Never were so many young ladies seen in our parish church on Sunday before; and never had the little round angels' faces on Mr.
Tomkins's monument in the side aisle, beheld such devotion on earth as they all exhibited.

He was about five-and-twenty when he first came to astonish the parishioners.

He parted his hair on the centre of his forehead in the form of a Norman arch, wore a brilliant of the first water on the fourth finger of his left hand (which he always applied to his left cheek when he read prayers), and had a deep sepulchral voice of unusual solemnity.

Innumerable were the calls made by prudent mammas on our new curate, and innumerable the invitations with which he was assailed, and which, to do him justice, he readily accepted.

If his manner in the pulpit had created an impression in his favour, the sensation was increased tenfold, by his appearance in private circles.
Pews in the immediate vicinity of the pulpit or reading-desk rose in value; sittings in the centre aisle were at a premium: an inch of room in the front row of the gallery could not be procured for love or money; and some people even went so far as to assert, that the three Miss Browns, who had an obscure family pew just behind the churchwardens', were detected, one Sunday, in the free seats by the communion-table, actually lying in wait for the curate as he passed to the vestry! He began to preach extempore sermons, and even grave papas caught the infection.