Memories of the Old House, and Farewell
We all agree the old house had better he taken down. It gives no pleasure now to visit the spot, but memory holds some pleasant pictures.
In those new times (when one whole summer
was a thousand years long, and one day prolonged its hours to such unto1d lengths as to confuse the little heads completely in regard to time, and cause a wonderment on waking from a chance nap as to whether it was still morning, and whether recess was over in the droning school) in those new years the present Director of Cleveland’s Public Works turned down the chairs, harnessed them with tow strings in multitudinous knots, and gaily drove away to ‘‘ Monroe-hoga Falls,’’ to visit the distressed.The little brother, youngest of the lot, who now responds to the dignified title of Doctor, who bares his own heart to the burdens of
pain, illness, sorrow and grief of others, till he is sometimes overwhelmed; whose face watched with anxious gaze by those who fear that Death is stalking in behind Disease, and with mute distress give voiceless pleadings for hope once more, this Doctor in those early years, wore little dresses, and caught his sister’s chickens in a fatal embrace of admiration with the heads above and bodies below the little closed lingers and thumbs, and brought the yellow balls of fluffy down to mother’s lap, crooning, "Pretty birdies, pretty birdies,’’ and wondered much that they did not stir.The hole in the back doorstep where we cracked nuts!
The swing in the maple tree!
The old elm tree, just in front of the gate, whose topmost
branches, a hundred feet above our heads, seemed to touch the sky, was always—with the church spire the last to be seen on leaving home and the first on returning.It was a favorite place of resort for birds. Birds of passage on
their migrations rested there. Blackbirds gave bird-concerts from its branches.A general sense of comfort and coziness was enhanced by sight of the orioles’ nests
at the ends of the long branches swinging in graceful motion, blown by the breeze, while the murmuring leaves sang lullaby.The Camp brook running through the yard, on which we shipped our loaded boats, and where we waded with bare feet!
The belated egg (left in the nest when the hen walked off with the rest of the brood), which Celia wrapped in cotton and carried in her dress for a few hours till the chicken broke the shell and became the pet (finally carried off by a rat)
, about which she wrote the verses, beginning:"There was a little chicken whose name was Pete,
And when it was hungry, it cried, Wheat, wheat!"
Pleasant pictures of happy times and childhood days.
For nearly sixty years Thanksgiving time brought a happy throng together under shelter of this roof, after the public devotions of the day in church. After dinner, games and songs and music on the piano, violin and double bass, with reminiscences of the past, filled the glad hours.
What memories rise at mention of Christmas ! Before that day what commands were laid on the household not to investigate certain corners, or cupboard shelves, or drawers! What quick concealments followed the sudden appearance of an unexpected member of the family! Then the glad morning, itself glorious with highly prized though inexpensive tokens of affectionate remembrance.
Mother never forgot our birthdays.
The first two cases of typhoid fever, at the time that epidemic—then a new disease—swept the place, were in this house. Sarah Elizabeth, three years old, lay for two weeks without moving a muscle, not even so much as closing her eyes. How kind the friends proved till the days and nights of anxious watching were brought to a successful issue, and the first faint whispered "Mother" brought joy to all hearts.
Poor Katie Hinman, crushed by the cars, was relieved of her mangled and useless leg there, followed by six months of careful nursing.
Memory brings that unfortunate 4th of July, when in an excess of patriotic enthusiasm or reckless ambition to fire too fast, the cannon went off prematurely and Garside lost his hand and almost his eyes. He was cared for in the office, and everybody helped.
The little square panes of glass have held each one its candle when political victories made rejoicing allowable in those stern days of the Civil War.
The house was always full. One winter seventeen made it their home.
The double wedding, when the eldest two daughters were married, each to the one she loved, and happy throngs on other similar occasions, make pleasant pictures on Memory’s walls.
Many a sad heart has been comforted in that house. The little English widow with a babe, left stranded and bereft in an alien land, found comfort and a home for months. Poor Ellen Clegg found pity and a shelter when in sorrow she brought into the world a child of sin.
Mrs. T. was comforted and cared for when deserted by an unworthy husband. Time would fail to tell of all.
The now dismantled parlor has resounded to the music of singing, of laughter and good cheer. Many times, and under varying circumstances, have the old walls listened to the tale of love. Two sons brought home their brides, four girls their mates.
In the stillness of its quiet has also gathered the hush of death. There the angels came for Alice on that dull and dark November morning. There mother slipped a way from our weak grasp, an(l left behind old age and weariness and pain. There Sister Libbie, father, Uncle Benjamin and Mrs. Foote each lay embraced in death.
One says "The house was built for and by father and mother.’’ Yes, there seven of the nine children and three grandchildren first saw the light.
The brood is fledged. The untried wings are spread. The birds have flown. Some soared away to unknown skies beyond the blue, and some are bearing still the burdens of this lower zone. But all are clasped in the great arms of Love, and resting on the promises of God.
Old house farewell!!
The home you sheltered is no longer there;
Its elements are scattered everywhere.
The faithful heart that beat with mother love
Is safely sheltered in the home above;
With mother gone* there is no need of you.
Old house, farewell!
* Mother was the last one left who needed its shelter.