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The Scofields.

   John Scofield was in his lifetime a prominent man in the affairs of this town. A well-poised, sincere man, and the people had great trust in his integrity and good common sense and conferred upon him all the offices and honors in their power to bestow. These offices he held almost continuously during the eighteen years he remained here and he had the pleasure of seeing his sons, Eleazer and John, Jr., as they grew up to be men, honored for the same sterling qualities that distinguished, himself. Mr. Scofield lived to see the patriots successful in all their plans and the country freed from the rule of George the Third, of whom Thackeray says: “‘George, be a king,’ were the words which the king’s mother was forever croaking in the ears of her son. And a king the simple, stubborn, affectionate, bigoted man tried to be.” Mr. Scofield wore knee buckles and breeches. Tall and of most enduring constitution. No respect for the weather; all kinds were alike to him; summer’s heat and winter’s cold. He was an Englishman and a Baptist. Mr. Scofield was not a soldier in the Revolution. “On the nineteenth of April in seventy-five,” he was sixty years old, and beyond the age limit for service in the field. He was buried on the spot chosen by himself for that purpose, upon his own lands and a headstone of clay slate, which he wrought out with his own hands, excepting the date of his death, was placed over his grave, where it remained, exposed to the storms of more than ninety years, quietly marking the resting place of the brave dust that was gathered beneath, and might have continued to remain for ninety years longer a silent sentinel there, but for the foolish vanity of a man who thought to win renown for antiquarian research by lugging that stone off, and placing it in the dusty and damp cellar of the New Hampshire Historical Society at Concord, where the dust accumulated upon it so as to obscure