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SKETCHES 
 
 OF 
 
 OXFORD COUNTY. 
 
 BY THOMAS T. STONE, 
 
 Pastor of the Church in Andover. 
 
 APPROVED BV THE COMMITTEE OF THE M. S. S. UNION. 
 
 PORTLAND; 
 
 »Y SHIRLEY AND UYUE. 
 
 1830. 
 
DISTRICT OP MAINE, TO WIT ; 
 
 DISTRICT CLERK'S OFFICE. 
 
 BE IT RKMEMBERED, That on the third day of February, A, 
 D 1830, and iit the fifty fourth vear of the Independence of the 
 United States of America, Messrs, Shirley &. Hyde, of said District, 
 have deposited in this office the title of a book, the right whereof 
 they claim as Proprietors, in the words following, <o wit: 
 " Oxford Sketches. 
 " By Thomas T Stone. 
 *' Approved by the Committee of Publication of the Maine Sab- 
 bath School Union." 
 
 Portland : Shirley & Hyde, 1830. 
 
 In conformity to the act of the Congress of the United States, en- 
 titled " An Act for the encouragement ol learning, by securing the 
 copies of maps, charts and books, to the authors and proprietors of 
 «uch copies, during the times therein mentioned," and also to an 
 act, entitled " An Act supplementary to An Act, entitled, An Act 
 for the encouragement of learning, by seeurine the copies of maps, 
 charts and books, to the authors and proprietors of such copies, dur- 
 ing the times therem mentioned; and for extending the benefits 
 thereof to the arts of designing, eHgraving and etching historical 
 and other prints." 
 
 J. MUSSEY, Clerk of the District of Maine. 
 A true copy as of record, 
 
 Attest. J. MUSSEY, Clerk D. C. Maine. 
 
 
OXFORD SKETCHES, 
 
 The Domestic Evening, 
 
 I vnW. imagine a scene ; it is among the 
 loveliest in a world, which has innumerable 
 joys mingled with its many sorrows. I re- 
 member such an one in my childhood, and 
 how I loved it. It was in early spring or 
 autumn, when, after the toil or play of the 
 day, I came into the house which my motlier 
 had prepared for the evening; a brisk fire 
 from the hearth playing on the windows and 
 ceiling ; my mother smiling on her talkative 
 children as they gathered around her; my 
 father resting from his day's work, and their 
 little ones clambering about him to hear his 
 stories or his song ; these make up the scene 
 of bliss which I never can forget. A scene 
 like this, 1 will imagine in some fathers' house 
 among the mountains of Oxford, as his rosy 
 cheeked boys and girls sit at his feet or climb 
 his knees, and cast their beaming eyes on 
 his happy face, while he and tlieir mother 
 alternately repeat the tales which they heard 
 
4 OXFORD SKETCHES. 
 
 from their parents, or of which they are 
 among the subjects. The mother, to whom 
 I will give the name of Greenwood, begins 
 the evening by the story of 
 
 The First Settlers. 
 
 " Nearly forty years have passed since a 
 good father, who lived in one of the older 
 settlements in a neighboring state, thought 
 of emigrating with his family to the new 
 country. Several towns, in what is now the 
 County of Oxford, were then beginning to 
 receive cultivation. Through these he pass-, 
 ed without finding a place such as he sought^ 
 till he reached the Androscoggin. Its rich, 
 intervals and the lands bordering on them, 
 were the first spots with which he was sat- 
 isfied. They had few settlers, nor did he 
 despair of finding better land beyond them. 
 To one who travels down the banks of this 
 stream, even now that they have received 
 such abundant culture, as he casts his eye 
 on the shaggy tops of the many hills and 
 mountains which contract the prospect, and 
 appear almost inipervious to human foot- 
 steps, the first feeling is of impossibility that 
 beyond them still streams and fertile plains 
 should invite the pursuit of n>en. But in the 
 very moment when cultivation seems to have 
 reached its limits, new fields and good farm- 
 
OXFORD SKETCHES. 
 
 houses rise to the view. Perhaps from the 
 dark forests of an earlier period, these ap- 
 parent limits of labor did not present them- 
 selves : the shades which overspread the 
 plain may have hidden also the frowning and 
 interminable brow of the mountains. At any 
 rate, the emigrant passed them. 
 
 ••' In the northern part of Oxford County, 
 there is a small stream tributary to the An- 
 droscoggin, called Ellis River. It has three 
 branches, two descending from the moun- 
 tains to the north and north-west, and the 
 third issuing from a pond, which bears the 
 same name with the river, lying to the east. 
 It iorms along its banks a large quantity of 
 beautiful interval ; above rises a plain, which 
 as you go to the north, opens for several 
 miles into a widening tract of fertile land. 
 On every side but the south, where it winds 
 its way to the Androscojxgin, mountains, 
 here distant and covered with forests, here 
 jutting into the valley, and bared either by 
 nature or by terrible firrs which have swept 
 them to the summit, form in their rough 
 grandeur, a strange contrast with the smooth- 
 ness and beauty of the valley, into tliis nook, 
 whither scarce any had entered but the In- 
 dian as he chased the wild beast or fished 
 in the waters, the emigrant betook himself. 
 He brought his family to an abode in the 
 1* 
 
6 d^irFORD SKETCHES. 
 
 forest, many miles beyond the dv/ellino: of 
 white men. They lived tAvo years without 
 a neighbor; the husband and the wife, and 
 many children, to whom another was added 
 in the wilderness. 
 
 "At an early period of their marriasfe, 
 they declared themselves disciples of Jesus 
 Christ. They brought in their heart rever- 
 ence for the principles of Christianity, and 
 with their possessions (for they were neither 
 poor nor rude in manners) books, of which 
 they valued most, both for themselves and 
 for their children, the volume of inspiration; 
 and on the Sabbath, and morning and even- 
 ing, from their cottage in the woods, the 
 voice of prayer went up before God. Theii* 
 children were attached to boolis ; they were 
 well instructed ; and, far from all other so- 
 ciety, they must have loved each other with 
 more than common affection. In due time, 
 many of them were sent abroad to gain an 
 education beyond what they could acquire 
 at home ; nor were their advantages misim- 
 proved. 
 
 " Meantime the town was gaining in popu- 
 lation. Other respectable iamilies at once 
 aided its progress, and gave it a good reputa- 
 tion for morality and intelligence. A church 
 was formed ; a minister was obtained ; a 
 second has succeeded; the emigrants re.- 
 
OXFORD SKETCHES. 7 
 
 main ; their children live, some in their own 
 neighborhood, others in more distant places ; 
 not one has died ; most are professed wor- 
 shippers of their fathers' God ; and in a hap- 
 py old age, they see you, my dear children, 
 growing up to love and bless the first settlers. 
 
 "Now, my children," says Mr. Greenwood, 
 "I will describe another scene, and urge you 
 in imitating the virtues of your ancestors, to 
 avoid the vices by which so many are expo- 
 sed to destruction. You have heard of 
 
 " The Falls of the Jlndroscoggin. 
 
 '' The first time I saw them, (and I had nev- 
 er before seen falls whose descent exceed ^.d 
 thirty feet) I was disappointed. It was in 
 August; the season was so dry, that, instead 
 of a mighty cataract, it seemed rather like 
 some brook swollen by heavy rains and 
 tumbling over a steep and rocky channel. 
 But in the Spring when the streams are 
 filled by snows melted on the mountains, 
 beneath which the Androscoggin and its 
 branches rise and flow, it sweeps a broader 
 path and foams with deeper finy. On the 
 southern side of the river, the woods still 
 stand in sombre e;randeur, forming a pros- 
 pect beautifully adapted to the character of 
 the scenery. On the side through which 
 
e OXFORD SKETCHES. 
 
 the road passes, there is also a portion of 
 forest remaining ; but as the industry of man, 
 which converts every thing to profit, has 
 already formed Mills which are carried by 
 the waters of the Fall, and opened far(ns 
 which seem now to encroach upon its do- 
 mains, we may expect that ere long the 
 wildness of nature will give place to the 
 products of labor. After tumblin?" down its 
 rocks, the river still rushes furiously onward, 
 and, within a short distance, is swelled by a 
 noisy and changeable stream, to which, from 
 the rapidity of its current, and still more the 
 suddenness of its transitions from a purling 
 brook to a broad and deep river, the coun- 
 try has given the expressive name of Swift. 
 " It is a fact well known in the region of 
 the Androscoggin, and has already srone into 
 print, that as a Mr. Rolfe who died in Rum- 
 ford a few months since, was one niffht 
 crossing the Androscoggin, his boat took a 
 wrong direction, f"ell within the current 
 which dashes over the falls, struck a rock 
 which peers above the waters on the verge 
 of the descent, and leaving him safely upon 
 the rock, was hurled into the basin beneath. 
 In the morning, he was casually discovered 
 by a few men, seemingly composed in his 
 perilous situation. They first attempted to 
 rescue him by boats held and drawn by 
 
OXFORD SKETCHES. 9 
 
 ropes ; but the moment they reached the 
 verge of the cataract, their hold wasbroken. 
 At length a rope bound round a tree was 
 thrown to him : he tied it about his body, 
 and his friends drew him uninjured to the 
 shore. 
 
 " He was an intemperate man ; and it is 
 said to have been the impotence of intoxica- 
 tion which exposed liim in this perilous 
 situation." 
 
 " Oh, my children," exclaimed the warm 
 hearted mother, " I lost from my bosom a 
 lovely infant, and I had rather follow each 
 of you to a grave by its side than see you 
 given to intemperance. You must shun 
 other vices also. You must not break the 
 Sabbath. The old man whom you see with 
 us so often, frequently tells how observant 
 of this holy day an Indian was whom he 
 kiew when he first came into the wilder- 
 ness. " It was Sabbath ; there was no meet- 
 ing ; we felt solitary and walked along the 
 interval to a wigwam. The red man refus- 
 ed to leave his camp till the Sabbath was 
 over." It was contrary to his education and 
 principles ; and if you, my little ones, diso- 
 bey God by breakins" his Sabbath, oh, how 
 will this untutored Savage, as we call him, 
 condemn you in the day of judgment." 
 
 There was silence for a while. The chil- 
 
10 ©XFORD SKETCHES. 
 
 dren at leng-th ex> laimed at once, "Can't you 
 tell us some more stories I The evening lias 
 but just begun, and we do not wish to go to 
 bed." " Yes," replies the father, " 1 can 
 tell you a long story now, and we will call it 
 
 
 " It was a beautiful morning in Septem- 
 ber, when 1 left home — 1 then lived far to 
 the north — to solemnize two marriag- 
 es, and to spend the Sabbath in a small 
 settlement on the Magalloway River. After 
 travelling a few miles, first on the plain which 
 spreads between Ellis River and the blue 
 mountains that rise and extend beyond it ta 
 the borders of New-Hampshire, thence over 
 a rough track now shaded by a second 
 growth of forest-trees, and now peering in 
 naked sterility to the clouds, now crossing 
 a turbulent stream foaming over the rocks 
 which form its bed toward a branch of the 
 Ellis, that here winds between dark and 
 barren hills, and now touching or passing 
 near the narrow strips of interval which oc- 
 casionally open amifist the dreariness of the 
 scenery, 1 entered the deep forest, which, 
 with few interruptions, reaches to the Um- 
 bagog and its neighboring Lakes. It was 
 not an unknown path. The first time 1 had 
 traversed it, was for a difi'erent purpose. A 
 
OXFORD SKETCHES. 11 
 
 poor old man, whose sou had chosen for his 
 farm a lot near one of the openings in the 
 forest, by some casualty received a womid 
 of which he died. I was called to his funer- 
 al. I went eight miles on Saturday, and 
 spent the night at a small and neat house 
 occupied by an interesting family, who have 
 since left it for a less secluded abode. A 
 partial openins" had been made in a lot be- 
 tween their own and the farm, in Andover ; 
 but it had been cultivated, I presume, merely 
 enough to yield a single harvest, and no 
 house had been erected. Beyond them, 
 though not within sight, a log-hut arose on 
 a spot, from wliich the trees of a few acres 
 had been cut down. Here they lived on a 
 green plain remote from the habitations of 
 men, the mountain on one side towering 
 above them, and the Ellis, here but a brook, 
 rippling at their feet. Over the opposite 
 bank, the trees still lifted their tall bodies, 
 and hung their wide-spread and leafy branch- 
 es. A fallen trunk bridged the tranquil cur- 
 rent. It is a scene which none who loves 
 to converse with nature, and commune with 
 its Author, would willingly leave untrod 
 when a bright morning beamed through its 
 shades or the sun made a golden set. On 
 the morning of the Sabbath, with the owner 
 pf this beautiful valley, I went to the house 
 
12 OXFORD SKETCHES. 
 
 where the funeral was to be attended. It 
 was but four miles ; yet from the state of the 
 road, my ride occupied near two hours. 
 The road was cut through a mountainous 
 tract, and from the thinness of the popula- 
 tion little improved — rough, muddy, and 
 steep. At length we reached the opening. 
 It is on a richly wooded hill, from which the 
 mountains on every side are seen lifting their 
 dark forests or their white cliffs to the sky ; 
 and through the trees, when the branches 
 and the undergrowth are stripped of their 
 leaves, a glimpse is caught o^'the Umbagog 
 embosomed in trackless woods. The solem- 
 nities of a funeral need no description in a 
 world of death. But here was something 
 peculiarly solemn. The log-hut in which it 
 was attended, stood alone; there was not 
 another within four miles on either sile. 
 The hill had been cleared but a few years ; 
 there was no burial-place — but from the 
 arms of a few men who had come miles to 
 attend the obsequies of poverty, a solitary 
 grave took him to its bosom, and keeps him 
 safe as the rich man's tomb, to the coming 
 of the Son of God. 
 
 " At the time of my present journey, I was 
 to consummate the union, which should be 
 of souls. I had several miles beyond the 
 scene of the funeral to pass through the 
 
 I 
 
OXFORD SKETCHES. 1.3 
 
 woods before I came to the house where I 
 should spend the night previous to taking 
 the boat which was to carry me over the 
 lake and along the rivers that stretched be- 
 tween me and the end of my route. On the 
 morning of Saturday, with a friend who ac- 
 companied me the rest of the way, I went a 
 few miles on foot to meet our boat. I had 
 taken a few books to read on my passage ; 
 but the motion of the boat, the dazzling rays 
 reflected from the water, and my curiosity 
 to observe the new objects about me, ren- 
 dered them useless. There could scarcely 
 be a lovelier day for enjoyment of my situ- 
 ation. The sun went up and descended a 
 cloudless sky ; there was no wind to agitate 
 the waters ; it was all the peculiar and sooth- 
 ing repose of early autumn. We left behind 
 us the habitations of man ; there was little 
 before us or around us but the workmanship 
 of God. No human dwelling was near save 
 that of a solitary native, who is spending his 
 last and untended years amid the ancient for- 
 ests. We touched a point still covered with 
 its native wood, and went to it. It was made 
 of bark. We opened the frail and misshapen 
 door, and entered. It had no floor but the 
 earth ; in the centre was a stick suspended 
 horizontally with hooks to receive any ves- 
 sel hung over the fire, which, when neces- 
 2 
 
14 OXFORD SKETCHES. 
 
 sary, was kindled on the ground beneath. 
 On the side was a poor preparation for the 
 occupant and any hunter or fisherman who 
 might ask his hospitality, when they stretch- 
 ed themselves in their blankets for repose. 
 The camp was now abandoned for a time ; 
 its owner had crossed the lake in his canoe^ 
 and begun his hunting scout among the 
 northren mountains. He is an aged Indian; 
 his name, Netalloch. Along the shore of 
 this lake, he has spent many years ; alone 
 by its side he buried his wife ; here he has 
 chosen the spot for his own grave. But 
 who is there to lay him by the side of her he 
 loved ? And how is he to find his way to 
 the blessed home of Spirits ? Like many of 
 his nation, he is addicted to intemperance, 
 and though observant of the Sabbath, yet he 
 can know little of religion — almost nothing, 
 I suppose, but from papal tradition." " Oh," 
 exclaimed the interested mother, "that Jesus 
 Christ might shine into his heart, and send 
 the light of his Gospel, and the influence of 
 his Spirit, to the millions who are going 
 down to the grave without God and without 
 hope." 
 
 " And," cried the children at once, " if he 
 could be with us ! Father and Mother would 
 teach him, and we would give him our little 
 books, and he could go to meeting with u? 
 
OXFORD SKETCHES. 15 
 
 Sabbath-day, and hear about God, and learn 
 to be good." 
 
 The lather continued — "We took again 
 to our boat. There was little of novelty in 
 the prospect of a calm lake and sky, and of 
 uninterrupted woods, hills, and valleys. 
 There was but one thing to remind us that 
 men were not far off. The borders of the 
 lake and the streams about it, are olten na- 
 tural meadow, yielding a long and smooth 
 grass, which, though not equal to the pro- 
 ducts of cultivated farms, furnishes a tolera- 
 ble provision for cattle, peculiarly valuable 
 when there is scarcity of clover and other 
 kinds of hay. Of this grass, every now and 
 then we saw a large quantit}'' collected in 
 stacks, to which in the winter the farmers 
 go with sleds, and remove it to their barns. 
 
 " We came at length to the Androscoggin, 
 which, after mingling its waters with the 
 long chain of lakes stretching to the north- 
 east, here issues forth, and flows for a con- 
 siderable distance through an unsubdued 
 country, then enters the region of cultivation, 
 and between Shelburne and Gilead comes 
 into Maine, thence through many beautiful 
 and thriving towns takes its course to the 
 ocean. I had before passed it after its union 
 with the Kennebec. I had before stood 
 near the junction of these noble streams. I 
 
16 OXFORD SKETCHES. 
 
 had before traversed the banks of both, 
 where they were rich with culture or crown- 
 ed with large and flourishing villages. Now 
 amidst mountains and iorests I was at the 
 head of the one, and from the water's of the 
 Umbagog, I sailed down its caln\ bosom, and 
 gathered the high cranberries or stooped 
 my head beneath the bushes which hung 
 wildly over its channel. 
 
 " Our course was turned. We entered 
 the Magallowdy, a beautiful branch of the 
 Androscoggui. We still continued to make 
 our way through scenes like those we had 
 passed, till we landed near two of the few 
 houses which are scattered for several miles 
 along the iMagalloway. Thence we walked 
 two miles through a footpath opened in the 
 wooGS ^o the house where the Sabbath was 
 spent. — My work was finished, and we pre- 
 pared early on Monday to retrace our path. 
 The lake was as calm, the air as serene, the 
 sky as blue as before, and we arrived hap- 
 pily at the house of my companion. The 
 next evening I spent at home. 
 
 " The small settlements on the Magalloway 
 are partly in this State, and partly in New 
 Hampshire. They are either on intervals or 
 on uplands contiguous to the stream which 
 is there but a brook in the dry season,though 
 it has sometimes risen by excessive rains to 
 
OXFORD SKETCHES. 17 
 
 such a height as to surround a house which 
 stands on the bank. There is but is a narrow 
 strip of land between the mountains,suscep- 
 tible of culture ; but higher up the river it is 
 said to expand into a broad and fertile re- 
 gion. From a mountain which almost over- 
 hangs the narrow opening, a large quantity 
 of earth carrying the rocks and trees 
 in its path, rushed down a few years since, 
 and as it fell, was heard by some of the in- 
 habitants, who were ignorant what its thun- 
 der might import, with equal astonishment 
 and terror. The desolation it left, visible at 
 a great distance, continues to disclose its 
 broader dimensions as you obtain a nearer 
 view of the scathed mountain-side. Of the 
 people who dwell beneath these mountains, 
 it need only be said, that like others in snni- 
 iar situations, they are in want of full and 
 adequate instruction in Christianity, and in 
 the elementary branches of education. 
 
 " More than twenty years ago, when there 
 was neither house nor road between Ando- 
 ver and the towns in New Hampshire, a 
 gentleman procured from the former place 
 a party to assist him in breaking a path, and 
 carrying a load beyond the lake. It was in 
 the depth of winter. The weather was 
 pleasant at the time of their departure, but 
 a severe snow-storm fell in their absence— 
 
18 OXFORD SKETCBES. 
 
 tlie weather became excessively cold, and 
 the path over the lake almost impassable. 
 Those who took care of the teams, had 
 neither food nor fire. They were in this 
 state near two days, and one of them was so 
 dreadfully frozen as to render the amputa- 
 tion of both his legs necessary for his re- 
 covery. 
 
 "" It is but four or five years since on one 
 of the lakes in the vicinity a more fatal event 
 occurred. Two young men left Andover 
 together — the one, for a place wher.^ he was 
 engaged in labor beyond the U. ke — the oth- 
 er, after accompanyiner him awhile, to re- 
 turn. It was late in April. The individual 
 who had returned, went in a few days across 
 the lake, expecting to meet his friend. He 
 was not there, nor had any thing been 
 known of his attempt to pass the lake. The 
 cause could not be doubted. I saw the ven- 
 erable and grief-worn father when he was 
 going to search anew and in vain for the 
 body of bis lost son. A limb and part of his 
 dress were afterwards found, carried by the 
 water to a shoaler place in the lakes. Thus 
 it is, that in the midst of life we are in death. 
 
 " This region, now obscure and wild, will 
 ere long be occupied by a busy population. 
 The parents and the children of large and 
 wealthy towns know litde either of the trials. 
 
OXFORD SKETCHES. 19 
 
 or of the enjoyments, the blessings, or dan- 
 gers, which await the pioneers by whom it 
 is destined to be opened. But they can do 
 something to increase the one and diminish 
 the other ; they can do away the prejudices 
 which too often fasten to the remembrance 
 of them ; they can aid in enlarging the num- 
 ber of ministers and teachers ; they can help 
 to send them good books and pious missiona- 
 ries ; they can pray that the God of nature, 
 who is so great in all his works, but greater 
 in the construction of the soul than in every 
 other on earth, would enrich them with his 
 grace, and hasten the time when every 
 abode of man shall be the temple of his wor- 
 ship. 
 
 " Go now, my children, to your rest ; to- 
 morrow we promised to visit the grave-yard 
 with you, and there we shall find new sub- 
 jects for conversation, and thought, and 
 prayer." 
 
 Evening Prayer of a Cottager. — Burns. 
 
 Then kneeling down, to Heaven's Eternal King; 
 
 The saint, the father, and the husband prays : 
 Hope springs exulting on triumphant wing, 
 
 That thus they all shall meet in future days : 
 There ever bask in uncreated rays, 
 
 No more to sigh or shed the better tear, 
 Together hymning their Creator's praise. 
 
^U OXFORD SKETCHES. 
 
 In such society, yet still more dear, 
 While circling time moves round in an eternal sphere. 
 
 Compared with this, how poor religion's pride, 
 
 In all the pomp of method and of art, 
 When men display to congregation* wide, 
 
 Devotion's every grace, except the heart ! 
 The Power incensed, the page.nt will desert, 
 
 The pompous strain, the sacerdotal stole ; 
 But haply in some cottage far apart, 
 
 May hear well pleased the language of the soul, 
 And in his book of life the inmates poor enrol. 
 
 The Grave Yard, 
 
 Neither the parents nor the children forgot 
 the promised visit to the ^rave-yard. There 
 is something solemn to eveiy thinking mind 
 in recollections of the grave, and no\v it was 
 enough to s.>ber the garrulous and playful 
 spirit of chil ihood. The first to interrupt the 
 silence was Mr. Greenwood ; — '^ I always 
 loved the erave-yard. My mind was contem- 
 plauve in boyhood ; I felt mysalf the creature 
 of God formed and destined to immortality. 
 I remember one old and solitary burial-place, 
 to wdiich I u8v-d often to go. When my 
 daily task of study was finished, 1 have left 
 my companions to their amusement, and, as 
 it drew toward twilight, gone alone to that 
 eacred spot. There were the old and the 
 young, the obscure and the renowned ; and 
 
OXFORB SKETCHES. 
 
 21 
 
 1 well remember one stone overgrown with 
 moss, which bore the name of a man, who, 
 probably a century ago, held a commission 
 under the British sovereign. This place of 
 the dead was peculiar. It st«od on a vast 
 and desolate plain ; the houses in its vicinity 
 were few and old and poor. A deserted 
 church reared its unpainted side, now brown 
 with age,by its gate, aiding the great impres- 
 sion which every thing around conspired to 
 deepen, of the desolation to which all human 
 things are destined. Within its enclosure, I 
 have seen the child of three years old laid to 
 rest, and to a grave by his side, I saw men 
 but a little after commit the father, whose 
 memory still lives in my heart, and will live 
 there till I see him again." — He paused with 
 emotion, then resumed — " I loved him as a 
 father, and he was a father to all whom he 
 taught. Yet remember, my children, that 
 after a life of distinguished virtue and useful- 
 ness, he left it as his dying testimony that he 
 hoped for salvation only in Jestis. Long before 
 this affecting scene, I had ofone to that holy 
 place, and returned with rekindled devotion 
 and purified desires. I learned to expect 
 mortality ; I learned a hi,>-her lesson ; 1 felt 
 that the soul, imperishable as the mind that 
 formed it, lives in a world to which this is^ 
 but the avenue." 
 
22 OXFORD SKETCHES. 
 
 They now entered the grave-yard. It was 
 small, and in many parts overrun with low 
 bushes ; for it was not here, as in the burial- 
 places of older towns, where every portion 
 of earth has been removed in opening some 
 spot for interment. Nor were there any 
 proud monuments, any family tombs ; there 
 were even but a few stones inscribed to the 
 memory of the dead. The raised and crum- 
 bled earth, and a stake or an unhewn stone 
 at the head and the foot of the grave, were 
 their humble memorials. Mrs. Greenwood 
 knew best their names and characters; lor 
 she was walking over tne ashes ot her ances- 
 tors and their companions in life and in death. 
 She told them of one who sleeps without a 
 stone far from the land of his fathers, and 
 far from her who would have been his bride. 
 She saw the fever bring down his strength ; 
 she was with him till he died ; she forever 
 cherished his memory. Time softened her 
 grief; she became the wife of another. He 
 left her in widowhood. She was a servant 
 of Christ ; so was her first friend. Severed 
 on earth, their spnits are now rejoined in 
 the bosom of their God. — Here she pointed 
 out the graves of two venerable patriarchs, 
 the children of one mother, and brethren by 
 higher birth. Each had his peculiar virtues, 
 both served their God, and died as they had 
 
OXFORD SKETCHES. 23 
 
 lived, in the faith of Jesus. The wives of both 
 are with them here, and I trust, above. I re- 
 member therr,^' she contiimed, "in my child- 
 hood, and I remember others of the young 
 also, who are here asleep. Here, my chil- 
 dren, is a sister of mine, and near her a sis- 
 ter of your own, the httle one who died in 
 my arms. They were both lovely in Ufe ; 
 they were lovelier in death. Oh, there iS 
 something in the countenance of an infant, 
 when the breath has ce sed, so tranquil, 
 the lips are half-opened in o sweet a s uile, 
 the eyes so gently closed a-, in quiet sleep, 
 I cannot avoid the feeling that it is the em- 
 blem of its unseen destiny." 
 
 "Yes," replied Mr. Greenwood, "and I can- 
 not join with those who censure, as extrava- 
 gant, in its appUcation to infancy, the beau- 
 tiful stanza of Milton : — 
 
 Yet can I not persuade me thou art dead, 
 Or that thy corse corrupts in earth's dark womb) 
 Or that thy beauties lie in wo my bed, 
 Hid from the world in a low -delved tomb ; 
 Could Heaven for pity thee so strictly doom ? 
 Oh no ! for something in thy face did shine 
 Above mortality, that showed thou wast divine." 
 
 Meantime the children were alternately 
 listening to the conversation of their parents, 
 and speaking to each other about the sad- 
 ness of dying, of leaving their play-mates and 
 
•i4 OXFORD SKETCHEfe, 
 
 lying down in the cold earth. They regain- 
 ed, "at length, their buoyancy of feeling. 
 " Tell us, dear father," they exclaimed, " the 
 history of some of those who have died and 
 are buried here." 
 
 " There is not much that is eventful as to 
 many of them," he replied. " I might tell you 
 of an old Indian woman, who used to traverse 
 this region, and how many thought her a hum- 
 ble christian ; but I know little about her. I 
 might tell you of some good people, whom 
 your mother has not named ; and, I am afraid, 
 of some who were not good ; (but it is for God 
 to judge the heart,) yet theirs was the common 
 lot. Like others, they had their sunny hours^ 
 and their dark hours, their virtues and their 
 vices, and now the grave has closed over both. 
 But I recollect an event which had in it some- 
 thing of greater interest than is usual even in 
 death. The interest arose from the history of 
 the old man, who, after sufferings from which 
 we are exempt, died at last peacefully among 
 his children and friends. 1 was at his funeral. 
 After alluding to the different periods, infancy, 
 childhood, and maturity, at which death comes, 
 the preacher proceeded — " Sometimes we be- 
 hold one after a long life, lay it down and go 
 to rest. How many scenes, we think, has he 
 passed in his pilgrimage ! Through what vicis- 
 
OXFORD SKETCHES. 25- 
 
 situdes has he gone in his journey below ! He 
 has often endured adversity, often enjoyed 
 prosperity. Frequently he has felt his heart 
 raised in joy ; with equal frequency, perhaps, 
 it has sunk in grief. When he dies, it is not 
 unnatural to recall the changes through which 
 his country has passed within his recollection. 
 Perhaps he has seen its face covered with for- 
 ests, and scarce traversed but by the wild-beast 
 and the savage hunter. Partly perhaps by his 
 own efforts, the field has succeeded the forest, 
 and the village an Indian wigwam. On the 
 spot where the wild-beast was hinted, the 
 products of agriculture are abundant. In oth- 
 er days, he saw, perhaps, the savage lying in 
 ambush for the white man, and feared the 
 tomahawk and scalping-knife. Perhaps he 
 was himself seized and carried into captivity. 
 He has witnessed successive wars, and rejoiced 
 in the return of peace. He has seen his coun- 
 try subject to foreign dominion ; he has shared 
 in its independence and prosperity- He has 
 seen houses everywhere reared for the instruc- 
 tion of the young, and where the wilderness 
 spread, an edifice for the worship of Jehovah. 
 This last scene," added the preacher, " we 
 have lately witnessed. We are assembled to 
 attend the funeral rites of him, who, after pass- 
 ing through all these changes, and surviving to 
 
26 OXFORD SKETCHES. 
 
 a good old age, has now begun another exist- 
 ence." 
 
 " And," the mother rejoined, " as a prepa- 
 ration for leaving this place with those feelings 
 with which it should ever be associated, and 
 for the religious services which are to day ap- 
 pointed for the children of the village, I will 
 repeat other sentiments from the same dis- 
 course. 'Were man but the creature of a dayj 
 were that existence which we spend on earth 
 the only period for exerting our mental powers, 
 for enduring sorrow or enjoying happiness ; 
 were man doomed, after unfolding his high ca- 
 pacities, to sink into annihilation, it were less 
 important to think of the close of life. But 
 when we reflect that this is a state of trial and 
 education, that our powers and capacities are 
 perpetual, and that they will be endless sources 
 of joy or woe; when we add the thought, that 
 with the close of life, the condition of each in- 
 dividual is assigned, the subject assumes a so- 
 lemnity which neither human language can 
 describe nor the human mind conceive. When 
 we go to our appointed mansion with the dead, 
 we shall not sleep in unconsciousness. Even 
 our bodies will rise, and we shall stand before 
 the judgment-seat. All human distinctions 
 vanish in the grave ; none remains for the judg- 
 ment but that of sin and holiness, of vice and 
 
OXFORD SKETCHES. 27 
 
 virtue, of impiety and obedience to God. From 
 tile immense assembly Jesus Christ will gather 
 his a])proved disciples, while others are lett be- 
 hind ; these assigned to punishment, those uni- 
 ted with their Lord in glory. Oh blessed hour 
 to the behever ! How bright the morning which 
 shall drive all darkness irom the tomb, and 
 open the paradise ol God ! Toward this para- 
 dise, if disciples of Christ, we are swiftly ad- 
 vancing. There all our pious friends will meet 
 us, and join us in the everlasting worship and 
 service. Here they may be removed to a dis- 
 tance from us, as they must leave us at death ; 
 and while they are with us, both they and we 
 suffer from mutual imperfections. There we 
 shall meet them all ; they will be perfect, and 
 we shall be perfect ; they will be immortal, and 
 we shall stand with them before the throne.' " 
 
 Separation of Christian -Frienrf^.-— Montgomery. 
 
 Friend after friend departs ; .; 
 
 Who hcith not lost a friend ? 
 There is no union here of hearts, 
 
 Which finds not here an end. 
 Were this frail world our final rest, 
 Living or dying none were blest. 
 
 Beyond the flight of time, 
 
 Beyond the reign of death, 
 
 There surely is some blessed clim^, 
 
 Where life is Hot a breath, 
 
-38 OXFORD SKETCHES. 
 
 Nor life's affections tnnsient fire, 
 "Whose sparks fly upward and expire. 
 
 There is a world above, 
 Where parting is unknown, 
 A long eteriiity of love, 
 
 Formed for the good alone ; 
 And faith beholds t* e dying here 
 Translated to that glorious sphere. 
 
 Thus star by star declines, 
 
 Till all are passed away, 
 As morning high and h'gher shines, 
 
 To pure and perfect day : 
 Nor sink those stars in empty night, 
 But hide themselves in heaven's own light. 
 
 The Lecture for Children. 
 
 It was afternoon ; the parents and the chil- 
 dren had returned from the grave-yard, and 
 were well prepared for the services of religion. 
 The day was one of the mildest among the still 
 and soothing days of autumn. The children 
 assembled ; the prayer and the psalm were 
 closed, and the preacher addressed his youthful 
 group : — 
 
 Who was faithful to him that appointed him. 
 
 Heb. 11. 2. 
 
 It is God the Father, you know, who ap- 
 pointed Jesus Christ. Let us consider to what 
 
OXFORD SKETCHES. 29 
 
 office the Father appointed him, and how Jesus 
 manifested himself faithful. 
 
 The office to which God appointed his Son, 
 is shown by his name. The angel said to Jo- 
 seph before he was born, Thou shalt call his 
 name Jesus, for he shall save his people from 
 their sins. But in the great office of Saviour 
 several things meet, agreeing with what men 
 and women and children need. We are ignor- 
 ant, and need instruction, depraved and need 
 holiness, sinful and need forgiveness. Without 
 Christ the Saviour, men are ignorant of God ; 
 so that Paul, when he was telling the Ephe- 
 sian Christians of their state before they were 
 converted, says they were without God. This 
 is a beautiful world, and, as the seasons pass 
 over it, shows its Maker to be great, to be good, 
 to be lovely. The springs, and brooks, and 
 rivers, the green grass, the fragrant flowers, and 
 the tall trees, the fruitful valleys and the high 
 mountains, the blue sky, the rain-clouds, the 
 gentle or the bolder winds, the evening stars 
 and the sun, the music of birds, and even the 
 hoarser sounds cf animals that walk the earth, 
 all manifest the Godhead. Yet Ephesus was 
 a city in the midst of a beautilul country. The 
 Ephesians saw fountains, and streams, and the 
 dark blue sea ; they saw how lovely earth is 
 in its hills and its valleys, and how majestic 
 
 3* 
 
30 OXFORD SKETCHES. 
 
 the arching sky with its sun, its fair moon and 
 its stars glittering like gems. Yet all these 
 things, so fair and so divine, could not bring 
 God down to them. Till Christ was preached, 
 they were without God; nay, they praised the 
 moon as a goddess. You remember their long 
 and loud cry. Great is Diana of the Ephesians, 
 and this Diana was, they thought, no other than 
 the moon. They had strange fables also about 
 Diana, how she was a huntress, and used to 
 go rejoicing in her dart along the mountains in 
 chase of the wild-beasts, attended by nymphs, 
 daughters of Jove, the supreme deity, who were 
 beautiful, but less beautiful and majestic than 
 theii" virgin leader. Wuh Diana, they worship- 
 ped mukitudes of gods, male and female, some 
 beneath the earth in fabled regions of darkness, 
 some in the sea dwelhng in dark green caverns 
 ufider its waves, some on the land along its 
 rivers and among its groves, and others in heav- 
 en, surrounded with pure light and unclouded 
 air. — Without Jesus, the Saviour, men are ig- 
 norant of the soul as immortal. Paul tells of 
 the Ephesians being without God : he speaks 
 of them also as having no hope. This was a 
 sad state certainly. The youngest child among 
 you knows about death. You have been at 
 funerals. You have heard of a man or woman 
 dying, or of a little boy or girl, perhaps your 
 
OXFORD SKETCHES. 31 
 
 own brother, or sister, or parent. But your 
 father and mother told you that the dead will 
 live again ; that Jesus died and afterwards 
 arose, and that all who sleep in him shall rise 
 out of the grave. The grass on the graves is 
 withering and dried up in autumn ; it will soon 
 be dark and stiff with frost, and the winter 
 snows will wrap it up in ruin. The snow will 
 melt ; the frost-bound earth will be open and 
 warm ; then the grass will grow green again, 
 and the wild- flowers will bloom over the bo- 
 soms of our lost and loved ones. These loved 
 ones are waiting for a kindred spring. They 
 shall live again. They shall live by the power 
 of Jesus, the anointed Saviour, and die no 
 more. Without Christ, men do not know this ; 
 they go down to the grave, and cannot tell 
 whether they shall come up again ; they expire 
 like lamps when their oil is spent, and cannot 
 tell if they shall be rekindled. 
 
 Jesus is called an Apostle as well as Saviour. 
 Apostle means one who is sent ; and Jesus was 
 sent of God to save the world from ignorance, 
 by revealing the one living and true God, the 
 Father, his God and our God, his Father and 
 our Father, and by making a future life known, 
 abolishing deaths and bringing life and im,' 
 mortality to light. 
 
 But men are as depraved, as they are ignor- 
 
32 OXFORE SKETCHES. 
 
 ant ; nay, their ignorance conies from their 
 depravity. They do not love to retain God in 
 their remembrance ; they cannot desire an im- 
 mortality which is unhappy. They practise 
 sin. I ask you, children, Are you not sinners? 
 Think a moment before you answer to your 
 own minds. Do you love to think of God ? 
 Do you pray to him ? Are you always obedient 
 to your parents ? kind to your brothers and 
 sisters, and to your play-mates ? Boys, do 
 you ever use wicked words ? ever ridicule or 
 mock the ignorant, the infirm, the poor, or the 
 old ? ever teaze or fret each other ? Girls, do 
 you ever envy one another ? ever repine be- 
 cause others are handsomer or lovelier than 
 you ? ever tell tales to make some one appear 
 less beautiful or amiable ? Take some day, 
 your best, in which you spent the happiest 
 hours, and were most gentle and tender-heart- 
 ed ; enquire whether you did not indulge some 
 wrong feeling, whether you were not thought- 
 less of God, proud, selfish. You are depraved, 
 and need holiness. Jesus, the Saviour, is ap- 
 pointed to make you holy. God sent him irato 
 the world to bring us back to virtue, exalted 
 him to heaven, that he might give repentance. 
 God appointed Jesus to impress his own image 
 by the truth which he revealed, and the spirit 
 which he sent. You must learn the truth Irom 
 
OXFORD SKETCHES. 
 
 33 
 
 the Bible ; you must gain the spirit by prayer 
 and obedience to your Father who is in heaven. 
 Jesus Christ does not make you holy contrary 
 to your own will ; he produces a good will and 
 works with it. If you wish to be good, — pure 
 like Jesus, holy like God, — study the Bible, 
 pray to the Lord, do your whole duty to God 
 and to man. Remember your dependence on 
 the Holy Spirit, the comforter, the monitor, the 
 great and good teacher, whom Jesus Christ 
 promised to dwell with the obedient forever, 
 and to sanctify them throughout in soul and 
 spirit, and even body. Do not resist, do not 
 grieve, do not reject, the spirit of God. 
 
 Sinners need forgiveness also. Suppose 
 you offend your parents ; you are not happy 
 till you know they will not punish, and unless 
 you know they love you as well as ever. Can 
 you be happy while God, your heavenly Fath- 
 er, is offended, and while he threatens punish- 
 ment ? But God is offended with sin, and the 
 sinner must perish unless God will save him. 
 He has told us how he can save, how he can 
 rescue from perdition, and be just in forgiving 
 and blessing sinners. Jesus is saviour from 
 wrath ; the Aposde of God is our high-priest ; 
 our High-Priest offered up himself. The in- 
 nocent lamb used to be slain and burned on 
 an altar, to prevent men from suffering punish- 
 
34 
 
 OXFORD SKETCHES. 
 
 nient ; behold the Lamb of God which taketh 
 away the sin of the world! Ciiiist is the be- 
 loved son ol God, in whom we have redemption 
 through his blood, the forgiveness of sins. 
 
 God appointed Jesus Christ lo be Saviour 
 from punishment, from sin, from ignorance. 
 Let us observe next his faithfulness in this 
 office. His faithluluess consisted in his doing 
 exactly what God required. He knew that he 
 was faithful, and has told us, As the Father 
 gave me commandment, even so I do. — I do 
 always those things that please him. He was 
 faithful as a teacher ; He that sent me is true, 
 and I speak to the world those things which I 
 have heard of him; — faithful in protecting his 
 disciples against sin ; H'hile I was with them, 
 in the world, I kept them in thy name ; — faithful 
 as a priest to offei up himself; 1 lay down my 
 life that 1 m.ight take it again. J\'o man ta- 
 keth it from me, but 1 lay it down of myself. 
 Such is his own testimony ; and God confirm- 
 ed it. The Father approved his fciitbfulness 
 when he began his work, declaring. This is my 
 beloved Son in whom I am well pleased. Dur- 
 ing his work, God repeated the declaration on 
 the mountain when Jesus was transfigured. 
 After his death, God assured the world of his 
 approbation by raising him to his right hand, 
 thus making him Lord of the Universe. Thus 
 
OXFORD SKETCHES. 35 
 
 God confirmed the testimony of Christ to his 
 own faithfulness. You are not called, my 
 young hearers, to such a work as Jesus ; none 
 on earth or in heaven could do it but he ; yet 
 while you are children, you may be faithful in 
 the humbler work which God has appointed 
 you to perlorm. Like Moses, you may be 
 faithful, as a servant of God, though you cannot, 
 like JesuSj govern as the Son. Even like the 
 Son, you may do what God commands, by 
 being pious to him who made you, and kind to 
 others whom he made, by leaving off sin and 
 practising virtue. Have you been thus like 
 Christ? Each of you, perhaps, will say, *The 
 little boy or the little girl who sits by me, has 
 not been like Christ. He does not love God 
 and obey him". He is unkind, or proud, or 
 revengeful.' — Now think a moment. M-jy not 
 he say the same of you ? The other day you 
 used a wicked word. The other day, you 
 disobeyed your father or your mother. The 
 other day, you told a falsehood. Last night 
 or this morning, you thought nothing about 
 God your Maker. * The day before, I was 
 equally thoughtless,' you perhaps own to your- 
 self; so I was every day this week; and I 
 have been angry, and peevish, and contentious.' 
 If this is true, 1 am glad you own it, and know 
 
36 OXFORD SKETCHES. 
 
 it. But is it being faithful like Christ to him 
 that appointed him? 
 
 Jesus was faithful to God while a little boy. 
 'He never did any sin. He never uttered a 
 falsehood. He was never disobedient, never 
 envious, never unkind. When he became a 
 man, tempted, and hated, and persecuted, I 
 compare him to the bri2;ht sun shining out of 
 clouds ; but while he was a child like one of 
 you, and no trouble had come over him, 1 think 
 of the gentle moon rising in a clear sky, and 
 going through the heavens fnirer and lovelier 
 than any star of the firmament. 
 
 Yet I think he must have been sometimes 
 sad J for I believe he knew why he came into 
 the world. He must have wept sometimes for 
 men's sins, sometimes for his own sufferings. 
 Your mothers often tell you about things you 
 never saw ; and so when her little son was 
 alone, perhaps Mary told him who his father 
 was, not Joseph the carpenter at Nazareth, but 
 God the maker of the world ; how an angel 
 came down from the highest heaven to tell 
 of his birth, and how while he was an infant in 
 the manger, angels sung his coming. Perhaps 
 she told him of the star which guided the east- 
 ern sages to tiie birth-place of the destined 
 king, and of the words and the joy of Simeon 
 and Anna when they saw the Messiah, and 
 
 
OXFORD SKETCHES. 
 
 37 
 
 ihen went to his Father. The Spirit might 
 have discl(ysed these things to Jesus, or the 
 Father who dwelt in him, and in whom he was. 
 Then he must have known how toilsome his 
 life should be, and how woful his death, forsa- 
 ken even of God. But he was willing to bear all. 
 The child Jesus was holy like the man, and 
 faiiiiful to God ; so that he was prepared for 
 his destiny. If when a child, he had shrunk 
 back from duty or disliked the work of God, 
 he would have sinned, and could not have be- 
 come such a high-priest, holy, harmless, unde- 
 filed, separate from sinners. Moses, 1 presume, 
 was a good child; Samuel certainly was; so 
 was Josiah ; so was Timothy ; so without 
 doubt was Mary, the mother of Jesus. But 
 each of these did wrong. They sinned when 
 they were grown up ; so that Moses could not 
 go into Canaan, and Samuel was punished in 
 the wickedness of his sons, and Josiah was 
 slain in battle, and all died. They did wrong 
 also in childhood. Jesus Christ never did 
 wrong. He kneiv no sin. 
 
 Thus his faithfulness, completed at his 
 death, began in his childhood, and continued 
 through it. I wish you to be like him. Be 
 like him, for he is lovely ; be like him, for he 
 was faithful in working to save you. I told you 
 of the babe at Bethlehem, of the child at Naz- 
 
38 OXFORD SKETCHES. 
 
 aretli : — -now see the tPMcher going through all 
 Gnllilee and Jndea without a })lace where lie 
 could lay his head, doing good to all men, and 
 leadina; their souls up to heaven ! See the vic- 
 tim offered on mount Calvary, to make peace 
 between earth and heaven ! See the Lord 
 of o^lojy risins: out of a grpve to the Fa- 
 ther's tiirone, now ruling the universe for the 
 good of us, perishing sinners ! 
 
 You are tempted to sin : remember Jesus 
 tempted in all points like as we are^ yet vjithout 
 sin. You repine at your condition ; he who 
 was rich^ for our sakes became poor. You 
 are ne2;lected by some of your companions ; 
 he was despised and rejected of men. You 
 are dissatisfied with many things about you ; 
 he was a man of sorrows, and acquainted with 
 grief. You are a lost sinner; he came to seek 
 and to save that which was lost — not to call 
 the righteous, but sinners to repentance. You 
 feel but a feeble flame of piety and virtue ; he 
 will not quench the smoking flax. You are 
 sensible of weakness ; he can empower you to 
 do all things. Let these considerations en- 
 dear Christ to you. Let these instances of his 
 faithf ilness to God, manifested for your good, 
 excite you to imitate his example ; to cherish 
 and breathe forth his spirit ; to live in piety — 
 ever looking unto Jesus, the author and fin- 
 
OXFORD SKETCHES. 
 
 39 
 
 isher of our faith, who, for the joy that was 
 set before him, endured the cross, despising 
 the shame, and is set down at the right hand 
 ^f the throne of God. 
 
 Hymn of Angels to the Messiah. — Milton. 
 
 Thee next they spng, of al' creation first, 
 Begdtten Son, divine similitude, 
 In whose conspicuous countenance, witVout cloud 
 Made visible, the Alaught\' Father shines, 
 "Whom else no creature can behold ; on thee 
 Impressed, the effulgence of his glory abides, 
 Transfused on tneehis ample spirt .ests, 
 — No S'oner did thy de.. and only Son 
 Perceive thee purposed not to doon. frail man 
 So strjctly, but much more to pity incline ; 
 He, to appe;. e thy wrath, an< end the strile 
 Of mercy and jus ice in thy face discerned, 
 Regardless of the Mi^s w^ ereiri he sat 
 Second to thee, offered him elt to die 
 For man's offence. O unexampled love* 
 Love nowhere to be found ;ess than divine ! 
 Fail Son of God, >aviour of men ! thy name 
 Shall be the copious matter of my song 
 Henceforth, and never shall my harp thy praise 
 Forget, nor trom thy Father's praise disjoin. 
 
 The Thanksgiving Evening. 
 
 Aulumii had come with its beauty and its 
 harvests, and was just passing away. The 
 day which piety and the memory of our fathers 
 
40 
 
 OXFORD SKETCHES. 
 
 conspire to bless, brought its religious dutie 
 and its domestic joys. Our happy family gath 
 ered about their evening fire, the parents to 
 talk of the past, and the children to sport in 
 their forgetfulness both of the past and the fu- 
 ture. Mr. Greenwood and his wife casually 
 alluded to the sufferings and contests, of which 
 even Oxford had been the scene, in contrast 
 with the repose which now spreads over our 
 wijole country. One of the elder children over- 
 heard it, and urged them to tell the tale of oth- 
 er days. " We have heard of the Indians, and 
 of the captivity of some white peo|)le, and of 
 LovelFs fight ; and we will sit down all of us 
 and listen to your story. Father, those In- 
 dians are very cruel — don't you think they 
 are .'' And it was right to punish them severe- 
 ly for scalping men and women, and carrying 
 them off into the vvoods. When I get my wood- 
 en sword or gun in my hands, 1 sometimes 
 call some object an Indian, and go to bat- 
 tle with it, as the soldiers at training pretend 
 to fight with each other. Oh, if I were a 
 man, I should like to take such a gun as the 
 soldiers have, and chase them away irom the 
 country." 
 
 How long the lad would have gone on in his 
 heroic stiain, I cannot tell; but his mother in- 
 terrupted him, exclaiming, " My dear son, the 
 
©XFORD SsKETCUES. 41 
 
 ivork is done already. The Indian has fled, 
 ke the striken deer, far into the wilderness, 
 Dr the grave has covered him ; and 1 trust you 
 will never he called to repel attack h'om hiai 
 Dr any other enemy. For myst-ll 1 pity him 
 rather thancensute ; anger and revenge I can- 
 not feel ; i( he has done wrong, his punishment 
 
 'tpas been sufficient — it is terrihie. Some thmk 
 t tile curse ot God : 1 cannot — rather it is the 
 i^raih of man employed mysteriously to ac- 
 complish purposes which are yet concealed 
 from our understanding. When I think of such 
 hiiigs, 1 know iiothin^ to satisfy my mind 
 3ut the sentiment you asked me to explain 
 you the other day : 
 
 1 
 
 Enough for us to know that this dark state, 
 
 In waj'ward passions lost, and vain pursuits, 
 
 This infancy of being, cannot prove 
 
 The final issue of the whorls of Cod, 
 
 By boundless Love and perfect Wisdom form'd. 
 
 There is a holier book than any of man's in- 
 i^eulion, which assures me that God, who is 
 [ove, reigns over all ; and in perplexing events, 
 it is the most consolatory tiionght, *' Even 
 io. Father, for so it seemed good in thy 
 light.'' 
 
 This language seemed to sober the little 
 lero's martial spirit into a more mild, perhaps 
 
 4* 
 
42 OXFORD SKETCHES. 
 
 I may csW'ii philosophical feeling, and incliiccd 
 hiin to ask the cause of the wars in which we 
 had been engaged wdth the wild man of the for- 
 est. 
 
 " Call your brothers and sisters, my son," 
 said Mrs. Greenwood, '* and let us all sit down 
 by your father's side, and bear him tell the 
 whole." 
 
 " I have often thought," Mr. Greenwood 
 observed, as the children were gathering from 
 their sport, " I have often thought it would be 
 better, that our children should never hear of 
 such events. They excite the imagination too 
 much ; they wake the feelings to a feverish 
 sensibility ; they can hardly be described with- 
 out producing emotions contrary to the humil- 
 ity, the meekness, the forgiving spirit of Christ 
 — and, w^here they do not infuse a warlike tem- 
 per, they leave dark impressions on the mind, 
 to rise in later life like horrid dreams or the 
 ideas of ghosts. Still it is impossible to con- 
 ceal the horrors of war ; they will be known at 
 any rate ; and I think it best to set them forth 
 in their true form, before they are presented 
 in the delusive aspect which the world gives 
 them." 
 
 The whole group now sat in silence, looking' 
 wishfully for the dark tale. *' My children," 
 — it was a verv serious tone and countenance 
 
OXFORD SKETCHES. 43 
 
 vvitli which their father spoke, and they began 
 to feel wonder mingled with curiosity — '' my 
 children, I cannot tell you of any thing connec- 
 ted with war, as most men would. It is not 
 what it seems: it is not the great and glorious 
 event which history and poetry have described 
 it. I am astonished at the folly and the deprav- 
 ity from which it has arisen. We commonly 
 feel in thinking of the grandeur of batde, as we 
 feel in listening to the roar of the ocean, the 
 deep voice of the wind, or the heavy thunder ; 
 connecting what we see or hear with the idea 
 of boundless power and wisdom. We ought 
 to repress this feeling by remembering the pas- 
 sions in which war takes its rise, and the mise- 
 ries and the vices in which it ends. I would 
 not be censorious ; but, I confess, my first feel- 
 ing at the thought of war is indignation at the 
 injustice and cruelty of men ; this feeling soon 
 subsides, however, into regret that they should 
 suffer themselves to be deluded by false views; 
 and into pity, that while they imagine their ef- 
 fojts and sufferings to be for liberty and their 
 country, they are enduring all for the gratifica- 
 tion and glory of a few. 
 
 " In the events you ask me to describe, we 
 have a manifestation of what war is in its spirit; 
 though they seem so trivial, .vhen compared 
 with the greater events which history describes, 
 
44 OXFORD SKETCHES. 
 
 as scarce to find a place in the records of our 
 country. Yet tliey tiiay teach you the lesson 
 you should learn from all history, — disclosing 
 the dispositions of men, the evils oj hostility, and 
 the excellence of a mild and pacific spirit. — 1 
 will begin with 
 
 Segar^s Captivity.* 
 
 " Near the close of the n^volution, while the 
 region of tiie Androscoggin was thinly settled, 
 as a few white men were employed in labor, 
 several Indians rushed on them irom the neigh- 
 boring woods, and secured them as prisoners. 
 The house of one o( the captives was near; 
 they entered an« plundered it. The woman of 
 the house, after securing some valuable articles 
 by her fearless and sagacious conduct, conceal- 
 ed herself in the forest. One of the captives 
 escaped ; the rest were carried away by the 
 savages. They were three ; the name of the 
 one Segar, and of the others Clark. Before 
 they lelt the inhabited region, they killed two 
 men whom they met, and took another captive. 
 They then allowed one of the three whom they 
 
 * For the facts contained in this narrative, 1 am indebt- 
 ed to a pamphlet published at i aris in the year 1825, of 
 which I have attempted to give the outline, so far as the 
 captivity is coneerned, without addition. The writer is 
 now living with his family in Bethel. 
 
OXFORD SKETCHES. 45 
 
 had first, taken, to escape ; at least, he availed 
 himself of an opportunity, and returned to his 
 home in safety. With the remainder, the sav- 
 ages pursued their way to Canada. 
 
 " To deeds like this, the Indians were insti- 
 gated by the enemy with whom we were at 
 that time contending. But they were well fit- 
 ted for them, both by their usual character, 
 and by the nature of the intercourse — a series 
 of mutual aggressions — which they held with 
 the fathers of New-England. They aie oUen 
 described as naturally revengeful beyond men 
 of European origin ; many aiso tliink them en- 
 dowed with highei gifts of intellect. The for- 
 mer opinion is founded on their long recollec- 
 tion of injuries inflicted on themselves and their 
 friends, and the unyieldiijg perseverance with 
 which they pursue the victim of their wrath. 
 The latter idea has no other ground, liiat I am 
 aware, than the sagacity of their Cfuusels and 
 ttie eloquence of their speeches. For myself, 
 I cannot discover proof of their superiority in 
 mind, or of their deeper spirit of revenge. — 
 True, they have peculiarities, like most na- 
 tions ; they have furnished speeches of great 
 simplicity and beauty ; they are sagacious per- 
 haps in war; but their style and thought are 
 formed by circumstances, and where distin- 
 guished from those of others, prove nothing 
 
46 OXFOR» SKETCHES. 
 
 more than a difference of culture and habits. 
 They abound in (igurc ; this, to say the least, 
 may rise h'om an imperfection in tlieir language 
 joined with their ignorance of spiritual and ab- 
 stract ideas. Their conciseness may come like- 
 wise Irom education rather than nature, — from 
 the reserve \\ hid) their suuatiofi has produced, 
 more than fiom higher energy of native talent. 
 Their mode of warfare is very different from 
 the Emopean ; yet it is decidedly inferior, so 
 far as sagacity is concerned, — relying more on 
 physical strength and agility, less on mind, or 
 broad and tliorough views of peculiar exigen- 
 cies, and the force of thought which is some- 
 times demanded to counteract a greater power 
 of arms. This, however, is the result of cir- 
 cumstances, not a fruit of natural incapacity, 
 and lequires of us, not to believe them set low- 
 er than ourselves by the common parent, but 
 to piesume that th(?y are not superior. They 
 may be on a level,— -capable, by the prc'gress 
 ot intellectual culture, of equalling the Europe- 
 an and American. 
 
 " As to Indian revenge, we must remember 
 that it has been described by enemies, not by 
 friends, and that our injustice has planted in 
 them, as tlieir cruelty once did in many of us, 
 an inextinguishable hostility. Every account 
 almost of Indian revenge must be receiv^ed with 
 
OXFORD SKETCHES. 47 
 
 at abatements ; the evil which calls it forth 
 !st be esteemed greater than the American 
 ui! )vvs, and the passion itself less bitter and less 
 cruel. 
 
 " Tfiongh I cannot believe the original in- 
 habitants of this continent essentially different, 
 so far as nature is concerned, from nations of 
 the same class with ourselves, 1 still deem it 
 futile to doubt the obvious fact, that there is a 
 great difference produced by variety oi circum- 
 stance. Agriculture and mechanic arts, reli- 
 gion and literature are little known among them. 
 The excitement of the chace, the patient la- 
 bor of fishing, and intervals of indolent repose, 
 divide their time. Like men in all ages, they 
 turn their arms from the wild-beast to their own 
 species, and count military prowess and skill 
 the highest glory ; but from their mode of liv- 
 inii;, their scattered and wandering life, and 
 their division into s nail tribes, they have adopt- 
 |ed peculiarities even in conductins; war. They 
 formerly used the bow, not the musket ; they 
 now wield the tomahawk instead of the sword ; 
 they contend on foot, th'^y skulk in the woods, 
 and fiojht in a scattered mmn !r ; for they are 
 not accustomed to horsemanship, they have not 
 large, ooen plains, on whicli they can gather. 
 B It the spirit, the principles, tlie ends of war, 
 are the same which have been felt in all coun.- 
 
48 OXFORD SKETCHES. 
 
 tries and times. With them, as with the 
 Greeks, the Romans, the modern Europeans 
 and our own countrymen, war is mnn himself, 
 wrought into fury, ambitious of power, or cov- 
 etous of ^ain. 
 
 " In the case of captivity, like that I have 
 mentioned, the great motive, I presume, was 
 the desire of sain. Advantage was taken of 
 tlie fierce spirit of the natives, and, probably, 
 of the revenge aroused by past injuries, in ha- 
 rassing our frontier settlements. A bounty was 
 furnished for the very indulgence of their pas- 
 sions, — for the destruction of life, however in- 
 nocent the victims might be even of any de- 
 sign unfriendly to the power, by which the sav- 
 age was employed." 
 
 " And what," asked the children, " was the 
 course of the captives on their way to Canada ?" 
 
 " The first night," replied Mr. Greenwood, 
 "they spent in a camp or hut occupied by a 
 farmer who was preparing for himself an abode 
 among the mountains. He was absent, and 
 happily escaped the cruelty of the enemy. — 
 The captives were forced to lie down with the 
 Indians surrounding them, as a precaution a- 
 gainst their escape, and after rising m the morn- 
 ing, were bound to prevent them from attack- 
 ing or eluding enemies. The night must have 
 been one of the deepest gloom ; nor could the 
 
 I 
 
OXFORD SKETCHES. 49 
 
 day, presenting no other prospect than of a te- 
 dious march through pathless forests, removing 
 them farther from their friends and bringing 
 nearer the event, whatever it might be, which 
 awaited them, lighten the burden that oppressed 
 their minds. 
 
 *' Eirlv in the morning they were led up the 
 river. Tliov passed through Giiead, a town- 
 ship lyins: on both sides of the Androscoggin, 
 and opening a narrow but fertile valley between 
 the mountains. Thence they proceeded to 
 Shelburne. They had as yet travelled on die 
 southern side of the river ; but being told by 
 some children whom they met on their way, 
 that a party of white men greater than their 
 own were gathered and armed at the next 
 house, the Indians, after loading their prisoners 
 with packs and tying their arms fast, required 
 them to pass to the northern bank through 
 which the course was direct to the wilderiiess. 
 The report of the children was erroneous; 
 there were not ten men in the place ; yet the 
 fear excited in the minds of the savages may 
 have saved the few by whom it was occupied 
 from distress and perhaps deadi. The report 
 increased, however, the labor of the prisoners : 
 the river, at the spot where diey entered it 
 loaded and bound, has been seldom, if ever 
 
oO OXFORD SKETCHES. 
 
 besides, forded. Still it was passed in safely 
 by the whole company. 
 
 " The next night was spent near a large 
 mountain in the midst of the forest. After the 
 break of day, they ascended to its summit, 
 whence the whole extent of forest, bounded by 
 the sky as it seemed to rest itself on the moun- 
 tains swelling in the distance, opened amidst 
 the rays of morning. It was not an hour to 
 take into the soul the grandeur of the prospect. 
 The boundless works of God were about them, 
 but [he sufferers felt the oppression of man ; 
 what was bright in the aspect of nature reveal- 
 ed anew the darkness that covered their souls ; 
 amidst the harmonies of the creation, the heart 
 responded but to the voice of solitude and 
 gloom which rose from the dark valley or the 
 dreary cliff. Tortured by anxiety for the fu- 
 ture, they could hardly regret the toil in which 
 a momentary oblivnon of sorrow might be gain- 
 ed : They were hurried through the wilderness 
 toward the Umbagog. Before reaching it, 
 they were permitted to rest for sometime, and 
 strengthen themselves for future labor. 
 
 " At their place of rest, the Indians added 
 new horrors to their condition. One, having 
 stripped a piece of bark from a spruce tree, 
 unbound the hands of Mr. Segar, requiring him 
 to write on it, tiiat if overtaken by the Indians, 
 
©XFORD SKETCHES. 51 
 
 the captives would be slain. They drew three 
 scalps from their packs, one of which the pris- 
 oners knew to have been taken after their own 
 capture ; whence the others were obtained, 
 they were uncertain — left to imagine them 
 relics of friends from whom they had been sev- 
 ered. Setting the prisoners apart from each 
 other, they now began ihe horrid forms of the 
 powow.^ They took the hair of the scalps in 
 
 * This teim has been applied both to certain rites 
 practised by the Indians, and to a class of people whom 
 they imagined to be endowed with peculiir power. — 
 Hubbard, in his History of New England, (c. vii, p. 34) 
 USPS the term in the latter sense, and describes the 
 pauivowes as performing the offices of the Im ian relig- 
 ion and as sought for " council in all kind of evils both 
 corporeal and civil." Brainerd, at a later day, speaks 
 of them as feared for their supposed power of enchant- 
 ment, (Diary for Sept. 2, 1744.) It i?*, I presume, to 
 what in the other use of the word is called the powow, 
 that Brainerd alludes earlier in his Diary, when he speaks 
 of a contemplated meeting for " an idolatrous feast and 
 dmnce.'' Segar says nothing of a feast connected with 
 the scene of whi h he was witness ; nor does Symms 
 in his account of Lovell's Fight : the former speaks of 
 leaping, screaming, and other acts of a similar kind , the 
 latter, of '' their striking upon the ground, and other odd 
 motions," of which he has given no desciiption. Prob- 
 ably the feast formed a part of the ceremony, when it 
 could be obtained, but might be omitted as not indispen- 
 sable to its efficacy. — The powow seems to have been 
 designed for a religious rite, though resembling an in- 
 cantation rather than the worship of a good Spirit. I 
 have not alluded to it in the account of ttie contest at 
 Lovell's Pond, thou<i;h aware of its being once practised, 
 because I was ignorant of the connection which it might 
 
52 OXFORD SKETCHES. 
 
 their teeth, shook their heads, and broke forth 
 into loud exclamations, leaping from rock to 
 rock, and, we are assured, passing conception 
 in the hideousness of their whole aspect and 
 manner." 
 
 "From whom had they taken the two scalps ?" 
 Mrs. Greenwood and the children earnestly in- 
 quired. 
 
 " From one man whom, without the knowl- 
 edge of the captives, they slew on their way 
 from Bethel, and from another whom they met 
 in the woods before they reached the Andros- 
 coggin. 
 
 " From the scene of the poivow, they went 
 onward to the Umbagog, reaching it the fifth 
 day of the captivity. The Indians had here 
 three canoes made of spruce bark, in which, 
 with the prisoners, they passed over the Lake. 
 Beyond the Umbagog, they proceeded in their 
 canoes, up a small river supposed to be the 
 Magalloway. Alter leaving this stream, they 
 took their course by land over high and rough 
 mountains and through deep swamps, weary 
 with exertion, and faint for want of food, till 
 they reached the waters of the St. Francois. 
 The mind, amidst such scenes, sometimes sum- 
 have with other events o( the day, — whether designed 
 to terrify or enchant the English, or to invoke spiritual 
 agents to join them in the encounter. 
 
OXFORD SKETCHES. 53 
 
 mons itself to unwonted energy, gathering hope 
 fi"oni the resolution which danger besjets, and 
 imparts a portion of its own strength to the en- 
 feebled body. Were it not so, these captives 
 must, it would seem, have yielded themselves 
 to despair and death. After passing the Lake, 
 the Indians gave diem flour, and pieces of 
 moose-flesh, still hairy and unfit for food. Long 
 abstinence had excited appetite, but they could 
 eat litde of the miserable provision ; and yet it 
 was the last almost w4iich they obtained for sev- 
 eral days. So extreme did their hunger be- 
 come, that they one night roasted and ate the 
 mocasins which the Indians had thrown away. 
 The Indians also burned the hair from a moose- 
 skin, then boiled it, and gave a part to the pris- 
 oners. They continued in this destitute state 
 till the thiid day of their passage down the St. 
 Francois, where they came to three canoes 
 which the Indians had left on its bank, furnish- 
 ed with corn and fishspears : the former was 
 boiled, and distributed to the parly ; with the 
 latter, they took fishes from the waters. At 
 length they reached a dwelling-house, where 
 their hunger, abated before, was satisfied by the 
 best of food, milk and bread. 
 
 " From this house the distance to the village 
 whither they were to be carried, was not two 
 miles. According; to what, I believe, is die 
 
54 OXFORD SKETCHES. 
 
 custom with Indians, they uttered loud excla- 
 mations as they drew near the village, announ- 
 cing their arrival, and were soon answered by 
 its inhabitants. The party entered the settle- 
 ment in the evening amidst a light scarcely less 
 than of day, coming from innumberable torches. 
 The captives were soon conducted by a British 
 officer, to the guard-house, at once to secure 
 them as prisoners and to save them from the vio- 
 lence of the savages, who riot in and triumph 
 over the sufferers, the scalps and the plunder. 
 " Fourteen days passed from their capture 
 to their arrival at this village. Here they were 
 guarded two days, then embarked in canoes, 
 accompanied by two Indians and an interpre- 
 ter, for Montreal. One ot them, a negro slave, 
 was sold ; the others were imprisoned forty 
 days at Montreal, thence removed to an Island 
 at the distance of more than forty miles from 
 thit city, and imprisoned for many months, ei- 
 during in both places, besides the loss of liber- 
 ty, the sufferings peculiar to enemies taken in 
 war. Their prospect was first brightened by 
 intelligence of the slu'i^nder ol Cornwallis, in 
 consequence of which, arrangements were made 
 for their removal with other prisoners. They 
 had been either traversing the wilderness guid- 
 ed by savi'ge enemies ; or enduring the evils 
 of imprisonment more than a year ; and it 
 
0XFORD SKETCHES. 56 
 
 could not be with other feelings than those of 
 rapture that they set sail from Quebec lor Bos- 
 ton. Their voyage was sale and pleasant, and 
 the very night of their landing, they hastened 
 to Newton, the birth-place of Segar, and still 
 the home of his parents. No intelligence of the 
 events which succeeded their capture, had been 
 received ; they were the heralds of their own 
 fate ; they were met as though risen from the 
 dead." 
 
 The whole family listened whh delight to the 
 happy issue of an event of which the progress 
 had been so calamitous. It is but a moment, 
 however, that children are satisfied with the 
 tale that has been told. They call at once lor 
 another ; they do so the more earnestly now, 
 because they are expecting the description 
 which IVJr. Greenwood soon began of 
 
 LovelVs Fight. 
 
 " It is with poor reason that we charge the 
 Indians with [jeculiar barbarity in then' hostile 
 incursions. I'he history of Ca[)t. Lovell is one 
 among the disgraceful monuments ot ouj own 
 cruelty and wickedness. He was encouraged 
 to the enterprize which ended so disastrously 
 both to himseir and to the enemy by the suc- 
 cess of two earlier expeditions in New Hamp- 
 
56 OXFORD SKETCHES, 
 
 shire. With a company of thirty men he went 
 to the northward of Winnipisseogee Lake, and, 
 discovering a wigwam in which were an Indian 
 and a boy, he slew, and, according to the cus- 
 tom of the times, scalped^ the foimer, and car- 
 ried the latter to Boston." 
 
 " What was the reason of such a cruel cus- 
 tom ?" inquired the eldest son. 
 
 " It was, I presume," replied Mr. Green- 
 wood, " to prove the number of the slain. If 
 the bare declaration that so many were destroy- 
 ed, could be received as proof of the fact,decep- 
 tion might often be practised, and the bounty ^ 
 as it was termed, would fall to those by whom 
 il was not earned. For this exploit of Lovell, 
 a gratuity, additional to the stipulation, was be- 
 stowed. — The second enterprize secured ten 
 scalps token from the same number of Indians, 
 whom they found asleep, and slew in the midst 
 of the nipjht. It is with indignation and shame 
 1 think of the bi^ave company, as a reverend 
 historian calls it, entering Dover in triumph 
 with the scaips stretched on hoops and raised 
 on poles, thence marching proudly to Boston, 
 and each receiving Irom the public treasury a 
 hundred pounds for his share in the work of 
 death I 
 
 " Lovell hoped to take more scalps — I would 
 speak gently of those who are gone to their great 
 
OXFORD SKETCHES. 57 
 
 account ; but it is better to deal fairly with the 
 dead, than to wrong the truth — Lovell hoped 
 for scalps and gain. — No doubi, like others of 
 our countrymen, he felt a nobler impulse. 
 Man seldom engages in atrocious deeds without 
 apology to his conscience and his better feel- 
 ings. The Indians had done us wrong ; the 
 guilt was not all on our side ; the guilt in every 
 contest, perhaps, is shared by both parties. 
 The aggressions of the natives endangered our 
 settlements ; so that the government in encour- 
 aging the cruel assauhs of the white upon the 
 red population, as well as the guides of those 
 assaults, believed them essential to the safety, 
 perhaps the existence of the provinces. Let 
 us then ascribe to them patriotism though mis- 
 informed, and energy however perverted ; let 
 us trust they were less covetous than brave, 
 less revengelul and cruel to the enemy than de- 
 voted to the welfare of their Iriends and homes. 
 Under the infltience of such com})licated feel- 
 ings, Lovell, with a company increased to more 
 than forty, marched a third time on the six- 
 teenth of April, 1725, to attack a village oi the 
 Pequawkets. 
 
 " This tribe, once large and powerful, now 
 totally extinct, inhabited the region bordering 
 on Saco River, at no great distance from its 
 source. The village, near which the battle was 
 
58 OXFORD SKETCHES. 
 
 fought, stood, I believe, on the beautiful plain 
 upon which the present village of Fiyeburgh is 
 built. Fiyeburgh is a town through which I 
 ])ave often passed. For a mile or two from 
 the village, as I approached it from the east, 
 the road is through a wooded and unsettled 
 ]>lam. The scene is solitary and gloomy. I 
 reached at length the open ground which spreads 
 iar about it, on the left, little cultivated and bar- 
 ren, but on the right sloping toward the river 
 and forming a large and fertile interval. The 
 village, standing alone in its rural beauty and 
 surrounded by scenery thus wildly contrasted, 
 rose before me. Its Indian relics and associa- 
 tions are among its greatest peculiarities. In 
 the Museum of its Academy, I have seen the 
 very gun, it is said, which more than a century 
 since brought down the last Chief of the Pe- 
 quawkets. 
 
 " Paugus fell on the border of a pond lying 
 ab.out a mile from the villa2;e, and now bear- 
 ing the name of the English captain. Ox- 
 ford had not then a white inhabitant, and it was 
 certainly hazardous in Lovell to pierce so deep- 
 ly a wilderness of which the only limits that 
 man had given were the scattered settlements 
 near the ocean, and the few towns then opened 
 in New Hanspshire. The nearest place of 
 safety to which he could resort, was a Fort 
 
OXFORD SKETCHES. 59 
 
 which he had himself built near Ossi[>ee Pond, 
 where, besides one sick man and his surgeon, 
 he left eight of his company for a guard. Two, 
 disabled by disease from proceeding, had be- 
 fore abandoned the perilous adventure. Thir- 
 ty~four accompanied him to the scene of action. 
 The night preceding the eighth of May, he en- 
 camped l)y the side of the pond which has since 
 taken l)is name. Apprehensions had been feh 
 for a day or two, that the Indians were about 
 them J the company were alarmed this night, 
 hut could discover no traces of the enemy. 
 During the prayers of the morning, a gun was 
 heard, and an Indian was soon after seen stand- 
 ing, more than a mile from them on a point 
 of land which runs into the pond. He was 
 supposed to have been employed for the pur- 
 pose of decoying the company ; and from his 
 position it was presumed a hostile party was in 
 their front. It was a fearful moment. In the 
 midst of an engagement, the tumult, the ardor, 
 the impetuous action, all aid in giving a sort of 
 calm, a thon2;htlessness at least of danger, to 
 tne mind. But in the moment which precedes 
 combat, as the soul feels the rush of conflicting 
 emotions, — the memory of home with all its 
 loves and joys, the uncertainty of retaining the 
 life which has always been sweet, and the as- 
 surance that of the ranks now breathing and 
 
GO OXFORD SKETCHES. 
 
 hish in hope, many will soon fall beneath the 
 hands of men, accompanied often by fears of a 
 coming retribution, — the heart faints, the face 
 gathers paleness. In such a moment, the final 
 question is proposed, — Shall we seek the ene- 
 my ? Lovell fears the resuh. His company 
 urge the contest, — ' We have come far into the 
 wilderness to meet the enemy ; we have pray- 
 ed God to set them against us in fight ; he has 
 brought us near them, and we would see them 
 face to face. He, who led Joshua against the 
 cities of Canaan, and under whom the stars in 
 their courses fought against Sisera, will stay us 
 up in the day of battle, and give us the victory 
 for his name's sake, over the heathen who wor- 
 ship him not. Or if we die, 'tis for our coun- 
 try and our friends ; it is for their saiety and 
 om- glory ; disgrace is in flight, — who will wel- 
 come the coward home ? who will tell his praise 
 to posterity ? — glory is in victory or death.' — 
 Such Is the decision. The stout heart of Lov- 
 ell does not quail, though his spirit is prophetic 
 of the end. They now left their packs and 
 marched cautiously forward, intending to gain 
 the point on which the Indian had stood. Hav- 
 ing advanced about two miles, they espied him 
 going toward the village, laid themselves se- 
 cretly down in wait for him, and fired. He 
 returned tlie fire, and wounded two men se- 
 
©XFORD SKETCHES. 61 
 
 verely, one of whom was Lovoll himself. By 
 another fiie, the Indian was slain. His scalp 
 was also taken. 
 
 " Lovell fiad been deceived. The Indians 
 were not in his front, and he turned back toward 
 his place of encampment. Meanwhile as a 
 I par^y of Indians, led by Paugus and Wahwa, 
 I were retiirnins: from a scout down the Saco, 
 they discovered the track of the English, and 
 followed it to the spot where it ended the night 
 before. The packs, ihey removed and coun- 
 ted, and finding that Lovell's company was less 
 than their own, they resolved to wait in ambush 
 and risk an encounter. The soldiers reached 
 I the camp, and were looking for their packs. 
 ; Suddenly the war-shout rose ; the eneiny rush- 
 ed furiously onward, and were readily and 
 fiercely met. The battle commenced on a 
 plain thinly covered with oine-trees, and open- 
 ing a hk ground for both parties. The Indians 
 had the advantage, however, of selecting both 
 their time and their position. Lovell, with sev- 
 [ eral of his men fell near the first onset. Sus- 
 I tained by these auspices, and emboldened by 
 superiority of numbers, the enemy attempted 
 to surround the white men. To prevent this 
 movement, the latter retreated toward the pond, 
 and took a position leaving its whole extent in 
 their rear, a rocky point which jutted into it on 
 6 
 
&2 OXFORD SKETCHES. 
 
 their lefi, and a deep brook on the right, while of 
 the front, part was protected by a bog and part 
 open to the enemy. Here they admitted no 
 alternative but victory or destruction. They 
 could not retreat — their position made it im- 
 possible ; they were altogetlier without susten- 
 ance ; they could not surrender, though urged 
 both by suggestions of hope and by exclama- 
 tions of terror. The contest beg^.n about ten 
 in the morning ; it drew to its close at twilight. 
 The war-cry grew fainter ; the killed and 
 wounded warriors of the forest were removed ; 
 the slain of the Americans were left unscalped. 
 The survivors of Lovell's band began near mid- 
 night to examine their condition. Three, still 
 living, were unable to remove ; twenty took 
 their course homeward. Of these, four were 
 left exhausted about a mile and a half from the 
 scene of the engagement ; two recovered, how- 
 ever, and reached their homes in safety. An- 
 other was lost also on their way to the Ossipee 
 Fort. * It had been hoped that from this place 
 a recruit might be obtained to aid in bringing 
 back the wounded who were left in the woods. 
 But the Fort was deserted before their arrival. 
 A soldier (the only fugitive of the company) 
 fled at the beginning of the engagement to the 
 Ossipee, and giving an exaggerated account of 
 the events at the Saco, induced the whole par- 
 
OXFORD SKETCHES. 63 
 
 ly to fly precipitately from ilieir post. Tlius 
 the only hope of ministering aid to the aban- 
 doned sufferers, was cut off. — The loss of the 
 Indians was greater than that of the Americans ; 
 so great indeed that the power of the Pequaw- 
 kets seems tK) have expired with the last of their 
 Chiefs." 
 
 " You have given us," said Mrs. Greenwood, 
 as her hushand closed his nairative, " the sen- 
 timents oi" Lovell's men as they went to battle. 
 My feelings are rather on the side of the In- 
 dians, and I have been imagining what their 
 chiei migiit have said to his followers on the 
 eve of contest ; — ' The white man has lifted his 
 sword against us. We will meet it. The sons of 
 the Great Spirit shall not fear. This is our l&nd ; 
 this river is ours ; these are oui mountains. The 
 Avhite man never chased the deer in these woods. 
 The smoke of his wigwam never rose in this Vul- 
 Jey. Our fathers lived under this sky. The wliite 
 man would drive us from their graves. Our 
 neighbors have fallen by his musket. ^^ e may 
 fall too. We will go freely to the land of spir- 
 its. See ye the sun in the east .'' Paugus may 
 not see it go down. It will go down in blood. 
 See ye the blasted pine-tree ? The lightning 
 touched it from the clouds. A lightning has 
 darted on us. We had grown up to the sky ; 
 our branches spread over all these mountains, 
 and touched the rivers and the great waters. 
 
64 OXFORD SKETCHES. 
 
 We are fallen. The lightning from the east 
 has struck our trunks. I see the red man go- 
 ing far to the west — across the bioad riveiS — ■ 
 and perishing. fVe will die by our fatliers' 
 graves. We will tell them in the happy field's, 
 that we fell for their children. They shall 
 honor us. The wiiite man shall remember the 
 warriors of Paugus !' — The regret, alas, is un- 
 availing, that so many wh-> knew not the Gos- 
 pel, should fall by dis(.;ipies of Jesus, the meek 
 and holy Saviour, " whose servants may not 
 fight, because his kingdom is not of this world." 
 " My feelings," said Mr. Greenwood, " are 
 not different horn yours. And I trust they 
 are beginning to be acknowledged more gen- 
 erally as the sentiments ol Christianity. Yet 
 so imperfect were once the views even of re- 
 ligious teachers, that at the time of this battle a 
 young preacher was with the company ; who, 
 after assisting to scalp the first Indian that was 
 slain, and fighting with lion-hearted valor till 
 the middle of the afternoon, received a severe 
 wound, and when unable to join in the conflict, 
 encouraged his companions by prayer to Heav- 
 en. He went with them in their departure, 
 but failed after travelling a little while, and 
 was left with three others in the woods. They 
 regained strength to go forward, until Mr. 
 Frye (this was the name of the chaplain) found 
 
OXrORD SKETCHES. 65 
 
 iiiiiiselt exhausted, and desired them to leave 
 him. At this hour, he requested one of his 
 companions, if" he ever reached home, to go 
 to his father, and carry his last message, — 
 '• Tell him, 1 have not long to live ; in a few 
 hours I shall be in eternity ; but I am not a- 
 Iraid to die ! Alone in the deep forest, beneath 
 the outstretched sky, he breathed out his 
 spirit." 
 
 "Another spirit went soon after him", said 
 Mrs. Greenwood. " It is a sad, wild tale I saw 
 in my youth, from which 1 knew their sorrows. 
 'Phey were the victims of an afTeclion which, 
 as the fair and faithful girl was poor, the pride 
 and wealth of Frye's family forbade him to 
 cherish. In the midst ol the young man's 
 grief, he heard of Lovell's adventure, and re- 
 solved to share in h. He was of Andover. 
 There is an elm tree, yet standing, i believe, 
 in that town, which he set out a few days before 
 his departure, asking his friends, if he did not 
 return — and he thought he should not, — io take 
 good care of it in memory of him. The event 
 agreed with the feeling ; and when he died, the 
 true heart he was forced to leave, felt itself 
 broken also, and soon laid its sorrows down in 
 the 2;rtive." 
 
 " This," added Mr. Greenwood, " is one 
 q{ the most touching details of the whole af- 
 6-»^ 
 
66 OXFORD SKETCHES. 
 
 fair.* There are others, however, of less feel- 
 ing, but painlully descriptive of the liorr.Hs 
 ol war. Two ol the wounded who were left 
 in the wilderness recovejed. Their names 
 were Davis and Jones. The former arrived at 
 the Fort, where he iound provision, and gain- 
 ed strength to proceed to Berwick. Jones lol- 
 lowed the Saco River, and arrived at Bicide- 
 ford. His subsistence had been gatheied from 
 the shrubs which grew wild m llie swamps and 
 woods. His food, after it was eaten, came out 
 of a wound which he received in the body. — 
 There was one Kies, whose lot was less se- 
 vere. Exhausted by the loss of blood horn 
 three wounds, he crept to the side of tlie 
 pond, and finding a canoe rolled himself in- 
 to it. The wind was favorable, and drove 
 him several miles toward the Fort. He re- 
 covered, and with eleven others, arrived at 
 Dunstable, the town from which their march 
 
 * 'Ihis fact is taken from a beautiful art!cle in the Bos- 
 ton Commercial Gazette of 1 4th Octo'er 1824. In the 
 same article, there is an allusion to the' description of 
 the battle given by Viator, giving him the preference 
 to all other historians of the event. Ihis description ap- 
 peared, I thmk in 1824, in the Oxford Observer, tut 
 1 have been unable to find it. and therefore relied on 
 Belknap and especially Symms whose paniphlet furn- 
 ished Bel: nap wi h much informaton, and who r'.ceiv- 
 ed the detail he has so artlessly givtn, from the lips of 
 survivinof combatants. 
 
OXFORD SKETCHES. t>7 
 
 commenced, the thirteenth of May, five days 
 after the battle. Lieut. VVymyii, wiio succeed- 
 ed Lovell in the command, with three com- 
 panions, reachetl the same place two Gays la- 
 ter. They had been fr(jm Saturday mornmg 
 till Wednesday witliont food ot any kind. 
 
 " The savageness of the military temper is 
 seen in the language of Robbms, an officer who 
 was left mortally wounded on the held, with his 
 gun leaded at liis request, and laid beside iiim : 
 — " The Indians will come in tlie mornit;g to 
 scalp me — 1 will kill one more if i can." I 
 think it savage ; and yet, as seems to me, it is 
 not below many of the treasured sayings of 
 heroes in what nien have chosen to call moral 
 grandeur. : 
 
 " Many of the Indians were known to Lov- 
 ell's men ; they even conversed logtther du- 
 ring the battle. Tiiere was one Chamberlain, 
 a man of great strength and courage, who 
 went down at the sanje time with Paugus 
 to wash his gun in the pond, and assured the 
 Chief that lie should destrc^y Lim. Ihe men- 
 ace was retiirned. Tlie guns ol both were pre- 
 pared, loaded and discliarged : Paugus fell. 
 The event endangered the safety oi Cham- 
 berlain. To save himself hom the vengeance 
 of the sons and friends of the fallen chiti, he 
 
68 OXFORD SKETCHES, 
 
 slew more than one of them who souj^hl his 
 death after the return of peace. 
 
 " Such are some of the fruits and passions of 
 war. The cliarm wliich it })as to so many, 
 comes h'om seeing its outward splendor sepa- 
 rate from these details. The volcano is sub- 
 lime in its eruptions; but wo to him who ven- 
 tures within the sweep oi its scathing flames. 
 
 " I remember, my dear children," added 
 Mr. Greenwood, aiier a short pause, " I re- 
 member when I was young like you, to have 
 heard my grandfather tell this tale as he 
 sat in his old arm-chair and we gathered 
 about him, still and earnest to catch his tre- 
 mulous words. Then he was weak, and the 
 bride of hii? youth had gone to the grave, 
 stricken in years. He was the play-mate in 
 boyhood, of some who went out and fought 
 with Lovell ; and they told him all. My fa- 
 ther also knew the captives who were seiz- 
 ed at Bethel. He was then young, and had 
 the story from their own lips. How few sur- 
 vivors of those days remain ! You, my chil- 
 dren, are coming to possess a goodlier in- 
 heritance. Let it be a part of your even- 
 ing prayers, to thank God that war has ceas- 
 ed so long, and to ask tht t it may cease 
 forever. It will come to an end we know 
 fiill well ; — may the day be hastened ! Our fa- 
 
OXFORD SKETCHES. 
 
 09 
 
 ilieis spent ibis day in praise, while danger, 
 and. tears, and death, were with them. Our 
 posterity may spend it in happiei thankfulness, 
 amidst the blessings of universal peace and 
 love. Let us, meanwliile, bless God for the 
 repose he has already given to the world, 
 and seek and pray that it may extend and 
 be perpetual. Blessed^ om Lord assures us, 
 are the peace-makers, for they shall be called 
 the children, of God.^^ 
 
 Hope of future improvement. — Campbell, 
 
 Hope ! when T mcrirn with sympathizing mind. 
 The wrongs of fate, tli»- woes of human kind, 
 Thy blisstul omens bid my spiiit see 
 The boundless fields of ra- ture yet to be ; 
 I watch the wheels of Nature's mazy plan,' 
 And learn the future b> the pastot luan. 
 Come, bright improvement ! en the car of time, 
 And rule the spacious w^«rld from clime to cliiiie ; 
 Thy handmaid arts shall every wild explore, 
 Trace every wave, and culture every s! ore. 
 On Erie's banks, wlierf tigers steal along, 
 And the dread Indian chants a dismal snng, 
 Where human fiends on midnight errands wa'k, 
 And bathe in brains the munierous tomahawk ; 
 Then shall the flocks on t'ymy pasture stray, 
 And shepherds dance at summer's opening day ; 
 Each wandering genius of the lonely glen 
 S^ all start to view the glittc mc haunt? of men ; 
 And silent watch, on woodland heights around. 
 The village curfew as it tolls profoHnd. 
 
70 OXFORD SKETCHES. 
 
 The JVeiv Yearns Morning. 
 
 "I wish you a happy new year," was the 
 earliest and repeated sound which echoed 
 through the humble dwelling of the Green- 
 woods. The morning found them happy; 
 the wish was sincere for many future days. 
 
 " That you may be happy," said their moth- 
 er, "you must be good ; you must have kind 
 and cheerful tempers, and think of God in all 
 his works. If you have gone through the last 
 year with such feelings, this, I trust, will be 
 what you wish. Let us sit down, and talk 
 over some of the scenes of the past, and raise 
 our thoughts, as we review them, to the God 
 of love." 
 
 All were glad at the proposal, and gathered 
 around their mother to tell their stories or to 
 catch at least her smile. The eldest was 
 George, a pleasant, thoughtful lad of about 
 fourteen years old, a good scholar, and modest 
 withal as boys of sweet temper and thinking 
 minds commonly are. Yet as he had been ac- 
 customed on account of his age to take the lead 
 among his brothers and sisters, he learned to 
 throw an air of command even into his gentle 
 looks and words. Eliza was the image of 
 George ; she loved him most fervently ; his 
 thoughts were hers, his wishes hers, she could 
 
OXFORD SKETCHES. 71 
 
 deny him nothing. When he was not more 
 than five years old, he would lead her into the 
 meadow, and pluck flowers for her, and they 
 would sit down on the green bank in each 
 other's arms, and tell their infant tales ; and as 
 they came to the house so tender and affection- 
 ate, their mother smiled and wept in the bliss 
 of love. Then there were Henry and William, 
 with two sisters too young to share in their 
 morning's conversation. 
 
 " Let us go through the whole in order," 
 said Mrs. Greenwood. " Come, George, let 
 us hear something of what you have seen, and 
 done, and felt the last year." 
 
 *' What I have thought most about," said 
 George, " is 
 
 Ati Evening Walk. 
 
 I took it last summer with two or three of 
 my school-mates and our teacher. It was in 
 Waterford. You remember the Flat, as they 
 call it ; it was about two miles from the Flat, 
 on a hill which rises above it to the north, and 
 from which we could see much of the town, 
 besides many other places about it. We first 
 went to a beautiful grove in a pasture near a 
 quarter of a mile from the road ; then we turn- 
 ed back and went up the hill to the west. The 
 
72 OXFORD SKETCHES. 
 
 land wliere tlie grove has grown up, was all 
 cleared once ; but the owner let the trees cover 
 it again, and 1 wished men would do so often- 
 er. For it is a very fine place ; the trees do 
 not stand too thick ; the ground was strewed 
 with leaves, whicli fell in the fall, with fiesh 
 grnss and wild fl(»vvers spriniring up among 
 them ; the grass and green shrubs grew every 
 where around. Tiiere were many rocks in 
 the grove, where the sheep would go at noon, 
 and lie down on them under the shade. The 
 cattle would sleep there too, and be cool when 
 the sun was high and the air heated. A little 
 brook out of which they would drink, flowed 
 in a vi!loy near tlie shade. There were pla- 
 ces also where the children used to piny ; they 
 would make two or three parties ; one party 
 would ero to a large rock over which the trees 
 hung their branches for a roof, and the others 
 to rocks not far off; or they would find where 
 two or three trees rose from one root and left 
 an open phce between their trunks ; and here 
 they would sit as if they were famihes, or visit 
 from one house, as they called it, to another. 
 Just to the north, there is a farm with the 
 house standing alone near a large orchard ; a 
 good man who once owned and took care of 
 it, became poor, and, after he was old and 
 his wife dead, gave it up and went out of his 
 
OXFORD SKETCHES. 73 
 
 neighborhood and town — to die. Higher up 
 the hill, we saw the chimney and roof of anoth- 
 er farm-house ; and to the south and east we 
 looked on many farms and houses, hills, val- 
 leys, ponds and forests. All was calm and 
 pleasant, as the sun went down among bright- 
 edy;ed clouds. 
 
 '^ We went thence to the hill. The trees 
 were all cleared otF, the land was well fenced, 
 the corn and the grass were green, and they 
 were ]ust beginning to mow. West of this hill, 
 beyond a long and wet valley, there is a ridge 
 of high land, in some places wooded, and in 
 others open, and showing the fields beyond. 
 We saw large hills and mountains ; some burnt 
 over by the fires, whh dead and black trunks 
 rising high in the air, and others covered with 
 green and branching trees. A broad, winding 
 valley, through which a stream they call Crook- 
 ed river bends its way through the town, spread 
 between us and the mountains. The valley 
 was not so lively and pleasant as the upland. 
 One reason, our teacher said, is that the pine- 
 leaves are of a darker and gloomier hue than 
 the leaves of the beech, the maple and the birch, 
 and that the valley is full of pines, but the hills 
 bore trees of brighter foliage. We turned our 
 eyes from the north, and saw a wide southern 
 prospect. We saw the meeting-house, and one 
 7 
 
74 OXFORD SKETCHES. 
 
 or two neat houses near it, surrounded vvitii 
 po;ihrs, and beyond, a imuntain rising grad- 
 U"Jly from the hiil on which they stand, till 
 it ends on its south-eastern side in broken cliffs, 
 or rather rocks piled on each other, with trees 
 growing between the broken heaps. A plain 
 and a pind are beneath the rough mountain 
 side. Here is a sm-dl village, but it whs hid- 
 den from us by the higher lan.'s behind it. — 
 The pond was in sight ; so were the woods 
 which sometimes touched the verse of it, and 
 the new openings through them, and the beau- 
 tiful farms which rose beyond. A large pond 
 was at the eastward ; it had its heard in low land 
 covered with dark pine and fii-; it spreads to the 
 south between fine, even farms on the west, aiid 
 cultivated hills on the south and east. The 
 eastern hill was cleared earlier than any other 
 part of the town ; one M' Wayne lived on it for 
 years without wife or child, or even a friend 
 within six or eight miles. He was alone, wlien 
 he opened the forest, — alone night and day. 
 He died in sight of large and gi owing neigh- 
 borhoods. 
 
 " Tne sun was down ; the stars began to 
 rise in the skv ; before the light had gone in 
 the west, the fdl moon arose. We could see the 
 fields still, and the hills, and the waters, but 
 there was a diinness over them ; th e sounds of 
 
OXFORD SKETCHES. 75 
 
 labor were still, the herds and the flecks were 
 laid down to sleep, the scenes which seemed 
 rough and brrken by day, were even and gen- 
 tle beneath the thin haze of evening. 1 looked 
 on the great earth, and the archiiig sky with its 
 stars and inoon. 1 conld not wisij to speak ; I 
 was thinking ol" God." 
 
 George blushed ai;d hesitated at thus ex- 
 pressing those inward feelings which the unper- 
 vertt^d mind counts too sacred to obtrude on the 
 attention of others. His mother was delighted 
 both bv the devotion he manifested, and by the 
 modesty which made it sogracelul. " M) dear 
 son," slie fervently (wclaimed, " I beseech you 
 to cherish views like these ; to connect all \ou 
 see with God ; to open your whole soul to tbrse 
 feelings which G- d desires to have his works 
 call ford) in every heart. Never is his gi e..tness 
 seen more clearl) than in u beautilui eveninji, a- 
 midst forcFts, and tiiotnitains. and plains, be- 
 neath the stars and the moon. Evening is the 
 hour to pray ; and every walk by moon-Iigfit, 
 I often think, should be an offering to the pow- 
 er above us." 
 
 " This," said George, " is just as our teach- 
 er told us. I rernember well his words — ' I 
 brought you here, that I might tell yon of the 
 greatness of God. Ycu cannot see him, but you 
 behold his works. Light is around his throne, 
 
OXFORB SKETCHES. 
 
 but you cannot come near it. The great lights 
 of heaven were kindled by him ; he lived r;ges 
 before them. I cannot lead you to his seat ; but 
 1 would show you what he has done — 1 would 
 bid you listen to the voice of his works, and ask 
 you to let his goodness fall on your souls likedew. 
 The Bible tells us, there is One God, the Ma- 
 ker and Father of the world ; his works teach 
 us so too. You commonly feel as if things v^-ere 
 separate from one another. When you first 
 learned your letters, you felt as if they had 
 nothing to do with aught else ; and when you 
 were studying your lessons in s^riiimmar and a- 
 rithmeiic, as if ihey were useless. And so, 
 when you look on nature, you feel as if the 
 wind, and the waters, and the woods, the stars, 
 the moon, the sun, the se-isons, the earth, its 
 fruits c'.id animals, were all npart from each 
 other. It is not so ; all things are parts of one 
 great machine. Should you see a watch or a 
 clock taken to pieces, you might think the 
 wheels all useless and unconnected. The 
 watch-maker f'Uis them together, and could not 
 spare one. You have found that your letters 
 which seemed unconnected, make words, and 
 fill up the books you read at school or at home. 
 You begin to see that grammar helps you to un- 
 derstand these books, and that arithmetic teach- 
 es you to compare many numbers. If you stu- 
 
OXFORD SKETCHES. / t 
 
 dy well, you will find that all your learning is 
 bound togfiher, and not hioken hea()s of ideas. 
 So, it you look over the world, you will find all 
 things united. You think this pebble one, sim- 
 ple thing; so you think the star that shines just 
 over the mountain west ol us. I will break this 
 pebble ; it is now in a hundred pieces. These 
 pieces niiiihl he broken so fine you could not see 
 them. That star, I presume, is larger than the 
 whole earth ; you do not think the earth a sin- 
 gle and sini) le thing; yet all the pans of the 
 earth are united as much as those of tije pebble. 
 Nay, the universe is one, asiealiy as a pebble, 
 the earth, or a star. JNoone thing touciies all 
 other things; nor does any one wheel or ])art 
 of a clock touch eveiy other wheel, or the 
 weight, or the string which holds the weight, or 
 the pendulum, or the fingers. The earth yields 
 fruit lor men and beasth ; the beasts are ted by 
 each other, and men by them ; watei quenches 
 the thirst ol both, and both breathe the air. Fire 
 warms men, and sends out light; trees are fit to 
 burn and to give shelter to beasts, and houses to 
 mea Wiiter js necessary lothe growth of fruits 
 — it rises fiorn streams and lakes, and talis in 
 rain and dew. All need light ; h comes from 
 rays ot the sun falling on the air. We must sleep 
 — llu! sun goes to enlighten other parts of the 
 earth, and give them day while it is our night. 
 7* 
 
78 OXFORD SKETCHES. 
 
 Such a oneness \hevf is over the whole world. 
 " The clock is made lor some use ; it would 
 be idle to put so costly a piece of mechanism to- 
 getlier without a good reason. There is a rea- 
 son, I ihink, for the whole frame and all the 
 parts and uictionsof the world, as simple as the 
 reason lor making a clock. Gcd forms and does 
 ail things, that he may give the happiness which 
 grows out of goodness. He made the frame- 
 work of the world and preserves it, for the sus- 
 tenance of those who have minds. Whatever 
 he Joes is to persuade those minds to be good- 
 He makes some sick, thet he may learn them 
 to trust his love; and some poor, that he may 
 humble their hearts ; and some rich, that he may 
 teach them kindness, ot that he may help the 
 needy by them ; and some wise, that he may 
 spread knowledge abroad. He tries some, 
 to prove and strengthen their characters ; and 
 when he sees one too wickf^d to repent, he sets 
 him forth as an example of what sin is, so that 
 those who know him may avoid sin which 
 brings such remorse and other misery with it. 
 He gives a good man the love of his friends and 
 peace of mind, so that others may be won to 
 him likewise. Besides all this, when he sent 
 his or.ly Sim into the world, it was n(Jt to make 
 men gain any thing but the happiness of being 
 good. Thus the Bible and God's works show 
 
OXFORD SKETCHES. 79 
 
 to US how great and good he is, that we may 
 fear and love him ; so that, as we fear and love 
 him, we may forsake sin, and, as we love, we 
 may be like him." — ' I thought 1 could under- 
 stand this, Ma' ; and it seemed to me, that if 
 those children who swear, and lie, and steal, 
 had heard it, they would be better/ 
 
 " I believe, my son, if they thought about it, 
 they would. To consider all things as tending 
 to bring to pass the desires of that love which 
 every where and always seeks to diffuse the 
 happiness of true holiness, must, if the heart be 
 accessible to religious impressions, touch it 
 most powerfully. — But is this all your teacher 
 said ?" 
 
 " Oh, no. He spoke about the soul which 
 God made, so that my heart swelled in me. — 
 * My children, 1 gaze upon the stars and the 
 moon, but can discern nothing like thought in 
 them. They seem to move without choice or 
 knowledge, like the stone when you throw it 
 into the air. But you are able to think, and 
 reason, and choose, and to remember what you 
 think, or see, or feel. Hence you can raise 
 your thoughts and desires to the great and ho- 
 ly God. Without God you cannot be happy ; 
 with him, you can gain the best, and endless 
 happiness. Jesus Christ came to unite your 
 souls to God, to make you share in his own 
 
80 OXFORD SKETCHES. 
 
 goodness ; to fill you with his fulness. All who 
 love, and trust, and obey him, are one with 
 each other : Christ is in them, the Father is 
 in them ; their happiness is sure and lasting as 
 the power of God. Love God your Father, 
 Jesus Christ your Saviour, and all his disci- 
 ples ; do the will of God ; be always tender 
 and kind ; never indulge bad passions ; never 
 dishonor your parents ; avoid all that is wrong ; 
 be humble, meek, just. Then, if you die, you 
 shall live again, and be with God forever. You 
 will have the peace of God till you die ; and 
 you will awaken from death to see him and be 
 like him.' This is the way our teacher talked 
 to us, and I never forgit it. I am very happy 
 when I think of him, of his voice, and of the 
 phice where we sat to see the great works of 
 God and to hear of his love. I have been there 
 alone since, that 1 might regain the delightful 
 thoujihts of that evening walk." 
 
 " You have given me great pleasure, 
 George," said Mrs. Greenwood ; " but you 
 are young, and if you be not careful every- 
 day to read the Bible, and study Goci's 
 works, and pray fervently, you will lorget these 
 instructions. But if you arewatchlul over your 
 heart and all you do and say, God will finish 
 the W'^rk, I trust, he has begun. Now we will 
 kear Eliza tell us something of the last year." 
 
OXFORD SKETCHES. 81 
 
 Eliza thought she had seen nothing more af- 
 fecting than 
 
 The Visit to a Death Bed. 
 
 " You remember being with me, mamma ; 
 when you wished me to go, I thought it must 
 be very gloomy to see the sick man ; and 
 while we were walking over the meadow, 
 and saw the flowers and the fruit, and my 
 mates coming to gather them, I should have 
 liked to stay and play with them. As we 
 went through the orchard, and passed by 
 the garden where there were other child- 
 ren, I would have stopped, if I could. It 
 seemed dreadful to think of death ; this world 
 is so pleasant I wished to live in it always 
 with you, and father, and George. But after 
 I was in the room where the sick man lay, it 
 looked very differently, from what I expect- 
 ed. You remember how he sat bolstered 
 up in his bed, with his eyes closed and his 
 hands clasped, and his lips moving between 
 a whi'^per and a smile. 1 had seen him ap- 
 pear so at meetins' ; in the time of se^rmon 
 or prayer, he would sit in his seat looking so 
 quiet, fervent, so holy, that 1 thought of heav- 
 en where all worship God from their hearts. 
 He was nearer now, it seemed to me, to 
 
S2 OXFORD SKETCHES. 
 
 that world he loved so well. As you drew 
 closer to him, he opened his eyf s, and took 
 your hand and then niine. How calmly he 
 said, ' I am ahr.ost gone, my departure is at 
 hand. But I ani happy ; I have sought to 
 live the life of the richteoiiS, so that I might 
 die the death of the righteous. 1 am going 
 to a j\ist Judge ; if I ha\e been faithful, I shall 
 be accepted, if not, he will uo ridit in casting 
 me offtorever. I can tru^^t only in the Lord 
 Jesus Christ. I liave been enquiring of 
 myself a long time, if there was any thing in 
 the world I love(< so well as Jesus Christ, 
 but I can find nothing.' His minister, you 
 remember, cam.e to see him while we were 
 there ; the good man was too feeble to say 
 much ; he wished to hear him preach once 
 more, but his strength was too far gone. — 
 He read a chapter in which Jesus comfort- 
 ed his disciples, and (iwelt much, as he 
 spoke of it, on the Saviour's love and the 
 happiness of heaven which was promised ; 
 then prayed with him and commended his 
 spirit to the Lord Jesus. The sick man lis- 
 tened with fervor, his soul was happy. He 
 wished to converse a long time with his 
 pastor, but could not. ' I am not able,' he 
 told him, ' to say much. 1 hoped to, betore 
 I died ; but we know perfectly each other's 
 minds. We have otten spoken together of 
 
OXFOR» SKETCHES. OO 
 
 the thiiifrs of God ; they are now my happi- 
 ness.' How patient he was in all his infir- 
 mities ! how humble and thankfiil ! how full 
 of love to all about him ! 1 shall never shun 
 a death-bed agrain." 
 
 " This leads me," said Mrs. Greenwood, 
 "to think of some things which George has 
 repeated, about the soul. The good man 
 we visited, die 1 as he lived, and rejoiced in 
 death, hopias- f )P heaven. His body is cov- 
 ered lip in the earth, and mo-ilderinor away ; 
 can a soul like his be with it ? All God's 
 works are bea!itifully shaped to each other ; 
 could it be so, were the soul, which is so 
 great even in death, which souijht through 
 life f )p something- it was eqnal to bnt could 
 not reach, and which is impressed with hio-h- 
 er dig lity and briq-hter seals of the Godhead, 
 than the whole worli we look on, — to die 
 with the boiy ? The house is too frail to en- 
 dure ; when it f-ills, does the occupai?t go to 
 a !)eit:T, or perish .^" 
 
 '' I have had feelings like these, ma," ad- 
 ded Elizi, '' but I knew no words to express 
 them. List winter, I thought I should be 
 happy enou?h w'len spring came, and 
 Gaorj^-e and I coul 1 w ilk together in the 
 fiiel Is, and phi^k the flo vers, and talk about 
 all we wished. The spring came, and then 
 I asked for sUinmer ; as the summer was 
 
84 OXFORD SKETCHES. 
 
 passing", I hoped to find autumn happier. — 
 But there was no change, and I have found 
 nothing to give me full content. 1 thought 
 if I could have a place and friends such as 
 poems and stories describe, I must be hap- 
 py ; but I always wished for something be- 
 yond all I could reach. It is because the 
 soul is so much greater than any thing in 
 the world ; is it not, mamma ]" 
 
 '' It is, my daughter ; and the Bible only 
 reveals that which can fill the mind. There 
 he many that sny^ who will show us any good ? 
 Lord, lift thou up the light of thy countenance 
 upon us. — .As for me, T will behold thy face in 
 righteousness : I shall be satisfied, when I a- 
 wake, with thy likeness. — Whom have 1 in hea- 
 ven but thee ? and there is none upon earth 
 that I desire besides thee. My flesh and my 
 heart faileth ; but God is the strength of my 
 heart, and my portion for ever. ^^ 
 
 Henry and William were pleased with their 
 trip into the woods in the spring with George 
 and Eliza, and the eldest began to describe 
 
 The May-day Walk. 
 
 " It was a little after sun-rise ; we had been 
 thinking of the walk a great while ; we were 
 up very early, and started for the woods. 
 
OXFORD SKETCHES. 8o 
 
 We went through the pasture, and saw the 
 cattle just beg^mnins; to bite the grass, and the 
 sheep nibbling on a little hill near us with the 
 lambs frisking about them. Then we went 
 down into a piece of low ground ; there was 
 a brook running through it ; high elms bent 
 over it, sometimes rising in a circle around 
 a grassy spot ; the brook was at their root, 
 winding its course tlirouirh the valley ; and 
 all was calm and beautiful." 
 
 ''There were many wild flowers in that 
 nook of oTound," said William, who looked 
 to the minuter productions of nature, as his 
 brother loved its broader and more open 
 forms. '■' Just where the snow-drop could 
 steal a dry place over the waters, it would 
 spread itselfout, and sometimes dip its leaves 
 audits bunch of tiny blossoms into the brook. 
 I pulled up a root — the one which I planted 
 in the garden ; you remember what pretty 
 flowers it bore in the bed. A stalk was just 
 peeping out of the ground, which George 
 called the lily ; and when I brought it to the 
 garden, how tall it grew, and bore a spotted 
 yellow flower, which hung down like a bell. 
 We came to the upland, and found in the 
 woods a plant with a slender stalk from which 
 three leaves grow out, and between them a 
 tine stem that rises a few inches, and bears 
 
 8 
 
^^ OXFORD SKETCHES. 
 
 on its top an erect and broad-leafed flower." 
 " I have often seen it," said his mother, 
 "by the road-side in wools. The name 
 it has in some places, is Jit-root ; the Indians 
 call it so from a medicinal property they sup- 
 pose it to possess. Its name with botanists, 
 I do not know. — You may go, William, and 
 get your little collection of flowers, and, faded 
 as they are, we will look at the whole, when 
 Henry has gone throu'^'h his walk." 
 
 Henry continued : '* We went from this 
 valley throu^-h a field into a large forest. 
 The leaves were just shooting^ out, and 
 spreadinsr a fresh green over the whole wood. 
 The birds were 3in£?in2' on the branches ; 
 but when we found a nest, George and Eliza 
 told us we must not touch it. Sometimes, 
 they said, if the old birds were afraid, they 
 would leave their nests, so that no young 
 birds would come from the egTS. They told 
 us too, that in the summer we must never 
 get the little robbins or sparrows, or any 
 other bird from the nest, for it was cruel ; 
 the younir would be sad because they could 
 not fly with their mates in the open air, and 
 the old would mourn because they had lost 
 what they loved and took care of many a 
 long day and chilly night. We tho'ight it 
 quite ri^ht which they sail; and T never 
 mean to steal a bird in my life, or any other 
 
<*XrORD SKETCHES. 87 
 
 creature. I love to see the squirrel run 
 along the fence, or the fields or woods, and 
 sit down in a safe place to eat his nuts and 
 corn ; and how beautiful the weazel is — he 
 would run as if he were flying-, and I could 
 scarcely get a peep at him before he was 
 hid in his'hole. Then there are the rabbit, 
 and the deer, and many more animals, I love 
 too well to hunt or hurt. 
 
 "We heard a roariuo- sound not far from 
 us, and were afraid. But George said it was 
 a brook fallino^ over rocks ; and the melted 
 snow and the April rain made it very large. 
 So we thought we would go to it. Oh ma, 
 I wish you could have seen it ! There was 
 a long, open valley, as if the hill had been 
 parted, before us ; the sides which went 
 down to the water's edge, were steep and 
 rough ; the brook foamed over great rocks ; 
 when we looked upward, we saw and heard 
 it dashing down over ledges ; below us, it 
 struck a vast rock that crossed its path, and 
 fell into a sort of trough it had worn in the 
 earth underneath. Above, it rose in spray 
 white as snow ; below, it lay in sheets 
 of loam, then spread out smooth and clear, 
 and flowed evenly under the trees, and was 
 sometimes lost almost in the moist eartli and 
 among the faflen leaves. 
 
 " Now we began to think of coming home. 
 
88 OXFORD SKETCHES. 
 
 The plain which we saw from the wood as 
 we came out of it, and the houses scattered 
 over it, were very pleasant ; the sun shone 
 on them from a high place in tiie sky ; and 
 homeward we tripped, bringing flowers we 
 picked for Mary, and wishing to see you 
 and pa', and to play with little Caroline." 
 
 William's flowers were now together ; he 
 brought also a i'ew mineral specii;)ens, which 
 his father taught him to value with all the 
 works of nature, because they are works of 
 God. Besides the wild flowers, ol which he 
 had gathered many from the intervals, the 
 swnmps, the fields, the Ibrests, ana the banks 
 of brooks and rivers, he hati tl ose wnich, 
 in our cliniate, grow only by cuitbre. W ith 
 the blue flower borne on a stalk enclosed by 
 the long and pointed leaves of a species of 
 flag which sprir^gs up in low and neglected 
 lands, he held one soniewhat like ii, but larg- 
 er and more splendid from the garden. — 
 With the white violet and the finer blue^ 
 which spread over the fields ircm early 
 spring into the summer, he pointed to the 
 deep and brilliant hues of a flower that blows 
 every montl), which some caW iadies^ delight. 
 With the wild-rose, whose four leaves open 
 and fall unseen in the desolate pasture ground 
 he showed the lull r^nd hagrant rose, the 
 queen of flowers. Next, he opened his lit- 
 
•XFORD SKETCHES. 89 
 
 tie cabinet ; it had not many minerals, — the 
 neighborhood yielded few varieties, — but his 
 father early accustomed him to gather them 
 in his walks, and preserve them as illustra- 
 tions, not less than other portions of nature, 
 of the inexhaustible riches of the wisdom and 
 power of God. — "Look," cried he, "look 
 at these pieces of ising-glass ; here is one as 
 clear as glass itself; another — it has as n;ai>y 
 colors as the prismx ; see tliese others, black, 
 green, and colored like lilac. Here is the 
 schorl, black like the coal and brittle ; here 
 the tourmaline — how deep the green, and 
 how clear to look through ! here is the red 
 tourmaline ; this piece like crimson and that 
 like the peach ; here the white, clear and 
 tinged with red ; and here are several shades 
 of the blue. This is the quartz ; see how 
 white ! there is a piece of dull and dark col- 
 or, a mere pebble ; there is a beautiful one, 
 and bright though clouded. There are crys- 
 tals of quartz-*-how finely shaped ! how 
 smooth and well turned io the end ! how 
 clear, and what hues like the rainbow !" — 
 Thus William dwelt on the beauty of his min- 
 erals and flowers, till, as he finished, his 
 brother took out of his pocket and gave him 
 a few pieces of crystallized quartz and feld- 
 spar, adding, — " I got them when I was rid- 
 ing with father through Greenwood, and 
 
 8* 
 
90 OXFORD SKETCHES. 
 
 kept them for memorials of the cave from 
 which they were taken. M e left the chaise 
 to look at the cave which was not far oft'. A 
 deep valley runs through the town from the 
 hills on the southern shore of the Androscog- 
 gin, and continues to widen till ii is lost in 
 the large pond in Norway and the low lands 
 about it. The cave is in the hill east of this 
 valley, far above its bed. A spur, as they 
 term it, juts far out into this valley, and ends 
 in a high precipice looking to the south-west. 
 The rock, at the top ol the precipice, hangs 
 over the base, like a piazza. At the south- 
 ern extremity, tlie cave opens into the hill ; 
 its mouth is of the width of thirty feet, and its 
 height forty. It grows narrower as you en- 
 ter, and its sides nieet at the end of the cave, 
 more than seventy feet from the opening. 
 The floor is of limestone broken to pieces 
 the roof is hung with stalactites, resembling 
 icicles. The cave is so wide and open as to 
 let in the full sun-light, and as we turned to 
 go out, we saw the trees rising high in the 
 valley, and shading wiih thick leaves the as- 
 cent of the hill and the cliffs. V>, e passed 
 from the cave to the right ; the white rock 
 was far above us ; at our feet the moss 
 spread its soft green ; in one place a stream 
 was bursting from the hill-side ; and we had 
 frequent glimpses of the meadows, of the 
 
OXFORD SKETCHES. 91 
 
 herds and flocks grazing in the pasture, and 
 of the green corn waving in the west wind."* 
 Mary ana Caroline liaci set long lor chil- 
 dren so youi g ; they grew restless and play- 
 ful ; and the u.ies ol the new year's morning 
 were interrupteu by the irresistihle propen- 
 sity to share in us pkasures. The elder 
 chiiaren were called to tlieir books, ana the 
 younger sported and danced in their un- 
 sought joy oi heart. 
 
 The Christian'' s views of the creation. 
 
 CoWFER, 
 
 He looks abroad into the varied field 
 
 Of nature, and tiiough poor, perhaps, compared 
 
 With those whose mansions glitter in his sight. 
 
 Calls the delightful scenery all his own. 
 
 His are the mountains, and the valleys his, 
 
 And .he resplendent rivers His to enjoy 
 
 With a propriety that none can feel. 
 
 But who, with filial confidence inspi ed, 
 
 Can lift to heaven an unpiesuniptuous eye, 
 
 And smiling say — My Father made them all ! 
 
 Are they not his by a peculiar right, 
 
 And by an emphasis of interest his, 
 
 Whose eye they fill with tears « f holy joy. 
 
 Whose heart with praise, and whose exalted mind 
 
 With worthy thoughts of that unwearied love, 
 
 * For the substance of this description, I am indebtpd 
 to an article in the Oxford Observer of C'ct. 14, Jb24, 
 connected by Viator with a valbable series on the "Min- 
 eralogy and Geology of Oxford County." 
 
92 OXFORD SKETCHES. 
 
 That planned, and built, and still upholds 
 
 A world so cloihed with beauty for rebellious man .-' 
 
 The JVew Yearns Evening, 
 
 " It is a rough evening without," said Mr. 
 Greenwood, as he rose from the table at which 
 he was vvriting, and listened to the roar of the 
 wind. His younger children were asleep ; the 
 elder of them were by his side and their moth- 
 er's, engaged industriously in their proper em- 
 ployments. " The new year has brought se- 
 vere cold ; but we are happy in our security. 
 I trust we have remembered the destitute, and 
 done what we could for their comfort this cold 
 season. Let us now think of what the hour 
 calls solemnly to mind. It seems but a day 
 since the last new year ; this is going away as 
 rapidly. I have a discourse by me that I heard 
 early last year ; perhaps we may listen to it 
 this evening. Every thing around us testifies 
 to the truth of its great point." 
 
 The family were not like some to whom a 
 sermon is another name for dulness — an apolo- 
 gy for sleep. They loved to hear sermons 
 from the pulpit, and to read them in private. 
 They prepared themselves now to listen with- 
 out interruption to their father, as he took the 
 manuscript from his desk and opened it. He 
 began : — 
 
OXFORD SKETCHES. VO 
 
 1 Cor. vii, 31. — Ihe fashion of this world 
 passeih away. Ihe iieqiieijcy with which the 
 fijgitivfc! nature of eariiil) things torces itseli on 
 the mind, (ar fn m inijaniiig the interest which 
 men leel in ihe subject, is a strong indication 
 that its hold on their lieartsis abiding. Of the 
 same lact we havt constant testimori) in lije at- 
 tractiveness of the exanjj'les lurnished by na- 
 ture and poetry in illustration of our mortality, 
 in the thiilling and mysterious power with 
 which the very nanics ol such objects as tlie 
 setting sun, the waning mcon, dissojving clouds, 
 autumn, evening, ever iailing leaves and a 
 wasting lamp, — the coninicn en.blenis ol our 
 condition on earth, — go through the soul waking 
 its deepest emotions, as the ni^ht air wakes the 
 pensive melodies ol the wii d-haip. iSoi are 
 there in the word of inspiraticn any passages 
 more familiar, none seiziiig our attrition n;ore 
 strcngiy, throwing} as it were a spell about the 
 heart, — than those which ccn.j are lite to the 
 fleeting lorn's of nature, oi whicJj, as in the 
 simple language ol the text, assure us that the 
 fashion of this world passeth awry. This as- 
 surance may be illustrated with icspect to the 
 possessions, the enjoyments and sufierings of 
 life, its connexions, and the world itseli. 
 
 Of earthly possessions no more should be 
 expected than will satisfy want, together with 
 
94 OXFORD SKETCHES. 
 
 their continuance through life. Let this ex- 
 pectation be realized. I am not now to set 
 forth their insufficiency even when attained, to 
 fill your desires ; I am not to say-— obvious as 
 the truth is — how they float, as it were, over 
 the surface of thought without touching its deep 
 and ever gushing fountains, — how they dwell 
 without the soul unable to enter its inmost seat, 
 the shrine which God only can fill ; I have 
 another object, to remind you that, if they could 
 go deeper into the soul, their abode is of short 
 duration. Gather all which you desire around 
 you. Ask of your often languid body, of your 
 thinking; mind, of your early friends, of the 
 providence of God, how long it will remain with 
 you. A voice, like the vision of the eastern 
 monarch, comes from other ages,from tlie depths 
 of the soul, from the seat of the Eternal, — 
 Prepare thysolf ; thou must go to God. From 
 thy bcdy returned to the earth, thy spirit shall 
 rise to other scenes. Thy life, a prophetic 
 thoue'i fitful dream, — life, the momentary 
 breath, rising, and swelling, and sinking before 
 some awful pause in the winter-tempest, — is 
 bui -he herald of death. Then whose shall 
 thae things be which thou hasi provided ? 
 
 Besides wealth, there are many sources of 
 enj-^yment and suffering. The senses, the ap- 
 tites, the desires are so many susceptibilities of 
 
OXFORD SKETCHES. 95 
 
 both adapted to our relations to the portion of 
 the universe which surrounds us ; they are the 
 chords that respond to the various classes of 
 objects with which we are connected. Figure 
 to yourselves an individual, in whom these sus- 
 ceptibilities are refined to the utmost, and 
 around whom these objects are profusely gath- 
 ered. The eye is filled with brilliant visions; 
 the flesh is indulged in all it asks ; the pride of 
 the soul is sustained by the acclamations of 
 praise. The day is spent in absorbing busi- 
 ness ; the evening passes in festivity ; ni^ht 
 prepares by the repose it gives for succeeding 
 alternations of occupation and amusement. 
 The scene is changed. On the cheek of this 
 happy man the bloom of health has faded, his 
 limbs are enfeebled, his whole frame is emacia- 
 ted. Tell him now of mirthful hours ; tell him 
 the festive band is collected, the viol leads on 
 the dance, the wine sparkles in the cup, the 
 smile brightens the cheek of youth and health 
 and love. No voice whisners rest to his fever- 
 ish spirit. Tell him of his own praise, — it was 
 once sweeter than music to his soul ; it dies 
 away, unheeded, now. One more change ! 
 His brow is fixed and pale. He is carried 
 foith to mingle with the dissolving clods. O 
 Pleasure, whither hast thou fled ? Sure thy 
 seat is not in the dark tomb ; no, thou hast 
 
96 OXFORD SKETCHES 
 
 snusht a living bosom to lead astray and aban- 
 don ! Praise, airy and rn2;itive shadow, whith- 
 er art thou vanished ? Hears he thine enchant- 
 ing; tones ? Thou sendest ihetn swelling; and 
 echoing to other ages ; they float in widening 
 circles with the hours over his grave, — canst 
 thou carry them down to his lowly resting-place ? 
 Alas ! the breath that stirs the sunny surface of 
 the stream, leaves its deep bed untouched and 
 darkling. 
 
 When the enjoyments of life end, then end 
 its many sufFerinsjs. You endure the censures 
 of men ; thev will be forgotten, unheeded, in 
 the fi^rave. You are poor ; the little which you 
 need below, will not be wanted long. You suf- 
 fer distressing sickness ; it will help the body 
 to its last rest. You feel oppression ; there the 
 prisoners rest tosre.ther ; they hear not the voice 
 of the oppressor. The small and great are 
 there ; and the servant is free from, his master. 
 There the wicked cease from troubling ; and 
 there the weary he at rest. 
 
 With the possessions, enjoyments and suffer- 
 ings of life, its connexions also terminate. From 
 whom of us has not some friend been already 
 taken ^ The parent has wept for his children ; 
 or the husband or wife for the dissolution of 
 ties formed in youth and cemented by mutual 
 cares and hopes ; or the child for the father or 
 
OXFORD SKETCHES. 97 
 
 wiDther whose pride and joy he was. The 
 yonuy; m^n has been abandoned by his earliest 
 companions ; the old man stands alone desert- 
 ed by the friends of his yonth. They were 
 pioneers in the path which survivers mnst tread : 
 one frenpration pisseth away, and another gen- 
 eration Cometh. The waves swell and are 
 broken ; nevv waves swell and are broken ; the 
 ocean heaves and foams beneath the perpetual 
 rush of waters rolling together and severed, 
 mino-lina;, dissoWing, lost. 
 
 The successive destinies of individual and 
 associated men, are e n!)lems of the catastrophe 
 to w'nich the world is itself reserved. Twice 
 already it his been, if we may so term it, ia 
 ruins. When it was first created, we know not. 
 The period is not defined in the Bible. The 
 Bi'jle tells us of the eirth, now productive 
 and benutiful, now enlightened by sun, and 
 moon, and stars, as a chaos ivithout form 
 and void, and ov^Tspread with darkness. 
 Ae lin it was overwhelmed bv a delude : The 
 wat'^J's prevailed exceedin^hj upon the earth ; 
 and all the hig^h hUU that were under the whole 
 henven were covere'-f. The system awaits a 
 third revolution. The world th it then was, ex- 
 isting either in chcios or in the flood, being 
 overflowed with wtter, perished. B ti the heav- 
 ens and the earth which are now, by the word 
 
 9 
 
98 Oxford sketches. 
 
 of God are kept in store, reserved unto firf. 
 This change in the material world is prelimin- 
 ary to the universal judgmentj — 1 saw a great 
 white throne^ and him. that sat on it, from, whose 
 face the earth and the heavens fled away ; and, 
 there was found no place for them. And 1 saw 
 the dead small and great stand before God : 
 and the books were opened ; and another book- 
 was opened which is the. book of life ; and the 
 dead were judged- out of those things which 
 were written in the books, according to their 
 works. 
 
 To these changes in the visible creation, the 
 present season has long been viewed as fur- 
 nishing the best analogies. Nature desolate, 
 the tempest gathering and pouring out its fury, 
 the promises of spring and the riches of au- 
 tumn vanished, — these are the daily-repeated 
 prophecies, the ever-recurring emblems of what 
 man shall be, when beauty, joy, w^ealth, friend- 
 ship wither beneath the blast of death; of what 
 the world shall be when its fields occupied by 
 the habitations of men, and flourishing with 
 their labor, its green valleys watered by deep 
 and beautiful streams, its high mountains crown- 
 ed with inaccessible and perpetual forests, pass 
 away like the visions of sleep ; when with the 
 vast globe, its spacious continents and its un- 
 bounded oceans, the heavens shall be rolled 
 
OXFORD SKETCHES. 99 
 
 together. Yet 'lis not a gloomy prospect. 
 — True, we cannot make our own or na- 
 ture's frame immortal, if we would ; but I envy- 
 not the man who would, if it were in his pow- 
 er. Oh, who — conscious of powers though 
 infant now, yet aspiring after something be- 
 yond their years and above their reach — who, 
 jeeliiig himself oppressed by worldly cares and 
 feeble flesh detaching him from the Spirit of 
 heaven, — would ask eternal imprisonment? — 
 Rather let the body perish, that the soul may 
 be free ; that the soul may plume its fledged 
 wings, and do the behests of its great parent 
 amidst the brightness itself of his presence. 
 
 To v\ant those views of immortality, confirm- 
 ed by the testimony of God given to the world 
 through his Son, and by the resurrection ol 
 Jesus, has been the lot of many minds, formed 
 (if they could have grasped sacred truth) to 
 enshrine it in man's deepest thoughts and af- 
 iections. Lost in endless mazes of error, they 
 swerved from their better destiny ; and, in- 
 stead of inspiring truth with confidence and 
 virtue with energy, they still live in the pro- 
 ducts of their genius, to soothe vice and up- 
 hold delusion, to produce obhvious scepticism 
 of fiiturity, to urge festivity because life is short, 
 diligence in dissipation because the period of 
 dissipation is but a moment. As behevers in 
 
100 OXFORD SKETCHES. 
 
 the gospel of Christ, — as (]iscij']fs of him wh© 
 hath declared hirrjseli tlit reauircttion arid the 
 life, we admit, 1 say not without reluctance, 
 but with elevated joy, the Epicurean dehnea- 
 tions of human frailty ; but efkice from ii:em 
 a different inference ; — Tl reoding continually 
 over the ashes ol the dead, we learn our fies- 
 tiny. The fire within us sli&ll soon go out. 
 We pursue hourly the track tliat leads to death. 
 Over us all, undistji.guishnig night is rushing. 
 The moment, in v>hich we s[ieak it, passes, 
 anc leaves us nearer to the last. But we will 
 neither repine, nor waste the futuie in mirth. 
 Nor will we be thoughtless, absorbed in the 
 present on which the lutuie presses so closely. 
 With a leader licm henven, with the fuh-ess 
 of Jesus Christ to si'stnin us an)idsl the depress- 
 ing scenesof er:rth, with tl e inspiration oi God's 
 Spirit to guide and prcmpt our iervor, v\e will 
 Dot yield to despair; we will fear naught but 
 sin, we will hold fast cur integrity unto death, 
 we will pursue, till we perceive in our own 
 souls, the image of divine perfection. Begot- 
 ten oi God to immortal lite, v\e will forget nei- 
 ther our origin nor our destiny ; that when, as 
 soon it must, the fashion of this world shall 
 pass away, other worlds may be the scene of 
 our constant effort and endless progress. 
 
OXFORD SKETCHES. 
 
 101 
 
 To reflect on the short continuance of earth- 
 ly things without thought of futurity or instruc- 
 tions to religion, avails nothing to our spir- 
 itual improvement. As it vi^ill not increase 
 happiness to feel that its end is near, so it can 
 neither advance virtue to teach that its sphere 
 of operation, and even existence, is narrow, 
 nor withdraw the soul from earthly aftections 
 to learn that their object is evanescent. This 
 effect can be secured only by bringing heav- 
 enly objects into contact with mind, by con- 
 viction that eternity shall succeed time ; that 
 the future is better than the present ; that hea- 
 ven is man's destined abode ; that, in a word, 
 as the Apostle affirms of the dispensation of 
 Moses compared with the gospel of Jesus, the 
 world hath no glory by reason of the glory 
 that excelleth. And to both the same argu- 
 ment will apply, — If that which is done away 
 was glorious, much more that which remaineth 
 is glorious. By one or the other of these ob- 
 jects, — by the momentary or the permanent, 
 mind must be possessed. It must be occupi- 
 ed ; mind cannot exemplify in itself the vacui- 
 ty which philosophy may imagine in the infini- 
 tude of space. It will be filled by the world, 
 till the world be expelled by a niassier object. 
 It will cling to the moment which divides life 
 from immortality, till hope and faith fix its 
 
 9* 
 
102 OXFORD SKETCHED, 
 
 grasp to the glories of the opening paradise. 
 Now how can it be, that acknowJedging all 
 we affirm of the fashion of ttiis world, and of 
 the duration of v\ hat is to come, man yet choos- 
 es and cleaves to the receding shadow r Can 
 this wonderlul phenonienon be accounted ior 
 without ascribing to him something worse than 
 folly ? without resorting to principles in the 
 heart which imply guilt ? True, the mind, Irom 
 its very natui e, leels the present more than the 
 future, — from its early connection with n-atter, 
 ivorldly things rather than spiritual, — Irom its 
 union with the body, sensitive abc/ve intellec- 
 tual objects. Still it can counteract these pro- 
 pensities. It often does. In the conflict of 
 worldly interests, it surrenders the near to 
 more remote good ; in the conflict of which 
 the best men are conscious between religion 
 and the passions, the invisible and the spni- 
 tual gain. a progiessive victory over all which 
 the Vvorld ofiers and the appetites seek. Af- 
 ter every legitimate deduction oi physical ob- 
 stacles to the employment oi thought and ac- 
 tion in religion, tlie great cause remains ; the 
 cause which self-direction, guided by the tiuth 
 and power ol God, would prevent or remove, 
 depravity criminal not only in itself hut in its 
 indulgence, aiid with indulgence muhi}>l}ing 
 its operations, — acquiring strength as it uuvan- 
 
OXFOR» SKETCHES. 103 
 
 ces. Gratitude for divine mercies, love of 
 truth and holiness, diffusive benevolence, these 
 feelings could not fail of imparling spirituality 
 to the mind ; but of tiiese ieelings, who will 
 attempt to justiiy the absence ? 
 
 That ycu may derive salutary effects from 
 considering dns subject, it is first indispensable 
 to carry the mind forward in its affections and 
 hopes, to look down, if we may so speak, on 
 eaith as if out of heaven. TLc' gain this sum- 
 mit, this mount of vision, is the higii office of 
 faith, of belief and trust in him wlio hath abol- 
 ished death, and brought life and immortality 
 to lis^ht. Believe in Jesus as your best and 
 woll-iried friend. Believe that he was deliver- 
 ed for our offences, and was raised again for ovr 
 justification. Trust to his sacrifice, his power 
 and love, assured that in his Father^s house 
 (and he hath authorized us to deem his Father 
 our own also) are many mansions^ into which 
 he hath gone to prepare a place for his dis- 
 ciples. 
 
 Faith like this, exerting its true influence, 
 is essentiall} connected with the regeneration 
 which our Saviour declares to be necessary to 
 the perception and enjojment oj his kingdom ; 
 that change, which transfers mar from a state 
 ot worldlmess to union with God, uhich breaks 
 his connection with sin and lorms him to hoii- 
 
104 OXFORD SKETCHES. 
 
 ness, which adds to liis relations to this life 
 those of an endless existence, makes him a citi- 
 zen of heaven, while a pilgrim on earth, and 
 surrounds his embryo powers with the mighti- 
 est instruments and the noblest foims of excel- 
 lence, while at the same moment it instils that 
 vigorous and celestial principle which raises 
 them continually from the mass of worldly cor- 
 ruption to the higher scenes ihey witness in 
 their perpetual ascent. To bring within your 
 own experience these sure results of the new 
 birth, abandon every course of sin, resist each 
 tendency to disobedience, perform faithfully 
 every ascertained duty, study the Bible as 
 God's Word, and pray fervently for his Spirit, 
 — maintaining through the whole of life an in- 
 ward intercourse with the Great Being, who is 
 at once the source and the portion of holiness, 
 its inspirer, its patron, its revvarder. Let the 
 year which ye may have begun without God 
 and without hope, be hallowed as the era of 
 your conversion by the divine power and truth. 
 Then ye may rejoice, that the fashion of this 
 world passeth away ; now, its progress hastens 
 your destruction. 
 
 The fashion of this world passeth away. Ye 
 acknowledge it to be true ; do ye heed its so- 
 lemn intimations of duty ? do ye renounce its 
 
OXFORD SKETCHES. 105 
 
 idolatry ? do ye cease from pursuing its sinful 
 customs and its deceiving promises? 
 
 Tile fashion of this world passt-th away. Ye 
 have lost possessions ever deemed secure, en- 
 joyments once imagined to be — mny 1 not say ? 
 — inalierjaijle, friends vvliose mtmcry is woven 
 into the whole w^eb of ) our affections. These 
 are monitors of your destiny ; have ye listened 
 to their voice, and sought imperishable uealth, 
 uiimingled pleasures and iinnjorlal friends? 
 
 The fashion of this world passeih away. 
 Heaven and Hell coi 5-p'ie with Earth to an- 
 nounce your destiny. From both comes the 
 voice of the dead — the iscended saint calling 
 you upward — the perishtd outcast uoui God 
 urging you to avoid ihe place ol torrr.ent. Both 
 entreat you to resist the world, to flee from its 
 dominion, to cherish a taith victorious, like its 
 author, over the empire of sin. Wil! ye listen 
 to the voice ! Young men ! — will you put your 
 strength forth to the encounter ? Child ! will 
 you begin lile for God, like Jesus, the holy 
 son of IVIaiy ? Shall Uianhood spend its ener- 
 gies on what it has long confessed to be phan- 
 toms ? Shall old age, just mooring in its last 
 haven, cling to its wreck ? As it sees paradise 
 near, shall it refuse to bicathethe fresh and sa- 
 cred air which floats about its own desolations? 
 
 The fashion of this world passeth away. But 
 
106 OXFORD SKETCHES. 
 
 there are objects which can never pass ; God, 
 the Father of the universe, Jesus his everlast- 
 ing Son, the Spirit which teaches what man 
 cannot see, or hear, or learn from his own fee- 
 ble organs ; — next mind, God's image, the 
 manifestation of his attributes. Man, to whom 
 a breath may convey pestilence, whom the fee- 
 blest insect may harass, whom the fire burns, 
 water overwhelms, sickness wastes, the worm 
 devours ; — man, chained down to bodily toils, 
 the creature of a day, the sport of casualties, 
 is yet immortal, destined to walk above the 
 stars, to serve God as his priest in the celestial 
 temple. I figure to myself first the material 
 creation, immense and magnificent, the tent^ ac- 
 cording to the representation of insjjired wri- 
 ters, the palace of Jehovah ; then some man 
 weak in body, poor in estate, ignorant in mind, 
 despised like his Saviour and forsaken of men. 
 In this suffering disciple, I discern a brighter 
 impress of Divinity than is stamped on the uni- 
 verse of matter. This is the mirror, he the im- 
 age, of the Eternal. This shall pass away, he 
 shall live unhurt amidst the ruin. The flame 
 of mind which burns feebly now, shall be 
 brigliter than the sun ; and, when the sun goes 
 out in darkness, shall gather and diffuse forev- 
 er its godlike effulgence. 
 
 If man, amidst a perishing universe, possess 
 
OXFORD SKETCHES. . 107 
 
 a princl[)le so abiding; if, even when the world 
 is burned up, the soul shall remain unscathed 
 in its flames, and if, as the Bible assures us, 
 the soul may perish — how strong the motive to 
 industry in the discharge ol' every duty ! Let 
 the intellectual and the moral powers be culti- 
 vated with assiduity. Let duty both to God 
 and to man be done faithfully. Nay, let the 
 common offices of life be performed with dili- 
 gence and fervor of spirit. Think not that the 
 business of life is too low for your aspirations 
 and your destiny, that it interferes with holier 
 employments. Rather make every occupation, 
 every action, the whole of your business, sub- 
 sidiary to religion, devoting each moment to 
 God, and doing the duties of your stations as 
 servants, cheerfully awaiting your elevation to 
 a higher place in the family of God. As child- 
 ren in pupilage, consent to live and labor like 
 children, till you reach the fulness of your stat- 
 ure and the maturity of your powers ; to en- 
 dure discipline, to prepare for your manhood of 
 being : be children of obedience, not fashion- 
 ing yourselves according to the former lusts in 
 your Ignorance ; but as he which hath called 
 you is holy, so be ye holy in all manner of con- 
 versation. This apostolic injunction shows 
 what ought always to be a specific object o f 
 your industry, — 'the culture of spiritual afFec- 
 
108 OXFORD SKETCHES. 
 
 tioiis with a life inspii'ed and controlled by their 
 influence. Such cnlture will save you from 
 the doom, succeeding; the period when to you 
 the fii>hion of this world has passed away, 
 which Jhs'is Christ has so impressively descri- 
 bed. Ever adaptins; his instructions to the 
 character and circumstances of those with 
 whom he conversed ; he uttered to the Pha- 
 risees, who, it is declared, were covetous, a 
 parable illustrating the inefficacy of wealth 
 to man^s final happiness. The rich man, 
 attired in re?a! magnificence, clothed in pur- 
 ple and fine linen, possessed of all which ap- 
 petite could demand, faring sumptuously ev- 
 er]! ^^y^ ^t^ll before the great enemy, — he 
 died; and. was hurled, doubtless, with the 
 splendor suited to his wealth and luxury. In 
 his life time, he received his good things; 
 in the receptacle of the dead, he is tormented. 
 He IS separated at an impassable distance from 
 the spirits of just men, from Abraham, his 
 great progenitor, nay, from Lazarus wh:) once 
 laid in poverty and pain at his door. He lov- 
 ed money, he idolized the fashion of this 
 ^vorld ; it passed and left him desolate and ru- 
 ined. Or, consider the inefficacy to your sal- 
 vation, not of wealth merely, but of honor, of 
 pleasm e, of all the world gives and vaunts. — 
 Diligently purifying and strengthening your af- 
 
OXFORD SKETCHES. 109 
 
 lections, if ye possess large estates, — if ye 
 have received the mammon of unrighteousness, 
 ye will employ it to prepare you for everlasting 
 habitations ; if ye are poor in this world, yet 
 are ye rich by faith, heirs of God and joint- 
 heirs with Jesus Christ. 
 
 A great defect among christians in this cul- 
 ture of the heart, consists in neglect of well- 
 defined system. They leave their affections, 
 so to speak, to form themselves, to grow at 
 random. Adopt such a course, or rather a- 
 dopt no course established and pursued, in 
 your worldly labor ; submit the whole to the 
 influence of momentary feeling ; make the cul- 
 tivation of your fiel(is, the care of your prop- 
 erty, not a business, but a thing of casualty. 
 How soon would every thing run to waste ! — 
 Fear ye not that similar neglect of the soul 
 will involve you in spiritual bankruptcy ? 
 
 Nor confine your efforts to your own sal- 
 vation ; seek earnestly the salvadon of others, 
 of your relatives, your neighbors, your friends. 
 Set before men the most persuasive argument 
 to repentance, a character conformed to the 
 doctrine and life of Jesus, — upright, humble, 
 meek, ready to surrender every thing to re- 
 ligion and duty, but retaining them at every 
 hazard. Present to God the most effectual 
 instrument of securing his favor, incessant 
 10 
 
110 OXFORD SKETCHES. 
 
 prayer, issuing from a purified heart and earn- 
 est affections. Thus, after the approaching 
 revolutions of the universe, ye may hope to 
 mingle with those whom ye loved and mourn- 
 ed on earth ; to praise God, not only that ye 
 and they are happy, but that ye were helpers 
 of their virtue, workers with God in strength- 
 ening their faith, inspiring their love, and ex- 
 alting their hope. Can earth furnish an office 
 honorable and blissful like this } Can a nobler 
 scene of ambition be opened, than that in which 
 we are ministers of God to men, associated with 
 angels in aiding the progress, and sustaining the 
 souls, of the heirs of salvation ? — laboring with 
 the Lord Jesus Christ and with God, even the 
 Father, in advancing the destined results of 
 his infinite providence and endless love ? 
 
 Promise of God the Father to the Son, 
 
 Milton. 
 
 When thou, attended gloriously from Heavenj 
 Sh«it in the sky appear, and from thee send, 
 The summoning ar<"hangel to proclaim 
 Thy dread tribunal, forthwith from all winds 
 The living, and forthwith the cited dead 
 Of all j)ast ages, to the general doom 
 Shall hasten, such a peal shall rouse their sleep ; 
 Then, all thy saints assembled, thou shalt judge 
 Bad men and angels ; they arraigned shall sink 
 Benaath thy sentence ; Hell, her members full. 
 Thenceforth shall be forever shut. Meanwhile 
 
OXFORD SKETCHES. Ill 
 
 The world shall burn, and from her ashes spring 
 New Heaven and Earth, wherein the just shall dwell. 
 And, after all their tribulations long, 
 See goiden days, fruitful of golden deeds, 
 With joy and love triumphing, and fair truth.. 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 The Domestic Evening - - - 3 
 
 The First Settlers - - , - 4 
 
 The Falls of the Androscoggin - - 7 
 
 Lake Umbagog - - - - 10 
 
 Evening Prayer of a Cottager - - 19 
 
 The Grave Yard . - - - 20 
 
 Separation of Christian Friends - - 27 
 
 The Lecture for Children - - 28 
 
 Hymn of Angels to the Messiah - - 39 
 
 The Thanksgiving Evening - - 39 
 
 Segar's Captivity - - - - 44 
 
 Lovell's Fight 55 
 
 Hope of Future Improvement - - 69 
 
 The New Year's Morning - - - 70 
 
 An Evening Walk - - - - 71 
 
 The Visit to a Death Bed - - - 81 
 
 The May-day Walk - - . - 84 
 
 The Christian's Views of the Creation - 91 
 
 The New Year's Evening - - - 92 
 
 Promise of God the Father to the Son - 110 
 
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