Year: 1868




of Northern Vermont lies the good farm
ing town of Peacham. Some years since
the writer, while passing a few months in
this hilly country with the pastor of the
village called one day on an aged parish
ioner, who lived in small red house in
the outskirts of the town. 1t was during
the war, and the wrinkled hands of the
good woman were employed in knitting
socks for the soldiers. OF course the
conversation turned naturally upon the
affairs of the country. While talking of
the army, the President and Congress,
the name of Stevens was mentioned. In
stantly the large black eyes of our host
ess frightened, and she said: at was
over there on that farm that Thaddeus
Stevens was born," and she pointed to
gray farm house in sight, a mile or more
across the hill. "You know him, then ?"
| asked. Indeed / did, ma Fam ?" was
the enthusiastic reply. We used to sit
on the same seat, in the old school-house
yonder." 1t required little questioning
to draw from the willing and garrulous
old soul the story of her former school
mate. "The family were poor" she said,
and Mrs. Stevens was one of those hard
working mothers who toll from morning
till night week in and week out. She
would have worked her fingers to the
bone that her boy might get book learn
ing. Thaddeus was sickly boy, and very
lame. Folks never supposed they'd be
able to raise him. But they did Why,
| remember him as though it were but
yesterday. He was still and quick like;
different from the rest of the boys-and
sometimes they'd laugh at him, boy like,
and mimic his limping walk. They
didn't tmean any harm, but Thaddeus was
sensitive little fellow, and it ranked
I've always thought that it is the reason
perhaps he has never been back to the
old homestead" Are any of the family
here? "No, not any near kin. The old
folks died many years ago, of course; for
I'm an old woman now, and she stopped
to heave sigh over the dead and buried
years. " But, deary me how plain can
see that old schoolhouse. Senath Jones,
she was our teacher, and | remember she
used to 60 round and tap us ON the head
with her thimble finger, to make us set
still. Pears to me to this day, that l
can feel the dent of Senath Jones thin.
BILE on my head. | wonder if Thaddeus
Stevens ever remembers the old times
'Taint at all likely. He's had so many
other things to think of I've heard that
he's got to be great man among those
at Washington" As | said, four years
have passed since the story was told me,
and some items of the account have es-
capped my memory. But | think l shall
never lose the impression of that sad, ST.
lent boy, plodding YEARLY and haltingly
over those Vermont hills-smarting un-
der ridicule and battling with poverty
but full of high resolve in spite of all
Who can tell how much of the power
which is felt throughout the nation to-day
may have been wrought into the charac.
ter of Thaddeus Stevens by the cruel
Struggle of that early warfare? "The
strength Of the hills" thought as
stood that night on the steps of the low
farm house, and saw the sun set behind
the Green Mountains, forty miles to the
Westward, while the crimson flush Of the
after glow redeemed the white hills whose
pyramid peaks are sharply defined
against the sky as many miles to the East
How many men, who a generation hence
are to stand as giants among their kind
are to-day concealed among those tower
ing hills? In how many obscure homes 9
| patient woman labors, ready to coin hel
life's blood that the boy of her pride ma,
rise and shine, when her own eyes are
closed, and her own toil-hardened hand
| folded in their last-I almost said first
rest ?-Sprinafetd (lNass.) Republican.