The Bolivar bulletin. (Bolivar, Tenn.) 1888-1946, 1899-06-23
ROBINS ROosT,"
JOHNSON CITY, Tenn, Feb. 6, 1899

-AA DEAR NHCMS-l ne napPleSL perlOC
of human life is youth; and the hap
piest specimen of youth is big, healthy
awkward, watery-jointed, rollicking
frolicking boy, with his heart full OF
dreams, and his head full of schemes
and his pockets full of apples and
things. He is bouncing laugh and a
bounding yell. He is the beloved bandit
of every mothers heart and the de
lightful outlaw of every old daddy
home.
| What cares he for painted walls, and
garnished rooms, and velvet rugs, and
pictured tampestries, and pastelles,
and water colors, and crayons in
frames of gilt and gold? What
cares he for frescoed halls, and
polished floors, and stairways of ma
hOgany? What cares he for all the
chandeliers that shine, so ne has lib
erty to romp on the green carpets of the
meadows and hills, under heaven s
flaming chandelier, and place to sleep
in the lumber room. among the cob
webs and old, dusty trunks, where his
rest is as sweet as though he were pill
lowed on the couch of king, with
silken curtains drawn about him?
What cares he for champagne and
cherry. if nc can lie down and drink
from the bubbling spring, or hear the
| corks of laughter pop, and listen to the
wild melodies of natures songs that
sparkle in his soul? What cares he for
| ''consomme. so he can get plenty of
SOUP? What cares he for 'sirloin, SO
he has beef to eat? What cares he for
roast prairie chicken so he gets
chicken? What cares he for all the
"a las" and de las" and ''au juses'' of
the up-to-date menu? They are vanity
and vcSation of spirit" to him, in com
parison with good Old-fashiOned, we'll
cooked, big-dished home dinner, steam
| ing like an engine, and tempting his
appetite with the mingling arenas of
| boiled cabbage. and stewCd turnips,
and mashed potatoes, and smoking bis
cults, and corn dodgers lodging behind
the golden battlements Of fresh coun-
try butter. with big white pitchers
sweating on the outside Of cold butter
milk, and pumpkin pies laughing all
over the table.
If ! wish to find for sure enough
| boy, do not search for him in the par
Tor, but in the pantry. ! donot expect
to find him in the drawing room, but
in the dining room. He does not Turk
in the library, but in tie back yard
with his game chickens srd white rab-
bits and Billy goats, Or in the fields
shouting and shooting in the glorious
company of his faithful dogs. The
reason is that boy loves his stomach
better than poems and pictures; he
loves nature better tlan art. The truth
is. nc is natures ehid: and the child
loves TO play close tC the warm, throb-
bing heart of his Mother.
Nature furnishes him mud puddles
to wade in. and swimming holes to
swim in, and stones to throw, and BIRDS
to throw at. and hills to coast on, and
streams to fish in, and sunshine to
warm in. and shade to cool in, and
fruits and berries of every kind to eat,
and Molly cottoutails' to hunt, and
Thousand other joys which bless his
life.
But soon the hour comes when nature
must vean her boy, and lead him out
of her nursery into the sweet gardens
OF fancy and the green fields of poetry,
~ hich lie on the frontier of cold facts
the border land of reality. To prepare
him for his future career. she first
touches his vocal cords and changes his
voice from the tone of the fife to the mel
. a. II
little hair on his upper lip and whispers
one word in his heart. which, in the
twinkling of an eve. changes his dreams
and his destiny. That word Is love. "
What world Of beauty it unfolds to !
him, And how sudden Is his transition |
from the mud puddle to the bath tub; /
from the Molly cottontail' to the !
Molly Curley-head;' from frolics in |
the haymow to meditatiOns among the /
and clover blossoms; from (
wells to love songs; from unrestrained /
laughter to siCllly smiles: from text |
books TO novels: from novels to the |
opera; from the opera to strOlls in the |
and from the moonlight to /
in the parlor where he sits /
behind closed doors i'm executive ses-
sion. and holds her hand for an hour |
and never says d word.
The world IS bouquet of flowers to /
the hoy whose heart is full of love.
When was d gay country boy in my /
Jeans and my teens, l was as green as /
tho green. green grass. and innocent as
Nayv's little lamb. had two cronies |
who were equally as green as |; and we !
had a good right to be green. The |
fields in which we played together were !
green. the trees that shaded us were 1
green. the woodlands around us. were |
green. and we were all very fond of /
turnip greens. But we had seen the |
sunshine love the green fields into har-
vests of gold. and kiss the green noun /
taiIs until they turned purple with JOY /
and pouted their crimson lips to be t
kissed again: and in our jeans, and /
amid our greens, VIC sighed for love I
and kisses.
The sveCthearts Of our childhood, 1
ike little birds. had long since flown
from the mountains TO live in a neigh /
boring city, and the report came to us
ike an echo from paradise that they
still remem bered US. and loved Us. and
wished that we might come. So. with
1utternut suits, and squealIing boots,
and our little wool hats with brims
pushed up in front. we boarded the
.ars; and soon we were primping, and
and brushing, and perspiring
n the hotel, within five squares Of the