Worcester daily spy. [volume] (Worcester [Mass.]) 1850-1888, 1872-07-03
Our Boston Letter.
City and Country.
CORRESPONDENTS OF THE srY.I


| of the world has been cooking for fifteen days
and will cook for four more. | was here at the
beginning olthe work America was put In first,
when the international kettle was clean and
bright, with plenty of room. She went in sing
| ing "Old Hundred" and waving the stars and
| stripes; then England followed with God Save
| the Queen" and Madame RudersdorlF; we
thought the kettle boiled and sang then, and
that peace must be almost DONE came away
| just as France was TO be thrown in and Only
| heard of the madness that grew and grew, as
Germany with her PeSchka-Leutner and Strauss
| followed, and one after the other, Austria and
Russia were added to the unequalled soothing
| syrup, which boiled and thickened and grew
| properly smooth, stirred continually by the
| magic wands of cooks accomplished in this line.
| To day Ireland goes in strong, probably the
/ largest mass of one kind that has been added
and despair of describing the result. There is
an absolutely frightful boiling over, the noise is
deafening, but no NATTER the mixture grows
| thick and sayory, and the worlds wounds are
to be healed by it. Only little more, and it
will be done, thank heaven! Italy will be
stirred in tomorrow; Horace Greeley the next
| day; one more portion of America will be need
cd, and then a final sprinkliug of all the ma
lions. The fourth of July will be devoted to vio-
| lent stirring and fiayorng with guupowder, and
after that those who have lived through the
turmoil and heat may hope for peace.
| Away from all this We went to the quietest
of farm houses, near one Of the quietest of New
| Hampshire villages, nesting in green and
| beautiful valley, surrounded by high hills,
among which KearSarge, with its ever changing
| colors and its mountain glory, stands like a
king. The village is gradually lessening in
population, but still retains good deal of life,
and, like most old country towns, is itch in in
tcreStnG people and queer histories.
| A mile or more from the village, on what
was once county road, but is now overgrown
| with wealth of vines, delicate MOSES and
luxuriant ferns, with the richest and densest of
| young oaks and naples crowding into it, is an
| old and utterly abandoned grave yard; it does
not seem neglected.; it has long passed that
stage, and relapsed into woodland. There is no
trace of path or cleared place; the only sigus
that human beings ever entered there
are the grave stones, one large white rose bush,
and a thicket of Cinnamon roses, which, I'M
tended for years, have grown and struggled and
tangled as they would, but have such a mass of
sweet and deep colorcd blossoms as never saw
before. Year after year the pine needles have
fallen on the graves, and now through the soft
red-brown carpet naples are pushing their pretty
leaves, great clumps of gigantic ferns have
grown, partridge vines wander and mark their
course with glowing berries, and the reindeer
and red cup MOSES light up the grey rocks. 1t
is impossible to describe the peaceGulness the
beauty, the irresistible charm of the place.
Most Of the stones are old, and the epitaphs are
few and of the simplest. There is nothing of
the pretension which grave yard literature often
has; no celebrating in elaborate verse the hero
ism or saintliness of the departed; only hu-
man tenderness, an expression of faith in an
other life, and an entreaty to those left behind
Ito love the Lord" On one stone, beneath
which lie a father and mother, are the words, in
letters so small that they can hardly be read,
Forget us not" Others bear well known lines
from old hymns, and on only one is there any
attempt at epigram: "When this life is DER, she
dies to live and lives to die no more" Usually
there are only the name and age, with some
slight and poor attempt at ornament; none of
the griunng skulls, the cross-bones, the pic
tured battles between death and time, which
are repeated over and over again in other
grave yards, are to be found here; only
conventional weeping-wilow, or a wreath in
the stifest outline has been attempted But
nature has supplemented all shortcomings in
this direction, and with divine imparIiality has
covered all stones alike with ornament more
rich and delicate than pencil or chisel ever
made; fine gray lchenS with shades of olive, or
with tawny borders cling to the dark states, and
enrich them marvellously. We could not hear
even the church bells of the village; the only
sounds were the twitter of birds, the hum of in
sects, and the cool, surf-like sough of the sum-
mer wind, which breathed through the tall
pines, and brought to us their music, and their
delicious fragrance. We tried to read but
could not; the turning Of printed leaves seemed
an intrusion and impertinence; SO in the hot,
still noon, we sauntcred along the grassy and
shady road, with little brook running and
singing by our side, sometimes hiding under
messy rocks, or going half-aseep in dark cool
hidng-places, and then leaping out with
laugh and flash to play in the sunshine. SO
we came back to the farmhouse, with its close
ly-mOwn yard, its borders of syrnga, and lilies,
honeysuckle, ambrosia and lavender; its tall,
restless, silver-leayed poplaTs, and best of all,
its inmates. A family was gathered there of
which New England might be proud. There
were two men, one seyenty-nine, and the other
eighty years old; both strong and active,
both full of interest in the present, and rich in
"reminiscences of the past. One has gained
from the ups and downs of his four-score years
noble serenity, a perfect sweetness of charae-
ter, an optimism that never verges on fatasm
or indi ference, a dignity that is never selfcon-
scious or cold the other has retained an almost
boyish flow of spirits and love of fun; he is
well known as one of the best writer's on agri-
cultural matters, and he has avivid, picturesque,
almost dramatic, way of talking, and a merri-
ment in his blue eyes and expressive face that
seems to belong to the very spirit of youth.
Both these men are as familiar with the politics
of the days of Monroe, the younger Adams and
Andrew Jackson, as with those of the present
day; both were ardent federalists, and both are
now republicans; they well remember the ex-
citement caused by the duel between Burr and
Hamilton, and the enthusiasm felt for Hamilton
when the story was told that he drew the right
to the first shot and fired into the air; they re-
member the murder of young Charles Austin,
who was shot on State street by Thomas o. Sell
fridge on account of a political quarrel; they
tell laughlngly how timid children were terrified
by Napoleon Bonaparte, and shuddered at any
strange noise, thinking it might be he come to
capture the United States, They have seen
many political parties grow and ripen and
fall to the earth; and many strange, reli-
gious sects gain converts and notorety for a
while and then disappear; and having seen all
these things, and pondered them, they believe
that the present is better than the past, and that
the future will be better still. The women in
the family have.al passed the time of youth
and bloom, have known care and sorrow, and
the need of strict economy; but they have not
known how to complain or to be crushed. They,
like the men, have that wonderful thing called
character, that magnificent and unconscious
superiority to circumstances, which takes with
equal serenity poverty or abundance, obscurity
or public praise. They can do almost anything
well, from cooking dinner to writing poem
or book. The newest things in German,
| French and English literature lie ON fhe table