Rensselaer Republican, Volume 12, Number 26, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 12 March 1880 — KEEP THE REINS IN YOUR OWN HANDS. [ARTICLE]

KEEP THE REINS IN YOUR OWN HANDS.

There comes » time in some men's tires when they mast make a decision with regard to the arrangements of their property, even while they lire, because age has come upon them, almost like a thief in the night; and their limbs hare become stiffened, and refuse to do the work which in their youth was pleasant. Eren to think of bodily toil wearies them. Perhaps their lingers are not so stiff but that they can milk two or three cows, bat their knees are not supple enough to bend easily to the lerel of the milking stool. They, can sit in the barn and husk-corn, on a pleasant autumn morning, and can feed the stock, and eren work the bay cotter; they must do some few “chores” or they cannot feel contented, as they were not bom or educated to be drones in the great bee-hire of the world. At foyr years of age, wee toddling babes as they were, they delighted to follow in their father's 'footsteps, and pick np potatoes, or throw the seed into the furrows, and to feel that they and “helped father.” But Jr is changed now, and morning and erening they loiter by the fireside, dreading to rise from the old arm chaii*, and go out to see what John or Patrick is doing in the barn or wood house, and gire orders for the day’s work. Yet when once astir, very likely a desire to drive to the post-office or the village store arises, and orders are given to harness the old mace into the wagon, to bring her to the door. Then muffled up with overcoat, tippet, cap and mittens, if it is wintry weather, away they drive over hill and dale, until the village’s center is reached, and they hear the news of the' dav. If they hare wives and buxom, maiden daughters to receive them, let them rejoice that loving hands minister to their needs. Bat if these blessings have been taken from them, if they have been obliged to share the old farm with their sons and their families, the picture often shows another side not quite as bright. For the sons must have their portion, of course, as they have families growing up ou their hands; and must look forward to educating them; and if their hard work keeps the farm in prosperity they should receive sufficient to .remunerate them for their toil. The fathers usually recognize the rights their sons possess ana make them an allowance. But if they are wise, they will still keep the reins, partly, in their own hands, and will be the owners of the farms, and have the power to do as they please—to drive to the storo, when the fancy seizes them to do so, and go where they choose withont asking any,one’s permission—in short, win remain masters of the situation. Often,* however, the sons will object to taking a second place, and will urge their fathers to make over the farms to them, promising faithfully, and doubtless meaning to keep their promises, that they shall have every comfort that they have had heretofore; shall be paid a quarterly allowance, and shall retain the old bed-room, and the old armchair in the snuggest corner. Yet it needs & lawyer who understands human nature thoroughly to draw up such a contract, and one whose heart is in favor of tfie aged rather than the young, in order that the old man’s privileges may be fully described and the penalty of losing the farm attached if they are curtailed. Perhaps my old friend Mr. Lamson’s experience will point the moral I desire to enforce. He outlived his wife and daughters, and his son brought his wife and family to fill their places and make the old man comfortable. He reached the age when the grasshopper became a burden, and his heart was no longer engrossed with buying and selling ana making the farm productive. ■So arrangements were made whereby the son should feel well paid for his labors, but the father should . hold the reins, even if he did not drive, and do what work he pleased. For two years this plan worked well, and they seemed a united, happy family; “grandpa”, was well cared for and respected by all, and could go whereever he pleased Almost daily he took a drive to the village and visited the store, whose owner was his friend and adviser. But one day he came down earlier than usual and asked to see Mr. M unroe in private, and told him he was on his way to the lawyer’s office to convey his farm to his son. Mr. Monroe shook his head slowlv at this information and said; “Don't do it! Hold the reins and let Jim drive. Human natur is too weak to trust. Don’t tempt Jim.” him!” echoed Mr. Lamson. “Why, Munroe, what do you mean? I gne him the farm and he boards me, and gives me twenty-five dollars every three months, and I give him the stock and farming tools and a thousand dollars in bank stock. See. here’s the agreement all written down; can't be no mistake, and I needn’t worry about the crops or the %tock or anything, but just sit by the fire and dose, ana read the newspapers and see how the politicians fight, and drive down the hill and see you every day.” Mr. Munroe read the agreement, and »id in his slow, qoiet way: “Hum! Nothing about a horse to drive here. When the old mare isn’t vonra, how'll yon oome down the hill? You can’t foot it very spry.” “ Foot it?” cried Mr. Lamson. “ Land o’ Goshen! Whose a-going to foot it? Haven't I got the old mare and that fine team besides, and three as likfty oolts as this county ever saw? What are von thinking aboutF’ “None on ’em yours arter voji’re signed that deed,” said his Mind. “My advice is, hold on to year farm dead. I've been in this town over thirty year; I’ve seen such cases afore.” But Mr. Lamson had a strong leaven of obstinacy in his composition, and the more his friend urged him not to convey the farm, the more he was bound to do it. 80 the lawyer's office wap visited, and the deed made out, but as the son was not there, he concluded to carry it home to have it signed, and ask two

eld£Tbo}° and they aU rejoiced that at last “ grandpa” had been made to do what was for the good of the whole family. At night Jim laid Ms Man far the next spring’s work, intending to make radical change* in everything, while his wife planned a famous dairy, and laid schemes which equaled those of the milk-maid of story-book fame. Next day the winds blew loud and shrill, and the snow fell ceaselessly, so that the neighbors could not be summooed and the deed signed. But Jim and his wife cared not for wind or storm, and discussed their new plans before the old man until his few white hairs almost stood on end at the changes that were to be made. The pine grove near the house which sheltered it from the north wind, most come down, Jim said, “It ought to have been cut long ago, father, and plowed up for potatoes. 1 shall have tks trees felled at once. And the back lot must be drained and sowed to corn. I shall make the form produce twice as much as you did, but to do this I must keep twice as much stock, and Eliza thinks she would like a large dairy; and perhaps you wouldn’t mind going np stairs to sleep, and let us have a milk room made out of your bed room. In summer time you wouldn't mind it, and in winter we'll fix you some way.” The father made no reply, bat he thought of Mr. Monroe's aavioe; and while be seemed to doze he was thinking of his wife and little children, and of the pine grove he had seen grow np to tall, stately trees from tiny seedlings —and of the associations that made the old bed room, with its quaint chest of drawers, its curtained bedstead and its old table and chairs and desk so dear to him. Another day passed, and still the storm raged; the plans for changes were continued, and the old man was made to feel that not a foot of the land belonged to him, and hardly the chair he sat in. Not that Jim and Eliza were unkind to him, or the children less respectful, bat the very atmosphere of the place seemed changed to him, and he went to bed at least an hour earlier than usual. Jim said to Eliza: “Father don’t seem as chirk as usual; hope he hasn’t taken any cold. But he’s an old man and it can't be expected that he’ll last much longer. I saw him looking at mother’s and sister Mary’s pictures this afternoon. He’ll join ’em soon.” And the good wife looked as if she would say “Amen!” but like a wise woman she kept silence, answering only by an affirmative nod. On the third day, however, the sun shone bright and clear, and the snow had fallen in just sufficient quantities to make good sleighing. Jim was early astir and nad the paths all broken out and arrangements made for cutting the Eine woods the next dey, and the houseold were jubilant over the return of sunshine. But “grandpa” sat silent in his arm-chair and thought: “Shall I let things remain as they are? Shall 1 give up my bed-room, let my woods—my pnde—be cut down? Yes, yes, yes, lam an old man. I shall soon go. I’d better let the young ones have their way, even to giving up my dear bed-room. Only a little while shall I remain; give me peace while I do.” Dinner came in due season, and then Mr. Lamson thought it would do him good to take a sleigh-ride to the “store” and see his old friends. So he walked out to the ham where Patrick was feeding the cattle, and told him to harness the old mare. “Mr. Jim just told me to harness her for him; he and his wife are going to the comer,” said Patrick. “Well, let him take Dick or Tom. I want my old mare, and you bring her round,” said the old man as he turned away and went Into his bed-room to put on his outer garments. As he struggled into his coat ne heard Patrick bring up the sleigh, and tell Jim what he iiaa said about going to the store.” “Hey! what’s that?” asked Jim; “wanted to go to the store? Well, he’ll have to wait till another afternoon. Come along, Eliza; bring the children; tumble in there, Jimmie. I guess grandpa will wait this time. He drives altogether too much for his health, any way. ’ And away they went, leaving the old man a prey to disturbing thoughts. Could it be that his son Jim could treat him like that? * For an hour or two he sat in silent thought; then took up the newspaper to entertain him. But it had lost its power, he could not read, and was, at last, forced to go to the bam and look at the stock, and talk to Patrick, who was venr readv to tell him of all the work that had been already laid out for the coming spring. Mr. Lamson heard him in silence, and asked no questions, for his heart waa weary with heaviness, and he could not rouse himself enough to take any interest in the conversation, and soon returned to the house.

Before the family returned, however, he had determined upon the course he would take. Jim had commenced altogether too strong, and had evidently forgotten that the deed was unsigned. In truth, it would have been signed and recorded at once if Mr. Munroe had not urged him so strongly to keep the reins in his own hands. Although over eighty years of age, he was shrewd and thoughtful still, and he felt that a little trial of the change would not come amiss. He would have seen the pine trees cut down withont a murmur, and perhaps have given up his bedroom for the good of the farm; but when his old Maggie that he had driven for fifteen years was taken from him in such a heartless manner, he rebelled, and had now come to the conclusion that he would destroy the deed, but in order to do it calmly without the appearance of anger, he must sleep upon it. When the sleigh bells announced Jim’s return, man lifted his head, looked out of the door window, andisaw the family enter the door without moving from his chair, and seemed qnietly asleep until tea was ready. Then Jim told the .news that he had learned at the store, and Eliza told what her sister said about the dairy she had planned, and that Jim had been looking at some cows to add to his stock— and so on. The old man made no reply, bat Jim did not notice it, so greatly was he interested in his own affairs. After they were alone at night, Eliza said: “ Jim, did you notice grandpa at the table? He did not speak- one word—not even to the baby. My mind misgives me about him.' He looks as if he might have a shock any moment. We ooght not to have taken Maggie, this afternoon. Something will come of it; I feel sure it is not all right. You know that deed is -neither signed nor recorded.”

Then Jim had a thorn planted is hit pillow for the night, but he replied with a man's disdain of woman's wisdom: " No, I didn't notice him. You are always on the lookout for something ahead. If he is in danger of a shock, he mustn't go driving round the country alone. Then, the mare's mine anyl way, and he knows it, too. When I got to the store he can go along, too." The hours as they were told off upon the old, tall clock that night, crept very slowly, to both the father and son. Little sleep closed their eyelids, Jim being thoroughly awakened to the fact that as yet the farm was not his, and that he ought to have attended to needful business before he drove to the oomer” to tell his friends of the plans he had made for its tillage. When Jim came down stairs next morning his father had just kindled a

he called to him to oome in. Jlmcame the old man’s hands he said: ****** “ What’s that, father? Hare you had the deed executed?*’ “No/* replied Mr. Lameoa, “nor do I intend to do so.” The same moment he stooped down, and thrust the folded paper into the brightest flame, which shriveled it to ashes. “There it goes,” he continued, “and our bargain will remain as it was, or you may make other arrangements. While I live I intend to hold the reins, and drive when I please. When I am Kj I hope yon will do the same. ’t tempt little Jimmie as I have tempted yon. It was wrong, all wrong; human nature is very weak, and the old most go to the wall if the young so will it. The Lord forgive os aIL Bat shake hands and be friends, Jim. I’ll eve you some more- cows; Elig* shall ire th> dairy, but not in my dear old room. The back lot shall be drained, but the pine trees must stand.” Jim gave him his hand, or rather the old man took it, and pressed it warmly; bat he seemed like one dazed. The farm not his! The deed horned! Could it be possible? Before he was fully awake to the situation Eliza came in and the father told her of the destruction of the deed and his reasons for doing it. Already she knew that something was amiss, so the blow was not so crushing in its effects upon her, and she walked up to Mr. Lamson and kissed him upon the cheek, and said: “Of ooorse, dear father, you will do as you please in the matter/’ and left the room to prepare the breakfast. Then Jim re pea tod her words, parrot-like, and went to the barn to chew the cud of remorse. Mr. Lamson lived five years longer, then died of an apoplectic shock, as his daughter-in-law had predicted. But he never had occasion to regret that he had burned the deed. His heart softened more and more to his children, and he only held the reins, allowing them to manage the affairs of farm ana dairy as they pleased—bat when he pleased he .could be the master. —Daisy Eyebright, tn Country Gentleman. ,