only yesterday； and she also adds that this is their cleaning…dayit always is。 With this understanding you enter； and both stand solemnly feasting your eyes upon the scene before you。 The rooms cannot be said to appear inviting。 Even 〃mother's〃 face betrays no admiration。 Untenanted 〃furnished apartments〃 viewed in the morning sunlight do not inspire cheery sensations。 There is a lifeless air about them。 It is a very different thing when you have settled down and are living in them。 With your old familiar household gods to greet your gaze whenever you glance up； and all your little knick…knacks spread around youwith the photos of all the girls that you have loved and lost ranged upon the mantel…piece； and half a dozen disreputable…looking pipes scattered about in painfully prominent positionswith one carpet slipper peeping from beneath the coal…box and the other perched on the top of the pianowith the well…known pictures to hide the dingy walls； and these dear old friends； your books； higgledy…piggledy all over the placewith the bits of old blue china that your mother prized； and the screen she worked in those far by…gone days； when the sweet old face was laughing and young； and the white soft hair tumbled in gold…brown curls from under the coal…scuttle bonnet
Ah； old screen； what a gorgeous personage you must have been in your young days； when the tulips and roses and lilies （all growing from one stem） were fresh in their glistening sheen！ Many a summer and winter have come and gone since then； my friend； and you have played with the dancing firelight until you have grown sad and gray。 Your brilliant colors are fast fading now； and the envious moths have gnawed your silken threads。 You are withering away like the dead hands that wove you。 Do you ever think of those dead hands？ You seem so grave and thoughtful sometimes that I almost think you do。 Come； you and I and the deep…glowing embers； let us talk together。 Tell me in your silent language what you remember of those young days； when you lay on my little mother's lap and her girlish fingers played with your rainbow tresses。 Was there never a lad near sometimesnever a lad who would seize one of those little hands to smother it with kisses； and who would persist in holding it； thereby sadly interfering with the progress of your making？ Was not your frail existence often put in jeopardy by this same clumsy； headstrong lad； who would toss you disrespectfully aside that henot satisfied with onemight hold both hands and gaze up into the loved eyes？ I can see that lad now through the haze of the flickering twilight。 He is an eager bright…eyed boy； with pinching； dandy shoes and tight…fitting smalls； snowy shirt frill and stock； andoh！ such curly hair。 A wild； light…hearted boy！ Can he be the great； grave gentleman upon whose stick I used to ride crosslegged； the care…worn man into whose thoughtful face I used to gaze with childish reverence and whom I used to call 〃father？〃 You say 〃yes；〃 old screen； but are you quite sure？ It is a serious charge you are bringing。 Can it be possible？ Did he have to kneel down in those wonderful smalls and pick you up and rearrange you before he was forgiven and his curly head smoothed by my mother's little hand？ Ah！ old screen； and did the lads and the lassies go making love fifty years ago just as they do now？ Are men and women so unchanged？ Did little maidens' hearts beat the same under pearl…embroidered bodices as they do under Mother Hubbard cloaks？ Have steel casques and chimney…pot hats made no difference to the brains that work beneath them？ Oh； Time！ great Chronos！ and is this your power？ Have you dried up seas and leveled mountains and left the tiny human heart…strings to defy you？ Ah； yes！ they were spun by a Mightier than thou； and they stretch beyond your narrow ken； for their ends are made fast in eternity。 Ay； you may mow down the leaves and the blossoms； but the roots of life lie too deep for your sickle to sever。 You refashion Nature's garments； but you cannot vary by a jot the throbbings of her pulse。 The world rolls round obedient to your laws； but the heart of man is not of your kingdom； for in its birthplace 〃a thousand years are but as yesterday。〃
I am getting away； though； I fear； from my 〃furnished apartments；〃 and I hardly know how to get back。 But I have some excuse for my meanderings this time。 It is a piece of old furniture that has led me astray； and fancies gather； somehow； round old furniture； like moss around old stones。 One's chairs and tables get to be almost part of one's life and to seem like quiet friends。 What strange tales the wooden…headed old fellows could tell did they but choose to speak！ At what unsuspected comedies and tragedies have they not assisted！ What bitter tears have been sobbed into that old sofa cushion！ What passionate whisperings the settee must have overheard！
New furniture has no charms for me compared with old。 It is the old things that we lovethe old faces； the old books； the old jokes。 New furniture can make a palace； but it takes old furniture to make a home。 Not merely old in itselflodging…house furniture generally is thatbut it must be old to us； old in associations and recollections。 The furniture of furnished apartments； however ancient it may be in reality； is new to our eyes； and we feel as though we could never get on with it。 As； too； in the case of all fresh acquaintances； whether wooden or human （and there is very little difference between the two species sometimes）； everything impresses you with its worst aspect。 The knobby wood…work and shiny horse…hair covering of the easy…chair suggest anything but ease。 The mirror is smoky。 The curtains want washing。 The carpet is frayed。 The table looks as if it would go over the instant anything was rested on it。 The grate is cheerless； the wall…paper hideous。 The ceiling appears to have had coffee spilt all over it； and the ornamentswell； they are worse than the wallpaper。
There must surely be some special and secret manufactory for the production of lodging…house ornaments。 Precisely the same articles are to be found at every lodging…house all over the kingdom； and they are never seen anywhere else。 There are the twowhat do you call them？ they stand one at each end of the mantel…piece； where they are never safe； and they are hung round with long triangular slips of glass that clank against one another and make you nervous。 In the commoner class of rooms these works of art are supplemented by a couple of pieces of china which might each be meant to represent a cow sitting upon its hind legs； or a model of the temple of Diana at Ephesus； or a dog； or anything else you like to fancy。 Somewhere about the room you come across a bilious…looking object； which at first you take to be a lump of dough left about by one of the children； but which on scrutiny seems to resemble an underdone cupid。 This thing the landlady calls a statue。 Then there is a 〃sampler〃 worked by some idiot related to the family； a picture of the 〃Huguenots；〃 two or three Scripture texts； and a highly framed and glazed certificate to the effect that the father has been vaccinated； or is an Odd Fellow； or something of that sort。
You examine these various attractions and then dismally ask what the rent is。
〃That's rather a good deal；〃 you say on hearing the figure。
〃Well； to tell you the truth；〃 answers the landlady with a sudden burst of candor； 〃I've always had〃 （mentioning a sum a good deal in excess of the first…named amount）； 〃and before that I used to have〃 （a still higher figure）。
What the rent of apartments must have been twenty years ago makes one shudder to think of。 Every landlady makes you feel thoroughly ashamed of yourself by informing you； whenever the subject crops up； that she used to get twice as much for her rooms as you are paying。 Young men lodgers of the last generation must have been of a wealthier class than they are now； or they must have ruined themselves。 I should have had to live in an attic。
Curious； that in lodgings the rule of life is reversed。 The higher you get up in the world the lower you come down in your lodgings。 On the lodging…house ladder the poor man is at the top； the rich man underneath。 You start in the attic and work your way down to the first floor。
A good many great men have lived in attics and some have died there。 Attics； says the dictionary； are 〃places where lumber is stored；〃 and the world has used them to store a good deal of its lumber in at one time or another。 Its preachers and painters and poets； its deep…browed men who will find out things； its fire…eyed men who will tell truths that no one wants to hearthese are the lumber that the world hides away in its attics。 Haydn grew up in an attic and Chatterton starved in one。 Addison and Goldsmith wrote in garrets。 Faraday and De Quincey knew them well。 Dr。 Johnson camped cheerfully in them； sleeping soundlytoo soundly sometimesupon their trundle…beds； like the sturdy old soldier of fortune that he was； inured to hardship and all careless of himself。 Dickens spent his youth among them； Morland his old agealas！ a drunken； premature old age。 Hans Andersen； the fairy king； dreamed his sweet fancies beneath their sloping roofs。 Poor； wayward…hearted Collins leaned his head upon their crazy tables； priggish Benjamin Franklin； Savage； the wrong…headed； much troubled when he could afford any softer bed than a doorstep； young Bloomfield； 〃Bobby〃 Burns； Hogarth； Watts the engineerthe roll is endless。 Ever since the habitations of men were reared two stories high has the garret been the nursery of genius。
No one who honors the aristocracy of mind can feel ashamed of acquaintanceship with them。 Their damp…stained walls are sacred to the memory of noble names。 If all the wisdom of the world and all its artall the spoils that it has won from nature； all the fire that it has snatched from heavenwere gathered together and divided into heaps； and we could point and say； for instance； these mighty truths were flashed forth in the brilliant _salon_ amid the ripple of light laughter and the sparkle of bright eyes； and this deep knowledge was dug up in the quiet study； where the bust of Pallas looks ser