soon broken, so that
on Saturday last, he went up into the Prin-
ting Office, a few steps from his dwelling,
where he sat sometime, giving directions
concerning the business of the Office, and
making some entries in the Books. On the
next morning, feeling still better, he came
to the Office of this writer, some two hun-
dred yards, where he sat two or three hours,
chatting pleasantly about his returning
health--his future intentions and flattering
prospects. On that evening, he was sud-
denly seized with a violent cholic, cramp
and spasms, because, as it was supposed, of
some improper diet that he had taken--and
before the noon of the next day but one,
his cold and lifeless corpse declared that, for
him, "life's fitful scene is over!"
---And so it is: "In the midst of life we are
in death." What is life?--a vapour--the
morning mist--a rain-bow hue--gone as
soon as seen! How true it is: "As for man,
his days are as grass, as a flower of the field,
so he flourisheth:--For the wind passeth over

it, and it is gone; and the place thereof shall
know it no more." But why are we surpri-
sed. Death comes to all. It has ever been
so, and ever will be so, until he himself
"shall be swallowed up in victory." From
the time that we were born, Death has been
dealing his blows all around us. That blow
strikes down our distant acquaintance---
this prostrates the near and dear friend or
companion that stands close by our side.
Anon, the icy arrow is sped to our own bo-
som, and the current of life is frozen up at
the fountain.
-------"How perished is the joy that's past!
-------The present, how unsteady!"
---And can it be that our friend is really
dead?--that "his place knows him no
more!"---Just here, but now gone? Just then
a breathing, walking, sentient, honorable,
kind and estimable being, as ever was---
but now a tenant of the grave--a chilled
and lifeless lump of earth. Can it be?---
Would that it were not!--But it is too true!
We saw the breathless trunk just as Death
felled it--saw it laid in the coffin--followed it to
the grave--heard the mournful rumbling of
the clods--the lamentations of acquaintan-
ces and friends, and the heart-rending wail-
ings of the young and disconsolate widow,
sisters and little brother! Yes, it is too
true--the wind of death has passed over
him, and he is gone.
---The hearts of all who knew the deceased
will tell the eulogy of his thousand virtues
--a life marked and noted from early boy-
hood for every good habit--a heart that lo-
ved his friend, that cherished a benevolence
forgetful of self & scarcely knowing bounds
and a stranger to fraud--lips that knew no
guile--feet that never stepped but in the
paths of industry, virtue, and honor--a char-
acter and reputation that were spotless and
above suspicion. His name will long
breathe a sweet smelling savor behind him.
Farewell--a long Farewell, to our friend!


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This page created 15 March 2005 and last updated 15 March, 2005
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