The herald and mail. [volume] (Columbia, Tenn.) 1873-188?, 1875-11-26

manner of one for whom the world haC
offered its pleasures to safety, and wh'
had not learned to look for life's pur
pose in duty. The little world o
Claireville spoke well of Leonard Wat
son. The girls admired his courtly
gallantry, his polished manner, anC
honeyed, words; the young men APP
plauded his generosity, his horses, anC
his good temper; the older heads were
ready to worship his wealth, his birth
and position; only here and there wore
was whispered of late revels at Fair
bank, of an occasional lapse into inc
briefly, or dropping hint that ''young
Watson was living too fast"
| There were many bright bellies who
cherished a secret belief of Leonard's
marked preference, yet the gay heart
was untouched, the travelled taste un,
satisfied and he was a free man, in
word or thought, as he sauntered up
the fair at Clairevillel with Amy's
letter upon his breast.
1t was night, and he was alone in
the library of his spacious house before
he recollected the missive; then, with
an INDECENT curiosity, he drew it forth.
Some fiat schoolgirl verses" he NUT
tered, cor worse, dose of fattery
yelled by an incognita."
AT first he read with a lazy expires
sion of mockery upon his lips, but, as
the lines were traced with earnest
care, so, as he read, the mans soul was
reused to thought and interest. Hot,
angry fushes chased each other over
his brow, yet he did not finch every
word of the appeal, though it stung
him with its scorching truth and search
ing questions, was perused faithfully,
till, at the end, the dainty signature,
Your sincere friend" found him seri-
Gus and sad.
1T is all true" he said, in a low
tone, rising and pacing the floor with
quick yet even steps. " / AM wasting
all Gods blessings squandering my
wealth foolishly; undermining my
health wickedly; finging my best
years away in folly, if not vice. How
earnestly she writes and her dear
brother seems from her very heart.
Who wrote it! Ha! the same hand on
the'envelope as inside, and it was directed
by Amy Greyson. Amy Greyson! l
always thought her a merry, light
hearted CHILD! but this-this is the
letter of a noble, earnest, Christian
WOMAN. How beautifully she writes!
Yet-yet how she despises me! How
she lashes my follies and vices! With
what bitter sarcasm she questions my
course! yet how earnestly she i'm
plores me to pause while there is yet
time, and think of where the path |
tread will lead me! Think All, she
has raised train of thought now that
will not die-that | can never quiet
again! Conscience is alive now, and
there is no more careless folly for me-"
Up and down, pacing sometimes with
the slow tread of earnest thought, again
rapidly crossing and re-crossing the
room, his foot falling with passionate
emphasis, he spent the hours till long
after midnight, and when, at last, he
sought his own room, Leonard Watson,
for the first time in many years, knelt
and implored Gods blessing on his res
olutions for the future.
Claireville wondered what had "come
over" the young millionaire. Old ten
ants, who had been wont to look upon
their young landlord as an easy-going
scamp, began to open their: eyes over
sanitary improvements in their lOwly
homes: charity appeals began to find
a ready response at the large house;
musty books, that had long given his
office name, now began to fulfill their
mission, as the young lawyer loaded
his brains for service; old friends won
dered how Leonard could preserve his
genial brightness, his generosity, wit,
and grace, yet hold the reins on his
follies with such strong, firm hand;
new acquaintance spoke warmly of
the conscientious, able young advocate,
who was steadily working his way to
future eminence.
But in one house there were tears of
thanksgiving, prayers of humble praise,
as Amy Greyson heard from every
tongue of the reform in that noble
young life; and when, after years
probation, words of love and petition
greeted her as the young lawyer i'm
plored her to be his wife-to aid him
by her love and presence in maintain
ing the new life he owed to her sug-
gestions, she humbly thanked Heaven
for the impulse that had prompted her
to write the letter Leonard Watson
found in the post-office at the Claire
vile fair.
THE MYSTERY OF MUsIC.-I would
fain know what music is. | seek 1t as
a man seeks eternal wisdom. Yester-
day evening, walked late in the moon
light in the beautiful avenue of lime
trees on the bank of the Rhine, and I
heard tapping noise and soft singing.
At the open door of cottage under
the blooming lime tree, sat mother
and her twin babies; the one lay on her
breast, the other in cradle, which she
rocked with her foot, keeping time to
her singing, In every germ, then,
when the first trace of life begins to stir,
mnsic is the nurse of the soul; it muir
murs in the ear, and the child sleeps;
the tones are the companions of his
dreams; they are the world in which
he lives. He has nothing; the babe,
though Graded in his mothers arms, is
alone in the spirit; but tones find en-