Manchester Democrat. [volume] (Manchester, Iowa) 1875-1930, 1918-07-17


through the silent medium of the pen,
where I quote from Lamb. II have had
playmates, I have had companions,
in my days of childhood, in my youth
full school days, but now it seems all
all are gone, the old familiar faces
1 can not see," and while I am sur
rounded by my own children, and
grandchildren, and comparatively
speaking, am satisfied and happy for
the time being miss the companion
ship of my dear, kind friends in
Iowa. Today is my SEVENTEEN BIRTH
day anniversary, and what book
one could write, if the experiences of
seventy years could q, be expressed
with the origin Of sweet sixteen but
as this cannot be I will try to note
some results of the experience how
ever dull and confused may be the
mode Of conveyance.
Truly, my friend, it is wonderful
thing to stand upon the outer verge
of life, and look back down the CORR
dor of bygone days, with all its var
led associations, and view the road
over which we have Travelled all these
years, especially since nearly all of
them have been spent in our own
beautiful Iowa.
No one can imagine what an in
teresting world it is until, like me,
they have passed through the slages
|of the course of seventy years and
have noted the bearings, of that var
led and fleeting course, all along the
slippery pathway and a wonderful
thing it is to look back upon charac-
tiers, appearing in infancy, developing
into maturity, changing under chang
ing influences, and finally fixed in one
mold for good or for evil. When the
end came for it's earthly children;
then, again, to look back upon I'M
finished histories, from the cradle to
the grave generally, so very unlike
what was anticipated. remember as
faded dreams many like instances, the
stories of those brought up in the
most refined luxury and surrounded
with every indulgence, who have af-
forwards trodden the toughest and
poorest paths Of 1ife's highway; and
those brought up in poverty, who have
become victims of unnatural refine
ment and luxury.
Before the sight of woman. Of
seventy years now rise up the aged,
whose springtime to me seems SO
recent; the forever young, who can
never be old, because the blossom
was gathered lin its early freshness,
and preserved from decay among the
sealed ones; the bearded man, in the
hot battle Of life remembers best as
the tender babe in it's embroidered
robes, and guarded from each sight
and sound that could disturb it's sleep,
and he, so rough now, and in so rough
conflict; or he, the wild and way
ward boy, who after he had served
his generation fell asleep and was
gathered to his fathers;" and love-
~ girlhood, too, passing from it's soft
shelter into the stern duties of life,
learning to endure, learning to support
others, learning to become the lead
er, where she would fain be led; and
now passed away like dead rose.
All these in thoughtful memory
glide before my mind today, like pass
ing dreams; just family remembered
from my old farm home on sunny
Spring Branch.
Memory too, recalls the sapling,
planted there in my fathers garden by
the prophetic hand of fate, in the place
over which the full grown tree has
long since spread its luxurient shell
ter No one who thinks of these
things, at my age, can speak of the
world as "f1eeting show" 1t is
great reality; and the retrospect of
over half century only proves the
deep Importance of things that in pass
ing. seemed but trifies. The laugh, or
casual remark, that inflicted wound
that was never healed; the light word,
which echoes on forever; the careless
parting, which proved to be the fare
we'll forever; all these trifles prove
that Life is real. life is earnest" and
mark our dependence upon Him for
whose guidance nothing is too small,
because nothing is too great.
These are types of the hourly trifles
of which our days are composed,
which produce curious phase OF
memory, in the sudden flash, by which
many scenes of the long ago are
sometimes lighted up, without any
perceptible association to kindle it.
If you count the good and beautiful
ministrations that have been wrought
in this world, of varied scenes, how
many of them have been wrought by
hands that have been wounded and
SCARED and by hearts that had
scarcely ceased to bleed, but | must
not weary you my dear friend.
Seventy years ago today / opened
my eyes on this beautiful world, and
was four years of age when I settled
with my parents on the old home
stead at Spring Branch, in which vi