comfortable brick tavern, the best and cleanest which I have seen in Indiana, and slept in a good, clean bed-room, four beds in a room, one in each corner; but found bad beef, though good bread, and high charges, one dollar, five cents, each.
A stranger present, asked our landlord of what religion were the community of Harmony. In broken English, and rather crossly, he replied, "Dat's no matter; they are all a satisfied people." The spell, or secret, by which these people are held in voluntary slavery, is not to be known or fathomed by inquiry. We asked if strangers were permitted to go to their church to-morrow. "No," was the answer. This is unprecedented in the civilized world.
{265} Sunday, 21st.—At Harmony till ten o'clock, when we were told, "we must then depart, or stay until after the morning service," which commences at ten o'clock. At the moment the bells began chiming, the people, one and all, from every quarter, hurry into their fine church like frighted doves to their windows; the street leading to the temple seems filled in a minute, and in less than ten minutes, all this large congregation, 1,000 men, women, and children, all who can walk or ride, are in the church, the males entering in at the side, the females at the tower, and separately seated. Then enters the old High Priest, Mr. Rapp,[84] of about eighty, straight and active as his adopted son, Frederick, who walks behind him. The old man's wife and daughters enter with the crowd, from his fine house, which looks as if the people who built it for him, thought nothing too good for him. This people are never seen in idle groups; all is moving industry; no kind
