Fisherman & farmer. [volume] (Edenton, N.C.) 1887-19??, 1891-10-09
THE CLEARWATER.

ers, eight ladies and the country doctor
were seated at the brilliantly lighted Ia
bic, which was covered with fruit and
flowers.
They had just been talking of love,
and a warm discussion had arisen, the
old question as to whether one could
love truly only once Or more than once.
Many cases were brought up of people
who had had but one serious love, and of
others who had repeatedly loved fervent-
1y. Most Of the men contended that
passion, like disease, could attack the
same person many times, and so severely
as to kill him, if any insurmountable OBJ
stacle arose.
Although this position was unassalla-
BILE, the ladies, whose opinion was based
more upon poetry than on observation,
maintained that love, true love, could
come only once to mortals, that it was
like stroke of lightning, and that the
heart once touched by it was thenceforth
so empty, ravaged and scared, that no
other strong feeling, no dream even,
could spring up in it.
The Marquis, who had loved often,
opposed this idea very strongly.
81 know, said he, ''that a man can
love many times with all his heart and
soul. You tell me about people who
have killed themselves for love, as proofs
of the impossibilitv Of a second passion.
But | tell you that If they had not been so
stupid as to kill themselves, and thus lose
all chance OF change, they would have
been cured, and would have done the
they died a natural death. Lovers and
drunkards are much alike-whoever has
drunk, will drink again, and whoever
has loved, viii love again. 1t is merely
a matter Of temperament"
An appeal was made to the doctor, an
old Partisan who had retired to the
country, and all begged for his opinion.
But he had none.
cit is Just as the Marquis says" he
said. sit is matter OF temperament.
For my part I know Of one passion which
lasted for tifJy-ive years, without days
intermisson, and which was ended only
by death"
The Warehouses clapped her hands,
exclaiminy, "How beautiful! And what
a dream to be loved like that! What
Joy to live for tifty-tive years surrounded
by such deep, strong affection. How
happy he must have been, and how bliss
full his life, who was so beloved"
The doctor smiled and said, "You
are quite right, madame, in thinking
that the beloved one was man. He is
M. Chouquet, the village druggist. AS
for the woman, you know her, too. She
was the old chair member who used to
come to the chateau every year. But [
will tell you the story
The enthusiasm of the women had
cooled, and their disappointed faces
said plainly, ''Pooh!" as if such love
could come to none but elegant distin-
guished beings, who alone were worthy
of the interest of refined and properly
conducted people.
''Three months ago. continued the
doctor, II was called to the deathbed
of this old woman. Accompanied by
her two big black dogs, her friends and
guardians, she had come to the town the
night before in the wagon which served
her for q house, drawn by the old mare
you have seen. The cure was with her
when | arrived. She named us as exccu-
tors of her will, and in order that we
might understand her last wishes, she
told us the story Of her life, the saddest,
etrangest story I ever heard.
"Hcr parents were both chair mend
ers, and she had never lived in house
built on solid earth. AS a little thing
she wandered about ragged and dirty.
The family always stopped by the road
side, at the entrance of the villages, and
embarrassed the horse, who browsed
about, while the dog slept with his nose
on his paws. There the little girl played
in the grass, and the father and mother,
in the shade of the wayside oaks, patched
up all the old chair seats of the neigh
borhood.
"They talked but little in that wan
dering home. After short discussion
as to which had better go the rounds
of the house, with the same old
cry of Chairs to mend!' they would
sit down and weave their straw in silence.
When the child wandered too far away
from the wagon, Or tried to make
friends with some village youngster, she
was recalled by her fathers angry voice:
'Come back here, you good-for-noth
ingn Such were the only endearments
which she knew.
''When she grew older she was sent to
collect the WORKOUT chairs. In this way
she made some acquaintance among the
children, but it was now the parents Of
her new friends who called roughly to
their children, Come back here, you
good-tor- nothing! Don't let me see you