His dress and hair
were very plain, and his complexion was extremely dark. He was
evidently a Welshman: there was no mistake about it: his gravity,
plainness, attitude--all told the fact. I ventured forward, and walked
along to the stove, which to me was an object of agreeable attraction.
Around the stove were two or three chairs. A big aristocratic-looking
Welshman, a sort of a "Blaenor," who occupied one of these chairs,
invited me to take another that was vacant. The eyes of all in the
synagogue were upon me. My "guessing" informant had followed me even
there, though he evidently understood not a word of Welsh. The building
was about 40 feet by 35, without galleries, and was about two-thirds
full. The pulpit was fitted up in the platform style--the "genuine"
American mode. The text was, "How shall we escape, if we neglect so
great a salvation?" The sermon was good and faithful. The audience--the
men on one side of the chapel, and the women on the other--did not
excite much interest. The men, especially, were among the worst hearers
I had ever seen. I felt ashamed of my countrymen. The spitting was
incessant, and attended with certain unmentionable circumstances which
render it most disgusting and offensive.
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