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Show Do You Remember? . . . . By MAUDE II. EENEDICT Do you remember when we went walking! Along the roadways and the foot-paths we searched for early violets, and the sweet little snowdrops so waxen white, we carried car-ried a lunch pail too, for a walk meant making a day of it. We followed paths through a woodland, wood-land, gathered acorn cups from ln.st year's harvest, and joyfully absorbed the first feeling of Springtime warmth. Then came the automobile, and few of us had time after Its advent to get so near the earth again. We Hkimmed over the newly asphalted roads at twenty-five miles an hour; thirty, forty, fifty, and later sixty miles was Just ordinary speed. Little did we see of the things of nature that were near to the ground, we were out looking for more picturesque scenery, seeing see-ing very little of it, after all, but we were enjoying the automobile to its utmost. Came the time we thought we could not possibly get along without with-out a car. Who ever thought of carrying ! the groceries home from town! The car was indeed the home of most families, from morning to night and far into the night, we burned up the roads, for the simple pleasure pleas-ure of riding, of motion, and for the old, old, lure of the open road. We are already becoming used to walking, and it is a decided joy, is it not? Everywhere we see people peo-ple carrying home their groceries, people who have for years had such things delivered by the grocery groc-ery truck. And so as we have so often, too often, said, history repeats re-peats itself. The hills of home loom up today, for we are on the way to Spring-ville, Spring-ville, where so many lovely memories memo-ries live. But oh, the changes since the days we called it home! Lovlier, in many ways, yet sad in many others, for so life moves on as does death, and we find no longer long-er all the old friends there. Some have moved to other places, some Ho the land where we never grow old. Remembering Silas Hutchings and his family today. The memory brought back by the notice of his death last week. Remembering little Lula Hutchings who was a schoolmate once upon a time, and the lane that led to the homes of the Hutchings, the Fullers, the Jenkins, Wadsworths, Nolens, and Groesbecks. In this lane also lived a family of Chases, Chullus, a boy of fourteen, as we knew him, was one of the Chase family of the lane. We used this lane as a short cut to school but in more mature years realized it was not saving a step! The little streets as we pass them, call up many we used to know. The Gammells, up the lane where the Oscar Swensen family lived, where also Eved dear old Grandma Swensen, and the two widow Anthons who were carpet weavers. And a very charming girl we used to chum with occasionally was Hazel Averett Shepherd Jacobs. Jac-obs. They lived in the Fourth ward, and many a happy time we had at the Averett home. We sang and we danced to a phonograph, phono-graph, had picnic lunches, and it was there that the whole crowd of our set met to spend Sunday afternoons. Hope you remember, Hazel! To all the old friends whose sons are in the Armed Forces we inclose in-close a beautiful poem by Nona H. Brown, which was printed by request in honor of all mothers with sons in the service. SUPPLICATION Oh Great Creator of the sun and stars Thou Ruler of this world so torn apart, If to this conflict I must send my son, Flesh of my flesh, heart of my heart, Then grant me strength, that I flinch not nor quail, But lend him boundless courage, that he may Meet grim and dreadful tasks, and yet not fail To raise his eyes to Thee with each new day. Beneath my beating heart his life began, From babyhood I've taught him how to pray, Yet if I send my treasured darling dar-ling forth Into the maelstrom of this wild affray, But keep him sweet and clean and if it be That he must give his life for this loved land, I beg Thee, Father, in humility, Oh, teach my breaking heart to understand. Thy boundless love for him exceeds ex-ceeds e'en mine, The Plan is Thine and Thy great plans are right, And some day peace and brotherhood broth-erhood will grow From out war's mad and anguished ang-uished awful night. And in that blessed day the Prince of Peace Thine own Beloved Son, will rule and reign Then Oh, with love triumphant and with joy I'll clasp my own son to my heart again! NONA H. BROWN Copied from The Senator from Sandpit's column. 1 Sent in by Maude H. Benedict |