The Tupelo journal., 1903-01-02

" YIN atNNL y DldJ ~ II
their shade, but not a human being
in that town remembered him or knew
who planted those trees. He found
one old schoolmate, but he was blind
and in the poor hcuSe. Fifty-fve
years ago when | first visited the lit
tie town of Rome / noticed a good
old man by the name of Smith-John-
ny Smith he was called-and he, too,
was planting little trees around the
churches. He was a lover of ornament
and he was doing it without pay, but
not without reward. They grew apace
and gave some shade before he died,
and kept on growing until they, too,
almost reached the sky and are
still there, a living, breathing monu-
ment to the good Ole man. But who
knows who planted them-who be-
sides myself? And there is my old
friend and partner, Judge Branham,
who for 25 years has been working on
that beautiful cemetery on Myrtle
hill-making new walks and grading
them, laying off lots on the new pur-
chase, building walls on the steep
slopes, planting trees and flowers and
in many ways ornamentlng and
identifying the city of the dead.
Within a few more years he will be
one. of its sleeping citizens and later
on another generation will frequent
the romantic place and wonder who
shaped it into beauty, and nobody can
tell. DIR. Johnson said that every man
ought to plant a tree or write a book
or do something for the benefit and
comfort of those who are to live after
he is dead. "Our forefathers did much
for u.s." he said, land we must pay the
debit
Last week our school girl wanted a
speech. Her mother and l ransacked
the books for one that vas short ana
sweet, and we selected three or four
to choose from. There was Mrs.
Heman's beautiful poem on Death"
Leaves have their time to fall,
And flowers to wither at the north winds
breath"
Then there vas part of THE Fish
erman's Prayer" by Jean Ingelow, and
THE Last Leaf" by Oliver W. Holmes,
which was not so solemn, and liked it
the best. 1t just fits a man L know,
and | never see him but what l think
of those sad and humorous verses:
81 saw him once before-as he passed by
the door
And again,
The paving stones resound as he totters
Ger the ground
With his cane,
And now he walks the streets and looks at
those he meets,
Sad and wan;
AND he shakes his feeble head and it seems
as if he said:
They are gone"
The messy marbles rest on the lips that he
had pressed
In their bloom,
And the names he loved to hear have been
carved for many a year
On the tomb"
Our old man is in his ninetieth year,
and has seen trouble. He is tall and
STOPPING, and steps short and sure. His
friends are all dead, but he goes about
with a long cane, and looks hard at
you when you stop to greet him, and
then he tries to smile, if he knows
you.
when he was in his prime-ere the prun-
ing knife of Time
Cut him down
Not a better man was found by the crier
on his round
Through the town;
But now his nose is thin and it rests upon
his hin
Like a staff,
And a crook is in his back and a melan-
choly crack
Is in his laugh"
Then the poet repents, and says:
81 know it is a sin for me to sit and grin
At him here;
But his old-fashioned hat and his breeches
and all that,
Are so queer"
And now it becomes me to apologize
to the readers of my recent letter, and
tell them that a friend from Augusta
has supplied the missing links in my
history of the presidents.
Franklin Pierce's mother was Anna
Kendrick.
James B~uchanan's mother was Eliz-
abeth Speer.
Benjamin Harrison's mother was
Elizabeth Irwin.
Willard Filmore's wife was Abigail
Powers.
Buchanan was the only bachelor
president.
And Alfred Iverson was United States
senator in 1861, instead of Ben Hill.
When L wrote that letter l was la
boring under some little excitement,
for that morning about four a. M. the
burglars got into our house and
perused the front rooms and hall and
upstairs and found nothing they want
ed. There was a feeble light in our
bedroom, and they could see my pants
from the window, for they hung on-a
chair near by, and they wanted the
money that wasn't in the pockets.
They cut out the lower slat of the
blind and unfastened it and raised the
sash, but suddenly got alarmed and de-
parted those coasts, for which | am
thankful, for l had no gun or pistol.
But | dare them to come back again.
My wife never screamed or walked up.
Bill Arp, in Atlanta Constitution.
life of the Saviour. Beginning with