Bellows Falls times. [volume] (Bellows Falls, Vt.) 1856-1965, 1873-11-28
Montpelier.

ger has recently paid a visit TO the cap
ital, and writes some interesting remi-
niscences there, especially of the old Pa
vilion hotel. Many will be interested IN
the following extract even it but little
acquainted al Montpelier:
Montpelier, to one who IS seldom
here save during session, seems as quiet
as PASTORAL grove. Business does not
rush, but it pays. Very few people live
beyond their means. No example OF
luxuriant extravaganza is set by the rich
to tempt and embarrass the poor. Mon
eyed institutions in which the whole
State and thousands of people without
the State are interested, are as sound
and solid as rock. Manufacturing is in
creasing. The cause OF temper nee has
the active support of the larger part OF
the community. Out of respect to the
Sabbath, the game OF checkers, which a
few of the easy-going burghers take a
nand in nightly at the Pavilion, is sus-
pended. And speaking of the Pavilion
leads me to say that it is we'll kept, but
otherwise has outlived its usefulness. Its
floors are worn, its window castings loose,
its walls battered and dismal, its furni-
ture gone by and its general air has the
faint and smell of age. Still it is the
leading hotel here for all our country
patronage, and every day men Of the
State sit before its historic Office fireplace
and recount the intrigues Of the lobby,
the Jokes of legislative wits and the
carousals of the past. Jack Mattocks
comes here no more, but it is Lot forgot
ten now, when Cottrell found him and
his noisy cronies in light marching or
der one night his rebuke was silenced
when told that they were celebrating a
democratic victory. Hugh Henry comes
here no more, but people can point out
the very room where he imposed the
stamp act on Ben McClary. 1t is not
often that David E. Nicholson is seen
here, but it is believed that the little bar
is still extant where this fierce little
Maine law man was taken when he asked
the boy, rather unintelligibly, to show
him to another part of the house, and
annihilated the little fellow with the in
dignant exclamation that he didn't wan
to do anything so vile as to drink.
Judge Poland's blue buttons and brass
coat are seen here often, but Col. Bout
we'll is not here to go up at midnight ant
remind him that there are no distinc
tons of rank when men thump tn,
table quite so hard. And also Rashe
Palmer, the model clerk, quiet, genial
generally whistling a low tune, Away
the last man to tell a story, and general
| ly the best-he has gone to that uppe
hostelrie, where sinners, the same a
hero, are always the last to come IN
Late one night years ago, Rashe wa
reused from his slumbers to take mai
in, and as the house was full, he wa
obliged to place him in room tainte,
with the etfiuvium of decaying rat a
he used to express it. A dish Of chic
ride of lime was placed on the windo'
sill and with this deodorizer the clerl
babe the guest good night. An adjacen
ledger heard a great deal of hawkin
and snuffiing in there and soon the be
rang and Rashe,' rather cross, appeare
at the door, What in thunder smells S
here?' demanded the lodger. The deaf
of the rat was then explained. BIZ
that amt it, urged the impatient CUES
what's this ere stuff in the saucer
o. said Palmer, that's some Chord
of lime that put in to kill the scent
To kill the scent, was it? Wall, won
you oblige me by taking it down an
sending up another rat