Vermont phÅ“nix. [volume] (Brattleboro, Vt.) 1834-1955, 1877-05-18

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myself-wben, just then ore of those stu
pld lanterns began to splutter, and th,
flame of the candle inside caught 10 thu
himsy paper, and the whole of the neat anC
clean whitewashed summer.house was in
blaze.
Lawrence Lawrence ~ | cried. 81
can't answer you now or promise anything
but do run to the vegetable garden quick
You will find wateriug-pot there" aud
clapped my bands in impatence. But my
husband stood as If dazed. "What a love.
ly effect See the lambeut flames, how
they devour the lattice-workl There is
nothing so beautiful as the unforeseen"
That was all he said as he apparently stood
In raptures. "Irs a shame, Lawrence, tC
see valuable property ruined this way.
Quick, the watering-pot," l replied, really
cross this time.
"Wbat tragedy it would make" was all
he said. Though he held me fast by the
hand, of course we were outside of the
blazing summer-house. 81 say, Marie, l
am dead and you are my widow, and you
| perform suffice"
| lost my temper entirely then, and
| breaking loose from him, ran for the ktch
en- garden, and returned with the watering
pot, which put in his hands. At last be
seemed TO understand the situation, and as
pointed to the creek, he filled the wafer
ing.pot, and l kept him busy for a half
hour. Though he extinguished the flames,
the summer-house was ruined, and both of
us were drenched, smoked and bedraggled.
The worst OF it all was that the man fish
ing in the creek would not help US a bit,
but kept on bobbing for cells, and the SER
wants, with their very strict orders not TO
intrude into Mr.. Hodges Paradise, stood
looking over the fence palings, and never
lent hand. They supposed, so they said,
that the fire in the garden was portion OF
the illumination. "Kind Of joy" said the
colored cook, Fireworks; ; ies' like Fourth
of July"
When the last smoulderng wood work
on the unfortunate summer-house was eI-
tinguished, we left the garden.
didn't like to blame the lanterns just
then. 1 only said "a nicely whtewashed
summer. house which was so sweet and
clean"
"Was it whitewashed, Marie ?" inquired
Mr.. Hodge, coolly. "Then it has met its
proper fate. Whitewash is the curse of the
age. am glad ii was burned; once while
wash stamped out in this country--those
whitened sepulchres done away with-like
a aph9nix from its ashes, Renaissance will
trim its wings and take its flight"
This incident of the scorched summer
house was my first discovery ofMr. Hodges
peculiar mania, aud here my aniipathy TO
Renaissance had its origin.
Now, good, serviceable block tin coffee
pot, providing it is well secured and bright,
is admirable in its way. Tin things don't
break. Stone-china cotfee-cups, too, are
serviceable and lasting. l want to know
what is the use in making coffee or tea cups
too light and thin, unless it is to encourage
the china-makers? Ifa person is not strong,
or hasn't energy enough TO liil II cofee-cup
TO his or her mouth, he Is certainly not iu
proper condition of b ealth to drink coffee,
and ought not to have any. don't want
to have anything on my table that you
can't pick up and put down agaiu, or a ser.
want can't handle without a thousand pre-
cautions. Now, my pet coflee-pot aud
those honest cups are Mr.. Hodges utter
detestations. To humor his fancy, did l
not go TO dollar store and buy him, my
self. splendid cup, with "MY HUSBAND"
in the biggest kind OF gilt letters on it?
And what was the result1 The man abso-
lutely shuddered, and showed the cup aside,
saying "that the ulensl was so horrible in
shape and vulgar in decoration that it poi
soned the coffee"
Now, ] want to know what a woman, a
wife in her sound senses, is to do on an oc-
casion OF this kind. Wehave a spare room
in The house, and 1 wished to furnish it in
case guest might come. had purchased
a nice painted set of furniture, and some
Windsor chairs. Mr.. Hodge absolutely
looked at the furniture with tears in his
eyes, as If he was broken hearted.
MARIE" he said. "to you ! owe allegi-
ance, and TO the Medieval aud Renaissance.
Can you not, will you not soar with me to
the uppermost heights, to the pinnacles
and spires of purer, more ennobling
art?
"And pray what is The mstterS' l simply
asked.
"You are degrading my finer senses.
You make me suffer tortures. had hoped
that with your aid we might express with
chaiis and hat-racks our longing for the in-
finite. In the simple umbrella stand, in
the boot jack, the fleeing bliss of the Re-
naissance can find its last word, for mark
you, Marie, the proper use of ornament
brings new messages to the universe. Can
you follow me?'
l frankly told him that | could not any
more than if he was talking Greek. only
said, "Don't'you find these Windsor chairs
neal2"
"Neat, Msrlel Neat is a horrid word.
Neat is suggestive TO my ears only of the
drunkard who takes his brandy neat. The
neat in art is nothing more than a row of
stitches on aschool-girl's sampler work, the
row Of brass-beaded nails or a hair trunk.
Neat is expressionless, flavorless, and vap-
Id. Yes, Windsor chairs are neat'-here
he turned his back on my poor chairs.
"Things as men understand them now in
an art sense, express only the sensual and
brutal. ask no stronger proof of this
than in this very furniture. What do we
in America, sleep on, sit on, or eat Off
Tell me, describe 10 me these things in
common daily use, and l will tell you what
we are and what we are coming to. Two
words suffice to depict all these horrors.
These two words are glue aud varnish.
Accused mechanism, with its debasing in
fiuences, has accomplished this. Instead
of patient toll, lofty aspirations, and dill
gent labor, some machine, with cruel jaws,
seizes on cord of wood, aud out come ia
bles, chairs, beds, washstands, and bureaus