Never shall I forget the dignity and sense of importance which
swelled my mind when I was first pronounced old enough to go to
meeting. That eventful Sunday I was up long before day, and even
took my Sabbath suit to the window to ascertain by the first light
that it actually was there, just as it looked the night before. With
what complacency did I view myself completely dressed! How did I
count over the rows of yellow gilt buttons on my coat! how my good
mother, grandmother, and aunts fussed, and twitched, and pulled, to
make everything set up and set down, just in the proper place! how
my clean, starched white collar was turned over and smoothed again
and again, and my golden curls twisted and arranged to make the most
of me! and, last of all, how I was cautioned not to be thinking of
my clothes. In truth, I was in those days a very handsome youngster,
and it really is no more than justice to let the fact be known,
as there is nothing in my present appearance from which it could
ever be inferred. Everybody in the house successively asked me if
I should be a good boy, and sit still, and not talk, nor laugh;
and my mother informed me, _in terrorem_, that there was a tithing
man, who carried off naughty children, and shut them up in a dark
place behind the pulpit; and that this tithing man, Mr. Zephaniah
Scranton, sat just where he could see me. This fact impressed
my mind with more solemnity than all the exhortations which had
preceded it--a proof of the efficacy of facts above reason. Under
shadow and power of this weighty truth, I demurely took hold of my
mother's forefinger to walk to meeting.
The traveler in New England, as he stands on some eminence, and
looks down on its rich landscape of golden grain and waving
cornfield, sees no feature more beautiful than its simple churches,
whose white taper fingers point upward, amid the greenness and bloom
of the distant prospects, as if to remind one of the overshadowing
providence whence all this luxuriant beauty flows; and year by
year, as new ones are added to the number, or succeed in the place
of old ones, there is discernible an evident improvement in their
taste and architecture. Those modest Doric little buildings, with
their white pillars, green blinds, and neat inclosures, are very
different affairs from those great, uncouth mountains of windows
and doors that stood in the same place years before. To my childish
eye, however, our old meeting-house was an awe-inspiring thing.
To me it seemed fashioned very nearly on the model of Noah's ark
and Solomon's temple, as set forth in the pictures in my Scripture
Catechism--pictures which I did not doubt were authentic copies; and
what more respectable and venerable architectural precedent could
any one desire? Its double rows of windows, of which I knew the
number by heart, its doors with great wooden quirls over them, its
belfry projecting out at the east end, its steeple and bell, all
inspired as much sense of the sublime in me as Strasbourg Cathedral
itself; and the inside was not a whit less imposing.
How magnificent, to my eye, seemed the turnip-like canopy that
hung over the minister's head, hooked by a long iron rod to the
wall above! and how apprehensively did I consider the question,
what would become of him if it should fall! How did I wonder
at the panels on either side of the pulpit, in each of which
was carved and painted a flaming red tulip, bolt upright, with
its leaves projecting out at right angles! and then at the
grapevine, bas-relieved on the front, with its exactly triangular
bunches of grapes, alternating at exact intervals with exactly
triangular leaves. To me it was an indisputable representation of
how grapevines ought to look, if they would only be straight and
regular, instead of curling and scrambling, and twisting themselves
into all sorts of slovenly shapes. The area of the house was divided
into large square pews, boxed up with stout boards, and surmounted
with a kind of baluster work, which I supposed to be provided for
the special accommodation of us youngsters, being the "loopholes
of retreat" through which we gazed on the "remarkabilia" of the
scene. It was especially interesting to me to notice the coming in
to meeting of the congregation. The doors were so contrived that on
entering you stepped down instead of up--a construction that has
more than once led to unlucky results in the case of strangers. I
remember once when an unlucky Frenchman, entirely unsuspicious of
the danger that awaited him, made entrance by pitching devoutly
upon his nose in the middle of the broad aisle; that it took three
bunches of my grandmother's fennel to bring my risibles into
anything like composure. Such exhibitions, fortunately for me,
were very rare; but still I found great amusement in watching the
distinctive and marked outlines of the various people that filled
up the seats around me. A Yankee village presents a picture of the
curiosities of every generation: there from year to year, they live
on, preserved by hard labor and regular habits, exhibiting every
peculiarity of manner and appearance, as distinctly marked as when
they first came from the mint of nature. And as everybody goes
punctually to meeting, the meeting-house becomes a sort of museum of
antiquities--a general muster ground for past and present.
I remember still with what wondering admiration I used to look
around on the people that surrounded our pew. On one side there
was an old Captain McLean, and Major McDill, a couple whom the
mischievous wits of the village designated as Captain McLean and
Captain McFat; and, in truth, they were a perfect antithesis,
a living exemplification of flesh and spirit. Captain McLean
was a mournful, lengthy, considerate-looking old gentleman,
with a long face, digressing into a long, thin, horny nose,
which, when he applied his pocket-handkerchief, gave forth a
melancholy, minor-keyed sound, such as a ghost might make, using a
pocket-handkerchief in the long gallery of some old castle.
Close at his side was the doughty, puffing Captain McDill, whose
full-orbed, jolly visage was illuminated by a most valiant red nose,
shaped something like an overgrown doughnut, and looking as if it
had been thrown at his face, and happened to hit in the middle.
Then there was old Israel Peters, with a wooden leg, which tramped
into meeting, with undeviating regularity, ten minutes before
meeting time; and there was Jedediah Stebbins, a thin, wistful,
moonshiny-looking old gentleman, whose mouth appeared as if it had
been gathered up with a needle and thread, and whose eyes seemed
as if they had been bound with red tape; and there was old Benaiah
Stephens, who used regularly to get up and stand when the minister
was about half through his sermon, exhibiting his tall figure, long,
single-breasted coat, with buttons nearly as large as a tea plate;
his large, black, horn spectacles stretched down on the extreme end
of a very long nose, and vigorously chewing, meanwhile, on the bunch
of caraway which he always carried in one hand. Then there was Aunt
Sally Stimpson, and old Widow Smith, and a whole bevy of little,
dried old ladies, with small, straight, black bonnets, tight sleeves
to the elbow, long silk gloves, and great fans, big enough for a
windmill; and of a hot day it was a great amusement to me to watch
the bobbing of the little black bonnets, which showed that sleep
had got the better of their owners' attention, and the sputter and
rustling of the fans, when a more profound nod than common would
suddenly waken them, and set them to fanning and listening with
redoubled devotion. There was Deacon Dundas, a great wagon load
of an old gentleman, whose ample pockets looked as if they might
have held half the congregation, who used to establish himself just
on one side of me, and seemed to feel such entire confidence in
the soundness and capacity of his pastor that he could sleep very
comfortably from one end of the sermon to the other. Occasionally,
to be sure, one of your officious blue flies, who, as everybody
knows, are amazingly particular about such matters, would buzz into
his mouth, or flirt into his ears a passing admonition as to the
impropriety of sleeping in meeting, when the good old gentleman
would start, open his eyes very wide, and look about with a resolute
air, as much as to say, "I wasn't asleep, I can tell you;" and then
setting himself in an edifying posture of attention, you might
perceive his head gradually settling back, his mouth slowly opening
wider and wider, till the good man would go off again soundly
asleep, as if nothing had happened.
It was a good orthodox custom of old times to take every part of
the domestic establishment to meeting, even down to the faithful
dog, who, as he had supervised the labors of the week, also came
with due particularity to supervise the worship of Sunday. I think
I can see now the fitting out on a Sunday morning--the one wagon,
or two, as the case might be, tackled up with an "old gray" or an
"old bay," with a buffalo skin over the seat by way of cushion, and
all the family, in their Sunday best, packed in for meeting; while
Master Bose, Watch, or Towser stood prepared to be an outguard, and
went meekly trotting up hill and down dale in the rear. Arrived at
meeting, the canine part of the establishment generally conducted
themselves with great decorum, lying down and going to sleep as
decently as anybody present, except when some of the business-loving
bluebottles aforesaid would make a sortie upon them, when you might
hear the snap of their jaws as they vainly sought to lay hold of the
offender. Now and then, between some of the sixthlies, seventhlies,
and eighthlies, you might hear some old patriarch giving himself a
rousing shake, and pitpatting soberly up the aisles, as if to see
that everything was going on properly, after which he would lie
down and compose himself to sleep again; and certainly this was as
improving a way of spending Sunday as a good Christian dog could
desire.
But the glory of our meeting-house was its singers' seat--that
empyrean of those who rejoiced in the divine, mysterious art of
fa-sol-la-ing, who, by a distinguishing grace and privilege, could
"raise and fall" the cabalistical eighth notes, and move serene
through the enchanted region of flats, sharps, thirds, fifths, and
octaves.
There they sat in the gallery that lined three sides of the house,
treble, counter, tenor, and bass, each with its appropriate
leaders and supporters; there were generally seated the bloom
of our young people; sparkling, modest, and blushing girls on
one side, with their ribbons and finery, making the place where
they sat as blooming and lively as a flower garden, and fiery,
forward, confident young men on the other. In spite of its being
a meeting-house, we could not swear that glances were never given
and returned, and that there was not often as much of an approach
to flirtation as the distance and the sobriety of the place would
admit. Certain it was, that there was no place where our village
coquettes attracted half so many eyes or led astray half so many
hearts.
But I have been talking of singers all this time, and neglected
to mention the Magnus Apollo of the whole concern, the redoubtable
chorister, who occupied the seat of honor in the midst of the middle
gallery, and exactly opposite to the minister. Certain it is that
the good man, if he were alive, would never believe it; for no
person ever more magnified his office, or had a more thorough belief
in his own greatness and supremacy, than Zedekiah Morse. Methinks I
can see him now as he appeared to my eyes on that first Sunday, when
he shot up from behind the gallery, as if he had been sent up by a
spring. He was a little man, whose fiery red hair, brushed straight
upon the top of his head, had an appearance as vigorous and lively
as real flame; and this, added to the ardor and determination of all
his motions, had obtained for him the surname of the "Burning Bush."
He seemed possessed with the very soul of song; and from the moment
he began to sing, looked alive all over, till it seemed to me that
his whole body would follow his hair upwards, fairly rapt away by
the power of harmony. With what an air did he sound the important
fa-sol-la in the ears of the waiting gallery, who stood with open
mouths ready to seize their pitch, preparatory to their general _set
to_! How did his ascending and descending arm astonish the zephyrs
when once he laid himself out to the important work of beating
time! How did his little head whisk from side to side, as now he
beat and roared towards the ladies on his right, and now towards
the gentlemen on his left! It used to seem to my astonished vision
as if his form grew taller, his arm longer, his hair redder, and
his little green eyes brighter, with every stave; and particularly
when he perceived any falling off of time or discrepancy in pitch;
with what redoubled vigor would he thump the gallery and roar at the
delinquent quarter, till every mother's son and daughter of them
skipped and scrambled into the right place again!
Oh, it was a fine thing to see the vigor and discipline with which
he managed the business; so that if, on a hot, drowsy Sunday, any
part of the choir hung back or sung sleepily on the first part of a
verse, they were obliged to bestir themselves in good earnest, and
sing three times as fast, in order to get through with the others.
'Kiah Morse was no advocate for your dozy, drawling singing, that
one may do at leisure, between sleeping and waking, I assure you;
indeed, he got entirely out of the graces of Deacon Dundas and one
or two other portly, leisurely old gentlemen below, who had been
used to throw back their heads, shut up their eyes, and take the
comfort of the psalm, by prolonging indefinitely all the notes. The
first Sunday after 'Kiah took the music in hand, the old deacon
really rubbed his eyes and looked about him, for the psalm was sung
off before he was ready to get his mouth opened, and he really
looked upon it as a most irreverent piece of business.
But the glory of 'Kiah's art consisted in the execution of those
good old billowy compositions called fuguing tunes, where the four
parts that compose the choir take up the song, and go racing around
one after another, each singing a different set of words, till, at
length, by some inexplicable magic, they all come together again,
and sail smoothly out into a rolling sea of song. I remember the
wonder with which I used to look from side to side when treble,
tenor, counter, and bass were thus roaring and foaming,--and it
verily seemed to me as if the psalm was going to pieces among the
breakers,--and the delighted astonishment with which I found that
each particular verse did emerge whole and uninjured from the storm.
But alas for the wonders of that old meeting-house, how they are
passed away! Even the venerable building itself has been pulled
down, and its fragments scattered; yet still I retain enough of my
childish feelings to wonder whether any little boy was gratified
by the possession of those painted tulips and grapevines, which my
childish eye used to covet, and about the obtaining of which, in
case the house should ever be pulled down, I devised so many schemes
during the long sermons and services of summer days. I have visited
the spot where it stood, but the modern, fair-looking building that
stands in its room bears no trace of it; and of the various familiar
faces that used to be seen inside not one remains. Verily, I must be
growing old; and as old people are apt to spin long stories, I check
myself, and lay down my pen.