Vermont watchman and State journal. [volume] (Montpelier, Vt.) 1836-1883, 1847-04-15


to slobber over his ill-dissembled poverty, it
would have been better for his soul and body
both. He was a man that never told a lie,
unless it was to keep mp appearances.
hope that none of my readers have been
reduced to the miserable necessity of tying
up their pantaloons with pack-thread, in
stead of lawful suspenders; of using rem
nant of a pilow-case for pocket-handker-
chief; of sticking bur on their rent stock
ing to cover up hole and after Sitting
their worn pantaloons on the knee, when
they had got half way to meeting on the
Sabbath, of being obliged to tic pretended
Observation-Disclosures pretended wound,
seeming to be lame, and perhaps before
they had walked ten rods, forgetting in which
leg the lameness was seated No, these are
the incommunicable sorrows Of me, of me
the sad hero of a sad family-the prince
and heir apparent to the ragged generation.
To me, and to me alone, was reserved the
awful destiny of being invited to party,
where were to assemble the first beauties of
country village, not daring to 90 until eve
ming, lest the light of heaven should expose
a thread-bare coat; having no clean shirt
not even dickey which had not been worn
ten times-snpplying its place with piece
OF writing paper-afraid to turn my head,
lest the paper should rattle or be displaced
and then, just as | was exulting in the
hope that the stratagems of poverty were to
pass undetected, to have a lady, perhaps the
youngest and most beautiful in the whole
party, come provokingly near, and beg to
examine my collar, because she admired the
pattern. Often has it been my lot to return
from the company, where all hearts seemed
to bound with gladness, to water my couch
with tears, amid sorrows which l could tell
to none, and with which none would SYM
pathize. | thought it poverty. But it was
something else which begins with p.
And then the awkward apologies to which
one is reduced in such situation, come
very near to a mendacious violation of real
verify. Oh how often have | seen my hon
ored father put to his trumps, steering be-
tween Scylla and Charybdis, adroitly adius-
ting his language SO as to make an impress
sion, without mourning lie, and reduced
to shifts by which none were deceived, be-
cause all understood them. Once on a time,
after a weeks starvation to procure velvet
collar for my fathers best coat, we were
sitting down to dinner of hasty-pudding
and molasses, when, unluckily, one of our
neighbors happened to walk in without
knocking, "a very improper act,) and we
had no time to slip away the plates and Ia
ble-cloth: we were taken in the very act
| never saw my poor father more confoun-
ded. A hectic flush passed over his long,
salow cheek, like the last, sad bloom on
the visage of consumptive man. He look
ed, for a moment, almost like convicted
criminal but, however, he soon recovered
himself, and returned to his expedients.-
&c We thought" said he, &c we would have a
plain dinner to day; always to eat roast tur-
KEYS makes one sick !" There was no dis
putting this broad maxim.
In our town, at the period of my boyhood,
the severity of Puritan manners was relax
ing into species of gentiity; and though
my father and mother never went to balls
and theatres, they were very fond of evening
parties, where, after cards and conversation,
they closed their enjoyments with an elegant
supper But oh at what an expense on
our poor purse were these pleasures bought !!
Once, remember, to buy my mothers mus
lin gown, we sold our pig our only pig, and
our only hope of animal food through the
winter. And mark the malice of mankind,
when you are trying to tower over them !
The very next week were written with a
piece of chalk, on the door of Bob ellis
grist-mill, the following lines, where every
body could read them. They were the pro-
duction of some cruel country wit, whom l
could almost have murdered, had l known
him:
4 pig is raised for food lit makes you stare
But Madam Odbug puts her brains to rack,
And weais her pig, transformed, upon her back.
How the writer came to know the fact, /
never could guess only that hypocrisy, in
poverty as we'll as in religion, is seldom long
successful. Sometimes my mother would
borrow her shawl at one place, and her tip
pet at another, and her cap at third. OF
ten would she and my father come home
late at night, on winter evening, without
a spark of fire on the hearth, or wood to kin
die it; my mother shivering in her airy dress.
was sent down cellar to pull off the boards
from the potatoe crib, or to bring up an old
four-barrel, to light transient flame, bla-
zing and dying, like the fading joys on which
our hearts were set Sometimes we would
pull down one side of the house to warm
the other, so that the old mansion was made
to perform double office, yielding us at
once shelter and fuel
Yet my father, with all his expedients,
was very unpopular man. Though he
was always angling for public favor, he new
er had skill enough to put on the bait so as
to conceal the hook, even to the gudgeons
that hoated in our shallow streams. There
was broken bridge near our habitation
and one year he was plotting and expecting
to be surveyor of the highways, that he
might mend it for the public convenience
at the public expense. He was disappoint
ed ; and old Mr.. Slider, his rival and enc
my, was put into the oliice-who suffered
the bridge to remain unrepaired, with the
ungenerous sarcasm, that a man who LIVED
in such shattered house, might well en-
dure to ride over a rotten bridge. There
was militia company, and my father wa.
expecting to be chosen captain, especially
as he had been in the revolutionary army
and had actually spoken to General Wash
ington. But, at the age of forty-one, they
chose him orderly sergeant, which Office
my father refused, declaring, with mucl
splitting and suffering, that he would neve
serve his ungrateful country again. Thus
closed his military honors and he was re
duced to the necessity of finding the pos