Willoughby's wisdom; a story of New England country life in by-gone days

Preface

Let no reader imagine that a new literary character has come upon the stage. The writing of a simple, short story, in prose or song — even though it should be conceded to have been written in respectable verse — by no means makes a m,an of letters. And this is strictly an amateur performance. One, it is true, into which I have put considerable effort, it having occupied a large part of the little leisure I have had for a number of years. And it has helped to while away many an otherwise sad and lonely hour. If it shall do as much for my readers, even in the aggregate, it will not have been written in vain.

My motives have been, to produce a readable story, that somebody might get interested in, and also to put on record some phases of social and religious life in rural New England a half century ago, which have since disappeared, or are now rapidly passing a^^ay.

My language is commonplace and familiar. I have made free use of the pronouns I and you, both as a matter of convenience and a matter of choice ; as it seems to bring writer and reader somewhat nearer together, and so into closer sympathy with each other, provided the writing be such as shall tend to attract rather than to repel. And to whoever approaches the

IV PREFACE.

door of my little literary air castle, I say most cordially, Come in and sit down. Make yourself quite at home. We shall be all by ourselves, and we can talk about our neighbors as freely as we like. I will speak well of some of them ; and even that is not always done. I may reveal some of their secrets, but they came to me without the customary promise not to tell. And that the narrations herein contained may prove sufficiently interesting and instructive to compensate all readers for their time and money, and that we may separate on more friendly terms than the commercial ones which liave brought us together, is the earnest wish of

The Author.

WILLOUGHBY'S WISDOM.

CANTO FIBST.

'TwAS many years ago, in early spring, And on a pleasant Sunday ; I should say

About the last of April, as I taring Old recollections up, or first of May :

The buds were out, the birds were on the wing, Although the earth was still in sombre gray,,

Dismantled of its white and snowy sheen,

And waiting for its robe of summer green.

II

I say the earth, I mean that part of it, Wherein occurred, by fortune or by fate.

The commonplace events which, seeming fit For warp or woof of what I would relate,

I weave into my song ; with how much wit. Or sense, I cannot say ; and so must wait.

Until the public verdict, being had.

Proclaims it good, indifferent or bad.

III

Midway between two little country towns. Along the base of that Green Mountain range,

Above whose lofty peaks old Mansfield frowns. And looks upon a scene of constant change.

WILLOUGHBY S WISDOM.

On lake and river, hill and meadow downs,

On many a peaceful home and quiet grange. Where sways the graceful elm and towers the pine. And where the bleating sheej) and lowing kine

Roam o'er the verdant slopes to satiate An appetite that's keen for native food.

Then lie beneath the trees and ruminate, In seeming happy and contented mood,

Or patiently stand waiting by the gate.

Or graze again some fresh and tempting rood —

Here long ago some incidents occurred,

Of which the world at large has never heard.