The Davenport gazette. [volume] (Davenport, Scott Co., Iowa) 1841-185?, 1853-06-30
From the Musical World and rimes.]
Father Taylor, the Sailors Prsaehsr.

| You have never heard Father TAYLOR,
! the Boston Sailors preacher! Well you
should 90 down to his church some Sunday.
| It is not at the court end oftown. The ur-
chins of the ne:ghborhood are guiltless Of
shoes or bonnets. You will see quite Z
sprinkling of police at the corners. Green
Erin, too, is well represented; with dash
of Africa-checkered off with "dough IA
ces"
! Let us 90 into the church; there are no
stainless glass windows-no richly draperied
! pulpit--no luxurious seats to suggest nap
/ to your sleepy conscience. No odor of pat
chouli, or nonparael or boqust de violet will be
waited across your patrician nose. Your
satin and broadcloth will fail to procure you
the highsst seats in the synagogue-they
being properly reserved for the "old salts"
| Here they come, one after another, with
horny palms and bronzed faces. It stirs
my blood like the sound of trumpet to
hear them. The seas they have crossed;
the surging pillows they have breasted; the
lonely, dismal, weary nights they have kept
lwatch--the harpies in port who have assailed
their generous sympathies; the sullen splash
! OF the sheeted dead in its ocean sepulchre-
what stirring thoughts and emotions do their
weather beaten faces call into play; God
bless the sailor! Here they come--sure of
welcome-conscious that they are not in
truders on arstocratic soil; sure that each
added face will send thrill Of pleasure to
the heart Of the good old man, who folds
them all, as one family, to his patriarchal
bosom.
There he is; how reverently he drops on
his knees and utters that silent prayer.
Now he is on his feet, with quick motion
he adjusts his spectacles, and says to the
tardv tar, doubtful of a berth, "Room here,
brother." pointing to the seat in the pulpit.
Jack don't know about that! He can climb
the rigging when Boreas whistles his fiercest
blast; he can swing into the long boat
with stout heart, when the ere aking tim
bers have been parted beneath him; but to
mount the pulpit. Jack doubts his qualifica-
tions and bushes through his mask of bronze.
"Room enough, brother!" again reassures
him; and with little extra tumbling at his
tarpauin and hitching at his waistband, he
is soon as much at home as though he was
on his vessels deck.
The hymn is read with heart TONE
There is no nistaking either the poets
meaning or the readers devotion And
now, if you have scientific musical ear,
which, thank heaven, | have not, you may
crticise the singing, while am not ashamed
of the tears that steal down my face, as I
mark the effects of good Old Hundred, min
US trills and hourishes, on Neptune's honest,
hearty, whole soued sons.
The text is announced. There follows
no arrangement of dckeys, or bracelets, or
eye glasses. You forget your ledger and
the fashions, the last prirna donna, and that
your neighbor is one of the supper ten," az
you fix your eye with me) on that good old
man, and are swept away from earthly moor
ings by the flowing tide of his simple, earn
est eloquence. You marvel that these ut
tered truths of his never struck your thought
less mind before. My pen fails to convey to
you the play ofexpression on that earnest
face, those emphatic gestures-the startling
tear, or the thrilling voice-but they all tell
on Jack.
And now an infant is presented for bap-
tism. The pastor takes it in one arm. O.,
surely, he is himselfa father, else it would
not be poised SO gently. Now he holds it
up that all may view its dimpled beauty, and
says: "Is there any one here who doubts,
should this child die to-day, its rights among
the blessed!" One murmured spontaneous
No! bursts from Jacks lips, as the baptismal
drops lave its sinless temples. Lovingly the
little lamb is folded with kiss and bless
ing 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-often invoked Heavens bles-
sing on her son; and well he remembers the
touch of her gentle hand, and the sound of
her loving voice as she murmured the implo-
ring prayer for him; and how has her sailor
boy redeemed his youthful promise! He
dashes away his scalding tears, with his
horny palm; but please Cop, tn at Sabbath
that Sabbath-shall be talsman upon
which memory shall ineffaceably inscribe-
go sin no more"
FANNY FERN.