Clarksville weekly chronicle. (Clarksville, Tenn.) 1873-1890, 1875-08-07

the petted child OF luxury but, ah
| in iier heart there clambered a vague
| Unsuitable longing that gilded opulenc'
could never satisfy, a longing for tn
wealth of one mans homage. Moth
| ing but his smile, his life, and hom'
in his heart could bring to the indulg
ed heiress. peace. But she was mock
ed by defeat. and she sickenel at the
thought of living weary years. Ithinl
We are truly children of equal heritage
on earth. If God denies US one es-
sential to oenjoyment, he grants US anoth'
er. 1fto some he bequeaths rich
legacy of worldly goods, on others he
bestows rare mental gifts. precious and
imperishable. Anon we meet being
who seems possessed of every gracious
attribute; brilliantly gifted and for
tune favored, but probe the heart
seemingly so griefess and we will find
there, in the midst of those kingly
characteri3tics, hidden sigh. There
is no heart that does not feel its life
time sob of grief. 1t is our birth
right, our heritage from the beginning.
There is tincture of sadness in the
sight of an aged one, bowed and brok-
en- by toll and tribulation, warning with
sorrows that have silvered the hair,
and mad freaks of fate which have fur
rowed the cheek. They began so hope
full in the misty, fragrant dawn of life.
They fitted joyously through regions
of hope on pinions borrowed of fancy.
The cleaning stars of fchildhood's little
morning scarce paled away before
maturity's sun revealed the glaring de-
fects and cruel frauds wooing tempta-
tions to be resisted. sin-cursed battles
to fight, and victories of right to win.
Rejected evil, and the accomplishment
of good bow the masses in the con-
quering struggle. Those who make
this world their heaven and succumb
to temptation unresistingly will reap
no reward in the holy harvest. They
who skim over the surface of existence,
glittering nonenitity, who steep their
souls in wine and wickedness, aye those
who revel in rank rebellion, shall in no
wise inherit Christ's kingdom. No I;
tbs the toll worn hands that will wave
the palm, and the withered lips that
shall sing Gods glories. 'Tis the Ia
borer worn, weary, tempest stricken,
that shall, in the grand hereafter,
dwell in the Utopia of light. Oh, life!
life ! thy skies are chequered, and thy
purest springs fjoy are embittered by
defeat. Marah is our nectar from the
cradle to the tomb. Life prostrates
our cherished designs and chains to
impossibility our fondest hopes. 1t
denies the throbbing brow a brief re-
spite, and condemns the heart for each
vain desire. Aye, life of all tyrants,
thou art the prince, and as the warden
of futurity thou art fearful task
master, demanding perpetual labor
from earth's trembling children, goad-
ing them down to despair and despera-
ton. An attic and mid might lamp,
a colorless face bent ever the swift
needle, face on which is stamped
hopeless agony /; the form is bent from
habitual toll and the features pinch
ee a"S sIthfitm haitm OF time. Again. look in
the depths. There among gaudy trap
pings and mocking opulence we find
women clad in the garments of shame.
Women who had forsaken sinless love
for gilded infamy, and who are stepped
in evil desire and evil impulses-"the
evil that makes no kiss sweet to them
unless jewel purchased it. no flower
fair but the poisonous laurel.of notori-
ETY.. Women. perhaps who have been
innocently beguiled into Mephisto-
philes' abyss" Lips that in infancy
were taught to utter Gods holy praise,
now blaspheme their purity by de-
grading oaths. Hearts reared in the
sanctity of virtue, are blackened by
abandonment and shadowed Iy dis
grace. Their chastity is inundated,
their womanhood spurned.
"Oh God, have they fallen so low?
And once they were pure as the beautiful
snow"
Life's devotees are endless seekers,
and eternal toilers. They spin and
weave the tapestry of destiny, plying
the shuttle sometimes for veal, again
for woe. Some weave in the golden
fabric pure, beautiful life-story; but,
ah tbs trying task to spin in the de-
licate web the hearts best impulses.
All honor to those who, when the sum-
mons comes, eau bring their labor,
faultlessly grand, for divine inspec-
ton.
Life for Minice Walker held now no
charm. Scepterless and joyless she
still held her sway, envied and flatter-
ed. She arched the beautiful lips with
a hollow smile and renewed her fading
beauty with false, costly bloom. Many
marveled at her strange caprices in re-
jecting splendid offers. They did not
know that in her heart one mans
image burned with undying brilliancy.
She wandered to foreign lands and
stood in the palaces of kings, and for
her loveliuess was worshipped by
mobiles, men of honor and ministers,
but there in the glare of gaslight, the
crushing perfume of many flowers and
amid the homage and adulation of her
adorers, there drifted up from the past
a memory-barge freighted with his
image and the skeleton of her love.
She was very beautiful yet, but the
brown eyes had lost their sweet glad
light, and in the bronze hue of the hair
were traces Of silver. She was still q
lovely, heartless woman, but without
one sign of the beauty that fragrance
lends to the flower, or feeling gives to
woman. Hers was as the beauty of