Herr Waldteufel always spent Sunday with us; but my grandfather would never play on that day. I suppose it would be hardly possible for a man who has spent several years on the Continent to see anything “sinful” in music on Sunday; but neither is it possible for any man, even though he be a philosopher, altogether to evade the pressure of surrounding convictions. Now, for the solidity—it wouldn’t do to say stolidity—of our Sabbatarianism, we Virginians may safely defy all rivalry. Virginia is not only _one_ of the Middle States, she is _the_ middle State of the Union in many other respects, but especially in her theological attitude. While, to the north and east of her, religious systems that have weathered the storms of centuries are rocking to their foundations, nay, tumbling before our very eyes, undermined by the incessant rush of opinions ever newer, more radical, more aggressive; and while, to the southward and westward, we see the instability and recklessness inseparable from younger communities, the Old Dominion stands immovable as a rock; believing what she has always believed, and seriously minded so to believe to the end of time,—astronomy, geology, and biology to the contrary notwithstanding. Now, of all the religious convictions of your true Virginian this is the most deeply rooted,—the most universally accepted,—that man was made for the Sabbath, not the Sabbath for man. Again: according to our biblical exegesis the word Sabbath does not really mean Sabbath, but Sunday,—the last day of the week, that is, being synonymous with the first. Now, as first is the opposite of last,—mark the geometric cogency of the reasoning,—so is work the contrary of play. Hence it is clear to us (however others may laugh) that the commandment forbidding all manner of work on the last day of the week was really meant to inhibit all manner of play on the first; _Q. E. D._ I must admit, however, that when, one Sunday, after returning from church, the Herr opened the piano, “just to try over” the hymns we had heard, my grandfather made no objection; and then, when his fingers somehow strayed into a classical andante, the old gentleman either believed or affected to believe that it was a Teutonic form of religious music, and called for more. And so, things going from bad to worse, it came about that in the end we had hours of piano music every Sunday, to the great scandal of some of our neighbors, who did not fail to hint that the Herr was an atheist and my grandfather not far from one. But Mr. Whacker would persist in drawing the line at the fiddle; making a distinction perfectly intelligible to all true Virginians,—though his course in this matter ever remained a sore puzzle to the warped and effete European brain of Herr Wolffgang Amadeus Waldteufel.