Massachusetts spy and Worcester advertiser. [volume] ([Worcester, Mass.]) 1823-1825, 1825-01-26
For the Massachusetts Spy.l
THE RECT,ILSE

Here, said my companion, was bred and
educated. How pleasant are the scenes Of
childhood. In that old church first he ard
the praise of God, and along that little brook
that falls into the Connecticut, have often
strolled with companions who are now scat
tered through the earth, or are sleeping in its
| bosom. Every scene is as fresh in my memo.
ry as before forty years had matured this then
childish form. In yonder old mansion, which
is half concealed by the tall elms. lived the
Hermit ofC-, as he was then called 1t was
delightful spot, and nothing that art could
bestow was wanting to perfect it. The pro-
| prietor was singular man he never associ-
ated with any one in the village; his counte-
nance was mild, but perpetual melancholy
hung upon it, His only employment seemed
to be TO ornament his house and the grounds
| around it, though no one occupied it except
himself and an aged housekeeper. On these
he expended princely fortune. His history
was unknown. He had been an officer in the
| army, it was understood; he had been abroad,
and, on his return to his native country, had
selected our village for his place of residence
This was all that the eager curiosity of the
villagers could learn ofhis story.
had often been led by curiosity, and
an interest which | could not but feel for one
so secluded and melancholy, to take my eve
ming walk near his house, and through
his grounds. | had frequently met the old
man, and he seemed not displeased with the
interest manifested in my countenance, and
would bow in recognition of me, till, at last,
he SO far overcame his reserve, as to begin a
conversation with me. Our acquaintance,
thus begun, gradually grew into an intimacy.
| found him possessed of highly cultivated
taste and an almost exhaustless fund of valua-
BILE knowledge.
1t was at the close of sultry day in July,
| was to leave the village on the morrow, and
! turned my steps towards the habitation OF
the Recluse, in hopes of seeing him again be-
fore left the neighborhood. met him near
his house he seemed unusually melancholy.
He took me by the hand and led me in
You have shown sympathy for me, said he
and would unbosom to you, before you leave
this part of the country, the story of my life.
He then led the way to his library. The sun
was just sinking below the western mountains
the Connecticut, unruffled by wave, glowed
| IN the last rays of the sun, and the song of the
boatman was heard, as he set forward his bat
teau, with the steady stroke of his oar.
The old man beckoned me to chair, and,
setting down beside me, he seemed lost for a
moment in the contemplation of the grand
and beautiful scene before us. ! have heard,
at length he said, that you leave c. to-mor-
row, and ! would repay with my confidence
the friendship you have exhibited for one
whom you could not know. The story of my
life is short, but to me dark and gloomy one.
| was born at r.. When at school, formed
an intimacy with young man who was near
my age. We were inseparable companions
our tastes, our feelings, and habits were alike.
Thlrsting 70: glory, we resolved to join an ar
my that was then raising to defend the colo
MES against the inroads of the French and
savages, as soon as our term at school should
expire. With this view, we cherished all
those feelings which are considered go honora-
BILE in the character of soldier.
We loved one another like brothers, and his
fathers love for me was hardly less than that
for his son. lie was his only child, and when,
at length, we left his house,to Join the army,