The Lambertville record. [volume] (Lambertville, N.J.) 1872-1968, 1874-04-01
. MISCELLANY.
rnE STORY or JooK wILI1sroy.


"Sotne Of our folks go over to the Island
to meeting to-day; you'd like to go along,
maybes1 queried our host at breakfast, ON
the moruing of our secoud Sunday at L.
+" To the islands Delightful Let us CO.
of course -
"Its r good piece to walk from the
landing to the church, you knows
+" How ARP ~ A
About two miics-uphill and down dale. -
"Only two rnllcs! A mere nothing 70 we
chorused, smiling at each other as we remem-
bered how impossible two miles Of our native
pavement might have seemed on that mid
summer day. But here, with the weoing note
of the sea in our cars, and the strength of the
salt air tingling through our veins, what
might we not do and dare? M
So light was the breeze, as we stood wait
ing on the beach, that we scarcely felt it
strike our raised hands; yet the little boat
which came to take us off caught the soft
breath in her sails, and waited us across the
channel gently and noiselessly as a spirit.
l need not pause to describe the walk that
followed, although we remembered it long af-
terward with keen delight. The undulating
slopes robed with spruce and fir Of marvellous
symmetry and color the gray outcrop of lime
stone rock rending the crisp carpet of short
grass, and cry, brown moss spread along the
roadside +; the half-score little coves of won
drous beauty where fleets Of small boats, like
white-winged waterfowl, rocked lazily at an
Choir, and the blue water splashed softly upon
my islets, whose quaint rock-work was veil
ed and garlanded by creeping vines and nod
ding harebells and--far. off-the line where
sky and ocean met, embracing all with sug-
gestions of the infinite harmony ali these,
then almost unprofaned, are growing familiar
in these later years, even to most careless
eyes. -
The small, white church, with it's odd cupo-
la and slowly swinging belb came in sight at
length, browning the summit of gentle ele-
walton. Entering, we took our places among
the worshippers.
The greater part of the simple discourse /
have long since forgotten, but the closing
words, spoken in low, musical voice of the
preacher, as he bent above the pulpit rail,
sounds in my memory still @
ssHear, then, once more, the words Of the
text: THAT was the true Light, which
lighteth every man that cometh into the
world Sometimes, my brethren, we look
long for the brightness of that rising. Even
the eyes that watch for the morning may
scarcely discern night from dawn. Yet there
is no soul but some time--somewhere-
in the shining of that Light. Every sacrifice
of self, every victory of love, is but its bro
ken reflection. God forbid that any one of
you, having felt the divine radiance, should
60 away again into the outer darkness /"
A hymn was sung, the fervent blessing ask.
ed, and passing out with the congregation, we
turned aside into the churchyard, to spend
the hour of MONDAY intermission. strolling
about among the quiet graves, many Of which,
especially the resting-plaoes of little children,
were strewn tenderIy with bright-hued shells
and pebbles, my attention was arrested by the
contrast between the low, plainly carved
stones around me, and tall, slender shaft of
the purest Italian marble, rising from solid
granite pedestal at q little distance beyond
Drawing nearer, read in beautifully emboss-
ed characters "a
In nieuory.of
JOCK WILLISTON,
Who to himself, and to his
Fathers House, @
On Christmas Day, 1870.