Page:The Granite Monthly Volume 1.djvu/194

From Wikisource
Jump to navigation Jump to search
This page needs to be proofread.

186

��REMINISCENCES.

��dashing river, still echoing the song of its noontide birth up where the ever- greens hang their shadows high and the clouds distil o'er granite cliffs. " Ah-na- wan-da" it was called — "Waters born among the hills ;" and to this little gem of rare beauty, hidden then in the forests dark, fed by no rippling rills, but send- ing forth a laughing rivulet, scarcely known save by the sunlight and the star- ry wanderers, was given the name " Tse- ko-mo " — for the simple native, " Where the white lilies grow."

A radiant gem from God's right hand, Dropped in the midst of this mountain land.

And there, just across the valley, is "Montgomery Pond;" even now you may see it shimmering in the moonlight, scarcely more than the glitter of a dia- mond or the glow-worm's misty light; you can hear the laugh of its runaway waters, if you but listen, joined with those other down there where they meet. " Os-so-we-wock " was its maiden name — " Where the wild partridge drums."

And just a little beyond— so near that the murmur of its waves mingles with the voice of the western wind, deeply hidden among the evergreen woods, sparkles in the silvery sheen of the ris- ing moon the mirrored surface of " Round Pond" — the "Woon-es-qua"of the Indian hunter — " Among the pine shadows."

Tradition fails not to tell that here the wild goose tarried and hatched among its solitudes her brood. From the moun- tains there came the red deer and the antlered moose to drink and to bathe in its depths, and io nibble the wild sedge along its shores ; here, too, the Indian lover " wooed and won his dusky mate."

But you are asking why we are here — I had forgotten to intimate. We are on a pilgrimage to the land and graves of our forefathers ; to commune awhile with old memories and spirits of the past; therefore are we here. Pause and listen :

We had come out upon the old stage route from Littleton through Whitefield, toward upper Coos, and we almost ex- pected to hear the familiar clattering of the wheels of the old Concord coach and the sharp crack of "Ike's" whip, as he came climbing the long hill, bringing the mail and a load of pleasure-seeking tour-

��ists into the up country, but we soon re- membered that years and the incursions of the railroad and steam whistle had driven that ancient, rollicking coach, along with its cheery driver, as they had the deer and other wild game, inland, among the mountain fastnesses, where the locomotive cometh not.

The night was growing old, as, saun- tering, we looked down upon the village of W., nestling among the purple shad- ows of the dream-haunted vale. How the moonlight rested upon the hillsides and crept down and filled up the valley ; how it enveloped the white cottages of the villagers, and gathered in halos around the tall church spires, point- ing with taper fingers far away into the blue beyond; how holily it shone upon the grass-covered mounds of the little graveyard at the foot of the hill.

Venerable — as we count years — stands there still the old meeting house by the village green, humble and plain, but wOven around with a cordon of memories, and guarding with faithful care the rest- ing-places of three generations, borne from its door to quiet sleep among the daisies.

What power hath a moony night in summer to bring around the dead and buried forms of those we loved ; familiar faces of friends of the long ago haunt us ; well remembered voices fill the air, and bright eyes of the unforgotten silent ones are gazing into ours.

Some of the most vivid recollections of boyhood which I now recall are of that old meeting house down there and the good and pious men and matrons who came — yes, and still come, if we can hope, as some wiser than we do believe, that the spirits of the departed just may return to the scenes of their former joys — on every Sabbath morning, year after year, through summer's heat and win- ter's chill, to worship the memory of " The Son of Mary," and to listen to the words of grace and peace and wisdom, " droppings from the sanctuary," through the consecrated lips of those chosen "elders of Israel."

I seem to see them now, those worthy ones, walking with dignified step up the broad aisle, and dividing themselves ac-

�� �