Greene County herald. (Leakesville, Miss.) 1898-current, 1909-02-19
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
WULFF'S EYRE.
BY BENZ. f. WULFF. OF STOCK
TON, CAL, A FORMER GREENE
COUNTY, MISS. RESIDENT.
ENNTTRRNNTNRE

its burden of news from dear old
Dixie stirring up again the memories
of days long gone by to fit themselves
into the vast caravan of time which
leads to the dim misty realm of an
tiquity.
Memory when she holds her mir
ror up to view, so blends her lights
and shades that we do not realize the
shading until we scrutinize very car
fully the picture thus presented.
Memory obscures the dark shades of
life by the bright tints of better
things; and the shading is so deity
done that we realize no contrast un-
til we gaze upon the picture with
deliberation. However, as we dwell
in contemplation upon the past we
realize in a subdued manner, what
had previously appeared imperceptl-
BILE.
Every reader of your paper should
carefully read the Home Circle De-
partment IN your paper and in af.
ter years Memories picture will be
brighter still. A true home is a
little frag nent of heaven let down on
earth to inspire up with patience and
strength for the way" This | quote
from this department of your paper
of January 18th ultimo.
Please allow me to quote in con-
nection herewith, a few lines from
the facile pen of Donald G.. Mitchell:
Little does the boy know, as the
tide of years by, floating him out i'll
sensibly from the harbor of his home
upon the great sea of life,-what
opportunities, what affections, are
slipping from him into the shades of
that memorable Past, where no man
can go, save On the wings of his
dreams.
Little does he think, as he leans
upon the lap of his mother, with his
eye turned TO her, in some earnest
pleading for a fancied pleasure of
the hour, or in some important story
of his griefs, that such sharing OF
his sorrows, and such sympathy with
his wishes, he will find nowhere a.
gain.
But now you are there. The fire
light glimmers upon the wall of your
icherished home. The big chair of
your father is drawn to Its wonted
corner by the chimney side; his head,
just touched with gray, lies upon it's
oaken top. Opposite sits your moth
er: her figure is thin, her look cheer
full, yet subdued her arm perhaps
resting on your shoulder, as she
talks to you in tones of tender admO-
nitions, of the days that are to come.
What man or woman can but take
home to himself or herself the home
scene as pictured by Mr.. Mitchell?
i The home and the school. These
have always impressed me with the
fondest memories of the past. The
| lights and shades of home and school
life, the associates of those days are
recalled upon the slightest provoca-
tion. Even an old song will take
me back to the youthful days of yore.
And when the days of youth daw-
ned into manhood and l began the
life Of teacher, the relation chang
ed but the friendships thus engend-
cred, will ever remain among the
fondest memories of my life.
1t Was this sentiment which prompt
ed the roll call of the AdamSville
school in the columns of your paper.
A few heard the roll call and have
responded with postal cards, and
expect to receive others, but alas,
there are some who are now beyond
mortal call. For them the school is
dismissed.
After Charles Dickens death there
was found 10 his desk which has
sometimes been credited to him, but
it was probably written by Charles
NJ. Dickerson.
AS it.suits the theme under dis
cussion with your permission / will
quote che poem at the risk of being
criticized for too much quotation
herein:
when the lessons and all are ended
And the school for the day is dismissed
The little ones gather around me,
To bid me goodnight and be kissed;
Oh, the little white arms that encircle
My neck in their tender embrace!
Oh the smiles that are halos of h'ven,
Holding sunshine of love on my face!
And when are gone | sit dreaming,
OF my childhood too lovely to last;
OF JOY my heart will remember,
While it wakes to the pulse of past,
Ere the world and its wickedness
made me,
a partner. of sorrow and sin,
When the glory of God was about me
And the glory of gladness within.
All my heart grows as weak as a wo-
mans,
And the fountains of feeling will flow
When think of paths steep and long
Where the feet of the dear ones 90;
Of the mountains of sin hanging DER
them,
Of the tempest of Fate blowing Will:
Oh! there's nothing on earth half so
holy,
AS the innocent heart of child.