Damphool read the entire service, Minister's cues included, and sung all the hymns. I noticed that Bull Dogge gave all the responses with a great deal of energy and vigor. He said he always liked to come to this kind of Church, because when they jawed religion at him, he could jaw back.
Kept as cool as I could, but could not help looking round now and then to see the show.
Elderly lady on my right, very devout, gilt edged prayer-book, gold-covered fan, feathers in her bonnet, rings on her fingers, and for all I know, "bells on her toes."
Antiquated gentleman in same slip, well preserved but somewhat wrinkled, smells of Wall street, gold spectacles, gold-headed cane, put three cents in the plate.
Fashionable little girl on the left—two flounces on her pantalettes, and a diamond ring over her glove.
Young America looking boy, four years old, patent leather boots, standing collar, gloves, cane, and cigar case in his pocket.
Foppish young man with adolescent moustache, pumps, legs à la spermaceti candles, shirt front embroidered à la 2.40 race horse, cravat à la Julien, vest à la pumpkin pie, hair à la soft soap, coat-tails à la boot-jack, which when parted discovered a view of the Crystal Palace by gas-light on the rear of his pantaloons, wristbands à la stove pipe, hat à la wild Irishman, cane to correspond; total effect à la Shanghae.
Artificial young lady, extreme of fashion; can't properly describe her, but here goes: whalebone, cotton, paint and whitewash; slippers à la Ellsler, feet à la Japanese, dress à la Paris, shawl à la eleven hundred dollars, parasol à la mushroom, ringlets à la corkscrew, arms à la broomstick, bonnet à la Bowery gal (Bull Dogge says the boy with buttons on him, brought it in, in a teaspoon, fifteen minutes after she entered the house), neck à la scrag of mutton, complexion à la mother of pearl, appearance generally à la humbug. (Bull Dogge offers to bet his hat, she don't know a cabbage from a new cheese, and can't tell whether a sirloin steak is beef, chicken, or fresh fish.)
At length, with another variette upon the organ, and all the concentrated praise and thanksgiving of the congregation, sung by four people up stairs, the service concluded. I thought from the manner of this last performance, each member of the choir imagined the songs of praise would never get to Heaven if he didn't give them a personal boost, in the shape of an extra yell.
Left the Church with a confused idea that the only way to attain eternal bliss, is to go to Church every Sunday, and to give liberally to the Foreign Missionary cause.