Bismarck daily tribune. [volume] (Bismarck, Dakota [N.D.]) 1881-1916, 1912-05-11
"HAVE YOU WRITTEN
TO MOTHER TODAY?


"AAVE YOU WRITTEN
TO MOTHER TODAY"
The following is from the pen OF
Sam H. Clark and is so fittingly ap.
propriate to Mothers Day. that the
Tribune gives it editorial mention:
Have you written to mother to-
day." While perusing copy of the
Jolly Elk the other evening, we en-
countered the above query. Somehow
it startled us-that bold yet simple
auestion-"Have you written to mott
er today" Outsiie the elements
were in full swing-a strong wind
driving the rain against the windows
of our den; it was just such night
when the pilgrim who has long since
wandered from home and fireside-
when one who has not formed new
ties and who has settled into that
rut in life where he is known as a
bachelor-would naturally be attract.
ed by that question-"have you writ
ten to mother today?" What Won
der tnat we allowed the little booklet
to slip unheeded from our grasp,
while we looked into space and invit-
ed the signing wind to carry us back
to the home and mother of long ago.
How willingly we would have grasped
the pen and dashed off those lines
of love and hope to mother as sug-
gested by the author of the question
which captions these thoughts! And
yet in the days agone when this would
be possible, how many, many days
we allowed to pass without writing to
mother! Now that she has passed
from earth and beyond the struggles
of daily life, we realize all too well
that there were countless times dur
ing those college days, or when on a
pleasure expedition, or even when we
set our face to the West to carve out
a fortune, leaving home and mother
behind, that we might have spent
many of those idle hours in writing
to mother. It is such little thing
but it means so much to her. Most
of US have saved some of mothers
letters; sometimes in rummaging
through our trunk we run onto them
old fashioned envelopes, yellow
with age, and the address faded and
blurred with the marks of time. 1t
may be that we are looking for the
white cravat or little pearl buttons
that 90 with the dress shirt, thinking
only Of the pleasure of the coming
dinner party, the theatre or ball; or
perhaps We are looking for the old
blue shirt that completes our hunt.
ing or fishing toys; even so; but the
second our eye encounters that pack.
age of old letters, with the familiar
old fashioned handwriting on the en-
velope-we hesitate-caress the little
package lovingly and for the moment
allow our thoughts to take swift wing,
back, back to the days Of home and
mother. If we have time, we settle
onto the floor, lean against the old
trunk, and idly finger the letters;
sometimes we start to read one, but
seldom do we get beyond the first
line-''My Dear Boy" What wonder
that the eye is moist and the letter
is clasped to our breast while
thoughts Of the dear old mother, her
love and trust, her faith and pride
in US, crowd upon the memory and
will not shake of!
Have you written to mother to-
day." Wonder what thought prompt.
ed the editor Of the Jolly Elk when
he wrote that line? Had he just writ
ten to mother, or was he, too, spend
ing the evening at his desk-a bach
elor with but choice of his solitary.
lonely room, or the office on a night
when the elements hold high carni-
val--feading, writing or dreaming Of
the past-the past in which mother
always appears? But the thought, no