Sunbury American. [volume] (Sunbury, Pa.) 1848-1879, 1876-02-11
ssleft postrp.
THE OLD MAN AND THE FAST
MAIL.

THE OLD MAN AND THE FAST
MAIL.
| Young man, am tired and weary, and l'li boI
row your chair for awhile.
To sit by your Office window, where the colder
sunbeams smile,
For Pve travelled some miles since morning, al
though I'm old and gray,
| To see Uncle Sans hobby, the fast white mall
| to-day.
How Time keeps ringing his changes; it aim
many years ago,
Since I've Travelled this same road, youngster, II
a stage-coach, old and slow.
There wasn't sign of railroad, nor tele
graph pole in sight,
And the earth lay asleep In a mantle of snow.
fakes, pure and white.
A little log cabin yonder, peeped ont at the edge
Of the woods,
Like the nut-browu face of q maiden from under
snow-whte hood,
And there we unhitched our horses, In twilight
cold and gray.
To rest in the brown log cabin till the dawn OF
another day.
Then came again the next summer, when the
meadows with grass were green,
When the birds in the oaks were singin' and the
fish we're at play in the stream,
AnG buil:, in a little clearing, way yonder over
the hill,
cabin of logs and brushwood, and, stranger, l
livethere still.
But the cabin o. logs has vanished, and there
stands in its place to-day
a mansion of brick aud granite, while over
across the way.
Ny lad has built him cottage, cottage he
calls his own,
That discounts the big brick mansion where the
old man isn't at home.
For old dogs don't learn new habits, and an old
mans hard to please,
It amt easy 10 rest from labor when one isn't
used to ease;
Yet don't know as I'd be willing to toll in the
field again,
a workin' for paper dollars, and KILN both
heart and brain.
Once week we got our mails, then, folks wasn't
in a hurry to 90.
They didn't think that the stage-coach was
lumbern' old, and slow,
And you couldn't have made US believe it, if
you'd argued an hour or more,
They'd be carrying malls by steam power, and
throwin' them off at the door.
Now cars run over their railways with the speed
of gust of wind,
They've left the lumberin' stage coach and the
old-fashioned way behind,
And they tell me to lands far westward, where
the eagle has left his trail,
Uncle Sam Is sendin' 'em letters, by way of a
fast white mail.
SO I've driven from home since morning, al
though am old and gray,
To see Uncle Sans pet hobby, the fast white
mail. to-day;
For in twenty-six hours, I've heard it, and it
beats an old man like me,
They've the ocean mail a readiu' by ''the queen
o the inlend sea-"
Well, times is changin' surely. one is never too
old 10 learn,
Though there may be flaws in the marble that
my old eyes can't discern,
Yet Pm tired of the Deacon's croakin', and
wish he'd give Us a rest -
Gods runnin' the world. reckon, and He doeth
what seems the best.
Now III move my chair here, youngster, and sit
where the bright sun smiles,
Till hear on the curve down yonter, the whis-
tie o John Miles,
For they tell me he's runnin' an euglne on the
fast white mail to-day,
And he runs like wild young fellow if his hair
is turnin' gray.
The old man sat by the window till he saw DER
the curve below.
The smoke from the engine rising like the wings
of a great black crow,
Then he crept with gait unsteady across the
office floor,
And stood like statue watching the train from
the open door.
It came like great white arrow tipped with a
barb O. steel,
Spurning the road beneath 1t with the touch OF
its iror-shcd heel,
Catching the mail while passing with demons
outstIe;ched hand,
To be scattered in showers Of blessings afGr
DER the peaceful land.
Miles, with his hand on the lever, looked out as
he passed the door,
Looked out at the sunbeans stealings down to-
ward the lakes green shore,
Then pulled the throttle wide open, and seemed
with his air to say,
"Unc!e Sam, I've run like lightning With your
fas: white mail to-day"
Then old man looked IN wonder, ss they caught
the mail below,
AYE time is fast" lie mutiered, "for that idea
amt slow"
And then, as away they vanished with fash
like a comets tail,
He said: sold time, you're euchered by steam
and the white mail"