Litchfield enquirer., 1856-04-24
HENRY w. HYATT, Editor and Publisher.
Malady Of Mind and Body.
at is not all of life to live,
Nor all of death to die"

|
Sabbath in the country The serene, peace
ful Sabbath the time Of rest God-gven to
man. for qualification and prayer In the city
the day never seems so truly good, SO infinitely
holy, as in the country. The sweet sound Of
distant village bells the sight of cattle releas-
ed from labor, browsing in contented herds in
the quiet of green fields the very chirp of the
countless insects and the innocent song of the
myriads of birds, all breathe of Sabbath NOR
atty, which in great cities is lost entirely
The noise of active life ceases nought meets
the ear but the lingering echoes Of those calm
church-bells, as they float on the unadulterated,
healthful air, to the distant farm houses
God made the country, man the town" 1t
is not unnatural to suppose that greater bless
ing rests with the Divine work, than with that
of mere, however glorious, art.
| / had been resident of NJ some three
or four weeks, but had been detained from at
tending church each Sabbath by violent storms;
and, to confess the truth l did not regret this
as much as / should, from the fact that dread
ed my first meeting, as their sole and ncwly-es-
tabiished physician, with the wealthy and ar;s-
tocratic inhabitants of that prctentous village
| shrauk neryously from the unavoidable intro
duct on, and the criticism which l knew must
inevitably follow. However, one morning was
bcreft of my excuse of bad weather, and ava
kcncd bctimes to find the day most obstnately
clear. There was not cloud in the heavens
that could reasonably persuade myself was
the signal of coming rain ; therefore to chnrch
we went, my wife and I--she all-a-elow with
expectation, and looking, as thought, unusual
ly charming in her pink ribbons, and l, q ac-
knowledge it canddy,) somewhat oppressed
with an indcfnabe sense of doubt and dismay
1t was a small, Enthusiastically designed build
ing, of antique style of architecture, that would
have puzzled the wisest to determine yet it
was striking, artistic, and displayed'decidcd and
refreshing originality. Ivy and other vines
| crept in thick masses over the rouehly-Eewn
| stone walls, and darkened, with their close emf
brace, the low archcd windows internally
everything was plain and simple, as all houses
OF true worship are, yet there was not wanting
a certain air Of quiet elegance The pulpit was
strongly indicative of classical simplicity in its
| FORM and had few adornments opposite it, at
the other end of the church, was IA small yelled
gallery, containing an organ and accommoda-
tons for choir OF singers.
We were early ! seated myself quietly and
having nothing to occupy my thoughts, halfun-
consciously watched the entrance, one by one,
of the villagers Among them = saw a face,
which, as l bched it then, has haunted me for
years. 1t was that Of man in the prime of
his life, handsome, well-hred, and intelligent,
but SO inc Xrrcssibly sad so indicative of evident
stagnation and dcspairng dissatisfaction, that
| turned away in horror that anything made by
God should dars to carry countenance Ike
| that.
The services began with slow sonorous notes
of prelude from the mellow-toned organ-
Throughout the aisles of the little antique
church, up to the very raftcrs. foatcd that rare,
sobbing muse, penetrating all hearts, sensitive
either to good or evil with that delicate sor
row which Longfellow says
-" 1t is not akin to peace"
1t faded as the burden changed from sadness
to jubilant hope, aud ended in Sudden staccato
chords OF triumphant joy. All eyes were then
turned towards the pulpit and all heads rcver-
entity bowed, as the minister. an aged man, arose
and uttered a brief and impressive prayer. Its
beauty lay in its naturalness, undefiled as it
was by the arts Of snowy rhetoric. 1t seemed
to pass from the venerable elcrgymans lips up
to heaven. as the slncoreSt language in which
man could address and adore his Creator. BY
contrast, the cold brillancy Of the sermon that
followed lost all effect it could not touch me
Ike that simple, honest supplcaton for Divine
mercy. All the after services of the day We're
nothing to me had poured ont my whole
soul with that PRAYER, and had no further pow
err or desire to worship ! was satisfied
/ dscerned no lack OF eloqueuce or ministerial
learning in that aged divine's exhortation, and
although as We left the church, / heard many
speak OF il with expressions OF lively pleasure.
felt assured that he himself was discontinued
with the discourse. 1t was Ike thin, ftful sun
light, yelling lowering December sky or like
SNOW. binding the eyes with glitter, vet in its
actual self, very cold and unsubstaatail Iper-
ceived that there was that beneath all this
sparkle of words, which few present understood.
Was it private grief? Was it some hidden
agony warning against unnatural restraint
recognized the evidences of insincerity, but
whether temporary or hahtual could not dis
cover. When he ceased, felt merely the ST.
lence there was none of that strange sensa-
ton at the cessation of impassoned, nobly ear
nest delivery, which / had experienced often
before ese-@
!. The congregation was pouring itself quietly
out, when, in the usual organ voluntary, came
an abrupt but slight pause, followed by deep
stiffness. Immediately human voice, a. full
and rare mans voice, commenced chanting that
celebrated solo from Felix Mendelssohn Bart.
holdy's Messiah" !" know that my Redeem.
er Eveth" Perfectly in time and tune. al
though with no further accompaniment than
the few opening chords, the voice issued from the
choir. bearing to world-weary listeners consola
ton aud peace IL was not the noble words moi