Millheim Journal. [volume] (Millheim, Pa.) 1876-1984, 1883-04-26

to him said:
That bird seems to know you"
"He is always waiting for the male" "
he said.
."And always get something, 1
fancy"
always. rarely have passenger
and so talk to the birds and squirrels,
g1ang, glang. 1 regret l haven't a
better horse--g'lang -as my constant
urging must annoy You, g'lang
glang."
You do not whip him.
Never. But l often think Sancho
Panzas Rosinante, like the Wander
ing Jew, is still on earth.
And this is he?"
This is he without doubtr'
Just then he drove through piece
of woodland full of mRSic. He said:
How truly Mary Hewitt voices
ones feelings in her poem:
Come ye into the summer woods! But no
mortal pen can
Tell halt ;ho sights of beauty you may
see'"
| loved to hear him talk. His
language was pure, his anecdotes re-
fined. his quotations from standard
authors were frequent, but brief and
to the point.
"Who can he ber' | asked myself
again and again. At farmhouses he
stopped to give packages, from
mended scythe snath to gold brace
let. And whenever good woman
ran out and called, he took her wishes
i'll q note book, with all the courtesy
ana bearing of thoroughbred gentle
man.
took the liberty to glance at the
book. The writing and spelling
showed him to be man of educa-
tion
"Will not so many stops prevent
your making tlme?" asked.
"Oh, no! l am not obliged to be at
- until II NJ, and I started two
hours earlier than the old driver did"
"In order to oblige the farmers
along the route ?" asked.
"In part; but Pope says, 'Self-love
and social are the same l love the
morning air, love to speak word to
the good people, to break the dead
monotony of their work-day lives by a
bit of stirring news. Truly, these hours
on the road are the pleasantest Of my
life"
"You are never lonely?'
"Never! With God and nature can
one be lonely?"
A gentleman, with fine pair of
blood horses passed up, and they ex-
changed cordial greetings. The driver
said:
"a woman, who had worked in the
family of that gentleman's father for
many years, he took care Of the last
ten years. She had become helpless
and nearly blind, so when she died
last month she was past mourning
for. After she was made ready for
burial and laid in the parlor, we'll
dressed stranger called to see her. lie
was told she was dead. He said he
had not been east for thirty years, and
would like to see her. He stood a few
minutes looking upon her, and then
| bent down and kissed that cold, brown,
wrinkled forehead, and left two great
tear drops on it, and with a choking
voice said
"My mothers dearest friendv'
After moment the driver turned
to me and said:
do you suppose those friends knew
each other when they Inet?"
81 am sure they did" l said.
at is a question l often ponder.
My wife died when she had just passed
into full and beautiful womanhood.
She had touched her thirtieth year, ,and
was but little older, in the vigor
of my manhood. She is now in the
freshness Of her wOmanhOod with the
eternal freshness Of heaven. If, as
Milton has it, From the lowest deep a
lower deep still opens,' so, from the
highest hight n higher hight must
rise; and she, who was purity itself
must be purer now. And we grow
like those with whom we mingle, and
she, so lovely here, has been for
twenty-seven years the companion of
angels! How glorious she must be!
Will she--can she know Inc there?"
Almost my first question on reach
ing my friend was:
"Who is that driver?"
81 have not the honor of his
acquaintancep' she laughingly an
swered.
81 haVep' I said.