The Somerset press. [volume] (Somerset, Ohio) 1873-1977, 1876-01-07
The Force Of Association.

1t l. something quite Wonderfui-the
tenacity to which memory clingS TO the
deeds of vanished days. There is
somehow, a strange fascination in look
ing back. The subtle charm of associa-
tion-who has not felt it9 Who has not,
amid the rush and bustle of active life,
been caught up suddenly and borne
backward by some simple word or tone,
to the old sweet days of untronhled
calm in the beautiful realm of Long
Ago? 1t were no marvel that great ey-
ents, standing like milestones on life's
dusty highway, should make indelible
impressions on the plastic mind; but the
wold is that the little bubbles which
we scarcely notice as we pass, should,
through the wonderful lens of years be
so magni6ed and immortalized. There
is a rare benefcence, too, in This power
of association; we get great deal more
of sweetness out of life. 1t is often de-
baied which is the most enjoyable-the
anticipation Of a pleasure, or its realiza-
hlOu - HOt HONCA Va
lowed and halIowed by the lapse of time
more potent than either? We think so.
As the tiny ball of snow which, rolled
through yielding fields. at length becomes
a beautiful monument of crystal purity,
SO human life is continually gathering
new sweetness from the rolling years 1t
is this power ofaccumulation that makes
some lives so rich and fnll-so beauti-
fully rounded into perfection.
1t is not that there are no unpleasant
associations in the past, but that they
are purified and made beautiful by the
light of departing years. Time, we
know is a wonderful alchemist the
touches what to ms was unlovely and dis
agreeable, and, loi the ugly layers are
peeled away, and We behold the sweet
shining of the hidden gem 1t is this
that gives the past its sanctifying sweet
meas. Perhaps we never realize the per-
feet fulness of any present enjoyment;
but when the years have slipped between
and some chance thought brings back the
vanished voice and the tender touch, Rhl
how the heart throbs, and the pulses
thrill in the sweet remembrance.
Perhaps there are none of us fully
conscious how closely we are enVeloped
in this network of associations-how the
past overlaps the present, reaching into
the long, uncertain future. We are
continually surprised by some new veins
of thought that strike into our lives
like the sweet refrain of some old, hall
forgotten song. Who has not come some
time in his quiet reading upon some old
familiar passage. and remembered, with
sudden heart throb. somebody who
read il with him, and whose tender in
tonation gave il a richer and deeper
meaning, in one of fthose dear, dead days
that haunt MS so with that lingering
sweetness. How so.ne faint scent in the
summer air-some sunset dying in Grim
son aplendor-some soft moonlight iiga:
ing the winding river, or even the light
ripple Of the languorous wind, will
bring back once more "the tender grace
of day that is dead!" How some slight
snatch of simple song will bring back
again the voice that hath sung the songs
of the redeemed this many and many a
year. All, these beautiful souvenirs OF
half forgotten daysl-these tender me-
mentoes of the loved of earth and
heaveni-are they not richer and dearer
to US than all the costly baubles which
pass current for them?