 | At the holy well |  |
39
LETTER FROM AN OHIO VALLEY VETERAN.
ADDRESSED TO THE EDITOR OF THE “SCIOTO GAZETTE.”
I can't come, Bond; I wish I could, but then—I cannot come;
Maria ('twill be our seventh boy)—yes, I must stay at home.
Maria ('twill be our seventh boy)—yes, I must stay at home.
But—well, I'll rub my glasses, just, and write a line or two,
Though little I can say, I guess, that you'll think strange or new.
Though little I can say, I guess, that you'll think strange or new.
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My glasses I must rub a bit—queer things have taken place
Since first, a raw apprentice here, I took my stand and case.
Since first, a raw apprentice here, I took my stand and case.
I'd read the “Life of Franklin,” then, a ten-year country boy,
And got my father's leave, so loth, to learn great Ben's employ.
And got my father's leave, so loth, to learn great Ben's employ.
That's sixty years come April next—not very long, I think;
But, Lord! what light has shone abroad since then through printer's ink!
But, Lord! what light has shone abroad since then through printer's ink!
My old hand-press, though twenty years disused, I keep it yet—
'Twould take a week to-day on it to print this week's Gazette.
'Twould take a week to-day on it to print this week's Gazette.
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Yes, the old hand-press twenty years a good-for-nothing's been,
Yet in my hand I sometimes feel the lever-spring thump again;
Yet in my hand I sometimes feel the lever-spring thump again;
And sometimes too, asleep, I seem once more a slender lad
Behind it, with the inky task so long ago I had.
Behind it, with the inky task so long ago I had.
Puff, puff!—buzz, buzz!—whiz, whiz!—all's busy now: steam, wheels and fire!
Click, click! there is another sound—that Hebrew of the wire!
Click, click! there is another sound—that Hebrew of the wire!
—Think of it! th' Alleghanies, then, it took a week to cross;
The news from Washington grew old;—well, now 'twere no great loss!
The news from Washington grew old;—well, now 'twere no great loss!
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Ohio then was the Far West—long since 't has farther gone:
Now, Lord! to get out West, it's queer, you run into the dawn!
Now, Lord! to get out West, it's queer, you run into the dawn!
The grand old woods they howled with wolves, the roads were sloughs forlorn,
And Cincinnati—Deacon Smith and Halstead weren't born!
And Cincinnati—Deacon Smith and Halstead weren't born!
The mails on horseback took their time to cross the wilderness:
Paper was hauled a hundred miles before it got to press.
Paper was hauled a hundred miles before it got to press.
Hows'ever, those were good old times—we'd giants in those days,
And such a plant as honesty 'twas not so hard to raise.
And such a plant as honesty 'twas not so hard to raise.
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Things were a long sight better, Bond—we'd patriots fit to quote;
In courts opinions weren't bought; the Lobby didn't vote.
In courts opinions weren't bought; the Lobby didn't vote.
We're fallen on evil days, I think there's something ails the sun:
(We want some money, that's a fact, and something must be done!)
(We want some money, that's a fact, and something must be done!)
The press was manlier then; it had a soul to call its own,
For corporations not tongue-tied—those bodies that have none.
For corporations not tongue-tied—those bodies that have none.
Free passes then were things unknown; they let us now-a-days
On any shaky railroad line—well, they go “a—long—ways.”
On any shaky railroad line—well, they go “a—long—ways.”
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Bond, say a word or two for me—say I'm with Halstead there;
Had I to Chillicothe come, by George! I'd paid my fare.
Had I to Chillicothe come, by George! I'd paid my fare.
(That is, if this here annual hadn't yet a while to run—
Yet, hang it, if I think next year I'll ask another one!)
Yet, hang it, if I think next year I'll ask another one!)
But, pshaw! what use in talking more? I stopped my press to write;
The form is waiting in its bed. Respects to Put. Good-night.
The form is waiting in its bed. Respects to Put. Good-night.
N. B.—Sub rosa, Bond, my boy—can't you make Congress see
Why papers through the county mail should travel postage-free?
Why papers through the county mail should travel postage-free?
| At the holy well | |