lves.

My Josiah tuned up and sung jest as loud as any of 'em, but his
singin' would have sounded better if he had sung the tune the rest
did. He sung the tune he had always been used to singin' hims in, he
is dretful sot on it, and don't like to change. But as he seemed to
enjoy it so much, and the great rush of melody wuz so powerful his
voice wuz onnoticed. The him wuz, "How firm a foundation ye saints of
the Lord."

Mr. Pomper wuz jest ahead on us, and thinkin' he would see better, I
spoze had got up on the bench, and jest as he shouted out with the
rest, "How firm a foundation," the bench broke and down he come, but
in the big volume of sound, his yell of fright wuzn't heard no more
than the note of a mosquito in a cyclone.

In the intervals of silence Josiah sot and made comments to me on the
surroundin' seen, that alas made me know his mind wuzn't riz up on
such hites as mine wuz. He commented on the looks of the men around
him, and cast the idee in my face that there wuzn't any on 'em so good
lookin' as he wuz, or nigh so distinguished in their means. I felt
sorry to think he wuz so blinded, though of course he looks good to
me. And he talked about the wimmen and advanced the idee that they
well might take pattern by his pardner in their looks and deportment.
Josiah after all is a man of good sense.

[Illustration: "_Mr. Pomper, thinkin' he would see better, got up on
the bench, and jest as he shouted out 'How firm a
foundation,' the bench broke and down he come._"
(_See page 168_)]

As I looked round me, I liked the place more and more. What need wuz
there of upholstery and carpets? Brussels never turned out such a
carpet as old Mom Nater had spread all round that Temple of hern. Old
Gobelin never wove such tapestry. No Empress of the wonder-laden East
ever had hung in her boodore such a marvelous green texture as drooped
down in emerald canopies above us. No golden lamp ever gin such a
light as sifted down over the matchless green overhead, to light that
solemn sanctuary. No organ ever gin out such sweet sound as the birds
warbled anon or oftener. No jeweled ornaments ever sparkled on a altar
like the emerald and gold winged butterflies flutterin' round that
sacred hant, amongst the wild flowers that blossomed even up to the
door. And it seemed as if the soul could soar up easier somehow when
you could look right into the blue mystery of the sky, the trackless
path that souls mount up on in prayer and p