Spirit of the age. [volume] (Woodstock, Vt.) 1845-1913, 1871-02-09
WHOLE NO. A72

her best to con6ne her mind TO divine
service, and take profit from it. To-
day was altogether an exception. Eyea
the little charity boys over whom the
schoolmaster kept stern ward with
long, white wand had all their heads
turned on her. The Reverend Sandy
Macfuseras took another glance out Of
his meek eyes toward the gallery. No
wonder Miss Tamarnd's fingers, en-
cased in delicate gray gloves, bungled
somewhat over the clasp of the prayer
book. 1t would not come undone. A
desperate phil gave she, just as the con-
f gregation begau their response AS it
was in the bcgiuning,' Miss Tama
rind--
, What on earth was it? The prayer
book had suddenly burst into crash
of music, aud Miss Tamarind dropped
it on the crimson cushion before her;
the congregation stopped short in their
response the Reverend Mr., Mactuseras
opened his mouth in CONSERVATION. The
Bue.bells Of Scotland was the air, re-
calling scaudalized ears in the sacred ed
ifice.
It was too true. There lay the pray.
er.book-or what Miss Tamarind had
taken for her proyer-book grinding away
louder than any street organ. Ths un-
happy lady standing like a statue struck
into stone, bent her near sighted eyes
on the thing she did not dare to touch
with her fingers. BY slow degrees the
solution of the mystery dawned upon
her. This was not a prayer-book at all,
but musical. box she had set it 60.
ing by pulling what she had thought was
the clasp. She must have taken it up
by mistake from Mrs. Lethridge's table.
Ching, ching, ching; ding, ding,
ding, went the thing, very loud and clear,
every note distinct; the congregation
might have followed on, in their minds,
with the words. One excited lad did
rather too loud--as the second verse
was plunged into. In what clothes,
in what clothes is your Highland laddie
clad' And down came the white wand
on his head in u succession of raps.
Poor Miss Tamarind was in a cold
perspiration. Her face had turned
deadly white. Could she have sunk be-
meath the floor forever through some
friendly trap door, after the manner Of
the Londe: pantomines, it had been
blessed boon She'd have given the
whole of her next years income, for au
air balloon to come and bear her aloft
by the roof.
No such luck. She stood in her ago.
ny, and the sacrligons music went on.
The service was at a standstill; the con
gregation had their faces turned upward.
Suddenly a happy idea siezeu Miss Tam
arind that as she had see it going by
pulling the silver knob, or small button,
so she might stop it by pushing it back
again.
But which knob was it AT a desperate
hazard she pushed one of them. The
tune died away. But only for a mo-
ment. With loud click, it broke out
again, ten times more dreadful than be-
fore.
For the 'Blue-Bells of Scotland is
decent air, make the worst Of it. This
was a fast zig-zag, disreputablc jig, that
Miss Tamarind had danced to scores of
times in her young days ;one known by
a most disrcpstablc name, The Devil
among the Talors.' In the modesty
of her blooming youth, Miss Jemima had
used to abbrevatc the obnoxious name
to the ID. among the Tailors.
The D. was racing along at railroad
speed. Mr.. Macfuseras groaued audi
bly, ; the boys grinned the congregation
frowned {; the old rector at the communion
table made movement with his hand,
as much as TO order that wicked interup-
ton to stop. But who could stop these
miserable sounds, once they were set
going? Miss Tamarind verify believed
the D. had left the tailors and got into
the box.
Poor Miss Tamarind! Cold water ran
down her back her cheeks and lips grew
whittier A question passed through her
mind.-which was the worst to turn her
tail and make her escape by the stairs;
or to stand it out? But she could never
60 and leave the box behind, and to car.
ry the music with her was quite beyond
her philosophy. The white stick kept
falling upon the boys heads without a
cessation the sunshine glittered; the
upturned faces began TO look like a sea
of flame. A gentleman, learned in mu-
sical-boxes, came out of his pew near
the pulpit and stalked down the aisle,
hating in front of the balcony and Miss
Tamarind
Press the middle button, mean.
Maybe thatlI do it.
The audabe whisper came distinctly
up to her. She did as she was bid:
pressing the button with all the strength
of her trembling fingers. But no, the
tune only changed. The D. subsided
into Drops Of Brandy Drops of Bran
dy!
Concluded on fourth page.