The Superior times. [volume] (Superior, Wis.) 1870-1912, 1883-03-24
FOUND In A GARRET.
The Memories Awakened by a Visit TO
a Garret--Ehoughts of the nead
Past. the Living Present and the
Uncertain Future,

of amusement. The house was an old
one. which had been handed down from
father to son for three generations, and
the garnet was large, low, and full OF
curious things that dust, cobwebs and
disuse made seem almost sacred: and we
walked stealthily about as if we bad en-
tered a treasure-house OF the dead and
might come at any moment upon some
CHASTITY sentinel who silently guarded
the secrets of the dead from the living
and curious. AS our eyes became ac-
customed to the dim light and no
sheeted form appeared or bony hand was
laid detainingly upon our arm, our spir-
its rose and We began to examine the
things around us.
Against the wall, dripping with dust as
a rose drips with dew, hung an old silk
dress, the dee,e red faded in streaks and
patches to dull gray, and bunch Of
something that had once been fragrant
flowers fastened at the throat, and the
dusty lace that used to be soft and white
as the hand it caressed still ornamenting
the sleeves. Those flowers were the gift
OF lover who has lain forgotten long
ago; and the hands that received them
and the lips that pressed them have
crumbled to dust years agone. And the
old dress and flowers hang there dusty,
lonely,-a solemn reminder of the Joy
Gus life that had faded from sight and
memory like q star that falls shining
down the midnight sky for one moment
and the next is forgotten. We replaced
the folds gently with a shudder; in a lit
q VIII "a oh L
bark that waits for each of us, and is
even now anchored floating on the uu-
fatbomed mystic sea OF eternity!
We turn over a pile of old books,
moth-eaten, cob-webbed things, and we
smile at the poor earthly ambition that
prompted the writers, and the vain glory
that faded perhaps even in the hour of
their birth; and we open them one after
another and look in as you would look
into a grave, but we aud no corruption,
no curling locks growing on dead skulls,
no bleacbed bones-but instead on the
aged yellowish pages we see glowing
thoughts and sentiments stamped with
immortal beauty and eternal life,
and We close them revereniially and
with thrill of hope. Though the hand
cotfined, can it be that the brain that
gave them birth can die while its
thoughts live on forever? Who dares
say2
Over there stands a rocking horse,
battered and worn, riderless and lonely.
One day handsome youth, putting away
childish things and laughing careIessly,
carried the old horse up into the garnet,
and with the fire of hope and youth in
his eyes and the blood surging riotously
in his veins looked out to the world and
sighed impatiently to mingle in the tur-
mol and the strife. And in after years,
crowned with success, his thoughts re-
verted to the old garnet and his favorite
and he ionged to be boy
once more. But The vanished years
come back TO no man, and relentless
time hurried him on to certain grave.
Here is an old trunk from which the
dust falls and rises in a curling, foamy
cloud as we lift STING Of sleigh bells,
but almost drop them as they ring out
merrily in that lonely, gloomy place.
What if their music should call back the
spirits whose laughter chime with the
melody OF old We lay them cautiously
on the floor, looking stealthily over our
shoulder for the shadow forms that,
though invisible, we feel are near us.
Next we find package of letters, tied
with blue ribbon. We know-every-
body knows-what that means. Love
lettersl Senseiess, foolish things to
every person but the one to whom they
are addressed and the one who penned
them. We know all about them, and
that the man and woman have gone out
into the world and forgotten their very
existence, forgotten they ever we're read
or written. And there they lie yellow
and silent, mutely teaching that though
love is beautiful as the sunset it changes
like its clouds
Beside the letters nestles pair of tiny
shoes, and we take them in our hands,
but they tell no tales. They do not
whisper whether the dimpled girlish
feet they once pressed have walked ever
the rough places or rested in the cool
shadows; whether they have found the
pleasant highways or stumbled through
the dark alleys of life; or whether they
passed c0urageously and stesdfastly
through temptations; or, alas! weak and
tired with their burden. faltered i'll the
paths OF sin. We cannot follow their
course, but the little shoes remind us
that, dead or alive, whatever their way
is, or has been, once they were fair with
the wilderness and innocence OF youth.
And it is pleasant thought.
Between the shoes and letters we see
some buttons shining on a blue ground.
lis a soldiers coat, and that one glance
has touched the secret spring of tears
and stirred dead hopes and sad memories
that we would not have awakened; and
we rise hastily, close the lid, and turn to
other things. AS the light fades and. the
deepen we see beneath pile of
rubbish something that alitters like gold
touched by stripes as red as blood and
blue as the ocean, and we remove the
rubbish and drag it to the light. / is a
battle-fag with many a bullet-hole IL Its
silken folds and the stains of human
blood on its gay Gilt fringe. We almost
recoil at the sight, and then we touch
the gold flag, and memory
goes back and resurrects its dead, clasps
the hand that has mol9ered to dust long
ago, sees the light of eyes that have faded
forever, and kisses the lips that have
IduSueu lLtlE last IAuEu anu ulLSISu
their last prayer.
And we felt that the place was full of
misty forms-or was it the trembling
shadows? The air see med filled with the
tread of unseen soldiers
on the silent floor; we felt that
tents were pitched around us,
voices were singing battle
hymns and giving martial orders, and
there was a silent stacking of arms in
Instant corner. And as we hurried rap
idly yet cautiously, with bated breath
toward the stairs, and turned a moment
1T the top, we thought the old flag was
lifted and tioated on the breathless air,
and we seemed to hear the rustic of
grave-clothes near us, and felt the touch
Of cold hand on our arm and a chill
breath on our cheek, and perhaps we
did. Who can tell?
!
A human interrogation point went to
an oculist the other day to get glass
Gt4oI 20 l. This &c tho kpat