Litchfield enquirer. [volume] (Litchfield, Conn.) 1829-current, 1853-06-23
Father TaylOr-the Sailors Preacher.

You have never heard Father Taylor,
the Boston Sailors preacher. Well
you should go down to his church some
Sunday. 1t is not at the court end Of
town. The urchins in the neighborhood
are guiltless of shoes and bonnets.
You will see quite a sprinkling of
Police at the corners. Green Erin, too
is we'll represented with dash of AT.
rica-checked off with dough faces.
Let us go into the church there are
no stained glass windows-no richly
drape1ied pulpit-no luxurious seats TO
suggest a nap to your sleepy conscience.
No odor of pat chouli, or nonpariel, or
boquet de violet will be waited across
your patrician nose. Your satin and
broadcloth Coat fail to procure you the
highest seat in the synagogue they being
properly reserved for lhe old sails.
Here thsy come one after another,
with horny hands and bronzed faces. II
s,irs my blood like the sound of a trum.
pet to see them. The seas they have
crossed; the su'ging pillows they have
breasted; the lonely. dismal, weary
nights they have kept watch-the liars
pies in port who have assailed their gen
erous sympathies; the sudden splash Of
the sheeted dead in it's ocean sepulchre;
wha: stirri' g emotions do their weather
beaten faces call into play; God bless
the sailor.
Here they come; sure Of a welcome
conscious that they are not in,ruders
on aristocratic soil-sure that each added
face will send thrill Of pleasure to the
heart of the old man who folds them all
as one family to his patriarchal bosom
There lie is. How ,everently he d, ops
on his knees ard utte,s that silent pray.
or. Now he is on his feet With a
quick step he adjusts his spectacles,
and says to the hardy tar. doubtful Of a
birth, room here brother pointing TO a
seat in the pull pit. Jack don't know
about that He can climb the rigging
where Boreas whistles his fe'cest blast
he can swing in the long boat with "a
stout heart. where the creakiDg timbers
have parted beneath him but to mount
the pulpit !-JSck doubts his qualiica-
tons, and bushes through his mask Of
bronze. Room enough. brother! again
treasures him; and with a little extra
fum5ling at his tarpaulin and hischiug at
his waistband. he is soon as much at
home as though be were on his vessels
deck.
The hymn is read with heart tone,
There is no installing either the poets
meaning or the readers devotion. And
now, If you have sc'cnnnoAl musIcal eur
which, thank heaven, have not, you
may criticise the singing. while I am not
ashamed of the tears that steal down my
face, as mark the effect of Old Hund,e ed.
minus trills and fourishes. on Neptuue'a
honest. hearty. whole. souled sons.
The text is announced. There follows
no arrangement Of dickeys, or bracelets.
Or eyeglasses. You forget your ledger
and the fashions. the last prima donna,
and that your neighbor IS not one of the
upper ten, as you fix your eye with ME
on that good old man, and are swep,
away from earthly moorings by the flow.
ing tide Of his simple earnest eloquence.
You marvel that these uttered truths
Of his never struck your thoughtless mind
before. My pen fails to convey to you
the play, Of expression on that earnest
face-lhose emphatic gestures; the start.
ing tear or the thrilling voice-but they
all tell on Jack.
And now an infant is presented fol
baptism -the pastor takes it in one arm
0. surely he is himself father else il
would not be poised so gently. Now he
holds it up that all may view its dimpIed
beauty, and says Is there one here who
doubts. should this child die to-day, its
right among the blessed One murmured
spontaneous No F.! bursts from Jacks lips.
as the bapiismal drops lave its sioless
temples. Lovingly the little lamb is
folded with kiss and blessing, to the
heart of the earthly shepherd. ere the
maternal arm receives it.
Jack looks on and weeps and how can
he help weeping His mother-the sod
now covers her-oflen invoked heavens
blessings on her son and we'll he re-
members the touch of her gentle hand
and the sound Of her loving voice as she
mu' INJURED the implorlng prayer for him
and how has Ter sailor boy remem be'et
his youthful promise? He dashes away
his scalding tears. with his horny palm
but please God. that SabbaLh-tha Sab
bath. shall be a talisman upon which
| memory shall ineffaceably inscribe. G,
and sin no MORE"
A little fop considering himself in
suited BY a gentleman who had venturec
! 4: E..l. Ill III