occurrences which took place as its minutes slowly drew along; the duties
of that day dividing themselves by a complete line from the services of
other times. The tunes they that morning essayed remained with him for
years, apart from all others; also the text; also the appearance of the
layer of dust upon the capitals of the piers; that the holly-bough in the
chancel archway was hung a little out of the centre--all the ideas, in
short, that creep into the mind when reason is only exercising its lowest
activity through the eye.

By chance or by fate, another young man who attended Mellstock Church on
that Christmas morning had towards the end of the service the same
instinctive perception of an interesting presence, in the shape of the
same bright maiden, though his emotion reached a far less developed
stage. And there was this difference, too, that the person in question
was surprised at his condition, and sedulously endeavoured to reduce
himself to his normal state of mind. He was the young vicar, Mr.
Maybold.

The music on Christmas mornings was frequently below the standard of
church-performances at other times. The boys were sleepy from the heavy
exertions of the night; the men were slightly wearied; and now, in
addition to these constant reasons, there was a dampness in the
atmosphere that still further aggravated the evil. Their strings, from
the recent long exposure to the night air, rose whole semitones, and
snapped with a loud twang at the most silent moment; which necessitated
more retiring than ever to the back of the gallery, and made the gallery
throats quite husky with the quantity of coughing and hemming required
for tuning in. The vicar looked cross.

When the singing was in progress there was suddenly discovered to be a