Episcopalians have a house of worship on Merrimac Street,--a pile of dark
stone, with low Gothic doors and arched windows. A plat of grass lies
between it and the dusty street; and near it stands the dwelling-house
intended for the minister, built of the same material as the church and
surrounded by trees and shrubbery. The attention of the stranger is also
attracted by another consecrated building on the hill slope of
Belvidere,--one of Irving's a "shingle palaces," painted in imitation of
stone,--a great wooden sham, "whelked and horned" with pine spires and
turrets, a sort of whittled representation of the many-beaded beast of
the Apocalypse.

In addition to the established sects which have reared their visible
altars in the City of Spindles, there are many who have not yet marked
the boundaries or set up the pillars and stretched out the curtains of
their sectarian tabernacles; who, in halls and "upper chambers" and in
the solitude of their own homes, keep alive the spirit of devotion, and,
wrapping closely around them the mantles of their order, maintain the
integrity of its peculiarities in the midst of an unbelieving generation.

Not long since, in company with a friend who is a regular attendant, I
visited the little meeting of the disciples of Emanuel Swedenborg.
Passing over Chapel Hill and leaving the city behind us, we reached the
stream which winds through the beautiful woodlands at the Powder Mills
and mingles its waters with the Concord. The hall in which the followers
of the Gothland seer meet is small and plain, with unpainted seats, like
those of "the people called Quakers," and looks out upon the still woods
and that "willowy stream which turns a mill." An organ of small size,
yet, as it seemed to me, vastly out of proportion with the room, filled
the place usually occupied by the pulpit, which was here only a plain
desk, placed modestly by the side of it. The congregation have no