Wheeling daily intelligencer. [volume] (Wheeling, Va. [W. Va.]) 1852-1859, 1859-02-12


"HGn never e, but always 70 Be beSt."
Happiness is not thing of to-day, or to-
morrow, but of yesterday. Men never are, but
always have been blessed. A bewildering, mys-
teal thing, and oftener sad than joyous, is the
coming and going. the meeting and parting, of
remembrance. How often little fair ROBBED an
gels of accident and Incident, awaken long
Numbering memories, and lead US away from
the leaden, prosy routine of Sow, down through
the rosy lanes and by-paths of THEN. Them
What a world of associated membranes in
that little word.
Our eys glancing-not like the poets, from
earth to heaven"-but over our well piled table,
alights upon skating scene" in the last HGr-
per-and rests there with half dreaming, half
sad, wilful gaze; but the inward eye is looking
far out beyond Harper, beyond the walls of the
sanctum, beyond the brick aud mortar of the
city, to skating scenes on the page of memory
scenes engraven years ago, and stamped in
delibly on the inner tablets Of the soul Slow
~ Harper recedes and fades from vision;
slowly and family, like shadows of years, come
up by.gones of times when VIC were lighter (and
perhaps truer) hearted than now-menories of
green fields and wooded mountains, of floods
crystal in summer, ice fettered in winter. The
frozen river CLEANS like silver, sprigged with
frost diamonds, in the morning sun. The
"boys" are already there, their steel blades
flashing in the sunlight, their true hearts over
flowing with joy, their clear voices ringing out
gaily, just ss though there were no such thing
in the world as troubles or air-holes. We join
them. The sky over head is blue, and the hills
lie back against it'like snow banks against
violet wall; and fields where VIC have gathered
crimson berries in summer, stretch away and
mingle with the hills in the distance. Around
the trees that bend over the frozen river, the
brown scared leaves cling despairingly like
blighted hopes around lonely life. We are
in the midst of the throng- careeri9g over the
smooth surface, the free world around and the
glorious inspiration of youth within. The
game of ''shinpy,"-the race, the trip and fall,
the shouts and laughter,-the rattle of clubs
and ring of steel, are on every side, and we are
whirling and flying over the ice, unmindful that
the river beneath, like the deep undcrcurrent of
our oun existence. is all the while flowing away
to mingle with the heaving ocean.
Ali We were younger then, and happier,
than now-with fewer cares, and fewer sins to
answer for. And though We can never help re-
enact those skating scenes, they are too deeply
engraven in our heart ever to be erased. We
lay Harper down tenderly, and mediate. 1t
has been good while since then. Years are
clustering around the FRESHNESS of youth, bearing
US away towards the future. Life is pond of
skaters. Some are swift, while others lag
Some write their names in Aourishing capitals;
others are content with mere scratch. There's
the "high buck and low doe" the scramble and
contest for the bail of success There's racing
and chasing for the prizes of life, but with all
our gyrations We are continually nearing tho
open water; and one by one-the advanced ones
frst-we go down through the air holes of
death, and our brief days skating is ended.