Smyrna times., 1906-01-03
HISTORICAL SKETCHOF THE
OLD WHITE ROSE MINISTRIES
AND HARMONY BAND OF SMYRNA WRITTEN
BY "B FLAT" ONE OF THE MEMBERS.
A Story Based on Fact and Aided by Imagina-
lion of One of Smyrna's Oldest 0rganiza-
tlon-One Summer Night Long Ago.
PART FIRST.

uuh-Ohe summer Nlgnt Long ago.
PART FIRST.
How beautiful this eventide was.
The sun was sinking in majestic
grandeur toward the horizon. An
electric sea of fire drifted across the
western sky, and the golden rays of
the SUMS goodnight kiss pointed pic
ture above all art, and exhibited colors
that Nature only can produce from the
rarest tints of infinite beauty. Many |
years ago, this summer night four
boys stood under the willows that
arched the way across the dam at the
mill pond. Before them rested Lake
Como. On Its southern and western
banks magnificent trees stood guard.
Strong and and grandly they lifted
their boughs in the clear air, as if
proud of the little body of water that
nestled under their care. On the
northern bank green fields and or
chqrds sloped gracefully toward the
waters of the lake. At the dam road
way, arched by beautiful willows lead
into the town. East of this roadway
was tiny meadow, through which
babbling brook ran merrily into the
arms of an old mill wheel. Toward
the north rested town, with streets
arched by magnificent trees, while
over the beautiful houses stood tall
church steeples, like sentinels, pointing
toward the sky. Night came and threw
its dark mantle over the scene. The
birds whispered their goodnights and
nestled among the green foliage. The
stars were beginning to glitter like
millions of electric lights in the vast
sea above, in which the "Queen of the
Night hoated like golden goddess,
surrounded by her magnificent court.
Out Of the north came great Comet,
the mysterious wanderer of the sky,
and hung like a sword of fire over the
earth Under this wonderful canopy
of the heavens nestled the lake, which
reflected the gorgeous panorama like a
massive silver mirror. Over the bosom
of the lake myriads of fire-fies fitted
flashing their tiny lights in the sum-
mer night, and making one delight in
imagining that this was the home of
the "Fairy Queen" of our baby-land,
and that carnival was being held in
her majesty's honor.
Sweet Memories Cling Around Lake Como.
What land of enchantment this
pond has been to hundredsl Doubt
less the first time our baby eyes gazeC
upon it, loving arms held US close to
mothers heart. That mother sIum
bers over the hill in the silent city, bu
her memory is the sweetest and mos
sacred part of those days. Later d
you remember the ''swims" you had il
the old trace" that carried the waite
from the pond to the mill? How de
liciously cool the shade was under tn
mulberry trees that arched the tiny ca
nal? How delightful and daring
was to plunge into the lawful depths
and swim doggy" when the watt
was not deep enough TO submerge
babe. A few years later how "
longed for Saturday and what spo
we had fishing, swimming or searchin
foI Indians. How we tied some unfo
tunate companion, took his scalp al
gave the ''war dance, while his to
tured body writhed in the awful ag,
nies of-anger. What delightful swim
we had and how we did ''chew bee
later. "Ahl to be boy again, with
heart full of Joy, swimming in the 0
mill pond.
AS the night came on, carriag
filled with prosperous farmers, the
wives and jolly children, came dow
the hill, crossed the bridges and e
tered the town. Now and then far Q
from somewhere in the night wou
come strains of weird music of I
farm hands as they came toward t
town, singing their rcampmeeting son
in the peculiar chanted tones whi
the African race only can produce.
Countless Numbers Have Enjoyed the Bril-
Suddenly out Of the arched pathv
leading to the town appeared bits
white, seeming ghosts of the mig
wandering in silence, but, as Il
draw nearer, you could hear the sw
music of girls voices, tones full of
Joy of young life, and mingled W
them the deeper tones of youths.
little while they linger on the bri
and gaze at the beautiful picture
Y fore them, then, hand in hand, |
down the pathway under the willo
and out into the silent night, the q
OF childhood forever closing beh
them. What countless numbers b
" crossed these magic bridges, pal
under the willows and out into
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