The Atlanta constitution. [volume] (Atlanta, Ga.) 1885-19??, 1888-09-25
AN OLD COUNTRY CHURCH.

DO you want to have three days picnic?
Nothing is simpler. Make up your mind to
attend the Putnam county fair, to be held in
Etonton. The fair will open on the 4th of
October, and will continue three days.
Not long ago native of the place, returning
after many years of absence, was walking over
the town with friend who had been his
schoolmate and playmate. To one it was the
revival of old and tender memories, to the
other, it was but the continuation of the COM
monplace; but, unconscously to both of them,
their steps led them to the old church, with
its stone steps, its moss-covered roof, and its
tall belfry. They stood before it as of
yore and watched the swift-winged swallows
flying in and out OF the steepIe, and heard
the jays chatter, and saw a buzzard poised on
motionless pinions in the upper blue. 1 think
neither of the midde-aged men who stood
there would have been surprised to see the
carved doorway of the old church fly open and
Youth and Hope issue forth hand in hand
My first definite recollection of any event is
sense Of sitting III one of the high pews Of
the old church a Sunday morning. 1t is
not only definite recollection, but most
vivid one. The long blinds are closed, as BELTS
the solemn occasion, but they are not closed
so tightly as to shut out all the light of the
sun that shines so brilliantly outside.
On one Of the tall windows a restless shadow
is waving to and fro. A branch of eglantine,
planted on grave near by, has climbed up the
wall, and the frolic wind is swaying it to and
fro, The church is dim and vague, and the
ceiling, with the rough imitation of clouds
therein, seems to be as high as the sky ITSELF
The droning voice of the preacher is in strange
contrast with the swift and ninble gyrations
of bat that is flying around and across the
ceiling, fluttering aboutin all directions. Now,
it is lost in the dark galleries-now it flies
against the painted clouds.
Gradually the bat and the church itself dis
appears, and the voice of the preacher is heard
only as soothing murmur. The little boy in
the pow has fallen into doze, and remains SO
until the preacher, growing more emphatic in
his arguments, cries out the true doctrine
in loud voice, and hits the Bible a tremen-
dous whack with his fist.
The little boy awakes with a start, the
church reappears, and the bat is flying around
more frantically than ever. Then there is
shutting of feet as the people rise to their feet,
the singing of hymn, the benediction, and
the doors are flung open and the little boy,
along with other little boys, runs out into the
blessed sunlight, whore everything is joyous
and beautiful.
Right at the church, under its caves, you
may say Is Inc olu graveyard. IL IS nOary
with age. Your modern tourist, rambling
around with pair of opera glasses strapped to
his side, would no doubt declare that the old
burying ground has been neglected; and yet
the artist would say that this apparent neglect
has resulted in the preservation of everything
that is picturesque and beautiful. And SO it
is. Where the hand of man has failed, the
slow but firm hand of nature has been success
full, and to me, even in its tumble-down
condition, the old graveyardi is one of the most
attractive places in the world
For Nature has taken all of these relics to
her bosom. On everything visible to the eye
she has laid the colors that suit her best. Mar
bles that were once white are white no more;
but they are not discolored. On some she has
planted lichens and moses of the
most wonderful hue and texture. On others
she has trailed the ivy green. In all directions
the cedar tlourishes, fiinging its spicy odors
to the breeze, and here and there the pine lifts
its stately head. In some of these, high in the
air, the trumpet-fower displays its yellow
blossoms. The Cherokee rose creeps shere
and there and tall grasses wave
their frail banners in the air. The eglantine.
clinging to tomb, to wall and tree, twines its
pale green wreaths above the dead
Do you think this a sombre theme? Far
from it. Nature knows her own and holds
her own, holding high revel where man will
let her have her way. In this day and gen.
Grafton, when so-called culture Worships
spurious art, it is we'll to bear in mind some of
the lessons that nature teaches.