Vermont watchman and State journal. [volume] (Montpelier, Vt.) 1836-1883, 1847-01-28

BY ISAAC F. SHEPARD.
awe know what are but know what we may be-"
" Heaven helps those who help themsolves.'
OLD MAxIMs.
WooDEND COTTAGE had been a delight
full place in its day, with its little garden in
front, full of beautiful blossoms in the sum-
mer time, behind which the rank honey
suckle and iessamine interlaced themselves
in the clustering foliage. The hum of bees,
the growing of the home fowls, and the mel
low lowing of wel-fed kline, were but a to-
ken of the pleasant lives of its inmates, that
flowed on like the brook that ran by them
in the full melody Of unconscious existence
There were warm hearts there, and stout
hands; and if the bread upon the table came
hardly from the incessant toll of the one, it
was always made blessed by the fervent out
flowing of gratitude and love from the 9TH
err. Necessary labor never fails to sweeten
repose, and even scanty food is doubly COM
mended to toil-weakened appetite; and these
were ever the portion of the residents at
Woodend.
John Watson was a poor man, and his
was an honest poverty. Early and late, in
summer and winter, his strength was given
to his heavy hammer at the anvil, and the
bright blaze of his forge glowed not war
mer than the sympathies of his own heart,
nor helped to fashion stronger fruits of his
handicraft than were the virtues of his life.
Bred where honor was Justly given to every
condition, he felt no withdrawal of it from
his lot of poverty; and on Sundays and ho-
lidays, no man appeared better at church,
bU
hand by the worthless of the town, than he
and YOU never would have read in his sun
nv smile, and halle eye, nor have dreamed
from the firm tones of his rich voice. that
John Watson was ever disconnected with
his hard lot, or that one gathering shadow
came. like cloud, to darken his hopes OF
happy future.
But the cheerful blacksmith was man
of thought, and in his many hours of lonely
labor, he could not but think of dark days
to come His own loving, devoted Esther,
had been blighted as a blossom upon its
stalk; and her once rosy cheeks and eloquent
eyes had long been faded the natural grace
of her form had been destroyed by the rough
hand of disease, and months and years had
she lain gentle, quiet sufferer upon her
humble bed Their little boy was not strong
except in mind and heart, and Watson felt
sometimes fearful chillness steal over him
in his reveries, at the bare possibility of his
own death before that of his loved ones (; for
he knew full well that, in that event no hand
would labor for them like his and no heart
could beat for them so kindly, and no other
man would sleep on hungry pillow, for the
sake of saving the few pence that might
thereby be added to the too small sum of his
savings, for little delicacies to comfort his
ailing and dying Esther. Though he had
many sorrows, therefore, that which vexed
him most, was the looking for evil and as
he did not cease to anticipate its murky
shadow, suspicion soon gave him coward
heart fear made him wretched; and the
evil which he dreaded was hastened-for the
soil was ready for the seed. "The wise
Physician of our veal loveth not doubling
spirit and to those giveth he good who re-
ly on his hand for good; and those leavetl
he to evil who fear but trust him not"
Sickness came upon him Just in the deptf
of winter The sparks flew from his anvil
never again, and the ringing music of hi
heavy hammer was still as death. Feve
worked like madness in his brain the tougl
sinews of his brawny arm were like untwis
ted cords, and all his strength was wastet
by the burning disease. And then his min'
became prey to all terrible thoughts ant
forebodings; and restitution, suffering AM
starvation for his invalid wife and darlin,
boy, seemed to stand in gaunt nakednes
before him, to mock at his fears, to infuriat
his reason, and to hasten his dissolution
Thus, speedily, did his life burn away at it
altar, and not many days elapsed before JON
Watson was in his grave, and all the wofu
presapes of his darkest hours were mad
real.
Esther Watson did not long survive he
husband The footsteps of consumptio
are ever sure, though they delay their az
proach to the tomb sometimes, for many
long, weary day, until the victim is glad
exchange the bed of unceasing suffering
for the cold couch where the weary are
rest. The sudden and melancholy end {
him upon whom she had ever leaned for SUI
port, and in whose bosom she has rested he
head in sorrow and in joy, for many Ion
years, was too severe a blow for her alread
wasted strength to bear up against, and irol
that hour she never lifted herself from he
pillow.
1t was mournful to see her dark eyes 70
low ner ueFoteu poy, as he moved ABOUT VI
house in deep sadness and melancholy moai
ing; for she knew that he would soon
left to the hard lot of a penniess orphan
and to the too often cruel neglect of an III
feeling world. With all his selfsacri6cr
toll, the blacksmith had never been able
put by any thing for a rainy day, and Il
little place at Woodend was covered by
mortgage, that, with his other small debt
would more than consume what few du
were his. But the good woman was full
trust in her heavenly Father, and she W