The Manchester journal. [volume] (Manchester, Vt.) 1861-current, 1919-07-24

assemble. sturdy, earnest. full OF tn
ly talk. The pretty daughter, all he
heart In her furbelows and her pow
dered hair; the mother OF the family
3 burdenei Martha with not enough
spoons TO go sround; 'hc Gle granny
an unrccontiructed Tory, who Gale,
NIL the new-fangled ideas OF thu
Declaration Of independence fiddlini
nonsense and predicted certain dis
aster to the silly, highfalutin' notior
that one man was as good as another
and finally her son, the middle aged
man. father Of the family about to
assembly, sturdy, earnest, full Of the
new IDEAS, holding that men would in
time learn TO live without kings OF
lordS-although one could see that this
was more hope than conviction on his
part.
Down N the audience, group Of
boys ard risls from the high school
opened wide eyes and thought with
surprise, ''Why, OF course it didn't
seem such matter Of course to them
as to usv' On divining which murmur
the historical instinct climbed out over
the footlights and sat down with the
audience.
A knock on the door. sends the
pretty daughter flying to the tiny mir
ror to give last dash Of powder to
her hair and to snatch off the apron
which covers her pink-and-white pan
niers; but she is disappointed. The
newcomer is not the elegant new
schoolmaster, but only Elmore Allen,
cousin of Colonel Ethan Allen, a
rough, middle-aged Green Mountain
Boy, with cconskir zap mucket and
buckskin suit (ten-cents-a-yard Can
ton flannel, dyed brown, with deep
seams on the wrong side slit for
fringes). The talk turns on the State
Convention meeting that day IN a
nearby town, which shall decide
whether or not Vermont shall give up
its quaint, poverty-stricken, proud but
slightly absurd independence as a
sovereign State, and enter the newly
formed American Union. Arguments
are hotly advanced pro and con, and
the Green Mountain Boy, who is bit
visionary, clashes furiously with
the Tory granny. Down in the audi
ence, listening with astonishment to
this colloquial treatment Of a para
graph in a school-book, the historical
instinct whispers, "You see, what
seems 20 foreordained to you, was to
them just what the tariff is to you
now. That is the way all national de-
cisions are made-by plain people sit
ting in their own homes. And the de-
cisions that you make SO casually now,
consider well how they will be regard
ed by those who come after your
Yes, the historical instinct thought so
well of our efforts as to leave it's
wonted dim seclusion on the top shelf
of college professors study, and
travel all the way up to that common
place hall badly lighted with smoky
kerosene lamps and filled with COM
people, looking on at COM
homemade play.
Another knock. The pretty daugh-
ter repeats the pantomime of prepar-
ing for her sweetheart, spreading out
her skirts and arching one foot ready
for the deep courtsy of greeting. The
audience smiles in sympathy as she
turns back frowning from the incom-
ing guests, magnificent Indian chief
and his family, all in buckskin, beads,
feathered head-dress, (off a white
turkey, and long braids OF black hair
(from the tail of black horse conven-
ently defunct). They refuse the cor
daily offered chairs and sit on the
floor, impassive, aloof, but not un-
friently presences.
Another knock. This time the pref
ty daughter with pettish shrug, re-
fuses even to turn her head. And this
time, of course, it is the schoolmaster
very stiff and formal with
powdered hair and lace jabot, trying
not to look amused as his little lady
owe, pouting in vexation, whirls off
,er apron and makes her tardy
,ourtsy.
Another knock and the first Of the
married daughters comes in with her
'amily, long -limbed frontiersman of
! husband, fine in his picturesque cos
,ume, and five bouncing, noisy, rollick-
ng children, the little girls delicious
n their white caps and long, full
kirts, the little boys manly copies of
heir fathers looks. As this vivid
roup in glowing colors advances
cross the stage-the mother trying to
estrain her pride in her children, the
little folks skipping and jumping and
Il