The Columbia herald. [volume] (Columbia, Tenn.) 18??-1935, 1892-09-09
rR0TWOOD,s MISCELLANY
"Amber GIints."

Amber, who writes for that excel
lent paper The Chicago Horseman,
yields pen OF most exquisite touch.
Speaking of country life, she says:
II lived ia the country once. / was
q mite in turkey-red pantalettes and
a sun-bonnet TO match, but | hold
fast to the memory of those days, be-
fore l had ever known the splendor
OF tailor-made costume and pat
tern bonnet, as one cherishes a nose
gay of old-fashioned bIush-roses in
preference 10 hot-house and scent
less blooms. As remember the
country as it existed a generation ago
it consisted chiefly of bird-sOngs,
dewy mornings, clover fields, room
day dinners and district school
mile away where my young feet
| trOtted daily in pursuit OF highly
elusive knowledge i can remember
a hillside where used to lie under
an old appIe-tree and look off at the
I blue circuit of the summer hills and
wonder il l should ever travel so far
as the "thcr eide Of Buttermilk noun
tain. l never saw train OF cars or
locomotive up to the time ] left that
enchanted land. When the bObolinks
sang / thought the birds were the
original producers OF harmony, and
that Jenny Lind was only skillful
cOpyist of their notes. But it was
not for the purpose of rambling
talk with you about the country that
sat down. before my desk this morn
ing; it vas rather to suggest a
thought OF comfort to some sorrow
fnI heart by the lesson drawn from a
certain incident connected with that
IOng-ago life OF mine.
1.-The road that led to the school
house / have spoken OF was long
aud roundabout one. 1t coursed
around the base of q big hill and
dipped into an Out-of-the- way valley.
1t tangled itself up in grove OF
pines and followed the erratic course
Of a singing brook that had some
how lost it's way to the sea. TO walk
the length of that craggy road necessi-
tated deal of supeIfiuOus travel.
But had to walk it every day be-
cause to me was intrusted the duty OF
letting down the bars of the far
pasture and driving home the COWS
on my way from school.
II had a little friend who accompa-
MED me to aud from school, and be-
tween us there existed a tie SO sweet
and dear that even the cloudy years
have not yet effaced its brightness
from my heart. She was a delicate
little girl, and the long walk told
woodland path sprang into existence
somewhere about halfway on the
Journey home, and lettering "cross
LOTS through the woods cut off a full
half-mile from the way. At this path
my little friend and | used often to
part company, she Fastening home
through the sweet, dim silence of the
woods, and | trudging onward by
this roundabout road TO fulfill my
duty and accomplish my task.
Goodbye" she would say to me,
and sometimes I fancy | can hear
that voice even yet. u will be home
first and meet you at the gate, And
so SHE would be. With her hair shin
ing like gold in the afternoon sun
and her eyes full of welcome, she
would stand by the old barn gate as L
came toiling the last hill, and make
the daily homecoming a thing 81
joy.
through the world that las many lit
tie 'cross-lot paths slipping out OF 1t
and leading tired feet quickly hoI"".
TO some of us the way is long and our
courage almost gone AS we climb the
last rise on the dusty way and reach
the gate that leads US into the shelf
cred haven of our home. But stand
ing by that gate may we not hope TO
see many delicate ones, tile early
tired and precious ones, who took the
crosh-lot' path and left us to fulfill
the duty apportioned us on the round
about aud wearisome way? The lit
tie child who slipped smiling into the
shadOwy woods so long ago and was
lost to our sight in their dim em-
brasures; the dear daughter who left
the dusty way and was led by unseen
angels along a sholt ter and more easy
path t. God; the wife who took her
hand from yours aud vanished amid
the shadows of the wood; the friend
who alked long by your side, but
suddenly left you to take a nearer
and pIeasanter path to heaven-shall
we not see them all standing by the
homestead gate, in the soft light OF
declining day, when we come toiling
up the hill, our tasks accomplished
aud our respite gained ?"