A man marches into his pew, or his pulpit,
sits down, wipes his nose, and stares at all about him; and at the
close, the moment the "Amen" is uttered, he is off with as much speed
as if the house were on fire. In this instance, the service had not
exceeded an hour and a half; and yet they hurried out as if they
thought the beef was all burnt, and the pudding all spoiled. Of course,
there were no thanks to the stranger for his services,--to say nothing
of the _quiddam honorarium_, which to a man travelling for health, at
his own expense, with an invalid wife, might have been supposed not
unacceptable.
When, however, I got to the portico outside, a gentleman, with his
wife, was waiting to see me before they stepped into their carriage.
Here was some token of politeness and hospitality,--an invitation to
dinner, no doubt.--"Thank you, sir, I am very much obliged to you; but
I left my wife very ill at our lodgings this morning, and therefore I
cannot have the pleasure to dine with you to-day," was the civil excuse
I was preparing. Never was expectation more beside the mark. My "guess"
was altogether wrong.
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