Green-Mountain freeman. [volume] (Montpelier, Vt.) 1844-1884, 1879-07-30

A VISION OF SPRING.--As | write, q
dear little wasp falls upon the table and
expresses his emotion by whirling around
on his back, as he lies prone upon the
manuscript before me. Somebody left the
window open, and "the wind blew it in"
1t lies prone enough just now, but it isn't
half so prone as it looks l whistle up
the dog of my neighbor. 1t is young
dog, foolish in his general habits, impul-
sive to q fault usually incorrect in its
premises, faulty in its deductions, and
utterly erroneous in its conclusions. l
direct the attention of the dog to the
smuggling wasp, and by sibilant sounds
and taunting and encouraging gestures
endeavor to excite the unjust wrath OF the
quadruped against the insect. am emil
nently successful. The instinct of the
brute would undoubtedly teach him to
shun strong, healthy wasp, but as this
insect appears to be suffering from brok-
en- back, the dog is confident of an easy
victory. After short Introductory over
ture of barks, he advances upon the buzz
ing victim and picks it up. But how shall
we despise the day Of small things?
Without the sunshine floods the dusty
thorougbfare of Eighth street with the
glory of spring. the maple buds unfold,
and the white blossoms sparkle like sum-
mer snowdrops on the cherry trees;
child in clean white dress and red han
mel leegings is falling down the stairs of
the house across the way, and man in
the lot adjoining is trying to chase seven
chickens into one coop, while the seven
chickens with fine burst Of speed are
endeavoring very successfully TO distance
the man in seven different directions. No
man can head off seven chickens under
those circumstances. A woman out
" calling" and evidently little bit lost
as to locality is standingswith card case
in her hand, patiently knocking at the
door of house that has been empty
nearly eight weeks. The wasp, evidently
cheered and toned by the skirmish, is
wheeling airily about the room, singing
in low, soft tones the songs of other golden
days. How peaceful and summer-like the
| picture!
The dogP All, yes! Was there, then,
dog in the sceneP Memory, memory,
open thy golden gates! All, yes! there
was dog, not long ago. Yes, | remem-
ber now. He was here. But there is no
dog in this immediate vicinity now.
| He has moved.
How like silent benison the radiant
sunlight falls upon the street, Yes, |
think now saw him move. l heard him
too, for my recollection is that he moved
as much with his tongue as he did with
his feet. l gaze upon the canvas Of the
past, and memory limns for me the details
of his moving. But nothing limns any
thing for the dog. He doesn't need it.
He limbed it all that was necessary for
his own unaided self.
Upon the cloudless, pale, unshadowcd
blue of the April sky above me storms
will come, and the fierce, white glare of
the lightning will frighten the radiant
sunshine and the mellow starlight. There
will be drifting clouds across the summer
days, and the smile of the springtime will
/ be quenched in bitter tears.
o, icy sheen of winter and the hollow
sound of the man upon the treacherous
cellar grating.
How all the Sc things will come and 60
The changing seasons, fecked with storm
l and calm; the still, deep, starry summer
nights, the restless tide and the laughing
D of the winds in the voiceless forests
f laughing children, radiant youth and rev
erend iage; the bridal wreath and th'
, snowy crown upon the casket lid!
!, How all these things will come and go
5 But that dog will never come back here
again. Never.
I AT least, not until he has heard tina
Il that wasp is dead. Dead. Dead AM
jburied.-BArlingtos Rd0keye.