The Indianapolis journal. [volume] (Indianapolis [Ind.]) 1867-1904, 1885-05-23
A PLEA FOR "OLD LETTERS
Written for tie Indianapolis journal.


concerning the subject of ''old letters and by
some, perhaps, the whole matter has been as
signed place with the worn-out and cast-away.
Net, the very fact that so much has been said
and written proves its mertorious character,
and no really good thing can long be permitted
so take back-seat. On the contrary, it is quite
sure to be brought out from its hiding place,
brushed up, and pronounced 'just as good as
new"
Strange, there are people in the world, and
not afew, who have feeling against preserving
uetters! They seem to regard it evidence
OF weakness, and bring up all sorts of argument to
prove that it is wlsest safest and best to cremate
all letters aside from those pertaining strictly to
business} as soon as read. We protest. however,
against this wholesale way of obstructing a
channel that might be the means OF producing so
much genuine pleasure as we'll as lasting good
anstead, let us seek to clear away the
driftwood and allow the waters pure and bright
TO flow on. Let us seek to make this thing of
letter writing more of study. Study to show
that when we take up our pen, it is with spirit
all aglow to express some thought worthy to be
preserved, till it deserves the title of odd
Much that comes to us by way of correspondence
those words fifty spoken never be repro
fduced, and for this very reason should be priced
above that ofsilver, or gold. precious stones A
friend once said to Seargent Prentiss lone of the
greatest American oratorsC "Prentiss, you al
ways mesmerize me when you speak" Mr..
Prentiss replied: ''Then it is an affair of reci-
procity for crowd always electrifies me. feel
at such times a kind of preternatural rapture
New thoughts come rushing into my mind un.
hidden, and | seem to myself like one uttering
Oracies. am as much astonished at my own
conceptions as any Of my auditors, and when the
excitement is over could no more reproduce them
than I could make 9orld." To many however,
best thoughts come cot in the presence of crowd.
but in solitude, during an hour of quiet away
from the hurry and hum of a busy world. In
the stilly night, ere slumber's chain doth bind,
an inspiration unbidden seemingly guides the
pen while those exquisite thoughts that come
trooping through the brain are written, and on
the moving train the white winged messenger
takes its fight bearing to some dear friend
Eokens of precious remembrance, words of light
and beauty-words that will grow brighter and
Brighter as the years go by. We write as we
Feel we are ourselves on paper; our best estate
Us thus revealed, when perhaps face to face
Fvould never be known. How many of the firm
est and truest friendships have originated and
siren gthened year after year. through the
medium of the pen. AS well might we think of
Eiarcng over the pages of a choice book and
ehen tossing it into the fire as to apply the doc
Esrs, for with each rereading we per-
ceive new Beauties we read between the
lines, and after, we are led into new fields
of thought, that otherwise might have never
been found. mind sharpeneth mind, and a
few written words from friend carry more
weight than many words written spoken in
general way-the latter you may accept if You
choose, the former is yours, and you grasp it as
with hooks of STEEL
We pity the men and women who are hurry
Ing through the world in strictly business way,
and giving to the flames that which would
add so much to their pleasure and happiness.
Fancy them resting in the noon time of life with
no ''old letters" to freshen and make young again
their hearts
You think of all this and more, as you look
out upon the storm-clouded sky. "A rainy day"
has received as much attention as 'oldiletters, :"
so you invite the two to join hands, and, for an
hour while the rain patters on the shingles, you
look through your store of 'old letters, you turn
the key softly in the lock that guards your
treasures, and the past with its hallowed
memories glides in panorama before you.
You smile and even laugh a little subdued laugh
as one by enc you read yon bright joyous, hap
by schoolday letters. 1t seems but yesterday
that you thought, and planned and almost ac-
complished wonderful things. high position
among the sons and daughters of men seemed
only step. To-day your laugh Is half sigh, as
you confess that the world is not just what you
dong ago. aged grandfather writing to his
little grardchild. There is a touch of pathos in
this communing of extremes. On the one hand
childhood in all its freshness and beauty; on the
other, childhood that comes with its three
score years and ten.
A mothers letter to a loving daughter you
read with uncovered head. Its wise counsels, en-
circled with exceeding love and tenderness, has
reioiced more than one heart You glad
it was written. You feel it can never grow old.
Another letter. faded and yellow with age,
you now open; from its tlmeworn fold
withered flower drops and food of memo
ries rush over you, for this letter tells of a
friendship like that of David and Jonathan, and
as you read your eyes fill with tears, for you
know that never again will message come to
you in that familiar handwriting A news
paper before you in its dress of black brings a
sorrowful story of sickness and death. You see
ita so pain-''the chamber where the good man
met his fater-the casket bearing on its bosom
the cross of fragrant f1owers-the dulled and
broken pencil on the coffin lid. You close your
eyes ana hear the mountain pines singing a
requiem over q newly made grave, and you know
that latter lifes itful fever" noble man, a
brilliant editor, your friend, sleeps we'll.
Again. you hold in your hand letter bearing
marks of much reading. 1t is tear-stained and
dimmed this buoyant, hopeful letter. written by
a devoted husband and father Every word
speaks the language of a heart dedicated to
good works, plans for helping others, and scat
tering seeds OF kindness beside all waters
You shudder as you think Of what followed: the
awful click click of the wires, the terrible
message Railroad accident-mortally wounded "
You remember little else save the gloom that
settled down upon you. More than decade has
passed, and the hand that wrote this soul-in-
spring letter has long since moldered into
dust yet the words come to you with the same
intensity of thought when penned. You are
thinking of other Affections that crowded into
your life; of hours when the burden laid upon
you seemed greater than you could bear; of
times when your wounded and broken spirit
would have tainted by the way had it not been
for those dear friends who so cheerfully and
willingly came to your rescue. Yes, you think
of them with gratitude that widens and deep
ems every day and hour. You thinking of
them now, as you read once more, it may be for
the hundredth time, their hopeful, sympa-
thetic letters. Very tenderly you replace
your ''old letters" and once more turn
The kew You feel your strength has