Mr. Rudulph remained in Memphis for a few years and subsequently removed
to Izard county, Arkansas, where he died a short time before the
commencement of the war of the rebellion. He was a voluminous writer,
and the author of a large number of fugitive poems, many of which are
said to have been quite humorous and possessed of much literary merit.
Very few of his poems have been preserved, which is much regretted for
the reason that it is highly probable that those extant do not fully set
forth the poetical ability of their author. The following poems except
the one entitled "Thoughts on the Death of his grandchild Fanny," were
published in _The Elkton Courier_ nearly half a century ago.

THE SURPRISE.

At twilight one ev'ning, a poor old man,
Whose tattered cloak had once seen better days,
(That now were dwindled to the shortest span:)
Whose rimless, crownless hat provoked the gaze
Of saucy urchins and of grown-up boys:
Whose hoary locks should e'er protect from scorn,
One who had ceased to court earth's fading joys,--
Knock'd at a door, thus lonely and forlorn.

A pilgrim's staff supported his frail form,
Whilst tremblingly he waited at the door;
And feeble tho' he seemed, he feared not harm,
For 'neath his cloak a trusty sword he bore.
A menial came, and thus he spoke:--'Away!
Old man, away! seek not to enter here:
We feed none such as you: so hence! I say:--
Perhaps across the street you'll better fare.'

In broken accents now the pilgrim plead--
'Friend, I have journeyed far; from lands abroad;
And bear a message from the absent dead,
To one who dwells in this august abode.
Thy mistress,--fair Beatrice,--dwells she here?
If so, quick, bring me to her instantly;
For I have speech that fits her private ear
Forthwith: none else my words shall hear but she.'

Now, ushered thro' the spacious hall, he passed
Into a gorgeous room, where sat alone,
Beatrice fair; who, on the pilgrim cast
Inquiring looks, and scarce suppressed a groan.
'Be seated, aged father;' thus she said:
'And tell me whence you are, and why you seek
A private conf'rence with a lonely maid
Whose sorrows chase the color from her cheek.

'If true it is, from distant lands you come,
Mayhap from Palestine you wend your way;
If so, be silent, be forever dumb,
Or else, in joyful accents, quickly say,
That all is well with one most dear to me,
Who, two long years ago, forsook his home,
And now for