The Channings | Page 2

year, it looked at it with gratified eyes still,
and made the day into a sort of holiday. The trumpeters rode first,
blowing the proud note of advance, and the long line of well-mounted
javelin men came next, two abreast; their attire that of the livery of the
high sheriff's family, and their javelins held in rest. Sundry officials
followed, and the governor of the county gaol sat in an open carriage,
his long white wand raised in the air. Then appeared the handsome,
closed equipage of the sheriff, its four horses, caparisoned with silver,
pawing the ground, for they chafed at the slow pace to which they were
restrained. In it, in their scarlet robes and flowing wigs, carrying awe to
many a young spectator, sat the judges. The high sheriff sat opposite to
them, his chaplain by his side, in his gown and bands. A crowd of
gentlemen, friends of the sheriff, followed on horseback; and a mob of
ragamuffins brought up the rear.
To the assize courts the procession took its way, and there the short
business of opening the commission was gone through, when the
judges re-entered the carriage to proceed to the cathedral, having been
joined by the mayor and corporation. The sweet bells of Helstonleigh
were still ringing out, not to welcome the judges to the city now, but as
an invitation to them to come and worship God. Within the grand
entrance of the cathedral, waiting to receive the judges, stood the Dean
of Helstonleigh, two or three of the chapter, two of the minor canons,
and the king's scholars and choristers, all in their white robes. The bells
ceased; the fine organ pealed out--and there are few finer organs in
England than that of Helstonleigh--the vergers with their silver maces,
and the decrepit old bedesmen in their black gowns, led the way to the
choir, the long scarlet trains of the judges held up behind: and places

were found for all.
The Rev. John Pye began the service; it was his week for chanting. He
was one of the senior minor canons, and head-master of the college
school. At the desk opposite to him sat the Rev. William Yorke, a
young man who had only just gained his minor canonry.
The service went on smoothly until the commencement of the anthem.
In one sense it went on smoothly to the end, for no person present, not
even the judges themselves, could see that anything was wrong. Mr.
Pye was what was called "chanter" to the cathedral, which meant that it
was he who had the privilege of selecting the music for the chants and
other portions of the service, when the dean did not do so himself. The
anthem he had put up for this occasion was a very good one, taken from
the Psalms of David. It commenced with a treble solo; it was, moreover,
an especial favourite of Mr. Pye's; and he complacently disposed
himself to listen.
But no sooner was the symphony over, no sooner had the first notes of
the chorister sounded on Mr. Pye's ear, than his face slightly flushed,
and he lifted his head with a sharp, quick gesture. That was not the
voice which ought to have sung this fine anthem; that was a cracked,
_passée_ voice, belonging to the senior chorister, a young gentleman of
seventeen, who was going out of the choir at Michaelmas. He had done
good service for the choir in his day, but his voice was breaking now;
and the last time he had attempted a solo, the bishop (who interfered
most rarely with the executive of the cathedral; and, indeed, it was not
his province to do so) had spoken himself to Mr. Pye on the conclusion
of the service, and said the boy ought not to be allowed to sing alone
again.
Mr. Pye bent his head forward to catch a glimpse of the choristers, five
of whom sat on his side of the choir, the _decani_; five on the opposite,
or cantori side. So far as he could see, the boy, Stephen Bywater, who
ought to have taken the anthem, was not in his place. There appeared to
be only four of them; but the senior boy with his clean, starched
surplice, partially hid those below him. Mr. Pye wondered where his
eyes could have been, not to have noticed the boy's absence when they
had all been gathered round the entrance, waiting for the judges.
Had Mr. Pye's attention not been fully engrossed with his book, As the
service had gone on, he might have seen the boy opposite to him; for

there sat Bywater, before the bench of king's scholars, and right in front
of Mr. Pye. Mr. Pye's glance fell upon him now, and he could