The news & observer. [volume] (Raleigh, N.C.) 1894-current, 1903-03-08

every day ana keeps UP Win th' oNn'e'
lions Most of the time she sits in her
accustomed corner and plies her needle
and thread, making little garments Tor
her grand children, or new covers lot
the cushions or mending underclothes or
darnng stockings or something. When
she gets tired she walks in the garden
or goes down to see Jessie and the
children. She went to town yesterday and
bought some thread and some toilet SOAP
and got weighed and asked the family
all around to guess how much and one
guessed it, exactly one hundred ana hIty
pounds. She asked me to guess, but
said no-she had had her way so often
and so long that / couldn't come near IL
and she shook her fist at me. Good gra-
eious! when l married her she didn
weigh a hundred and wore number two
shoes and stepped like deer. Tempus
fugit" next week will be the fifty-fourth
anniversary of our wedding day, fifty-four
the talismanic number made up oil
mines or its multiple, as 3, 6, 3, lS, ~,
54.-3 and are 8, 1 and are 8, and
are 0. and are nine. And soon our
birthdays will come along again, the nrst
and fifteenth of June, and time keeps
rolling on.
MY wife was reading the paper and sud-
denly stopped and spoke to me, saying.
well. isn't it about time to quit writ
ing about the negro?' why so?" said l.
"Why don't you see that the whole busi-
ness of the race problem was settled IN
Atlanta last Sunday? The mayor ana
the preachers, black and white, all MADE
speeches, and seemed to agree and every
thing is harmonious. SO If L was you
would write about something else. rake
up George Washington for change and
let Booker go dead"
Well. they did play on the ramonican
right smart and hope the problem will
take rest, for everybody is tired OF IT,
Even Crumpacker is tired, and now says
the negro must work out his own, saliva
ton. That's all right When they call
off the dogs I'll quit. They are waking
up to the true character of the negro.
Chicago man who has been visiting the
prisons says there are about fortysix
thousand negroes in that city, which is
about two per cent of the population and
that the prison records as shown him by
wardens, show the negroes to be thirty
per cent of all the criminals confined, and
that the negro quarter of the city is the
the white burglars and thieves that infest
the city.
But that's none of my business, as my
wife says. Chicago needs them for mu
nicipal politics. But ! have quit. Let
the negro go along and evolute, as
Crumpacker says. / had rather look out
of my window and see two little girls
coming up the walk hand in hand to see
me than to write about anything. And
the little boy is coming, too. His nurse
is rolling him in his carriage and he
will run to me as soon as he gets in
the room, and will nestle on my knees
and say his little words, and my greatest
comfort is that all of them love me and
won't go home without kissing me a
sweet goodby That nurse is a copper
colored girl about twelve years old, and
she loves that baby and watches him as
carefully as mother. She is the daugh-
ter of our sexton who is the janitor OF
the public school. He and his good wife
are exceptions to all the frailties of the
race, and so are their children. If there
were many like them there would be no
race problem. Those three little children
come to see me every day and make me
to forget myself and my long illness, and
/ find myself whispering: Suffer little
children to come unto me-" and a little
child shall lead them" What pity
they have to grow up and lose their in
nocence and see grief and trouble. How
sweetly sad are the memories of our
youth
One poet says:
OH would / were boy again,
When life seemed formed of sunny
years,
And all the heart then knew of pain
Was wept away in transient tears.
And another says:
l remember remember, the house where
l was born.
The little window where the sun came
peeping in at morn.
1t never rose a wink too soon,
Nor brought too long a day,
But now l often wish the night
Had borne my breath away.
And so do l remember the little window
and the long happy days. but l have
never wished that l had died in child
hood, nor do l wish to die now. l wish
TO live for the sake of these same grand
children, for l know / can do something
to guide and comfort them along the
Journey of life. and they would miss me.
A child without a grandpa and grandma
has not had its share of happiness.
What beautiful verse is the last one
of poor Tom Hoods poem:
81 remember, / remember, the fir trees.
dark and high,
l used to think their slender tops wer
close against the sky,
1t was childish ignorance, and now It's
little joy.
To know I'm farther off from heaven
than when l was a boy"
Last summer the little baby boy was
sick. We feared he would die. AS he
lay upon a pillow in his mothers Lap,
the little 4-year- old girl went up close
and whispered TO her mother Mamma
if baby dies mayn't l keep him for a
doll?" l never tire of their childish
talk. 1t is always sincere, and that is
truth. for sincere means without wax
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