Minnesota weekly times. [volume] (St. Paul, Minn.) 1854-1859, 1855-03-13
--'cy The following beautiful article on youth
full days, is from the pen Of Ike Marvel, alias Do
nald e. Mitchell - 50 asE e,seesz

E--cy The following beautiful article on youth
full days, is from the pen Of Ike Marvel, alias Do
maid G. MITCHELL, as .xs agEagAsk3
ss8uxgs seGARRETS.: fts xaSus
''Sarcastic people are wont to say that poets
dwell in garrets, and simple people believe it,
And Others, neither sarcastic simple send them
up aloft, among the rubbish, just because they
do not know what to do with them down stairs
and 'among folks and so they class them under
the head of rubbish, and consign them to the
the grand receptical of dapidated 'h's bcens'
and despiscd sused to be's,' the old garnet.
The garnet is to the other parts OF the home
stead what the adverb is to the edagogue in pass
| sing; everything they do not know how to dis
pose of, is consigned to the list OF adverbs. And
it is for this precise that We love garrets
because they do contain relics of the past--sou-
venirs IF other, and happier and similar times.
They have come to build houses nowadays
without garrets. lmpious innovation
You MN of bronze and 81 ,arded like the pard,'
who would make people believes if yon could, that
you never were "a toddln wee thing;' that you
never wore rifle dress,' or jingled rattle box
with infinite delight: that you never had moth
or, and that she never became an old woman, aud
wore caps and spcctacles, and may be took snuff;
go home after all these years of absence; all
booted and whiskered and six feet high rs you are,
and let so up stairs together in that old fash
toned spacious garnet, that extends from gable to
u
web Of sash, through which steels 81 dim religi-
Gus light upon a museum of things unnameable,
that once figured below stairs; but were long since
crowd ID out by the Vandal haad of those modern
times.
The loose boards Of the floor rattle somewhat
rs they uscd to do-don't they ?--when beneath
your little patcring feet they clattered aforctime
when of a rainy day, smother wearied with many
tongned Importantly, granted the 'Lct US 20 up
garrett and play AMI play? Precouss little
Of play yoa have had since, we'll warrant, with
your looks of dignity AMI your dreamings of
ambition. ..,, -, %. IT..
Here we are in the midst of the garrett That
oil barrel, shall we rumm1ge it? Old files of
newspapers, dusty, yellow, a little tattered !
.ris the Columbil STAR How familiar the type
looks 1t reminds you of old times, when you
looked over the edge of the old counter with the
TcJters or papers for fathcrp And those same
STARS, just damp from the press, were carried
one BIZ one from the fresids. and pcrused and
preserved as they ought to be. Stars Damp!
All M my star has set since then, and many a
new, turfed heap grown dewy and damp with rain
that fell not from the clouds. t!DOc ~ y e,
Dive deeper into the barrel. There A bun
die up it comes, in q Cloud Of dust. Old AL
MANAGES. by all that is memorabilia! Almanacs
thin-lcaved lcdgers of time, going back to-let
US see how far: 1871, lS3-,I S2-,-bcfore our time
lS9,-when our mothers were children. And the
day book how blottcd and blurred with many
records and many tears!
There, you have ut yoar had against that beam.
Time was when you could run to and fro beneath
it, but YOU are nearer to it, low, by more than
'the altitude of copinc.' That beam is strown
with forgotten papers of seeds for next years
sowing distaff, with some few shreds of flax re-
naming, is thrust in crevice of the rafters over
head and tucked away close under the caves is
the little wheel that used to stand by the fire in
= lNx. l..
and perhaps-perhaps she that drew those faxen
thrcads-but never mind--you remember the line,
don't you? .; -g'.ts. ,l- @ -
sH,r VIII ,.l at rest, IN, matr,n charms no m,rs'
Well, let that pass. Do you see that little craft
careenng in that dark corner? Il was red once:
it the only caskct in the house once, and con,
tanned mothers jewels. The old red cradle. for
all the world and you occupied it once; ay, great
rs you are, it was your world once, and over it.
the only herizon you behold, bent the heaven of
mothers eyes, as you rocked in that little bark
of love on the hither shore Of time--fast by
mothers love to mothers heart.
And there, attached to two rafters, are the
fragments of an UNFINISHED rope. Do you remcm-
Der it, and what it was for, and who fastened it
there ? 'Twas the schildren's swing.' You are
here indeed, but where are Nelly and Chlrley !?
There hangs his little cip by the window, ana
there hangs the little frock she used to wear,
y crown is resting on his chcrub brow, and her
robes are srotlcss in the better land
THE Hour OF DEATH.-It is an old superstition
that the hour from twelve to one, is of all the
twenty-four, that in which the weary tide of life
begins to ebb, and the freed spirit to take its
mysterious flight from EARTH Night for shad-
owy attendant and Heaven right in sight, and the
jar Of the world hushed to softcst murmur, it
would seem q fitting time for so solemn manu-
mission. But it is shown by actual observation
that this cannot be truc-that on the contrary,
fewer deaths occur in that hour, upon the average
than in any other of revolving time. 1t was
queer question to ask the past, /" what hour does
Death love best 20 but it has been boldly done,
and the answer is Ineligible The grim Prince
does not delight most in darkness, but in the sweet
hour Of morn:ng-from FIVE to six. Strange to
say, it is then forty per cent. above the average,
while at midnight, it is cghty-three per cent. Be-
low. Vr-7sT ar
lie begins in the morning his noiseless round.
How the stars of life go out the sun approaches
the meridian-from three to ten : Sc Even death
wearies and rests and from ten to three, the lin
gering lingcr-the flame is Pickering still. r.
Strange, isn't II ?-that Death should have his
hours-that speaking in tho general, it is not true
&c Death has all seasons for his own.o -
l. L.