The Belmont chronicle, and farmers, mechanics and manufacturers advocate. [volume] (St. Clairsville, Ohio) 1848-1855, 1853-12-16
The 6Ia Fime singing school.

The 6Id fime Singing school.
The following we extract from one of q
series of articles, entitled "Country Marg-
ins," from the pen of y. H. Hammond, editor
of the State Register, of Albany, N. Y. 1t
! needs no comment, coming as it does, fresh
from the heart Of an ardent lover of natural
beauty, and freighted with memories, half
playful, half sad, of olden times:
The clouds of the past are lifting, and old
scenes are arising in the perspective. We
are young again. A quarter Of a century has
been obiterated from the number Of our
years, and we are on our way to the old
brown, weather-beaten schoo-house near
the clear, cold stream that flows along through
Pleasant Valley away out In old, Steuben.-
Blessings on that beautiful valley, and that
clear, cold stream. We have strings of
speckled trout from its deep eddies, and upon
its rifles, and under thei old logs that lay
across it. But we are on our way to the
weather-beaten school-house. 1t is clear,
frosty night. The stars are glstening like
bright gems in the sky, and the nioon-beams
sparkle like diamonds, in their cold bril!iancy,
on the snow. The oak trees, that retain
their dead and withered foliage, cast their.
shadows, ike clouds,on the unbroken crust on
the meadows that skirt the road. There is
stiffness all around us. The night voices are
all frozen into silence; but there is nothing
sad or solemn in the cold calm hush of
winters night. We are on our way to the
"singing school," We remember the tall,
lathy "singing MASTER" with his earnest and
solemn face, his long hair parted on his fore
head, and combed straight and sleek over his
collar and resting on his shoulders. He is
before us now, with his long, bony hand and
long fingers, and his mahogany pitchpipe.-l
His nasal fa! sol! la! as he gives the pitch
to his class, is sounding in our ear. He was
q devotional man, and his faith in the saving
efficacy lof psalmody was perfect. Among
all the tunes taught in his school, Old hum
dred was his especial favourite. True, he in.
dulged in Near, Amsterdam, Lenox, China,
Greenfield, Coronation, and others Of the
same centenarian character; but Old Hun
dred was his weakness, his idol, his great
tune of tunes. 1t was his first, his last, his
midst, and without end. 1t was the first
given out in the evening; it was sung in the
center minutes Of the schools and was sure
to be the last at its close. And that class,
merry, happy, laughter-lo young people
were they all, full Of mischief, frolc, and :tin.
The more the simple-minded teacher loved
and venerated his old favourite tune, the more
they murdered it by their discords. Bass,
tenor, treble, and counter, were sure to be
playing at cross purposes. Labor as he would
the bass would be too low, and the tenor loo
high; the treble would push along like a
locomotive, while the counter would drag its
slow length away behind, all filling the
musical ear with the most horrible compound
of dscordant sounds. ..... ......... ......
The good teacher has gone to his long rest
The old weather-beaten school-house has
passed away. The free trout stream that
went laughing and scolding over the clean
pebbles, on it's crooked path toward the lake,
has been harnessed to great water-wheel,
and made to grind corn. That class too, is
all scattered--some are on the ocean-some
in the far western states--some beyond the
Rocky Mountains--and some dwell in the
city of the dead. We remember their happy
faces, as they were that last winter that we
spent at the old homestead. They are before
us now. and we see them as they were gath
cred in the singing-schoo, worrying the good
"singing- master" with their mischievous dis
cords. Shadows all, creatures Of fancy,
hallucinations, memories only.
We visited the old homestead the last sum-
mer. 1t passed into the hands Of strangers
years ago. We inquired for the bright-eyed,
rompng girl, the beauty Of the class, and we
found her sitting in matronly composure in
the shadow of cherry-tree in front of her
dwelling, fat and of rotund proportions, smok-
ing pipe that was none Of the cleanest.--
She had cattle. and sheep, and grain, and
pigs, and, may be, money out on interest; but
! the vision OF the singing school had vanished
away. Time! Time! The wrecks that are
scattered along thy pathway!