Litchfield enquirer., 1857-07-09
For the Enquirer. Unstudied Thoughts.

in these long days of rain orebode disaster and fam inee Let us hope there are wiser thoughts of the season. for His great covenant, who hath promised seed time and harvest, spans fairly all these drip ping hours.
 ]! Here, at least, seems fearful nature oppressed rather with bliss than grief ravished to weeping amid the exuberant sweetness exhaled from all her flowers. It is rare spell of beauty and of peace, in which through all this week, the green glad earth has lan The winds have not tossed its willow hair, nor wrung its elm nerves, nor swept enc dirge from it's harp of pines. In placid trance-in breathless joy it lies hushed in the bosom of the mists, its face wetted with the seal kiss of His blessing, from the moist lips of God. It is the time for apprehen sion of those words by Massey: 'sThis world is full of beauty-like other worlds above.
 And if we did our duty, it might be full of love-" And now, although sat down under promise to your eminence, of some jottings from the outer world am in mood for that species of portrayal. The chord touched by these Summet thoughts of Gods fragrant earth will harmonize only with emo- tions vibrating in the deeper sensbilties; and if it abrupt to you the transition is facile and sweet in my own mind, to feelings impressed of late by hearing Music, grand Music and pathetic-song not ! of voices but of Musc's self.
 It was at the Music Festival in Boston, of the Handel and Haydn Society. I am no critic, and am humbly aware what peril of contempt one incurs from amateurs who. unskled in the art dares utter his sense of the melodious and tuneful But why in fear of man, should soul suppress the quiverng of its own chords, when God touches them!
 The expression that day, q say not performance, as l would not style the spontaneous breath pulse a peyJornaance.) the expression was uf Beethoven Eighth Symphony" and of Mendelsshon's '' Fin gals Cave,' by an instrumental orchestra of more than seventy pieces Let pass the absolute unity of time-the perfect fusion of all separate uterances in vast soul-like harmony now wild and sad now tremulous with beauty, now awful in its march like the tread of the archangel; only note for you passage. the rapt vibrations of which could not be spared from the celestial hymnings. shall know them hereafter among the inspirations of | Heaven. They of the rhythmic pulsings, which like ine,throbbngs cf heart ph heart, can never cease their fluctuations in the soul I make DO attempt at description. It was purely phe- ncmenon of the inner sense to be appreciated with eyes shut from players and from the thronged list eners, whose presence indeed stir no breath be- trayed. The violins, thirty or more in number, whispered shimmering note, low sweet hum, upon which lay the chords of all the other insru- ments in rich and solemn etiuence of most spirtu- al worship. These dull words cannot raise you to that altitude Of emotion, but you must not call me only enthusiastic when I say, nothing approaches that effect in the comparison but the idea of angels at their evening hymn, upon the quivcring of whose myriad wings float the rapt strains of their august 1 yet tender adoration.
 Then followed responses upon wind instruments, flutes initiating the call, from grieving. chast. ened heart, in few and plainve tones ;colian like and from deep solitudes. These lower in the cro- matic scale answered the clarioHets sweetly sad and from such heavenly height it was like Pity breathing from the sky. Once more, but through what lips we could not see, came efest palptations roW the self same chords, if from the centre of Eternity, echoiDgs of that human sorrow from the heard of God.
 That am not yielding to rhapsody of feeling will cite you the words of professional critic from Boston print of the ensuing day :- 1 and slow strains played by wind instruments ishngly beautiful. One cannot imagine anything more heavenly hardly in Paradise Perhaps we shall never settle the rank of these immortal compost i tions until we hear them in another sphere.' | By the way, were you never aware of the advan- tage possessed by Instrumental over vocal song as the exponent of abstract, absolute music. From the latter you cannot wholly discover the presence and therefore fnitefess and mperfecton of the creature If 1t were seraph song, unless their spirituality is permcatcd like the air by sweet tones the pureness of music as Gods self revelation in audible beauty would be impaired. But perfect instrumental music in which the harmony seems rather to have touched than issued from the stops and strings would dis tinsuish as passive sensitive thing swept by tides of serial melody bfeathu terrible as the mood of the Divine Master may please.
 But abruptly, Adieu. After music, the Muse Let me descend to my signature by lines not indeed pendent from the above themes, yet cognate with tlrem in one sense, viz: in having been born this morning. II AM THE WAY, THE TRUTH AND THE
 LIFE" On the loving ,rustful Heart fainly doth i, sue In the courts of Form and Art, For the pure and true; Nought beside, Self and Pride, There gains its due.
 Wandering, baf7ed. sad and faint,
 Youthful hope grows chill.
 None will listen to its pIainf.
 On it wanders still,
 Nought beside
 Self and Pride,
 Governs life at will.
 Iil.
 Listen. yearning, pleading soul,
 Listen unto me,
 Of ONR blessed, whose control
 Guides thy destiny