There are certain old-fashioned people who find fault with the
luxuriousness of our churches, and ascribe to the warmth and comfort,
which contrast so strongly with the hardships of early times, the
acknowledged sleepiness of modern congregations. For my part, I see no
necessary connection between discomfort and devotion. _My_ soul, at
least, sympathizes so much with its physical adjunct, that, when the
latter is uncomfortable, the former is never quite free and active.
Let me call to remembrance the church my childhood knew, with its
capacious square pews, in which half the audience turned their backs
upon the minister; the seats made to rise and fall, for the
convenience of standing, and which closed every prayer with a clap of
thunder; its many aisles, like streets and lanes; the old men's seats,
and the queer but venerable figures that were seen in them,--some with
black-silk caps to protect their bald heads from the freezing draughts
of air from the porchless doors; the old women's seats, on the
opposite side; the elevated row of pews round the sides of the church,
and the envied position of certain little children who had an
extensive prospect through the open pew-top within doors, and a view
of the hay-scales and the town-pump through the window besides. Those
windows, in a double row, with the gallery between,--how regularly I
counted the small panes, always forgetting the number, to make the
same weary task necessary every Sunday! The singing-seats, projecting
from the central portion of the gallery, furnished me with another
hebdomadal study, in large gilt letters of antique awkwardness, which
so impressed themselves on my mind that I see them now. This was the
golden legend: "BUILT, 1770. ENLARGED, 1795." I remember hearing a wag
propose to add as another remarkable fact, "SCOURED, 1818."
Opposite to the singing-seats towered the pulpit, from which the
clergyman looked down upon us like a sparrow upon the house-top. He
seemed in perpetual danger of being extinguished by a huge
sounding-board. Very earnestly I used to gaze at the slender point by
which it hung suspended, and wished, if it _must_ come down, that I
might make the gilt ornament at the apex, resembling a vase turned
upside down, my prize. Under the pulpit was a closet, which some one
veraciously assured me was the place where the tithingman imprisoned
incautiously playful urchins. The terrors of that dark, mysterious
cell had little effect on my conduct, however, as I was not entirely
convinced of the existence of any such lynx-eyed functionary.
The largest church in the county, it was, however, well filled, many
of the congregation coming five and some even six miles, and remaining
there through the noon intermission, which, on their account, was made
as short as possible. But in winter the vast airy space had a peculiar
and searching chill. No barn could be colder, except that the numerous
footstoves made some little change in the air during service. The
minister stood upon a heated slab of soap-stone. I used to watch this
in its progress up the broad aisle and the pulpit stairs, under the
arm of the boy from the parsonage, and the irreverent way in which he
made his descent, in view of the assembly, after depositing his
burden, was thus rebuked by an old lady who was always droll and
quaint. "Why, Matthew, when you come down the pulpit stairs of a
Sunday, you throw up your heels like a horse coming out of a
stable-door."
Older grew the church, and colder; and if people then staid at home on
Sunday afternoons, they had a better excuse for doing so than their
successors can muster. The chorister, even, was frequently among the
missing, but was charitably supposed to be subject to the ague.
Efforts were made to prevail upon the elderly part of the parish to
permit the introduction of stoves with long funnels. They scorned the
enervating luxury! Their fathers had worshipped in the cold, and their
sons might. But ah! how degenerate were the descendants of the noble
old Puritan church-goers! The services curtailed to half their proper
length, yet finding the patience of the listeners all too short! The
degenerate descendants carried the day, however, the most bigoted of
their opposers becoming disabled by rheumatism. The old sexton,
resignation to inevitable evils being a lesson he had had much
opportunity to learn, submitted with a good grace, though very much of
opinion that fires in a church were an absurdity and a waste. The
stoves were provided, and an uncommonly full attendance the next
Sabbath showed the very general interest the matter had excited. How
would it seem? Would any one faint?
There was by no means a superabundance of heat; there was something
wrong, but the lack of warmth was a hundred-fold made up in smoke. No
one could see across the church, and the minister loomed up, as if in
a dense fog; all eyes were fountains of tears. At last the old sexton
went with a slow and subdued step up to the pulpit, and, wiping his
eyes, respectfully inquired, in a whisper, whether there was not a
_little_ too much smoke. This suggestion being very smilingly assented
to, he proceeded to extinguish the fires, and for that day the
services were not indebted to artificial warmth to promote their
effect.
How sad are improvements in places to which our childish recollections
cling! The gushing fulness of unchilled love is lavished even on
inanimate and senseless things, in a happy childhood. How was my heart
grieved when the old-fashioned meeting-house was converted into the
modern temple! Time and decay had rendered the tall spire unsafe, yet
its fall by force and premeditated purpose seemed a sacrilege. I felt
affronted for the huge weathercock, reclining sulkily against a fence,
no more to point his beak to the east with obstinate preference. I
mourned over the broad, old-fashioned dial, on which young eyes could
discern the time a mile off. The old sexton lived to see this change,
and at the end of half a century of care under that venerable roof he
went to his rest. The beloved minister, and many, many who sat with
trustful and devoted hearts under his teachings, are gone to their
reward. A board from the old pulpit, a piece of the red-damask
curtain, and the long wished-for gold vase, are now in my possession.
"SOMETHING THAN BEAUTY DEARER."
You ask me if her eyes are fair,
And touched with heaven's own blue,
And if I can her cheek compare
To the blush-rose's hue?
Her clear eye sheds a constant gleam
Of truth and purest love,
And wit and reason from it beam,
Like the light of the stars above.
Good-humor, mirth, and fancy throng
The dimples of her cheek,
And to condemn the oppressor's wrong
Her indignant blush doth speak.
You ask me if her form is light
And graceful as the fawn;
You ask me if her tresses bright
Are like the golden dawn?
Her step is light on an errand of love,
Scarce doth she touch the earth,
And in graceful kindness doth she move
Around her father's hearth;
And when to bless his child he bends,
His comfort and delight,
The silver with her dark hair blends,
Like a crown of holy light.