Green-Mountain freeman. [volume] (Montpelier, Vt.) 1844-1884, 1873-07-30
aNistellanu.
Fred TrOyer'S Little Iron Clad.

Didn't ever tell you the story Is it
possible! Draw up your chair. Stick of
wood, Harry. Smoke?
You've heard of my Uncle Popworth,
though. Why, yes! You've seen him
the eminently respectable elderly gen
tcman who came one day last summer
lust as you were going book under his
arm. YOU remember weed on his hat dry
smile on bland countenance tall, lank in
divjdual in very seedy black. With him
nv tale begins; fol- if had never INDUCED
in an Uncle Popworth should never have
sported an Iron-Clad.
Quite right. sir ; his arrival aCaS a sur
prise to me, To know how great sur
nrise, yon must understand why | left city,
friends, business, and settled down in this
quiet village. 1t was chiefly, sir, to escape
tne destinations of that worthy old gentle
man that bought this place, and took re-
fuse here with my wife and little ones.
Here we had respite, respite and nepenthe
from our memories OF Uncle Popworth
here we used to sit down in the evening
and talk Of the past with grateful and tran
Quil emotions, as people speak of awful
things endured in days that are no more.
Tous the hight of human happiness was
raising green corn and strawberries in
retired neighborhood where uncles were
unknown. But, sir, when that Phantom.
that Y ampire, that Fate, loomed before
my vision that day, if you had said, Tro-
yer. LII give ye sixpence for this neat lit
tie box of yours" [ should have said,
Done :" with the trifing proviso that you
should take my uncle in the bargain.
The matter with him? What indeed
could invest human flesh with such terrors
what but this? he was-he is-let me
shrek it in your cara bore-A BORE !! of
the most malignant type an intolerable,
terrible, unmitigated BORE
That book uuder his arm was volume
of his own sermons mine hundred and
nnety-nine octave pages, o Heaven! 1t
wasn't enough for hi1 to preach and re
preach those appalling discourses, but then
the ruthless man must 90 and print 'em !!
" hen [ consider what k-sellers--Worthy
men, no doubt, many of them, deserving
well of the'r kind-he must have talked
nearly into a state Of syncope before ever
he found one to give way, in moment of
weakness. Of utter exhaustion and despair,
and consent to publish him and when
reflect what numbers Of inoffensive per-
sons in the quiet walks of life, have been
made to suffer the inficton of that Bore S
Own Book, | pause, | stand aghast at the
inscrutabiIity Of Divine Providence.
Don't lhink me profane, and don't for a
s,,cp,nDt 7 ha fuuotiop
Of the preacher. There's nothing better
than good sermon,-one that puts new
lie into you. But what of a sermon that
takes life out Of you instead of spirit
vi fountain spiritual sponge that absorbs
your powers OF body and soul, SO that the
longer you listen the more you are impov-
ished? \ merely poor sermon isn't so
bad you will fnd, if you are the right
kind of hearer, that it will suggest some
thing better than itself "a good hen will
Law to a bit of earthen. But the dis
course Of your ministerial vampire, fasten
i0g by some mystical process upon the
hearer who has life Of his own,-though
net every one has that,-sucks and sucks
and sucks and he is exhausted while the
preacher is refreshed. So it happens that
your born bore is never weary of his OWL
boring ne tn ives upon it while he seems
to be giving, he is mysteriously taking IL
he is drinking your blood.
But, you say nobody is obliged to re0C
a sermon. O my unsophisticated friend
if man will put his thoughts-or his
words, if thoughts are lacking-betweeI
covers.-spread his banquet, and respectful
l. invite Public Taste to partake of 1t, Pub
lie Taste being free to decline, then you
observation is sound. If an author quietl,
buries himself in his book,-very good
hic jacet peace to his ashes !
ssThe tunes have been.
That. wneo toe bruins out, the man would die
t.ere i ; Du- now they rise again."
a, Macbeth observes, with some confusio
of gntax. excusable in person of his Gil
cumstances. Now, suppose they-or he
the mao whose brains are out-goes abou
with his coffia under his arm, like my wor
Thy uncle? and suppose he blandy, polite
u. relentlessly insists upon reading to you
out OF that octave sarcophagus, passage
which il his opinion prove that he is no
dead, but immortal? If such man be
stranger, snub him if a casual acquair
tance, met % 40 evil hour, there is sti
hope,-doors have locks, and there are tw
sides to street, and nearsightedness is
blessing, and (as last resort) buttons ma
be sacrificed (you remember Lambs stor
@ Coleridge), and left in the clutch of th
fatal fngers. But one of your owo kin
drcd. and very respectable, adding tn
claim o. misfortune to his other claims upo
you-pachy ydermatous to sights, smiling
Iy persuasive, gently persistent,-as III
perturbable as d ships wooden fsure-hea
through all the ups and downs of the voJ
age Of life, and as insensible to cold water
in short an uncle like my uncle, whol
there was no getting rid of what th
deuce would you do?
Exactly; run away as [ did. Ther
was nothing else to be done, unless, lndeet
had throttIed the old gentleman
which case | am confident that one OF oil
modern model juries would have brougt
IN the popular verdict OF justifable insar
Ity. Buc, being peaceable man, | wa
ayesse to extreme measures: so did tt
next best thing,-consulted my wife, al
retired TO this village.
lien consider the shock to my teelln
when [ looked up that day and saw til
enemy Of cur peace stalking into our lit
Paradise with his took under his arm al
his carpet-bag in his hand! coming vii
his sermons and his shirts, prepared to st'
week, that is to say year, that is to 81
torever, If we would suffer him,-a1d he
Was he to be nirdered by any despera
measures short ne ourninp the house dOWr
My dear nephew y says he stridil
toward me with eager steps, as you pc
haps remember, smiling his eternally DR.