Vermont phÅ“nix. [volume] (Brattleboro, Vt.) 1834-1955, 1880-02-06
MISS LTDIA'S PRODTGAL.
A Romance Of "a Chrl.,n.a. Card.

Romance OF - ChristBlaa Card.
1t is strange, but there arc some people
| who like to live in villages, else how should
villages eXistI On the other hand, it is pos
sible that there are some people living in vii
lagos who do not like it at ALL We can not
always choose our lot il we could, some of
us would suffer more from the worry of
choosing than We do now from submission to
the inevitable. Here and there we find
person whose desires are definitely mapped
| out but these are rare, and still more rare
are the few who seem to have no desires.
Miss Lydia Grace did not look if she
had a wish unfulflled yet she lived in n vii
! lage She stood at the eastern side of her
little porch one day, in the bright early sun
shine, tying up her morning.glories. She
did not make a striking picture, like the
"Garduer's Daughter" with rounded arms
upliftcd, and glowing face turned back yet
| perhaps she was as pleasant to look upon in
! her way. To be sure. she was an old maid
she must have been thirty -fve-aud she had
on large soiled white apron used for gar
dening purposes. and judging from the slen-
| der proportions of her little figure, the arms
under her chintz sleeves were far from being
! finely rounded. But when you came to the
| t;tce-I think you would say that many young
er faces were less fair. 1t was fading gently
away from its fresh young beauty, and was
delicate, yet not icOrH the soft color was
little settled, as if the day of varying bushes
was over and the fine skin had lost some
thing of its clear firmnoss. Yet the mouth
was sweet and placid, and the dark steady
| eyes had look in them which said Il have
| lived, l have" Well, what more Why,
then the deep, quiet reserve in their clear
| glance seemed to forbid your surmising any
thing further. But if you chose to examine
her features. you would suddenly discover
that she was in reality very beautiful wo-
man, for the outline Of her face WAS quite
faultless in its delicate. regular curves You
see, it takes an obscryant eye to discover the
beauty of an old maid. Once upon a time
Miss Lyda's beauty had been easily discov-
cred. and never disputed for she had been
| a great belle and lived III the city for a while,
| breaking hearts by the score, people said.
But that was long while ago, and she never
| seemed to regret that she was a belle no
| longer. Who would be so wildly unreasona-
BILE AS to expect to be n belle to the age of
seventy? Not Miss Lydia, at any rate she
was prominently reasonable.
This was a very fine morning, and proba-
bly, no one in the village appreciated it so
thoroughly as Miss Lydia Grace. The air
was at once warm and cool, and as fresh and
| fragrant as if the world were but Just created;
and you would suppose that the sun had new
er risen, or the dew sparkled, or the birds
sung before-they glowed and sparkled and
sang with such unwoaried zest and in such
very ecstasy of Joy. Miss Lydia's heart open
| ed to it all like the heart of child. She fin
ished tying up her morning-glories, and stood
looking about her with smile then she
took off her great apron, and went indoors
to breakfast. One must eat, be the morning
ever so fine, and with all the more relish,
perhaps, when one is thirty five, and the pas
sion and ardor and restless desire of youth
are lulled to sleep by the gentle years Miss
Lydia had not faded she had ripened, and
she had passed through all the phases of early
womanhood, and was resting now, and calm.
| She had never stained her conscience very
deeply. She ate her breakfast and drank
her tea in the same dainty, graceful, yet un-
affected way that she did everything else.
| She had pretty old china which she washed
with her own hands, and spread forth on the
high old-fashioned sideboard She was a lit
tie prim and fanciful in her ways, but she
had no one to disturb her, and she grew
| somewhat narrow, perhaps, living alone.
We are all moulded, to great extent, by the
| circumstances of our lives. Some women,
living alone would have grown careless and
slatternly. Miss Lydia liked to be a lady in
her own eyes as well as in the eyes of others.
After breakfast she gave orders to the stout,
DlOOulnR country RlTl, uUT ulhlAl- l-hll- hOIh,
and then passed into her trim little parlor,
and began to dust and arrange her treasures.
There was the piano, and the inlaid table,
and the small cabinet and there were the
slim Bohemian vases, and the Parian statu-
cites, and the flower stands Cher china was
in the dining-room, where it Belonged and
finally there was the little shell-sLaped plate
on the cabinet, filled with ornamental cards,
the collection of two holiday seasons For
the fashion Of sending cards had commenced
not long since, and Miss Lydia had plenty of
friends both in the village and in the city
beyond, who were glad to remember her at
Christmas-time. Besides, she had bought a
few herself of a poor wandering, hungry
eyed woman who sold such trihes for her dai-
ly bread. One Of these latter held the place
of honor 1t was q very pretty card, with a
colored print mot too bright of Raphaels
madonna of the Chair" ON the upper part,
and few verses of carol, in Illuminated
type, below. 1t rested against the pedestal
of a rustic cross and the whole was wreathed
with a framework of ferns and trailing vines.
Upon these simple decorations Miss Lydia
| gazed with n tender, ever-softening glance,
and, behold it seemed that she had grown
young again, and dreams awoke in her quiet
eyes. All whenever you see a woman with
pair of dark sweet eyes like hers, you may
be sure that she has a dream hidden away
somewhere, no matter how TRANQUILITY her lips
may smile, or how still and uneventful her
life may be, Miss Lydias dream lives in her
face as she looks at the madonna of the
Chair" II have lived" her eyes say-'I
have"-yes, they say, ~ hare iored," quite
Enthusiastically now. Then, in a moment,
the gleam has passed away from her face as
the moonlight passes from the still water,
and she turns to bunch of fading roses on
the mantel-s shelf, carefully draws them from
the vase, and goes out to gather fresh ones.
There is no shadow on her face. Whatever
her regrets may be, she has taken them
bravely and quietly into her life, without stir
or fret, and they form part of its pure sub
stance.
She goes to the kitchen presently, and says,
''Malyy, did you take that basket Of pears to
Mrs. Freeman'sp"
eyes marm, says MalYY breathing hard