At the close of the sermon, having pronounced the benediction, I engaged, according to our English custom, in a short act of private devotion.  When I raised my head and opened my eyes, the very last man of the congregation was actually making his exit through the doorway; and it was quite as much as I could manage to put on my top-coat and gloves and reach the door before the sexton closed it.  This rushing habit in the House of God strikes a stranger as rude and irreverent.  You meet with no indications of private devotion, either preceding or following public worship.  A man marches into his pew, or his pulpit, sits down, wipes his nose, and stares at all about him; and at the close, the moment the “Amen” is uttered, he is off with as much speed as if the house were on fire.  In this instance, the service had not exceeded an hour and a half; and yet they hurried out as if they thought the beef was all burnt, and the pudding all spoiled.  Of course, there were no thanks to the stranger for his services,—­to say nothing of the quiddam honorarium, which to a man travelling for health, at his own expense, with an invalid wife, might have been supposed not unacceptable.

When, however, I got to the portico outside, a gentleman, with his wife, was waiting to see me before they stepped into their carriage.  Here was some token of politeness and hospitality,—­an invitation to dinner, no doubt.—­“Thank you, sir, I am very much obliged to you; but I left my wife very ill at our lodgings this morning, and therefore I cannot have the pleasure to dine with you to-day,” was the civil excuse I was preparing.  Never was expectation more beside the mark.  My “guess” was altogether wrong.  “What are you going to do with yourself this afternoon?” was the gentleman’s blunt salutation.  “What have you to propose, sir?” was my reply.  “I am the superintendent,” he said, “of a German Sunday-school in the upper part of the city, and I should like you to come and address the children this afternoon.”  I promised to go, and he to send to my “lodgings” for me.  We both kept our appointment.  The number of scholars was about 100.  This effort to bring the Germans under a right religious influence is very laudable; for there are about 10,000 of that people in Cincinnati.  One quarter of the city is entirely German.  You see nothing else on the sign-boards; you hear nothing else in the streets.  Of these Germans the greater part are Roman Catholics.

After visiting the school, I found myself in time to attend one of the chapels of the coloured people at 3 P.M.  A medical student, whom I had met in the morning, and again at the German school, accompanied me.  He was a New Englander, and a thorough anti-slavery man.  When we got to the chapel—­a Baptist one—­they were at prayer.  Walking in softly, we entered a pew right in the midst of them.  The minister—­a mulatto of about thirty years of age, with a fine intelligent eye—­was very simple in dress, and unostentatious in manner.