Having
ushered his family to their place, Squire Edwards took his own
official seat as deacon, beside Deacon Nash, behind the railing, below
the pulpit and facing the people.
And now Parson West comes up the aisle in flowing gown and bands, his
three-cornered hat under his arm, and climbs the steps into the lofty
pulpit, sets the hour glass up in view, and the service begins. There
is singing, a short prayer, and again singing, and then the entire
congregation rises, the seats are fastened up that none may sit, and
the long prayer begins, and goes on and on for nearly an hour. Then
there is another psalm, and then the sermon begins. Up at Pittsfield
to-day, you may be very sure that Parson Allen is giving his people a
rousing discourse on the times, wherein the sin of rebellion is
treated without gloves, and the duty of citizens to submit to the
powers that be, and to maintain lawful authority even to the shedding
of blood, are vigorously set forth. But Parson West is not a political
parson, and there is not a word in his sermon which his hearers,
watchful for anything of the kind, can construe into a reference to
the existing events of the past week. It is his practice to keep
several sermons on hand, and this might just as well have been
prepared a thousand years before.
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