The Arkansaw traveler., 1888-02-18

ferings, and death of President Gar field. In his desire for rest the small boys thoughts turn backward to the grove of singing birds and scolding turkeys and chirping squirrels. The ever- present dew of that far-away heaven of sterile childhood seems to fall upon his soul. Yes, he will travel thither. He will walk once more ir those scenes. He will do again for a day as he did once for happy weeks And then he will go in search o1 Riley Rose. The small boy is old enough now to speak his gratitude.
 Years ago the small boy has heard that his people had left the saplings and the oaks. Why, he knows not, but railroad journey carries him to their farm, not far from the y-places of his youth. They tell him the old place is gone, but he can hardly be- lieve them. A walk of half an hour brings him to the knoll where the or chard once bloomed. In dazed sort of way he looks for the picket fence, the gracious oaks; his eye travels a mile for a grove of saplings. But this, he is told, is the sacred spot-a cornfield, like the meanest cultivated acre in the township. Not far from the road, over a stake-and- rider worm fence, is pit. Here is the cellar of the joyous old home here had Riley Rose gained his greatest triumphs on the E string. There the cornstalks are picked soldiers, like Frederick guard; they grow tall out of the chip pile, soil three or four feet deep. Some purchasing Goth had seen no beauty in the place. Troy was; Cdr- hdgo detendG est. The small boy weeps tear for the orchard, the awberries, the swings, the squir- rels, the cackling, chirping, squealing, bleating, mooing host; he hears Gin his mind) once more the midsummer breeze among the upper branches, and departs. And then he bethinks him of the meagre farmhouse a mile away, where the two young people began life so long before. He strolls down the unhappy lane of his youth, where he had carried spring water when he had boil on his knee-cap he walks around the pond where the mare he rode from blowing at noon always lay down in the warm, muddy water to make the men laugh at his expense. He is now under the same tall locust trees that had stood there in the lane in front of the cabin twenty years be- fore. Over the fence all is wheat stubble. The young farmer had moved to Kansas, had broken more ground than he could keep free of sum- flowers, and had died of overwork and of liver disease probably contracted in the cabin that had once stood here. But that this place should have been leveled was no crime. The small boy would never have visited the locality but for the outrage at Riley Roses.
 An! Riley Rose He at least still lives. A half-day's journey takes the small boy to a certain town, and in- quiry in the town shows that old man Rose keeps saloon at one end of the street.
 Behold, then, a saloon- keeper past middle age, beaten, prosecuted, hated politically; with the air of man who cares little for humanity; with a look alcoholic, and intensely suspicious of the small boy, who had just en- tered.
 It is of no use. The blow, the har- row, the Goth and the Vandal have not gone over the old home more relent- lessly than they have plowed and fur rowed this face.
 Still the small boy must speak. He passes few commonplaces. He gains better footing with the proprietor. At last, forgetting Riley Rose, he warns to his subject and describes the homestead which, at least in one poor memory, has been kept kempt and in- viting.
 A picture so eloquent evidently in- terests and flatters the saloonkeeper "Lemme see," says he, "that was in Ohiey, wasn't it?"
 "No, it was in Indiana"
 "Oh, yes; I remember now; did clear place in Injeanny. Yes, Pve cleared more ground than I'd ever open agin. Place in Injeanny-in h. jeanny. Oh, yes! I remember now That was the meanest quarter section that I ever grubbed on. Yes, got the agur there at last, and had to git aout. No, didn't keer much for the people, if I reecklect right. Jest 6 middlin' lot, but I don't seem to fix 'em very well. Down in Ohiey, naow the neighbors hated to have me leave No, hain't played the fiddle in fifteer year. Bless yer soul! that was afore the days of these cussed prohibition fanatics, that break up mans busi. ness and run him into jail"
 Ay! ay! dear reader; but that wal also before Riley Rose, who loved hil neighbor as himself, had become 6 keeper of village dramshop in a tenn ! .l..rsn county Tho T,,.,.e.Y