Litchfield enquirer., 1853-11-03
TwIIieht in .he village.

How softly falls twilight ;n inc village The woods are crowned with red. and the hills fade from crimson to purple. A ho- Ilyradiance shines in the blue transphren- cy of the skies. The bids lwitter bits of song. as they fold their plumsge forrest. Ore star, out betimes: to light evening through its cloud path, trembles at iis own beauty. mirrorej in the placid river, In peace the sun is sinking belliAd the hills. Peace is written on feid. flower. ard leaf. Peace seems falling from Hea> ven like the dew that sinks tn the heart ofearh. The low hum of. human voices is rather the melody of silence than its disturber. ....4
 Down the hilly, winding road comes the loaded wain. High.perched tn the midst of the fragrant hay mound sits . yellow haired child--t,icky as . sprile. an oat- plume in his brimless hat, a 6uncl. of gaudy burs in his hand. An! lfs will weave thee some crown Of thorne, my boy, even more rapidly. more surely than thou thy field treasures; thou canst not throw it by liSe those. e
 Black Pomp frisks by his masters side. as he guides the numbering oxen. The old man is tired. And wt0 shall say what unwritten poetry swells his bosom as he sees his wife and babes in the mel. low distance. Sure of welcome--happy rustic he! No city splendor for him but large shares of heart and home.
 In hundred kitchens the snowy cloth is spread. On hundred hear.hs the boiling kettle bubbles it's merry music. Out go mothers to gather in the s,rsg, gling children from garden and bill side. How the berries have stained them-lip. cheek, frock and fingers. and what boots chidingl They will do the same to. morrow. From hill side streams come the elder boys. lbeir hands full of tiny fish. and li.tle girls haste from their mi- mic gardens leaving their broken twigs to shoot into trees. as they fondly hope. Neighbor halls ne;ghbor. as be shakes the dust from his shoes and lifts the latch flom his gate. driving before i,in to their shelter a crowd of hens and chickens.
 Here and there a white headed patriot puts lingeringly from his sight his favor> ite newspaper. folds the old horn 'inmed spectacles away in case. worn like him> self. and hobbies in 10 the call of sup
 per. Wonder, where spectrie hand. white as death. folds back the muslin GU, tain. the pcor consumptive woes the cool sweet breath of evening. as it comes with stars in it's crown of ,rjoiciug. ~ Now, on the stiffness floats the secret song. Childish ringlels are q ushed be~ tween dimpled hand and cheek grey locks soften with their silvery outlines and horny palms. Heads are bent reverent. ly. and through the solemn hush. up to the angels who minister in ;he good home are waited simple prayers, and they bear them te the Father. Now curtains are ungathe,ed and shutters locked. but be, tween crack and crevice gleam out their yellow rays--from the sick room-from the students chamber-ffom the kitch- en. sich only in cleanliEess-come those litlls ministers of light. And they stream out out over the white fences, over the b.own hedges. clear h'ough to the was ier's brink. And there clustering about the silver wake of the moon, they dance and glitter till the rustic bridge frightens them away with its shadow--lilI depart ing days drowsy glance melts into sleep and twilight is ended. @