84 THE JONATHAN PAPERS 



If there is no wind, or if it is in the right 

 quarter, we can hear the church bells, faintly 

 now, and now very clear; there is the First 

 Church bell, and the Baptist; there is St. 

 John s, on a higher note, and Trinity, a little 

 lower. After a time even the bells cease, and 

 there is no sound but the wind in the big 

 maples and the bees as they drone among the 

 flower heads. 



Sunday, at least Sunday on a Connecticut 

 farm, has a distinct quality of its own. I can 

 hardly say what it means to me no one, I 

 suppose, could say all that it means. To call 

 it a day of rest does not individualize it 

 enough. It has to be described not so much in 

 terms of rest as of balance and height. I 

 think of the week as a long, sweeping curve, 

 like the curve of a swift, deep wave at sea, 

 and Sunday is the crest, the moment of poise, 

 before one is drawn down into the next great 

 concave, then up again, to pause and look 

 off, and it is Sunday once more. 



The weather does not matter. If it rains, 

 you get one kind of pause and outlook the 

 intimate, indoor kind. If the sun shines, you 

 get another kind wide and bright. And 



