Muscatine weekly journal. [volume] (Muscatine, Iowa) 185?-1890, 1859-04-08
For the Journal
"Reminiscences OF Childhood.


"Reminiscences OF Childhood.
. By AN OLD MAN.
How dear to my heart are the scenes of my
childhood,
When fond recollection presents them to
view;
The orchard, the meadow, the deep tangled
wildwood,
And every loved scene that my infancy
kneo."
There is something peculiarly affect
ing in the recollection Of the merry
scenes Of childhood and the far
past in mature years yet they are
often reproduced, seemingly as with
magic art, in memory's picture gallery.
Then, in fond Imagination and with
almost child-like enthusiasm, 1 live over
again those happy, happy days-free
from care, and in which sorrow was a
thing unknown ; days when l and my
little companions roved Ger the green
mead blthe as the larks Ger head ard
free as the air, plucking the wild flow
ers and forming them into gaudy bo-
quets or wreaths to deck our hair, or
sought to out-run each other in some
winding path that led to a choice apple
tree when the successful one would
bear away the ripe fallen fruit in tri-
umph, or kiss the bronzed- checked
pear that lay under neighboring tree
All! then, too, I distinctly remem-
Der my own dear mother, long since
laid beneath the green and silent turf -
Ger whose head now grows the white
rose, fit emblem of her purity who,
with untiring perseverance, taught me
those moral precepts which were to
form the basis of useful manhood.
/ cherish in memory the loved spot
around the little red school house, by
which stood q towering oak, monarch
of the grove-the rugged hillside, that
so oft resounded with the merry laugh
of the Juvenile band as in little groups
they clustered around some MOSCOW
cred granite rock, or beneath the shade
of some lofty, Ger spreading beech ,
erecting their little play-houses, and
ornamentins them with boughs from
the pine, or with the we'll formed
wreath Of map le-leaves and running
winter green. How happy, too, that
we were in more mature years-on a
winter eve, when, by the light of the
IN DON, the snow crusted hillside glist-
sned with bewitching splendor, enticing
US stealthily away for slide with
grandfather's old sleigh-runners, pre-
served, as we thought, only as relic
Of antiquity; and if, perchance, we
were detected, and received merited
little scolding, it was soon forgotten in
view Of the sport we had enjoyed. The
pebbly trout brook, too, had its en-
chant.0ent in the milder season Of the
year ; away we would 60 with hook and
line, following, with light tread, its
meandering course through deep ra-
vine and tangled thickets from its
mountain rise, where its waters issue
pure from the bubbling spring, to its
mouth. Joy sparkled in each eye as
one of the fnny tribe was seen to dart
from bog beneath our feet-then each
angler silently sought to decoy him
with the worm clad hook, but oft in
vain, for the cunning little fellow, af-
ter alternately exciting our hopes and
our fears, would sportively bear away
the guise in triumph.
But, as we advanced in our "teens,' .
the realities Of life began to press uo-
on US; and, one by one, We left the
parental roof to embark for ourselves
on the untried, restless ocean Of life.
Many year has since passed, and a
great change has come over all. The
venerable father of the family now lies
low in yonder cemetery beside the
sleeping ashes Of his faithful consort-
my worthy mother. The heads of
those who once composed our family
circle are now white with the frosts of
many winters, and one has gone hence.
The sad refrain, 'passing away" is
written in unmistakeable characters
upon each brow. Such is life the
precious moments swiftly glide away.
Well and truly did the wise King de-
clare, Zone generation passeth and
another generation cometh.'
Years had passed, and I returned to
visit my native home, myself unknown
and I hardly knowing any one so
great the changes that had taken place
during the seemingly brief period Of
my absence. Naught but the white
marble slab told where were those whom
l Def re looked upon as "the old folks
at home" In the place Of those stood
their successors, now, known to me only
in the history Of the past. Can it be,
thought I, that these were the play.
mates Of my early boyhood?-it can
not be really so! But, the faithful
mirror revealed the startling truth-we
were cotemporary! With emotions too
deep for expression, I repaired to the
old family mansion; but oh! how
changed? Instead of noble edi6ce,
that once gave evidence Of utility, ele-
gance and thrift, stood an old moss
covered, dilapidated building. The
tall poplars that once reared their tow
cring crests in defiance of the storm,
against which they proudly protected
the mansion, had now, with seemingly
instructive shame, relinquished their
ancient trust and surrendered them
selves to the power of the crushing
seet. Desolation was visible all
around, and every object bore painful
evidence that the old homestead had
passed into other hands-the hands Of
the stranger.
Tho Ett1o ro1 e,bo.f L.. 49, r