Vermont watchman and State journal. [volume] (Montpelier, Vt.) 1836-1883, 1873-07-09
Vermont, After Twenty-Five Years.

Vermont, After Twenty-Five Years.
Mr.. d N. Richardson, The able and versatile
editor Of tho Davenport, (lowa) Democrat,
has recently been revisiting the home Of his
childhood, in Orange. Some Of his recoec-
tons and ideas he has 50 happily represented
in his paper that we cannot forbcar reproduc.
ing them.
The old place is dozen miles from Groton.
my summer headquarters and 10 take a good
look at 1t once more, one day last week hitch.
ed up and drove over the hills for that purpose.
The road isan old, narrow, and solid one fol-
lowing along by the rushing brooks, winding
10 and out among the hills and valleys, Afford
ing mountain and valley glimpsos Of marvellous
beauty-yicws more rich aud more Varied
more delightful than | have ever known or
thought before, even though hei driven the
same way hundred times The lofty wooded
hills, the wide pasture ranges with their thick.
y scattered rocks, boulders, lodges, and lovely
clumps of maple, ash, and elm trees the MIN.
bic little brooks, hurrying along down the hill
sides over the stones and under the shadows
OF the dark-leaved alders the messy old stone
walls, and messy rooted houses houses with
low posts and queer little window pancs-
dwellings Of the iOreiathers, innocent of paint,
with sunkon roof trees, dilapidated yards-all
looking old, tired, wanting to sink to rest, yet
old aud queer-interesting pictures after all.
There were villages on the way, the same
houses OF years ago, no mnro-perhaps less
the same old stores where in youth, many n
time we used 10 regule boyish eyes upon bright
colors We might not wcat.-upon canded sweets
we might not taste. Now and then an old
mill, here aud there a moderate improvement
all the way thousand sccnes-morc welcome
than ever before.
The road lays by Gruton heights, a thousand
feet and more above the sea, where overurching
forests Of hard wood shade the way, then
down through long stretch Of rocky unpro-
life farm lands 70 the old village Of IOpsham,
where one or two hundred people have lived
longer than ! can remember. A saw mill.
griSt mill and tannery are about the sum of
manufacturing enterprise; the latter business
having been conducted for the past forty years
by Oramel II. Watson, whose namesake and
nephew was member Of the well-known firm
Of Grggs, Watson & Day, of Davenport
Topsham streets were asleep and almost audibly
snoring the brightalternoon we passed through
Tho neat white houses standing guard, the
bright timed roof Of the old meeting house
shimmoring in the sun-all round about, on
either sides quiet. languid and excessively COM
1opsham No stcam.charged whistle 10 startle
its ears-no smoke of coal settles upon its neat
cottage roofs, 80 fumbliug Of wheels, rushing
of saws, changing Of steel or branching nf IRON
disturbs its every day delicious somnoency
Years ago, IL was principal point on the old
stage route from Boston h Burlington, but the
sharp crack Of the drivers whip rings out over
the ears Of the FESTIVE six in hand no more
the portly form OF old Jack Jenncs- is not now
seen upon his hotel steps those who have ac-
quircd wealth try to enjoy L. those who have
not, and those who have, quietly plud on, "A
happy, peaceful, contented people. They enjoy
themselves no doubt; 50, IN poetic language;
" What's the odds, 50 you're happy2n
Let the horse walk On not "a step faster
There is the old black cherry tree the old
spring, the birch and maple clump on the hill,
and the red cherry and the willow trees the
same old stone wall, and Squire Pcrley's or
chard and elms and the old bridge, the old
church and the little red schoolhOu-e- well,
well-crowds Of recollections flow in, over
whelm, confuse me 90 on, Bonner Boy.
halt is soon made-not at a hotel-nothing Of
the sort at East Orange, bat at the long gran
lite doorstep Of an old friend who was once n
neghbor
1t was my native yillage-yet not q relative
there A mile away was the old home-home
no more; parents, brothers, sisters. relatives
there no more
In the morning, with old friends, Peter NJ
Dickey Elm. Colby and Chet Dickey, | start
ed on pilgrimage 10 the old home first alluded
to in this letter. Up the old road 50 often
trod unwillngly 10 school, up through the old
woods again, cross lots over the hills and
lodges, across the brooks, and stone walls,
through the gates and bars to the old SInbJrn
farm, where spent my latter days Of bOyhood,
into the old orchard, the old barn; down t.
the maple-shaded spring and then upon the
maple groyed " ledge into the old house, a
look about, welcome, a glass Of cider from
the old orchard fruit, and OIL again up through
the old sugar woods to the old home beyond
How familiar the old woods ; had tapped
every tree around me and drank their sweets
for days and days, sap pals in hand had wal
lowed through the deep snow or with light
er step trod the crisp snow-crust gather
ing the sweet water from the hundreds of
buckets-my brothers and l. a long time ago
How the distinctness with which the natural
peculiarities Of the towering old sugar trees
came into my mind was almost oppressive
Man bad changed, butthe rare old trees were
true to their old-time bearing.
We grow up and go out to battle in the
world ever remembering the old home the
old hearthstone-the old familiar forms aud
faces. Years pass; the old home revisited
the home, hearthstone, faces and forms have
departed; the old apple trees stretch out their
dead branches 10 greet you, as if in mockery of
your boyish hopes.
Truly is East Orange the most quiet type Of
the New England vilage-bold and beautiful
in its landscapes-a veritable sleepy hollow,
where men are born, grow up and die, little
knowing and little caring of the busy world
beyond--peaceabe, toilsome and honest Nei-
Their bolts or bars arc needed to lock up trea-
fart Il No fkaIt l. ..
gather together at the village church, listen to
a sermon or two, interchange neghbOrly greet
ings, and gossip. One day is like unto
another, and 50 comes the days and years, and
so depart without noise or excltement-a peace
iul, upright, happy community While |
could not live there, yet it is u spot to be
cherished in memory-even venerated The
little village of East Orange nestles between
the high hills Its score of houses stand
where they stood years ago-neat and com
Portable; no noise of business, for not wheel
or cog, or belt, is to be found in all its Dor.
ders. The little old store has been there full
fifty years; the old saw-miil is missing, and
its pond, once to me the broadcast and most
peril0us sheet OF water on earth, a rank grass
plat the old tavern sign creaks no more on its
hinges-nOthing distuTbs the assured repose
save the silyertongued church bell, which
daily calls out the hours of morning, noon and
evening If you would learn its population,
60 to the little churchyard, and count its
thick-set headstones. Beneath the green turf
close by the brookside is the principal popua-
ton of the township, scarcely more in quiet
than those who yet wait TO be.
1t is more like summer; in its most ambi-
tlous flights the thermometer marks 65, and
then settles gradually down until morning,
when moderate wood fire produces rather
pleasant and satisfying sensation. The season
is dry--amounting almost to drought. The
hay crop in all New England will be light, and
unless the parched earth gains more moisture
in good time the other crops will suffer severe
ly. During the early part Of this week | was
along the road between here and Boston, and
| from what saw BY the way, feel justified in
saying that the East will make unusually heavy
demands upon the West for food for man and
beast next winter, unless there comes more
rain, and that speedily. laying in this region
will be on in week or two.
MARsnFlELD.-rhe Sunday evening temper
ance meeting was opened by prayer by f. b.