Daily tobacco leaf-chronicle. (Clarksville, Tenn.) 1890-1895, 1890-06-25


banners, yellow, golden, glorious, bright
signals Of the changing season. The hick-
DRY and the maple are blushing a little,
and the dogwood has lighted his torch in
the still embers Of dying summer The
persimmon Is taking on a color that fills
the eyes Of old Br'er Postum. The honey
suckle blossoms again around the porch,
there is no touch of change in the wisteIa
vine, and the autumn flowers in the garden
borders are gray.
1.-THE change lacks the melancholy aspect
of the north-the saddened skies, the haze
hidden hills that seem to stretch into some
far country, where lies the longed for car
cassome The birds have for the most part
broke up housekeeping and are frolicking
with their families in the woods. In the
summers interlude the hooking bird Is re-
newing its melodious utterances, and there
Is an added sweetness in its note. And the
change will go on, growing richer and
more wanton in ooloring, till the cold hand
of winter tears down the whole royal pano-
rama"
It was no little thing that the man that
could appreciate life thus should give it
up.
Noon found him on the north bound
train; by the next noon he was in Cincin-
natl, and by night home. The village was
quiet he went to his old room and went to
bed. During the night train went thun-
dering through the valley; he heard the
whistle and the roar of the fires when the
furnace door was opened, he heard it cross
the bridge and go down between tho hills
till tho sound faded into an echo, and then
died. And, as in years before, his fancy
followed 1t through the night, out of the
valley, into day and the warm and cheerful
world.
The morning came; the light crept
through the little panes as it had done
years before. John Long had been think
Ing as he rolled homeward on the train;
he had laid another scheme. and he felt
sure this one would not fail. And the last
twenty years had passed from his mind,
and he was living again his old innocent
childhood. He walked out through the
village and stopped at the house on the
hill, where he had come to live with his
aunt when his father in the city died. he
looked from its veranda far down the dusty
pike, and remembered how, his first
spring there, the waters of the river rose
and covered 1t as far as the eye could reach.
He stood long and watched the shadows
chase each other across the hills on the
other side of the valley, as he used to do
long summer days.
There was no mistaking the temper of
the people with regard to the murder of
William Harris With the night shadows
q hush fell on the town. Mothers gath.
cred their children into the house and
closed fast the doors. Men might have
been seen struggling down the east pike on
horse and afoot. They stopped on the first
bridge out, and at midnight, from out the
shadows of its ancient rafters, troop of
silent men marched forth Straight to the
Jail they went; they never asked for the
keys nor wanted them A stout stick on
the shoulders of dozen men broke down
the door at a few blows They knew the
cell; it had but frail bars and they were
soon down. In thirty minutes after the
lynchers left their rendezvous Arthur
Brooks was in their hands.
The preparations were simple. A short
rope hung from the sign of the Handle
house. and underneath it was a store box
Upon this Brooks was hoisted.
shall he diep" said the man who held
the rope. These were the first words |
spoken.
LET him diet" answered hundred voices |
In terrible bass. And thrill of horrid |
interest ran through them as they waited |
for the final moment.
But third figure was upon the box. It |
was that of John Long. He took the moose |
from off Brooks neck and placed it about |
his own. He said not a word but stood |
with folded arms and head thrown back. |
And one of them told me that, standing so |
In the moonlight, something of his old boy |
ish beauty came into his face and made |
him look like the noble man he might have |
made.
The mob was at loss.
"Are you guilty, instead of Brooks" |
they shouted.
Brooks is innocent" said Long.
"Did you kill HarrisS"
Brooks is innocent"
"Never mind him." they shouted then. |
up with Brooksl String him upr'
Gentlemen" said John Long, II am |
guilty, and not Brooks meant the poison |
for Lucy, and her father got it,"
God forgive him the liel In the instant |
that followed perhaps he wondered If the |
truth would ever be known, and whether
Lucy's children would ever play above his |
grave, and whether she would teach them
the meaning of the words; "Greater love |
hath no man than this. that he lay down |
his life for his friend"
Ierhaps, uylhg SO IN ulShOnor ana shame, |
The merciful father permitted him to know
that it would be so. Perhaps he never
heard the yell with which they pushed the
box out from under him. They stood still |
then and let him hang Presently one of
them noticed that his hand was quite cold
1t was week after that night when Ar
thur Brooks had gone home in Joy to his
bride and John Long had waited out in the
night that they found the note William
Harris had left, betraying the fact that
disordered brain had led him to suicide
Then they knew.-William Bayard Hyde
in Atlanta Constitution.