|Previous||1 of 4||Next|
small (250x250 max)
medium (500x500 max)
large ( > 500x500)
'W - ' SI ifamilg Ne^ogpcpet ; IBfVfitfd to potitkSi iitisctllotig, Stgricullliw,' atfj) JntflHgenee. lALDWIN, * ■ ' m - ' " * * * & G. H. BALDWIN, Proprietors ^~iiraiiii/ ------- .VOLUME. 2---N0. 29. LITCHFIELD^ (COM.) JANUARY I L 1849. HENRV W.IRD, SdUor.—Tcrtns—$1.35 Per AoBnm. WHOLE NO. 81. Poctrn. Til* P o o r , G o d H e lp TUcm. ' BT MR*. M. ^ ICEWETT. tHere are a few season,ible lines from one of thejnost c h a T jp in g of American writers. They i i a v c been p u 'b l i s h c d , we dare say, again and ^ a in , b u t t h e y are n o t the less attractive on t h a t a c c o u n t . ] Old Winter comes with a ste.olthy tread, O’^ fallen autumn leaves. And shrilly he whislleth overhead, And pipeth beneath the ea\^s. i .e t him come ! we care not, nmid our wirth. For the dri^ng snow or rs’n ; For little we reck of the dieerless hearth. Or the broken window panfe. ’Tis a stormy nightfj but our^Jee shall mock At the winds that loudly prate, vAs they echo the moan of her poor that knock l^fcith their cold hands at our gate. The poor, we^ive them the half-pickcd bone, And the diy, mildewed bread ; Ah ! they never, God help them, knlBw the pain Of the pampered overfed. F ill round again with cheering wine. While the fire glows warm .and brig’it; And &itg me a song, sweet heart of mine, pi^you whispcl’ tlie words ‘ good night!’ You win never dream, ’neath the covering warm Of your soft and curtjiined bod. Of the scanty rug nnd the shivering form. And the yawning roof <»’erlre*d. The iK)or, God pity them in thejr need ! We’ve a prayer for every groan; They ask us witE outstretched hands for bread, • And we carelessly give a stone. God help them! Go<^4icIp us ! for much we lack, TJiough lofty and ri(jli we b e ; And open our hearts unt3 all that knock With the crv of Charitv. Ulisctllann. Fiom the H/ixfoJ R. I , Phoenix. Passa^s in the Life of a Deaeon ; Wl^ein is shoum ili-f inconvraience, SOT having The “ 9fusical £ar.’* Deacon Goodman w^as extensively known not merely in his own Parish, but through several miles of (country, for his amiable xiisposition, aotive.benevolence and un<jnestioned piety. So thoroughly was the Deacon’s character established, that when the people o£ the neighboring towns saw him passuig, they would say that man iS rightly named ; for if there ever was a good man, he is. one,’ And from this there .was no dissenting voice. Naj' I am wrong in saying that; for there are some who n%ver hear any body praiised without interposing and qualifying but ‘ He may be \v^ eH ljk on the -whole,’ they will say, ‘ bft f lH p i ’ and then they vill go ■ on and makenim out ‘ anything but« cleve itellox^.’ 'fhe Beacon^liSongh highly orthordov, was very liberal. Ttrere was a snj«ll Uni-versalist SHiety in the town ; and it really seem’d as ifhe had takeni tlie Uuiversalist under his especial tving ; For though always ready to argue with them, (he was tough in argument) he would never hear thertRK abused. ‘ What !’ he would say, * have we not sine enough of our own to answer for ? So far as man is concerned, they have as good a fight to their error, as ■we to our truth : We must all render the great account; not of others, but one of himself.* Episcopalians had also beon^.prowling about jFilbin the Deacon’-s domain ; and had evsn. Jerined a' little church, which met for public prosship in a school house ; And although the society consisted of but nine or ten families, they were warmjy discussing the' question, whether the new churc, -(to b* built n^xt year) sh^ld be Grec:iiaa^n o<r Gothic. The pari^ cleric thought it G^1 to be modelled after St. Pauls inTyi^mron. ' Thejf had l>etter model it after St. Peters at Rome’ said the rich old church member hereafter to I#mentioned, Th^ already spoken for. ‘It isnone'oiTmy busi-tiess’ laid Deacon Gootean * but wont all this expeiJb cowe ratlier hard on yon_small society ?’ We depend on the church at large, for help, a»d we expect tbe soSt-ety will grow.’ ‘ Oh ; thaVs it,’ s^d Deacon ; ‘ you go'jon the martin swaUtUr principle ; put up the box, and the birds will coBSi?.’ , But altiKMi|^- Deacon Goodman could* ot flee the wisdom of the clerk’s reasoning, he h6d jgl rdgOT prejudice against the Episcopal Church. So far from thait ; on Christinafl'and Good Friday,,and even on S u p a y wheo‘bi^ own worthy minister was absent ot indisposed, lie w^^pwavs a devoted atijjltiant ou. the EpiBcopal worship, I can’t ^ a y s find the place in the pray«r cWng, provided it were orthodox. On one ocMsion, however, as he came out from church, he said to t he ^erk, ‘ I wish that young man would uotjtalk so much about The Church’ as if there was no other church in the world but his owa. What on_earth are we, if we are not a church ?’ ‘ Why yoa are sectarians, to be sure,^gid the Clerk. Oh, fiddle— said the Deacon ; emphasizing stro^iy on the last syllable ; but he was not angry. Now, all this liberality, did not pass unnoticed, nor unblamed. There was a certain rich old church member, whose orthodoxy left even Deacon Goodi4bn’s in the shade ; and wTio had never been known to speak well of any body without the deteriorating ‘ but’ This man had long kept his eye on tlie Deacon. He was ‘ dreadfiil sorry to think so ; but Deacon Goodman is half an Universalist ;’ And that was not the worst of it ‘ He has a squinting towards Popery’ all these serious accusations were promptly reported to Deacon Goodiaan aiid the informer really thought he would be angry at them. Blessing on those kind informers who are to be found in every town and village -in our country. How they love to make.p blood between neighbors. But the ;fnformer was disappointed the Deacon was not angry. So monstrous absurd did the supposition appear that he could have only said ‘ get out with your nonsense,’ jujd though no inore about it. t ' Hut whiJ^dwelling on the Deacon’s mer^'' its, le^ i^i^ot forg<^t my story; and I now come most dissagreeable part of it. The ’ qujSj^iog^‘ but’ must i e interposed even iu tire ^se of Deacon Goodman. He would sing in meeting. ‘Then call you that a fault ?’ saith the reader; Well, then, kind reader call it a misfortune. ‘ But why a misfortune ?’ I will tell thee. Nature has so formed us, that some have'^the ‘ music^ ear’ and others not. Now' this ‘ Musical ear’ has nothing to do with real character, moral or intellectual; but yet the persons who have not got the ‘ninstol ear,’ ought never to attempt to ^ing in mectvnsc- If they do, they will be sure to annoy others, and make themselves ridiculous. Deacon Goodman had not the^ musical ear,’ Whether it were the ‘Messiah,’ or the ‘Creation or Jim Crotr, and Zip Coon ; it was all the same to him ; so far as music was concerned it was just so.much sing mg.. Whether the artist wpre Sivori, or Ole Bull, or poor old John C asco ♦ it was just so much fiddling. He had not the Music.al ear’ and still less, if possible the musical voice—but yet he would sing in meeting : And the gentle and respectful remonstrances of the choir leader, were met with the unvaried reply : ‘ Singing is praying—you may just as w'ell ask me Aot to pray ; 1 shall sing in meeting.’ It is now prop er for the Biographer to hint at another trait in the good Deacon’s character. He was rather ‘ set in his way.’ In other words he Was dreadfully obstinate in what he thought a good cause : and generally correct in appreciating the merits of the cause. We all know that musical people are apt to be sensitive, and sometimes a little ^^ri-cious— and who has ever known a theatrical Orchestra, or even a village choir, that had ^ t a regular ‘ blow up,’ at least once a year? Beyond all donht, Deacon Goodman’s singi ng, was a "very serious grievance to the choir, ted no small annoyance to the congregation. Yet,in consideration of his great merits, he was often indulged; and his regular Sunday performaifces, often drew forth the remark, that if music murder were a sin. Deacon Goodman would have much.to answer for. But ‘ there is a point when forbearance is no longer a vir-tue.’ G|||Bt pains had been taken by the choir, in g ^ n g up a new Anthem, (selectedfrom % arf) for Thanksgiving day : and the very gem Qf the piece was a solo, which had been assigned to the sweetest voice, and the prettiest little girl in the village. All who attendid the rehearsals were perfectly delighted with the solo as sung by kittle Mary. It was very difficult. It was marked from beginning to end, ‘ Midantino, Dolce, Affectooso, Cres'iendo, Piano, Pian-issisao,’ with changing keys, and flats ^|d s h s^ , fringing out from une^lsected pla-jces ; but she had conquered it all. Three or^our accomplished singers who had c ^ e from to;pajss X^auksgiving in t|te' •countryUnd wh# had attended the last rehearsal were-in raptures with little Mary’s sin^pg. They hid heard Tedesco, and Br^jMcianti. ^ d Madam Bishop, and yet, sahfthey, ‘-w ti country girl, she Is a prodigy-’ * , In duQ^-time, thanksgiving day arrived ; and while tbe‘ second bell’ was ringing, news came to the villa^, that a very seric^^acci-dent had happened to the UniversalisTMin-ister. His horse had thrown Hfen, and either his leg or neck was broken ; the^tioy who brought thenenH had for gotten which. ‘ 1 hope it is 'his neck !’ said a rich and When the him a ‘ house of feasting.’ But his religion was jsf a practical kind, and although he tnbught but precious little of his good w(n-ks, he took care to do a good many of them, and was far from believing with Atnsdorf, that ‘ good works are ait impediment to salvation.’ So, he said to Mrs; Goodntan, ‘ do yoyi go to the house of feasting, and get all the good you can, arid I will go to the house of mourning, and do all the good I can,’ And away he went to see, and if possible to relieve the Universalist Minist^ In the mean time the congregation assembled, and the worship proceeded in the usual way. At length came the Anthem. It went beyond expectation. A long ‘reSt’ immediately preceded the solo. It was no rest for poor ‘ little Mary.’ It was the most anxious minute she Iwd ever passed. She arose blushing and trembling. Her agitation gave tremor to her voice, which addftd to the pathos of the music, beautiful. ‘ Now. Deacon Goodman had always out the stocking for Santa Glaus, on Christmas eve, were induced to change their de-tei’mination, by the reasoning of this memorable sermon. , Well, just as the Deacon had made the remark which has been recorded, who should come in but the minister himself! ‘ Why ! I never !’ said Deacon Good in an,' ‘what Afls brought you along in such a night aS this ?’ Now, this Minister had his peculiarities, as well as the Beadon. Among othert-’, he was very close-mouthed about iis own good deeds.— He merely answered, ‘ 1 have been abotit my duty, I hope.’ The fact was, he had been to visit, and talk, and pray, with a poor dying nfegro. ‘ Seems to me you are rather crusty,’ said the Deacon ; but I suppose you are half frozen, and so sit down and thaw yourself out.’ ‘ I thank you/ said the Minister, ‘ but I merely called to tell you that I have just left a scene of misery; and I want you to go there as It was early as ) ou can in the morning. On my way here and home, 1 passed that wretched hovel which we all know so well. I felt made it a rule, when any accident detained j it my duty to stop and learn the cause of him until after worship had commenced, to come in very softly. How different from the fasliionable flourish ? All were intent on the solo. None heard, and but few saw the Deacon enter his pew, and take up the sheet on which the w'ords of the anthem )vere printed. Unlike that of niany singers, the articulation of ‘ little Mary’ was jfe'rfect. The Deacori soon found the place ; and to the astonishment of the congregation; the indignation of the choir, and the perfect horror of ‘ little Mary,’ he ‘ struck in,’ and accompanied her through the whole solo ! Accompanied ! ! * Oft in the stilly ' J charitable ol^hurch member. ^ hfmai- and heart that remark, he held up his a l ^ «. W s . and^claimed ‘ I never 1’ ' heir prayer* *re p rm ted ; Is not the It’s i f their Lord’s, Prayer printed,? ff they ever make a better one, l h < ^ I shaHh^r it, prated or not.’ * ‘ ^ As f<w the Episcopal preacong, the ,|)ea-con aercr Ibund much fauk with aaj!j|i(ea- Now the Deacon dearly loved good preaching, an^ the meeting house was to ♦ L&cal. Somo of our readers wiH re- JSds. Pkoenlz. > night,’ accompanied by Copt. Bragg’s Battery, would give some notion of it; Poor little Mary wa« sick a fortnight.— ‘ Why don’t you ^utout that old fellow’s tongi^e ?’ said one of the Boston singers.— ‘ What good would that do,’ said the choir leader, ‘ he would howJ through his nose.’— They werejitfi^ry cross. As for the deacon he jookea around as innocent as a lamb, and thought he had sung as well as any of them. Immediately after meeting, the choir leader called on th§ Minister. ‘ Sir,’ said he, ‘ this must stop ; if Deacon Goodman sings again, I do not!’ ' ‘ Oh, I know it,’ said the minister, ‘ 1 have long felt the difficulty, but what can we do ? Deacon Goodman is a most excellent man, and his only faults are, that he is rather set in his way, and will sing in meeting' ‘ But Deacon Goodman is a reasonable man,’ said the the choir leader. ‘ On most occasv ns,’ replied the minister. ‘ Do go and see him, sir, for my mind is made up—If he tsings in meeting, again, I do not !’ ‘ Deacon Goodman,’ said the minister, ‘ I have come on a deliacte errand ; I have to present the respectful request of the choir, that you will not again- in i v g !’ The Deacon was thunderstruiSlc : but he soon recovere^. ‘ S it in g is praying,’ said he : ‘ They may ju^Tas well ask me not to pray : I shall sing in meeting !' And on the next Sunday, sure enough he did— louder, and if possible, more inharmonious than ever. ; The men singers looked daggers at him ; the gills hid their smiles behind their music books. Little Mary was not there. This shall stop,’ said the choir leader, ‘ I will go, arid see him myself.’ Deacon Goodman,, we all mosjt highly respect you, as -you must|H^ell know : But you have not the musical earner the musical voice, and it is the earnest wish of the choir, and many of the congregation, that you do not again sing m meeting.’ The Deacon was agfAi thunderstruck, but soon recovered. ‘ Singing. is . praying,’ said he, ‘ and they might as well tell me not to pray. 1 shall sing in meetingj The good Deacon was dr eadful lyin his way, and so it went on week Bfter week, in the same old way. But an incident occurred, which,contributed much to bring this singular case to a crisis. About two miles from the Deacon’s comfortable dwelling, there was a wretched Aovel, which imperfectly sheltered the wretched wife and children of a still more wfetched drunkard.' On one of the most inclement evenings of a New England January, the Deacon and his family were cheerfully and thankffl!ly enjoying a glorious hickory fire; Mrs. Goodman ^was sewiftg for the family, and her daughters for the Missionary Society^ The son reading the Tatest newspaper, and the good man'himself was just finishing oiF a sermon by a distinguished Divine of his own denomination. The object of the sermon wasf to warn the jjeople against the sin of keeping Christmas; and it contained some rather close preaching at the expense of poor old Santa Claus, (!!) As the Deacon laid down the pamphlet, ‘ Od rabbit such divinity,!’ said he. ‘ If he can’t fi|^ any thing but Santa Claus to preach about, he had better hold his tongue.’ ‘ Wishing to ^ full ^ stice to all who appear, directly or ;inci^ntally in this bi-ographyj I wfll remark, that three little children who had sinfully resolved to hang the terrilile uproar within, I found the wretch beating his wife ; and her screams, and his horrid oaths, made my blood run cold. I knocked the rascal down, (‘served him right,’ said the Deacon,’) and think he will lay quiet until morning ; but do go as easily as you can,’ ‘ Od rabbit the varmint !’ said Deacon Goodman; ‘ and od rabbit the eternal blasted rum shop!’ That was the nearest to swedring that the Deacon was ever known to come. ‘ Put old Mag in the wageon,’ said he to his son. ‘Deacon, don’t go to-night,’ said Mrs. Goodman. ‘ Do wait till morn-said all his daughters. ‘ Let rn'e go^* said his sen. ‘ Mind your own business,’ said the Deacori to all of them ; ‘ 1 shall go to-night.. When it came to that, they knew there was no more to be said. • He was dreadfully ‘ set in his way.’ He took a bag and a basket, and went down cellar. ^He filled the bag with potatoe. He took a j)iece of pork from one barrel, and a piece of beef from another, and put them in the basket. He wen? to the closet i^d took a brown loaf and a white one. He went to the wood pile, and took an arnifull of wood, and told his son to take another, All was put in the waggon ; he not forgetting six candles, and a paper of matches. Deacon Goodman needed no secondary motive to Christian duty ; yet historical truth demands the concession, that the wife of the poor drunkard was his first love.— She jilted him ; or, as we Yankees say, ‘ gave him the mitten,’ in favor of the abject wretch who was now her brutal tyrant. And this was the way he fed the ancient grudge he owed her! The truth is. Deacon Goodman knew nothing about grudges ancient or modem. The old Adam would occasionally flare up, but he always got him undea before sun down. All was ready, and in five minutes, the Deacon was exposed to the peltings of the pitiless storm. But what did he care for the stosm-? ‘ I am going on God’s errand,’ said he to himself; I am going to visit the worsjfthan widow and fatherless.’ The nex^hing he said was, ‘ Oh, g e t^ t .’ That he meant for the promptings of his own proud heart. Migery, inisery indeed did he find in tha.t most miiseifable dwelling. The poor wretch himself, was dead drunk on the floor. The 300r pale woman was sobbing her very leartout. The children were clamorous ; and but few were the words of their clamor. * I am cold,’—* I am hungry*^—and that was all. The Deacon brought in the w'ood ; made up a fire ; lighted a candle ; and emptied the bag and basket. The poor, pale woman wept and sobbed her thanks. ‘ Oh, you varmint!’ said the Deacon, as he looked at the husband and father; and broke oflT a piece of bread for each of the children. The general commotion aroused the poor wretch from his drunken stupor. He looked up and recognized the Deacon. ‘ Hallo, old music,’ said he, ‘ are you here ? Give us a stave, old nightingale.— Sing as you do in meeting. Sing and scare the rats away.’ -‘Why, what on earth does the critter mean ?’ said the Deacon. The 30or, pale, grateful woman smiled through ler tears. She could not help it. She had been a singer in her better days. She had heard the Deacon sing. 1 do not record this incident merely because it is honorable to the Deacon ; but because it is particularly connected with my story. In this errand of mercy. Deacon Goodman caught a dreadful cold. It affected hiS: throat and his nose, and ^ven his lungs; and gave a tone to his voice not unlike the lowes t note of a^-cracked bass viol, alternating with the shriek of a clarion,et, unskilful blown. On Saturday evenirig he soaked his feet in hot water, drank copiously of hot b&lm tea, went to bed, and said he felt comfortable. ‘Now Deacon,’ Said Mrs. Goodman, ‘ you are dreadful hoarse;—you won't sing to-morrow;, will you ?’ ‘ Sing-ingis praying—and—’—and he dropped asleep. And sure enough he did * sing tomorrow,’ ai^^t surpassed all that had gone before. ‘ This is the last of it,’ said the choir leader, ‘ I have done.’ In the afternoon, the choir was vacant, some of the singers absent, and others scattered about in the pews. The Minister read three verses of a psalm ; and then observed, ‘ the choir being absent, s'nging must necessarily be omitted.* But Deacon Goodman saw no slich necessity. He arose, and sung the three verses hnnself! He stopped six times too sneeze: and blew his nose be-the verses, by way of symphony !— The-next day he was sick abed. A parish meeting was hastily called, and a resolution unanimously passed, that ‘Whereas, the solemnity and decorum of public worship depend much on the character of the music : resolved that hereafter, no person shall inthis parish, without tha approbation of the choir.’ Rather a strin-prit measure; but what could they do ?— The Minister called on Deacon Goodman, and handed him the resolution. *He read it over three times. He then calmly folded up the paper, and handed it back to the Minister. ‘ This is a free country j-et, I hope. ‘ I shall sing in meeting' He said tho.«!e very words! He was dreadfully ‘set' in his way.’ ‘ Then, Deacon,’ said the Minister, ' I have a most painful duty to perform: I am instructed to tell you, that your connection with the society must cease. The • Deacon here started from his seat. Had the full moon split into fotir piecs, and danced a quadrille in the heavens; Orion singing, and the Northern Bear growling bass, he could not have been more astounded. He was silent. Emotion after emotion rolled over his heaving spirit. At length ‘ Tears came to his relief,’ as they say in the Novels. He spoke, but almost inarticulately. ‘ I kno^ I am a poor, unworthy creature, but Ijhope they will take me in somewhere.’ The Minister wept himself. How could he help it ? The Deacon’s cold was nearly cured; and about an hour after,the iiiterview, he ' was seen mourifed on old Mag, heading due north. Four miles in that diiection, lived the worthy Minister of another parish. The Dea-con found him in his study, where also was his daughter copying music. She was a you do understand music; or you could never sing Mozart with expression ; and did not you sing that n\pst beautiful solo, which is worthy of an Angel’s ear and voice T Now this W 'S all Greek to the Deacon, and like proficient in the art, and played the organ in her'.iather’s ctiurch. She had heard of the Deacon’s musical troubles, and had also heard him sing. ‘ Sir,* said he to the Minister, • there has been a little difficulty in our parish, which makes me feel it my duty to withdraw, and I have come to ask the privilege of uniting with yours. (At that mopient, the ytoung lady vanished from the room.) ‘ I much reCTet the difficulty iri your parish,’ said the Minister, ‘ and hope it will be amicably settled. But if you finally conclude to withdraw, we shall be most happy to receive you; and when it shall please the Lord to take good old Deacon Grimes to himself (and a very few days must now give him his dismission,) we hhall expect you to sit in his seat.’ After half an hour’s pleasant conversation, the Deacon arose to take his departure. At that moment, a boy came in and handed a billet to the Minister. He glanced at the billet, and ‘ Deacon, sit down one moment,’ said hf. He read the billet; and after some hesitation said, ‘ I have received a singular communication froni our choir leader ; he has somehow or other heard Of your intention to join our society ;\ and has heard of it with very great pleasure; but, he adds, that it is the earnest and unanimous wish of th^ choir, tl^t you will not, sing in meeting^ The Deacon was agai» electrified, but had got iised to the shock ‘ Singing is praying; and I join n^cburch whera I cannot s^iwg in Good day. Sir.’ **He was very ‘ setiiStts way Five miles West of his own d|^l^ g, lived the good Pastor of another ffocki> The Deacon found him shelling corn in his crib. This Minister, although eminently pious, thought it no harni4p be a little waggish in a good cause, and for a worthy object. lie also had heard ofr the Devon’s musical troubles, and shrewdly suspected the object of his visit. • J)j^atbri Goodman, 1 am glad to see you,’^saii^e, ‘ this is not exactly ministerial labftr^^ it ?’ ‘ I am of a different opin^nj’ s£ ^ ^ e Deacon, ‘ any honest and u s^ l l&b?^*'is ministerial labor; I hate all Lord forgive me, I mean I don’tHke^hera ; and 1 like a dandy Minister least of^any.’ ‘ You and 1 are agreed there,’ said the ll^ister, ‘ come, walk into the house and^e riiy wife; she says she is in love with you for your, honesty and your oddities.’ * 1, never!’ said the Deibon ; ‘but I thank you, .1 am in something of a hurry ; and can have a little business which we can just as well settle here. There has been a little difficulty in our Parish, which makes me feel it my duty to withdraw, and have come to ask the privilege of jeining yours.’ At this, the Rev. gentleman looked as if he was very m^h surprised. ‘ Is it j)ossihle,’ said he, | well. Deacon, thongh an ill wind for them, it is a good one for u s; for it has blown you hither. We shall be mbst happy ta receive you, especially as our choir leader has followed th e multitude and gone West. We have been looking about for a competent man^o^ take his place.. Our singe^ are all young and diffident, and eaeh one is loth to take the lead. We hpar that you sing the most difficult music, and--------—’ ‘ 5^11 y» mercy upon you,’^ d the Dea-coii, ‘ 1 dbn’t know one not& from another. 1 know"that singing is praying; and I sing in meeting as* I pray 4n meeting.* * Excuse m^ aptj^JyieHd,’ replied the min- , — ister,' it is yottfinodest/ that now speaks ; | replied the young aandiaate a sensible man as he was, he always said nothing when he had nothing to say., The minister continued—‘ you say truly my friend, that iingihg is praying.' But to those who know nothing of music, il is prayii^ in an utfknown tongue ; and I am sure you are not Papist enough to approve of that- Music is a language ; end, like other languages, it must be learned before it can be spoken. When the deaf and dumb attempt to speak our common language,* they only make strange noises ; and still worse noises do we make, when the ‘ mu-<l sical ear,’ or the musical voice, we attempt to sing.’ Thus sensibly, did that good Minist^ spe^Jl* Deacon Goodman was very mu^ ‘ struck up.’ Though ‘ set in his way,’ ha was not- -a^fool; and only needed to ha touched iu the right place. ‘ It never appeared to me in that light before,’ said the Deacon, thoughtfi^^ ‘ And yet, my &iend, it is the ti^Right,’ said th^ minister. ‘And now let me give you a word of advice—go home, and take your old seat on Sunday, and nevev^gaiii attempt to sing in meeting. For if your heart is right, your ear untuned, and your voice though kind, is anything but musical. The Deacon ‘ said nothing, but thought tha more,’ He mounted, Old Mag. The Angel of reilection came down, and sat upon her mane, and looked^bini full in the face. Reader, does that seem incongruous ?* la the old mare’s mane an improper seat for an Ai^el ? Who onca rode on an Ass ? The Deacon passU a point in the road, where on one side, v’ar a sturdy oak, that had bean blown over by a recent whirlwind, and en the other, a flourishing willow, graceftilly 1 ending before the parsing wind. ‘ Od rabbit it,’ ^id the Deacon to himself; it was the first word he had spoken, * to thiii^ that I should be such an obstinate old fool.’ He approached his own village. Tha reason for his errand abroad had been suspected, and they were alt on the loqk out for his return. There stood the choir leader. ‘ Welcome home Dea^n^ said he, * hof we have not lost you yet.* ‘ Get o»t,* said the Deacon, with a [ natured, but rather s^epish look, anc he went. ■* There stood the minister. ‘ Welcome home Deacon, I hope we have not lost you yet.* ‘ Get—:— he was just going to say get out, but habitual reverence for the minister, cut him short. He looked at the miznster^ and the minister looked at him, ^ d both burst into a fit of laughter. The choir leader came up and joined in the merriment. ‘ Od rabbit you aU’ said he ; and on ho went. At the front door and windows cf his own house, were his wife and daugh* ters, and’^wo or three of the singing girls, all of a titter.’ They had seen and heard his interview with the minister, and knew that all was well. ‘ Od rabbit the whole in bunch of you,’ said h^|^nd went to put old Mag in the stable. • r^- To end this long story ; the ‘ Uni^sel Minister’ was not so much hurt as had been <#> feared. Hie ,soon recovered, and in' his ♦ sermon, he called Deacon Goodman ri||^t ■> out by name, and said ‘if Calvinism makes such Christians, the mqre we have of it, the better.* Deacon Goodman took his old seat on Sunday, but since that day’s adver.ftTr?, has never simg in meeting. Onci?, rn-.l only once, did he try to raise a psalni cn his own private account. He was in h:s l:;'rn putting some hay in the cow’s man:^';’.— Now, the neighbors were always ren.ly to do Deac.Goodman a good turn ; and be;ere he had finished the first verse, two of thoTi rushed in, and j|sked him if his cow -::\7S chokcd f He never sung again. S. Patrick Henry.—When Patrick Henry, who gave the first impulse to the ball of the American revolution, introduced his celebrated resolution on the stamp act into tho House of Burgesses of Virginia. (M a y 1 7 6 5 ) he exclaimed, when descanting on the tynn-ny of the obnoxious act, “ Cesar had his' Brutus, Charles the 1st his Cromwell, and* George the 3d—” “ Treason,** cried the speaker: “treason,’ treason,” echoed from every part of the house. It was ona of those trying moments which aradecisiv3 of character, Henry faltered not for an instant but rising to a loftier attitude, and fixing o>i the speaker an eye flashing with fire,contin-ued, “ may profit by their example. I f this be treason, make the most of it.” Sharp Seply.—^Two country attorneys overtaking a wagoner on tho road-, and thinkifig to be witty upon him, asked why his fore horse' was so fat, and the rest so lean ? The wagoner, knowing them, answr-eil; “ that his fore horse waa a lawyer, and the rest weie his clinents.” Balaam's Jss-Bishop who.taitt. mered, directed his Chaplain to exaB^a a young man. The f i - t did Balaam’s ass speak. . ^ master had an impediment in iM apech. ■if _
|Title||Litchfield Republican, 1849-01-11|
|Uniform Title||Litchfield Republican (Litchfield, Conn. : 1847)|
|Subject||Litchfield (Conn.) -- Newspapers|
|Description||Frequency: Daily (Except Sunday); Publication dates: Vol. 7, no. 2358 (Oct. 11, 1855) -v. 21, no. 6546 (Aug. 27, 1868); Notes: Publishers Ruddock & Tibbits, 1866-1868; Published a morning edition in 1865; Weekly eds.: Weekly Democrat (New London, Conn.), 1855-<Feb. 7, 1857>, and: New London Democrat (New London, Conn.), <Feb. 8, 1862>-1868|
|Collection||Newspapers of Connecticut|
|Source - Location||Connecticut State Library microfilm, AN104.N7 S73|
|Relation||Other edition: Weekly Democrat (New London, Conn.); New London Democrat (New London, Conn.: 1861); Preceding title: Daily star (New London, Conn. : 1851); Succeeding title: Daily star (New London, Conn. : 1868)|
|Rights||Digital Image © Connecticut State Library. All rights reserved. Images may be used for personal research or non-profit educational uses without prior permission. For permission to publish or exhibit, see Reproduction and Publication of State Library Collections, http://ctstatelibrary.org/reproduction-publication/|
|Title-Alternative||Issues for July 18, 1867-1868 published as New London daily star|
|CONTENTdm file name||10832.cpd|
'W - '
SI ifamilg Ne^ogpcpet ; IBfVfitfd to potitkSi iitisctllotig, Stgricullliw,' atfj) JntflHgenee.
lALDWIN, * ■ ' m - ' " * * * & G. H. BALDWIN, Proprietors ^~iiraiiii/ -------
.VOLUME. 2---N0. 29. LITCHFIELD^ (COM.) JANUARY I L 1849.
HENRV W.IRD, SdUor.—Tcrtns—$1.35 Per AoBnm.
WHOLE NO. 81.
Til* P o o r , G o d H e lp TUcm. '
BT MR*. M. ^ ICEWETT.
tHere are a few season,ible lines from one of
thejnost c h a T jp in g of American writers. They
i i a v c been p u 'b l i s h c d , we dare say, again and
^ a in , b u t t h e y are n o t the less attractive on
t h a t a c c o u n t . ]
Old Winter comes with a ste.olthy tread,
O’^ fallen autumn leaves.
And shrilly he whislleth overhead,
And pipeth beneath the ea\^s.
i .e t him come ! we care not, nmid our wirth.
For the dri^ng snow or rs’n ;
For little we reck of the dieerless hearth.
Or the broken window panfe.
’Tis a stormy nightfj but our^Jee shall mock
At the winds that loudly prate,
vAs they echo the moan of her poor that knock
l^fcith their cold hands at our gate.
The poor, we^ive them the half-pickcd bone,
And the diy, mildewed bread ;
Ah ! they never, God help them, knlBw the pain
Of the pampered overfed.
F ill round again with cheering wine.
While the fire glows warm .and brig’it;
And &itg me a song, sweet heart of mine,
pi^you whispcl’ tlie words ‘ good night!’
You win never dream, ’neath the covering warm
Of your soft and curtjiined bod.
Of the scanty rug nnd the shivering form.
And the yawning roof <»’erlre*d.
The iK)or, God pity them in thejr need !
We’ve a prayer for every groan;
They ask us witE outstretched hands for bread,
• And we carelessly give a stone.
God help them! Go<^4icIp us ! for much we
TJiough lofty and ri(jli we b e ;
And open our hearts unt3 all that knock
With the crv of Charitv.
Fiom the H/ixfoJ R. I , Phoenix.
Passa^s in the Life of a Deaeon ;
Wl^ein is shoum ili-f inconvraience,
SOT having The “ 9fusical £ar.’*
Deacon Goodman w^as extensively known
not merely in his own Parish, but through
several miles of (country,
for his amiable xiisposition, aotive.benevolence
|CONTENTdm file name||10828.pdfpage|