The Birmingham age-herald., 1908-04-14

paratory for the long hot summer
 wh en she can sit behind the vines, re-
 inforcing tired nerves with good books | and idle dreams.
 This busy time found me in the l depths of my cedar chests. one Sc; | apartSfor the priceless relics of loved l ones who have Inherit the home where neither moth nor rust doth corrupt and thieves do not break through nor steal"
 In this preoccupied age, where work is so insistent as to draw ever on en- ergy and strength until life is a mat ter of hands and brains, the soul for gotten we dwen too far from precious memories in our inner selves The great throbbing world only stops to think of brilliant deeds, rarely pauses to notice achievements acquired amidst silence and quiet, and yet the greatest work ever done by eman had it's begin nings in solitude-the building of character.
 Christ won his wonderful battles on the mountain top, before his active life began, while unknown by man. The hours of silent communion with swee. memories bring strength that sweeps the heart clean of all the dross of the earish day, and teaches us to lay hold of the deeper. the inimortal things of fife. Thus the odor of my cedar chest lured me from the stress and strain of the busy world, for far down in its depths lie beautiful expressions of va rious lives, lives that were earnest and strong, womanly and loving, ma tured in wh o1esomeness and sweetness.
 In this box lies one sleeve of my mothers wedding dress and wedding handkerchief. The former of white silk tulle, hand embroidered over white satin. the latter of nen-cambric rich ly embroidered with a deep fall of lace, perfect spider web of skill, daintiness and beauty. Two little things but they tell a wonderful story of love and pain. Of tall richly y1colored bru- nette, bride of only sixteen years. but of queenly figure and grace, led to the altar in Montgomery seventy years ago when that city was village, her father building the second house there when the surroundings were swamps of cane.
 This ivory colored linen table cloth. so deepened from age, covered the wedding table, and there floats from out its folds. echoes of the good wishes waited to the bride and groom begin niug life as pioneers of Montgomery.
 This cut glass bottle and quaintly painted china smelling bottles, stood
 ,n my aunts old mahogany bureau in that home, where she, older than my mother, lived, and whose beauty aud loveliness held sway over many chival- rous hearts.
 The camePs hair shawl speaks of a fife of prosperity when every man was lord of his manor and sat on wide porches overlooking bis broad felGs
 white with cotton, listening to the weird songs of the slaves as they pick eG picked the heecy punches, piling
 them high in bag and basket.
 Ahl the little cotton basket, that lies
 so snugly here, my big loving brother
 
 vent to give his life for his country. vas a tot of three years, when he. a boy, shouldered his musket, and his death is all that my memory retains of 1 that dark epoch.
 l This piece of cloth and white bed- spread are Inementoes of those sad
 days. They voice the struggles of hrain, the long, long hours of sus- pense. of pain, while waiting for tid- ings from far-away battles, wh ere low cd ones were facing death in sh ot anu
 shell. These are the work of my moth CT on her loom, who bravely sat weaving cloth for the little ones
 around her knee; thrusting the shuttl1 back and forth to the boom of the
 cannon when her tears and smothered groans were. woven in warp and wool 1 l lift some little blue and white bootees, just three inches long, with holes in the toes and heels. Is there a moth er-heart that could not see the lit- tie pink toes peeping through, see the
 baby smiling in her face, and feel the dimpled hands on her mouth as she
 showers them with hSndreds of kisses? Big. strong arms are around my heck; I am lifted from my kneeirg posture by these baby hands, but now firm and mtnly, my boy closes tc e cedar chest, and am once more part of the pulsating world.