The Cass County Republican. [volume] (Dowagiac, Mich.) 18??-1880, 1861-03-14
H Our yillase.~


however you may be welded to the
city, you often think of it with q half.
way regret, that you ever left il, that it
isn't just what it used to be-. And
what sort OF place was it? Wasita
wee bit of a thing, where the ring Of
the blacksmith's hammer upon the
anvil, was the only bell in all the coun-
try roundf Where the meeting-house
was a school-house, and the school
house, logs? Where the store was
the post-office. and the post-effice a cup
board? And had it passed .sthe hateful
age" for villages like children have an
era of that sort? When everybody
knows how everybody lives, what
everybody does. What luxury il
was, to know for a dead certainty,
what everybody had for dinner, and
how they cooked ito know the name
of every child in town and all obout it.
even to the color of its eyes and the
curve of its nose-to feel that You in
turn were subject to the watch care of
your FIVE and forty neighbors, :" all in .
row." on that one street of theirs?
Maybe sour village" was older and
better behaved-one of these quiet
home like places, hewed out of the
great woods, and a wonderful 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 born" Let us re-
store if we can, the dim old picture
wander through the "north room,"
with its four windows and their little
green panes. Here were you born
here, as they told you, the angels
brought the new sister-at that white
ceiling did you used to look for sign
of cleft, through which baby and its
winged bearer could oome-and there,
hovered like q chicken beneath its
loftier kindred, is the veritable trundle-
bed, wherein you dreamed your first
dreams. That mirror, magnificent
once, how has it dwindled. How we
used to admire the ship with gold bows
and green sails that decorated that little
glass. There it hangs yet, a painted
ship upon a painted ocean," The
storms of sorrow that have swept oyer
us all, have never reached that sea of
glass. Smooth and unrufied is it, as
that other sea, God poured around the
throne.
There beneath the window stands
the bureau, with its one false drawer,
and its pair of real ones. The brass
handles are somewhat tarnished by.
time, but never mind, we'll lift the lid
The till The mysterious till! You
had quite forgotten it-forgotten how,
mounted upon a chair, you strove to
reach it, but your arm, like Desdemo-
mas handkerchief, was "too little"
But now you remember what treasures
were dfeeSosited therein. You remem-
Der the heirloom; the string of gold
beads that your grandma HseE used 70
wear, and the tresses of hair, und,] the
shadow and out in the sun some was
fiaxen, and some was silver gray. How
many times have you heard the story
| OF their wearers-some were beautiful.
all were dear, and all were dead, and
you wonder if it made them die to love
them, and you have since almost be-
lieved it did, and trembled for the great
love you have had for this and that,
lest they too should pass forever away.
You turn from the till, so like an old
heart full of memories, and there, Ca
reened in corner, is the old cradle
red once-wherein successfully, the
young navigators on the sea of life,
took passage-the little pilot boat of
humanity. You have rocked since
then, on wilder seas, and your upward
gaze has met cloudier sky than the
clear heaven of mothers eye, bend
ing so lovingly and gently over you as
you lay.
You pass out into the hall you pause
at the door of the parlor, and remcm-
Der the glory of its carpet and the mag
nificence of its mirror, and its old side
board, eclipsed by the closed shutters.
You remember the days, the festal days
when that room was opened to the
! light; when host OF little fires gilt
tered in the brass andirons, and friends
were gathered, and the laugh went
round. You remember when little
brother died, and the parIor was
opened then, and the pale little form
lay extended upon little table, and
the voices were all hushed. You re-
member stealing softly in, and seeing
stray sunbeam that had ventured
through the half closed shutter, into the
presence of the dead, and played over
the flowers upon the carpet as if<tli5e7
were living and breathing, and as If the
baby were living too. You remember
how yoR-peopled that mysterious room
wlthfspirits, and how a sigh in winter
nights as you passed the door hastened
your footsteps up the stairs to bed.
What shapes were hidden in the
shadowy corners, who could tell, You
pass on to the sitting room. You stand
by "the old arm chair" faded and va.
cant now, but there rises in it that form
Of all forms-that face of all faces
under the sun, and there comes from
those shadowy lips tone---~my daHgh-
ter !! my son % sss's- 4.
The voice in your dreaming ear
melted away" and the pilgrimage of
the heart was ended Chicago Jossr-
naI