The western sentinel. [volume] (Winston-Salem, N.C.) 1887-1926, 1889-05-23

one of those little boys resolved that if
ever he did get to be big, rich man
he would have bull calf to ride.
Time is a lenient god," was said long
ago. Oh. Time, you are "a cruel god /!
And so, one after another, tie tail
skins off the Mystery like rats,
the mutilated varmint crawls deeper
into his hole while we are left wonder
ing What this thing calle. Life is any
way.
Now there's Smith We all know
Smith. As honest and neighborly
man as is in town Smith has done
well in business and has reached that
time in life when man likes 10 doze
after dinner. He gets into his slip
pers, lights his pipe and settles near
Mrs. Smith in his easy chair. The
smoke curls aud foats, fly drones on
the window pane, The cat purrs by the
hearth. Soon the fat amiable face by
him grows irdistinct and the red hai.'
floats away i'll the smoke. The pipe
falls from his fingers softly and Smith
is asleep. Presently he smiles. All,
Smith, who fancied that a tender wing
ed dream of youth huttered yet under
that business old breast? Again YOU
stroll in the moonlight along arbored
walks and feel soft hands clasp tightly
yours, while dark ewes look up so tear
fully Down through the years comes
the sweet odorofj jessamine and you hear
again the notes of the mocking bird
carolling to It's mate in the nj ght. Of
brigh. dreams you have told her and
bright hopes-that cut in the wide
world you would seek fame and for
tune, and bring back to her trophies
as the old time light to his lady love,
"Only come back to me John, 'shc said,
"and I'll wait for you forever And
then the poer heart overfowing buried
itself in your arms while you leaned
over her and the shadows hid
you.
All, you started, awoke
"Ntister Smith you sholy air gittin'
ter snoIe!''
You rub your eyes and look mean.
You feel that your dream is treason
to the good, faithful, stupid creature
by you. You are ashamed of yourself.
Don't feel badly, Smith. Many a
night as you lay snoring Mrs. Smith
has dreamed Of time when she was
not Mrs. Smith, and when one whose
name was not Smith carried her books
to school, cut roses for her red hair
and spoke words that set her po,r,
scrawney breast atremble. But papa
thought him shaky and you steady
And while Dark Eyes watched and
faithful little heart grew faint with
longing you sought the old man in his
counting room and life's die was cast.
For the greater part of ten years l
have been a wanderer, rarely sleeping
under the same roof twice and sitting
always at meals with new faces Often
it has been the homes Of simple peo-
pie that opened to me, people who
spoke freely of their personal hires
and sorr"w But in hooking back
now recall but two faces that show
Ell happiness and contentment-ons a
mother on a western prairie, surround
e,i by brood Of sprightiy children,
| Luc OtIlct u Hdlt Oltt titai NOILu
Carolina trudging with his little
grandcbild about q mountain farm.
And in all the other thousand homes
I see but careburdened men and sad
eyed women. Their voices eeme to
me agsfn of heartburnings and heart
burnirgs and everywhere disappoint-
ment, ill it seems that the very crust
of ear h must yield under its load OF
huma sorrow.
-
Is,Iife all fraud? Is there moth
| ing real? Will this weary longing
and restless cropping in the dark for ain
unk known something come never to an
end? Yes, yes, brother, I know, I've
heard about baptidzo and ell that, but
I'm not after secondhand goods now,
lnJ even pair of hand-m downs.
/ Tell me, you old men, you who have
Tiled ife's springtiine and summer
save planted and piowed and gather
ed already the fruits of its Autumn
j you who have dreamed and suffered
Land thought. tell me, what Is the NV.