Amherst is a considerable inland town. The plain upon which the village is situated is very spacious; and some of its buildings are large and elegant.
From this place I proceeded to Milford,[[41]] the residence of my friend P. whose love of principle, independence of character, and talents, entitle him to much consideration. With him I passed some pleasant hours. The appearance of this town is pleasant. The contrast between its extensive intervales, and the rise of ground upon which its bridge, manufactories, and village are situated, renders its aspect quite interesting.
The distance between Amherst and Milford is only a few miles; but in travelling from the former to the latter I found the snow deep and stiffened by rain, and the road trackless.
The next day I began to ascend the mountains of New-Hampshire:—my native hills!—Oh, may they be the everlasting abode of Liberty! The weather here was variable, the snow in some drifts ten feet deep, my fatigue extreme, and my health impaired. The towns of Milton and Temple,[[42]] [10] situated in this part of the country, are pleasant; and the scenery about them highly picturesque. Several branches of the Sowhegan in the former, and the streams which pass into this river from the westerly part of the latter, add much to the variety and beauty of the prospect.
The next evening I found myself in Marlborough. The weather had become severe, and my ability to travel without fatigue was increasing. The mountainous aspect of the country, the front of my cap, &c. whitened by frost, and the creaking of the snow beneath my step, reminded me of Wallace and Tell; those champions of freedom, whose physical nature was as rugged as the rocks which they inhabited, and whose hearts, at the same time, could glow with generosity, or soften with compassion. The Grand Monadnock here attracted particular attention. It is more than two thousand feet in height, and is remarkable for its cave and its fossils. Peterborough and Dublin, the towns between Temple and Marlborough, are interestingly situated. The former is very mountainous, and its numerous brooks render it a fine grazing township. A principal branch of the Contoocook passes near the centre of the town, and here unites with Goose river flowing from Dublin. The latter place is exceedingly well watered, and its two villages, together with some scattered houses, make a pleasant appearance.
The coldness of the weather continued to increase. I passed on through Keene[[43]] and Chesterfield. The appearance of the former excited much interest. It is almost an inland city; and promises to make a very conspicuous figure. It is also, evidently, a place of much business; and from the appearance of some of its buildings, together with what little knowledge I possess of its society, I should suppose [11] it a place of considerable polish and refinement. Chesterfield too is a very pretty town. The undulatory aspect of its hills, the quiet of its vales, and the neatness of its village made a very pleasant impression upon my mind.
Soon after leaving Keene I passed over high and steep hills. Some of them were, apparently, several miles in length. In one of the vallies of these mountains an amusing incident occurred. It is a trifle, and may be thought not worth mentioning; I feel a pleasure, however, in doing justice to good nature: I met three six feet fellows in a single sleigh. They were, probably, going to Keene in their best. There had fallen, the night before, a light snow of a few inches; and their horse, not fancying my appearance, took it into his head, notwithstanding I gave him the whole road, to sheer against the wall, and to turn all these well-looking grenadiers into the snow. I was preparing to make an apology; but it was unnecessary: the good nature of these liberal men furnished for them and myself a hearty laugh.
During the following day I passed Connecticut river; and entering Brattleborough, Vermont, proceeded to the further part of the adjoining town.[[44]] The appearance of the country just before my crossing the Connecticut, was truly interesting. My course was around a mountain about half way between its summit and the river below. It was the sabbath day; and the mildness of the christian religion seemed to breathe around. The rays of the sun, with a kind of vivid obscurity, darted through the wood; and the solemn, yet cheerful, gospel bell of a neighbouring villa spake of the pure and peaceful communion of saints. Even the game seemed to know it was the sabbath, and did not shun my path. Perhaps it was wrong in me thus to travel. I had [12] never done so before. My situation, however, was peculiar, and I endeavored to confine my thoughts to the appropriate views of this holy season.
I am now upon the borders of my own peculiar country. A single step carries me from New-Hampshire; and when I shall again behold her pleasant hills is uncertain—Perhaps never!
The term banishment is, in this part of the world, seldom employed; and its introduction here may appear unmeaning. But those who have been exiled by their country, by misfortune, or by themselves, will hear the word with a glow of interest, and find, in their own hearts, its true and ready definition. Is there no exile beyond the limits of our land?—no spirit which sighs for the scenes of childhood?—where the light of Heaven was first beheld, and the impression of thought first created?—where friendship first warmed, and love etherialized, and patriotism fired? Oh! if prayer is heard on High, it must be the exile’s prayer.