On My Way To Church, I Met Two Classmates
Of Mine At Harvard Standing In A Door-Way, One A Lawyer And The
Other A Teacher, And Made Appointments For A Future Meeting.
A
little farther on I came upon another Harvard man, a fine scholar
and wit, and full of cleverness and good-humor, who invited me to
go to breakfast with him at the French house - he was a bachelor,
and a late riser on Sundays.
I asked him to show me the way to
Bishop Kip's church. He hesitated, looked a little confused,
and admitted that he was not as well up in certain classes of
knowledge as in others, but, by a desperate guess, pointed out
a wooden building at the foot of the street, which any one
might have seen could not be right, and which turned out to be
an African Baptist meeting-house. But my friend had many capital
points of character, and I owed much of the pleasure of my visit
to his attentions.
The congregation at the Bishop's church was precisely like one
you would meet in New York, Philadelphia, or Boston. To be sure,
the identity of the service makes one feel at once at home, but the
people were alike, nearly all of the English race, though from all
parts of the Union. The latest French bonnets were at the head
of the chief pews, and business men at the foot. The music was
without character, but there was an instructive sermon, and the
church was full.
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