So tenacious was he on this point, that the poor
sexton was obliged to strip down a great part of the humble trophies
of his taste, before the parson would consent to enter upon the
service of the day.
The interior of the church was venerable but simple; on the walls
were several mural monuments of the Bracebridges, and just beside
the altar was a tomb of ancient workmanship, on which lay the effigy
of a warrior in armor, with his legs crossed, a sign of his having
been a crusader. I was told it was one of the family who had
signalized himself in the Holy Land, and the same whose picture hung
over the fireplace in the hall.
During service, Master Simon stood up in the pew, and repeated the
responses very audibly; evincing that kind of ceremonious devotion
punctually observed by a gentleman of the old school, and a man of old
family connections. I observed too that he turned over the leaves of a
folio prayer-book with something of a flourish; possibly to show off
an enormous seal-ring which enriched one of his fingers, and which had
the look of a family relic. But he was evidently most solicitous about
the musical part of the service, keeping his eye fixed intently on the
choir, and beating time with much gesticulation and emphasis.
The orchestra was in a small gallery, and presented a most whimsical
grouping of heads, piled one above the other, among which I
particularly noticed that of the village tailor, a pale fellow with
a retreating forehead and chin, who played on the clarionet, and
seemed to have blown his face to a point; and there was another, a
short pursy man, stooping and laboring at a bass-viol, so as to show
nothing but the top of a round bald head, like the egg of an
ostrich.
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