Spirit of the age. [volume] (Woodstock, Vt.) 1845-1913, 1876-03-01
c. A NJ e D Z N

| HAVE lived, long ago, in another lan'
in quiet New England Village whicl
estled in the heart of the Green Noun
tains, Of the most beautiful of all States
Vermont. That is known to many as th'
birthplace and early home of Powers, tht
great American sculptor The brain anC
heart that designed the peerless Greel
Slayc wer3 working beside the silvel
flowing Queechy, some forty or fifty year:
ago, in many prank Of bOyish mischief
and a man that carved and chscled thai
while dream Of beauty then welded a pom.
dcrous jack-kniie, and whitfield out Of bits
Of wood some faint overshadoWing, per-
hapS, of that which was yet to come. II
was this that tempted me to select it
from all others for my summer residence,
during year of sickness and distress in
the city Of New York. 1t had pretty
English -Woodstock-and was, |
think, the tuirest valley on which my eyes
ever rested.
Riyer and mountain, the bright Queechy
and the king Of the hills, Mount Tom.
lake and wood, and forest all were there.
From one summit you looked down upon
4 region ofpastoral beauty, with pretty
low cottages, wide green meadows and
grazing flocks; from another you saw a
fertile valley, with the river winding, like
Il serpent, through it, and mirroring in its
bosom the clear blue sky. A third ascent,
and rock-bound country, gloomy with
fir trees, and keeping an unbrOkcn silence
like that of Siberia, met your view; while
high up, upon the very summit of the
great mountain, Il lonely pond was lying,
Of which the school children told strange
tales. 1t at once stretched over vast
acres, and bears and wolves had drank
from it when the country was wild and
new, but with the march of civilization it
had changed. Little by little the earth
had filed it in, till the visitor could walk
for half mile securely on what had once
been a treacherous slime. But the ground
quaked always beneath step, and the
prudent took good care not to venture too
near the edge. / walked upon it once
myself, and though it is very like these
hearts of ours, in which, though we step
ever SO softly we are liable to sink in
beyond our depth, and perhaps rise no
more.
But these are not all the attractions of
the place. There are beautiful walks and
drives; there were miniature lakes, upon
which to row or sail pleasure boat, and
park which was the pride Of the State.
1t had grown up with the town, changing
from an oval strip of ground just board
ed in, and called q common, to beautiful
enclosure hemmed in with maple trees as
straight and luxuriant as trees could well
be, enclosed with fence and
abounding with little walks and
footpaths, and, in the spring, deckcd with
grass as green as that Of the Emerald
Isle, and speckled and spangled with
those two flowers Of childhood, bnttercups
and daises, like carpet brought from
Fairyland. 1t was pretty place. used
often to sit and muse there; but when
the summer months brought the usual in
tlux of city visitors, l left the place to
them and wandered of in search Of others
more lonely.
In one of my midday walks, | struck
suddenly upon a grass-grown road, lead
ing off the main path, at the distance of
three miles from the town. | followed it
up the hill, switching with my cane at the |
on each side, or stopping to
watch lazy adder who glided in and out |
from fragrant thicket as | drew near to
or receded from his home. An old house
stood half way up this hill, which was ev-
identity the homestead of some well-to-do
farmer. 1t was large and square, and
standing back, with an orchard climbing
the green hills Mt its rear. Across the
road which / was following, and just op-
posite the house, were three immense
barns, whose great doors were standing
oper, to admit the carts Of hay the oxen
were drawing slowly from the hill past
lres. Through these doors caught the
glimpse Of the river road below, the river