The Cecil Whig. [volume] (Elkton, Md.) 1841-current, 1897-09-18
Early
ReCOiieCtiOnS
Saved From the Angry Torrents of
Big Elk Creek.
By J. POLK RACINE.
PAPER No. ).

the turbid waters of the Big Elk did cur
frail bark dash. Our old cart being the
lightest, had long since swept around, and
notwithstanding the terrible efforts made
by the old mare to pull up stream, yet we
We're being hurled down on the maddened
torrent. At this point the cart came in
contact with an obstruction; think it was
brush and old logs that had found a lodg-
ment against a tree that was laying hori-
zontal over the creek that caught the tail
of the cart when the old mare was swung
around and her precious old feet struck
terra firma. Glory! glory! She was in the
hands of VIM. Drew and Samuel King, aud
we were safely landed in Howard's mea-
dow. The fearless Frenchman had enough,
and by the persuasion of several of the dear
old friends, we returned to Elkton, and
were kindly cared for at the old hosiery in
the ''hollow," then kept by Joseph Taylor
recollect it all so we'll, even the contro-
versy between Messrs. King, Rossell and
Il. D. lamar as to which of the three
should have the pleasure of paying for our
keep until next day. l also recolect that
Mr.. Taylor ended the argument by saying
that there should be no pay. Then what ?
oh. then the old rye flowed freely around
and around. One other circumstance that
was so indelibly stamped on the kids
mind on that evening of yore, that it
remains with the old writer up to this
moment, and it will 90 right along with
him to the end, was this: They actually
rugged the little boy from crown to heel,
and never have new shoes made such sweet
music to the old mans heart since.
Music that would make the hottest day
more sacred still. Strike with the hand of
fire, o wierd musician, thy harp, strung
with Appollo's golden hair; fill Howard $
old meadow with symphonies sweet
Blow, bugler, blow, until they sivery notes
touch and kiss every moonlit ripple on the
majestic Big Elk. Charm the lovers wan
dering mid the tlowery dels of Holly Hall.
But now your sweetest strains are discords,
compared with the squeak of the kids
first new shoes presented to him by the
dead and gone of dear old Elkton. The
, 4oA, ...u.u.ng my G...her said TO me, eve
must 80 home, your mother will he uneasy
about u.s. And in few minutes old Fan
was led up the hill by Jake Lowshare, a
Frenchman, who was Mr.. Taylor's hostler
We got board and started for the old
feeder again The Big Elk had spent it.
mad fury, hut when old Fan stepped il
she pricked up her ears and went with {
rush. How strange! See, the old mar,
| had been there.
After going a little distance from the
creek my father said, pointing to Red Hill
'there comes your mother to take u:
home" Yes, there was my darling mother
and her loved image is still brilliant in thi.
old heart, just as bright as it was that
lovely morning, oh so many long years ago
Oh, precious mother, shall | be permitted
to meet you in the by and by? Sentimental
| ltttlS are ClluSluR Otutl uoWH tIt VIZ
writer's wrinkled cheeks tonight because
the spirit of the one who loved him most
| is nesting close to his old bosom while he
is writing about that sainted old mother,
clad in calico gown and sun bonnet. She
reaches over the side of the cart and takes
her little boy to her loving breast, and the
father says tell your mother all about it.
And while | write, these beautiful lines
come to my heart. They are not mine, but
they seem so appropriate in connection with
this that we must give them here. Me-
thinks that the words were shaken from
the wings of ar angel fresh from heaven
and found Judgment in the heart of bard
who is now mingling with the glorious
beings on the golden paved streets of the
City of the New Jerusalem:
Tired of the hollow, the base, the untrue,
Mother, oh, mother, my heart calls for you:
Many Il summer the grass has grown green,
Blossomed and faded, our faces between:
Yet, with strong yearnings and passionate
pain,
Long tonight for your presence again.
Come from the silence so long and so deep,
Rock me to sleep, mother, oh, rock me to
sleep!
Over my heart in the days that are flown,
No love like mother-love ever has shone;
No other worship abides and endures,
Faithful. unselfsh and patient like yours.
None like mother can charm away pain
From the sick soul and the world-weary
brain,
Sumber's soft calm o or my heavy lids creep;
Rock me to sleep, mother, oh, rock me to
seep
The Wrong Train.