Delaware gazette and state journal., 1896-08-06

After that we can do what we please,
aud we women please to take off our
tight gowns, assume those that are
cool and easy, and indulge in exquisite
idleness. | sit under tree with a
hook of poetry and look at ii flower
garden. just in front Of me is great
bouquet of sunshine. 1t is bed of
old fashioned yellow flowers, and beyond
that is the real, sweet-smelling, old
fashioned gardsn, protected by border
of box. Here grows in the real old
fashioned way, sweet peas, citron aloes,
pansies, sweet Williams, ragged Robins,
mignonette, scarlet sage and Baltimore
Belle roses, while back of the flowers
is mint, sweet marjoram and parsley.
look at the flowers and forget my
book. l look at the hills, way off in
the distance, and the valleys that laugh
between, and it seems to me that this
is a better way to worship God than to
sit in a hot church and to listen to
the words of man who somehow
doesn't seem to touch the tender chord
that is in us all, and which, for want
Of better name, we call sympathy.
The children are playing rather
quietly. In view of it's being Sunday,
they are burying doll and marching
to the funeral And the small boy who
ia officiating as preacher has remem-
bered little of the morning sermon,
and he is saying over the battered
china image, "Our departed has un
doubtedly gone to hell" And the
squeaking little voices rise up in an
oldfashioned hymn, and, oddly enough,
the children arc quite satisfied and feel
that they are observing the Sabbath
Day as it should be. Uncle Timothy
has shed his black clothes and appears
In cool linen, filling, very comfortably,
big rocking chair in one corner of
tho porch. He would like to look
| around the farm; he would like to see
how the animals are all doing; but
knowing that this is the day whep he
cannot do what he likes. he makes the
best of it and talks to one of the babies.
She is knowing little baby, and she
asks questions that would puzzle the
Presbytery.
Says she Grandfather, why cannot
l have the chickens out ere?"
lie looks at her. and then answers,
"BEoAUsE IT Is SUNDAY"
Then she inquiries, "But don't the
chickens like gingerbread on Sunday
as well as on week days?"
Uncle Timothy knows that they do,
but he does not think it wise to tell
her SO; SO he beats about the bush,
and says that the chickens have gone
| to church.
His tormenter knows better than
that, and she says, "Oh, grandfather,
you have told tib. The gray chicken
laid an egg, and the speckled one is out
growing about 1t. Ought chicken to
lay an egg on Sunday?"
This theology is too deep for Uncle
Timothy, so ne says be will take her
on his lap and sing to her, hoping to
end the conversation this way. The
small lady announces that she will be
sung to, provided the tune is a gay one.
So Uncle Timothy tries to remember
when he used to go to campmeoting
and make love to Aunt Maria. And he
croons out rather cbIrpy tune about
the angels and clouds and harps.
This makes great impression on the
hearer, and she asks. Grandfather,
you think the man that played the
organ aud brought the monkey will GO
to heaven?'' The man referred to is an
Italian who looked as If he might be-
long to the worst of the secret socie-
ties, and who hal appeared at the
farm on Saturday, accompanied by q
monkey, bad been entertained and sent
on his way rejoicing. The children
had adored tho monkey and found
pleasure in tho music of the organ.
Uncle Timothy has his doubts about
the Italian going to heaven, SO he tells
the small woman that he is bad man,
worshipper of "stun" images. For
little while his granddaughter thinks.
Then she inquiries, lis it any more
harm to worship stun image than
to worship me, grandfather And my
mother says you do"
Now, Uncle Timothy has lost all
patience, and he tells her that he
wishes sho didn't ask so many ques.
tions. and that she is bad girl.
She leaves him in disgust, having
great doubt about the value OF any
religion, or the wisdom of her grand
father.
Tea time comes, and though We are
all more cheerful than we were at din
ner, still the Sabbath depression ie
over US all. Somebody counts and an
nounces that five boys have been
whipped and two small girls put to
bed. Such u thing would mover have
happened on week day l give a
sigh, and take my book and go out
under the trous, anu there | am joined
by grandfather's Pet. Seating herself
beside me, she wants to know il God
made the mountains. ] answer her,
and then. together, the child and
look at the sunset. She is tired, toe
tired to talk much, but after while
she asks, 'Did you ever hear Gods
great cannon go otfY' l know what
she means. and tell her that have,
and that it is meant to warn little
people to 90 into the house befure the
lightning comes. At last she falls
asleep in my arms. Everything about
is quiet; l am conscious of the per-
fume of the flowers and of the majesty
of thei hills. The tall trees surround
me, and with the little child close to
me, feel as If l were in the temple OF
God. There is no sound except that
made by the birds as they chirp forth
their thanks for their nests. And yet,
everything that has been created seems
to he thanksgiving. And the ma
jesty and the power OF Col are i'm
pressed upon me, and there comes over
me certain scorn of the littleness OF
the sermon that / have heard. Then
comes darkness, and in il we trust our
selves to Almighty God without a
thought of presbytery or priest, OF sin
ner or bishop, but we are happy in the
pure and simple faith like that which
lives in the heart of a little child.
And with the cooling winds, it seems
as if the leaves of the trees whispered
tEond ni1ht pnd (,n1 hIasu evary-