Raftsman's journal. [volume] (Clearfield, Pa.) 1854-1948, 1856-02-13
From the ScaIpel.
SKETCHES OF VILLAGE PRACTICE.
'It is not all of life to live,
Nor all of death IN die ,;

Stretches OF VILLAGE PRACTICE.
1T is not all of life to live,
Nor all of death to die"
Sabbath in the country! The serene, peace
full Sabbath; the time of rest, God-giyen 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 relcas-
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 ear but the lingering echoes of those
calm church-bells, as they float on The unadul-
terated, healthful air, to the distant farm
houses.
"God 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
had been a 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, did not regret this
as much as l should, from the fact that dread
ed my first meeting, as their sole and newly
established physician, with the wealthy and
sristoc-atic Inhabitants of that pretentious
village. | shrank neryously from the unavoid-
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 was not a
IL, a.
persuade myself was the signal of coming
rain; therefore to church we went, my wife
and I-she all a-glow, with expectation, and
looking, as l thought, unusually charming in
her pink ribbons, and L q acknowledge it can
didly) somewhat oppressed with an indcfina-
bic sense of doubt and dsmay.
1t was a small, fantasticaly 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-
lcided and refreshing originality. Ivy and 9TH
'er vines crept in thick masses over the rough |
ly-hewn stone walls, and darlened, with their
close embrace, the low, arched windows. In
ternally 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 own form, and had few adorn-
mentS; opposite i ,at the other extremity of the
an organ and accommodations for 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 |
saw a face, which, 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 a 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, flOated that
rare sobbing music, penetrating all hearts,
sensitive either to good or evil, with that del
icate sorrow which Longfellow says
is not akir to PAIN
II faded as the burden changed from sadness
to jubilant hope, and ended in sudden sfaccato
chords of triumphant joy. All eyes were then
turned towards the pulpit, and all heads rever
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 | ever listened. It's beauty lay in its
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 sincerest language in which man could ad-
Dress and adore his Creator. BY contrast, the
cod brilliancy of the sermon that followed,
post all effect; it could not touch me like that
simple honest supplication for Divine mercy.
All the after services of the day were nothing
TO me; had poured out my whole soul with
that prayer, and had no further power or de-
sire to worship, ! was satisfied.