Vermont phÅ“nix. [volume] (Brattleboro, Vt.) 1834-1955, 1873-08-22
ACCOMMODATIONS.

n woman uleu the Olner uay, WHOSE story,
as ii seems to us, might serve as a text for
one OF our next Saturday sermons; these
gossippy, social sermons being intended to
deal not with the mighty doctrines of the
law, such as are enunciated in the sanctu
airy between the solemn chant and pealng
| organ, but with everyday matter; Jones's
habits at the club or shop, or Mrs. Jones's
manners and customs in the kitchen or
parlor, and the chivalry, justice, and truth,
which come or do not come into such mat
ters. This woman lived an altogether
commonplace life, just as nine-tenths of us
| do ; made no noise in the world, came into
it unnoticed, ard went out of it unapplaud-
| ed. Nine-tenths of us-no, all of us-think
that will not be said of us when we are
gone. We may know that we have Meth
err wit nor grace nor beauty, but some gen.
tie soulwill be grieved at our departing.
There will be a vacant space in the house
hold which will, we think, never be filled.
If we had nothing else 10 give, we have
given love, heaped up and overlooking,
and that always shall have its reward. AL
ways? Let us see.
The woman who lay dead in her coffin
last week was as homely there as she had
| been in life. A stout, middle-agcd person,
with thin gray hair, knotted in wisp be-
hind, and pair of iron bound spectacles
over her anxious, sad eyes. Even as a
young woman she had been but one of the
ordinary crowd of bright. fresh-colored
girls, who sink their own individuality
and whatever little special talent they have
| in the service of husband and children,
and after few years are ordinary still, the
| fresh color and brightness ali gone. The
| little which this young girl had was keen
love of music and a sweet voice, for which
her only use was TO put her babes to sleep.
But through all her daily drudgery, in
kitchen and dairy, this love of music SEEM
| ed to her something, which, if, she had
time to study and understand, it might
raise her to higher levels. Even as it was,
thoughts and emotions in life, took hold of
her through it, which did not belong to
kitchen and dairy. She had glimpses of
'sweet fields beyond the swelling food"
which no sermon ever gave her.
She was hard working wife and moth
err, her husband a small practitioner in a
country town. BY the time her children
were grown her hands were hard and bony,
her eyesight was nearly gone, her health
broken whatever strength or power God
had given her she had spent lavishly in a
few years for them. The husband died,
and at the same time came an increase of
| income enough TO make the family easy
and even afIiuent. Both son and daughter
were married. Now surely came her holt
day, when she could sit down a little while
to feel the rest and sunshine before going
hence, when those for whom she was worn
out would have chance to nurse the tired
body and cheer the long anxious soul.
How was it? Her daughter, of whom the
fond, silly woman had made an idol, was a
good Lious woman, aud not an ungrateful
child. But she had other charms; her
husband begrudged every moment or low
ing look she bestowed to the woman who
had given her life, and, to say tho least, had
unpaid, given her for a lifetime the service
of a hireling. He forgot this debt. He had
the common slang about IN others-in-law at
his tongues end she was weight, and
incubus, he swore. With the sons wife il
was worse women have bat little patience
with women. She had enough TO wear and
enough to eat, but that was all. Every out
ward politenes and kindness were shown
her, but there was not look nor a word
which did not teach her that she was
old-fashioned-in the way. Her day was
over. When the first grand-child came,
how proud and elated she was how her
blood warmed again, and her poor hands
trembled as she held them out. If she
could hold the little thing to her withered
breast it seemed to her she could be young
again, and fancy it was her own first-born
lying there. But her daughter-her first
born-woud not trust the babe to her old
fashioned ways. 1t was to be brought up
scientifically. She laughed at the woollen
socks and queer little petticoats she had
been making for months. So in every.
thing. Music in the family was a passion
they studied it as artists. When the poor
old woman joined her cracked voice in The
choruses she saw a covert smile on the face
of every grandchild. 1t never occurred ia
them that concerts or operas could give the
dull soul a rare pleasure yet untasted in
her life.
That is all the story, she is dead now.
Some of us who have laid our hands on a
dead face and known what happy face
we might have made 1t when living, If we
had put chosen, will know how to draw
the meaning from her story Tribune.