Montgomery County sentinel. [volume] (Rockville, Md.) 1855-1974, 1876-06-23

SUNDAY MORNING.

Sunday morning once more. Who
does not rejoice to know it? Who fails
to experience an agreeable feeling on
awakening, at the thought-it is Sun
day morning To the denizens CT the
city, buried for months together amongst
streets and alleys and wharyes and marts
Of trade whore there is the din Of com
merce, the racket Of men hurrying, each
after his affairs the hum, the jar, the
crush, the eager jostlng of the crowd
the dashing, rafting and clangour of the
thousand 'vehicles--to one existing weeks
in all this excitement and clamor, how
happy thing it is to escape into the
country, to dwell where sweet silence
reigns, in gentle meditation, beside Gid
ing streams or gushing springs, deep
valleys or shady woods, Or on the brow
Of the mountain with silence all around,
and the awful everlasting arch of heaven
stretching in unbrokea stiffness over
head and to the far off horizon As the
country is to the fevered agitation of the
town, so is the Sunday to the week days
The restlessness, the perpetual watchful-
ness and expectation of the other days,
give way to delicious Incidence Of the
mind on those subjects that from Mon
day to Saturday have kept it on the
stretch of activity. There is sweet
and placid langour Of the brain that
seems to communicate itself all around
How differently is the car struck with
the silvcry vibrations Of the "church 60
ing bell, as compared with the jerking
ring, sharp and swapping, that comes
from the roof of the foundry or the hur-
ricane deck of the steamboat The very
birds over head glide through the air
with an easy flap of the under-hurried
wing The wind weeps among the
bushes with leisurely whisper that sug-
gests passiyeness Of spirit and quietude
Of heart, in the presence of peaceful
nature. The stream tinkles with slow
repeated notes the trees wave with Ian
guild grace the doves coo soft and low
the clouds float as if waited only by the
peaceful breath Of angels The house
is quiet--a hush reigns in every room
the servants speak with subdued voices
only the clock dares tell its tale of pass
ing moments with an air of business, an
air that is never so prominent about it
as on Sunday. 1t is this contrast with
the rushing, rapid whirl of the week
day that gives Sunday its charm. The
roaring torrent, foaming down the worn
and fretted rock. turns the busy mill,
but it is where the stream has subsidized
into peaceful flow; where the spray and
the rushing pillows have been smoothed
to placid quietude, that the beauty Of
earth's flowers and the serenity Of
heavens blue is reflected from It's gently
gliding surface. 1t is in this calmness
that the soul best communes with itself
in solemn retrospection, asking Of the
departed hours what report they have
borne to heaven 2" II is in silence and
in peace, in quietude and in calm, that
man meets his God, and with child
like self-surrender, leans on the bosom
Of exhaustless love: for it is not in the
rushing wind, not in the pomp of the
tempest, not in the crushing Of earth
quake, not in the scathing fash, not in
the crashing solo Of the thunder, but in
''tbc still small voice" that the chosen
ones Of the world hear the Universal
Parent.
A wit was dreadfully bored by stu
pid fellow who persisted in talking to
him on natural history. There is the
oyster" at last said the bore Whats
your notion as to the idea that the
oyster is possessed of reason p / think
it may be true" said the wit, "because
the oyster knows enough to keep its
mouth shut"
Valuable birds--gold eagles.