reflection that we had done our best.

But a pitch-pipe was not usually the sole instrument. Many village
churches had their band, composed of fiddles, flutes, clarionets, and
sometimes bassoons and a drum. "Let's go and hear the baboons," said a
clerk mentioned by the Rev. John Eagles in his Essays. In order to
preserve strict historical accuracy, I may add that this invitation was
recorded in the year 1837, and therefore could have no reference to
evolutionary theories and the Descent of Man. This clerk, who invariably
read "Cheberims and Sepherims," and was always "a lion to my mother's
children," looking not unlike one with his shaggy hair and beard, was
not inviting a neighbour to a Sunday afternoon at the Zoo, but only to
hear the bassoons.

When the clerk gave out the hymn or Psalm, or on rare occasions the
anthem, there was a strange sound of tuning up the instruments, and then
the instruments wailed forth discordant melody. The clerk conducted the
choir, composed of village lads and maidens, with a few stalwart basses
and tenors. It was often a curious performance. Everybody sang as loud
as he could bawl; cheeks and elbows were at their utmost efforts, the
bassoon vying with the clarionet, the goose-stop of the clarionet with
the bassoon--it was Babel with the addition of the beasts. And they were
all so proud of their performance. It was the only part of the service
during which no one could sleep, said one of them with pride--and he was
right. No one could sleep through the terrible din. They were the most
important officials in the church, for did not the Psalms make it clear,
"The singers go before, and the minstrels" (which they understood to
mean ministers) "follow after"? And then--those anthems! They were
terrible inflictions. Every bumpkin had his favourite solo, and oh! the
murder, the profanation! "Some put their trust in charrots and some in