Gallipolis journal. [volume] (Gallipolis, Ohio) 1837-1919, 1850-08-15
For the GalIipolis Journal i.
MY Native Home.

The mind. through sympathy of feel
ing and association of ideas, often at.
taches a particular fondness or preju.
dice to names. from the fact that those
names represent things with which our
tenderest feelings, and dearest interests,
are intimately connected and blended.
Who is there that can refer back to the
scenes Of his childhood and his youth
ful years connected with the place
where he first entered upon the stage OF
existence, and not feel arising in his bo-
som emotions Of the most lively and
endearing kindl He goes back, in i'm
agination, and seeks some congenial
spot where he can live over again the
time that he has there spent in days past
and gone. There is that familiar yard,
environed with fragrant flowers, whose
dropping heads kiss the morning breeze.
There stands that house, the abode of
so many happy hours. now rolled into
oblivion; and there is that grove of trees.
beneath whose foliage so much pleasure
and delight have been experienced;
and that green carpeted earth, that lays
with its expanse to the view, and that
seemed TO indicate the joyous smile of
nature in her gayest mood. Then we
cast the eve in another direction and
there we behold the broad bosom Of that
river whose limpid current rolls on
ward, and finally minges its sparkling
waters in old Ocean; on whose borders,
decorated in the simple attire of nature.
many an interesting event rises in
"memory's desolate waste," as having
occurred in more youthful days. Eve
ry incident, often even the most trivial,
passes in review before the mind, and
excites a thousand lively associations.
whose peculiar effect upon the feelings
none can properly realize but those
who experience them. Then we recall
to our remembrance those with whom
we were once intimate and familiar and |
those on whose friendship and in whose !
we could rely, and in whose
welfare our own seemed to be blended.
But after the lapse of years we visit the
same spot. in reality. and how changed
the scenel We see that the rude hand
of the destroyer has been there Time
itself has wrought out its revolutions
and its changes, in its onward march; (
we perceive, perchance, either evident
marks of decay and ruin on the one
hand, or where the hand Of the artisan,
or the mechanic has been at work, and (
in the place Of some venerable building.
which we held as almost sacred. some j
other structure now rears up its massive
columns. And in that place which VIC
as almost forbidden ground.
we now find something has irtruded and
usurped the place; those spreading
trees, upon whose pendent boughs the
feathered songster used TO warble his
merry notes and make the air vocal with
MS melod7, have been levelled with the
earth; that purling stream, where the
chrystal current rolled onward in ma
este grandeur, whose banks we're once
he playground of life summer days.
are changed so that we scarcely recog.
nize the spot.
These scenes twine around the heart
and seem to be almost an essential part
IF our existence; they arise in the
mind, like some oasis in the desert
waste, and cheer up our dropping spir-
is. They are leaflets torn from the
brightest pages Of life's history. We
sndeavor to recall to our remembrance
he companions and friends of those
olissful days, but where are they now!
Some are scattered here and there, up
Ind down the earth; some in one place,
md some in another. but as to others
he sad and melancholy misgiving
comes, that they are dead! And the
ong grass and the Wild flower wave
heir gentle tops, and the myrtle wreath
the spot where they slumber so
veil; whilst at the midnight hour the
ono whip-po-wiI sends forth its plain
i've notes; and adds to the deep melan-
holy; and the only privilege we now
rave is at swilight's earliest gleamings,
with foot silent as the starry dews, to
,trew flower Ger their last remains.
But from oil these associations and