The Literary echo, and Pawcatuck advertiser. [volume] (Westerly, R.I.) 1851-1854, 1852-07-01

A SABBATH OF l776.
BY MARTHA RUSSELL.

Late in the fall of lS47, it was my
good fortune to spend several delightful
hours in the New York " Art Union''
gallery. Among the many exquisite
pictures that graced its walls was one
that particularly attracted my attention.
Not that l either comprehend or was
much influenced by the learned and tech
nical criticisms of the oonnoisseur at my
elbow /; but it was New K gland
scene" The first news of the Battle
of Lexington" by Ranney, and for its
truth and spirit l could we'll vouch.
1t represented New England land
scape in the capricious month of April,
with all the shows Of awakening agricul-
tural life and industry. A village
smithy in the foreground, which could
almost have identified, under the pro-
Ijecting roof of which stood the brawny-
armed smith himself, with compressed
lips and knitted brows, fastening a shoe
for the reeking horse of a courier (how
much more significant the old Saxon
word bode), who, still in the saddle,
hurriedly told his tale of "fate and
fear" to the excited listeners that had
already reached the spot. All along
the road were seen hurrying stalwart
forms, with the implements of toll in
their hands in the fields, the plow and
oxen were left midway in the furrow,
ahile their master, without saddle or
bride, sprang upon the stout farm horse,
and with his strong hand twisted in his
shaggy name, the geers still trailing at
his heels, and nose high in the air,
guided him, at an updreamed-of pace,
across the fields and over fences, towards
the scene of excitement.
/ knew many in my native village
that might have stood as the originals of
those men; ay, and not a few horses
that might upon occasion have 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 sticks, as they told
over again their " tales of the times of
old" One of these, which that picture
vividly recalled, and which would not
be an unmeet subject for the artists
pencil, shall attempt to relate.
One Sabbath morning, during the
gloomy summer of l776, when the hopes
of the patriot seemed likely to 60 down
into darkness and blood, and even the
God-sustained heart of Washington
grew troubled, and almost sank within
him, the people of our village came up
to the house of God with sad countenan-
ces and heavy hearts. News travelled
slowly then, and they were chiefly in
debted to such wounded soldiers as
passed through the village on their 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 fear
fnl tale of the state of our own diminish
ed army, and the horde Of troops under
the Howes that were gathered round i'll
like locusts.
1t was beautiful midsummer morn
ing. A light thunder. shower, during
the latter part of the preceding night,
had lain the dust and given GOODNESS to
the air. The rain-drops still hung
trembling from leaf and spray, and came
dropping down in showers, as the foot
steps Of pedestrians, or the heavy tramp
Of horses, bearing in most instances the
double burden of man and matron,
with perchance rosy child or two,
startled from their quivering perches the
silver-throated birds.
The grain was already harvested, but
many fields of grass were still standing,
brown and sun-burnt; and it was very
evident that the crops suffered from the
ack of proper cultivation, for many of
The most expert wielders of the hoe and
,cythe had already exchanged them for
'or the musket aud sword. Still, here
Ind there a piece of Indian corn stood
np thriftily, through the broad leaves Of
which the faint west wind rustled with
slow, murmurous sound, like the
cropping of summer rain. In the south
vest, just above the top of Tot,ket, ap-
'esred the white caps of two or three
# those singular clouds, known among
be country people as C thunder-heads. /"
But the people, As they pursued their