A Memory of Childhood [pp. 270-275]

[OCTOBER
A MEMORY OF CHILDHOOD.
There are moments in the life of every
man, however dull and prosaic his life
may be ordinarily, when he is oblivious to surrounding circumstances, and
the realities and interests of the present,
and lives over again the life of the past.
Not so much the whole history of the past
comes up before him, as some incident
which at the time of its occurrence deeply impressed his sensibilities, but all memory of which faded away with the flight
of years, and the ever-changing events
and adventures of life. Especially at
such seasons do we recur to the halcyon
days of childhood-halcyon days to most
men, though to many full of bitterness
and sore disappointments, which no misfortunes of mature manhood can ever
equal. It may be that the incidents of
childhood impress us more deeply than
those which transpire at a later period
of our lives, but whatever be the reason,
certain it is that among these scenes the
fancy is most prone to stray when the
ripeness of years is impressed upon the
brow. In the twilight when the day's
toil is over, at midnight when the head
presses a wakeful pillow, at the grey
dawn as we sit watching listlessly
night sullenly retiring to its caverns, at
the slumberous noon when the summer
heat induces us to indolent repose, or
when the wintry blaze floods the room
with mellow light, casting grotesque
shadows on the walls, we sit and dream
of "by-gone hours," and are pensive or
joyous as the gay or sad scenes of earlier
days return to us.
There may be men who count such
musings idle, and who sneer at the
dreamer, as they are pleased to term the
individual who indulges these moods. It
is true that such meditations add nothing
to our material wealth, that they lead
to no new plans and projects which promise an augmentation of our revenues,
they never conduce to any useful invention
in mechanics, or discovery in the world
of science, but still I insist with Dr.
Young, that,
'Tis sadly wise to talk with our past hours,
and he that honestly holds such converse,
will learn much from which he may
profit in disposing of the hours which remain. Be this as it may, whether we
lose or gain by the musings, we must
needs have them with more or less frequency. No amount of activity, no
pressure of cares and responsibilities will
cheat the mind of the luxury of retrospecting the past, before plunging into the
strifes of the future. Ever and anon in
the march of time, the soul calls a halt;
and reviews the ground left behind before
moving onward to new fields of endeavour.
Others may try to avoid these mental
recreations, but I rather seek than shun
them. I am stronger for the work, after
the mind has enjoyed one of these
seasons, just as my body is fresher and
all my physical powers invigorated, after
a night of sweet and dreamless sleep.
The last excursion which I made to the
fairy land of childhood, recalled an event
which is memorable for the novel emotions it awakened and the new and important ideas which it brought forth.
It was the death of a slave, a lad some
twelve years of age, who was born in the
same year and month with myself, and
within a few hours of the same momnent.
His name was GOODWIN, though in process of time a letter was dropped, and
everybody knew him as GooD'IN. He
was the best negro I have ever known,
with so much gentleness, kindness, amiability and eagerness to serve and please,
that he was an universal favorite with the
household, and with all visiters to the
family. But what gave me a deeper interest in his welfare was, that he was my
servant, mine only. When I was yet a
babe in years, mny father had given him
to me, and from the day that I took a
seat at the table with the family, Goodwin stood behind my chair and ate his
dinner from my plate, when mine was
over. Thus at an early age I learned to
care for another as for myself, and even
to deny myself sometimes to gratify the
wishes of that other.
And here, allow me to suggest, may be
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