The Anderson intelligencer. [volume] (Anderson Court House, S.C.) 1860-1914, 1892-06-16
BILL ARP'S TALK.
atlanta Constitution.

atlanta Constitution.
Old Father Time keeps rolling on. All
thu days and weeks and years seem to be
coming this way. Ammo Domini has
brought another birthday to my house
not exactly a centennial but q si1tennial.
I used to think it would be very sad to
grow old and I wondered that old people
could be so cheerful. When my young
wife was sweet sixteen it never occurred
to me that she would ba over sixty. It
seemed impossible OF at least 30 far away
that it gave me no coucern. But here 1t
is, she has crossed the Rubicon, trying to
catch up with me. Yesterday was her
sixty-frst birthday, but she is only sixty
years old. How is that, children7 We
didn't know what to do for her. Didn't
know what she wanted OF needed, for she
never tells. I did hear her foriancing
one dsy about how she would like to
have a carriage and a pair of gentle
horses and good driver at her command
so that she could ride around and make
visits and 60 to the missionary meeting.
I'm going to get her that equipage or
turnout or plant or establishment just as
soon as 1 can, thoug b it may be in the
new Jerusalem. She deserves to.ride the
rest of her days, for she has worked and
walked enough. She has done her share.
Coed gracious, what mountain of toll
and care and anxiety 1t would make if ne
could see 1t all piled up. The mother who
raises ten children in the old=fashioned
way has d5ns enough, has fought goud
fight and deserves pension. For more
than forty years she has been making
their garments and teaching them to spell
and to read and the catechism and wash
ing their faces and blowing their noses
and fixing them up for Church and Sun
day School and little parties and tying
up stumped toes and cut fingers and
nursing them in sickness and watching
the measles and mumps and whooping
cough by night and by day. Job tells us
of the dark hours of the night when deep
sleep falleth upon man-yes, man
but it don't fall upon weary mother
with teethiDg child. And have not
forgotten the beautiful plated bosom
shirts she used to make for me before the
days of sewing machines. The children
were the biggest thing, of course, and
they are yet, but she has never forgot me.
All she wanted me to do was to provide
the needfnl and 1 did it. Yes, / did it,
except during the war. 1t was nip and
tuck then and she was lodging the yam
KEGS good part Of the time, with half
dozen little chaps tuggiug after her, who
thought it was frolic. They run her and
her little brood all the way up and down
the Cbattahoochee River for 800 miles,
and she would hardly set settled down to
rest in one place before she had to skee-
daddle to another. fhe good book says,
Glove your enemies" but that is sucb
hard thing TO do I don't believe that very
many people undertake it; maybe some
of the sinners do, but the Christians
don't, l know. They dident az Omaha
nor Portland, and come of our Southern
preachers bristle up and show fight like
porcupine. There may be some sancti6ed
women who have no resentment, but the
men are scarce. Most Of the sancti6ed
folks never had to run from the foul in
vader.
Well, I don't know what to do for the
maternal ancestor, nor how to celebrate
her birthday. I thought of doing as Cain
did-briug her some Of the frat fruits of
my garden-t garden that I planted
and worked in every day-my beautiful
potatoes and peas and beans and raspber
ries and asparagus, and squash bloom
to put in her hair, but the girls said that
I had better not. Then I thought that I
would write her some poetry and say
verses inscribed to my wife on her sixty
first birthday. So I tried to work up
poetic frenzy, but couldeut. I wanted
some thoughts like John Anderson, my
Joe, ought to have written in reply to bis
wife's sweet words:
But now your brow is bald, John,
Your locks are like the snow,
But blessings on your frosty brow,
John Anderson, my Joe.
That suits me, but somehow it doesn't
seem to suit her raven hair at all. She is
not old enough to be munched up and
crunched up with pathetic poetry like
that.
I used to write some poetry, but some
how I've lost the lick. Frank L. Stanton
writes all of my poetry now, aud he does
it beautifully. In seven years more We
will have golden wedding, if VIC live,
and I'll get Mr.. Stanton to write some
verses for that. We never had but one
wedding, and there wasent much fuss
made over it. No presents. My wife
cost me s25, that's all. Ten dollars for
a ring, aud $40 for the preacher, and the
rest went for fancy marriage certif-
cate.
Yes, we did get some darkies to wait
upon US ard nurse the children and they
we're good and loved US and loved the
children. They we're part of the family,
but Dir. Lincoln proclamated them all
away but Tip. Tip wouldn't go until ne
told him. He had wife aud children to
support and We all had to scuf1le for
bread then. But it is I'll right. We are
not complaining" whatever is is right"
except some few things like snakes and
tarantulas and hyenas and train robbers
and Omaha preachers and the foul inva-