Spirit of the age. [volume] (Woodstock, Vt.) 1845-1913, 1884-04-23

low n beacon at sea, Suddenly.as Carl
Steinert, the foremost, paused on the
threshold Of q spacious high-ceiled
apartment, q voice broke the stiffness,
voice 80 silyery sweet and clear that II
might have been that of an angel chant
ing:
He shall put down the mighty from their seats.
And eralt the lowly to high degree.
And other voices took up the strain
and prolonged it till the words died
away among the arches in notes OF raw
ishing melody. Then. in the second 81
lcnce that followed, they crossed the
threshold and entered.
The lights from Il thousand waxen
tapers glittered from their solid silver
holders on the snowy silken drapery Of
high altar.
Rare blossoms shed their beauty and
perfume everywhere. hanging heavy
scented heads, or lifting up fairy-whte
chalices as if in prayer.
In front of the altar, on y couch OF
flowers fairer and fresher than any
others, lay extended slender waxen
form, clad in q rich silken robe, with
long dark lashes curling on the dainty
cheek, and fair sunny hair falling like
veil of gold about her.
Many an ancient retainer of the house
stood around, and one, reused by the
entrance of the new corners, spoke as
in dream:
1.-THE countess is dead"
And the words passed from lip to lip
adown the whole long line:
"The young Countess Clotilde is
dead
Then uprose from the head Of the bier
tall bent form, that but day since
had been straight as mountain pine,
and, in spite of the silver that threaded
his black locks, and the strength and
pride that had ever departed from him,
the villagers recognized their tyrant
lord and master.
One moment the keen dark eyes
swept over the sea of faces with some
thing of their old naughty light; then
they grew dim with unshed tears, and
he said, in a voice that sounded strange
to their unaccustomed ears:
"This is kind in you, my people. But
five days ago l refused your prayer with
cruel scorning, and yet in your hearts
you bear me no hatred.
"Well may you mourn. She who lies
dead before you, loved you with love
that passeth knowledge.
"One hour before the breath left her
lips she won from me, as dying boon,
the promise that l, your feudal lord,
would free you from taxation and bond
age, and create you free tillers OF the
soil.
"Henceforth your liberty is your own;
yours and the children that will follow
after you, and the law shall bind what !
have spoken.
"As for me, am bereft. My child
my child! the last of mine ancient, no.
BILE race''
One moment they looked into one an
others faces, and then at the stricken
count, VINO, bending low, saw naught
but the couch of flowers that held his
idol; but no words came to their aid.
Silently they passed BY the bier,
Reverently they touched the folded
waxen hands, and the yellow silken'
tressed head that but five ewes ago they
had cursed in their heart of hearts.
Then they passed forth again from the
archway of the castle, and on the thres-
hold they broke in twain their weapons
of steel, and left the fragments lying
there, and with them all strife and hat
red for ever.
And when they had descended and
reached the hamlets, the sun was risen;
and risen, too, their sun of liberty and
prosperity that was in after generations
TO give to their children's descendants
an honored name on the face of the
earth.
Three days the bells tolled through
the valley, and when the young countess
was borne TO her grave-not to lie in
the stone crypt where slumbered her
noble forefathers, but to green resting
place by the side of the Fatherland's
storied river, where the birds could sing,
and the blossoms could blow above her
young heart-the lowly jewellers of the
hamlcts followed IN throngs.
And when the long years had rolled
on. and not one of her kindred lived to
tell the story, the hands of their chill
dren's children kept the low green
mound beautiful with fragrant flowers
and blessed with grateful memories.
That was more than two centuries
ago, and in many church to-day there
looks down from the painted windows,
whose light falls in amber and violet
tints over altar, and chancel, and nave,
slender blue-robed figure, crowned
with crown of golden hair; and,if you
ask any little simple village child or
maiden whom it represents, she will
look at you in wonder, and make reply,
"ThatP Why, that is the young saint,
Clotilde."