After these , others drop in singly , and by twos and threes , either disappearing through the doorway or taking their stand in its vicinity . At last , and always with an unexpected sensation , the bell turns in the steeple overhead , and throws out an irregular clangor , jarring the tower to its foundation . As if there were magic in the sound , the sidewalks of the street , both up and down along , are immediately thronged with two long lines of people , all converging hitherward , and streaming into the church . Perhaps the far-off roar of a coach draws nearer , -- a deeper thunder by its contrast with the surrounding stillness , -- until it sets down the wealthy worshippers at the portal , among their humblest brethren . Beyond that entrance , in theory at least , there are no distinctions of earthly rank ; nor indeed , by the goodly apparel which is flaunting in the sun , would there seem to be such , on the hither side . Those pretty girls ! Why will they disturb my pious meditations ! Of all days in the week , they should strive to look least fascinating on the Sabbath , instead of heightening their mortal loveliness , as if to rival the blessed angels , and keep our thoughts from heaven . Were I the minister himself , I must needs look . One girl is white muslin from the waist upwards , and black silk downwards to her slippers ; a second blushes from topknot to shoe-tie , one universal scarlet ; another shines of a pervading yellow , as if she had made a garment of the sunshine . The greater part , however , have adopted a milder cheerfulness of hue . Their veils , especially when the wind raises them , give a lightness to the general effect , and make them appear like airy phantoms , as they flit up the steps , and vanish into the sombre doorway . Nearly all -- though it is very strange that I should know it -- wear white stockings , white as snow , and neat slippers , laced crosswise with black ribbon , pretty high above the ankles . A white stocking is infinitely more effective than a black one . Here comes the clergyman , slow and solemn , in severe simplicity , needing no black silk gown to denote his office . His aspect claims my reverence , but can not win my love . Were I to picture Saint Peter , keeping fast the gate of heaven , and frowning , more stern than pitiful , on the wretched applicants , that face should be my study . By middle age , or sooner , the creed has generally wrought upon the heart , or been a-tempered by it . As the minister passes into the church , the bell holds its iron tongue , and all the low murmur of the congregation dies away . The gray sexton looks up and down the street , and then at my window-curtain , where , through the small peephole , I half fancy that he has caught my eye .
Now , every loiterer has gone in , and the street lies asleep XXXXX the quiet sun , while a feeling of loneliness comes over me , and brings also an uneasy sense of neglected privileges and duties .
at in like nearer of on than though to upon