Western Reserve chronicle. [volume] (Warren, Ohio) 1855-1921, 1864-11-30
The Old Garret.
BY Z. p. TAYLOR.

h'etA NoHAN PNNltiS NA'~-N W. l''~AS
dwell in garrets, and simple people
believe H. And others, neither sar-
castle or simple, send them alOtt,
among the rubbish, just because they
do not know what to de- with them
down stairs aud among folks and
so they class them under the he ID of
rubbish. and consign them TO that
grand reception of has beens' and de-
spised used to be's,' the old garret.
The garnet is TO the other apart
ments OF the homestead what the ad-
verb iz To the pedagogue in parsing.
Every thing they do not know how
to dispose OF, is consigned to the list
of adveris And it is for this precise
reason that We love garrets; because
they contain the relics OF the past,
souvenirs OF other and happier and
simpler hours.
They have come to build houses
nowadays without garrets. lmpi-
Gus ia ovation.
You men of brOnze, and bearded
like the bard, who would ike to make
people believe if you could, that you
were nevera 'toddiing wee thing that
yOu never wore L 'riasd dress, or
iingled 3 rattle-box with infinite de
light; that you never had L 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 whiskerod and six feet
high as you are, and let us go up to-
geIher into that old fashioned spa
cioGs garnet that extends from gable
10 gable, with its narrow, oval win
dows with spider wasp of a sash,
through which steals dim, religious
light upon q museum of things an
namenabls, that once figured below
airsbut were long since crowded out
by the vandal head ofmodern times.
The loose boards of the floor rattle
somewhat as they used to do-don't
they? When beneath your prattling
feet they clattered aforetine when of
a rainy afternoon, Mother, wearied
Will many-tongued importantly, gran
ted the Let Us 60 into the garret and
play And play? Precious little of
play you have done since, we dare
warrant, with your looks of dignity
and dreams OF ambition.
Here we are now in the midst of
the garret. rhe old barrel-shall we
rumage itF Old newspapers, dusty,
yellow. little tattered IT'S the
columbian STAR How familiar the
type looks, How it reminds you of
old lines, when yoH looked over the
edye of the counter with the letters
or papers for father! And these same
Stars" just damp from the press wer g
carried one by one to the fireside, and
perused and preserved as they ought
to be. Stars? Damp. Ah, many
star has set since then, and many a
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 Thin leaved ledgers of
time, going back to-let us see how
far Isl, lS3-,182-, before our
time-lS0-, when our mothers were
children. And the day boOk-now
blot.ed and bleared with many records
and tears. al
There you have hit your head
against that beam. Time was when
YOU run to and fro beneath it, but
YOU are nearer to it now by more than
the altitude of chOpping." That
beam is strewn with forgotten papers
of seeds for the next years so wing;
q distaff with some new threads OF
fax remaining. is thrust into Il crevice
/ of the rafters overhead, tucked away
close under the caves, is the little
wheel that used to stand by the fire
in times long ago. Its sweet long
song has ceased and perhaps-perhaPs
she drew those haxen threads, but
never mind, you remember the line,
don't you?
Her wheel at rest, the matrOn
charms no more.
Well, let that pass. Do you see
that little croft in that dark corner
1t was red once, il was the only cas-
ket in the house once and contained a
mothers Jewels. The old red cradle
for all the world! And you occupied
that once, aye, great as you are, 1T
was your world once, and over 1t the
only horizon you bcheld bent the heav-
en- of a mothers eyes, as you rocked
in that little barque of love, on the
hither shore of time-fast by moth
er's 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 ehildren's swing. You are
here indeed, but where are Nelly and
Charleyf There hangs his little cap
by that window, and there the little
red frock that she used to wear. A
crown is resting upon her cherut
brow, and her robes are spotless in the
better land
! Woman lately looking at Cor
don press, on which the San francisco