Washington telegraph., 1852-08-04
A Sabbath of I779.
BY MARTHA RUSSELL.

hate IN tne Iali or ISii, 1t was my good
fortune to spend several delightful hours in
the gallery of the "Art Union, in New
York. Among the many exquisite pictures
which graced its walls, was one which par
ticularly attracted my attention Not that
comprehended or was influenced by the
learned and technical criticisms of those
connotsse@res at my elbow, but it was a
New England scene, The first news of the
battle of Lexington, by Ramney, and for
It's truth and spirit could well vouch
1t represented New England Landscape
in the capricious month of April, with all
the shows of awakening agriculture, life
and industry A village smithy in .ae fore
ground, which | could have almost identi-
fled, under the projecting roof of which
stood the brawney-armed smith himself
with compressed lips and knitted brows
fastening shoe on to the reeking horse of
a courier, (how much more significant the
old Saxon word bodc,) who, sill in his sad
die, told his tale of Fate and fear, to the
excited listeners already assembled on the
spot All along the road were seen hurry
ing stalwart forms, with the implements of
toll still in their hands. in the fields the
plow and oxen were left midway in the fur
row, while their master, without bride or
saddle, sprung upon the stout farn-horse,
and with his strong arm twisted in his shag-
| gy name, the gear still trailing at his heels,
and nose high in the air, guiding him at
an undreamed Of pace, across the field, and
over fences, towards the scene of excitement
| know many in my native village, that
/ ,ci,@ h,, Al
men, aye, not few others that might, upon
that occasion. taken that very look and gait
But more than this as | gazed upon that
picture, the shadowy forms of the white
haired fathers Of our village, seemed to
take the place of the gaily dressed people
at my side, and stand leaning as was their
wont, over their stout oaken sticks, as they
told over again their "tales of the times Of
! old" One of these, which that picture
wildly recalled, and which would not be an
mmeet subject for the artists pencil shall
attempt to relate.
One Sabbath morning, during the gloomy
summer of 1873, when the hopes Of the
patriots seemed likely to 90 down into
darkness and blood and even the Cod
like heart Of Washington grew troubled,
and almost sank within him, the people OF
our village came up to the house of God,
with sad cOuntenances and heavy hearts,
News Travelled slowly then, and they were
chiefly indebted to such wounded soldiers as
passed through the village on the way to
! their homes for their information of the
movements Of the army. They knew that
| Washington still held New York and the
last poor wounded fellow that had reached
home, had told them fearful tale of the
state Of our own diminished army, and the
horde of troops under the HoweS, that were
gathering around it like locusts.
| 1t was a beautiful midsummer morning.
A light thunder shower, during the latter
part of the preceding night, had laid the
| dust and given coolness to the air. The
rain drops still hung trembling from leaf
and spray and came dropping down in
| showers, as the footsteps OF pedestrians, or
the heavy tramp of horses, bearing in most
instances, the double burden of man and
nfatron, with, perchance, rosy child or
twos started from their perches the silver
| throTsed birds. The grain was already
| harvested but many fields Of grass were
still standing, brown and srmburnt, and it
was very evident that many of the crops
had suffered for lack of proper cultivation,
! for many of the most expert wielders Of the
hoe and scythe, had already exchanged
them for the musket and sword Still, here
and there piece of Indian corn stood up
| thriftilv, through the broad leaves of which,
the faint west wind rustled, with low, mur-
muring sound, like the dropping of summer
rain. In the Southwest Just above the top
Of Totoket, appeared the white caps of two
or three of those singular clouds, known
among the country people as "thunder-
heads" But the people as they pursued
their way along the green lanes, and over
the forest-crowned hills, had other thoughts
than that of the beauty of the landscape
Their hearts were turned towards Him who
is both able to build up and cast down, be-
fore whose altar they were accustomed to
present all their cares and troubles.
AS with slow and reverend steps they
filed into the meeting house, and took their
seats In the square pews, it was easily seen
that a greater portion of the male part of
the congregation, consisted of men advance
ed in years, and boys in their teens. The
morning service passed as usual, and, after
short ntermission, the people again gather
ed again to their places, and the earnest pray
er was offered, and sermon, suited to the
exigences of the times ana the wants of the
audience was commenced. Suddenly the
congregation was startled by the heavy
tramp of horses, which rapidly approached
and halted at the meeting house door,. In
a moment the rider had thrown himself
from the saddle, and stood within the door.
Handing note to the aged deacon, who
was hurrying down the aisle to ask the cause
of this untoward interruption, with an au-