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
a-tempered 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 window-
curtain, where, through the small peephole, I half fancy that he has
caught my eye. Now, every loiterer has gone in, and the street lies
asleep in the quiet sun, while a feeling of loneliness comes over me, and
brings also an uneasy sense of neglected privileges and duties. O, I
ought to have gone to church! The hustle of the rising congregation
reaches my ears. They are standing up to pray. Could I bring my heart
into unison with those who are praying in yonder church, and lift it
heavenward, with a fervor of supplication, but no distinct request, would
not that be the safest kind of prayer? "Lord, look down upon me in
mercy!" With that sentiment gushing from my soul, might I not leave all
the rest to Him?

Hark! the hymn. This, at least, is a portion of the service which I
can enjoy better than if I sat within the walls, where the full choir