spirits in a minute than the rest of us have in a week, and you are as
full of capers as a puppy. I guess I know religion when I see it. It
makes children loathe the Bible by forcing them to learn a hundred of
its verses for punishment. It pulls down the shades on Sundays, eats
cold meat and pickles, locks up bookcase and piano, and discharges the
girl for walking with her beau. Oh, no! my dear, you're not religious."

Poor abused word; no wonder it terrifies people.

How many thousand women, I wonder, are kept from church by their
inability to dress up to the standard of extravagance raised by those
who are more wealthy than thoughtful. Even if the poor woman plucks up
her courage and enters the church, the magnificence of her fortunate
sisters distracts her attention from the service, and fills her with
longing, too often with envy, and surely with humiliation.

Some years ago a party of ultra-high churchwomen decided to wear only
black during Lent. One of these ladies condescended to know me, and in
speaking of the matter, she said: "Oh, I think this black garb is more
than a fad, it really operates for good. It is so appropriate, you know,
and--and a constant reminder of that first great fast--the origin of
Lent; and as I walk about in trailing black, I know I look devout, and
that makes me feel devout, and so I pray often, and you're always the
better for praying, even if your dress is at the bottom of it--and, oh,
well, I feel that I am in the picture, when I wear black during Lent."

But the important thing is that before the Lenten season was half over,
female New York was walking the streets in gentle, black-robed dignity,
and evidently enjoying the keeping of Lent because, to use a theatrical
expression, "it knew it looked the part."