The Lincoln County leader. [volume] (White Oaks, Lincoln County, N.M.) 1882-189?, 1884-02-09
Public Hall %DedicatOry Address,
by
Col. D. ]. NJ. A. JGVGt.

feeling of the heart.
The event is OF unusual import
ancc to the town and its people
For the first time it has a common
centre, and they, Il common object
Of interest.
Without a church,a school-housc,
or a hall. a community lacks the
most potent bonds Of union among
ITS people, and is destitute Of the
common interests, sentiments, and
affections the most powerful in the
formation and preservation Of aoci
ETY.. In this building we have all
these social links within four walls,
a condition Of things which must,
suppose, for some time continue.
| hope at no very distant date to
see this, the home Of our chief So
cial interests, become public prop
erty, and this in the interest OF the
permanence Of its useiulueSs.-
Meantime the promoters are wor-
thy of all honor. Their enterprise
is by no means a selfish one
while the building will, | sincerely
hope, yield them a profit, that pro-
fit must be much less than the
same amount Of money would have
brought item otherwise invested,
and to hat extent, if no farther,
their work is a free gift to their
fellow citizens.
To all of us the building and its
uses, recall some Of the p|leasantest
and most enduring memories of
lite. Whom is there among us,
who has forgotten the old court
house, or town hall. And the wi
lage statesmen whom we heard
there, Greater men than there are
in these days. Or the little red
school house, or the old brown
church and It's "God's acre Z" The
scent of the new mown hay still
comes through the window, ON
gentlest of summer airs, and woos
our thoughts from dull books to
the leaping fish in the pool by the
roots of the willow. Recess, and the
playground, are more real than the
things OF to-day. Big, bright Tom
we hear in a casual way is a grand
father little Dot died before the
war Harry has disappeared in the
immensely Of the great west Jen-
ME, our old sweetheart, married
the red headed boy whom we hated
most Of any but here or there,
living or dead, they are the real
piaymates Of our golden time, and
our souls are knit with them as they
never have Seen with the friends
of a later time. We see the pic
lures which we saw in the school
house fire, and the dreams which
we dreamed within its walls that
last winter there ; for were we not
about to enter the great and beau
titul world, and be great, and pow
erful, and rich, and roll on golden
wheels to the portal of the Temple
of Fame. The warm sun fecks
and plays upon the oak-shaded
graves Of the dead the red wag-
ons under the shed 4; the horses tied
to the fence the worm-eaten pull
pit, and high-backcd pews, n We
ny real.
No prayer ever thrills the heart,
or elevatcs the soul, as do those we
heard there, and all the faith we
have has its roots there. When
imagination strays amid heavenly
hosts, and we would dream Of an,
gels songs, it is not Of Jenny Lind
or Patti that we are reminded, on
OF the Miserere IN the Sistine chap
ell, but of some old day, when the
quavering voice of some old moth
err in Israel trembled in unison viii
the pure voice of one whom we
loved, and the deep base OF the
schoolmaster, mingled with the
rich tenor Of the Squire in the
gladstone rush of Canterbury
or the lo~ng-drawn, wailing tones o
"Dundee." Or Of another dav