Smyrna times., 1860-10-18
OUR VILLAGE.
BY B. F. TAYLOR.

Have yOu village Did you ever have a
Vilagel lfso, then our word, however you
may have wandered--bowever you think you
may be welded TO the city, you often think Of
1t with halfway regret, that you ever lett it,
that ii isn't just what 1t used to be. And what
sort Of place was it Was 1t wee bit Of q
thing, where the ring of the blacksmith ham,
mer upon the anvil was the only bell in all the
country around Where the Westinghouse
was a schoOthouse and the schoOihouse, logs
Where the store was the postoffCe, and the
postotfce a cupboard And had 1t passed the
hateful age ?" for villages like children have
Of that sort. When everybody knows
now everybody lives, what everybody does =
What luxury it was to know for dead GER.
taInty what everybody had for dinner, and how
they cooked ito know the name Of every
child in town, and all about 1t, even TO the CO.
lor of it's eyes, and the curve OF its nose-to
feel that you in turn were subject to the watch
care Of your fve-and-torty nelghbors " all in
row." on that one street of theirs!
! Maybe our village was older ard better be-
haVed-one Of those quiet, home-llke places,
hewed out of the great woods, and a wonder
tul way from anywhere. Think back twenty
years, If you are old enough, and fancy your
self nestled down once more " in the cot where
you were blrn." Let US restore if we can the
dim old plclure--wander through the .nor,h
room," with its four windows and their little
green panes. Here you were bOrn-heTe, as
they told you, the angel brought the new sis
ter-at that white ceiling did you look for
sign Of a CLEFT through which baby and It's
winged bearer could come-and there, covered
like chicken beneath It's lottler kindred, Is
the veritab!e trundle bed wherein you dreamed
Iro, n,o2 i{tno,
once, how has it dwndled How we used to
admire the little ship with golden bows and
green sails that decorated that little glass;
There il hangs yet, ga painted ship upon a
painted ocean," The storms of sorrow that
have swept over US all have never reached that
sea Of glass. Smooth and unruied is 1t, as
that sea God poured around the throne.
There beneath the window stands the bu.
reau, with one false drawer and It's pair OF real
ones. The brass handles are somewhat tar
nlshed by time, but never mind, well lltt the
lid. The lhl. The mysterious TILL You haC
quite forgotten it-forgottcn how, MOUNTED
!, upon chair, you strove to reach 1t, but you
: arm, like Desdemona's s handkerchief, was " tor
little" But now you remember what treasure!
were deposited therein. You remember The
her-loom, the string Of old "goold" beads
: that your grandmother used TO wear, and tht
d tresses OF hair, under the shadow and out in
h the SUM; some were faxen and some were sIl.
7; yer gray. How many times you have hearC
= the story of the wearers some were beautiful
/ all were dear, and all were dead, and yot
i wonder if it made them die 10 love them, AM
II you have since almost believed 1t did, AM
, trembled for the great love you have had TO
this and that, lest they too should pass tOreve
away.
You turn from the TILL so like an old hear
full of memories, and there, careened in cor
ner, is the old cradle-red once-wheren sue
cessIvely the young navlgators on the sea q
p life took passage-lhe little pilot boat of hu
e manity. You have rocked, since then, on WI
e der seas, and your upturned guze has met
B., clOudier sky than the clear heaven of moth
er's eyes, bending SO lovingly and gently owe
you as you lay.
st You pass out into the hall; you pause at til
IL door of the parlor, and remember the glory
70 its carpet and the msgnifcence Of its miro
and its old slde5oard, CcIpsed by the close
ie shutters. You remember the days, the teett
IS days, when that room was opened to the light
ts when host of little fires gllttered in the bras
ns andIrons, and friends were gathered, and tn
laugh went round You remember when litt
- brother died, and the parlor was opened theI
and the pale little form lay extended upon
I'D little table, and the voices were all hushed.-
re You remember stealing softly in, and seeing
>, stray sunbeam that had ventured through ii
halt-closed shutter into the presence of tt
~ Dead and played over the flowers upon the Ca
e. pet as if they were living and reahing, al
as if the baby were living too. You remeInb
I'M how you peop!ed that mysterious room Wi
he spirits, and how a sigh in winter ehts yC
passed the door haslened your footsteps up Il
stairs TO bed What shapes were hidden in Il
to shadOwry corners who could tell! You pa
,u- on to the sitting room. You stabd by the " O
arm chair" faded and vacant now, but the
rises in 1t that form Of all forms, that face
"g all faces under tho sun, and there comes fro
les those shadowry lips a tone-"lny daughte
ir. my son ~
Of "The voice in your dreaming ear melt
away" and the pilgrimage OF the heart W
ended.