He suffers his hair to be combed
by the girls, and actually experiences pleasure at the touch of their
gentle hands, and feels a vague wondering joy when they praise his
smooth flaxen locks. In a word, he is so weak as to wish that good Mr.
Williams was his father, and this delightful hut his home!
And so he spends his Sunday. The family does not attend public worship.
They used to, when the old meeting-house was standing, and the old
minister was alive. But they do not feel at ease in the new edifice, and
the smart young preacher is too smart for them altogether. His rhetoric
is like the cold carving and frescos,--very fine, very admirable, no
doubt; but it has no warmth in it for them; it is foreign to their
common daily lives; it comes not near the hopes and fears and sufferings
of their humble hearts. Here religion, which too long suffered
abasement, is exalted. It is highly respectable. It shows culture; it
has the tone of society. It is worth while coming hither of a Sunday
morning, if only to hear the organ and see the fashions. Yet it can
hardly be expected that such creatures as the Williamses should
appreciate the privilege of hearing and beholding from the inclosure
which has been properly set off for their class,--the colored people's
pew.
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