and carefully, “What is it going to be?” said we, mentally; when, lo! there appeared a white table cloth, which was duly spread.  The strong built man then dived deeply into one of his coat pockets, and fetched out of it a small paper parcel, flung it upon a form close by, seized a soup plate into which he crumbled a slice of bread, then got a double-handled pewter pot, into which he poured some water, and afterwards sat down as generalissimo of the business.  The individual who manipulated with the table cloth afterwards made a prayer, universal in several of its sentiments; but stiffened up tightly with Mormon notions towards the close.

Two elderly men and a lad entered the room when the orison was finished, and a discussion followed between the “general” and the young man who had been praying as to some hymn they should sing.  “Can’t find the first hymn,” said the young man; and we thought that a pretty smart thing for a beginning.  “Oh, never mind—­go farther on—­any—­long meter,” uttered his interlocutor, and he forthwith made a sanguine dash into the centre of the book, and gave out a hymn.  The company got into a “peculiar metre” tune at once, and the singing was about the most comically wretched we ever heard.  The lad who came in with the elderly men tried every range of voice in every verse, and thought that he had a right to do just as he liked with the music; the elderly men near him hammed out something in a weak and time-worn key; the woman got into a high strain and flourished considerably at the line ends; the little girl said nothing; the three young men seemed quite unable to get above a monotonous groan, and the general looked forward, then down, and then smiled a little, but uttered never a word, and seemed immensely relieved when the singing was over.  The bread which had been broken into the soup plate was next handed round, and it was succeeded by the pewter pot measure of water.  This was the sacrament, and it was partaken of by all—­the young as well as the old.  During the enactment of this part of the programme a gaily-dressed young female, sporting a Paisley shawl, ear-rings, a chignon, a small bonnet, and the other accoutrements of modern fashion, dropped in, and also took the sacrament.  Another hymn was here given out, and the young woman with the Paisley shawl, &c., rushed straight into the work of singing without a moment’s warning.  She carried the others with her, and enabled them to get through the verses easily.  Just when the singing was ended, a rubicund-featured and bosky female, who had, perhaps, seen five-and-forty summers, landed in the room, took a seat, and then took the sacrament.  She was the last of the Mohicans, and after her appearance the door was closed, and the latch dropped.