e that the periodical manifestations of religious belief to
which I refer are intimately and indissolubly connected with the staid
and funereal solemnity which marks an Englishman's dress, conversation,
and conduct on Sunday. He is a different being for the nonce, and must
sustain the entire character of his dual existence, or it will fall to
the ground and forsake him altogether. He cannot take his religion in
the morning and enjoy himself the rest of the day. He must abstain from
everything that could remind him that he has a mind at all, besides a
soul. No amusement will he tolerate, no reading of even the most
harmless fiction can he suffer, while he is in the weekly devotional
trance.

I cannot explain these things; they are race questions, problems for the
ethnologist. Certain it is, however, that the partial decay of strict
Sabbatarianism which seems to have set in during the last quarter of a
century has not been attended by any notable development of power in
English thought of that class. The first Republic tried the experiment
of the decimal week, and it was a failure. The English who attempt to
put off even a little of the quaint armour of righteousness, which they
have been accustomed to buckle on every seventh day for so many
generations, are not so successful in the attempt as to attract many to
follow them. They are not graceful in their holiday gambols.

Meditating somewhat on this wise I lay in my long chair by the open door
that Sunday morning in September. It was a little warmer again and the
sun shone pleasantly across the lawn on the great branches and bright
leaves of the rhododendron. The house was very quiet. All the inmates
were gone to the church on the mall, and the servants were basking in
the last few days of warmth they would enjoy before their masters
returned to the plains. The Hindoo servant hates the cold. He fears it
as he fears cobras, fever, and freemasons. His ideal life is nothing to
do, nothing to wear, and plenty to eat, with the thermometer at 135
degrees in the verandah and 110 inside. Then he is happy. His body
swells with much good rice and _dal_, and his heart with pride; he will
wear as little as you will let him, and whether you will let him or not,
he will do less work in a given time than any living description of
servant. So they basked in rows in the sunshine, and did not even
quarrel or tell yarns among themselves; it was quiet and warm and
sleepy. I dozed lazily, d