St. Johnsbury Caledonian. [volume] (St. Johnsbury, Vt.) 1867-1919, 1895-09-06

farmley's. DO you see! Quite a
theory that. | wish | had Corks
here. Corks thought for me at ST.
Andrews, you know? He would
clear it for us jolly quick"
II think" he went on after a pause,
that the older one grows the more
music means to him, for he thinks
to it, and the more life there is be-
hind the more sensation to be re-
called though they may not be so
pleasurable as the sense ofjoy COM
ing that a band can make you feel
when you have your best life ahead"
And your" | said, helping his
pronouns backwards,-for | have
never met one whose talk better paid
for the listening. The wisest, weakest
and wlttiest things that ever heard
in unstudied conversation colored
all through his.
But he merely said, II am Sc years
old, and what this rhymes with"
taking piece of the cake that Miss
Branton was passing.
Wedding cake, Teddy?" this
from Mr.. Crayleigh, who, ambling
with tray of passion-fruit and
cream, came near enough to hear
the last remark, and who had
reached that state of head where the
line between true and laborious wit
wavered.
mot rich enough for that" re-
turned Mr.. Farrell, with a grimace,
and Mr.. Crayleigh sought his chair,
pausing before the effort of sitting to
slvly poke his nearest male friend in
the direction that his uncolored eye
so frequently lolled-with his DELHI
crate, Captain, have you anything
to suggest 7"
And the last thing when the
ladies came down stairs prepared to
leave, they must wait for a few min
utes, for Mr.. Crayleigh's hospitable
instincts had urged him to the din
ing room, where, judging by the
tinkling, he was carrying out the
final suggestions of his guests.
Several of US went to the church
one Sunday evening. l remember
that the congregation sang Rock of
ages Teddy said that it was his
mothers favorite hymn, and sat
decorously still while it was sung.
1t was small, cheaply built church.
In the daytime you could see sky be-
tween cracks where the roof did not
meet the walls. The air was hot
and mosquitoes were thick about
the lamps. But the music rose and
filled the house, and led us all back
through different pasts where the
unit was Rock OF ages" sung in the
church at home-churches and homes
between which and us lay thousands
and thousands of miles of unhappy
sea.
The dear old Cape Cod captain
sang it generously, his hands
clasped behind him, and his great
head, with its smoothly brushed
grey hair, thrown back, so that, had
he opened his eyes he would have
looked at the rafters. He saw more
with them shut, | am sure. Rose
and Babs held the same hymn-book.
They were barely skirting that pc
Rod when two people see mostly
each other. The rector stood silent
ly waiting in the pulpit, his thin
hands clasped, his thin face indica-
ting refinement, and much resisted
and resigned to gain its present
place.
His wife sat with us. One of those
gently cordial women. In appear
ance like so many English women OF
her class; fresh, fair face, deeply
tinged with pink, high in the cheeks
blue eyes and light brown hair,
parted in front and running back in
exact little waves to the knot be-
hind. The kind of women that wear
blue about their bonnets and charac-
terless dresses of brown or gray.
Her soft eyes rested contentedly on
her husband.
These people-but l must not stop
to tell their story now.
Then, too, l saw what Crock OF
Ages" always makes me see now.
A great ship, where often we used
to sing it about dark, Sunday
nights. Ship plunging through the