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 not 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
ascend tile pulpit without sacrilege, but soon come forth again to enjoy
the music of the bell. How glad, yet solemn too! All the steeples in
town are talking together, aloft in the sunny air, and rejoicing among
themselves, while their spires point heavenward. Meantime, here are the
children assembling to the Sabbath school, which is kept somewhere within
the church. Often, while looking at the arched portal, I have been
gladdened by the sight of a score of these little girls and boys, in
pink, blue, yellow, and crimson frocks, bursting suddenly forth into the
sunshine, like a swarm of gay butterflies that had been shut up in the
solemn gloom. Or I might compare them to cherubs, haunting that holy
place.

About a quarter of an hour before the second ringing of the bell,
individuals of the congregation begin to appear. The earliest is