Fayetteville observer. [volume] (Fayetteville, Tenn.) 1850-1966, 1875-08-12
For the Fayetteville Observer.
The People of the Streets.
BY BUIDE.


upon the banks of the mighty
river. The voice of Ossiar
borne on the winds of a dozen
centuries comes to my heart in
a soft undertone whispering,
''there is a joy in grief when
peace dwells in the. breast of
the sad" Again Tennyson's
"Break Break" is dashed to my
heart by the waves on the shore,
"and the sound of voice that
is still" whispers in my ears
with a mournful cadence of the
days that are no more. [ had
been here for hours filled with
a pleasurable sadness, and many
painful recollections of scenes
with which | was connected in
the days Of long ago, when,
suddenly | felt gentle pressure
on my arm, and turning, recog-
nized the familiar and we'll
known features of my old friend
the Squire, whose face beaming
with a kindly smile, expressed
much joy at our meeting. $50
you did come," began the old
man; II was fearful you couldn't
come. l have just been reflect
ing on the miseries of man,
which are as manifold as the
stars, and multiform as the bow
overspreading the wide horizon.
It's hueS are as various as the
hues Of that arch, and as mi
nutely blended. Thus from the
covenant of PEACE we derive a
simile Of sorrow. AS III ethics,
evil is a consequence of good,
so, in fact, out of JOY is sorrow
born. Either the memory Of
past bliss is the anguish of to-
day, or the agonies which are,
have their origin in the costa
cies aUhich might haze been.-
Come with me and | will show
you some of the people of the
streets. l have spent many days
he continued, investigating the
lives and characters Of those
poor unfortunate children Of
time"
We had proceeded but a short
distance when we met an old
man, who took no notice what
ever Of us. His eyes were cast
down, and he examined with
minute care every object to
which us else attached the least
Importance. "This man." said
the Squire, "has amassed a con-
siderable fortune hunting a.
mong the debris for lost PEN
MES, and articles cast away as
utterly useless. His eyes are
never raised from the ground,
and he does not take the least
notice Of any one. How many
like him pass life thus? The
glorious show and beauty of ma
ture is never seen, their eyes and
hearts are never lifted from earth
to heaven" We passed many
beggars, whose tales Of woe
were as manifold as the beings
who told them. Many poor lit
tie thinly clad, weary, orphan
children, from whose check time
and suffering had chased the
roseate tints of youth away
Look" said, the Squire, cat that
poor woman; her suffering seem
more than the ordinary suffer
ing of mere mortal. Looking
| saw pale, attenuated form
seated on the curb stone before
me. "Let us learn her tale of
SORROW" said my companion
This is as near as / can remem-
Der is what she told us: 'Her
parents were both wealthy. Her
early life was spent in ease and
luxury, and she was reared a
mere butterfly Of fashion. She
married a man Of fortune, but
no worth. Neither Of them
knew anything of. the realities
of life. Her husband became
involved-lost their property
turned to the gambling hell and
drunkard's saloon-made life a
sublime misery-and soon died
in the widest delirium. Her
parents had died also, and she
was left without a friend or a
home, a pitiless beggdr IN the
streets"
When we left this poor wo-
man it was late, the noise and
hum of the busy populace had
ceased. l left my old friend and
retired to my own chamber, for
reflection and rest. A flood of
golden light gushed through the
half opened window, and cast
vague and uncertain shadows
on the purple curtain. [ heard
a shrek of woe, and, gazing out
at the window, | saw in the re-
gion Of Hesper star falling