USA > West Virginia > Webster County > Moccasin tracks and other imprints > Part 10
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Rome, the Eternal City, the Mistress of the World. built upon her seven hills, shows the · misery and degra- dation caused by war. It was during her earlier his- tory that she produced her greatest and her best men. The great contest between the plebeians and patricians was settled by giving each faction a just share in the government. There were many devotees of literature. painting, and sculpture. The city grew in numbers and in wealth. But it was not long until a spirit of con- quest was developed. Many nations were conquered, and formed into Roman provinces, and imperial Rome became a great universal empire. The love of display and power fostered jealousy, hatred. and rivalry. The civil wars ensued which finally resulted in the downfall of Rome. Modern nations would do well to heed these great historic truths that come to them so forcibly from the past ages.
Our own country, the land of the free and the home of the brave. has had one hundred and thirty-seven years of national existence, and there is but little in its his- tory for which any American citizen need be ashamed. While it is true that in the beginning. a part of the
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people were held in bondage, and a different construc- tion was placed upon the Constitution by the people of the north and the south, yet after an armed conflict lasting four years in which the lives of 600,000 of our citizen-soldiers had been sacrificed upon the altar of the god of war, the nation emerged from the smoke of the con- flict a reunited people without the loss of a single star from the flag. The assertion in the Declaration of In- dependence that all men are created equal was now an actual fact and not as a sounding brass or a tinkling cymbal. It could now be said by all persons born or naturalized in the United States from the pine-clad hills of Maine to the Golden Gates of California; from the placid waters of the Great Lakes to the orange groves of Florida, that they owed allegiance to no master save the God who created them.
The United States has always espoused the cause of the weak and the oppressed. The Monroe Doctrine has been enforced in favor of her sister republics of the South. By an armed intervention Cuba, the Queen of the Antilles, was freed from the tyranny of Spain. When any great calamity has occurred, and a call for aid has been issued, the purse strings of the American people have been loosened, and very liberal · donations have been made. The people have always shown the same liberality in aiding the victims of an Italian earthquake, a famine in Russia, China, or India as in relieving the victims of a California earthquake, a Mississippi flood, or a Baltimore fire. These are objects worthy the best efforts of any nation.
It has been said that the voice of the people is the voice of God. May the voice of the American people be,
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in consonance with that Scriptural injunction which should be the oriflamme of nations as well as indi- viduals that, "All things whatsoever ye would that men should do to you do ye even so to them." May our people know the right and dare to do the right at whatever sacrifices they may be called upon to make. May right always prevail. May justice, moderation, and wisdom be the watchwords of the American peo- ple. If we follow the principles I have laid down as indicating the true grandeur of nations our decline and · fall is very remote.
ECHOES.
The life of an individual is but an echo of the past. Some agency for good or for evil has either directly or indirectly influenced the life of every one.
In Grecian mythology Echo was one of the numerous families of nymphs inhabiting the forests. She was the daughter of the Air and the Earth. Juno, the queen of heaven, became enraged at her because of her lo- quacity, and poor Echo was compelled to wait in silence until others had spoken and then to repeat their last words only.
One day she saw and loved a youth named Narcissus, who came into the woods, searching for his companions of the chase. "Come hither," he called, and Echo, cried "Hither." Narcissus replied. "Here I am-come." "I come," said Echo, and appeared before him.
Narcissus stood as one transfixed at the sudden ap- pearance of a maiden of such dazzling beauty, but he was so much angered at her mimicry that he turned and hastened away without even speaking to her. Poor Echo was so chagrined at this rebuff that from that chance meeting she faded to a voice and remains silent to this day unless she is called. Narcissus did not meet with a kindlier fate. He afterwards became so en- amored of his own image as seen in a fountain that he was changed into the flower that bears his name. This beautiful little flower, that belongs to the daffodil family, is used in European countries for Christmas decorations.
Unlike the unfortunate wood nymph, we should speak fearlessly on all questions affecting the general
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welfare of the public. We should not wait to be called forth to defend the right and to censure the wrong. Every human action or endeavor, whether for good, or for evil purposes, has an influence proportionate to its intensity. Its effects will be felt in after years. It will act like an echo in its repetition and its influence will be felt by generations yet unborn. The life of an individual sets in motion a powerful agency that is re- turned in after years to bless or curse mankind.
It has been said that our good deeds are written in water; our evil ones in brass. If the latter are so much more enduring, how careful one should be in his or her actions. No one can undo or entirely counter- act evil influences once set in motion. Like an echo they are cast back upon the world and are encountered at every turn in the highway of life to entangle and en- snare the unwary. An unkind word said in the heat of passion leaves a wounded heart that long refuses to be comforted. An evil or an unkind thought leaves its im- print on the character of the person who harbors it.
"Each deed we do, each word we say, Though trivial they often seem, May hurt or help somebody else In ways of which we never dream."
Deeds and words are like sound waves. Some great thinkers have said that when vibrations in the air are once started, they go on forever, although they may be inaudible to the human ear. The fact that the evil that men do lives after them has never been questioned; neither has the good that is done by them.
It can never be known in this world to what extent
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an act of ours may influence the life of another. It may be more far-reaching than the human mind can fathom as it is re-echoed in the life of future genera- tions. Which shall it be, for good or evil ?
It must be remembered that a physical echo exactly corresponds to the sound reproduced. If we speak kindly and gently, the returned words will be of a like char- acter. Harsh, grating words will be of a similar kind. How true and how applicable is this to one's every day life. That like produces like is as old as material creation. It holds good in the moral and the religious world as well.
Christmas is a very appropriate time to refresh one's memory as to the character of the influence set in mo- tion during the past twelve months. The obscene story told in jest to amuse a friend; the profane words used in the presence of small boys; the lack of sympathy manifested towards some one in distress, and numerous other acts most trivial in themselves, and almost unno- ticed at the time, will go on and on, gaining new and added force each time they are repeated or echoed by others.
Every individual sometimes unconsciously sets ex- amples that are most explicitly followed by others. Some years ago a farmer started to the barn to feed his stock. A little five year old son asked if he might go · along. He was told that he could not walk through the deep snow. "But papa." said the child, "I can step in the tracks that you make." It can be most readily imagined what a train of thought this little in- cident awakened in the mind of the father. He most
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assuredly came to the conclusion that his son would im- itate his daily conduct.
"He is a chip of the old block," is a trite saying often quoted when describing the peculiarities of the father reproduced by the son. This is but an echo of the past life of the father, and will be present through- out the life of the offspring. It will be reechoed in the grandson.
One of the greatest factors in the popularity of the gospel promulgated by the Great Teacher was His meekness and His humility; His desire to do good and to better man's condition in this world and in the next. His spotless life and His devotion to His work attracted and held the attention of countless millions of the hu- man race during the past nineteen hundred years. The human side of His life has been a guide for all men with good intentions. The benign influence of His life has echoed through the ages of the Christian era, and will continue until time shall be no more.
The heralds of the nativity of Christ proclaimed peace on earth and good will to all men. What a trav- esty on this beautiful sentiment were the conditions in Europe on Christmas Day. 1914. The ringing of the heretofore merry Christmas bells sounded like a tocsin of war or the death knell of a soldier whose life had been extinguished in an attempt to exploit modern commercialism, or to enlarge the domain of some un- scrupulous ruler. But the ways of Providence are past human comprehension. Nations, as well as individu- als, are the instruments through which God works to accomplish His purposes.
As the roar of the cannon from the lowlands of Bel-
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gium and the mountains of Alsace echo through the long corridors of time, some great and unexpected good to mankind will result from the stupendous loss of life and the intense suffering of the noncombatants. Pres- ent conditions in Europe would indicate that man is not yet ready to convert his weapons of warfare into
implements of husbandry. This does not mean that the teachings of Christ have lost their efficiency. It is but an echo from man when he was in a state border- ing on savagery, when brute force was recognized and considered a far greater asset than moral or intellectual development, and when the life of a human being was of little worth when it was in opposition to the accom- plishment of some cherished plan.
This should not be the condition in the first quarter of the twentieth century. War should have been left centuries behind so that nothing but its echo could be heard in this day of enlightenment.
THE CEMETERY.
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, the great American writer, who is often referred to as the poet of Home, Hope and Heaven, has said that he liked the epithet "God's Acre" that the Saxons applied to their burial ground. His high mental organism and his great sym- pathetic heart at once saw the beautiful meaning ex- pressed in the appellation.
The uncanny and superstitious awe in which a grave- yard is regarded by many persons is greatly diminished when we think of our last earthly resting place as being consecrated to God. To us our dear friends but sleep in God's loving care until He awakens them from their slumbers. This is not only a very comforting, but a very pleasing thought. This thought robs the grave of its seeming harshness and terror.
To the Christian, who believes in the final resurrec- tion of the body, the grave is but a temporary abode from which it will be called to enter upon a higher and perhaps a more useful career. Sorrow for the departed is the only grief from which the human heart refuses to be separated. This is a very striking characteristic of the human family. The remembrance of our friends becomes dearer to us as the tide of years roll onward in their ceasless course. The place where they lie at · rest becomes dearer and we would not have them back again even if we could have it so. It is useless to re- pine over our loss. We should rather rejoice that their life's work is completed and that they have but crossed over to await our coming. They are yet living in the noble work which they accomplished during life's fit-
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ful career, and above all this, they live in the hearts and the affections of their friends who are yet on this side of the line that divides time from eternity.
It seems passing strange what little attention is be- stowed upon country cemeteries. They are overgrown with weeds and briars, and if fenced at all its unsightly appearance is such that it would be better to have dis- pensed with it altogether. But, says someone, the beau- tifying of the cemeteries does not benefit the deceased. We must readily admit the truthfulnss of this asser- tion. The good is intended for the living, and not for the dead. No one for a moment thinks that decorating the graves with flowers is of any use whatever to the occupant of the grave, but who among us would abolish this most beautiful custom ?
By associating with persons, whom we love, we are elevated to a higher plane of thought and self and all selfish feelings are kept in abeyance. It is because of this tendency that the attention and care given to the cemetery has an ennobling effect.
A few years since a crowded railroad train stopped on a siding near one of the most popular and well kept cemeteries in central West Virginia. The day was blustery and stormy, it being midwinter. Snow lightly covered the ground, which blended harmoniously with the tombstones and more pretentious monuments which covered a large area of space. The passengers sitting on the side of the cars facing the cemetery for sometime listlessly watched the snowflakes chasing one another past the windows in rapid succession. Presently their attention was attracted to a man of perhaps seventy
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years and a little girl of about five standing beside a grave over in what seemed to be a neglected part of the burial ground. No high shafts of marble or granite adorned the vicinity in which they stood.
Judging from their dress it was plainly indicated that they belonged to the humbler walks of life. The old gentleman wore neither overcoat nor gloves, and the child was clad in a faded gingham frock. The little girl carried a small basket on her arm containing a few flowers. With these they decorated the grave in the midst of the blinding storm, While this was being done one could easily imagine the childish prat- tle of the little girl. Perhaps, she was saying that dear old grandma had loved the flowers. Perchance, it was in memory of a kind, loving mother, that this was being done. The conversation could not be heard but the deed could not be minconstrued.
As the train left that hallowed scene there was not a person who witnessed this act of devoted love who had not a warm spot in his heart for the old man and the little girl. Other cemeteries many miles distant was brought vividly to mind where a snow-covered mound contained all that was mortal of some loved one.
It is such a homely scene as this that makes the world aware of the universal brotherhood of mankind. There is, indeed, a touch of nature that makes the world akin. A greater tribute of respect was paid to the memory of the one who lay buried beneath the snow than the erection of a costly monument.
Chronicles of an Oak
Number I.
A lone and pensive angler near the close of a hot day in July sat himself down beneath the ample foliage of the "Skyles Oak." The day had been spent in fish- ing for bass in Birch river. The gentle breezes from the west as they played among the branches of the tree may have lulled him to repose, or it may have been the listlessness that comes over one in solitude that soothes tired muscles as well as a tired brain. At any rate the angler felt conscious of a small voice that came from the branches of the tree, and it seemed to be addressing the angler :
"And you would like to hear something of my life history? Well, well! Many, many years ago, perhaps two hundred, I was a small acorn snuggled closely in my little cradle. My mamma stood on that high bluff just beyond the cliff you can see yonder. One autumn day a little bird took me out of my cradle and carried me down here by the side of the brook. It told me that I would soon change my form and that I would become very beautiful. I went to sleep and slept for a long, long time. One morning in April the south wind woke me and it told me that I was to be a tree. The sun, rain and dew nourished me, and my leaves began to unfold.
One of the first things I can remember, besides the bright sunshine and what the little bird and the south wind told me, was a pretty, graceful doe that led her two spotted fawns down to drink of the sparkling
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water that flowed beneath my tiny branches. This was many, many years before the white hunter had invaded this country. The deer had neither heard the report of his rifle nor the bark of his dog. They were always very shy, timid animals, but they were not afraid to come into the open spaces in their forest home.
"When I was a very small sapling, some Indians that had come from the Shawnee town on the Scioto, in Ohio, passed by on their way to visit their kin at the Mingo Flats. They went up Birch by way of the Toll Gate and crossed the Gauley at the Old Indian Ford south-west of Upper Glade. Oh, my, how scared I was when I saw their painted faces and their toma- hawks! No white settlers lived in this valley at that time for them to make war upon.
"When I had grown to a good-sized tree, a man with an axe came here and he cut down many smaller trees and built a rude log cabin, near, where I stand. He then went away and was gone for many days. When he returned he brought with him a woman and the cutest little blue-eyed baby you have ever seen. He brought them from Bath County beyond the mountains. Since that time many generations of Dodrills, Baugh- mans and Barnetts have walked the foot bridge across Skyles creek beneath my friendly branches.
"There used to be a sign-board nailed to my trunk, which told many a weary traveler that it was thirty- one miles to Addison where the now famous Salt Sul-
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phur springs are located. Invalids often pass here on horseback and in carriages on their way to drink of their life-giving water.
"I well remember when a small freckled faced, bare- foot boy passed by on his way to Barnett's Mill. In my own way I spoke to him, but he passed on without giving me but little thought or attention. It may be that he thought that it was only the breezes sighing among my branches, or a ghost that would catch him before he again saw his dear mamma. He is now a man and is better versed in woodcraft than he was at that time.
"Do you remember anything that occurred in this and adjoining counties during the Civil War? You were too young to remember much about the war, eh ! Well, I remember many things that occurred during that late unpleasantness. In the first year of the war a party of horsemen from the vicinity of Upper Glade passed by here. While their horses drank at the ford, I heard a part of their conversation. One gentleman in particular, who seemed to be very loquacious, said that if there were any Yankees at the Pike he would like to see them. They continued on their way and in the late afternoon they came back in a great hurry, and the gentleman who wanted to see the Yankees was so frightened that he did not know whether it was him- self or his horse that had been wounded. It was after- wards ascertained that the horse was mortally wounded and the rider was unscathed. William McKinley,
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Rutherford B. Hays and Whitelaw Reid were with the Yankees at the Pike at that time.
* *
"Some weeks after this little episode a company of soldiers stopped here and a blue-eyed, fair-haired drum- mer boy looked at me and said, 'Why, here is a tree just like the one in our yard at home on the Picka- way Plains, in Ohio.' His lips trembled and the tears trickled down his fair cheeks as he thought of the loved ones at home. After they had gone a short time the rattle of musketry was heard, and I have often wondered if the little drummer boy ever again saw the oak tree in his father's yard. Was he with Sherman on his .March to the Sea.' or with Grant at Appomattox? Did he fill an unmarked grave on the banks of the beautiful Shenandoah ?
"One night many years after the war a number of persons passed here wearing masks. They stopped and held a whispered conversation. I could not hear much of what was said but I suspected that they were on their way to rob Uncle John Baughman, an aged but inoffensive man, who lived a short distance above here. Some time after midnight they returned, but they were in such a hurry that I could not hear what either of them said. There was a woman in the crowd, but she could walk as fast as the men. It was scarcely a week after this that two officers of the law crossed the ford with the woman and two men handcuffed. I heard one of the officers say something about a place called Moundsville, and judging by what he said it is not a
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desirable place to be sent, especially for a woman. It was two or three years before I saw the woman again and I am sorry to say that her trip to Moundsville did not bring about a reformation in her way of living.
"A civil engineer passed by here not long since. He encircled my waist with a tape line and said that I was one hundred and forty-four inches in circumference. He also spoke of how many railroad cross-ties could be sawed from my trunk. Now, I hope they will not cut me down and haul me to Cowen, as I have seen them do with so many other fine trees.
"One evening while the Skyles Training school was in session, a young man and a very beautiful girl came down here. They sat on the end of the foot-bridge and talked and talked, but it was in such subdued tones that I could scarcely hear what they said. I did hear them say something about next June, the month of roses, and as they went away the moon stole out from behind a cloud and as the girl looked up into the strong, handome face of her companion, they both looked very happy. But the oak and the moon do not tell the secrets of lovers. Many love affairs are told us in great confidence, which are never repeated.
"What have you in your basket ? Bass, caught out of Birch, did you say? The bass came up from Birch into Skyles before you anglers came here. They raised myriads of little black babies each spring. When these were ten or twelve inches long they went down in-
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to the deep pools and did not return again except to spawn in the spring.
"The angler at this time was aroused to conscious- ness and he took his way down the river in the direc- tion of his home, thinking of what he had heard and wondering if all trees did not have an interesting history to relate if one could but put himself in the proper attitude to understand them."
Number II.
On a recent visit to his old home on Birch river the angler of last July took up his gun, where it had lain for many a year, and wended his way to the woods in quest of the gray squirrel. The sun was just rising above the eastern horizon and his beams soon dissipated the autumnal fog that hung like a pall over the peace- ful valley. The day was an ideal one for an outing in the forest. A gentle breeze from the east scarcely moved the leaves that had now begun to put on their tints of yellow, red, and orange as if the trees were be- ing dressed for a holiday. The blue jays were scolding from the tops of the beech and chestnut trees, in seem- ing impatience of the lateness of the frost king that was to open to their inquisitive gaze the juicy treasures contained in their burrs. The woodchuck, now grown sleek, fat, and lazy from his too frequent visits to the clover patch, stood erect on his hind legs and eyed the hunter askance as if to say, "And you have again returned to disturb the quietness of the little denizens of fields and woods."
The notes of the yellow breasted chat, the clown and the ventriloquist of the deep, tangled thickets, no longer vibrated upon the air. He took his departure early in the month of July to more favored regions to spend the time in peace and quiet during the molting season. The sharp cry of the robin and the thrush indicated their early departure for the sunny south, where they can renew their former loves in a more congenial clime. The numerous family of flycatchers are no longer seen on the wing, the first blasts of
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Boreas having sent the insects, their chief food supply, to their inscrutable winter homes. Squirrels were plentiful, feeding on the nuts of the beech, the hickory and the chestnut trees. The loud and frequent report of the Stevens echoed from hill to hill. Many innocent animals were killed that morning that had never in any manner harmed the hunter. When his thirst for blood had been satisfied, he realized that he was once more in the midst of the familiar scenes of his boyhood days. What man that has reached the meridian of life does not wish for the return of those halcyon days- days spent in the innocent contemplation of the world that lay all undiscovered before him. But, alas! Those were the days in which the rose plucked from the inno- cent bowers of pleasure had no thorns. The lengthen- ing shadows now warned the hunter of approaching night, and being in the vicinity of the Skyles Oak, he could not forego the pleasure of again resting beneath its friendly branches. The incessant babbling of the brook seemed to invite repose, and being in a mood for meditation, as on a former occasion, he seemed to hear a low, sweet voice coming from among the branches. Listening attentively this voice resolved itself into speech and appeared to be addressed to the hunter :
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