| SUNRISE AND SUNSET |
| PREFACE |
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THE sketch of a life, from the bright morning of childhood, through a clouded noon, to a no less bright evening of old age – a life, too, that dawned in the eastern hemisphere and closed in the western may be entitled "Sunrise and Sunset" with double propriety. The simple text of fact is given, with little comment, so that the reader's own reflection may carry out the moral of the story, which is, chiefly, the subduing influence of stem experiences, strange as those of fiction, on a high-spirited nature. No elaboration of the idea no metaphysical analysis of supposed states of feeling – seems needful to exhibit this truth, but only that the tale should teach its own lesson. Offered from a private portfolio, it claims no merit but that of a truthful delineation of home-life in Ireland and in America, many years ago, as it came from the lips of one now resting in the grave, after a long and eventful life, which closed peacefully, amidst the third generation of her descendants.
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| INTRODUCTION |
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IN the days when our heads were turned with Robinson Crusoe and Arabian Nights, we children used to be sent off in a flock to the nursery at "early candlelight." The youngest were snugly tucked away in the trundle-bed, and the rest of us, if tired of nut-cracking, were sure to find amusement enough in pushing the little ones, trundle-bed and all, under the larger couch, at the risk of crushing the innocents. Whereupon screams of laughter were sure to mingle in such uproarious concert as to call forth the admonitions of our good old grand-mother, already numbering nearly four-score, who invariably spent the long winter evenings with us. She would sit by the work-stand in an ample, green, stuffed chair, with her Bible on her knee, reading its worn pages for hours. When wearied with our sports and tricks, we gathered around, teazed for stories, then softly stole away the great book, hid her spectacles, and with much coaxing and many promises of good behavior, finally succeeded in gaining her consent. Placing half a dozen pippins on the stove to roast for the sake of hearing them "siss and pop," we seated ourselves, after much ado, all about her.
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"Tell us about the sea, grand-mother," said one.
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"And the war," shouted a roguish, unruly brother.
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"No, no! About your being a little girl with your hair powdered, and the pointed shoes," eagerly whispered another. To please all, she would begin at the foundation with, "Once upon a time" – that sentence has its charm for little people – and recount to us the scenes that were still strangely distinct in her memory.
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In later times we heard those reminiscences repeated to the younger children till they came to be as clearly enrolled among the remembrances of years ago, as are the hills, lakes, and the remains of the ancient fort about which we rambled.
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