Clarksville weekly chronicle. (Clarksville, Tenn.) 1873-1890, 1875-05-15
FOR the CHRONICLE.
WILLIS WATERS.
By HILDA.
-
CHAPTER XIII.


"The melancholy days are come, the sa
dest of the year,
OF waillng winds, and naked woods, al
meadows brown and sere.
Heaned in the hollows of the grove, u
withered leaves lie dead;
They rustic to the eddyjng gusts, and to Il
rabbits tread"
| October is here with its abundaI
yield of tinted leaves and golden rod
The robin and the wren have flown 1
balmy, southern homes, and left til
shrill jay monarch of all he survey.
The inimitable mocking- bird has spe
away to SUMMER elimes to warble hi
silvered cadences out on tropiea
breezes, sped away to the South, tn
broken, lamented South, away to tha
stricken land where our gallant youth
laid down their brave young lives OIL
freedoms bloody shrine, enduring wear!
marches and lonely bivouacs to obtair
priceless immunity. All our beauti
ful crushed South is not forgotten
Our hearts still cling with fondestlovt
around its drooping, unsullied banner
Though our martial strains be hushed
and the proud fiag of our nation be
lowered, yet the dread foe can never
crush out of our hearts the tender
memory of SCARED heroes, pillowed in
the dust Of glory. They may snatch
the loved banner from Its position on
high. They may tread with the iron
heel of despotism on the fair South
ern land, but our hearts will ever wear
the stamp of the rebel.
Yes, autumn is here. Nature seems
conscious that this is to be her shroud,
and she has made it resplendent in
crimson and gold. She seems deter
mined if death she meet, she will meet
it loyalty and in gala array. The
grand old forest is grouped together in
one universal bouquet, and seems
smiling up into the bending, blue sky
as if in praise. The rich, rare October
days come in golden showers, and
leave the nights lit up with matchless
moons. Oh! tell me not they are mel
ancholy days, these heralds of the
tomb. cannot think they are the
saddest of the year. No, It's a mag
nifcent decline. Oh yes, We admit
Bryant's beautiful violets faded away
with summer dews, but we have still
left the golden rod and aster. IT'S
true the fair young flowers are in their
graves, that sprang up in brighter
light and softer airs, but We have yet
the bright, hearty chrysanthemums in
their autumn glory. 1t is brilliant
decline into winters chill embrace, a
of rare splendor into chaos. 1t
is truly the death Of maturity, not the
death of fair young infant, just grasp
ing with its dimpled hands earth's
toys, when it is folded away
its narrow couch. with life's precious
story scarcely begun. Oh no, It's the
bending of stalwart manhood when
harvest is over and the tale is told. 1t
is splendidly typical of mans abdica-
ton, when we close the glazed eye and
put at rest the trembling mouth, fold
the stiffened hand upon the bosom from
which earth's anguish is forever ban
ished. Then we lay them away to
dust as the great reaper strews the
bright autumn leaves. Aye, there is
d glorious distinction between us, and
those perishable leaves. our freed spir-
its fit away from dust and decay, and
dwells forever amid fertile fields and
dewy meads. There comes no grief,
no shadow. no signing, they have left
the perishing objects of earth far be-
hind, and remember only the glitter
ing spires of the New Jerusalem.
The Cliffords were now at the Spring.
A great many of the fashionable still |
fingered to feast on the beauties of |
autumn, so the laugh, song and dance
went on at the hotel !; riding and fish
ng parties were in vogue for daylight |
the time was completely |
illed up of merry making. Mr.. Cliff
ord had rallied wonderfully and took
lis daily ride to the spring with anna
ling promptness. Ruth consoled her
elf that her fathers convalescent
tate was complete recovery, and joined
he festive scenes with renewed zeal.
She was acquainted with most of the
Iisitors, and soon became an indis-
,ensable charm with them. 1t was
7ery different with Willis. She occa-
ionally joined the gayeties, but spent
most of her time in reading and sketch
ng. The difference between her and
Ruth was often remarked upon. Will
is was not general favorite. She
leld herself too studiously aloof, al
owing none to presume upon her init
macy or confidence.
Ruth, on the other hand, was frank
nd social. She was such an ornament
n their circle, so bright and winsome,
whilst her staid sister was mere tyro.
Willis was much troubled in her
mind. Her unbelief was starving the
Other heait. Grim pyrrhon-
SIN was bowing her down beneath its
,lack wing. She wentsteadily on read
ng and searching everything that gave
promise of truth. She was starving
or some hope, and have it she must
{ the search consumed all the days of
Ter life. She was wandering YEARLY
through the stubble waste of meta
physics, blindly cropping for light, and
vas falling gradually into the artful
lets of ontology. She explored the
lin vapors of speculation far out on
rackless plain until she doubted her
,wn existence, was veritable maid
IF the mist" with the starlike eyes
gazing intently ahead, looking for
light, the pale, slender hands grasping
1T some spectre who ever adroitly
,ludes. Poor, weak mortals who dare /
put their enfeebled intellects against |