Vermont phÅ“nix. [volume] (Brattleboro, Vt.) 1834-1955, 1882-06-30

This ride, long to be remembered with
pleasure, was enjoyed recently by q small
party from Newfane, in company with one
a former inhabitant of Dover-who knew ev-
cry step of the way and could relate enter
tanning stories connected with it. Here an
old road and there an old house suggested in
teresting "reminiscences and strange family
histories that would read like romance.
Passing through the pleasant little villages
of Williamsville and Rock River, with their
manufacturing interests, and through Pond
vile and Brookside, secluded summer retreats,
one is led to believe that the 'serpent in the
glass" is not to be found in these places, or
else that his trail is well hidden for no shift
less, careless-looking homes, the sure sign Of
the presence Of that dreadful destroyer, are
to be seen by the traveller. Dover town, tho
much Of its former glory has fed, is still q
''city set upon hill" and undoubtedly pos
sesses, If not the stir and hustle of western
towns, at least an equal share of peace and
prosperity. Situated whero It must neoessa-
rily be exposed to winds and cold weather
tho dwellers therein yet fear no cyclones, and
it is an established fact that the hills of Yer
mont, though bleak, afford safo and happy
homes.
Beyond Dover village, stretching away to-
wards Wardsboro, human habitations grow
few and far between. In place of them are
mouldering ruins and tumble-down cellar
walls, while in some places scarcely a stone is
left TO mark the spot where once dwelt the
large families of olden time. d ramble through
one crumbling structure brought wildly TO
mind these words from an article in a recent
number of Harper's Monthly:
"You are weighed down with sense of the
loneliness and desolation Of this old house.
AS you look back upon its sightless, hollow
| eyes and tottering frame, there il something
in its silence which says: L am dead. My
life has flown, and 1 am returning to the
mould that gave mo being. Time was when
these silent halls echoed with the ring of joy
Gus voices, and these windows were merry
with laughing eyes that looked out from the
life within. But now have these things left
me. Raught knows me now but the fungus
and the gnawing worm. Whittier my life has
flown, l know not; whittier its destiny, ]
know not. How thus do behold my coun-
terpart in thee, o man Thy body is but O
shell like me thyself only ib brief tenant,
that soon will cast it of and leave it, even as
am left"
From this house grassy road leads to the
top of the hill, where once was the most pro
duciiye farm in Dover, containing some five
hundred acres, then owned and carried on by
the brothers John and Henry Rice, but now
known as the Burr pasture. The amount OF
butter, cheese and pork which this hill farm
produced in those early days was immense
at one time amounting to six tons over ant
above what was required for home use. The
view from this place, of distant mountains
and cultivated fields, is unrivaled even by
that from the nearest U. s. signal station
but there remains not trace of the busy, &c
tive life once led on this spot, save the ole
stone wall, now scattered, rambling pile o
weather beaten boulders." The wonder anC
delight expressed in the eyes and actions o
the horses, cows and sheep which the picni,
party encountered would almost make on,
certain that tho "beasts Of the field" ar
thoughtful and intelligent, and even lead on,
to wish for them future other than the hope
less one Of 'dust to dust" and nothing more
After a sufficient indulgence in reflection
and retrospection, the order is "Homewart
bound" and soon the dead past" is forgot
ten amid the surroundings of the living pres
ent. A safe journey, and feeling tina
the day has been well spent, oonspires to ren
der the occasion one of the bright spots il
memory. STELLA