The record-union., 1892-10-29

was simple and hospitable. The pioneer
customs of the West were blended with
the tradltlonary ways of the East. Along
with the annual 'wolf-hunt," the house
and barn ''raisings," at which the entire
community could be found, there were
the mellow old customs of the sheep
washing" "sheep-shearing" and autumn
'threshings," at which neigh hbors lent q
helping hand, the harvest homes"
"quilhngs," +" 'apple-paring," rag carpet
making" and "huskingi bees, the
Thanksgiving dinner" the spelling
school, the ''singing-school," and the
like; while the ''Watch-Night" was an
annual religious festival at the old church
at Benefits Corners NOW Bigfoot which
always stirred the community as
some event profound.
Some mighty feass to crowd the common
dearth.
Nearly all these people had brought
with them from the East the stern re-
ligious principles prevalent in their old
time homes. An early wave of Method
ism, Of the vigorous Peter Cartwright
sort, had swept over this farming COM
munity. A huge, old-fashioned church
had been raised" at Benefits Corners.
1t was like the early New England
churches-broad, low -ceilinged, with
high pulpit and immense sounding board,
wide low gallery for singers and old
fashioned musicians, high, straight
backed pews. and so strong of sill, seam,
raiter and girder that those who hewed it
out of the old Alden forests swore they
could roll the frame to Douglass Cor
ners and back, without starting ary
pegr
Here were held the winter "revivals'
and the 'Watch-Nights." The little boy
that was bundled in along with the
sleigh-loads that held his parents and
! neighbors might have nodded on his
lfotI Iflt-7gs L. hsA.l al
but he never forgot those simple scenes.
Neither Whittier nor Longfellow ever
drew more tender, a more truly Ameri-
can, or more imperishable picture OF the
humble days and ways that are gone
than Edgar l.. Wakeman in his quaint,
sweet poem,
THE WATCH-NIGHT.
! \ country that the people roundabout
IN common parlance term The o .enings,"
Where summer through, he sound oflabOr
rings;
And winter long the husking bee and rout.
! This night. and in this place, score of hills.
Like mystic, gray old monks With silvered
Where through tie dreary night the wild
And IN score Of alleys slumbering lills.
Within the deepest valley one quaint nest,
nest OF quaint old homes with quaint old
hearts,
Where life to all is measured in three parts
y simple way the birth, the Toll, the rest.
Here tine low-rooled homes with gables old;
The mil-pond bursting through the trem-
bling mill,
erng triil,
And Groom Of waving fields and sheaves of
gold!
Here is the ancient grocery, the post,
The b!g-eyed children heaven, all pro ound
With scents and sweets and mystery; snow
bound
Beyond, the schooIhouse, like a hillside
ghost!
| Across the road where cedars sob and paint,
| The church, whose spire tells in some mute,
That ever out beyond the night, the dav
OF promise waits for ali the weak and faint.
! These are the corners; center OF the earth
| TO all this little world. which, miles around,
! Is this night stirred by some event proiound;
/ Some mighty feast to crown the common
/ dearth
See by the farmhouse, miles and miles away,
The waiting loads before the craakng gate,
Testing those souls who through all life are
Who murmur calmly while their comrades
pray;
And through the windings ofa score Of hills
Adown the glistening roads the bells are
'ox-sled,' ".new-angled" cutter, parsons
"pung,"
The sturdy hobs" the boys with ''board-and-
thills !"
Harl! DER the murm'ring echoes far and
near,
Der Jest and laugh, DER sIeigh-bens' wild,
Der all the streams of life that speed along,
The Watch-Night chime is ringing sweet and
clear!
And now the drowsy corners wake from sleep:
Lights gleam through lattices across the
snow,
And build a myriad images that glow
| With mystic meaning strange and weird and
deep.
The oaken church doors now swing open wide;
The pOmpous sexton, master Of The hour,
Shows in how small a man may lie vast
And with majestic flourish stems the tide.
Comes first the parson, pale-faced, gaunt and
And by his side the help of three-scoro
The golden sunshine to the village tears
A Martha with Mary's sanity eyes;
Old men and grandams, meek in helplessness;
Strong men, good wives-and bad, and
maldens coy,
Blushing young swairs are nearD they
0 Love! that solemn places scarce repressI
And following these with numbering feet and
noise
A bundled troop of children strong and
bold
Like rosy New Year crowding on the Old,
And following up the rear, the wild, bad boys
The chime rings out again. and in the dim,
Quaint church hush has come; each earn
est face
Grows dismal as pefits the dreary place:
| The parson drones the old long meter hymn
| 0 moment all momentous! Now within
The breathless space tinkling, silvery
sound
Comes quavering, and then. with raging
The deep-yoiced viol and shrlel1ing violini
A prayer-thts in long-meter, too: again
The war OF chords; and then the minister
Hurls ancient terrors, making dim hearts
stir
With sad dismay that dear Christ came to
men.
| Now follows prayer; and now the sweet love
While those not in the blissiuI land of Nod
Grasp in their humble hold the hand of
God,
And grope their way to heaven for once at
least.
And watching thus, they pray and speak and
Until ne moment nearing, all in silent
prayer
Wait for the New Year angel on the golden
star;
And list the throbbing its holy wing.
Then, as one voice, with eyes and hearts
aglOW,
The New King come, they bury all the
Old,
With greetings to the New Year manifold.
And sing: "Praise God From Whom All
Blessings Flow :"
The lights are out; the watchers far away;
The same dull, plodding rounds again
begun;