Connecticut western news., 1910-11-03
MOTHERS INFLUENCE
By w. H. SPEAR

Mother what a word to ccnjure with. What tender emotions come trooping down the flood of years. One fancies 0ne's self child again. One hears the voices of long ago. Sweet memories of childhood steal over the heart. What would you not give, sad, aching. world weary one could you but roll back the friends of other days.
 Hark Iris the pealing of the memory bells l Deep beneath the incrnstations of years, their sweet tones thrill the soul. Gone are the furrows time has made, upon your face Gone the gray hairs that mark life's passing years ] Once more mother is by your side; sis ters, brothers, too perchance are there. Upon their graves you have fanoied the grass in she valley had for years grown green and the roses blossomed, and the blue violets bloomed. Was it all dream? You are with them once again ! Joyous reunion You feel mothers arms around your neck and in your full ness of heart you sob a petition
 "Mother, dear mother, the years have
 been long, Since last listen'd to your lullaby song; Sing, then, and unto my soul 1t shall
 seem Life's weary years have been only 8
 dream."-
 You recall the scenes as once you knew them. The old house in which you were born. It may have been poorly furnished it's clapboards denuded of paint it's old-fashioned roof sloped nearly to the ground. Around were the trees in which the song birds built their nests amid the foliage, which in summer afforded such grateful shade. Beside it was the orchard where the red Astrich- ans and the Baldwins and the Spies grew, and the wide spread naples of the sugar bush yielded the sap from which was made the maple sugar which as a boy you loved the cattle upon the hill side the old dog at the gate the horses galloping in the pasture; father busy about the place; the swing in the or chard or heath the shade of the great naples the barn with it's mow of hay the fowls, numerous and tame, some who even answered to name.
 Whither have fled the years? Is it not all real az memory recalls those scenes? Deep down in your heart you voice the cry, "That it might be true" "Mother, come back from the echoless
 shore,
 Take me again to your heart as of yore. "
 But mother comes not back The bourne she has crossed is that from whence no traveller returns and your memory bells are but dream. Yet life is made purer and environment sweeter by the memories of childhood's happy hours.
 It was remarked by @ man, a day or two ago: "Had I my life to live over how differently would shape it P'
 Iqusstion if there would have been any great difference, unguided by the experience through which one has passed. Gould one in starting ones life anew have the benefit of the wisdom of maturer years then might the changes in one's life be more advantageous. F
 Yet, is it not possible, after all, that in other directions mistakes would be made, which would later be as deeply deplored? There are thousands of young men to-day sowing for disastrous reap ing in the harvest of the coming years Then will they cry bitterly but cry ir vain:
 "Oh, youth return o give me back my earlier daysp'
 But their youth cannot return. Re pentanoe will have come too late. Many at present are filling mothers heart witt sorrow through their. waywardness anc are laying up for themselves harvest of remorse when at last the graineriet