Weekly expositor. (Brockway Centre, Mich.) 1882-1894, 1885-03-12

them from their stems ana uroppcd
them to the ground.
On the west side of the building n
weeping willow bowed its head in
mourning, and beyond it, near the en-
trance to the garden. vine of tame
honeysuckle had taken possession of a
peach tree, and wrapped it from trunk
to topmost leaf in sweet, amorous folds.
Here my grandfather lived, and tended
his garden, while his hired help culti-
waited his fields that spread out all
around. Here frequently came with
my mother from the sitting existence
of town to the breathing life of tho
country to find the most wholesome
food, the most bracing air. and earth
room enough TO give me new route
through farms and dense woods every
morning of the year.
And here l also found a good grand
father, whose pride in my father and
mother concentrated in me; for surely
he loved me with rare devotion, and
prophesied for me happy and glorious
future. l believe every grandfather
casts his last affections upon one grand
child of many by whom he may be sur
rounded. His heart leans toward one
little form. in which he sees the germ
Of manly strength, in the shape of
whose head he bcholds the tokens of
all worldly wisdom, in whose bright
and starry eyes he describes valorous
courage, from whose infant lips fall
words of wondrors meaning, and whose
actions bespeak heart full of the no
blest love and II soul devoted to high
and noble purpose. What q great
world this would be did such fancies
ripen into truths!
This stick is hard as flint. 1t is
sound rs dollar of gold. The wear
of time has served only to polish its
surface and 10 make it look more
bright and new. But the hand that
took il from its native wood is 'ong
since folded over q careworn breast and
put out of sight forever. The brave
old man it once bore mp is Wondering
away in his grave in the garden, while
by him lies the " life who with him trod
tho path of life, and with him serenely
walked into the limitless expanse of
eternity.
I he house is deserted. Its doors are
open, but no tenants are there.
Through its rotted roof the ram comes
down and flows over hearth whose
fires have long since gone out and will
never burn again. The rude windlass
whose cheerful rattle awoke me at day
break as it in quick whrl sent the old
Oaken bucket TO the bottom of the well,
lies broken on the ground. Marauding
kline have destroyed the althca bushes,
whose dead trunks support lfeless
limbs that CHATTER ghostly CHATTER as
the wind shakes them. The peach tree
has fallen TO earth with its clinging
freight, which forsaking It's supporter,
runs riot over the grass and clings in
hopeless desperation to the worm-eaten
palings and lettering posts of the gar
den fence. The mulberry trees alone
survive, shaking their stalwart branches
high in the air rs if defying fate. and
overlooking fields now owned and till
ed by stranger hands.
love this stick because il was my
grandfather stick. II serves to keep
his memory green within me. l con-
jure you to care for it when am gone;
for it tells you of one whose life was
spent in lowly places, but whose soul
scared to the infinite. He was of those
pioneers who make possible the civili-
cation we are supposed to enjoy. He
worked and prayed throughout u long
and laborious life; and whenever You
find yourself forgetting your duty to
man and God, l entreat YOU to hold
this stick up before you and call to seri-
Gus memory every word say here