Sifting Through the Sands of Time from the Courier Archives

140 Years Ago 2 July 3, 1869

Celebrate Independence Day

We issue our paper this week on the eve of the "ever memorable Fourth" and can but regret that no public observance thereof is contemplated by our people How can we justify ourselves is not apparent for it is eminently fitting that the day which marked the dawn of freedom for all mankind should have a public and general observance and be set apart as a day to be made marked and memorable for all the year. No doubt there is much that is ludicrous in the traditional manner of celebrating "the Fourth," much that merits condemnation and much that makes it wearisome and tedious to many, but there is much to deprecate in the growing indifference to it, and the evident desire to get away from all attempts to give it the attention which is rightfully its due, and which it is our privilege to bestow.

Is it indeed true, that the heritage we possess is of so little value to us that we shrink from devoting one day out of three hundred and sixty-five to commemorating it fittingly and appropriately? We certainly seem to regard any great national and public holiday with an aversion which is not easily accounted for. We owe it to ourselves and our children to keep forever burning brightly within our breasts the flame of undeviating fealty to the principles which gave us birth, and have made us great as a people; and one of the choicest and most manifest methods by which we may meet these obligations is in some grand and comprehensive celebration of Independence Day.

105 Years Ago 2 July 7, 1904

The Close of a Hot Day

At last the glaring sun descends, then a sudden breeze flutters the foliage, light straws of dust begin to dance in circles, first a few steps, then a fierce measure. The fairy fiddles are still with dread. The valley darkens in awful silence and clouds roll together on the rushing win. Trees bend and shiver and turn out the white linings of their foliage, dogs and poultry crawl into shelter , and wise men shut doors and windows, for lightning rides on the draught and is sure to touch more than one of those trees or houses with its fiery sword. The roar and flash are such as England never sees. A Niagara of rain, welcome through terrible, bathes the dry north and soon the world, cooled and moistened sparkles in the setting sun. Then people in light vehicles drive out to taste the air, my young friends come on horseback, and while we sit in the darkness sipping iced lemonade or sherbert the multitudinous voices of the grass and leaves again rehearse their symphony. From the distant pond booms the heavy frog note, from over-hanging branches trills the contended undiscoverable tree-frog. The myriad grasshoppers tune up their wiry legs and fiddle with fresh enthusiasm. The stinging swarm of mosquitoes sing around a little lamp in the hall. Fire-flies flicker everywhere. We listen to them and are idle.