The daily Cairo bulletin. (Cairo, Ill.) 1878-1???, 1884-10-16
HOmcsickncss.


Reader. were you ever homesickp
When you first left the parental roof
and went out into the wide world to
hew out a road TO fortune and fame. did
you not feel that vague sense of unrest
that made II seem impossible that you
could live another hour away from
homer Where one has not had this ex-
perience hundred have. Well do |
remember when, at fifteen years Of age,
/ went out from father, mother. home
and friends, and sought an education
nearly five hundred miles away. The
novelty of my new surroundings in the
city, having passed all my life on n
farm, sustained me for month or
more, and then l felt the gnawing at
my heart one evening, and for weeks
and months it came and came again.
was standing in the flolt yard at my
boarding place, when suddenly lump
arose in my throat and almost choked
me. ] was looking in the direction Of
my old home, and my gaze went over
the houses along the river, and over
the tree tops on the bluff beyond, and
wandered on into space, where | saw in
imagination the old fireside. Mother,
dear old mother, was sitting there at
her accustomed place knitting away as
if her life depended upon turning the
heel' Of that stocking before sleeping.
Father was reading the village paper,
just as / had seen him do hundred
times. My brothers and sisters were
all there as usual, and the cat dozed
and purred before the fire OF cracking
branches, and the back log Of Kissing
hot elm rolled from its place and scat
tered embers here and there, as | had
seen it do over and over again. The
shouts of the children, the terror of the
! cat, the hurry of mother to brush the
glowing Goals from the old rag carpet
before they should add to the number
of unsightly holes already burned in it,
the activity of father in checking the
progress of the backlog with his boot,
the overturning andirons, the choking
smoke and all the accompanying ex-
element and effort to repair damages,
were as had seen them often; but |
was not there to help, and an unfath-
ENABLE longing to 60 and participate
in the dear old scenes came upon me.
What would | have given for the
poor privilege of burning my fingers in
a futile effort to set up the fallen fire.
dogs? How / should have leaped and
danced for JOY even to have coHghed
from breathing the smoke! 1t would
| have been only second to heaven to
have had mother bind up my blistered
fingers and little sister TO put her club
by hands upon them and hurt them in
her anxiety to find out whether | was
shamming. But no; this picture is but
q mirage, and must wait. One day a
letter came. 1t said another sister had
been born to me. How strange l felt.
| had sister had never seen, and
when talked about it at the table, the
other boarders laughed at me and said
was homesick. | cried each night
when had gone to bed, and in the
morning my pillow was wet with tears,
and at table my roommate told how |
had called for mother in my sleep, and
SO was laughing-stock again. The
lady of the house was kind to me, and
often when she found me weeping, had
stroked my hair so like my mother had
in years agone, wept afresh. At last
day came when was going home.
The hours seemed ages, and the min
utes to elapse before the train would
come were hours of torture. At last,
goodbye was said to my new friends,
the bell tapped, and was on the way.
The speed was far too slow, and i al
most felt that could 60 faster If /
were on foot. When at last the brake
man began tocall out the names of sta
tons that knew, my heart beat high
with every rising hope, and Twas in an
ecstacy of JOY. At last the whistle
sounded and the brakeman called tho
name of the station near my home
The train it seemed would never stop.
The platform reached, / sprang of.
What change had come upon tho
world3 The buildings had thought
so high two years before, were very
low; the boys knew were almost men;
the girls were in long dresses; and my
little sweetheart was so tall and slcn-
der, shy and blushing, that l could
hardly speak TO her. AT home, it was
the same. Father aud mother were
more gray, the children larger, and |
called the one had never seen by the
name I'd called the next one older
when | went away. The cat was sleepy
and inactive, and the fire upon the
hearth not half so bright Alas! q
change had come, and home was never
home again. -FE. Hadale, IN Through
| Mail