I should like to have one of these carping critics
meet my friend, Mrs. Sarah M. Boggs, who has taught the infant-class
since 1867, having missed only two Sundays in that time, once, in 1879,
when it stormed so that nobody in town was out, and once, last winter a
year ago, when she slipped off the back porch and hurt her knee. I can
just see Sister Boggs laying down the law to anybody that finds fault
with the infant-class, let him be preacher or who. Why the very idea!
Do you mean to say, sir--I guess Sister Boggs can straighten him out all
right.

No less faithful is Mr. Parker, the leading lawyer of the town, who
conducts the Bible-class. I believe one morning he didn't get there
until after the last bell was done ringing, but otherwise his record of
attendance compares favorably with Sister Boggs's. Both teachers agree
to ignore the stated lesson for the day, but whereas Sister Boggs leads
her flock through the flowery meads of narration, Mr. Parker and his
class have camped out by preference for the last forty years in the
arid wilderness of Romans and Hebrews and Corinthians First and Second,
flinging the plentiful dornicks of "Paul says this" and "Paul says that"
at each other's heads in friendly strife. Mr. Parker's class is also
very assiduous in its attendance upon the Young People's meetings,
seemingly holding the dogma, "Once a young person always a young
person." The prevailing style of hairdressing among the members is to
grow the locks long on the left side of the head, and to bring the thin
layer across to the right, pasted down very carefully with a sort of
peeled onion effect.

There is a whole lot of them, and they jower away at each other all
through the time between the opening and the closing exercises, having
the liveliest kind of a time getting over about two verses of the Bible
and the whole ground of speculative theology.

Immeasurably more impermanent in method and personnel is the regular
collegiate department, the Sabbath-school proper. In the early days,
away back when sugar was sixteen cents a pound, the thing to do was
to learn Scripture verses by heart. If you were a rude, rough boy who
didn't exactly love the Sunday-school as much as the hymn made you say
you did, but still one who had rather sing it than stir up a muss, you
hunted for the shortest verses you could find and said them off. From
four to eight was considered a full day's work. But if you were a boy
who put on an apron a