Clarksville weekly chronicle. (Clarksville, Tenn.) 1873-1890, 1875-06-05

sincerity was sung by every lip In the
| city, and he, through love Of right
turned and pitied. She had repented
the evil deed. and he saw no justness
| in still coademring. She deplored the
past and determined that the future
should be better, and he saw no reason
that he should not lend the helping
hand. When ne left, she was vastly
improved. and now this note surprised
and annoyed him. Could it have been
that his society alone produced the
restoration Was it his presence that
charmed her from gloomy reflections
and placed her again with smiles in
! life's artificial drama He shuddered
to contemplate a theme so distasteful.
He knew he could never love the
witching woman of the world. He de-
nounced her smiling stratagem. and
| treated her winning devices with frig;d
disdain. He appreciated hen marvel
GUS beauty, admired her exquiAite con-
tour as he would have admired rare
work of sculpture, but he never dream
ed of loving the frivolous, artful wo-
man. Again, he was grieved to think
he had inspired her love, love that
could never find response. He now
determined to prescribe for her change
To send her away to new and varied
scenes that would perhaps efface his
image. He arose and started ON his
disagreeable mission. All!
Hereditary bondsmen; know ye not,
Who would be free, themselves must strike
the blow?"
When he left the city, Minice Walk
er had missed the kind calls and
gloomy and morose she moped about
until she contracted low, nervous
fever which completely prostrated her
robust form. She missed the daily
evening ride, and his cheerful morn
ing call, and her langour and decline
greatly alarmed her mother, who as
soon as she heard of Doctor Hays ar
rival, dispatched for him Immediately.
As he entered her presence he noted
the sad changes that had taken place
during his brief absence. She was
listlessly lounging on couch drawn
up before the CRATE, and the magazine
had slipped from her nerveless fingers
down to the carpet. She was finger
ing with the tassels of her breakfast
shawl, and the brown eyes held in their
depths an expression of vague regret.
Her cheeks were drained of their sweet
red roses, but the face was only lovelier
for the paleness of indisposition. Her
attitude of detection conquered his re-
pugnance, and her repudiated love
seemed for moment wholly returned.
1t is remarkably strange that at some
times. our most vehemently opposed
opinions are overcome by some subtle
charm presented in a new light, our
precious judgment forsakes us, and the
rejected power gains dominion in the
twinkling of an. eye. We are truly
frail, unreliable mortals, that do not
possess stability of character enough
to adhere to creed when we elect it.
Always doubling, unsettled and wayer-
ing, earnestly desiring right and truth,
and still always vacillating under some
vitiated fascination. We are never set
tied, never at rest, until touched and
summoned by the grim angel that lays
US down in our last sleep. Our throb-
bing hearts obtain no respite until our
forms are chilled by the gales of etern-
| ity. Then all uncertain resolutions,
all anguished heart-aches are soothed
by the lullaby of ransomed seraphs.
There is no wavering there. No doubt
mars the peace of that upper cline.
Then why should we so fear death !?
Why fear to fold the toil-worn hands
over the grieved bosom and go down
to that narrow home for short season?
Why are we ioath to close the dimmed
eye on earth's gray hills when we can
ope them in the future on glories un-
rivaled ? Oh! why, why do we cling
so rigidly to life's frail fret work when
it has done nothing but oppress and
affiict us since first we were? We are
pearly bubbles on a rushing brook,
tossed here and there by every ripple
of destiny, until the form is bent. and
the head is whitened. We are scatter
ed rose-leaves, borne hither and yondsr
by wanton zephyrs until the soul is
sickened and painting for rest. Aye,
feeting vapors would be fit simile
for our tempest-tossed, quivering souls.
We are always at war here. If not
with our neighbor, we are contending
against some evil passion within our
hearts. This world is truly great
le-feld, where we bivouac in vain
hope, and contend for unrealized hap
piness. Still we fiercely war from one
years end to another, hoping and trust
ing, living and suffering.
Horace Hays at this moment was
not in love with the stricken woman
before him, bat his compassion soften
ed to tenderness and his sympathy into
genuine pathos. He prescribed change
and travel, advised her parents to take
her South for the remainder of the
winter.
The Cliffords were once more en-
scenced in their city home, much to
Carter's joy, who had not appreciated
the possession and silence of the house
as he imagined he would. Ruth was
yet feeble. With all their care and
skill her recovery was prolonged, and
she was quite unable to join the festiv-
tiles of the season. Clara Ray rallied
her strength and had taken her place
among the pleasure seekers. She wa:
much admired and courted with hei
dark, bright face and ever ready re.
partee. She was often at Mr.. Clifford s
and through her genial influence
Willis was occasionally led into tbs