anticles and hymns, and having
swelled the volume of praise, hobble back again, a pause being made for
his journey both to and fro. Not only did he sing in the choir but he
gave out the hymns. This he did in a peculiar sing-song voice with
up-and-down cadences: "Let us sing (low) to the praise (high) and glory
(low) of God (high) the hundredth (low) psalm (high)." Very much the
same intonation accompanied his reading of the alternate verses of
the Psalms.

On one occasion a locum tenens, who officiated for a few weeks, was
_stone_ deaf. Hence a difficulty arose in his knowing when our worthy,
and the congregation, had finished each response or verse. This the
clerk got over by keeping one hand well forward upon his book and
raising the fingers as he came to the close. This was the signal to the
deaf man above him that it was _his_ turn! The old man, by half sitting
upon a table in the belfry, could chime the four bells. It was his
habit, instead of going by his watch, to look out for the first
appearance of my father's carriage (an old-fashioned "britska," I
believe it was called, with yellow body and wheels and large black hood,
and so very conspicuous) at a certain part of the road, and then, and
not till then, commence chiming. It was a compliment to my father's
punctuality; but what happened when, by chance, he failed to attend
church I know not--but such occasions were rare[92].

[Footnote 92: In olden days it seems to have been the usual practice in
many churches to delay service until the advent of the squire. Every one
knows the old story of how, through some inadvertence, the minister had
not looked out to see that the great man was in his accustomed pew. He
began, "When the wicked man--" The parish clerk tugged him by his coat,
saying, "Please, sir, he hasn't come yet!" As to whether the clergyman
took the hint and waited for "the wicked man" history sayeth not.
Another clerk told a young deacon, who was impatient to begin the
service, "You must wait a bit, sir, we ain't ready." He then clambered
on the Communion table, and peered through the east window, which
commanded a view of the door in the wall of the squire's garden. "Come
down!" shouted the curate. "I can see best where I be," replied the
imperturbable clerk; "I'm watching the garden door. Here she be, and the
squire." Whereupon he clambered down again, and without much further
delay the service proceeded.]

Our _parish_ church we seldom attended,