The Daily Ardmoreite. [volume] (Ardmore, Okla.) 1893-current, 1910-05-24
THE OLD HOME AMT
WHAT IT USED TO BE-"

Where is your copy for the pap
err" the boss asked.
Haven't got any
why haven't you?'
My mind what there is of ii. go, |
away from me.
At happened this way: have Il
record down at my house, when /.
says. The old home amt what 1t used /
To be. and | am continually making I,
my photograph repeat that record. |
While it was doing it yesterday. my
lostman came with letter from the
Old home. These letters come sci.
dom now. Fathers of -four score and
more should not be expected To write
letters often.
But ! got one such letter. # con
tanned items of news, among which
was this one, 1 have only six acres
In corn this year That's my crop"
The old home amt what II used
to be" said the voices of my phono-
graph. "Only six acres in corn now."
said the quayering voice in the let
Ter.
That's how II happened | had moth
ing for the paper was tryin To pic
ture the old home that is not now
what il used To be. / was trying to
figure out where that patch of corn
is. II could be in the bottom field
across the creek, or on the hillside
east of the house, or IL could be In
the bottom on this side of the creek,
or it could be right there in the field
Just back of the garden that's where
1t is. for those old hands could not
tend" that many acres. il those old
feet had TO walk far To reach them
The old home amt what il used
to be- oh, the pathos of IT, The
negro tenants have all gone II you
should go back there, you would nev-
or know when night came. for there
would be no negro lahorers to sing
in the early evening announcing to
all that It was quitting time hear
them now as one OF the young fel.
lows starts Of At first. the sounds
are such. can not tell what ne means
To do. But after a little while, he
gets the pitch" and the tune. and
the entire squad join in They sing
not notes or words or lines, but they
sing-they sing song
An ! am mistaken. do not hear
them What | hear is the echo OF the
song they sang, a quarter of century
ago 1t was music loud and gay then,
but having echoed around the little
world IN which have lived all these
years. It has become faint, low. pa.
thetic, yet none the less impressive
and treasured, for should | forget the
song and singers the echo will go ON
throughout the ages.
II were back now, would not
know when it was niht. Even after
the day was lone and il was dark
outside, ! could not trust my senses,
for Old Sam would not be picking
strange, weird musical sounds out OF
his old banjo down there by his lit
tie dark house; Alex would not be
blowing a tune on his "Quills," as he
trudged across the field to his gals
house; George would not be singing
queerly, Run, niger, run" and Jake
would not, far away on his side of
the creek, be "hollerng' musically,
Aunt Car1ne woull not be there
chanting. The ospel train am a-com-
Ing-Get on board little chilln, get
on board"
Those negro performances AZ night
were grand opera TO the unsophicat.
ed youth; an oratorio TO tho white
folks who would sit up all night to lis
ten" The youth, in his less unsophs-
located days. has not heard in town or
city any real grand opera that has
del GIFTED him more than tha, played
by those natural actors back there
50 long ago.
They are all gone now Gone
few 20 heaven and luxury to
the devil and penury and many to