Connecticut western news., 1883-12-12
A CENTURY AGO.

A CENTURY AGO.
 An old brown leather-covered book, the leaves yellow, the writing scarcely legible, from time and decay-evidently an old, neglected MS. To the fire or to my private shelfP Which9
 These were my reflections as looked over the papers of my late uncle, the rector of Somersetshire village.
 liked the look of the book and de- cided for the shelf; and I had my re- ward, for I found in the grabbed char acters simple story, evidently written toward the close of the writer's life. This story I now transcribe into more modern style.
 sHe'n be fit for nothing," said my father; Gan awkward booby who holds his awl and cuts his food with his left hand"
 So said my father, and so, alas I felt. I was awkward. I was fifteen; thick-set, strong, but terribly clumsy. I could not make collar, nor sew 8 pair of blinkers, nor stuff saddle, nor do anything that I ought to be able to do. My fingers seemed to have no me- chanical feeling in them. I was awk- ward, and knew it, and all knew it.
 ''I don't know what he's fit for," said my father to the rector of the parish. "I've set him to carpentering, and he's cut his finger nearly off with an ax; then he went to the smith, and burnt his hands till he was laid up for a month. It's all of no use; he spells me more good leather in week than his earnings pay for in 8 month. Why cannot he, like other Christians, use his hands as the good God meant him top There, look at him now, cutting that back strap for the squire with his left hand"
 l heard him; the knife slipped, and the long strip of leather was divided in moment and utterly spoiled.
 There now! look at that A piece out of the very middle of the skin and his finger gashed into the bargain
 The rector endeavored to soothe my fathers anger, while I bandaged my finger.
 "You'd better let him come up fol that vase, MT. Walters; I should like 6 case to fit it, for it is very fragile, as all that old Italian glass is; and line it witt the softest leather, please."
 And so went with the rector to bring back the vase, taking two chamoif feathers to bring it in.
 We reached the house, and waited 1T the passage while he went to fetch it He came back with large vase. tenderly wrapped in the feathers. Alas At tha moment there came from the room against the door of which was stand ing, the sound of voice singing. 4 voice that thrilled me through-a voic l hear now as I write these lines-s, clear, so sweet, So pure as if an ange had revealed itself to me.
 I trembled, and forgot the preciou burden in my hands; it dropped to tn ground and was shattered to pieces.
 How shall I describe the rector rage?
 She who had the angel-voice--hi niece-came out and saw her. I fol got the disaster, and stood speechlessl gazing at her face.,
 "You awkward scoundrel look g your work. Thirty pounds Eft , pounds An invaluable treasure gon irreparably in moment. Why don r you speakP Why did you drop ?" "Drop it" said, waking up. "Dro what" And then it flashed upon ID again, and I stammered out, "Sh sang P
 , "And if she did sing, was there an } occasion to drop my beautiful vase, yo . doubly stupid blockhead2 There, g out of the house, do, before you do an 9 further mischief, and tell your father {
 horsewhip you for stupid dolt.'' l My father heard of my misfortune, an s laid the strap across my shoulders witl : out hesitation, for in my young da,
 boys were boys till eighteen or ninetee 5 years old. I bore it patiently, uncon Q plainingly.
 Q "What is he fit for ?" everyone wou }, ask, and no one could answer, not evt - myself.
 I wandered about the rectory in u 8 summer evenings and heard her sing; ? ? tried hard to get the old gardener to l me help him carry the watering-pot
 and when I succeeded, felt, as I enter, e the rector's garden, that I was enteri,
 paradise.