The Bolivar bulletin. [volume] (Bolivar, Hardeman County, Tenn.) 1865-1888, 1879-05-22
A vision of the Spring.

AS L write, 8 dear little wasp falls u D
On the table and expresses his emotion
| by whirling madly around on his back,
IS he lies prone upon the manuscript
| before me. Somebody left the window
open and ''the wind blew it in" It lies
prone enough just now, but 1t isn't halt
go prone as it looks. [ whistle up the
dog OF my neighbOr. L is young dog,
| foolish in its general habits, impulsive
to fault, usually incorrect in its prem
ises, faulty in its deductions, and utterly
erroneous in its conclusions. / directed
| the attention of the dog to the struggling
wasp, and by sibilant sounds and tRunt-
| ing and encouraging GESTURES, endeavored
to excite the unjust wrath of the quad
ruped against the insect. l am eminentlY
successful. The instinct of the brute
would undoubtedly teach him to shun s
| strong, healthy wasp, but az this insect
appears to be suffering from a broken
back, the dog is confident of an easy
victory. Alter q short Introductory
overture Of baTks, he advances upon the
buzzing victim and picks it up. But
how shall we despise the DAY of small
things? Without, the sunshine floods
the dusty thOreughfare OF Eighth street
with the glory of spring the maple bdds
unfold and the white blossoms sparkle
like summer snowdrops on the cherry
trees; q child in clean white dress and
red flannel leggings is falling down the
stairs of the house across the way, and q
man 10 the lot adjoining is trying to
chase seven chickens into g coop, while
the seven chickens, with a fine burst of
speed, are endeaYOTing very successfully
to distance the man IN seven different
directions. No Oae man can head of
seven chickens under those CiIcum~
stances. A woman, out Calling" and
evidently little bit lost as to locality,
is standing with a card case in her
hand, patiently knocking at the door OF
a house that has been empty nearly
eight weeks. The wasp, evidently
toned and cheered up by the skirmish,
is wheeling airily about the room, sing
ing in low, soft tones, the Ongs of other
golden summer days. How peaceful and
eummer like the picture.
The dog? All, yes Was there then,
a dog in the scene Memory, memory,
open thy golden gates. All, yes; there
was q dog, not long ago.
But there is no dog in this immediate
vicinity now.
He has moved.
How like silent benison the radiant
sunlight falls upon the street. Yes, !
think, now, l saw him move. l heard
him, too, for my recollection Is that he
moved as much with ais tongue as he did
with his feet. l gaze upon the canvas of
the past, and memory imns for me the
details OF his moving. But nothing
limns any thing for the dog. Hedoesn't
need it. He limbed it all that was nec-
essary for mis- own unaided self.
Upon the cloudless, pale, unshsdOwed
blue of the April sky above me, storm
will come, and the fierce, white glare OF
the lightning will highten the radiant
sunshine and the mellow starlight.
There will be drifting clouds across the
summer days, and the smile Of the
spring time will be quenched il bitter
tears.
Oh, icy sheen of winter, and the hollow
sound of the man upon the tTeacherous
cellar grating
How all these things viii come and go.
The changing seasons, fecx d with
storm and calm the still, deep, starry
summer nights the restless tide, and the
laughing of the winds in the voiceless
forests; laughing childhood, rad ant
youth, and reverend sge; the bridal
wreath and the snowy crown upon the
casket lid.
How all these things will come and 60
But that dog will never come back here
again. Never.
At least, not until he has heard that
that wasp is dead. Dead. Dead and
buried.