Vermont watchman and State journal. [volume] (Montpelier, Vt.) 1836-1883, 1872-09-11

progressing age, among which the abolition Of
ble we must come back TO the occasion that
has brought US together--the changes that
have affected our local towns.
We go back hundred years, when as
the Indian said Nothing but gloomy forest
covered this land, ,r-and with hunters in.
stuct we thread our painless way over these
ancient hills; through bemlock woods, by al
der brooks, and forest shaded streams and find
no sign Of human habitatiou no Indian
camp or hunters lodge. The flowers bloom
sickly under forest shade and birds sing
mournfully to the echoipg hills. The black for
ests Of the German border are not more dark
and gloomy than those which covered. these,
our native hills.
To such a home came Andrew Spear, in
1772, and now at the end Of hundred years
we come TO celebrate his pluck, his persever.
ance and his endurance. We are restricted
in time and must be content with what we
have heard Of his hardships, his experiences
and his success. We ouly know Reading as
q thriving farming town where was passed
our school-boy days--and where our youthful
hearts looked to the future Of life and paint
cd crimson visions on the clouds where
love was young and joyous, and blind perhaps;
ere the calculating interest Of mercenary
world turned back the heart TO is own sell
fishness But where are the companions OF
our early years? Where are those ancient
fathers whose bowed frames and whitened
locks and trembling footsteps made the i'm
pressions Of our earliest memories They
and many younger in years are gone We
have their grass-clad graves and head-stones
with rude memorials Of their lives on earth.
At least three generations Of our old time
citizens are gone. God took them all away.
But the grave is not their final rest. Nc
Phelah's cave was not the Patriarchs home.
| But some are yet alive, are here to-day. We
greet them by the hand and feel that the
power Of Providence has preserved them dur
ing all these years. The marks Of growing
age on heads whitened with the frosts Of
many winters convince US all, that this earth
is not mans long, long home!
A hundred years, IL. one might live 30 long,
would in the varied experiences Of such life
Gil the treasure house Of memory, to feed the
soul in a refreshing life for endless years.
Its childhood and youth would not differ from
the life Of others, nor manhood be less fraught
with care and duty but when in growing
age its companions and friends fall away,
the sadness, as of autumnal days. comes to
bis heart and habitation. Like the father
Of the forest he sees his children wither
and fade and fall, till finally he braves the
autumn winds and winter frosts alone.
Said the venerable Professor Whiting,
nephew of the late Aaron Loveland, Of Ches-
ter, in our county, There is sadness in
growing old, when one by one your old
friends and associates drop away, and by
the instincts of your friendship you seek
them and find they are gone" A few weeks
since we laid this good old man in his grave,
but bis spirit lives in the revival of those old
friendships, which as cherished upon earth
we're so pure and beautiful.
But the life of hundred years, not only
from changes without, becomes sad and mourn.
full but in growing years the faculties one BY
one drop out Of the constitution, and leave
the shattered being but as the broken arches
of bridge Of sighs 1t is WE'LL that memo
ries from middle life are fresh and green as
Of the time when faith and hope and immor.
tality become the assurance of the soul How
glorious is such Cynosural Star over the
habitation and home and heart Of the aged
Christian Let US then my friends seek and
cherish the faith of the Gospel-the faith
which lifts the clouds from off celestial hills
that points to land of rest, land Of peace,
where sighs and sorrows tears are known no
more
There is something more for our child Of
hundred years than the fate of the poets one
horse chaise, whose ride and covering came to
hopeless wreck and fell to fragments as its
century died.
Thus my time is past, my speech is ended,
and such is human life. While thoughts and
topics aud facts and duties and interests seem
crOwding on the mind and memory, the knell
of death is beating and the curtain falls.