Clarksville weekly chronicle. (Clarksville, Tenn.) 1873-1890, 1876-09-09
"if you had known in the morning,
How YEARLY all the day,
The words unkind,
Would trouble your mind,
YOn said when Vnn went aWaVv

needless pain. Home, sweet home, F"
under any and all circumstances those
words appeal to the heart with pecu-
liar pathos. They touch the tenderest
wells of feeling with an emotional
culver, and to an exile the chords in
whose soul have long been mute and
silent, they thrill with exquisite
melody. A fortnight since, gentle
man from GAINESVILLE with a form
slender as our hope for Democracy, and
moustache as pale and thin as air, in
quired of me when | expected to
move over" Never! Why?" |
asked. Because" he pompously re-
piled, I'VE are going to break Provi-
dence up" Break Providence up.
What fearful state of affairs that
would be. Go desecrate and demolish
the lone mother of dead generations"
Go leave her childless and crownless,
with nothing in her withered urn but
a handful Of dusty hills. What mad
mockery it would be to leave temple
and tower, as banquet hall deserted,
and fly to the busy, bustling marts OF
traffic. No, surely it must not be. We
would not leave her now when age and
merton has set its seal so irreparably
on her. Now that tyrannical old time
has hurled her from throne of glory
down to darkness and decay. Yes, we
will cling to you regardless of down
fall, abdication and sneering public
opinion. They all pass criticisms on
poor old Providence. Even drummers,
those rowing, abandoned ''imps" who
see and know everything, and yetwhose
current of knowledge is compressed
in channel too shallow to float a
broom-straw' Those gypsies Of COM
merce, instruments of altitude, and
Cabling every day tassstioueers. Aye,
one of these dared pass an opinion on
Providence. Gave as his experience
that it took him a day and a half to
ride through it. He then found him
self at toll-gate where he innocently
inquired, How far it was to Provi-
dence?" He wittily described his
chagrin on being told he had just pass
ed through it, and informed the com
pany who knew nothing of our lovely
little silvan village, that it was eight
miles long and as thin as knife blade.
Now that was the description rendered
of our home by a pedantic, rompous
humbug. Well, according to his theory
you can never break US up. You
might twist our lengthy village out fol
a Pacific cable, wind US around the
staff of distress eighteen hundred
years, and with the remaining coils tie
this plunging earth to the planet Mars
but you can never break US. Break
Providence, how eminently absurd
Rather attempt to cut loose the swing
ing gardens of Babylon, crush the mar
BILE Gods of Greece with a woman's
slipper, or drain the Atlantic for beer
garden. You can never do it. Hel
grand foundation of rock will stand fol
ages, and her portals of adamant car
resist a multitude. For her future we
cannot speak. but for her past We
fashion a martial cloak of sweet treas
ured memories, that will live in the
resurrection, as prophets tell US, will
live the flash of our eyes and the glow
of our checks.
We learn that our gallant young
townsman, Bill Dority, will follow the
bank to the neighboring city. We
can't much blame you for that, as
much as we deplore your departure,
but we hope you will visit your old
broken home frequently for charity S
sake.
r. Emmett Howell also left our
midst Sunday night to adopt Hopkins
Vile as his future home. Peace to the
exiIes.
Herbert Hambaugh leaves in few
weeks to tread the classic halls OF
Vanderbilt, and to store his mind with
precious imperishable lore.
As D. D. johnson will ere long de-
part to fulfill his mission of strategy
In an old and foreign CLINE, our ranks
of beaux will at least be pitiably thin
ned.
Our beloved and worthy Esq, W.
G. Smith, has been quite ill for the
last few weeks. May he soon recover,
and his reign of equitable justice be
potent and peaceful as ever,
Mrs. Cephia Burgess school opened
Monday with sixteen pupils. We
earnestly hope this elegant and COM
petent lady may signally succeed.
What has become of ''Crayon?" Can
no one tell me? Is that brilliant and
facile mind submerged in the cold tide
of Indifference Has "Crayon" for.
gotten that there is a CHRONICLE. an
public, and innumerable
data for her silent pen2 1t must not
be. Come forth "Crayou" from the
languid shades of "dreamful ease"
and take your stand with the veterans
on the assaulted battlements of our old
fashioned town, and drive back with
your pen the invaders.
John Sylvester, too, seems to have
retired. Not Keeling under burden
of years we hope. Come let us resur-
rect you brother Sylvester, and spin us
another yarn about that myth of the
cave.
Our gallant friend, D. ". Scott, is
now sOjOurning at Hot Springs; and the