Lamoille newsdealer. [volume] (Hyde Park, Vt.) 1860-1877, 1862-07-25

boarded the teacher before, it is so far to
walk, but we're glad to see you and you
are welcome, though l fear you'll be lone
some like afore Monday morning we've
no meetin to tend up here, and no neigh
bors and | can't read. He, pointing to
the form of Mr.. Won Kemp, DOING qui.
city on the old-fashioned "settle," by the
fire, he does his readin' at the village, and
SO we've no books 'ceptin hern, and l
spose you see enough of them every day.
I'm sure don't know just what we shall
do for YEP Oh, said I, cheerfully, "we
shall get on finely, Kate and l :" but my
tongue belied my heart, for my courage
sank some degrees below zero as I looked
from the only window the room contained
upon the cheerless prospect without. Ev-
cry thing as far the eye could reach
was shrouded in a winding sheet of gilt
tering snow, above whose dazzling surface
arose now and then, stinted pine, which
in the gathering darkness served only to
make the scene more drear and ghostly.
Within, the only cheering picture was the
wan, shap-looking form of little Kate, as
she sat on stool by the fire, singing a
snatch of an old German song, to the
kitten on her lap. YEARLY and silently
the evening wore away, few words pass
ing between us, until the time came for
retiring, when I followed my hostess into
another apartment from which like the
one l bad just left, only one window look
ed and that on an opposite side of the
house from the other. A thick white cur
tain was drawn over the window and as
the night was dark I retired Immediately
to rest without attempting to look out.
On awaking in the morning l knew it
must be light, though no ray of the same
pierced the intense darkness of my room.
| arose and drew aside the curtain and
found closed shutter of wood, exclud
ed the light. raised the window
and threw back the board, and scene Of
unparalleled magnifcence burst suddenly
upon my astonished view.
Below me lay broad plain, green with
summer verdure, and the rising Sun shont
on the messy walls and grass-grown paths
of Goldsmith's "Sweet Auburn p "Tht
Deserted Village" of poetic memory
Forced as was by poverty to refrair
from seeing, save in fancy, those beautiful
scenes with which the genius-inspired pei
or pencil has made all familiar, this was
picture to be remembered. There stooC
? the houses, once so beautiful in theil
prime, now doubly beautiful in their de
cay. gazed enraptured, and involunta
rialy murmered:
"Sweet smiling village, e,-loveliest of the lawn,
Thy sports are fled, and all thy charms withrrawn
) Sunk are thy bowers, in ruin all,
And long grass o'er-tops thy mouldering wall. :"
Everything perfect in its moulderint
beauty, stood out like fairy picture be
: fore my eyes. There,
Beside yon struggling fence that skirts the way
stood the mansion where the village mas
ter taught his little brood The house wa
moss-grown and dilapidated the window
minus the glass which once protected tn
noisy children from the elements; TIL
G children gone, and the master p
e "Oh, past was all his fame the very spot
G Where once he triumphed, is now forgot ~
Still further down the street stood tn
E village tavern with its sign swinging il
the wind, though the lettering upon i
r had been long since erased by the war 0
, elements and as looked at it's loy
porch, and tlme-stalned windows my I'm
maginations
Traced within, the parlor splendor of the place
The whitewashed walls THE nicely sanded floor
The vanished clock that clicks behind the door
7 The broken tea-cups wisely kept for show
Q Ranged o'er the chimney, glistened in row.
: Over the threshold had grown the lon
Q dank grass which for ages had been press
7 ed by no human footstep; crushed b,
? nothing heavier than the gentle dews 0
: Heaven. On one side of the stream whicl
e worked its devious way through sedge
s and brambles, stood the saw-mill hal
q its roof blown away by the wind, and th
+ rust-eaten saw still standing upright, hal