Evening journal., 1914-07-18
Editorial Opinion
GONG BACK TO THE OLD TOWN


GOING BACK TO THE OLD TOWN.
From the Cincinnati Inquirer
When the longing for the summer
vacation bears down insupportably-
and it invariably comes with a rush
Won think of the little village OF
your youth. Tailholts, perhaps, or
Possum Trot, or. Mineral Springs.
Any one will do. for they are all
alike when the call arrives, and you
feel YOU can stand asphalt and brick
walls no longer You forget to re-
member that much that you antici-
pated for last time never materialized
that one-third of the pleasure was
in looking forward beforehand, and
the remaining two-thirds is looking
back afterward. It1l be different
this time. you are assured OF that
Anyhow. the spell is on. The desire
comes plunging with crash and a
scream, Just as No 6 used TO go
through the way station-a weaving,
rhythmic motion Of a few moments
lcfore. then a blur and roar. and
once more the poetry of motion IN
the receding distance.
But make ready and 60. And the
"Missus" goes, too. Nol haven't yet
reached the point where you can ap-
preciate the jest of your friend-that
one whom your betteI-half cordially
detests-who asks whether you're
going for a good time. or intend to
take your wife. She's never been to
, tho old home You've told her all
8 about II, however, and now you pur'
pose to show her
The train arrives. and the evening
and the morning are another day
I Where arc the glories and the mys-
/ teries? What has become Of the
greatness of it all? It's a fine wind
ing road. all right, only-ahem-pret-
/ ty dusty, eh? Yep, pretty dusty, sure
/ enoughi And the old "crick how
she has shrunk-used TO be the boy
/ who could throw across her was a
1 Jim Dandy. but now you can wade
: al the low places without wetting
your shoe heels scarcely. And the
pasture field is smaller than il once
was. and the buttermilk tastes Of
ragweed. And the hot biscuits-Oh
mother gets her bread from the
bakery now And the little sugar
pies she used TO bake-but she's lost
her hand" she says, and the baker
makes tirst-rate pies also. And
Oh, shucks
STILL you stirred the old girl once
That was when you walked through
the beech woods, and she spied the
initials OF the SCARED bark. "P. B.
they were, and "A f. H." with a
double headed arrow running
through them The first were yours
why, / never heard yor speak of any
a f. f." says your wife who is
she?' How I'm the world did She
know she was "her2" But that's
the way with the woods-cant touct
em without hitting primitive instincts
love and iealously, and that sort o
thing.
But when night came-one of those
soft, velvety kind OF nights knowr
only TO Southern Ohio highlands
you sat together on the old porch
Crickets chirped. Down at the hen
house the chickens. huddled closei
together making querulous littii
sounds. The fash of the freely coul,
be seen in the damp meadow beyond
Myriads of insect voices blended In
! croning murmur Starlight drenchel
the leaves of fir and poplar. The sai
/, plant Of the whippoorwill was hear
, far away Her hand steals int
yours To-day l didn't understand,
she is saying, but tonight do" An
then she went on--"Time, like thi
kindly nightfall, has Dlotted out 70
you all that was hot and garish an
: vnlovable in the life you then knew
4 leaving only that which is good an
! beautiful TO remember in an evenin
that is cool and restful."
VacatiOns-in the country-ar
: pretty good things after all; aren
, they?
To insure rental value list YOU