The Old Block-House
The spirit of improvement has rudely laid its relentless hands on the time-honored memorials of auld lang syne. One by one the old, familiar objects that were wont to greet our eyes, are passing away. Among these cherished objects, is the old block-house. There in days gone by, the cheerful pop of ginger beer, enlivened the scene in the sultry summer time. Then how imposing the edifice stood when May became a squire and it became a temple of justice. The elements battered and the floods rolled into its cellar in vain. How the weather-beaten structure seemed to loom up among the loftier buildings reared around it, and how proudly it wore its chimney crown as the “Rangers” and the ” Buglers ” gathered beneath its ancient shingles when “court was called and the squire showed them that the “way -of transgressors” is jailward. There too they concentrated their forces in the long winter evenings to while away the passing hours, as he of the ermine regulated the fitful motion of some quaint or crazy, old clock; or stewed the bivalves on that curious little stove. And when the trying time arrived to choose town officers, how they probed the character and weighed the chances of each sovereign whose name was presented for office. Finally when the ticket was agreed upon, then they passed the hat around for contributions to meet the expense of printing. On one occasion the hat had an unfortunate hole in the crown; but the statesman was equal to the occasion. With solemn mien he held his open hand under the place where the hole was, and deftly caught the pennies as they sifted through. The next thing in order was to raise a unanimous boom for the candidates chosen and as a rule they were successful.
Venerable old building you came down to us from a former generation. Where now will the Rangers congregate? I almost imagine I see them mournfully turning away, each with a chip as a memorial; for lo! the jack-screw was applied and the time of departure came. Farewell old block-house. The judge and the court may pass away, but a new legend shall be woven to charm a future coterie, when you have gone to kindling wood. In the palmy days of its glory the village statesmen assembled there and often displayed more solid sense than Congress or the cabinet. But it departed. It does not lie in ruins like Baalbec, Palmyra, or Pompeii; but it went away bodily by force of jack-screws and rollers, and left not a chip behind. Even the kindly host, who once amid the cheerful voices and sage discussions of the aforesaid village statemen dealt out to them the steaming oysters and the popping, foaming small beer, he too with solemn mien took a bottle in one hand and a stew-pan in the other, and followed the venerable structure as it slowly rolled up Mulberry street.
SOURCE: Page(s) 63-64; Danville, Montour County Pennsylvania; D.H.B. Brower, Harrisburg; 1881
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