“Well, anyhow,” said Miss Dandridge, “I like Mr. Washington Irving.  He doesn’t only write acrostics; he writes prose as well.  Here is the Chief Justice.”

“The second bell is ringing.  We’ll have all the churchyard now.  Here comes the Tenth Legion—­Hay, Wirt, and McRae!  Mark Wirt bow to Martin!”

“Will General Wilkinson be here?”

“Speak of—­one that’s often named in church—­and see the waving of his red cockfeather!  This is the General now.  Ahem! he looks what he is.”

“And the other with the sash?”

“Eaton.  They are both tarred with the same brush!  Here, coming toward us, is one of very different make!  You met him yesterday, did you not?  Ha!  Captain Decatur, allow me to give you anchorage!”

As he spoke, he held open the pew door.  Captain Stephen Decatur smiled, bowed, and entered, and was presently greeting with a manly, frank, and engaging manner the beautiful Mrs. Rand and the equally lovely Miss Dandridge, to both of whom he had been presented at an evening entertainment.  The church was now filled and the bell ceased ringing.  From the gallery came the deeper growl of the bass viol and the preliminary breath of a flute.  A moment more and the minister walked up the aisle and, mounting the tall old pulpit, invoked a blessing, then gave out in a fine mellow voice with a strong Scotch accent:—­

     “The spacious firmament on high,
     With all the blue, ethereal sky
     And spangled heavens, a shining frame,
     Their great Original proclaim.”

The choir in the gallery, viol, flute, and voices, took up the strain, and the congregation beneath following in their turn, there arose and floated through the windows a veritable paean, so sweet and loud that the boatmen on the river heard.

On went the service until the sermon was reached, and on went the sermon from “firstly” to “eighteenthly and last, my brethren.”  The sermon was upon Charity, and included no allusion to the topic of the day uppermost in men’s minds, for this minister never evinced any party spirit, and thought politics not his province.  The discourse ended, the plate was carried and the benediction given, whereupon, after a decorous pause, the congregation streamed forth to the green and warm churchyard.

Here it broke into groups, flowery bright on the part of the women, gallant and gay enough on the side of the attending gentlemen.  The broad path was like the unfolding of a figured ribbon, and the sward on either hand like sprinkled taffeta.  The sky between the large white clouds showed bluer than blue, and the leaves of the sycamores trembled in a small, refreshing breeze.  The birds were silent, but the insect world filled with its light voice the space between all other sounds.  Outside the gate coaches and horses waited.  There was no hurry; the ribbon unrolled but slowly, and the blossomy knots upon the taffeta as leisurely shifted position.