Vermont phÅ“nix. [volume] (Brattleboro, Vt.) 1834-1955, 1896-07-31
An IdyIl OF the English FeIls.


lage, and, except for the little cluster of
houses round about the market cross,
where Stands also the church, the "Belp'
Inn, and the post-oftice, the cottages are
set here and there among the fields, often
at some distance from the roadway. Among
the most isolated of these scattered home
steads is the dwelling of Jacob Stubs and
his daughter Ophelia. 1t lies on the
northeasterly side of the village, where
the pasture land spreads upward towards
the fells, and in earlier days, with its little
group of sheltering trees and fertile patch
of garden, it bore a conspicuous air of
comfort and prosperity. Twenty years
ago, indeed, Jacob was a man of mark in
Langton and at the Bell Inn no social
gathering would have been thought COM
plete without him. He had been a tailor
at some time or other, but the little cot
tage and small yearly income having been
left him by a relative, he had settled down
in she village with no occupation but to
till the garden and manage the little Or
chard on his property. This left him
plenty of leisure for promenading the vii
lage street in an ancient frock coat and
tall silk hat, and carrying a walking-stick
which he would have scorned to use for
walking; plenty of time too for pipe
and glass of beer in the parlor of the
Bell whenever there happened to be con-
genial company there. In those days ia
cob played the gentleman with quite roy
al air; what he chiefly wanted was an au-
dience, and as listening is dry work, it is
but fair to say that he was seldom too
much preoccupied to notice when a mans
glass was empty. 1t was rare thing at
that time to see strangers in the village;
a few hundred acres of shooting to let in
the neighborhood brought two or three
guns to the Bell every autumn, but beyond
that there was neither attraction nor ac-
commodation for visitors; such as there
were, however, were introduced, as a
point of honor, to Jacob Stubs, and the
admiring village stood round while he dis
coursed on things eternal.
Jacob had fine tact in beginning a con-
versation. He could gauge the tastes of a
newcc,2seT TO d nicely, and would talk of
y sport or politics, or the crops, as the occa-
sion demanded, with equal fuency and ir-
relevance. But however the conversation
might begin, the end of it was certain. Very
soon would come the opportunity for a
sounding quotation from Shakspere, and
with that Jacob would mount his hobby,
which he rode with loose rein.
Many people prefer Byron-youth, sir,
youth did myself when l was young.
But for grasp, sir, and real power, give
me Shakspere. Hamlet, sir. was his finest
conception. l will not deny that there is
charm, great charm, about his lighter
fancies, but for grasp, sir, give me Ham
let. 1 called my son Hamlet, sir. IN
fortunately lost him, but my daughter,
my only child, is Ophelia. Type of puri-
ty, sir! Even Shakspere himself has
drawn no more perfect woman"
Jacob was good for an hour or two of
this kind of thing whenever he could find
an audience. AS the years wen. by he
talked more and worked less, and by the
time his daughter was grown up the little
property had dwindled so that their week
ly income was very small indeed. 1t is to
be feared that much of the time that ia
cob was enjoying his own high-sounding
phrases in the parlor at the Bell Ophelia
sat patiently plying her needle In the little
cottage, in the effort to exc out their scan
ty livelihood.
What was the true history of that gen.
tie soul no one ever knew. A shy child,
dull school girl, an industrious young
woman-so she had appeared to the neigh
bors. She made no friends, and she was
scarcely ever seen out of the cottage. In
those days she hardly seemed to have
separate existence at all, beside the robust
and eXuberant personality of her father
Whatever dreams she may have cher
ished in her secret heart, whatever
passions may have swayed her, there
was, to outward seeming, nothing ro-
mantle about her but her name, though in
her face there glimmered, from time to
time, an uncertain pale prettiness, that
might, in happier circumstances, almost
have become beauty. In what guise tempt
alton came to her, how far she was de-
ceived, how far persuaded, none could
even guess. When it was found one
morning that Ophelia was missing, the
gossips of the village were silent with
amazed speculation. No one had so much
as a suggestion to offer. Search was made
for her in the nelghborhood, and inquiries
were set on foot, but the fight had been
craftily contrived, and no trace of her
could be discovered.
Stubs was overwhelming. He lost his
upright carriage and jaunty air, and in a
day he seemed to become bent old man.
He deserted altogether the Bell parlor and
the village street, and he would ramble for
whole days over the fells in quest of his
daughter. He held firmly to the belief
that some accident had befallen her, and
he would spend hours peering into the
rocky clefts on the hilltops, poking his
stick among the heather, and searching
under the pine trees that clothe the steep
slopes at the foot of the crags. He grew
gaunt and thin, and the frock coat, which
in former times he had filled so handsome
ly, hung in folds about his body. 1t was
no longer possible to draw him into con-
versation, even about his beloved Shaks-
pere, Sometimes he would get as far as
saying:
"a great poet; ay, you may say that, a
great poet, sir!" and then, as if irresisti-
bly, led on to think of "his finest concep-
ton, sir" and so of his own loss, he would
break off with deep sigh and relapse into
silence.
One evening in the late autumn, about a
year after his daughters disappearance,
Jacob was sitting over the fire, for he was
cold and weary with long tramp over the
wet heather.
The wind was rising and moaned al