Vermont phÅ“nix. [volume] (Brattleboro, Vt.) 1834-1955, 1881-02-25

We rode through the old town, the other
day the old town linked with all our child
ish memories. And, as we rode slowly on
ward our memory slipped slowly backward ;
and we were the children again, of thirty
years ago, and it was bright, summer, Sab
bath morning. and we were riding over the
selfsame road in the double farm wagon,
and there was grandfather and grandmother,
the two big girls, mother, we two little girls
and wee brother, with father smiling and
handsome on the front seat, meekly driving
his proudly prancing span Of white-faced
Morgan horses.
As we drive past the old common, and the
Universalist church, the bell from our own
peals out its Sabbath call and outwardly we
wear our Sabbath faces, but inwardly we are
wondering to ourselves, IL any one will see
our new chip bonnet with its pink ribbons
and flowers Up from over the Hollow road
comes the other double wagon and span Of
black horses, with its load of Sunday faced
folk and jolly faced driver and from I'll
the roads around come the single buggies
loaded and from all the houses roundabout
come the inhabitants thereof. As we near the
church, the father curbs the prancing horses
and stops at the church steps whereon are all
the men and boys from all the town about,
and who seem possessed Of but one single
feature l. e., their eyes, and seem to have
left their hands at home so we climb out
and help one another, until the steeds start
suddenly forward, sending some one of us
out quickly, then the bravest OF them sudden
ly finds his arms and helps us TO our feet.
Then we go shyly into the church entry,
wherein are all the little girls we ever saw or
heard of, and find corner iu which we stand,
with our checks burning with bushes and our
hearts with envy of some little girl who has
had the courage to walk forward in the face
of all the eyes of the people and speak to
some other little girl. We stand in the same
and our minister comes slowly walking in,
with a look of prayer and peace on his face.
His family follow him the wife with eyes
downcast and hands meekly folded then
comes lady Lucy, curly headed Ned, meek
faced, sweet-voiced Mary, wicked looking
viii and wee Nellie they walk sedately up
to the pulpit and the front seat, and the rest
Of us quietly find our seats. We rise at the
morning prayer then listen to singing by the
choir and try to hear the text; then we try to
keep awake next, by eating carraway cookies
and watching certain small boy in the front
seat, and feel wickedly good to see, at last,
the good minister slowly close the Bible for
then we know the sermon is done and vague
ly wonder why we did not hear it, the rest
seemed to. Then the old people 20 out and
We gov ith some other little girlsin to another
pew, where we find our Sunday school teach
er awaiting us, lady with n low voice and
who looks at us with large brown eyes be-
tween such nice brown-gray curls, whom we
always thought looked good to kiss and
we wondered if she wore that sweet smile
every day or only Sundays. After lessons,
we go to little library, where are thirty or
forty good books, select one and then we 90
out in the entry and look out, to be seized
with envy upon seeing that same small boy
go out TO the well across the road with some
other little girl. After awhile, half dozen
of us walk brayely out past all the men and
boys and 60 to the well for water, then down
to the "Silent Village" under the hill, where
We walk slowly about, reading the names on
the white doors above the sleeping inhabit-
ants, until the sound of the bell calls US back
to afternoon service. We go slowly up the
road, over the brow of the hill across the cor
nor of the common, we near the church,
when-why what is this
We rub our eyes and look again we have
rushed back over the thirty years with such
suddenness, we are as shocked as il there had
been an earthquake and it seems as if only
an earthquake could have made such an un-
slightly ruin as now greets our eyes; and we
stop and inquire of gray headed man
"Did the wind do that ?" NO." he gravely
says, "the hands of mischief, and 10, the old
sheds lie low in ruin" We were tempted to
discredit our ears ms we had our eyes. In
our astonishmeEt, we surprised our steady
old nag with cut of the whip that sent her
forward with such speed she soon left the
old town behind in gale of dust but it sad
dened us, for it reminded us OF one who
helped to build the church and its sheds, and
in whose day such an unsightly object would
not have been left one week to disgrace the
town. But he, alas is gone and there is
none left like him, no, not one.