Rensselaer Republican, Volume 13, Number 9, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 19 November 1880 — The Old House. [ARTICLE]

The Old House.

[Mr*. D. M. Jordan tn Cin. Sat Night] Does anybody know what has become of the jolly old-fashioned times that used to belong to our lives ? They are missing, and we cannot find them. The days when the mention of Thanksgiving meant jo.' and gladness, and reunion and merry feasting, when all the members of the family assembled around the pleasant board, and the great fire burned cheerfully in the great fireplace. How the brightly polished brass andirons caught the ruddy reflbetions of the blaze, and danced around like fairies. Does anybody remember such a fireplace? The hearth was of freshly painted red brick, and the mantel was high beyond the reach of the children. The brass candlestieffs were turned up in a row, and the almanac hung at one end. The shovel and tongs had their separate corners, aud there was a crane in the back of the fireplace, where the tea-kettle used sometimes to sing Him a nightingale. Where are they gone? There was a pantry, too, (have yop seen it?) with a smell of cheese, and mince pic. doughnuta, and a tempting display of Jan tied up with white cloths. There wan always otto not so tightly tied as the rest, and naughty hands would reach after the peach preserves sometimes. Anybody know where all those pantries have gone ? There were two old rocking-chairs, with cushions pieced up from scraps of dresses. The paint was worn from the arms, and they tipped over if you rocked too far back, but we wish they could be found. There was a kitchen, too. It went away with all the rest. A sweet kitchen where there was always a smell of good dinners,r spicy and aromatic odor of garden herlis. No tea or coffee has ever been found since with such a delicious aroma. There are thousands of great residences with every modern appliance for comfort, where they have state dinners with no end of pomu and show and style; where the china f costly and the epergnes are of cut "Iras and silver, and the wines are costly. . They are splendid, but somehow, to-day we want the old lost house. There sfa echoes which come down from its smoky rafters, and they fall upon the heart with a mingled feeling of pleasure and pain. There are voices, and footsteps, and laugh ter, and songs, and the patter of baby feel all mingled in the echoes. Sounds that wc shall never hear again, save in the mystic hall of memory. Reader, you know of such a house, and you can tell why the mention of holidays brings a nameless longing to look once more into the old empty rooms once so thronging with life, ‘•Echoing with <lrllali laughter. RinglM with boyteh Mrife."