The Durham daily globe. (Durham, N.C.) 1889-1894, 1891-12-14
THE OLD DAYS.


The Old Man yesterday passed another
mile stone in his journey of Life-in his
aimless wandering which commenced
thirty-one years ago, and will end?
1t has been our opportunity to many
times remark that there are no days like
the old days; no dreams like the old
dreams; no faces like the faces we once
knew and which we will know no more
forever-and in this brief twilight hour
as we write and look back upon the old
paths, more deeply are we impressed
with the truthfulness and the cruelty of
our belief.
. Green has grown the grass for years
upon the little mounds beneath which
lie the forms of those whom we knew
bright men have fallen upon the way
and we, we'll we feel as young to day as
we did feel ten years ago.
What we have lived for let the idle
winds whisper to you; what we have not
done all men ~know-and what we have
done has been a sad and sorry parcel Of
the who.e which we should have COM
passed.
The ten years which have passed from
our majority until to day have come,
some of them ull-handed; and others
were not only empty-handed-but were
beggars beside. To the begging years
we ~gave-gave our time which could
have been better employed-to those
which came ~full-handed, We took but
little where much was proffered.
But what we have done and what we
have not done is but little concern to
those who read these lines-but even
youth strong impetuous and ambitious
will at times sit down by the last mile
stone passed and cast a backward glance
d glance a-down the path from which
there will be no returning.
Did you ever. seriously figure it out
that you were getting old? Have you
ever felt that time was not to be mon
keyed with, and have you watched the
wrinkles as they come upon your face
and brow? If not my boy, stop and
look back.
How long ago was it, say this Christ
mas time, that you were impatiently
awaiting the coming of SANTA CLAUS?
How long ago that you implicitly be-
lieved in that jolly old elf-and how
aT0 wac II thot won 61o-;~~
horns and admiring in awe-struck amaze
ment the gyrations of the wooden Jump
ing jack-which to you was a marvel
and a triumph Of mechanical skill and
ingenuity?
1t was long, was it?
All, yes it was. 1t is longer my boy
than any Of the years which are yet to
will be-and yet it seems but Just
a little time ago.
To day you are through with the tin
horns and the jumping-jack-you are
out sparkling your fathers neighbours
daughter-or you are walking the cold
floors singing lullabys and pouring pare
goric to your darling, sQualling brat
and yet it does not seem long?
How long ago was it that you sat upon
the knee Of a visiting cousin or a visiting
uncle-Or upon your mammals knee, or
upon papa's, and had related to YOU this
narrative, substantially as follows:
'One time There Was a Big Bear. A
Little Boy went into the Woods and the
Big Bear caught the Bad Little Boy and
the Bear Ate Him Up
1t was long ago, was it? And how
you listened and how you believed
And to day as you comb your Chin
Whiskers other men are telling you Bear
and You still believe. And yet
you are not old. No, not very. But
t IKE the man at thirty and lie has
full half bis ,ime-and maybe
more-and still he pursues phantoms and
still he listens to the older bear stories of
older men, and still he allows Jumping
jacks TO amuse-though constructed diff
f~erehtly-and so he walks down the
road, looking eagerly for what may
grow along his path until the next mile
post is reached.
Then when he gets back to that sec
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