Burlington free press. [volume] (Burlington, Vt.) 1827-1865, 1858-08-06
NJ is c L l. l. 4 \ Y .
STORY OFAN OLD MANS YOUTH

From Dickens Household W OrdS.
Every one who has ever read that terrible
book, "The Mysteries of Paris, will probably
remember scene towards its close where.
the escaped galley-slave, the Maitre d dcolc,
arrives, blind and helpless, and lame. and old
at farm beyond Paris, and asks shelter for
the night. The dogs spring savagely at him
as he enters, and would gladly tear him in
pieces, if they could. and he looks at the
wicked little Tortillard who guides him, and
whispers, "They smell the blood. These are
the same clothes wore, the day killed the
cattle merchant at Poissy. He goes in-he sits
down in the warm kitchen of the farmhouse,
and takes his evening meal with the servants
But lest he should be too comfortable-lest
one stray CLEAN of sunshine should fall upon
his path, Tortillard, who seems to have been
his evil genius, hits upon plan--a diabol-
cal invention worthy of himself-by he can
recall him from the reverie into which he
seems falling. The chains he wore as gal
ley-slave have left a wound in his leg, which
will never heal, and which is most painful at
times. The boy sits directly opposite to him
at table, and with the maliceof little fend
aims now and then kick at him. which
hits the open wound, and almost makes him
scream with agony, while at the same time
he exclaims, Mon pauvre papa! mon pauvre
papa with an affected concern which wins
the hearts of all around him.
1t is many year since | read the story.
but as go on through life, Tortllard seems
to meet me on every side. In fact he may
be called good type of the world. Have
you private grief or misery concealed, like
the wound Of the escaped convict, yet always
thorbbing and tingling, even in your most
quiet moments? BE sure the world will find
it out, and pierce to the very center of it,
with careless blow. If we cut, or in any
way main limb, it becomes at once the
limb of all others which is most certain to be
hit against the corners of tables and chairs
it is the limb against which people stumble
and open doors, with accidental occurrences
which look very much like settled purposes
And so with sorrows. That nerve Of our
hearts which can least bear exposure, Is al
ways most exposed-and here twinge, and
there sudden faintness, as we turn sharp
angles in the path of life, show us that it i,
sensitive as ever.
I have thought of this, fancy, more than
most men, because |, myself have such a sor-
row; and | find that everything round me
things which, in themselves, are very dear tc
me-have power to awaken it. never see a
violet upon a meadow bank, that / do not re-
and beauty and faded before my eyes.
never see star at night without thou ght
of eyes more brilliant. | never hear bird
singing its happy heart out in the summer
time, without sight for voice now hushcd
forever.
have lived long, long ago, in another
land-in quiet New England village which
nestled in the heart of the Green Mountains
of that most beautiful of all states, Vermont
That village is known to many as the birth,
place and early home of Powers, the great
American sculptor. The brain and hear
that designed the peerless Greek Slave wer,
working beside the silver-aowing Queechy
some forty or fifty years ago, in many prank
Of boyish mischief, and the man that curveC
and chiseled that white dream of beaut,
then welded a ponderous jack-knife, an,
whitfield out of bits of wood some faint fore
shadowing, perhaps, of that which was ye
to come. It was this that had tempted n
to select it from all others for my summe
residence, during year Of sickness and dis
tress in the city Of New York. 1t had
pretty English name-W Woodstock-and was
] think, the fairest valley on which my eye
ever fell.
River and mountain, the bright Queech
and the king of the hills, Mount Tom. lax
and wood, and forest-all were there Fror
one summit you looked down upon regio
Of pastoral beauty, with pretty low cottages
wide, green meadows and grazing locks; fror
another you saw fertile valley, with tn
river winding like a serpent through it, an
mirroring in its bosom the clear blue sky.
third ascent, and rock bound countr,
gloomy with fir trees, and keeping an unbr'
ken silence like that Of Siberia, met yor
view while high up, upon the very SUNNI
of the great mountain, lonely pond WI
lying, of which the school children tol
strange tales. 1t had once stretched over va
acres, and bears and wolves had drank fro
it when the country was new, but with Il
march Of civilization it had changed Lit
by little the earth had filled it in till the vi
itor could walk for half mile securely q
what had been once treacherous slime b
the ground quaked always beneath a ste
and the prudent took good care not to We
ture too near the edge. walked upon
once myself, and thought it very like the
hearts OF ours, in which, though we ST
ever 50 50 tly, we are ever liable to sink
beyond our depth, and, perhaps, to rise
more.
But these were not all the attractions
the place There were beautiful walks al
drives there were miniature lakes, up,
which to row or sail a pleasure boat, and
park which was the pride Of the whole Stat
II had grown up with the town, changi
from an oval strip of ground, just boarded
and call ,d a common, 10 a beautiful enc
sure hemmed in with maple trees as straig
and luxuriantas trees could well be, decorat
Il 4 a. I