The Caledonian. [volume] (St. Johnsbury, Vt.) 1837-1867, 1851-02-22
STORY OF A CLOCK.


century gone by | was considered NJ the
time ! was framed masterpiece Of the cele-
bratcd London artist that made me-ior | am
not one OF your miserable Yankee notions
Not /. ! count me worthy of superior vene-
ration. am not one that strike my hoursin
wire music, 10 lul the ear into iurgctinmcSs
uf that which clock should always say 10
those who peer into its face or hold their
breath at its stroke. II should bc as the an
tient ConduerOT's Mentor IN the coascloas
rolling, noisy chariot of the World, ever say
ing-and with no soft tono--aemei.io MORT
In this | have ever been active, save only
for the time | slept on the bosom of the
ioaming ocean, when borne from my native
land.
have stated that wa old. Around me
cling antique carvings Of another day they
clasp me-thesc odcn tantasies-as so many
pure associations Of youth with manhood. 40
dong as | ann mysclC | can never untwinc
them from past scnSation of JOY and sorrow.
Nor would |, for the world. When look
,lown at my finely carved, dragon-head feet.
see what has been the toy of child loved
Ia watch growing from infancy 10 strong boy
hood. When look about at my wrought
head piece, my curiousy figured side, my lit
tie secret holds, that were little conidcntials
between my master aud see aud recall
what it was that attracted the eyes of po ma
ono of the most signal ornaments that ctcr
Iarlor had
Those were my sole pleasures ia the oh.
jcctivc world, il can bc said Ia have had n
ny there. With me now, all nay effective de-
lights arr caught from the rays of n star that
glesms back IN the horizon Of the past, and
to which my memory turns 10 bask ia its lus-
ter, ns the lIcltrope which bends every petal
To the golden eye of day.
"Sun Of the sleeplcss! melancholy star,
Whssc fearful beam grows trcmulousy fair
That show'st the darkness thou can'st not dispo
How Ike art thou To joy remembered well
tscE'rrms t''c rSst, ,i,c ''Fht "F"r',r' 'INy-
Which shincs, but warns not with H. powerful rays,
Auight beam sorruw watchcth "a behold
DistiRct7 7but dstnni--ccnr-but ola, how cold,"
so sang Byron. know not at which to
wonder the beauty of the poetry, or the cx-
trcmc narrowncSs of the sentiment In fact
rIOSr or ttyrUu4 poetry rrrnturis uIu NJ sonrr
of my fellow Time c-picces--framc work grand
and imposing, but machinery lad telling
false time. Or as some great, effective Tenn
pie, radiant with stained glazing, and paint
ing, and statuary, whilst within some dark
demon gtoals in ficrcsy. The uncarthly or
gan-notcs, swelling along the trembling aisles
and the chancel veil worldly things from
view but II is in contact with One who has
"All things will give thee if thou wilt fall
down aud worship me ~
Such, 10 my mind, is Byron's poetry.
hope the listener will pardon this little piece
Of irrelevant clock-work criticism. / spake
the poetry in order TO reject it | did it to
clear that melancholy star" from clouds, for
Il is 10 be my guide and good genius did
IL to show that, though TREMENDOUSLY fair"
that eight of other days" is not cold. Great
God what would insult Thee so much as to
call il so? None save Byron. 1t is beam
-aS warm, as amending rs the flame that hnrn=
ed on the ancient affairs Its genial ray and
heat arc mine now.
Hnrnce Malpnle would have loved 10 lodge
lne beneath the dusky archives of Strawberry
Hill. Round such a well-wrouuht case as
mine his fancy would have wreathed itself, as
ivy kissing the crumbling Coliseum. You
may say that it needs some sush outlandish
one tu appreciate me--that you should doait
adj ! ask ~ this, the respectful hearing that
age can ciAisn ] will tell you that which is
true, nevertall that which is false. All in
Jhe family, who have watched me time With
out name, will affirm it. There is but one in
- stance in which have been conscious even
VirEEctf suspicion OF not having given all alto
Sether right impression. For fear of misap-
lft.,t-ttfs -xpiuirr thutz-f ann n ,,rr--
.fect ClockSin my construction. Never Clock
told more or better than !, the tdes,thc time,
the day, tho month, and the lunar phases in
TACT, am possessed OF all the appliances of n
perfect Clock. The only sense of imperiec-
aion 's this; am century old, but the moon-
face that peeps out above mine is as young
as ever IL has never grown old, bat is as
ruddy and fat checked as ifhcw born. This
Is very distreSsfhi 20 me, and seems to contra
hlct or countormine in some sort when say
you aro all growing old-men,enio n,ori".
How mulch more happy would be If its head
had turned white, ii It's brow had. been wrin-
kled with time should have felt much
snere sympathy with it in my old age. That,
however, cannot help for all my grief, and
so will pass on TO my story.
(The old clock pressed its hands 10 its
fOrchcal as IL in n renoctiv, ,,,r,,I ..,i IL.