Cincinnati daily press. [volume] (Cincinnati [Ohio]) 1860-1862, 1860-10-16
"Reminiscences II of the Old Garret-Its Con-
tents and their Associations.

tents and their Associations
Sarcastic people say that poets dwell in
garrets, and simple people believe it.
And others, neither sarcastic nor 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,
AID consign them TO that grand receptacle
Of dilapidated "has-beens," and despised
"used-to-bes s'-the old garret.
The garret is TO the other apartments of
the homestead what the adverb is to the ped
agcgue in parsing: every thing they do not
know how to dispose of is consigned to the
List of adverbs. And it is for this precise
reason that we love gsrrets; because they do
contain the relics of the old and the past
souvenirs Of other and happier and simpler
times.
They have come to build houses now-a-
days without garrets. Impious innovation
You man of bronze, and ''bearded like the
pard, who would make people believe if
you could, that you never were "a toddling
wee thing; that you never wore "a rifle
dress" or jingled a rattle-box with infinite
delight; that you never had a mother, and
that she never became an old woman, and
wore caps and spectacles, and may be took
snuff; go home once more, after all these
years Of absence, all booted and whiskered,
and six feet high as you are, andlet US go up
tie stairs together, into that old-fashioned,
spacious garret, that extends from gable to
gable, with its narrow, oval windows, with
spider-web Of sash, through which steals
"a dim religious light upon q museum of
things uDnaineable that once figured below
stairs, but were long since crowded out by
the Vandal hand of these modern times.
The loose boards of the floor rattle some
what as they used to do-don't they 2-when
beneath your little pattering feet they clat-
tered aforetme, when of q rainy afternoon,
mother" wearied with many-tongued i'm
portunity, granted the Let us go up garret
and play" And play? Precious little of
play have you had since, we dare warrant,
with your looks Of dignity, and dreams of
ambition.
Here we are now in the midst of the gar
ret. The old barrel-shal we rummage it
Old files of newspapers, dusty, yellow, little
tattered 'Tis the Columbian Star. How
familiar the type looks? How it reminds
you Of old times, when you looked over the
edge of the counter with the "Letters OF
papers for fatherW And these same Stars,
just damp from the press were carried one
by one to the freside, and perused aud pre-
served as they ought to be. Stars? Damp2
Ali many a star has set since then, and
many a new-turfed heap grown damp with
rain that fell not from the clouds.
Dive deeper into the barrel. There A
bundie-up it comes, in cloud of dust
Old alInanaes, by all that is memorable
Almanacs, thin-leaved ledgers of time, going
back toilet US see how far: 1874, lS3-, 1872
before our time--l90-, when our mothers
were children. And the day-book-how
blotted and bleared with many records and
many tears
There, you have hit your head against
that beam. Time was, when you ran to and
fro beneath it, but you are nearer to it now,
by more than the latitude of chopine."
That beam Is sEewn with forgotten papers
of seeds for next years sowing; a distaff
with some few shreds of fax remaining, is
thrust in ereyiee of the rafters overhead;
and tucked away, close under the caves, is
''the little wheel, that used to stand by the
fire in times long gone. It's sweet low song
has ceased; and perhaps-perhaps she drew
those faxen threads-but never mind-you
remember the line, don't your
'Her wheel at rest, the matron charms no more"
Well, let that pass. Do you see that little
craft careened in that dark corner? Itwas
red once; it was the only casket in the house
once, and contained mothers jewels. The
old red cradle for all the world! And you
occupied 1t once; ay, great as you are, it was
your world once, and over it, the only hori-
zon you beheld, bent the heaven of moth
ers eyes as you rocked in that little bark of
love, on the hither shore of time-fast by
mothers love to a mothers heart.
And there, attached to two rafers, are the
fragments Of an untwisted rope. Do you
remember ii, and what il was for, and who
fastened It there2 Twas the ehildren's
swing. YoU are here, indeed, but where are
Nelly and Charley2 There hangs his little
cap by that window, and there the little red
fIock she used to wear. A crown is resting
on his eherub brow, and her robes are spot
less in the better land. I