the portal among their humblest brethren. Beyond that entrance--in
theory, at least--there are no distinctions of earthly rank; nor,
indeed, by the goodly apparel which is flaunting in the sun would
there seem to be such on the hither side. Those pretty girls! Why will
they disturb my pious meditations? Of all days in the week, they
should strive to look least fascinating on the Sabbath, instead of
heightening their mortal loveliness, as if to rival the blessed angels
and keep our thoughts from heaven. Were I the minister himself, I must
needs look. One girl is white muslin from the waist upward and black
silk downward to her slippers; a second blushes from top-knot to
shoe-tie, one universal scarlet; another shines of a pervading yellow,
as if she had made a garment of the sunshine. The greater part,
however, have adopted a milder cheerfulness of hue. Their veils,
especially when the wind raises them, give a lightness to the general
effect and make them appear like airy phantoms as they flit up the
steps and vanish into the sombre doorway. Nearly all--though it is
very strange that I should know it--wear white stockings, white as
snow, and neat slippers laced crosswise with black ribbon pretty high
above the ankles. A white stocking is infinitely more effective than a
black one.

Here comes the clergyman, slow and solemn, in severe simplicity,
needing no black silk gown to denote his office. His aspect claims my
reverence, but cannot win my love. Were I to picture Saint Peter
keeping fast the gate of Heaven and frowning, more stern than pitiful,
on the wretched applicants, that face should be my study. By middle
age, or sooner, the creed has generally wrought upon the heart or been
attempered by it. As the minister passes into the church the bell
holds its iron tongue and all the low murmur of the congregation dies
away. The gray sexton looks up and down the street and then at my