The Pickens sentinel. [volume] (Pickens, S.C.) 1871-1903, 1890-12-11
OUR HOMIE.

IL WIS lODS SluCe lelG DenlllQ. ltS
memory floats back over me with o
shower of emotions and thoughts to-
ward whose precious fall my heart
opens itself greedily like thirsty
flower. 1t is home among the hills
humble and homely-but priceless
in it's wealth of associations. The
water fall sings again in my ears, as
it used to sing through the dreamy
mysterious nights after the rains.
The overlooking shade trees at the
gate, the rose at the window and the
dahlias that stood by the walk, the
orchards on both sides of the hill, the
old locust, the machinery of the storms |
and showers, the little smithy under
the hill that famed with strange light
through the dull winter evenings,
the puncheon walk botwixt the house
and the kitchen, the tall chestnats
and stately oaks beyond the crystal
spring, and the dim blue haze upon
the retiring monntains-all these
come back to me with an appeal
which touches my heart and moistens
mine eyes. [ sit again i'll the door
way at summer nightfull, eating my
bread and milk, looking off upon the
dorEcning landscape, and listening
to the shouts of boys upon the hill
side, calling OF driving homeward the
reluctant herds. watch again the
devious way of the dusky night hawk
along the twilight sky, and listen to
his measured note, and the breezy
boom that accompanies his head long
plunge toward the earth. Even the
old barn, crazy in ever timber and
gaping ut every Joint, has charms for
me. L try again the breathlcss leap
from the great beams into the straw.
! sit again on the threshold of the
widely open doors-opcn to the soft
south wind of sDrin9.--and watch the
cattle whose faces look half human to
me, as they sun themselves and peace
fully ruminate, while drop by drop,
the disolving snow upon the roof drills
holes through the wasting drifts be-
meath the caves, down into the oozing
oilal Of the yard. The first little
lambs of the season tctldle ly the side
Of their dams, and utter their feeble
blcatiLg, while the flock nibblc at the
straw-rick, or pair of rival wcathers
try the strength of their skulls in an
encounter, half in earnest and half in
play. The proud old rooster crows
upon his dung hill throne, and some
delighted member of his silly family
leaves her nest, and tells to her mates
an to nc that there is another
egg in the world. The old horse
whinnics in his stall and calls to me
for food. L look up 10 the roof and
return again-and hear the tortions
of their musical morocco, as it wraps
their young, aud catch glimpse of
angular sky through the diamond
shaped opening which gave them in
gross and cgress. How, [ know not,
and care not; but that old barn is
part of myself-f has entered into
my life and given mo growth and
wealth.
Eut ! lock i!to the house again
where the life abi(cs which has ap-
pr"pliatrG these things, and finds
among them lis home. The hour of
evening has come, the candle is
lighted and a good man in middle
lifc-t though cid I've seems to mc--
takes down thc wcll-worn bible and
reads a chapter from its hallowcd.
pages. y sweet woman sits by his
side with my sleepy head upon her
knee, and brothers and sister are
GROUPED rcvcrcntialIy around. I do
not understand the words, but /
Lave been told they arc the words of
God, and L believe it. The long
chapter ends and then we all kneel
down %nl the good man prayed. [
ia asleep with MY head in the chair
and the next morning. remember
nothing of the way in Which I went
to bed. Again and again is the wor-
ship rcrcatcd through all the days of
many golden years. The pleasant
converse Of the Grsiic, the simple
songs Of homo, the words Of encOur-
agcmcnt rs l bend over my school
tasks, the patient bearing with
The freaks Of my restless nature, the
gentle counsel mingled with rcproofs
ana alrrovnlS, the sympathy, that
meets and assuagcs every SORROW
and swrctens every little successful
these return to me amid the rcspon-
Sihliltics which press upon me now,
and / feel as if had once lived in
heaven, and straying, had lost my
way.
That good man bade that family
farewell. He left with blessings on
his l's for me. His ashes lie be-
meath the Old Dominion consecrated
sod, and the wife of his youth has
met him bcycnd the river. Those
who called him father have scattered
and dwell in new homes, and the old
house and barn, and orchard, have
passed into the possession Of strang-
cls. They have changed, pulled
down and rcmodcllcd buildings, and
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