Oxford Democrat. [volume] (Paris, Me.) 1833-1933, 1897-06-01
when we gave our testImopiaI Of erat.

itude to our brave captain who had
brought as safely through these hours
Of peril, his response vas with Quivering
lips, ~ he told us we knew not how near
we had been to destruction, and told US
also Of his last encounter with this I'm
placable foe, when he rescued eight men
from their Icy foothold upon an ice
berg's crest. With his glass he had dis
cerned them like black specks In the dis
tance.
The remaining few days of the voyage
the sea was like sea OF glass-nOt the
slightest suspicion Of ripple or motion,
and we were glad at last TO know what
smooth sailing meant. The violin and
guitar were rescued from their resting
place In the hold, and music and dancing
was INDUCED In, under the skylight and
sunlight OF daylight. as well as the moon
light and starlight OF nightlight.
One day we encountered . school OF
whales, sporting and spouting all about
US. With our glasses We watched a
whaleship as they captured one. The
days Of harpOoning are gone by, and
firearms are utilized instead. but what
ever the implement of destruction, our
sympathies were with the dying monster
Of the deep. His breath kept growing
shorter and shorter, as we could tell by
the fountains Of spray thrown up at
closer intervals, and at last the white
breath changed to fountain OF blood,
which grew fainter and fainter, and
slower and slower and--stopped.
But the most beautiful, the most in-
ten sely soul-entrancing sight OF all, was
a glorious rainbow with both ends dip
ping In the sea. In fact there was no
end, for the sea now lying calm and like
a looking-glass, its reflection was mir
rored In the water, making Of 1t a per-
feet hoop, encircling the whole world OF
water, impossible to tell where the
waters came up to meet IL, or where II
kissed the oceans cheek. Our mighty
ship most proudly sailed directly under
meath this heavenly Arch OF Glory, this
divinely beautiful Arch OF Triumph, and
we could look up into It's very depths OF
color-a sight vouchsafed to but few
m0rtals In lifetime.
And then TO watch the sun at morn
arise from dreams Of his beloved, and
beat his shining path across the SHIN
mering sea, to seek his couch again at
night-and at last, oh, sight so dear. the
shores OF our native land are discerned
In the distance, and shout goes up
from all on board, "Vive PAmerigue :"
When next morning we steam up from
quarantine In New York harbor, and
salute the Goddess of Liberty with barred
heads and waving hands, We all realize
as never before, that this Is the land OF
liberty and civilization.
And now, IA drop the disguise OF an
editorial correspondent with thanks
where thanks are due for the courtesy
allow me to pay this tribute to thy
majesty sublime, oh glorious state of
Maine. Though I've wandered far
meath other skies, none are so blue, so
true, no heecy cloads so white, is thine.
as mine, Oh beautiful skies OF Maine
I've seen no sunsets so gloriously color
ed as the heavens are painted from thy
grand old Paris hills. I've gazed upon
no landscape so majestic. so sublime, ne
the sculptured rocks and mountains OF
grand old Oxford's pride. I've seen no
temples made with hands, To compare
with thine not made with hands-no
parkway however elaborately cultivat-
ed, half so grand as thy wild woods and
pastures green-no gardens so superb a.
the lowering orchard on the hill-no
terraces however cared and tended. like
the roadsides where "Black-eyed Susan"
mods and smiles and beckons as you pass,
and the tall fern bows It's stately head.
and the fair field lily droops, arraved 10
surpsss ''even Solomon in all his
glory"
I've seen no tapestries like those WOW
en- In the loom Of Nature. covering the
green and grassy bed where modest yio
lets grow-no gems so rare, so fair, so
bright. AS the dew-drop on the rose. I've
heard no song so sweet, so grand, so beau
tiful. so divine. "a the incompatible music
Of the wood-thrush Of thy forests. I've
tasted no nectar like the draught from
the ''Old Oaken Bucket" drawn from
cooling depths by the old fashioned well
sweep-no fountains that can compare
with the purling brook, the ripping rill
and cooling stream--no flowers so beau
tiful as the goldenrOd and asters blue
no perfume like thy Pine Trees fragrant
breath.
Parisians OF Maine. you have far
more fair inheritance, you have far
more radiant birthright, than your dis
tant namesake's across the sea. And as
I view your dear old hills and valleys
once again, let me say, that when you
too wander far away. and smile and
weep meath other skies. II the love You
cherish changes, twill but be, twill but
be to love 1t more; and whatever you
may gain, you would not lose out OF
your life the fragrance Of your Oxford
birthplace. MARTHA MAXIM.
THE END.