"
As the morning, though frosty, was remarkably fine and clear, the
most of the family walked to the church, which was a very old building
of gray stone, and stood near a village, about half a mile from the
park gate. Adjoining it was a low snug parsonage, which seemed
coeval with the church. The front of it was perfectly matted with a
yew-tree, that had been trained against its walls, through the dense
foliage of which apertures had been formed to admit light into the
small antique lattices. As we passed this sheltered nest, the parson
issued forth and preceded us.
I had expected to see a sleek well-conditioned pastor, such as is
often found in a snug living in the vicinity of a rich patron's table,
but I was disappointed. The parson was a little, meagre, black-looking
man, with a grizzled wig that was too wide, and stood off from each
ear; so that his head seemed to have shrunk away within it, like a
dried filbert in its shell. He wore a rusty coat, with great skirts,
and pockets that would have held the church Bible and prayer book: and
his small legs seemed still smaller, from being planted in large
shoes, decorated with enormous buckles.
I was informed by Frank Bracebridge, that the parson had been a chum
of his father's at Oxford, and had received this living shortly
after the latter had come to his estate.
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