The weekly Floridian. [volume] (Tallahassee, Fla.) 1867-19??, 1886-04-15

A man never feels more lonesome and
forgotten anywhere on the face of this
big earth than in the land of his boyhood.
after an absence of fifteen or twenty
years. He goes back with sort of half
belief that he will find everything lust
about as he has left it, and is startled to
see the little red-headed girl he was wont
to help at mud-pie baking the mother of
a growing family, and the cherry-tree OF
his chlldhood's happy hour full of the
song OF the children of the boys he used
to play with.
About year ago | went over to the
land Of my boyhood, where I was wont
to chase the bright hours hunting the
amusing humble bee in his native lair. |
had been away from the locality about
eighteen years, and it was half a days
work to find person | could call bv
name. 1t seems to me that every person
l knew when a boy and lived there, had
died or moved away. The cherry-tree |
used to climb, the streams used to dam
for water-power to run miniature saw
mills, the hills used to coast upon, the
great chestnut-trees L used to shake till
they showered down their nuts-were all
there, looking very much as they had
looked nearly score of years before; bat
the people had all changed
Near the old house in which | was a
happy boy, with great longing for pie
and marked distaste for work between
meals, l found solitary white-haired
man leaning against fence. He was ap-
parently occupied with his thoughts and
a large chew of tobacco. He was an old
inhabitant. had stolen apples from him
twenty years before | knew him at
once. l recognized him by strawberry
mark on his nose. thought would
question him, and see if he remembered
me and approaching him asked, in a
kindly and reverent tone of voice:
"No, l never knew any such boy in
this quarter" said the old inhabitant
slowly, and in dry, husky tone of voice,
But l used to know tow-headed,
freckle-faced youngster who lived over
there about as long as you speak of. l
can't forget him we'll, for he was the
worst boy in the community; boy who
was as frisky and clipper as he could be
when there was no work to do, but who
always had a bad pain when there was
water to be carried to the harvest hands,
or firewood 10 be fetched in, or the cows
to be hunted, or the grindstone to be
turned boy who was always at work
at rabbit trap or machine to hull wal
nuts, or a saw-mill, or something not
wanted; boy who had a dam across
every run in this section, and a flutter
wheel agoing at every dam. That's the
only boy ever knew to live over there
in that house on the hill"
l saw that he had not entirely forgot
ten me.
"What do you suppose that boy is do
ing now?" l asked.
"I don't know" he answered, in
meditative way:"but l expect he is in
Jail. He ought to be, anyway, if he is
still alive, and hasn't reformed"
"No, he is not in JAIL" thinking I
would surprise him; "he's the editor Of
a newspaper"
"Well," answered the old inhabitant,
slowly, after changing his quid from his
left to his right cheek, amt bit sur
prised to hear it. l always said he would
come to something bad"
At this point the conversation tagged,
and sort of GOODNESS appeared to spring
up between the old inhabitant and yours
truly. decided not to surprise him by
revealing to him the fact that had once
been boy and had lived in that house
referred to. was afraid the news might
shock him, if broken ever SO gently. He
was very old man, and the shock might
have been too much for him.