News and citizen. [volume] (Morrisville, Vt. ;) 1881-current, 1894-08-16
S. S. Luce's Letter.

GALEsvILLE, Wis, July 80, 1894.
A. c. SLAYToN. Chairman Centennial Com
mittee, Stove, Ft.:-Your letter was received
to-day. | thank youfOr your invitation to be
present on the occasion of the celebration Of
the hundreth anniversary of your town-our
town, | feel like saying, though | have been a
truant TOR more than forty years. | regret
to say that it is in the midst of my busy sea-
son and it will be impossible for me to at
tend, though it would give me great pleasure
to be with you. You do me the honor to
ask me to contribute something to be read
on the occasion. | would be most happy
to do so, but | have scarcely more than time
to reply to your kindly note. | can truth
fully say that
The dearest and most sacred place on earth
Is that where first my child-eyes saw the
light;
The one blest spot, that ever from my birth,
Seems always, mid lite's changes, pure and
bright.
A hundred years is but a finger point on
Times highway, but how wonderful the
changes! 1t is but little more than half a
century since the hoe was used in the place
of the sulky ~cultivator, the scythe in the
place of the mower, the sickle in place of the
reaper and binder. The hum of the spinning
wheel, the clatter of the hand-loom are but
the dying echoes of the past the hugh old
open fire place is but a fading memory. 1t
may be questioned whether there was not as
much happiness in the past as in the present.
Fashion is e~XaCting in its requirements and
society imperative in its demands. Then the
tired housewife found a quiet rest after her
days toll, while the modern society woman,
it would seem, scarcely finds time for nightly
repose. Shall we return to these times of the
past? Nay we can no more return to them
than we can return to the blissful ignorance
of our first parents in the Garden of Eden.
Yet with all the advancement made in art,
literature and music, the aged look te~arfully
back to the good old times"
The ballads sung in o1den time
Around the hearth when neighbors met
The artless strains, the quaint old rhyme,
Are lingering in the memory yet.
Brave youths and blooming maidens bright
Oft met around the hearth-ire's blaze
To pass in song a joyous night
In those so well remembered days.
No cunning fingers touched the keys
To aid the finely cultured voice;
They sung us birds among the trees,
When in the springtime they rejoice.
The u%ntaught strains then pleased the ear;
Their simple pathos touched the heart;
The listeners gave a smile or tear
In tribute to the singers art.
Of gallantry or love the theme
Its trials, triumphs and it's joy
The burdens of the poets dream,
Since blind old Homer sung of Troy.
nose youths ana maluenS now are gray,
Or gone where friends no more may part;
They sung their songs, have passed away,
To give a place to modern art.
The aged few who linger here,
Must still look back with hearts that yearn
For days they hold in memory dear
The days that never can return.
The sparkling eyes, the blooming face,
The buoyant hope that life endears,
The supple limbs, the form of grace,
Must bow unto the tyrant years.
But memory, fresher grown with time,
When looking DER life's way,
Brings to our ears the quaint old rhyme,
AS if it were but yesterday.
S. S. LUCE.