All this
made the service rather hysterical.
Tell me, my Muse, thou who sittest at the tea-table and rejoicest in
the rattling of cups: Who were they that attended St. Symphorian's
Church on this Sunday morning? First, there were the Misses
Limpenny, in black tabbinet dresses and lace shawls; a cameo brooch
adorned the throat of each, and from her waist a reticule depended.
These first directed the gold-bound optic glass at the strangers'
pew. Behind them sat the Doctor and his wife, the one conspicuous
for his black stock, the other for a shawl of Paisley workmanship.
Next, the Harbour-master, tall Mr. Stripp, with his daughters
Tryphena and Tryphosa; nor would Mrs. Stripp have been absent had she
not been buried some years before. Yellow-haired were both the
daughters, and few knew better the prevailing fashion in dress; these
whispered concerning Mrs. Goodwyn-Sandys' costume. By them sat Mr.
Moggridge, the poet, good at the responses, and Sam Buzza, his
friend, whom few Trojans excelled in casting glances at the female
congregation. Then, most gorgeous and bravest of all, the Admiral:
he wore again his gold-laced coat, but the cocked-hat rested
underneath the seat, and none could fathom the import of his gaze.
By him sat his three daughters, a-row, in straight-backed dresses of
like cut and colour, and peeped over their prayer-books; and Mrs.
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