The Forest Republican. [volume] (Tionesta, Pa.) 1869-1952, 1903-01-28
The Days That Are Ne More.

| Editor smith OF the PunN'Y spirit talks
like one who has lived through it all in
speaking of the 'good old days." long
since passed out of fashion, at least in
this latitude. 1t is pleasant to reflect
at intervals upon the times when we were
boys, and all the more so when the story
is told in 81 entertaing manner like this:
Ask any old citizen OF this community
who is loyal to his own, and not inclined
to go in quest of false gods, what ere the
real halcyon days-the days of deep and
abiding joy-and he will answer prompt
ly, "The days of fisx-schutchings, barn
raisings and log-rollngs." 1t never oc-
ours to him that any of your modern de-
generates ever had or could have any
rational idea of genuine fun. The thing
is absurd. How could they when they
never even danced on a barn .flooy at a
corn husking?
There was completeness and fullness
of individual existence in those days that
is not to be found in this age of electric
ity, labor-ssving machinery and the di-
vision of labor. "The age is gone DER
when man may in all things he ALL"
When Uncle Ed Seeley and Dave Rey-
nolds and Sam Jones and George War
nick were boys there was seme satisfac-
tion in living. Everybody amounted to
something then, because everybody had
some specially in which he was the whole
thing.
Eb Daily could beat any man in seven
counties shaving shingles, Ben Yohe was
the champion corn husker, and there
never was a blacksmith who was such an
all-ronnd genius as Sam Jones-never.
Sam Saxton could kick the ceiling with
both feet aud Tom Anderson could ride
single small sswlog oyer chute during
a flood and never wet his ieet Every
body was some sort of a hero then.
Did you ever hear Wheeler Rudolph
singing "Darby's RAM" or Tim Ragan
warbling "The Sailor Boy" or "Bill'
Roads whistle 1.-THE Mocking Bird" or
Eli Eye let himself loose on "Tim Fin
nigan's Wake?" Then hast theu never
really lived.
Then every little community had itS
Edison, its Fracis Wilson, its Emerson,
its Longiellow, its Joe jefferson, its Her.
cules and its Daniel Webster; and was
complete within ITSELF Everybody knew
everybody else, and every good man was
a king and every pumpkin a brilliant
humorist and wit. There were neither
bores nor bored then, for each man had
his place, and was essential.
1t was the nature of all men in this
crude, backwoods society 20 blossom into
song. How company of young men on
their way 10 or from "frolic" or a "big
meetin," would uncork their enthusiasm
and make the welkin ring with "Old Dan
Tucker" or "NellIe Gray" or some less
refined ballad 1t was matter of lungs
purely and OF facility TO commit rhymes.
And what could have been more streu-
uous than "hoe down" on bare floors,
where the "Grand right and leit' and
balance ALL" and "Swing your part
ners,' would echo from the hills a mile
around and the humping of the feet
would every moment threaten to shake
down the house. But bosoms heaved
with emotion then as now, and "soft eyes
looked love to eyes which spake again."
and sentiment, though not so deicately
wrought, was equally intense.
But the true past departs not. It's Wis.,
ions still linger with us and its phantoms
oft beguile the weary present.