SOME PEOPLE WHO WENT UP TO THE TEMPLE.


An elegant temple it was, this modern one of which I write--modern in
all its appointments. Carpets, cushions, gas fixtures, organ, pulpit
furnishings, everything everywhere betokened the presence of wealth
and taste. Even the vases that adorned the marble-topped
flower-stands on either side of the pulpit wore a foreign air, and in
design and workmanship were unique. The subdued light that stole
softly in through the stained-glass windows produced the requisite
number of tints and shades on the hair and whiskers and noses of the
worshippers. The choir was perched high above common humanity, and
praised God for the congregation in wonderful voices, four in number,
the soprano of which cost more than a preacher's salary, and soared
half an octave higher than any other voice in the city. To be sure
she was often fatigued, for she frequently danced late of a Saturday
night. And occasionally the grand tenor was disabled from appearing
at all for morning service by reason of the remarkably late hour and
unusual dissipation of the night before. But then he was all right by
evening, and, while these little episodes were unfortunate, they had
to be borne with meekness and patience; for was he not the envy of
three rival churches, any one of which would have increased his
salary if they could have gotten him?

The soft, pure tones of the organ were filling this beautiful church
on a certain beautiful morning, and the worshippers were treading the
aisles, keeping step to its melody as they made their way to their
respective pews, the heavy carpeting giving back no sound of
footfall, and the carefully prepared inner doors pushing softly
back into place, making no jar on the solemnities of the