Middlebury register. (Middlebury, Vt.) 1886-1937, 1886-01-22
SiterarY Department.
~PREEATORY.

perhaps, on level, enough to play at
mock winter with, and, in truth, it's set
thing down into pretty tolerable sleighing.
The cold has come, too. There is no dis
count on the cold. 1t was passed right
down to us from over the Rocky Noun
tains, as we understand, and came from
Russian America. It's the genuine article.
We are all satisfied of that. 1t is dealt
right out of the arctic supply. 1t is war
ranted to give color to the cheek the nose,
or the ear, and is outstanding what little
snow there is with so much economy that
the snow hasn't as yet diminished par
ticle.
So,then, winter is fairly inaugurated in
Vermont. Mr.. Weber of the college,
and when we speak of the college we
refer to Middlebury college, for that is
about the only one we are acquainted
with,-said last night in his discourse
upon Norway, to the Hawthorne club,
in the parlors of Gov. Stewart, that in
winter the snow in Norway lay at an
average of five feet on level. He said,
too, that Norway as whole looked very
much like Vermont, or New England.
Trees, scenery, roads, school houses and
churches, very similar. The twilight
longer and birds very scarce. The peo-
pie very polite and especially given to
salutation, as even the children would
draw up in line at the side of the road
when a stranger went by, and salute
him, doffing the hat, or with courtesy.
Prof. Brainerd remarked, after he had
finished his ice cream, that there wasn't
single species of trees in Norway like
those of New England, though they were
of the same genus, and at a casual glance
would seem alike. Mr.. Brainerd is very
strong on trees.
The European White Birch is farmore
tasselly, and the Norway Spruce denser
than ours; its leaves longer, its appear
ance more snowy. Why this should be
we do not know. The Norwegians are
no finer people that we know of. We
suppose it is occasioned by the Fiords.
1t has sometimes been enormously as
cribed to the maelstrom. This is GER
tainly mistake, for the maelstrom never
did anything but suck in ships. Mr..
Weber undertook to tell us last night
that there was no such thing as the mael
strom, but we all knew better. OF course
there were none of us foolhardy enough
TO have visited the maelstrom itself, but
we had all seen the picture of it and
knew that it was spread for ships as
spiders web is for flies, and always had
three in its meshes; one just about to
plunge in its vortex, second halfway,
preparing to follow, and a third at the
distance just entering the port. Moral
enough in the picture for one of Beech
er's sermons.
The Fiord, on the contrary, is a civiliz-
ing agency. 1t is used for navigation,
and is undoubtedly the cause of the SUI
perior gracefulness and beauty of the
Norway Birch and Spruce.
We do not make very much variation
for the programme of the literary de-
partment this week. The Alcibiades
continues, followed by another chapter
from Don Quixote, the usual amount of
poetry and the finishing of the prelim-
mary chapter of Michaux's great work.
The Alcbiades will finish next week.
If there are any of our readers who have
omitted to read this play, we advise them
especially to look over this weeks por-
ton. There never was a more beautiful
sentence formed, in our opinion, than the
closing one.
"And l am the lover who goes not
away, but remains with you, when you
are no longer young and the rest are
gone!"
Eternal cOnstancy! The lover who
goes not away. because" he says lat
er, :" love only you, whereas other men
love what belongs to you; and your
beauty, which is not you, is fading away,
just as your true self is beginning to
bloom"
Last week we gave that great favorite
among New England songs, "The Old
Oaken Bucket" by Samuel Woodwork.
Mr.. Woodwork was born in Scituate,
Plymouth county, Mass, 1885. His ia
ther was a farmer and very poor. He
got fair amount of schooling through
the help of friends, became printer, and
at different times started several papers
which he did not succeed in making pay.
He was married and had family of four
children. He died in 1912.
From sour Familiar Songs" an ex-
cellent volume of poetry and music, we
learn that "The Old Oaken Bucket" was
written in the summer of 1917, when Mr..
Woodwork, with his family, was living
in Duane street, New York. One hot
day he came into the house and pouring
out a glass of water drank it eagerly.
AS he sat it down he exclaimed, "That
is very refreshing, but how much more
refreshing would it be to take good,
long draught from the old oaken bucket