The Pensacola journal. (Pensacola, Fla.) 1898-1985, 1910-01-30
COMMUNING WITH TIME
By D. W. Whitworth.

In the year Of our Lord, eighteen
hundred ant-but never mind the
exact date-sufice It to say that 1t
was the anniversary of my birth, and
that I, on that day, had counted exact
ly twenty-one such occurrences Now.
if there 10 any one time in the life of a
man which should cause him to re-
fect-to take stock" Of himself, to
consider the days Of his boyhood,
which he, upon this day, must re-
nounce forever, and to determine as
far as he Is able to do SO just what he
shall accomplish with this new dowry,
or inheritance-manhood-so sudden
ly thrust upon him, whether desired or
unwelcomed
Being filed, then, with conflicting
emotions, with regret for my childish
days, now to be forever RELOCATED or
sent into exile, never again to be en-
tered or visited, except through --2m-
DRY alone; and this new responsibility
mans estate-which, though longed
for with all chiId's egotism and I'M
patience, now seemingly thrust upon
me IS something though not unexpect-
ed or unwelcome, I was wholly at q
then. OF my twenty-f1rst birthday, real
izing that must assume this new re-
sponsibility, With all it portended, 1
determined to seek solitude and take
stock" so to peak, of the past and of
the future, In so far as I could fathom
it. Little did know at that day that
the future Is a sealed book, whose
leaves we are never permitted to turn
at all, but that they are unfolded for
us, one at a time, one each day, so
that at each sunset we can review
the page with all those that have pre-
ceded it.
1t was my happy fortune to have
been born IN the glorious southland
the home Of the mocking-bird and the
magnolia, whose praises have been 80
often dwelt upon by more versatile
pens than mine; therefore, | will not
attempt to enlarge upon them.
Near my boyhood home, In a little
copse. stood a noble specimen Of the
magnolia tree, in whose shade I had
whilsd away many happy hours as a
boy. enjoying It's cool and refreshing
shelter at sultry noon. and reveling in
the delicious fragrance Of it's match
less blossoms. Many of my boyish
friends, as well as l, had carved their
names upon the bark Of this old giant
of the forest. for if it's girth was an
indication of its age, men 1t must have
been very ancient when | first played
beneath it's overhanging boughs.
Thither, then, l went. with my new
found problem, knowing well that /
should find the solitude | craved, with
much to remind me of boyhood DAYS
now forever to be regretted as a
friend who had departed, never to re-
turn. Imagine my establishment, then,
when nearing this long-loved retreat.
not to see the wide spreading branches
of my old friend, the tree. I remem-
Der l fastened forward with feelings
of resentment against the imaginary
Woodsman, whom | had mentally ac-
cused of desecrating this beloved spot
with his ruthless axe, only to find the
old tree lying prone upon the ground,
having seemingly yielded, as all old
things must, to decay. / threw my
self face downward in the grass by
this old-ume friend, and, if l shed a
few briny tears at what | considered
a personal sorrow and bereavement,
am not ashamed to confess the fact
this late day. My grief was genuine,
and the emotion not unworthy, yet
would have felt ashamed for any living
soul to have witnessed my abandon
for was I not man? Rather strange,
is it not, that a man, because he is
man, thinks it incompatible with man.
ly dignity to give vent to his feelings
of woe. which is just as natural as to
show joy when pleased?
Rather ashamed at my paroxysm,
arose, and drying my tears, proceeded
to seat myself comfortably upon the
PROSTATE trunk of my old friend. the
tree, and feeling there was no one
likely to see or hear me, l accosted 1t
thus: We'll, old fellow, have spent
many happy hours beneath your foliage
and grateful shade, but it seems that
we must part, even as l have this cty
parted with my boyhood and become
a man" I was much astonished to hear
a tremendous ,rustling and quiyering
in the branches of another young tree
Tor bush) of the same species as my
old friend, the magnolia. The bush
stood just at my back, and my amaze
ment was all the greater when I con-
sidered the fact that 1t could not be
thus shaken by the wind, for the wind
was not then blowing. Well, If I was
astonished at the quivering and
shaking of the bush, | was much more
amazed at what took place just then
All at once came a small squeaky,
piping voice, seemingly from the very
center of the bush, which said: And
a good thing | call it that the old tree
is dead! For how could ! ever have
grown to any size whilst it kept me
smothered under its branches? Just
you come back here when you are
twice as old as you are today. then
you viii imagine your old friend has
come TO life again for l will fill its
place then. See?" came near
taking to my heels, but desisted, for,
of course, it would never 90 for a man
to run from voice, especially an in
significant voice. like that / had just
listened 10. So ! said, instead: Well,
for unauthorized cheek and imperti-
nence, you would get the prize. Are
you not ashamed to speak SO of your
parent But the bush was again
dumb and never more have l heard it,
or any other bush, speak. Yet | have
read of their talking in the book
written by the Prophet Isaiah. where
he tells of the trees holding a caucus
for tho r,IrDSSp of pIoptiuC ono Of +bair