Green-Mountain freeman. [volume] (Montpelier, Vt.) 1844-1884, 1858-07-15

not even excepting the Scribe, hard-l0oking and
unpreposessing as he was, 1--WE cannot answer
for other schools of similar ilk,) had his sweet
heart.
Our Scribe we have no doubt, thought,
and still thinks, that his little lady-love was
the flower of the flock Her dark, sparkling,
hazel eyes, and long raven locks, falling grace
fully over her plump, alabaster shoulders; her
soft and gentle voice, and coy but winning
manners, made an impression upon his heart,
not easily ctfaced. 1t is no wSnderS tisen, tliat
the youthful Scribe fell desperately 1--we but
But be never had the conroge to reveal the
story, nor did he ever give the slightest in
timation of the passion that
'-consumed his vitals,'
at any other period than the cherry season.
whereby hangs story, which proves that the
course Of true love never did run smooth
This joyous period-the time of ripe cherries
brought with it seasonable opportunity of
revealing his passion to his fair little compan-
ion. But whether she ever took the hint, the
Scribe of the present day saith not
Six stately red-hearts spread their majestic
proportions around the rude log school-house-
superb trees they were, and bore abundantly the
most delicious fruits. When they were ripe,
and in their glory, it was the youthful Scribe s
delight to explore the highest branches, and
cast down in profusion the fullest boughs of the
tempting fruit to the fair Imogenc, thus max
ing tongues Of cherries TO tell the story Of his
loUe All those were halcyon days-full of
love, full of life, full of joy But alas alas !
for human joys the best, the brightest are too
often dashed with the wormwood and the
gall
One day long to be remembered, the Scribe
and Bob Jones both essayed to secure the same
tempting bough, and in the struggle the limb
that bore the aforesaid Bob, gave way, when
down, down went Bob and alas ! the Scribe ,
Came tumblng after him
and great indeed was the fall and its conse-
quences
Bob reached the ground first, feet foremost,
and the Scribe landed exactly on the top Of
Bob's head, by which catastrophe, Bob's neck
was-not broken, but dreadfully crooked and
twisted, insomuch that ever after he bore, and
rightly, the soubriquet of Crooked-necked Bob
Jones
Tt was dreadful affair The masters bell
rang-and forthwith Il coup d ctat was issued
that hentesortha Al Sd forever, no boy was to fare
to ascera~a cherfy-tree at tile hazald fsthe
rattan That fixed the matter We knew the
virtue of thatratan too well to be over-prone to
test it,
The jays, robins, cat-birbs, ETC., thereafter
derived all the benefits of the cherries, saving
only the few that we could club down. Well
so the world goes They that SOW to the wind,
must ever reap the whirlwind
The lovely Imogene got no more cherries from
the Scribe Whether she sckened and pined
away on that account, who can tell? Certain
we are, that school-masters have great deal to
/ hlloWOI lOl LuOIC Wuo III u1l LII III
few innocent punches of cherries, my clever
Dominic But Bob Jones neck A fig on it !!
what business had he to-
Soon we missed the beautiful lmogene from
school. Day by day did we gaze down the long
sycamore lane that led to the school-house, tear
drops gathering in our eyes, to see if we could
greet the happy face of the light-hearted girl.
But alas there was no Imogene Imogene
was sick Imogene was smitten with consump-
ton Alas! | did not dream that one so
young and lovely could die 1t was the same
sad story. No better Tho physician day by
day made his calls. Summer wore away, and
autumn. The earth had put off its beautiful
garments, and Nature was robing herself in
mourning. The days wore dark and dreary.
Winter came the earth was mantled with snow.
Imogene was dying!-dying in the cold win
ter! The angel of Death had tonched her with
his darksome wing Soon she must make her
lonely bed in tht cold earth, and the bowling
winds should wrap her grave with snow-drifts !
All it seems hard that the young and beauti-
ful should die But SO it must be: 9 For so
He giveth His beloved Sleep Blessed are the
dead who die in the Lord even so saith the
Spirit, for they rest from their labors'
AT last it was Christmas-eve: the long dread
ed message came : Imogene had gone to her
long home
saw her no more But there is q brighter
world, fairer cline, in which there is no
death, no sorrows, no partings
1t was on Christmas-day late in the after
noon, that stood by her new-made grave, my
heart-strings quivering beneath the keen stroke
that had left them torn and bleeding the cold
and piercing wind of December sung her sol
emn requiem; but rising above it, in tones OF
love and majesty, heard that heavenly and
thrilling sentence: | am the Resurrection and
the Life!' How grand and solemn and CON
soling Even then these words sent the sounC
of glory ringing through my ears into my
heart
How appropriate ana beautiful, too Mt tina
hallowed season, when we are called to celebrate
the anniversary of Savior born, and sing til,
song of the angels Glory be to God in th
highest ard on earth, peace, goodwill to
ward men,
Young as was, my heart learned a solemn
and holy lesson lmogene, the pure, the Lowell
the gentle, was gone-but she lived in the an
gel~and, and behcld the King in His beauty
The young heart defcs the storms IF advers
ty. It's SORROWS, though real, and for the tim
cutting, come and go, like the hasty clouds j
spring.
Young as the Scribe was, he was a phio'
) opher, and deemed it unwise to bury his aife'