The Vermont watchman. [volume] (Montpelier, Vt.) 1883-1911, 1884-06-11


600 Although an unusual occurrence, the
people took warning, widened the brook, re-
built further from It and no one anticipated
further trouble. At noon Monday moderate
rain fell but an hour later storm OF terrible
force broke upon the village. A storm was
also in progress about five miles north
and the high wind that changed in few
miutes from south to north. and then back
again, drove the two storms together. The rain
fell as II a mighty river had fallen from the
heavens. The hill north Of the town that
slopes west to Black river and east to the creek
sent torrent OF wates toward the place.
Warning was at once given, but so rapidly did
the water rise that few had time to save any
thing and were forced to flee for their lives.
The chanel of the creek became filled with the
wreckage Of houses, barns and other buildings,
which forced 1t in other directions. One stream
of large size flowed through the Springfield
house, another through Hart g. Dodge's livery
stables, and another through Ellison Brothers
stage barn. Hart & Dodge were fortunate
enough to save all their horses and carriages,
but lost many robes, blankets, cushions, etc.
Ellison Brothers saved nearly all their outfit,
but the barn was badly damaged. Only
rough estimate of the damage can be given,
but the individual losses and damage to high
ways will reach at least $4,000. In some
places the highways are quilted twenty-five
feet deep, and some houses in the village have
four feet of mud in them. Just across the
Cheshire bridge barn connected with the
Cheshire bridge hotel was blown down, killing
William Parker and fatally injuring a woman
named Bella Spauding. The storm ragged over
three hours.
Mr.. EUGENE FIELD, cousin Of Henry K.
Field, formerly of this village, and member
Of the Chicago Daily Ne,cS staff, read the fol-
lowing poem at recent press banquet in that
city:
No eloquent thought and no fowery word
That the most OF you stning enraptured have heard
Could allure me from viands so temptingly spread,
That I've missed the extempore speeches you've read,
But my heart beats responsive to one theme diHne-
The woman we drink to in bumpers Of wine;
SO throw down my napkin, my fork and my knife,
To speak to the toast of " The Editors Wife,"
And of you'll agree-snce wives all here
To brighten the scene and partake of our cheer
That the best of all angels kind heaven has sent
To bring man sympathy peace, and content
To add to his joys and to lessen his woes
To sew on his buttons and patch up his hose
And to smooth out the kinks and the wrinkles of lfe
Is the idol we worship-the editors wife.
When the editor comes from the office at night
Alta very late hour, in a dubious plight,
The impression prevails and the story is told
That editors wife can be always cajoled
With ib about bridges and broken down press"
But we who have been there free to confess
That when husbands are late and suspicious rife,
1t is best TO own up to the editors wife,
All such fables are cruel, and men are unknd
To libel a of such generous mind
A sex that economies all through the year
That may afford to exhibit them here
The women who scrmpingly, patiently walt
For the annual feast at three dollars per plate
| For of all the wild joys in the circus Of life,
| banquet seems best to the editors wife.
| But, all jesting aside-since dimly surmise
| That the ladies regard me with sinister eyes
| Who more than the wife of our bosom deserves
| The sweet veneration her beauty preserves;
| And the years may go by and heads may grow
white
| Her beauty Ia ever as pure and as bright
| AS when she faced poverty, sorrow, and strife,
| And blessed our estate editors wife.
| And some of us, gancng back over the years,
| Can call up sweet Visions all hallowed by tears
| A dress, or toy, or hood that is torn,
| Or quaint little shoe that baby has worn
| Or white little face lying under pail
And moss covered grave over yonder-that's all;
But we know the great grief that has clouded the life
| And broken the heart Of an editors wife.
| You may drink to your trade and your creatures o
| fame
| l raise not my glass till hear her sweet name
| 'Tis TO her who alone, uncomplaningly bears
The all of her SORROWS and most of our cares
| Whose wealth of sweet influence subty inspires
| Our grandest achievements and nobest desires
| IT'S to her would drnk-our companion in life
| Gods best inspiration, the editors wife!