Staunton spectator. [volume] (Staunton, Va.) 1849-1896, 1880-06-29
For the SPECTATOR.
My Birthday.

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Ia period to which all look with the
greatest pleasure, and picture for them
selves f1attering prospects, enter upon
life, radiant with joy, their cheeks
flushed with pride, and hearts thrilled
and animated at the thought of liberty,
with nofcare for its duties or fears for
its responsibilities but not so with me,
for earth, with all her bOunteous stores,
enchanting scenes, and winning smiles,
presents no attraction to me. care not
to live-the vain pOmp of life is like the
rising empty bubble, which, though so
beautiful at first, soon, ah, very soon,
bursts and is no more; it does not fasci-
nate me; sooner far would I rather be
numbered with ''the countless dead"
than be here, or rather still, never have
been born. But what cannot be helped
must be endured. am here, and must
make virtue of necessity, accept the
situation, and try to make the best of
life can, for "life is real" To- day, I
cross the threshold which separated
youth from manhood. To-day, I enter
upon the era which calls forth into ae-,
life, necessary to an Independent exist
ence.
Endeavoring to reconcile the present
with the past, take retrospective view
of the history Of my life; it rushes to
the bar Of memory /; with keen, scru-
tinizing eye, look down the long cata-
logue Of events which have been min
gled with life, and see sorrow flowing
thick and fast, but joy reigning SUI
premeiy at intervals. L bave much to-
regret, but more to be thankful for.
Thus it is with life, bitter and sweet.
sunshine and shadows. Once I was
happy and free; no thought of care ever
entered my mind; all the earth and
time seemed to be one continual field
and vnending day of pleasure, but si-
lent, unknown, and inexpressible grief
has scared my heart as with hot iron,
and to-day everything can something
feel, but nothing moves this stony heart
of mine; its very life.blood has been
crushed out; devoid of love and affec-
ton, bleeding, it lies upon the altar Of
cruel events, where it will ever remain
in its lethargic embrace.
To- day, all the tender ties woven in.
boyhood'a happy hours, and fond re-
collections of other years, are severed,
and enter upon the theater of life in
no wise incommoded, and with sad,
sad heart, turn my back upon all, and
consign everything that has occurred
since my first existence to oblivion's
dark. silent tomb, and, letting 1.-THE dead
past bury its Dead" endeavOr to pene-
trate the misty veil which conceals the
future from view, and am buried in the
absorbing thought of how I shall mas
ter the great responsibilities of life.
II
Coming events do not cast their shad-
ows before. With anxious gaze, look
through the dim vista of the future, but
can discern no knowledge; for the great
book of. nature has been closed, and
heaven has kindly hid the chronicle of
fate. can see no passing shadows of
futurity, but know that life, with all
its ponderous responsibilities and duties.
is awaiting me, and that none of the
twistings or turnings in this little life of
ours will ever unfold the impenetrable
garb which enfolds all that is in life,
for each passing hour has its own cares,
and not until it has entered upon the
stage of action. and is numbered with
the eternity of them that have passed,
will I know what it had In store for
me.
To-day, experience my first encOun-
ter with things which once did not
seem to exist. I realize that the respon-
sibilities of life are weighty; for hu-
manity shrinks from entering the arena
which encloses ripper years.
| Acts which mark the perfect man
present themselves in vivid characters
and impress on me that great things
swing upon little hinges; that my fu-
ture welfare, my eternal happiness, rests
upon the decisions of single moment.
oh! how or by what means can
fathom the boundless abyss of futurlty
and bring to light what my life will be.
or in what way can I CLEAN what will
comprise the responsibilities with which
1 shall have to contend, but that
can never be accomplished, and until
they shall have transpired, will know
nothing of them. Oh suspense, how
tormenting! for it is human to antici-
pate the worst-thus cropping in the
dark, as it were, always endeavoring to
act my part well, as each day brings
some new responsibility, I am resolved,
let come what may, to ever keep in
mind
Ct the oft-repeated story,
| Every rose must have its thorn;
Clouds and sunshine go together,
Oaks grow stronger from the storm -
and, with truth in heart and God o'el
head, go forth to conquer or to die.
!, June 10th, 1880. PRESTON.