Litchfield enquirer., 1832-02-02
THE BLIND PREACHER.
ny VIM. WIRT.

the county of Orange, that my eyes were caught by cluster of horses tied by a ru- inous wooden old house, in the forest, not far from the road side. Having f. iequently seen such objects before, through the states, had no difficulty in understanding that this was place of religious worship. 1 Devotion would alone have stopped me, to join in the duties of the congregation ; but 1 must confess, that curiosity to hear what tLn preacher of such wilderness could say, was not the least ofn:y motives.
 On entering, was struck with his pre- ternatural appearance. He was tall and spare old man; his head, which was cov- cred with white linen cap, shrivelled hands, and his voice, were all shaking un- der the influence of the palsy, and in few moments ascertained that he was blind. ] The first emotions which touched the breast were those of mingled pity and ven- eration. But oh how soon were my feel ings changed; the lips of Plato were new CT more worthy of a prognostic swarm of bees, than were the lips of this holy man 1t was the day of sacrament; and his sub .ject of discourse, was the passion of our Saviour. I had heard the subject hand- led a thousand times; had thought it ex- hausted long ago.
 Little did I suppose that in the wild woods of America, was to meet with man whose eloquence would give this top- ic new and more sublime pathos, than | had ever before witnessed.
 As he descended from the pulpit, to dis tribute the mystic symbols, their was pe- culiar, a more than human solemnty in his air and manner, which made my blood run cold, and my whole frame shiver.
 Ho drew picture ofthe sufferngs of our Saviour; his trial before Pilate, his ascen, up to calvary, his cruciGxion and death. l I knew the whole history, but never until then had heard the circumstances so se- lected, so arranged, so colored! It was all new, and seemed to have heard it for the first time in my life. His voice .rem- bled on every syllable, and every heart in the assembly trembled in unison. His pe- culiar phrase had that force of description, that the original scene appeared to bo at 1 tltat moment acting before our eyes. We saw tho faces of the Jews the staring, frishtful distortions oftheir malice and rage. We saw the buffet; my soul kindled in a flame of indignation, and my hands invol- untarily clcnched.
 l But when he came. to touch on the pa tience, the forgiving meckness of our Sa- viour, which he drew to tho life, his bless ed eyes werc streaming to heaven; his voice breathing to God, and tho soft and gentle prayer of pardon on his enemies, Father forgive them, for they know not what they do'-tlie voice of the preacher, which had all along falterod, grew fainter and fainter, until his utterance being en- tirely obstructed by the force of his feel. ings, he raised his handkerchief to his eyes, and burst into loud and irrepressible flood of tears. The effect was inconceivable.
 The whole house resounded with the mingled groans and sobs, and shrieks of the congregation.
 It was long time before the tumult had subsided SO as to permit him 10 proceed.
 Indeed, judging by the usual but fallacious
 standard of my own weakness, began tc
 be very uneasy for the situation of ths , preacher; for could not conceive how
 he would be able to let his audience dow
 from the height to which he had wonn' , them, without impairing the solemnity an'
 dignity of the subject; or perhaps shock 7 1 HHS Wtu tuC Og SDO yhjIs-
 But no; the descent was as beautiful an, sublime as tho elevation had been rapi.
 and enthusiastic.
 The first sentence which broke tho aw ful silence was quotation from Rosseau- "Socrates died like philosopher, but Je sus Christ like God ]"
 despair ofgiving you an idea of the eff feet produced in this short sentence, un less you could perfectly conceive th, whole manner of the man, as well as tn, peculiar crisis of the discourse. Mover be . fore did I understand what Demosthene , meant by laying such stress on delivery. You are to bring before you the venera ? ble figure of the preacher, his blindnss :, constantly recalling to your recollection ol'
 Homer, Ossian, and Milton, associaiin , with his performance the melancholy gran . deur of their genius you are to imagin' . that you hear his slow, solemn, well ac , cented enunciation, and his voice of affect ing melody you are to remember ih' 7 pitch of the passion and enthusiasm {, which the congregation were raised, and
 few minutes of portentous, death like si lence which reigned through the house
 the preacher removed the handkerchie
 from his aged face, (even wet from the re !: cent torrent of tears, and slowly stretchin . forth his palsied hand which holds it, be . gins the sentence.-' Socrates died like . phiIosopher'-then pa1sing, raised th D other hand, and pressing them both clash