Orleans County monitor. [volume] (Barton, Vt.) 1872-1953, 1874-03-30
A SATURDAY NIGHT STORY.

The tender sentiment is not confined
to the lily skinned and silken-haired peo-
pie who strut peacockedly through the
Lords barnyard, and look with disdain
upon the palmer hued and coarser feath-
cred bipeds who humbly scratch for the
vulgar worm. Wealth and Fame may
pick out select few to be the recipients
of their favors, and set them in exalted
places to wriggle their nose affixed fin
gers at the aw-pulling crowd below
But thou, oh Love art as impartial as
the dew that falls alike upon the clean
and the unclean, upon the rose and the
unrose, upon the tender violet and the
hardened violater. All seasons, all couu-
tries, all people are thine Thou scat
terest thy favors as the farmer sowest
the wheat, on the rough and on the lev
ell, in the bottoms and on the hillside.
Thou lightest upon the blue-veined DAM
sells Of aristocracy and clabber- blooded
coachmen of whipstocracy, and they
elope and thou laughest in the face of
Scandal. Thou descendest into the bo-
som of the untutored milk-maid, and she
leaveth the half-eased udder hanging to
the wandering COW and skippeth from
her home with the sweet-scented middle
man ; and thy mocking voice resoundeth
through the saddened grange. Thou
stealest into the breast of the lowly Ethi-
opian, and he riseth in the pride of
man, and fingeth away his ak, and 60
eth forth to get some one to write a let
ter for him. Which latter thing thou
didst last Saturday, and thy subject con-
trolled by that strange spell, came
straightway to US.
Tremblingly, yet hopefully, he stood
before US, and while there shone in his
eyes heaven-born light, and in his
mouth two rows of ivory inlaid with to-
bacco, he took off his battered hat, and
in a husky voice asked
''Boss, can you write %
We told him that at odd times, when
the determined creatures of a crippled
imagination hobbled into Reasons do
main and drove her from her throne, we
were wont to seize the frail, uncertain
quill, and agitate it in the interest Of
nothing in particular.
Eyes sab dat's so. But can you
write ? Can you and here our col
ored friend drew nearer, husked his voice
back farther, and in whisper that
sounded like it was coming through a
stovepipe, continued, ''can you write a
lub letter ?''
We we're silent moment. Our tho,ts
were busy with the past. Then with a
knee-deep tone we replied that we could.
"Well, Boss, if you'll write letter
for me to my gaia nice, sweet, sola-
cious billy-doo-I'n chop you up cawd
O. wood"
We wrote.
We threw ourself back into those by
gone days, way back to our first case
She was gentle, blue-eyed girl, with a
poetic temperament and a voice like the
echo of fairy grotto, now close and
clear and now dying away in vibrating
murmurs, low, soft and sweet. We were
a boy again, and writing to her. Pool
girl she has been married four times
since then, and her husbands are al
alive-the last one just barely alive
The laws delays, and the wear and teal
of divorce courts, must have somewhat
shattered the delicate casket that hello
her pure soul. Perhaps she is now but
wreck of her former self but we cal
only remember her as the loving, vii
levy creature who, when prating child
licked the molasses from our bread, and
older grown, sugared all our hopes-ant
swalled them. Oh enchantress
''Ain't you mos done, Boss ?''
All yes. We had forgotten. Perhap'
this will do. And we read over to hin
what we had written.
''Hi golIy ! dat's solumptious Da
takes de ha'r off de bush Chop you twt
cawds O. wood for dat. shuah If da
don't fotch Liza Jane into desc arms
: den she amt got no soul. Cl'ar out, mig
gers Guayfum dat gal Ise eomina
now. Good mofnin, Boss, good mornin.
> Cut you two cawds o wood an tote
> in de cellar
The embittered eynic may sneer at u
for engaging In so frivolous an oceupa
ton, but the light that this little ac
broughteinto one benighted breast wa
reflected in our own /; We rejoiced in haV
ing made one humble creature happy
Then there was the wood.
If we could stop here we would b
content, and SO no doubt would our read
y readers, but it must all be told.
2 q q
Time and things elapse, and it is tt
L evening of the same day. In cheerfr
g parlor kind-faced woman sits knittin
g in the lamplight The door softly opens
'r and her servant, a pony built young ne