The New era. [volume] (Martinsburg, W. Va.) 1865-1871, 1866-10-11
A SUNDAY A CENTURY AGO

A SUNDAY A CENTURY AGO.
An old brown leather-covered book,
the leaves yellow, the writing scarcely
legible from time and decay; evidently
an old neglected MS. To the fire or to
the private shelf? which?
These were my reflections as looked
over the papers of my late uncle, the
rector of a Somersetshire village.
liked the look of the book, and de-
cided for the shelf; and had my re-
ward, for found in the grabbed char
acters a simple story, evidently written
toward the close of the writer's life.
This story now transcribe into a more
modern style:
"He'll be q fit for-nothing," said my
father ian awkward BOBBY who holds
his awl and cuts his food with his left
hand"
l was awkward. I was fifteen, thick
not make a collar, nor sew pair of
blinkers, nor stuff saddle, nor do any
thing that ought to be able to do. My
fingers seemed to have no mechanical
feeling in them. l was awkward, and
I knew it, and all knew it.
I was good-tempered; could write
fairly, and read anything, but was awk-
ward with my limbs they seemed to
have wills of their own; and yet l
could dance as easily and lightly as any
of my neighbours sons.
don't know what he's fit for" said
my father to the rector of the parish.
"I've set him carpentering, and he
cut his finger nearly off with an axe !;
then he went to the smith, and burned
his hands till he was laid up for month.
It's all of no use, he spoils me more
good leather in week than his earnings
pay for in month. Why, cannot he,
like other Christians, use his hands as
the good God meant him to do? There,
look at him now, cutting that back-strap
for the squire with his left hand"
l heard him; the knife slipped, and
in moment, and utterly spoiled.
"There, now, look at that. A piece
out of the very middle of the skin, and
his finger gashed into the bargain"
The rector endeavOred to soothe my
fathers anger, when l bandaged my
finger.
ssYou'd better let him come up for
that vase, Mr.. Walters; l should like a
case to fit it, for it's very fragile, as that
old italian glass is; and line it with the
softest leather, please"
And so I went with the rector, to
bring back the vase, taking two channels
feathers to bring it in.
We reached the house, and l waited
in the passage while he went to fetch it..
He came back with large vase, tender
ly wrapped in the feathers. Alas at that
moment there came from the room
against the door of which l was stand
ing, the sound of voice singing. A
voice that thrilled me through-a voice
l hear now as l write these lines-so
clear, so sweet, SO pure, it was as if an
angel had revealed itself to me.
l trembled, and forgot the precious
burden in my hands; it dropped to the
ground and was shattered to pieces.
How shall describe the rector's rage?
| fear he said something for which he
would have blushed in his calmer mo-
ments, and she came out.
She who had the angel voice-his
niece-came out and l saw her. forgot
the disaster, and stood gazing speech
lessly at her face.
"You awkward scoundrel! Look at
your work. Thirty pounds! fifty pounds!
an inestimable treasure gone irreparably
in moment! Why don't you speak ?
Why did you drop it:"
''Drop it!' l said, waking up. "Drop
whato" And then it flashed upon me
again, and l stammered out, "She
sang!"
s'And if she did sing, was there any
occasion to drop my beautiful vase, you
doubly stupid blockhead: There, go
out of the house, go before you do any
further mischief and tell your father to
horseWhip YOU for a stupid dolt.,