I thought of the days gone by, and the many pleasant hours I had spent at the old farm house. While I was occupied with play and enjoyment, my mother busying herself with family cares, and endeavoring to draw from me my ideas of the business or profession I would adopt when I reached manhood.
There flitted through my mind the many kind things she had said and done for me, in trying to gratify my desires and boyish whims. I was reminded that although she had often opposed me in my ideas of "hus'ling," and was at that very time refusing to aid me, she had always been a devoted mother, with a kind and forgiving disposition, and had never ceased to show her anxiety for my welfare.
I realized that there must be a reason, best known to herself, for withholding aid from me at this time.
I then began rummaging about for the old carpet-bag, which I found hanging in a remote corner, amongst cobwebs and bunches of balm and sage. As I gazed on the companion of my first railroad trip, there flashed through my mind, with lightning-like rapidity, the three weeks of joys and sorrows we had shared together while in New York. The many ups and downs I had experienced since that time, forced themselves upon my memory, while it had been silently resting and apparently awaiting my return to accompany me on another search for fortune.
Among other things I saw hanging there was a half-worn-out, dried-up bunch of blue-beech switches.
How many times had they tickled my young hide for a breach of home discipline!
I took them in my hand, and as I gazed upon those silent reminders of the past, I said triumphantly:
"You clung to me like a brother. Your reign is over. Your day is past, while mine is just dawning. Farewell; I cherish you not. No fond memories cling around my recollections of you. The lessons you endeavored to convey were no doubt good, but, alas! they fell on barren soil. Farewell, farewell."