Pomeroy weekly telegraph. [volume] (Pomeroy, Meigs County, Ohio) 1860-1866, 1860-11-30
THE OLD GARRETT.
BIZ B. F. TAYLOR.

| H.
Sarcastic people say that poets dwell
IN garfets, and simple people believe it
And others, neither sarcastic or simpl
send them up aloft, among the rubbisl
just because they do not know what t,
DO with them down stairs and canon,
folks, : and SO they class them under tn
head Of rubbish, and consign them t.
that grand reception of g has beens, !" an,
desplsed used-to- be's s." the old garret
The garret is to the other apartment
of the homestead what the adverb is t,
the pedagogue in parsing, everythin,
they do not know how to dispose of, i
consigned to the list of adrerbs. An,
it is for this precise reason that we low
garrets because they do contain th
relies of the old and the past-souvenir
of other and happier and simpler hours
They have come to build houses now
a-days without garrets. 1mpious limo
vation. ...-. ...-..-
You men Of bronze, and "bearded lik
the bard, " who would like to make peo
pie believe if you could, that you wer,
never ''toddling wee thing )" that 20,
never wore " rifled DRESS" or jingled
rattle box with infinite delight; that 20,
never had a mother, and that she neve
became an old woman, and wore cap
and spectacles, and may be took snuff
60 home once more, after all these year
of absence, all booted and whiskered
and six feet high as you are, and let u
go up together, into that old fashioned
spacious garret that extends from gable
to gable, with its narrow, oval window!
with spider web of sash, through
which steals dim religious light
upon museum of things innameable
that once figured below stairs but were
long since crowded out by the Venda
hand of modern times.
The loose boards of the floor rattle
somewhat as they used to do-don'
they when beneath your prattling fee
they clattered aforetime, when of rainy
afternoon, mother wearied with
many-tongued Importantly, granted the
d" Let US go up in the garret and play
And play? Precious little of play you
have had since, we dare warrant, with
your looks of dignity and dreams of am.
bltion.
Here we are now in the midst Of the
garret. The old barrel-shall we rum
mage it? Old newspapers, dusty, yeI-
low, a little tattered IT'S the C61un,
bian 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 farther" And these same
Stars, just damp from the press, were
carried one by one to the freside, and
perused and preserved as they ought to
be. Stars2 Damp. Ah many a star
has set since then, and many new
turfed heap grown damp with rain that
fell not from clouds.
Dive deeper in the barrel. There
A bundle, up it comes, in cloud OF
dust. Old Almanacs, by all that is
memorable Almanacs, thin leaved
ledgers of time, going back to-let US
see how far: 1874, 1888, 1872, before
our time-160-when our mothers were
children. And the day book-how
blotted and blesred with many records
and 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 " altitude of
Il chopping. " That beam is strewn with
forgotten papers Of seeds for the next
years sowing; distaf, with some few
shreds of fax remaining, is thrust in a
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 times long gone. It's sweet
long song has ceased, and perhaps
she threw those fazen threads
but never mind-you remember the
line don't you ? .@ 81.
" Her wheel at rest, the matron charms no moro. {"
Well, let that pass. Do you see that
little craft in that dark corner? 1t was
red once it was the only casket in the
house once, and contained mothers
jewels. The old red cradel, for all the
world. And you occupied that once !;
aye, great as you are, it was your world
once, and over it the only horizon you
beheld bent the heaven of mother S
eyes as you rocked in that little barque
of love, on the hither shore of time
fast by mothers love to a mothers
heart.
And there, attached to two rafters, are
the fragments of an untwisted rope, Do
you remember it, and what it was for, and
who fastened it there? Twas the chill
dren's swing. You are here indeed, but
where are Nelly and Charley? There
hangs his little, cap by that window, and
there the little red frock she used to
wear. A crown is resting on his cherub
brow, and her robes are spotless in the
better land.