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VOLUME 3. ! FALLS VILLAGE, CONN*, SATURDAY MAY 28, 1859. NUMBER 22. T H E fiOUSATONlC REPUBLICAN, bfaUished «very SATURDAY HORNING, by c . b: m a l t b i e , AT THB Repultlicalit P r in tin g Office, FALIiB T1U.AGE, CONN. tJPOK THK FOLLOWING T JE B U 8 : ^lubs $liK) per aoQum in advance. ■ In Bittjflfc wrappers, $1,25 per annumin advance. persoD f«nrardtng a club of t«n snbscribers Vrill^Wtithsd to a free copy. ♦b® present volume of the Republican will contain copyrighted 1 apers upon Agriculture, known to Wkiofa must b« wortb from 100 to 1000 dollars, at m m I, to any former in the Northern States, in pro* ^Hrti<n to nb interest in Agriculture. — iLSO— A C«Beral variety of articles relating to Morals, jktU^toa, Education, Politics, News, Agriculture, MMhaniea, Housekeeping, TraJe, Commerce, Hy- Meat, Medicine, kc. An i in all branches will t tk f as independent a position as it is possible, cr »ven desirable a locjd Jonmal should. It is hope ^ that the inhabitant; of the I7th senatorial district to g iv e ita o o r - le various tnwns ■and n»!iglil)ornootts wno ao aireaay take it, will use t te lr intuence to induce, at least, two or three •H ien who do not, to send their subscriptions. AdTertising. To the Advertiser, the Republican presents the W«t medium for reaching the people fV^Aem Connecticut and the adjoinin of North lining parts of Massachusetts and New York. Advertisements will be imerted upon the following terms : One aquare/wl f cs s , I month, • $ 1,00 .. ^ n <« 2 “ - One eoluma 6 12 13 A 12 200 3,oe 6,00 10,00 20,00 3D ,00 60,CO t ftdvertiaing Bills to be eonsidered payable in advance. - . t Georg'e W. F e e t , ITTORHET &MD C0DN8ELL0B AT LAW, AND F J IL L 8 V IL L A G E , C A N A A N , CONN-OiHce next door to the Iron Bank. [5 ^ JEWEI.RY SHOP. , ' S . L . S O LMSO N, ^ Voaldintorm the public thit lie has re-ttoved from the store of Brewster, Kelley & Co., to the store «if A. Herman, where be will be happy to ■e e all of his old patrons, and any who may have Clocks. W a tch e s , or J ew e lry to be repaired. All work will be warranted to ^ v e satisfaction. P I E R R E M U N D R Y , HOUSE, SIGN, COACH AND ORNAMENTAIi I E - jmL. m im r s r i e c t l 9 Brtwsler^s BoildiBg, • Falls Village, Conn. o—O—o---- FAINTS of »11 kinds and colors will be prepared by the pound in quautities to suit customers. DENTAL NOT ICE ! DR. J. S. SMITH WOULD respectfully inform bis fiicnds and patrons in Falls Villaj?e and vicinity, that he bAsa^ain established himself at hisformsrresi «dnce, where he will be happy to see any who may desire his pr ifessional services. Haviusr spent, the • Mt y e a r in New York, he is able to furnish his eMtomers with alt the latest impiovements in the **^Thankra! for past favors, he hopes to merit a eoBtinuaiiceof the same. . , All oprtf tti'ins performed in a skillful and work-nanlike nnuner. Falis VilU;>e, May 1,1853.________ ^9<-f “ PMOR, HOLCOMBE & CO., WHOLF6AI.K DEALERS IN F o re ig n and Donieslic Dregs, Chemicals, Perfumery, Patent Medicines, PAINTS, OILS, GLASS, DYE-STUFFS, AleolDif Bnriiiii; Fluid, €ampbei» and Tur-peDline. No . «1S FUI.TOi\ 8T., Near Greenwich Street, N EW YORK. Also, Dealers in LIQUORS and WINES for Medical Purposes. Iy2l. JOHN L. STRIET, IMPOBTEE OP W in e s , , S eg a rs . &c« &c«. Nb*68 WATElt STREER, NEW YORK. JoHK L . St ek it . IT. B. P*rt1cnl»r attcEtion paid to the orders o f>rbegl8t8 and Town A g e n t s ._________ 12yl P O E T R Y A CMld a t Prayer. BT OLABA ACGUSTA. A little child, with chestnut hair, And gentle eyes of blue, And rosy cheeks and crimson llpa, Love’s own appropriate hue, Knelt in the morning’s golden blush. And raised her small hands fair, And whispered in her lisping tones Dear Father, hear my prayer!” The smiling sunbeams danced and played Around the kneeling child. And lighted up with holy light Her features calm and mild; The am! «r gleams genmed loath to leave Her clou& of waving hair, And listened while those sweet lips said, “ Dear Father, hear my prayer !" Oh,blessed child, keep ever pure From sin’s entiuin ' wile. And let thy happy, youthful brow B%t ever in God’s smile ; And by and by thy feet shall press The heavenly meadows fair. And thou shalt chant in nobles strains, “ Dear Father, h Jar my prayer!” M IS C E I.L ,A ]V E O U S . D. W. Shares’ Patent Horse Hoeing Machines. Manufactured by K . B. STEVENS. Norfolk, Cons^ F O R SALE BY C . B . M A L T B I B , FALLS VILLAGE. CONN. Jtiimesota Banking Honse. ^ a s e T c h a S v I n t <fc CO., ' * Formerly Bosfwick, Pease, A Co. “T H t J lD S T . , - S T . PA U L . ' flMehre Daposits, Buy and Sell Exchange, Gold •oA S i ln r at Eastern Bank Notas, make Collectr-f f f f y«.y l^ z e s Hor N«ni-Re8iiloots, and transact a Mneral Banking Buaineas. Intereat «Uow«d on thae deposits. _ J acob M. GuiLrAKt, ) CaasLBS Hum?. Huntsville, Conn. BieaABO H. Pbask, Albany, Jf. Y. P l a t t A. P a ik b , North ESast, N . Y. jl^ewYork CfRTeapoadent, Me ropolltan iSank. 8 . JARVIS AGENT, AJtD RETAIL DEALER * —ut— S ^ ^ P a t t y , Atcdhdl,C«mphene, Burning Fluid, Soirita Turpentine, and a .genertl assortment of Msaafketorers artictet—« t Kew Yo;k Prices. N. B. AU ordarairom counti'jr aeaiei^ promptly Kock, BHigeport/ Cl. 37Jy Tbe Old Woman w h o Dried Up an d Blew Away. “ There be many witches at this day in Laplacd, who sell wind to mariners, and they must needs go whom the devil drives.”—JFuUer's Holy and Pro-fanr State. “ Old wjman, old woman, whither so high?” •' To sweep the cobwebs from the sky.”—Old Song Many years ago, on the old stage-road leading from Boston to Plymouth, just out of \Veymouth into Hingham, there lived an old woman who went by the name of Sue Ward. Where she came from no one knew. Some years before the time of which we write, she had taken up her abode in an old house which had been deserted by its former owner, and there she dwelt —all alone, a perfect mystery to the gossips of the neighborhood. She managed to get a living by doing all sorts of odd jobs for the people of the village; by knitting now and then a pair of | stockings; by spinning a few knots of yarn, or going out as nurse for the sick. I'he villagers also, at first were quite kind to her. But after a while they began to weary of being benevolent to so mysterious a being. All plotting and questioning to ascertain her former life failed to produce any effect, save a stubborn refusal to gratify curiosity, and slight Hashes of anger, which all inquirers agreed boded no good. Although the time of which we write was after the excitement concerning the Salem witches, yet belief in such beings bad not wholly died away, especially among the older portion of the community. Could they not quote the Bible and the godly RJr. Mather in support of their doctrine? By-and-by strange stories began to be circulated concerning old Sue Ward- It was said, that being vexed by Deacon Burr, she gave utterance to a muttered curse, and the next morning the deacon's best heifer was found dead, in such a strange posi ion, that nobody but the devil could have brought her there.— Then, as Mistress Ward was walking home one cold night, uncle Joshua overlook her in his oicie new wagon. She asked him to carry her h< me, as she was tired. But he replied he could not, as it was rather off his road, and he was in a hurry. “ May you be longer reach-ing'home than I am,” exclaimed she, and but a moment afterwards his horse fell, broke both shafts to the wagon, and what was worse his own leg. These stories, somewhat magnified, perhaps, in the telling, were soon in the mouth of every one in the village. Soon they spoke of her no longer as Mistress Ward, or old iSue Ward. She possessed the three great requisites for a witch of that time. I. She was old. IL She was ugly. III. She was poor. With such an evil suspicion hanging about her, it is no wonder that many who had formerly befriended, now avoided her. Even the little children, having heard the mysterious talk of their parents, as they passed her in the streets, clasped one another’s hands more tightly, and, gazing at her with half-frightened looks, went hurriedly on, though some of the larger boys would sometimes shout after her. Matters were thus, as one w:ld windy November night, old Sue sat by her fire in her lonely hut. She had been out to gather the laggots of which the fire was built, and meeting some rude boys on ber return, they had taunted her with unseemly words. Not often would such words have affected her so much. But as the screaming wind howled through ibe bnmchfis of the forest, and she heard the moanings of the dying autumn, thinking all the while that she knew not where^ to look for help through the com-ing winter, what wonder that she felt like cursing the day in which she was bom? She did curse it most bitterly. Her wicked, withered old heart wus lifting itself up in blasphemy, as she sat by her fire that night, and gazed intently into its flames as they lightened up her miserable room, “ Why can't I die?” muttered she to herself* “ A s if seventy years of sorrow* seventy years of sin, wasn’t enough for one mortal! Doesn't the Bible say that three score years and ten are the limits of life? Why should I live longer? 1, without friends, with none of the comforts which belong to »ge, old, poor, miserable, half-starved and cold?” and she drew up closer to the fire, and cdh-tinued. “ I would drown myself, but the water, is so cold. I have not strength enough to kill niyself any other way. Why is there no other way but dying to be rid of the world? I f folks could castoff life as they do an old garment! I ’ve heard of old women that dried up and blew away. The Lord knows I ’m dry enough. Why, if he will not let me die, will he not blow me away ? I should not care if it was to a place warmer than this where old women don’t have to go out after faggots ” And she grinned a most wicked grin, showing one worn yellow stump of a tooth. Good evening, Mother Ward,’’ said a voice at her elbow. She turned and saw just at her side a little old man dressed in black. A quick active old fellow he seemed, as. without being asked, he drew the other of the two rush-bottomed chairs—all the seats the room contained—up to the fire. “ Who are you? What do you want?” asked old Sue, as soon as she had a little recovered from her astonishment at this sudden interruption. “ A poor cold traveller w^ho wishes to warm herself at your fire,’’ replied he, just glancing at her with her his keen black eye Oh it was the wickedest eye you ever saw, so full of malice and deviltry, so glittering and snake-like, “ Fou are welcome to the little warmth a wretched old woman’s fire can give. But you have not told me your name, though I ought to knovv it, as you seem to know mine.” “ I go under different names,” replied he; “ those most familiar with me, call me by a nickname, but my proper title is Beel Z. Bubb. But why do you call yourself wretched?” *• Have you not lived long enough in the world to know?” replied she almost fiercely. “ There are grey hairs on your brow, and the wrinkles on your face will number almost as many as mine. Is it not always wretched to be old ? But perhaps you have warm friends who cheer you with their presence, and sustain you by their love?” She paused a moment, as if waiting for a reply. But the old man sat with his elbows resting on his knees, looking steadfastly into the fire with his cunning eyes. Tiie old woman continued— “ Perhaps you do not know what it is to outlive all the friends ol your youth, to wander away among strangers, and to be shunned and dt-spised by them, to be treated and hooted at as a witch, as one who has dealings with the devil, when I know no more of the devil than you do.” “ Not perhaps as much.” said he, in an undertone. She went on, not hearing or not heeding him “ You may not have felt all the wickedness of your soul rise up against your persecutors, prompting you to curse them as I have cursed them time and again, and curse them now. Oh, the good Christian souls I who pretend to be so pious and holy, who roll up their eyes at the very sight of me! I should not wonder if some of them had more dealings with Satan than myself.” “ No doubt of it,” rejoined the old man. Old Sue went on, feeling a strange thrilling pleasure in telling her wicked thoughts to the one at her side, whose eyes gleamed brighter, and looked more evil, the more wicked she grew. “ And I was thinking what a mockery it would be for me to say the Lord’s Prayer. ‘ Our Father’ ”------ The old man gave an uneasy start as she said these words, yet remained quiet, as she repeated no more: but smiting her skinny hands together, exclaimed—“ Why should I call him my Father? Has he treated me as a child ? Has he not left me here in my old age, to rags, and poverty, and abuse, when he might have taken me to his blessed home beyond the skies long before this ? Death would long ago have been welcome to me.” “ Why do you not kill yourself, then’’ asked the old man softly. I was thinking of that just as you came in. But it is an ugly, horrible business to take one's own life. If there were only some easier way to rid one’s self of the world! Did you ever hear,” continued she, speaking in a low, confidential tone, “ did ever you hear of any old women that dried up and blew away?” The cunning-eyed one for a while spoke not a word. He sat there still and quiet, looking fixedly into the fire. But all at once he burst out with a wild staVe of a sonn;. 'I’he words so wrought upon the imagination of mother Ward, that —she knew not why-she began to stamp her feet in accompaniment, and when he came to the chorus, she joined her shrill treble to his cracked bass, and the strange melody rang out clear and piercingly: “ I walked me out the other night, The wind was blowing high. I clasped my cloak about me tight, And wished that I might die.” Chorus.—O for those rare, good times of Old, When women. I’ve heard say,* If winds were liigh, or weather cdld. Dried up and blew away< “Qnoth I, 0 , wind! 0 , b!ttel’ wuidi Why blow So chill on me ? I’m old and lonely, nearly blind— What are my rags to thee ?” 0 for those fare, good times of old> &cj “Yet still the cold, cold wind blew on, And pierced me through and through, It said to me. in quiel scorn, “ Away with hags like you !” 0 for taose rare, good times of old, &c. I cnrse thee, wind, with all my might,— I curse thy chilling breath,— Unless thou blow me off to-night, I ’ll curse thee till my death.” 0 for those rare, good times of old,&c. “ Chorus again!” shouted the old man, stamping his foot. And they sang it through again, till the old walls of the room echoed with the wild their voices. “ Those good old times may come Annie a t th e Corner. THE HISTORY OF A HEART. L FROM A WINDOW. I am not a married man, and T do not think that all my lady acquaintances are angels; consequently, I am a miserable old bachelor. There is absolutely no doubt upon the subject, I am informed by my friends and so, because 1 think that something the zeSt of my recollections. I lean Upon the sill of my Vrindo#-, and. thrumming idly with my fingers, scan the different tVayfarers wi?h smiling attention. I see my friend Dives with his jingling \^atch-seals, his creaking boots, his spotless shirt boSom, and his dignified look, go by to his warehouse, saluted respectiully by the heads of ond two “ first families”—the S?cribes and Pharisees—who sometiiiieS invite me .td their palaces up town. And, as DiveS scream of than the want of wings distinguish- disappears like a moving bank round th6 es the fair from the other class, and be- corner, I perceive Lazarus^ with hiS lay come cause I spend my life in a suit of apart- i maimed limbs, swinging by, oh his handi again,” said the old man, after they had i ments, undisturbed by the musical laugh-! inserted in wooden gloves—the shadow finished the singing. - But there is a I <er of cliildren-for these reasons, as I of his low figure mingUng with that of certain state of feeling to which every j ^ave said. I am a crusty, musty, miser- j Of course I do not know Laza-one must arrive, before they can vanish able old unmarried misanthrope. ! rus, as I move in good society; yet I ani from earth. People in the old times of-tener reached it, than at present.” “ What is that state? I will attain unto it,” said mother Ward. “ I think you will; perhaps you have. Know then, good mother, that all things here on the earth are vanityi^ What is lighter than vanity? Doth not the slightest breath stir the leaf of the wil low? But vanity is lighter than even the willow’s leaf. I said all things were vanity; all things but love are so. It is this which binds men to earth. Were it not for the love which human beings bear to one another—puff—and away they would go, mine for ever. Now, mother Ward, tell me, have you rid yourself altogether of love? I find many who declare they have done thus, and when I wonder they do-not blow away, lo! down deep in their heart, covered over it may be with the glitter of mammon, with the dross of selfishness one little particle of love, which keeps them from being altogether vanity. But I am preaching! Tell me, I say, have you rid yourself altogether of love?” Old Sue sat still and thought. Her mind went back through the path of weary years, to the days when a happy child she had clung with affection to those who cherished her under their roof, who called her their darling; she traced her own 1 fe as she grew up a way ward beauty; her love poured out in its wealth and tenderness upon one her parents deemed unworthy; her rebellion and forsaking of all for love of him who was to be fa^er and mother to her; her few short nvJiths of happiness and a terrible awakemng: as the earth received to its bosom her love, her only joy, save an infant life which only kept her grief from laying herself by his side in the gi ave. Old Sue buried her face in her hands and wept as the memory of these times came so vididly upon her. The evileyed looked gloomily. But memory would not stop here— as his death and as her treasure's birth. It told over her wrongs The consciousness of finding herself without money, and consequently without friends, in a great city ;the long days oftravel, wi'h the precious little one in her arms, to the home of her childhood; the winter’s night that heard her timorous knock at the door and-------- The one at her side looked smilingly. The tears had dried, and foulest hate scowled forth from her face. And the same wild night heard a father’s curse upon his offspring; it saw a woman faint and foot-worn go forth; with its winds and storms it hushed a child’s cry for ever, and wrought long months of disease upon the mother. — From that bed of sickness, Memory told her how she rose with vows of vengeance. but it did not dare to dwell upon the unnatural crimes which followed, of vain eniSteavors to escape remorse, of her flight over the sea, of the years she had wished to die. She rose from her seat—trembling and pale—for she had dared to think upon her sinful past. She had a parent’s love and it had cursed instead of blessed her; she won a dearer love, and it died from h e r; a child’s love had blossomed in her heart, but it was rudely killed and its death terribly avenged. She had no other love—^all was unfriendliness and hate. “ Are 'you ready to go?’* said the old man calmly. He knew that she was his.“ Let me first warm myself before my journey,’’ replied she. Then she gathered all the faggots into the middle of the room, and kindled them. The room blazed in a moment. As the flames leapfed fierce and hot. *• I am ready,” ssiid she. That night good John Benton came riding from Plymouth. As he approach* ed old Sue’s hut, he saw the fire burst forth from its windows, and strangest of all, two shadowy forms glided far away above the burning flames, flying into the darkness of the night, while a gust of wind mightier than ever he had before felt, almost blew him from his horse. These things he averred to the crowd who collected around the burning dwelling. And what confirmed the narration Wasj that no bones could be found among the ruins - neither was old Sue Ward seen any inore. This is a story believed by many persons to the present day, and on ao coiint of which, every old house thereabouts his a horse-shde nailed to its door^ and this maxim prevails: GHEBISU LOVB lest YOt EEGOitiB VANITY. I have been substantially notified of S^^d to see him with his cheerful smild the fact more than once, by Miss Tabi- on bis pale, thin face; and when he pass-th9, Ringgold, who lives in the handsome on this side of the strefet, Isoihetime^ house opposite; and though I am chari- drop slily a piece of money into his bo^ table, my friend, I should not be surpris- som, and laugh to myself, as I draw bact ed if that fair lady were, at the present fancying his puzzled expression. I re-moment, directing her private spy-glass l^^ted this incident at dinner, the other into my chamber from behind her white day, to my friend Dives and his guests; curtain, a corner of which is, I preceive, raised the question, ^^^hefhelr slightly raised; I would not be at all such things were advisable, the jiubiic surprised if Miss Tabitha were there, charities being amply sufficient for mer-looking through the open window here, itorious sufferers; while indiv dual relief and lamenting the failure of science to encouraged pauperism and idleism. , discover ear-trumpets, such as might be| “ But my dear Dives,” I Said wit^ A used to catch a,dislant conversation I smile, “ suppose the coin which I drop* Miss Tabitha often arranges herself in ped bought some small articles for the her best finery, and leans trom the win- children of Lazarus, and so gave them dow, with nods and smiles, and silent in- pleasure far greater than any I could vitations to come in, when I--chance to have enjoyed by spending the money?'' pass. I do not accept these invitations | “ The principle iii the thing,” replied often, as you will understand, if you lis- my friend, sipping his claret and shak* ten further.; but sometimes I do go over ing his head*, the principle is bad. As and take a hand at whist in the small members of society, we are bound td parlor; in consequence of which, I am observe the laws of society; and as, fa a r-onsidered, I believe, an admired of Miss state of society, we must be governed Tabitha, and more than once my cynical by <-he rul s and regUla.tiorts of that so-and discourteous bachelor companions ciety so I think as a memb -r of that S0 ‘ have gone so far as to declare, that Miss ciety you were rather bound to have tliis Tabitha has long been engaged in the individual sent to prison as a vagrant pleasing occupation of sitting her maid- on society than to encouragie him in what en ca,p at me and my six per cents. Of must eventually render it necessary to course^ ! do not give any credit to these make an example of him for the good of scandalous jests ayd rumors, and I in- society.” variably reprove Bob when he gives ut. Those were the words of Dives ; and; terence to them. There is, of course, no as my friend the Heverend A. Caiphas truth in the charge, and I ’m glad of it. 1 asked me at the moment to take wine, I regret to say that, even if there were; the discussion was not resum-d. I am no other objections, I would not solicit obstinate nevertheless and shall probathe honor of a matrimonial alliance with Miss Tabitha—my affections being engaged^ Al/! do you start a little? Do you look at me with astonishment, and ask with your eloquent eyes, if I am not uttering a pleasant jest ? I engaged ? —^you seem to say with a change of the pronoun— I, the incorrigible old bachelor. bly continue to outrage these rules and regulations of ‘ society,’* i f the whim seizes me, when Lazarus passes beneath my window. I am running on protty much at random and shall not at this n te get to my story. But I take so much interest in my window observations that I am l-^d to weary you with th ?m. A word mor^ the woman-hater, the misanthrope, th e ' and I shall get r^ularly to my narra* miserable, disagreeable, outrageous, old curmudgeon! Mi/ affections engaged, when the utmost inquisition of feminine curiosity eternally on the watch, has never discovered the least loop to hang a report upon? Well, my dear friend, perhaps these is some ground for surprise, and your astonishment is not singular, My engagement is certainly not exactly what the world would call binding— and yet it binds me Such things most frequently result in a matrimonial alliance between the man and the woman— at least sometimes: now, my engagement will not probably have any such termination. Gossips talk about Corydon, when he goes constantly to visit Cloe, in glossy patent leathers, a flowery waiscoat, hair elegantly curled, and a perfumed handkerchief gently waved in a diamond-decorated hand. They talk a great deal about that young man, and the talk rises into a hubbub, when the watchful eyes perceive the youth finally emerging from the mansion of his love, with beaming eyes, and nose raised high aloft with triumph, while Cloe sends a golden smile toward him as he goes, from behind the curtain of the drawing-room. The gossips, Isay, talk about C orydon’s engagement foi- a month thereafter; but the most inveterate and ferocious tattle never occupies itself with my little affair. I never .speak of it, and the object of my affection preserves silence, too; and not even Miss Tabitha suspects our little arrangment. If I tell you all about it now, good friend of many years, I do so, because it is scarcely loyal to our friendship to have aught of reserve; but above all, because my burden of thought and feeling cries aloud for utterance. I linger on the threshold—let me lin ger a moment longer yet. and ask you. if I never seemed eccentric to you ? Often in passing to your counting-house, you send rue a friendly nod as I lean from my window in the sunshine; and. doubtless, you go on to your arduous toils, thinking what a happy fellow I am to afford to be idle, when you and yitur whole establishment will all dav be struggling to balance the books of the firm You honestly consider me idle at such moments; my friend, I am never busier. You think me solitary; lam surrounded by companions. The street may be wholly deserted; the public square yonder may not tempt a single child to enjoy its greeii sward and shadow— Miss Tabitha even may be busy at her invisible toilet, and her window deserted— yet I am not alone. When the real figures of actual, living personages appeaf-. however, they do not. by any means, disturb my reverie. I am not at war with my kind, but often find in the forma of men, women, and children what pleases me^ and heightens tive^ Besides Dives and LazariiS, t sed many other figures pass on the street.—^ I see Strephon go by in the tighest boOts the finest kid gloves and the glossiest hat escorting Kliss Almira the daugh^ ter of old Tvvo-per-cent; and I stand oi^ rather lean in silent admiration of her gorgeous appe irance. as she sails by rustling in silks and satins, with a bird of paradise upon her bonnet. She has chosen to wrlk on account of the sunshine and the great carriage with iti liveried driver and footman rolls by un* ocupied. It is a pity that the poor girl yonder slinking round the corner and looking so faint and weak caniidt ride a little in it; and I fancy Strephon might procure this favor for bet as the weak girl exchanges a look wiih him. Which seems to indicate acquaintance. The three figures pass on- and disappear; but somehow the look of the pale weak girl dvv'ells in my memory aiid haunts me. Well 1 weary you good friend dud another word ends my window pictures. In addition to the figures I have mentioned my observant eyes descf-y the merry forms of children dancing over the velvet sward of the ptlblic square —rolling their hoops pla ing by thtf fountain and shoiitiiig at their play —* I heir sweet faces please me ; and the bright eyes seeni to liiake the day more brilliant the deep blue sky of a Softer azui-e. It is only in the afternoon that I see thenl for in the morning they are at school. As I gaze with my shoulders drooji-ing. my fingers inveteratcly thrumming my eyes half-closed and my lips wreathed with smiles a little sad perhaps in their expression I see my little friend come tripping along by the row of elms cased in their square boxes and I art pleased to See hef bright figure lit up by the sunlight which dances on hex* curls her straw hat her checkered flag satchel gaily swung upon the bare arm and the little boots of crimson morocco tightly fitting to her delicate drtkleSi I wait for her and looK for her appearance and when she comis I follow her with my eyes as she arrives opposite and then disappears round the corner. She is different from some other young ladies of my ncquainfance who pass on a similar errand. These latter lookup as they pass, at my grizzled hair my gray mustache my Carel ssly thrum-* ming fingers and 1 knovt- very well that at such times they are thiukhig who on earth the old fellow at the \tlndow can be; the curiotls old fellow always leaning frrnl the Very same opening, in th« same way, and smiling as he beats his tattoo, with the very same idle and dreamy expression. To Be Coniinliei,
|Title||Housatonic Republican, 1859-05-28|
|Subject||Falls Village (Conn.) -- Newspapers; Canaan (Conn.) -- Newspapers|
|Description||Frequency: Weekly; Publication dates: Vol. 1, no.1 (Jan. 10, 1857) -v. 17, no. 13 (Aug. 16, 1862); Notes: Contains numerous numbering inconsistencies; Published from the same office as the Independent (Falls Village, Conn.)|
|Collection||Newspapers of Connecticut|
|Source - Location||Connecticut State Library microfilm, AN104.F3 R47|
|Relation||Preceding title: Litchfield Republican (Litchfield, Conn. : 1847); Other relationship: Independent (Falls Village, Conn.)|
|Rights||Digital Image © Connecticut State Library. All rights reserved. Images may be used for personal research or non-profit educational uses without prior permission. For permission to publish or exhibit, see Reproduction and Publication of State Library Collections, http://ctstatelibrary.org/reproduction-publication/|
|CONTENTdm file name||7705.cpd|
FALLS VILLAGE, CONN*, SATURDAY MAY 28, 1859. NUMBER 22.
T H E
bfaUished «very SATURDAY HORNING, by
c . b: m a l t b i e ,
Repultlicalit P r in tin g Office,
FALIiB T1U.AGE, CONN.
tJPOK THK FOLLOWING T JE B U 8 :
^lubs $liK) per aoQum in advance.
■ In Bittjflfc wrappers, $1,25 per annumin advance.
persoD f«nrardtng a club of t«n snbscribers
Vrill^Wtithsd to a free copy.
♦b® present volume of the Republican will contain
copyrighted 1 apers upon Agriculture, known
Wkiofa must b« wortb from 100 to 1000 dollars, at
m m I, to any former in the Northern States, in pro*
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