The Bolivar bulletin. [volume] (Bolivar, Hardeman County, Tenn.) 1865-1888, 1874-12-11

SIDE Tor 0OOrpiate, and small cIrcu-
| lar one for his pocket, bristling enough
| TO impale that dreadful Greek verb
which is the bete gOir of boys. Also
there Is g little hand mirror, for must
lot Our Neddy see the back OF his head,
when eombisg and perfuming To go to
the presidents levees, and to call on the
professors daughters 3?
Well, the trunk is gone. We saw It
locked and strapped, and lifted into the
great wagon. We saw, IN mist, a boy
sitting on it, waving his hat, hurrahing
and shouting bood-bye. How still the
house is How dismal the day Seems
as If We have been having funeral
"'Oome home again, did yousay? Oh
YES I suppose he will but he'll wear
badges, and have whiskers, and be pre-
else and proper. Ab tho Little boy Of
more r,
boy for chum. He can play on. the
fiddle, and has got a stunning lot of
peokties. He's going to give me one
! because let him use my boOtjack. by
trunk came all right, only one hinge is
sprung, and the iron band round the
lid got smashed in at one corner. 7
tore my pants on II, and had to pay
twenty-five cents to get them mended.
! You ought to have seen the porters
sweat and swear when they brought
it up stairs. I couldn't pnt it in
my room, because it Is too big, and
| il stands Just outside in the hall.
The boys come along and kick it, and
say, '"rthst's bully chest of yoHrs-holds
deal OF plumber, don't it? I say old
| fellow, how II You swap But ] shan't
swap, for I've seen every trunk in our
/ hall, and I like mine best. But guess
I won't bring il home for the short va
| cations, they jam things so on the cars.
| So you may send up my valise before
| the term closes. That will be IN ten
weeks and three days" And SO Ned's
valise piled back and forth between
home and school, like a brisk little
tug tending q mau. of-war, and JeYia-
than's stately bulk was moved only at
the long vacations.
But. alas, one sad Christmas Eve, the
trunk came home with it's sick master,
TO return no more. The next morning
he stopped feebly before his old com
rade, and with weak, pale hands undid
the fastenings, and took out some of
his especial treasures then said, 'fSet
it by till I feel better, and then I'll
unpack the rest" But the next day he
was worse-and the next. So we made
him pleasant couch in the sunny par
Ior, and pushed the great trunk into the
hall. There it stayed many weeks, and
we forgot it's existence, while we sum-
moned doctors, and mixed medicines,
and gave ourselves TO nursing the pre-
cious boy back to health.
But the pale face grew paler, and the
beautiful eyes larger and more IUs-
Z l. 4IaL I,o1
alert with bat and ball grew white and
thin, and one morning he said, with
sad surprise, g cannot open my pen
knife" A few weeks longer and tender
arms lifted him from side to side; and
so, inch by inch, life retreated and
death came to the front. We all knew,
though We could not say it for tears,
that our Ned was soon going on a
Journey where they take neither purse
nor scrip, nor cumber themselves with
earthly gear. Oh, how it comforted US
to know that while length of days was
set before him, he had committed him
self to One mighty to save-to feel as
sursd that while we, with tenderest min
istries, could go with him only to the
rivers brink, yet not alone, no unat-
tended should be his
-" disembarking on that awful strand"
Leviathan now stands in the chamber
of the desolate parents. It Is no longer
a trunk for gross and common uses, nor
is it in danger from {" journeyings oft. 4"
Tt is an Ark of Memorials witnf SIS be-
tween the living and the dead. Nobody
has turned tire key IN its rusting wards
since it fell from the sick boys hands.
Whenever we find a scrap of paper on
which the dear hand has traced itself,
in however trivial fashion, We lay it softly
away in some of the boxes or drawers.
His letters are there-bright, joyous,
full of the frolic and eagerness of the
life that now is-there are the compost
tionR. showing indeed, the "'prentice
hand" of the youth, untitled, as yet, by
lore and observation but thoughtful,
/ earnest, reaching out In their dim ques-
tioninCs toward the Immortal sea.
Here is the. little purse, lean and worn
poor little purse which was always
emptying itself, always filing with
school bills, society bills, class bills,
sent carefully home for papa TO audit,
with the playful Injunction, 'tLet these
bills, o pater, be TO thee for care.
Would We could audit such accounts
again t~ aa aE
In this little box is a tUft of silkeD
chestnut hair, shorn from the beautiful
/ dog-Ned's playmate and bedfellow-
who went into the great -Bayond--a sad
/ forerunner-many years ago. How well
We remember the tear-stained face of
the child, as he came In from the small
mound under the apPle-tree, and asked
as 10 write to TennysOn about bis dog,
g because, y said he (we had been read
IN In Memoriam lately), perhaps he
would write about Don.
/. Our dear BOYS Bible is not among
these tender treasures for, with diving
breath, he gave it TO his cousin, adding
IN a whisper, "Perhaps you won't think
/ that much of a present but I think a
oae eat deal Of that Bible. " $500
We are growing less sordid and
/ worldly now; for who shall come after
us TO cherish the things our hands have
/ handled i? We shall be able to console
ourselves if thieves carry off the family
plate, for who, a generation hence, will
muse fOndly over the old fashioned
/ relics They may take down the pic
/ lures from the walls, for nobody, by
and by, will look up to the fading can
vas and say, with filial pride, That,
sir, was my father"
But they will not want this old bat
tered trunk. They viii not care to rife
it of its dingy books and yellow papers.
When the ache and emptiness of be-
reavement press too severely upon as
/ We go 70 it softly, and take out one by
one the well-Worn volumes-fOr he vas
a scholarly lad, and his books we're CON-
rades- and put our fingers on the pages
/ his dear hands have pressed 50 often,
and unfold the packages of happy let
/ ters, and take up the various relics, each
written all over with some pleasant his
tory, till, for a few moments, we lose
ourselves IN the illusion that the sainted