Annals of our ancestors; one hundred and fifty years of history in the ...

VOICES FROM THE PAST 335
Charles Lamb used to sec the aged Benchers of the Temple to
walk the earth as gods, so to me the woods had their fauns and
dryads where now I see only beeches and sugar trees, and even the
Bear's Nest Elm has no longer any power over me. I cannot now
turn the back field into an African Karroo, and see the long line of
dust betokening a countless herd of springboks coming on like an
army. 1 cannot ring the wild horse with Washington Irving and
catch that "fine black mare scrambling up the defile," not six rods
from where I cut my stick.
'Tis plain the old farm is the stuff that dreams are made of and
had better be unvisited. My stick cannot serve as a divining rod
to call up the scenes and feeling of my youth, for these are gone with
my youth and will return when it does. I am nearest these things
when I am away from them, and I count myself happy that I left the
old farm.
I have thought to have a little silver plate put on my stick, with
the figures 1765, 181 1, 1836, 1865. These dates mark our four
generations, the four that I have known. Perhaps this might remind
me that I do not stand alone. The memory of man runs not
to the time that we were not right men. If my stick may not call
up the fancies of my childhood, let it remind me that the most
precious inheritance I can leave my children is a good opinion of
their father. I am not in the world without a witness.— William
Benson.
As I read this letter again to the end, I see my brother
William from the time of his rather aggressive and masterful
boyhood, down through the years, till he grew tender and gen-
tle like his ancestors, ripened and enriched by the battles of
life. The years did not take from but added to his natural
ability. His great mind burned clearly to the last, and love
increased more and more; his heart, too, grew deeper and more
tender, and showed itself in overflowing love for us all.
His children have to remember that they were his joy and
his pride. They will recall that although he was a bright light
in the Royal Arcanum and Present Day Clubs and in later
years in the Socialist party, he shone nowhere more brightly
than in the circle of home, and in no place did he bring forth
more freely than there things new and old from the riches of
his intellect. His home and his family were always first with
our brother William. I am thinking of the letter he wrote me
when his first grandchild was born. He told me the exact