Clemson University - Taps Yearbook (Clemson, SC)

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346 THE CLEMSON COLLEGE CHRONICLE. How do you know that I cannot ? Well, let me hear you. Dr. Hudson began singing one of their old favorite col- lege songs, and the voice that had commanded on the battlefield, had helped the young mind to master difficul- ties, and had held societies spell bound with learned dis- courses, had lost none of the youthful sweetness. But he could not finish; the arms of his friend were around his neck and tears were in the eyes of both. Their reunion was sweet. How is your sister, Nonie ? asked Dr. Hudson. She has been dead several years, but come home with me Roy. They entered the parlor and Arthur took from the table an old album. It opened at Royal ' s picture. The pic- ture was covered by a letter. Arthur handed the letter to Royal. She remained true to you to the last and never mar- ried, and when she died left this letter to be placed over your picture. It would not be improper for you to read it. As Dr. Hudson opened the letter a flaxen curl fell into his hand. He read the letter and silence came over the friends. Memories crowd thick upon him. He recalls to mind a girlish figure and a wealth of flaxen curls. The letter falls to the floor but the heart reads on. And there in the deepening twilight he seemed to be clasping a hand, and feeling a great love constraining him while a sweet smile played about his mouth and eyes. A sigh broke from the parted lips as the curtain was drawn upon the past. EDGAR M. MATTHEWS, ' oi.

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THE CLEMSON COLLEGE CHRONICLE. 345 loved ones as just punishment for the course that he had elected to pursue. But with the whitening hair and return of childhood — a blessing vouchsafed to old age — the feeling that inspired Goldsmith came over him : Where ' er I roam, whatever realms to see, My heart, untroubled, fondly turns to thee. Dr. Hudson found the old homestead and many of his relatives and friends. His parents had long since passed to rest, and only a sister and a brother remained to greet him. His claim to be Royal Hudson was treated as absurd. Why, said his brother, Roy has been dead over twenty years ; he was killed in battle and lies buried in the family cemetery. Dr. Hudson proved to their satisfaction that he was their brother, and the reunion was complete. No word of reproach from either embittered its sweetness. He found some of his old college mates and they for- gave all the past and received him again to their hearts as one given from the dead. It was not so with Arthur Rembert. He could not recognize the slender, girlish boy in the sturdy gray haired man. Roy Hudson had no beard or gray hair, said Rem- bert unwilling to give up his old friend and recognize the stranger. Don ' t you expect a man ' s beard to grow and his hair to get gray? asked Dr. Hudson smiling. But, persisted Rembert, Roy went serenading with us, and-I knew all his secrets. Yes, I remember those serenades and the happiness we had and the love affairs of all the fellows. But, asserted Rembert, as convincing evidence, Roy could sing.

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THE CIvEMSON COLLEGE CHRONICLE. 347 Why He Stopped. Nestled among the hazy mountains of North Carolina, lies the little town of M . It is not what one would call a regular summer resort, but still transient drummers and even a few summer boarders do occasionally arrive. On the memorable 4th of July of which I write, as the great steel horse paused as for breath, amid the cries of hackmen, a young girl of about eighteen summers, accom- panied by her brother, descended from the rear platform of the sleeper. John, the brother, was a healthy, well developed boy, but lacked the winning ways and tender grace of his sister Lucy. They were whirled away to the hotel where new friends were soon met. Weeks went by in happy freedom, until the frequent drinking of the brother marred the sister ' s happiness. His drinking was soon followed by bad company and cards, bringing sorrow and misery to Lucy, who tried to warn her brother against the fearful destiny awaiting him. He heeded her not, but with giant strides he hurried him- self to ruin. One night as he was gathered with some of his friends about a card table, calling loudly in drunken stupor for more wine, a figure in wnite stole softly from an adjoining room and laid its hand upon his shoulder — it was his sister. She begged him to stop and come with her, but he would not, and cursing told her to return to her room. The game went on ; wine was brought and drank ; money was won and lost, but not until he had lost all, did John rise from the table and staggering went to his room. Drunken, tired, sick at heart, he sat by the window listen- ing to the whippoorwill calling to his mate. The cool wind fanned his aching head, but revenge had taken possession of his heart ; and while he was thinking of how some day