The Potter journal. [volume] (Coudersport, Pa.) 1857-1872, 1858-10-07
THE OLD HOMESTEAD:
A Aomeiy Sketch by utyorous Artis,
From the Wisconsin Chief.

~'~~ AH~@-A~'-@A
The shell from the far-of beach of
childhood murmurs again. The old log
house, crumbliug under the inirmities of
two-and-twenty years and the hearth
smoke gone cut through the opening IN
the ridge forever, answers now for a barn
The wealth Of the little meadow 5 hCYe
Igalaered, rich with It's fresh lra2ra0 e
ard its associations. Warned by the
heavy acu1s in the southwest and the
large drops on the leaves, we climb II
through the opening il tie gable aud ';e
on the bag. We know not OF an eaiy IN
life more ca!m and grateful than this
The labors Of the farm and the cares Of
life, are strangely forgotten, and dreamy
contented, happy influence steals over the
spirit TIE rain is falling and We have
an excuse for feeling thus Tie drops
patter upon the leaves without. but more
Musicaliy upon the old roof They trip
on before the gust like the young thoughts
Of childhood, awakening a pleasant mem
ory at every football. The cricket in the
chinking of mud, chirps in unison. We
forget that a quarter vf 4 century lies be
tween us and the Gays at the Old home
stead. And yet SO silently 90 these mem
ories come and 90, that the irne: thresh-
old OF the heart is scarce worn undo
their tread. Upon the NOW, under the
oof, and while the rain is falling, the
shell siLgs Of childhood IN the old barn
So this dreamy influence, like a mellow
ing maze, then crept over US, and so the
rain gently pattered on the shingles
And il We do not somerset as thea from
the big BEAM" it is Gecaus, the sincwS
have become stiifened by tic ;o,l Of years
The old gable with its diamond swallow
hole, drifts before US. Cunningjy perch
ed up By the side of the rough raflers,
are the Swallows nests, the little nest
iings twiftering pleasantly, and the Old
ones peering dowa from theig mud wal,
upon the scene below.
But waiie W dream, the noon-viis-
tie dispe,s its shadows, AID ;ae raa"tou
bark CRATES or the rugged shore of the
present. Every leat aud blade without.
Is pendant with a tear. and would it IL
unmaAiy to weep that we have driitei So
ar from the shore whose wavele,s Mur-
mu: SO sweetly?
Again there Is a murmur in the Shell.
1t is gentle az the falling of tears a 1 IS
holy as the companionship of angels, Tor
it brings across ihe parched fields su j.
.ler shower OF the one, and to the bronzed
lips, kiss from the other.
As we passed the open door, the hum
ming of the wheel rose and fell, as the
housewife beat her measured steps back
and forth with the twisting and winding
Of the thread. Like the weird incanta-
tons o. the magician, that mouotonous
murmur awoke its echoes. They were
heard and garnered when the heart was
young, ard light haired child sat in the
hearth-corner and watched the bright
play of the blazing FIRE upon the unpianed
tinibers OF the room Parallel with the
hearth, stood the old wheel. The flames
played fantastic shadows upon tie walls
and ceiling, and fell softly upon the full
NHCNh VI H0' "lO Cii1l uiCH ouI IAe warp
and woof Of the household homespun-
Her hair was dark and glossy, her eye
full of life's young beaming, aud her step
elastic with its yigor. Her smile was tic
sunshine of our caild-life, aud her words
the sweetness of It's song. thus she
Wa!keth in our memory to the wheci S
steady hummino, as she walked often by
the hresidc, and we hear also the gentle
songs she sang to Us till our eyeIids were
weary with sleep, and our heart full Of
dreams The shell but unurilurcth. it is
like dream. The song and the wheels
steady hum, ats hushed, and she who
sang, waiketh no more by the hearth
The hearth itself Is hidden under the