Democratic messenger. [volume] (Snow Hill, Md.) 1869-1973, 1882-08-26
GOING HOME.
BY MRS. NJ. L. RATYE.

BY MRS. NJ. L. RATYE.
Singing at all hours of early morning
when the weary boarders, tired out with
chops" and pleasure, were trying to
sleep-singing while he BACKED the
boots or swept the piazza or carried
packages, always in that same sweet
querulous old voice, the same thing
over and over till they either grew tired
to death of hearing it or ceased alto
gether to notice his monotonous chant :;
the tune and the words seemed made
for each other, and the same words were
sung day after day:
=" I'm a-goin' home
No more 10 roam.
No more tew sin an sorro
No more tew wear
The brow OF care.
I'm a-goin' home tew morrerm
Sometimes n profane obiurgation
would be hurled at the old man as he
passed the room of city swell, and his
old voice quavered in over the transom,
and disturbed his morning slumbers,
but this season there was always one
door that was opened early-sometimes
it was tall, grave man, whose eyes
were red with weeping, who set that
door alar-sometimes a staid nurse in
white cap and professional apron, oc-
casionally a peevish- faced woman in a
rich morning negligee, but it was always
the same weak childish voice that called
ont feebly:
"Come in, old Jerry r.
And old Tarrxv would ak1,1 -, A. L..
way, with his hat in his hand, and set
ting down whatever household burden
he carried, would tip-toe in to the side
of the bed where a white and weary child
lay battling with death, and say brightly:
GOOD mornin', little AIRY you're a
little better, my little man %
Then he would drop down unchided
on the side of the bed, take the little
weak, wasted hand in his old withered
one, and as he gently stroked it tell his
little bit of news.
"The Gray boy was kicked off his
pony, little AIRY, and that was lark ;
and the cook basted the Hunt boy for
assessing him, and the little girl wot
wears long curls 'ad boat ride along
of her father last night, and she as
bucket full of splendid white lilies for
yusself, little AIRY, which she'll bring
in bimeby."
And the feverish eyes would sparkle
and the pale cheeks flush as the little
invalid asked his daily questions
3" Will | ever get well, Jerry?"
"That you will, little AIRY, and
right now" the old man would say
hurriedly, and then he would hobble off
and resume his duties and his singing,
only there would be an added fervor to
the words:
4" a-goin' h-o-m-e,
No more tew Roam
No more to sin and s-o-r.r-o';
No more to WEAR
The brow of Care.
I'm a-goin' home tew-m-o-r-r-e-r"
Harry loved to hear that song because
he wanted to gone to morrow; he came
from a peaceful, healthful, country
home to this fashionable watering place
hotel where it was all excitement and
hurly-burly, came for the first time, for
every year his mother had left him
home with the dear old fashioned grand
mother, who rocked him to sleep after
his bread-and-milk supper, and told him
old stories of the pot of gold at the end
of the rainbow. of the Sea of Jaspar, of
the Gates of Pearl of the Upper City,
and he had missed her and the white
doves and pet rabbits so much.
The old man went his rounds, but
there came mornings when he was asked
not to sing and he walked about with
his fingers on his lips and sung in his
heart and at last very, very early, Just
as the gates of sunrise were un5arred
they sent for him. "Harry wants YOU"
they said, and he tip-toed in, thinking
nothing at all of those who knelt by the
bed weeping or walked about with
averted faces. Harry wanted him, but
the film of death was over the child's
eyes and he could not see him, but his
livid-like fingers closed around the old
work-a-day hand with the grip of
child's love, the Freemasonry of
country where all are equal.
Little AIRY" murmured the old
man brokenly, lyon be a-goin' home -
That's it," said the child family
''Say it again."
Then old Jerry forgot that many
people. grand and rich, were present.
that he was only poor working man
servant to them all. He held the little
cold hands in his, as lie sung or kept
time in the old weird way he had learned
at camp meeting, and it was the only
refrain he knew at all, and silence rs OF
death stole over the room as he quay
cred:
We're going home
No more 10 roam,
No more tew sin and sorro';
No more tew wear
The brow of care,
We're goin' home tomorrow"
When he had finished the small hands
relaxed their hold and the silence was
Old Jerry still goes singing about his
work, bearing bravely his many bur
dens, but always when he comes to that
door he pauses a moment, only to dole
out with renewed energy the words that
seem full of new hope:
'Tm-goin' -home-to-merrer."
The Boston Herald says "After
Oscar Wilde, Tug Wilson," III that is