Raftsman's journal. [volume] (Clearfield, Pa.) 1854-1948, 1856-02-13
From the Scalpel.
SKETCHES OF VILLAGE PRACTICE.
IT is not all of life to live,

1t is not all of life to live,
Nor all of death to de.''
Sabbath in the country! The serene, peace
ful Sabbath the time of rest, God-given to
man, for publication and prayer! In the city
the day never seems SO truly good so infinite
ly 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
morality, which in the great cities is lost en-
tirely. The noise of active life ceases; naught
meets the car but the lingering echoes OF those
calm church-bells, as they float on the unadul-
terated, healthful air, to the distant farm
houses.
ssGod made the country, man the town.
1t is not unnatural to suppose that greater
blessing rests with the Divine work, than with
that of mere, however glorious, art.
i had been resident of M some three
or four weeks, but had been detained from at
tending church each Sabbath by violent storms;
and, to confess the truth, did not regret this
as much as 1 should, from the fact that dread
ed my first meeting, as their sole and newly
established I.lavsi@ia...----.i .i---'---------a-,,
aristoc .atic Inhabitants of that pretentious
village. l shrank nervously from the unayoid
able introductions, and the criticism which |
knew must as inevitably follow. However,
one morning was bereft of my excuse of bad
weather, and awakened betimes to find the
day most obstinatcly clear. There not
cloud in the heavens that 1 could reasonably
.
rain therefore to church we went, my wife
and I-she all a-glow, with expectation, and
looking, as thought, unusually charming in
her pink ribbons, and L q acknowledge it can
didly) somewhat oppressed with an indcfina-
BILE sense of doubt and dismay.
It was a small, fantastically designed build
ing, of an antique style of architecture, that
would have puzzled the wisest to determine;
yet it was striking, artistic, and displayed de-
cided and refreshing originality. Ivy and 9th
er vines crept in thick masses over the rough
ly-hewr stone walls, and darkened, with their
close embrace, the low, archcd windows. In
ternally everything was plain and simple, as
all houses of true worship are, yet there was
not wanting certain air of quiet elegance
The pulpit was strongly indicative of classical
simplicity in its own form. and had few adorn-
ments; opposite it,at the other extremity of the
church, was small, yelled gallery, containing
an organ and accommodations for a choir of
singers.
We were early. 1 seated myself quietly,
and having nothing to occupy my thoughts,
half unconsciously watched the entrance,
one by one, of the villagers. Among them l
saw o face, which, as l beheld it then, has
haunted me for years. 1t was that of a man
in the prime of his life, handsome, well bred,
and intelligent, but so inexpressibly sad, SO
Indicative of evident stagnation and despair
ing dissatisfaction, that turned away in hor-
ror that anything made by God should dare to
carry countenance like 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 rafters, foated that
rare sobbing music, penetrating all hearts,
sensitive either to good or evil, with that del
icate sorrow which Longfellow says
lis not akin to pain.
1t faded as the burden changed from sadness
to Jubilant hope, and ended in sudden staccatc
chords OF triumphant joy. All eyes were then
turned towards the pulpit, and all heads reyer-
emily bowed, as the minister, an aged man,
arose and uttered brief and impressive pray
er. 1t was one of the most solemn things to
which 1 ever listened. Its beauty lay in its
naturalncss, undefiled, as it was, by the arts
of snowy rhetoric. 1t seemed to pass from the
venerable clergyman's lips up to heaven, as
the sncerest language in which man could ad
dress and adore his Creator. By contrast the
cold briliancy of the sermon that followed
lost all effect; it could not touch me like thai
simple, honest supplication for Divine mercy
All the after services of the day were nothing
to me; l had poured out my whole soul with
that prayer, and had no further power or de
sire to worship. was satisfied.