The gold leaf. [volume] (Henderson, N.C.) 1881-1911, 1891-10-01

~ ~ - an account OF a
-rT /Nss visit to the old
lM~N( home by one who
YIr u had grown to man.
hoods years. We find it in the
Detroit Free Press, having been
written for that paper by Homer
Basstord. Read it and you will feel
better for having done so:
Everything seemed SO funny there
in that pretty little old town. | had
lived up in the city ten years when
| went back to the place of my birth,
to go to the fair and meet all of the
friends who had known me since l
was such wee boy that | did not
know them. When | got off the train
the depot seemed smaller to me than
it used to seem, when my happy feet
of boyhood trod its platforms boards,
SO full Of knot holes and splits. |
got in one of the buses that stood just
few feet away. Was this the same
vehicle to whose rear step I had hung
and lodged the drivers whip? How
little and cramped, and what a noise
it made! | used to think this bus
the greatest thing ] ever saw, and as
| come to look back to it, | guess it
was
Then | went to the hotel and up
one flight Of stairs into the office and
signed my name, and then looked
around at the people sitting there to
see if | knew any of the. One of the
men nodded, and asked me when | got
in. | could not place him at first,
but when he shook hands with me,
| remembered the driver of the bus
the same old fellow who used to whip
at me from his high seat, when l was
such little boy, in bare feet and with
care free mind. But | was dressed
up this time, and something of that
indefnable city air hung about me-
| looked at the other faces, but they
were new to me-even the hotel, which
| once thought incompatible in its
grandeur and elegance ofappointments,
had changed hands. If ten years
would do all this, what changes might
twenty effect.
Then | went home to that dear place
with a big yard and great, friendly
shade trees, so unlike anything l had
seen in these ten years of life in the
city. Not that there are no trees just
as big and yards just as spacious, but
they all like something. At home
the naples that line the moss covered
brick walk that leads up to the low,
and rambling house look SO friendly
| remember--it was ever SO long ago
when man came to our house and
told my mother that he was from the
nursery and would lay off the grounds.
The naples came the next day. They
were mere switches to freedom they
occupied the same relation as to man
hood. And SO we were children
together. l was glad to &C up the walk
once more, under the sheltering shade
of those happy maples-they look like
brothers to me, and l thought they
nodded their heads as 1 looked up at
them.
Then | went into the house Some
how the rooms had grown smaller
while | was away. The big sitting
room, over whose floor l have rolled
will! my brothers a thousand times,
was so little that actually looked up
at the ceiling to see if there was any
danger of my head touching. Of all
the things saw that day and night
all seemed unnatural except my bed,
the downy couch, that had never had
a regular occupant since l left the
little white walled room l called my
own. How l sank into the embraces
of that great feather tick! As | lay
there, with half closed eyes, just at
that happy time when sleep comes
creeping over you, felt myself a boy
again. 1t seemed morning. A rooster
crowed away off somewhere and |
heard the distant below of a COW and
the smothered tinkle Of her bell. All
was still again, and then katydld
called out in the night. Then it was
morning; the gray was in the east and
| could hear the chickens cackling out
in the yard. 4 voice called me
breakfast was nearly ready; then |
fell asleep. All night nearly the scenes
of boyhood came trooping along, and
when morning finally broke, | heard
that breakfast call in reality. 1t was
mothers voice again, after many years
i was a boy for an instant longer
then a stream of sunlight dazed ME
into wakefulness and | was on earth
again.
When | went home! Memories
crowd my brain and picture Of youth
spreads itself before my minds eye.
1t is the same to US all. The old home
is vision of every man. 1t may
have been a wee place high in the
rugged Alps or an humble peasantry
in the valley of the Rhine; it may
have been a sweet little vineclad place
in England, or lowly home in Sunny
France. 1t may have been in the
Southland, with cute little negro boys
playing about the broad grounds with
their infant masters it may have been
! a rough cabin somewhere in the West