Vermont phÅ“nix. [volume] (Brattleboro, Vt.) 1834-1955, 1877-06-15
STARLIGHT AND LAMPLIGHT.


STARLIGHT AND LAAfPLIGHT
"Stand up, Philip, my lad, and show The
gentleman your book. He's right clover
lad, Sir James, is my Philip, and I'll not
say but what I'm proud Of him."
Sir James put on his spectacles, and took
the copy-book from the chid's hands, to
examine it more closely. Presently be put
1t down, really surprised, and turned TO
Dame Leigh, who was standing quietly
near with her hand on Philips head. 1T
is wonderfully good, Mrs. Leigh" he said,
land his father no scholar either. Why, the
lad will be genius"
Mrs. Leigh blushcd, smiled and courte-
sled, smoothing the book out between her
work-worn hands, and Sir James took his
spectacles oil carefully again, and put them
in his pocket; but little Philip, shaking
himself free from his mothers hand, did a
strange thing; he threw himself down
across the table, and tore the copy-book
across and across, sobbing out, 81 won't be
genius l won't write copies any more all
my life, because don't want to he gen.
ius." Sir James was startled; he was un-
used 10 children, and such foolish crying
aud foolish tempers annoyed him. Hesaid
good-by to Mrs. Leigh, and went out into
the harvest fields, leaving the torn copy
book and Philip aud his mother to fight the
battle out among them.
There was not much fight, however. Mrs.
Leigh was a widow, and Philip was her
only son; so, though she scolded him for
his temper, and especially for showing it
before Sir James, she forgave him after a
while, and Philip sat down a sadder and a
wiser boy 10 his supper. But for all that
he kept his word. The lessons which had
been his delight he went about in a sloven-
ly, ungracious manner, that vexed his
mothers heart and from being bright and
quick with his tasks, he took TO being so
slow and plodding that, as the months
passed on, the fact that he had once been at
the head Of the class grew to be mere fad
cd memory TO the other scholars for just
as his mother, pleased with Sir James's
words, had made up her mind that her son
should be a scholar and genius, so Philip
in his ignorant heart, had determined to
the contrLry-and so, with a careless hand,
he laid the first light foundation of the in
visible wall that lay between them for
while.
Mrs. Leigh, or Dame Leigh, as they call
ed her in her own village, was the pretty
young widow Of Sir James Garneps head
groom. Her short married life had been
one dream of happiness from the moment
when, standing on the village bri idge, Phil
ip had asked her TO be- his wife, until she
awakened one autumn morning TO the re-
ality of terrible sorrow, which was TO
leave its impress on her whole after-life.
For they brought Philip home, through the
golden broom on the common, still and
white and pale, with a little dark mark on
his left temple, that his wife covered with
her hand when she knelt down and laid her
soft cheek against his curly head; "Phil-
ip," she said-"Philip, my dear, are you
dead ?"
No, not dead, but worse than dead, as
Dame Leigh used to sob sometimes, as she
knelt by the window, and looked out with
gistening eyes on the harves; field that
was bringing in such rich returns-the
seeds that Philip had planted in the spring
time, in his leisure hours, but that other
hands would reap; for Philip, wandering
helplessly from room TO room, with that
black mark above his temple, was walking
toward the Valley of the Shadow, through
a dark, still path, in which he recognized
nothing of his former life-not even the
sweet face and tender touch of his young
wife. For Philip had lost his reason-was
''innocent," as they call it, in a simple,
beautiful manner, in some parts of Ire
nd 20 frl,N L.
among them at Eversham, in a world of
his own, and then the end came.
How he had managed to be kicked by the
two-year-old, in whose box they found
him lying helpless, no one could imagine,
for better or safer man with horses than
Philip Leigh was not TO be found on the
countrywide; but when tue end came, the
explanation came with it.
He had been sitting brooding over the
fire all one summer afternoon, with his
head in his hands, and his wife Phoebe knit
ting on stool before him, when suddenly
he cried out, "Ph@be, Phoebe ~ and start
ed up with both hands stretched out toward
her as If Cor help.
Phoebe rose hastily and put her knitting
aside, answering his cry with tender, low
ing words and compassionate tears.
"Do you know me, Philip" she said.
"Philip, my dear, look at me, and remem-
ber me once"
So she prayed, kneeling straight before
him, with little Philip cingiLg to her dress,
and the summer sunset creeping toward
them across the shining red of the kitchen
floor, and Philip, lifting his dim eyes, drew
down her face and kissed 1.-THE first time
for eight months.
So her prayer was answered.
He grew quiet again then, and presently
she persuaded him to go to bed, and sat be-
side him holding his hand until he fell
asleep. When he awoke 1t was midnight,
and the lamp had burned low, but Phoebe
was still sitting by his side. He lay quiet
for while, and then he began 10 talk in
low, hurried tone, and to move restlessly
about. "Take care" Phoebe heard him
say presently. in louder voice-"not there,