The daily telegram. [volume] (Clarksburg, W. Va.) 1901-1926, 1914-05-06
man Is, guess


man is, guess
There, there, Abel, you wouldn't
know u syreeu IL you found one In
your baked beans, SO don't take away
woman's character on iiearsay.p And
Mrs. Day, having shut up her husband
as was her botInden duty as q wife
and a Christian, tied her bonnet strings
little tighter and looked distinctly
pleased With herself ',,'' ll5' -
abel amt startin' any new gossip"
was Aunt Abbg's opinion, as She
sprang to his rescue. cone or two
more holes In n co1ander don't make
much ce-Bartholomew, we're
certainly goin' to be late this motnin':
we're about the last team on the road.s-
and Aunt Abby glanced nervously be.
hind. Elder Boone amt begun the
openin' prayer. though, or we should
know 1t. You can hear him pray a
mile away, when the winds right.
do hate to be late to lneetin'. The
elder alters takes notice; the folks in
the wing pews alters gapes an stares,
and the choir peeks. through the cur
tain, takln' notes of everything you've
got on your back. ! hope to the land
they'll chord and keep together little
mite better'n they've done lately. that's
all l can say. If the Lord is right in
our midst, as the Bible says. he can't
think much of our singers this sum-
mer!"
They're improvin, now that Pliny
Waterhouse plays his fiddle" Mrs.
Day remarked practically. There was
times in the anthem when they kept
together considerable well last Sunday.
They didn't always chord. but there.
they chorded some. We're most there
now, Abby, don't forget. cephas won't
ring thelast bell TIL lie knows his own
folks is crossin' the common,
Those were days of conscientious
churchgoing, and every pew In the
house was crowded. The pulpit was
built on pillars that raised 1t six, feet
higher than the floor The top. was
cushioned and covered with red velvet,
surmounted by a huge gilt edged Bible.
There was a window In the tower
through which Cephas Cole could look
into the church and while tolling the
bell could keep watch for the minister.
Always exactly on time, he would come
in, walk slowly up the right hand aisle,
mount the pulpit stairs, enter and close
the door after him. Then Cephas would
give one tremendous pull to warn lott
erers on the steps, pull that meant,
Parsons in the pulpitY and was act
ed upon accordingly. Opening the big
Bible, the minister raised his right
hand impressively. and, saying, LET
US pray" the whole congregation rose
in their pews with a great rustling ana
bowed their heads devoutly for the in.
vocation.
Next came the hymn, generally at
that day one of Isaac Watts. The
singers, fifteen or twenty in number,
sat in raised gallery opposite the pull.
pit, and there was rod in front hung
with red curtains 10 hide them when
sitting down. Any one was free to
join, which perhaps accounted for Aunt
Abby's structures rs TO time and tune.
Jed Morrill,, "blasphemious'' as he was
considered by that acrimonious lady,
was the leader, and good one too.
There would be a great whispering
and buzzing when Deacon Sumner,
with his big fiddle, and Pliny Water.
house, with his smaller one, would
try to get in accord with Humphrey
Baker and his clarionet. All went well
when Humphrey was there to give the
sure keynote, but in his absence Jed
Morrill, would use his tuning fork.
When the key was finally secured by
all concerned Jed would raise his stick,
beat one measure to set the time, and
all Joined in or fell in, according to
their several abilities 1t was not al
ways. perfect thing in the way of a
start, but they were well together at
the end of the first line, and when, as
now, the choir numbered goodly num-
Der of voices and there were 300 or 400
In the pews nothing more inspiring in
its peculiar way was ever heard than
the congregational singing of such
splendid hymns as "old Hundred"
Duke Street or Coronation.
iwaitstill led the trebles, and Ivory
was at the far end Of the choir In the
basses. but each was conscious OF the
others presence. This morning he
could hear her noble voice rising 1T
Tie. above, or. perhaps, from its quail
ity. separating itself somehow, ever so
little, from the others. How full of
strength and hope it was, her voice!
Howsteadfast to the pitch! How gold
en- its color. How moving in its ores.
condos! How the words flowed from
her lips, not as if they had been writ.
ten years ago, but as il they were the
expression of her own faith! There
were many in the congregation who
were stirred. they knew not why, when
there CHANGED to be only few carry
ing the air. and they could really hear
Waitstill Baxter singing some dear old
hymn, fun of sacred memories, like
While thee seek, protecting Power,
Be my vain Wishes stilied. 4
And may this consecrated hour
With better hopes be filed.