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PUBLISHED SEMI-MONTHLY.
VOLUME 11.
gtortnj.
For tho Georgia Collegian.
Leaves upon the River.
While gazing on the flowing stream,
Fast thoughts diverse, flit through my
brain;
Leaves falling from the parent stem,
Create of them an active train,
Kecalliug men; wlion wand'ring on,
My mind reverts to leaves again.
The leaves have fallen, one by one,
Detached from long-companioned branch;
So men from life and friends must part,
Upou the unknown river launch,
While those who stay to battle on,
Their wounds with Time and Faith must
staunch.
In tangled masses, closely joined,
Or singly drift, leaves onward go,
Hy no strong motive power of self,
But by the river's coaseless flow,
They’re swept on slowly with the tide,
The canopy of trees below.
If from the eddy near tho bank,
They chance to take their winding flight.
’Tis only that engulfed within
The rolling stream’s rosistless might,
They passively are hurried on,
Controll’d by power, not will or right.
’Tis so with vacillating men,
Whose bosoms with no thoughts are rife
Os emulating manly deeds.
The “ Bea hero in the strife,”
Fails to arouse them from their sleep.
And nerve to free and vig’rous life.
Alas! how few with pride arise,
To strive with firm and true manhood ;
Not with a pride for what we own—
Not with a pride of race or blood ;
But with a consciousness of right—
Pride for tho talents God bestowed.
Let us not be with others borne,
Nor yet rub roughly 'gainst the bank ;
But gently swerving from the rest,
Both by and for ourselves make rank,
Smoothly, though boldly onward tread,
God and our brains alone to thank.
Carlos.
For the Georgia Collegian.
RESIGNATION.
TiY MARION.
CIIAP. VI.
Walter’s voice trembled as he said
‘good'bye,’ to ihe President and his
wife. Both of these excellent pat
terns of goodness, had been greatly
endeared to him. Nor was he alone
in regretting their separation; his
cheerfulness and respectful demeanor,
wi.h bis high sense of honor, had won
their esteem and affection. He and
Ernest parted with renewed pledges
of friendship; and now, t hat his fare
wells were all uttered, Walter longer!
for the seclusion of homo. On their
journey thither, ho wished, yet dread
ed, to talk to his mother of his spirit
ually fallen condition. He had not
read his Bible and prayed as be and
Ernest bad vowed to read it and
pray; aud he had again fallon into
CLIMBING THE HEICNTS.
ATHENS, GEORGIA, NOV. 26,1870.
doubt. Day after day passed, after
their arrival home, and ho could not
talk to her. She saw that he was
troubled, but would not force his con
fidence.
Several weeks passed, and he could
hear nothing from Irene or her fa
ther. He began to doubt Irene !
“Can she reject me so easily, while I
would meet and suffer anything for
her sake ? Why does she not write,
if still true to her vows? But—a
truce with my distrust! Can the
«oul beaming through those heaven
lit eyes bo capable of deceit? No!
Sle is truth itself. It is the work of
Liarcourt and her mother.”
Impatience made the time drag
-lowly away; and when September
did come, and the day came near
when he was to see the idol of his
heart, he became more and more rest
ess Ho was going to Augusta to
study medicine, and made prepara
Lions to be absent from home till the
next spring Robert had just enter
ed College, Nora, would go to a hoard
mg school, and his mother would
-tay with Mr Head’s kind family till
-hey returned in the winter. Hav
ing arranged everything, he left
home to meet Irene, with the fear
that Harcourt and her mother would
cause her to disappoint him. Stand
ing where he had a good view of the
passengers, he watched for the face
of Irene—would have entered the
car in search of her, but the uncert
ainty of being regarded by her as
formerly, restrained him.
His patience was not long taxed
He saw hor leave the train, and look
eagerly at the different groups of men
standing near. The conductor came
for her checks, and asked if she wish
ed her trunks sent to the hotel. She
thanked him, and said it would noi
bo long befo.e she would go on to
Augusta, and she would wait in the
saloon. Walter came up nearer, and
could have touched her as she replied
i.o tho conductor, but remained with
>ut saying a word. Irene raising her
veil, looked once more at the differ
ent groups of men. A deep drawn
-igh expressed her fear. She was
turning to leave the crowd when her
eyes met Walter’s She uttered a
cry of delight—
‘ I feared you had not come, I know
you doubted— ’ ‘ But,’ said she re
membering they were surrounded by
a crowd, ‘ let us go to the saloon.’
After the first, flush bad left her
cheek, Walter saw that she was very
thin and pale. Tho linos of suffering
were drawn about her beautiful
mouth, while those deep, blue eyes
showed traces of great anxiety. He
took these tacts in at a glance, and
tightened his clasp around the small
hand within his own. Irene trem
bled from excitement, ar.d leaned hea
vily on Walter’s arm as they passed
on. He asked tenderly, if she was ill.
‘ Oh, no P* she answered quickly.
‘ I am very nervous, and the least ex
citement agitates me greatly.’
When they entered the room,
Walter left her a moment to procure
a cup of coffee, which he thought
would quiet her nerves, and serve as
a stimulant during the night,that was
fast coming on. Irene leaned weari
ly back in a large rocking chair till
be returned. Walter was soon at her
side again, and she now —as they
were alone—finished what she began
10 say on meeting him. “ 1 know
you doubted my constancy, Walter,
and not without seeming cause I
scarcely dared to hope yon would
meet me ; but now feel amply com*
pensated for all that has passed.’
He asked why her father did not
reply to bjs letter, and if he was op
posed to his addresses. Irene men
tioned her father’s only objection,
and when they had taken the train,
gave him a full account of all that
had morning after her ar
rival home. Walter thought it would
he best leave her yet in ignorance of
his altered circumstances, and asked
if she would abide the vow renewed
in the College grove. She looked
trustfully into his eyes and replied,
‘I have given you an undivided
heart; it is yours now, and for all
time Nothing but.coldness or neg
lect on your part, can ever change
my feelings. It is true, dear Walter,
there may be bitter trials in store for
me ; bat to feel sure that you will be
unchangeable—constant —will give
me strength to endure all; and,
moreover, with this assurance, all the
efforts made by others to withdraw
iny affections from you, will only
make the tendrils of love more bind
ing.’
Walter could scarcely repress the
impulse to clasp her in his arms, and
kiss the lip* that uttered those words.
He knew she loved him, and for him
-elf only; and that no mercenary
motives influenced her pure heart.
Right here (but for a digression)
much c >uld be told the readoj of mer
cenary marriages. Yet no more
than lie or she and everybody el6o
knows alread}\ from every-day ob
servation. It is sad indeed, that an
every-day truth of so much impors
tance to all should be so disregarded.
The unhappiness which is the sequel
to a ‘ fortune-hunter’s’ marriage, has
often been noted by evory one; but
TERMS---$2.50 PER ANNUM.
NUMBER 8.
still all the world would marry the
rich—(they truly marry the posses
sion, not the possessor). Experience i
is ever teaching those to whmn learn- I
ing is painful, that it is best to trust
in that trite old saying, ‘ Marry for
love and work for money.’
Tho moments sped on. Irene and
Walter forgot, in their mutual happi
ness, that their bliss rested upon the
flight of a few hours
It was hard for them to part; and
at the earnest solicitation of Walter,
Irene consented to remain in Augus
ta the following day, and occompany
him to several places of interest.—
They rode out to the Cemerery in the
afternoon ; and while passing through
this beautiful sanctuary of the dead,
Walter’s unbelief east a shadow over
his fino features. The beautiful tomb
s Lone above an infant, attracted his
attention. ‘ Can aught so fair, so in
nocent, as helpless infancy perish for
ever? And is the short space of
mingled joy and pain allotted to the
oldest, our only destiny ? Does the
grave receive all? Could I seethe
dark vault entomb my darling Irene,
and feel that the deep passionate
love of my heart was centered upon
dust only ? Could I believe that my
idol was all clay ; and then when her
ashes mingled with tho earth around,
that all trace of her would perish for
ever? Would that heart, so rich in
affection; that intellect so lofty; and
that spirit so pure, all enter the grave
and find there an end? No, no; the
Bible is true—there is an after-exis
tence —1 feel the truth’— All this
passed through his mind, while Irene
was talking of the infant’s grave—
the infant on earth and the infant in
heaven. Its beautiful dust was wast
ing there; but its spirit was with
God. Walter heard not a word she
said. He continued to reason within
himself as she stood by his side.—
‘Shall I tell her of my fall ? Will it
not lessen her love for me? Am I
not practicing deception in withhold
ing it from her ? omy mother! my
renounced Bible! O Irene!’ Tho
last part of his thoughts was uttered
aloud.
This subject always agitated him
deeply, and Irene started back when
when he laid bis cold hand on hers
and called her name. She led him to
a seat near, and in frightened tones
asked what was the matter.
‘ Irene,’ said he, his face deadly
pale, 4 you have given your heart,
your happiness, to the keeping of an
infidel. But don’t reproach me; pi
ty and help me. You can lead me
back. 0, Irene, will you not assist
me to rise from my fallen condition V