The Banner-Democrat. [volume] (Lake Providence, East Carroll Parish, La.) 1892-current, 1894-07-14
GRAY DAYS.

DEAR JAMIE This is a cold day
in July, a cold, damp day-one in
which fair haired Memory likes to
wrap herself up in waterproof and
take walk through the narrow lanes
of the by-gone years. I sincerely hope
that the winds of those far-off times
will, in no wise hurt her, but will
serve only to bring the winter roses to
her cheeks and the joy-light to her
eyes. For my part, as | catch the last
glimpse of her golden curis. that are
blown from beneath the slate-colored
hood, and watch the buoyancy of her
step as she turns the first corner of the
road, she seems to me beng of such
light and beauty that Trouble and Sor-
row would stink away discounted, ere
they would dare to harm her. And
now, jamie, as l entirely lose sight of
her, and see only the cold mists and the
dim outlines of the trees, involuntari-
ly my thoughts turn to you and my pen
to this paper. Do you know, some
how, I like these sombre days coming in
the midst of the sun-ht summer monthsP
They are rest to the restless mind.
and allow it to linger at will on the
scenes it loves so WE'LL Indeed, when
| see these leaden clouds, and hear the
slow dull falling of the rain. l forget
all about the present hour, and think
only of those gray days in the old
Southern homestead, when we four
cousins had such fun in the great.
musty attic with its low arched ceiling
The splendor of a by-gone genera
ton, how torn and tattered it was!
The broken furniture, the faded let
tiers, the trunks and trunks of moth
eaten silks, and India shawls, and satin
slippers, and dainty fans /! How vivid
they are to me now! And the rich old
tents that we made from the rubbish,
with mahogany bed-posts for polls, and
skirts gorgeous for awnings! Bits
of carved worries, and broken corals,
and denied sword hilts-these were
our goods for sale;" and what fine
traffic it was, that we established among
US!
And the old Confederate uniform,
the mute explanation to all this sad
disorder and decay! How reverently,
even then, did we count those brass
buttons and fold up the crumpled
soldier suit!
Yes, jamie, the patter of the rsin-
drops against the window pane is for
me. playing an accompaniment to the
happy childhood's drama that was en-
acted in the old gray days at home (;
therefore it is not surprising that | find
it mon otone, sweet and beautiful as
music.
And then, the gray days at schools!
Which of us does not remember them ?
The girls two parlors, with their
open-folding doors, the bright fires
cracking in the CRATES and the students
lamps burning on the big, round tables.
The tremendous semi-circles that were
made around each fire. The wonder
full stories that were told and the more
wonderful futures that were planned!
Outside. on the long, wide porch, the
occasional passing of teacher, or a
pupil. with music portfolio!
All, well, jamie, those weather.
stained porches now resound to the
football of scores of other girls. and
those old walls ring back the happy
voices of a new "set of scholars, but in
spite of all the changes, / fancy that
sometime, in one of these long winter
twilights. the Spirit of the Past will
glide from out his home in the IVY
covered tower. and from bis ghostly
record book, will call the roll of '''93."
l wonder then how many of us there
will be to answer to our namesp The
dear, dear class, how wish its ranks
could forever remain unbroken! But.
what strain is this | am falling into?
Surely not that of sentimentality !!
and vet, fear it is: for probably, none
other channel of thought SO complete
lily bears one away from the shores
of actual life, and certainly for the
past few minutes, have utterly ig-
norcd a tapping at my window
pane" Now "Let me see what thereat
is. and this mystery explores" All
jamie, it is fair haired Memory, that
looks at me from out the gloomy twi-
light; and against the window pane, she
presses rain-splashed spray of golden
rod and a bunch of sunny daisies.
am thankful, indeed, that she has
brought no thorns.