The churches that spring up on every village green, are pleasing and peculiar features of the scenery of New England. They are often seen side by side with the small school house, in loving brotherhood, teachers for this life and the next.
The simplicity of the appearance of many of their congregations, might be an object of curious observation to those accustomed only to the fashionably dressed throngs of city worshippers. I once attended divine service, many years since, with some friends, in an exceedingly secluded village, at the distance of a few miles from the spot where we were spending a part of the summer. The church was small and antique, and remote from other buildings. The interior was divided into square pews, the unpainted wood around the top of each, being wrought into a row of small banisters; while over the pulpit, was suspended a cumbrous sounding-board, which might seem, like the sword of Damocles, to menace the head beneath it.
The audience was almost entirely composed of practical agriculturalists and their families. They were attired with perfect neatness, though with little conformity to the reigning modes. Their bronzed cheeks and toil-hardened hands, showed that the physical comfort of a day of rest might be appreciated, while their intelligent and serious countenances evinced that they aspired to its higher privileges.
The weather being warm, many of the farmers removed their coats, depositing them on the back of