The clarion. [volume] (Jackson, Miss.) 1883-1888, 1886-11-17
A WOMAN, NOBLE AND TRUE!
BY NJ. NETTIE MEEK.

Written for The CLARIoN.l
A lonely man sat in beautiful cham
| ber August's setting sun-rays changing
the sea into mirror of gold, was what
| his eye fell upon, as he looked through
| the large western windows.
"Ah! that golden sea-" he mused,
"reminds me of nay life. When | IstoOd
on the threshold of manhood, my future,
| like yonder sea, appeared all golden
and bright. But when the sun Is set
and the night shadows have come, that
sea will lose its hue of gold, and there
will be left only darkness. Thus was it
with nv life. 1t was gilded with love 5
golden light, and my future promised to
| be all sunshine without cloud to mar
its brightness. But the shadows OF
sorrow and disappointment came and
hid all the light from my life"
The sun had set. Silently ST lie the
darkness over the sea. Philip HerndOn
had felt unusually lonely this August
day 1t was such strange, restless
| loneliness, different from any he had
ever before experienced. He arose, and
taking his hat walked down to the
sea.
1t was twilight, the sweetest, yet sad
dest hour of the day. Twilight seemed, !,
in some inexplicable way, part of his
being. And he felt more free from
loneliness at the twilight hour than any
other part of the day.
Twilight is earth's hour of devotion.
Perchance that accounts for that strange
quiet that thrills ones inmost being,
which prevails at that hour.
| Long paced Philip out there on the
white sands by the sea. The twilight
was gone. Night had come, and with
her mantle had hid away the sin and
degradation of earth from the gaze OF
the golden gems of the sky. But still
he was out there by the sea. Fte found
more sympathy in the sobs of the restless
sea than in all the words, however well
chosen and beautiful, of his most init
mate friends. Tonight, especially, it
seemed to be moaning out dlrge over
his dead hopes, that was rather soothing
than otherwise.
Gladness and glee seemed to mock his
agony. But when seeing the sorrow OF
others, his own was, as 1t were, more
| bearable. Some one has said, might
brings out the stars" That thought
stole into Philips mind, as he stood out
there by the sea. ''But," he says TO
| himself, HAS this night of sorrow
brought one star out of my darkened
| life? No, not one" All! Philip, that
was your view of the case. Did ore OF
those grand and sublime efforts OF your
genius ever issue from your pen While
you were in the height ofsyour joyE was
it not that dark shadow that fell over
your life, and filed you with that great
| desolate loneliness, which stirred the
depths Of your very being and caused
| thoughts of the most sublime and grand
est beauty to come into your soul.
which, when written, make the world
go wild in an ecstasy of Joy over then
tenderness and pathos?
Philip looked at his watch in the moon
light II was twelve O'Clock. de could
not realize that it was so late. Then he
turned and entered the path leading
home.
That night he could not sleep. "Oh
Godl my grief is greater than | car
bear" was his cry il the midnight 81
lence.
| What change one short year hac
made in his life. A year ago there wa'
not a happier man. His father was {
wealthy New York banker. They wer'
very proud, aristocratic family. They
were so happy there in their elegan
'home, so full of brightness and giee
But grim, dark trouble came anC
stretched his gloomy wing over thell
home of sunshine. Philip had a tiny
fairy-like sister, with eurls of brown anC
gold and great, reproachful brown eyes
That child of five summers was idollzeC
| by the entire household. They calleC
her Marion. But in the summer, whel
the leaves were beginning TO fall IN
rain of gold, they noticed that she wa
paler and thinner as the days went on
Philip felt so sad when the saw the ter
rible agony of his mother and father
He tried to bear up for their sakes.
Everything possible was done In orde
to recruit the health of their darling
But all in vain. Day by day the littl
thing faded. Her father was almos
distracted. To think his baby girl, tn
ioy of his life, was drifting, yes, drifting
slowly but surely, beyond his lovinl
clasp. Her mother bore her grief in
stony silence. that was terrible to see
Mr.. Herndon, heart-broken over hi
child, failed to see that his wife wa
growing weaker, and her step slower
that her great eyes OF brown were unu
sually large and bright and the roses Q
youth had left her cheeks. But Phil
was aware of it all. He could not hay
borne it, had not the love of noble w
man cheered and encouraged him t
look upon the bright side OF things.
The end was drawing near. The
were all cognizant of that. As her lif
waned the little thing grew more beat
: tiful. Ever and anon she would ca
for her father. Papa" she would say
J s.come and hold your little girls hant
and tell me about the Good Shepherd
Our Sabbath-school teacher told US ono
that the Good Shepherd gave his Iii
for his sheer. Am / one of them? Wi
he carry me in his arms and call me b
Iittle lamb, papa - Such were ii
questions she would ask him. And j
/, the agony of his soul be could only 5
, and weep.
How Philip pitied his mother. ST
was one of those reserved women, OF
that would die before she would let hi
:. grief be seen. But Philip could see thi
: her heart was breaking. There wei
T strands of grey in those tresses of mi
q night blacEness. Those were sad tim.
n for that family. God help theml
It At last the dark day came. It ".
7 one of those dreary days, half clou
1 half sunshine, in November. All nigh
Philip thought, the winds had bee
y sobbinq out 8 death-Iullaby over his da
g ling. She fingered all day. But Il
q light of her life faded out with that
e the dav. In her mothers arms, wi
- one hand In her fathers and the 9th
49, of p~afbor phslsn .ha ,l,,-,