Eastern times., 1855-11-29
Misetllanp.
"reminiscences of Childhood.


and memories of long, long ago. We make
note of these, however, to say, that 'ere this
generation shall have passed away there are
thousands who will be able to give happier
coloring to the Spiritual associations of child
hood and dredmldnd. Christian Spirituahst.
Good night A loud clear voice from the
top of the stairs said that it was Tommy s.
Dood night!' murmurs a little something
from the trunde-bed-a little something we
call Jenny, that fills very large place in the
centre of one or two pretty large hearts
'Good night!' lsps little fellow in plaid
rife dress, who was chrisened Willie about
six years ago.
"Now l lay me down to sleep,
pray the Lord my soul to keep;
III should die before l wake
and the small bundle in the trundle-bed has
dropped off to sleep, but an angel will finish
the broken prayer for her, and it will go up
sooner than many long-winded petitions that
set out great while before.
And so it was ''Good night" all around the
old homestead and very sweet music is made
too, in the twilight, and very pleasant melody
it makes now as we think of it for it was not
yesterday, nor the day before, but long time
ago-so long that Tommy is Thomas some
body, Esq, and has forgotten he was ever
boy, and wore what the bravest and riches, Of
us can never scar but once if we try-the first
pair of boots so long ago that Willie must
sioop when he crosses the threshold; SO long
ago that Jenny has gone the way of the old
prayer she was saying-for, saying another,
she did as before, fall asleep as she said ii,
and walked no more. Good night, 10 thee,
Jenny-good night
And SO it was good night all around the
house, and the children had gone through the
ivory gate, always left little ajar for them
through into the land OF dreams or through
the golden one they call 'beautifal, into the
land of angels.
So they are all scattered and gone, and the
old house is tenaRtless, and there is nobody
there to say good night, and nothing but the
rain can come in, and the birds that have built
them nest among the broken stones of the
hearth, and the sheep that take shelter from
the pililess storm under the wall that is whole
and yet now we think OF it, there is wonder
full dignity about the old place. Its rooms
were not very spacious; precious little tapes
try adorned the walls; the caves were low,
and mossy and grey but did we not begin to
live, and to love, and to hope, there! Did
no: the old homestead have much to do with
the fashioning of our thoughts
Was it not, as it were, an humble mould,
for the shaping of our fancies, Did we not
bear away with US, wherever we went, cab
met of pictures that were painted there l.
Have you forgotten what shapeless thing it
was that used to lurk in the dark at the top of
the stairs, always in wait to catch you on your
way to bed, but never doing it, And what
long-drawn sighs used to come moaning down
the garret, and what trailing garments rustled
along the garvet foor1 How we fancied it
was lady in castle-a lady fair and young,
and We, SO many champions TO sound the bu-
gle at the gate and bear her safe away. For
then we had read The Scottish Chiefs and
'Thaddeus Of Warsaw, and the Duke of Clos
ter saw fewer Richmonds in the field than
there were Wallases of US then-each one
with Marion or Helen to bless them.
Then the tale that Dolly told US round the
kitchen fire. when she had done up 'the work
and done up her hair, and swept up the hearth
and set down to her sewing. Then it was we
gathered round, and besought her for story
of ghosts, or witches, or fairies, or little, won
derful children that lived long time ago, and
became very beautiful or very brave, or very
something that we longed to be. How we
would have delighted to be Robin Hood, and
live in the woods, and wear an array of Kendall
Green. How we wished we had been. Jack,
the Giant Killer, or Richard Wilmington, or
Cinderella, or somebody she told US of.
But when she told us of ghosts in white that
made no football when they walked of their
hands, how cold they were their laugh, how
glittering and ghastly it was-have you for
gotten how we drew a little nearer, as the tale
went on, and thought the light was burning
dim and blue, and begged her to stir the sleep
ing fire, and dare not look behind US, where
the shadows were, and fancied something
sighed or spoke, and syllabled our names =
Each voice subsided to a whisper-all but
Dolly's, and she went on, with castles grim,
and spectres dim, and dungeons deep, and la
dies fair, while her glittering needle darted
in and out along the heightened hem. At
last, one of us is leaned upon her lap; and
another begs to lay his head therein; and still
the tale goes on.
The clock is on the stroke of time, and how
we dreaded the last shriII chime 1t came
and we went reluctantly to bed. How darl
the hall was and the door must be left oper
little; and Dolly, are you there q ant
Dolly, good night and Dolly something
just to hear her speak, came from under the
quilts we had drawn over our heads; and We
wondered what ratified the window, and wha
shook the bed, and didn't you feel something
cold, or hear something step and now we al
wished we were asleep, or it was morning, o
the sun shone all night. How we suffered