Iowa County democrat. [volume] (Mineral Point, Wis.) 1877-1938, 1884-11-28
HBACk HOME"

N. 7. Journal.
"BACk HOME"
What the Nriddle-Aged Man Finds on Wis
iting the Home of His Youth-The Great
Changes During Few Short Years
The Memories of Boyhood.
There are still few old houses left
in the village in whose halls or sitting
room ticks regularly. loudly. steadily.
monotonouSly an old-fashioned Dutch
clock" standing like dignitied sentry,
carved in mahogany. and with only his
face exposed. 1t has none of the fur
ried, nervous get-along-as-fast-as-you
can tick of the modern clock. 1t seems
TO say at every tick: Il have recorded
three seconds more of time (tickD; l
am an old school clock (tuck,). and for
generations the chief clock of this fam
lily ltick0. noted the hours in the old
Colonial times OuckD; l licked all
through the seven years of the Revolu-
ton (tickD; have seen the fashions
come and go (tuck0; queues disappear
and knee-breeches give place to the de-
generate baggy trousers of the present
(tickO; fear the world outside lacks
tone and dignity anyway (tuck0." So
it runs on with its monotonouS story.
You sit in the old, straightforward chair
which was an old chair when Western
New York was y wilderness and people
who moved to Tioga County were never
expected to be heard of again. Old
patriots look down from the walls. Old
books are on the table bound in stout
leather, very plainly bound and tricked
out with none of that glaring array of
color and gliding wherewith the mod
ern book seeks to win admiration
through external ornameLt alton. Solid
books these, very grave and sad and
serious and dogmatic in their utter
ances, and with no mercy or compro-
mise with such as differ from them in
opinion-books very like the men who
wrote or read them much over one hun
dred years ago, who took life solemnly,
and almost wondered why their Creator
had imbued his children with an inclina-
ton to smile or laugh, and with muscu-
lar machinery to do it with.
The influence and atmosphere of q
sterner age seem still to pervade the
old room-of time when men bound
ed the universe with their own
opinions, and, as judges of their fell
low-beings, took often on themselves
without being aware of it the office
and function of Deity.
That is the bell ringing for the Friday
night prayermeeting in the basement
of the church. The girl of a past era
used to attend the Friday night prayer
meeting, and, indeed, all the other
prayer-meetings, and you were prompt
ly on hand on the outside to enjoy the
transient bliss of seeing her home from
church. And hence the sound of that
bell had an interest for you. But its
ringing goes for naught now. Would
you go tonight at nine o'clock and
stand at the old church. door and put
yourself in the grave of past mem
cries?
That dapper young man of twenty
five who passes you on the street is the
son of an old sweet heart. He has
heard some mention of you. But you
to him belong to the Middle Ages. You
existed before he was born. That puts
you on the retired and fossiliferous list.
There's the rude initials on an old
fence you carved when q boy. 1t
marks also the era when you were most
destructive with your jack-knife. You
stand and wonder how the identity
that made those marks can really be
the identity standing here to-day. How
boyish imaginations have faded out
since that time. How dull and monot-
onous seems the life of the two or three
cronies left here who are fast going to
wrinkles and-gray hairs. How sad is
it that people must grow old and lose
that lively interest in traps and dogs,
pigeons and rabbits, forest, excursions
by day and Misunderstanding excursions.
You see the man considerably past
middle age-a prominent figure of your
boyhood-and you are surprised to find
how much he resembles scores of other
men you have met in various parts of
the world. You find he is rarely dis
tinct and individual. He belongs to q
class. You may have once deemed him
man of knowledge and wisdom. That
was your youthful judgment. You con-
verse with him and find him senten-
tiously commonplace. Another illusion
faded
A branch railroad has pushed its
black, iron, smoky head and noisy voice
into the village since your day and
helped to destroy the old-time primitive
ness and old-fashioned air of the past.
Instead of escape from the city you find
yourself in a cheap imitation OF it. 1t
brings with it an atmosphere of the
suburbs. You would prefer the old
stage-coach. That seemed a part of
the place. The driver was resident.
The horses were residents. Every ono
felt family interest in the vehicle. But
the railroad is strange. Its manage
ment has financial but not paternal
interest in the village. The railroad
was longed for and prayed for, but now,
when contamination, the villagers
are eternally grumbling at the manage
ment.
These be the farmers coming in from
the country as they did forty years ago.
Not the same farmers, but their sons,
yet in appearance and attire quite the
same. Hard, thin, weather-beaten, wea-
zened faces, shambling gait, STOPPING
shoulders, an old beaver hat and gener-
al attire of a scarecrow pattern; man.
ner and bearing indicative CT contempt
for the refnements, amenities and soft
ening influences of life, and only forced
into whatsoever of that character that
comes into their lives by the necessities
of the time and the persistency of their
women folk.
Can it be after all that this dear old
place, often longed for. and where you
hoped in time to settle and spend the
remainder Of your earthly days." but
which, when realized, is full of sadden-
ing memories, is not your real home
and appointed sphere? The chick can
not go back to its egg-shell snugly as
once it may have been cuddled in that
shell, and there may be fate which
knows better than ton where is your
real home.
You seem looking for the unattain-
able amid these scenes and memories
of the long ago. Even the few old
companions of that day and date that
you meet viii fail to satisfy. True, they
talk it all over, laugh it over. Still a
chasm yawns twixt you and them. Is
it not that you are involuntarily looking
for an interest in all this that you have
really outgrown? You inger in recol-
lection oyer tho life of ro4Ir rnrIfh. vet