ows, amid refracted
shadows we discern the vacant pews and empty galleries, the silent
organ, the voiceless pulpit and the clock which tells to solitude how
time is passing. Time--where man lives not--what is it but eternity?
And in the church, we might suppose, are garnered up throughout the
week all thoughts and feelings that have reference to eternity, until
the holy day comes round again to let them forth. Might not, then, its
more appropriate site be in the outskirts of the town, with space for
old trees to wave around it and throw their solemn shadows over a
quiet green? We will say more of this hereafter.

But on the Sabbath I watch the earliest sunshine and fancy that a
holier brightness marks the day when there shall be no buzz of voices
on the Exchange nor traffic in the shops, nor crowd nor business
anywhere but at church. Many have fancied so. For my own part, whether
I see it scattered down among tangled woods, or beaming broad across
the fields, or hemmed in between brick buildings, or tracing out the
figure of the casement on my chamber floor, still I recognize the
Sabbath sunshine. And ever let me recognize it! Some illusions--and
this among them--are the shadows of great truths. Doubts may flit
around me or seem to close their evil wings and settle down, but so
long as I imagine that the earth is hallowed and the light of heaven
retains its sanctity on the Sabbath--while that blessed sunshine lives
within me--never can my soul have lost the instinct of its faith. If
it have gone astray, it will return again.

I love to spend such pleasant Sabbaths from morning till night behind
the curtain of my open window. Are they spent amiss? Every spot so
near the church as to be visited by the circling shadow of the steeple
should be deemed consecrated ground to-day. With stronger truth be it
said that a devout heart may consecrate a den of thieves, as an evil
one may convert a temple to the same. My heart, perhaps, has no such
holy, nor, I would fain trust, such impious, potency. It must suffice
that, though my form be absent, my inner man goes constantly to
church, while many whose bodily presence fills the accustomed seats
have left their souls at home. But I am there even before my friend
the sexton. At length he comes--a man of kindly but sombre aspect, in
dark gray clothes, and hair of the same mixture. He comes and applies
his key to the wide portal. Now my thoughts may go in among the dusty
pews or ascen