although the commanding officer may deserve no respect. Most of the
well-to-do tradesfolk were Dissenters. They were taught what was
called a "moderate Calvinism", a phrase not easy to understand. If
it had any meaning, it was that predestination, election, and
reprobation, were unquestionably true, but they were dogmas about
which it was not prudent to say much, for some of the congregation
were a little Arminian, and St. James could not be totally
neglected. The worst of St. James was that when a sermon was
preached from his Epistle, there was always a danger lest somebody
in the congregation should think that it was against him it was
levelled. There was no such danger, at any rate not so much, if the
text was taken from the Epistle to the Romans.

In the "singing-pew" sat a clarionet, a double bass, a bassoon, and
a flute: also a tenor voice which "set the tune". The carpenter,
to whom the tenor voice belonged, had a tuning-fork which he struck
on his desk and applied to his ear. He then hummed the tuning-fork
note, and the octave below, the double bass screwed up and
responded, the leader with the tuning-fork boldly struck out,
everybody following, including the orchestra, and those of the
congregation who had bass or tenor voices sang the air. Each of the
instruments demanded a fair share of solos.

The institution strangest to me now was the Lord's Supper. Once a
month the members of the church, while they were seated in the pews,
received the bread and wine at the hands of the deacons, the
minister reciting meanwhile passages from Scripture. Those of the
congregation who had not been converted, and who consequently did
not belong to the church and were not communicants, watched the rite
from the gallery. What the reflective unconverted, who were