"'All that remains of her now is pure
womanly.'"

And then the one who spoke went by, and I
saw the beadle go with the policeman and the
soldier into the Allborough Arms, the jury go
this way and that way, and the poor weeping
gal go down the street followed by him as had
said them words. Poor gal! going crying along
with head hung down, as if ashamed to be seen
by daylight; and as I followed, too, I saw her
shrink more than ever when the juryman spoke
and offered her money, which she would not
take till she saw his sad kind look, when she
took it, and I heard her promise to call
somewhere for a letter.

A minute later, and the bustle o' the street
had swept all away, and I was slowly going
along anywhere, nowhere like, till I passed a
police-station, where, on black boards outside,
there was seven little bills, and on the top o'
every one these sad words: " Dead Body
Found."

SCURVY JACKS IN OFFICE.

CONFIDENTLY relying on the popular
character of our institutions, we Englishmen
are fond of congratulating ourselves that no
abuse or injustice can, in this land of local and
general self-government, long withstand the
force of public opinion. We boast that the
vox populi, when raised in a vigorous well-
sustained chorus, can do everything — depose
the sovereign, dissolve the parliament, abolish
taxes, reform the constitution, and, stooping
from those elephantine feats, if necessary for
the happiness of the greatest number, regulate
the price of eggs. The vox populi is the
great, irresistible, all-powerful, nicely-adjusted
machine, which can crush the iron throne of
tyranny into powder, or gently crack the nut
of a milky monopoly. Truly, the vox populi
has done a few things of this kind. It has
deprived one king of his head; it has banished
another; it has wrested all sorts of charters
and bills of rights from tyrannical rulers and
obstinate ministers; it has again and again
reformed the constitution; it has reduced and
abolished taxes; it has even imposed its will
upon the world at large. Still, with all these
triumphs to attest its potentiality, there is one
thing which the vox populi has not yet been
able to do, and that is, to reform parochial
government. This many-headed monster has
been universally condemned — has been scourged
by the bitterest tongues, stabbed by the sharpest
pens, exposed to a hailstorm of the shafts of
ridicule, and yet it lives and feels no smart!
The armour of parish administrators is insensibility;
morally and intellectually they have the
hide of a rhinoceros. Kings and ministers and
political parties yield to the vox populi because
they have understanding to comprehend what
is required of them, or because they are
capable of being shamed into compliance with
reasonable demands, or because they have the
perception to see that resistance is self-
destruction. But the rulers of the parish have
neither understanding nor a sense of shame;
and they have no fears for their own existence,
because they are utterly besotted. They
pursue their purblind, obstinate, headlong,
mischievous career, like a herd of swine drunk
upon a wallowing feast of brewer's grains.
They are difficult to deal with, for the same
reason that a furious maniac is difficult to deal
with. Reason, remonstrance, persuasion —
every moral influence — is thrown away upon
them, because they are utterly indifferent as to
what they do, or what becomes of them. For
many weeks past the whole power of the press
has been directed with unusual earnestness
against the abuses of parochial government.
Measures and men have alike been exposed
and denounced, in terms of the most withering
scorn, in the face of the whole public; and yet
abuses have multiplied rather than decreased,
and the authors have held on in their old
course, in brazen and impudent defiance of law
as well as opinion.

The conduct of the authorities of the parish
of St. Sniffens has been shameless in the last
degree. Exposure and rebuke have had no
effect upon them. The meetings of the vestry
have been more noisy and disorderly than ever;
instances of neglect and mismanagement multiply
day by day, and each new instance is more
flagrant and more shameful than the last. The
only care of the gentlemen of the vestry of this
parish is to keep unknown, not to leave undone.
As an example of the insensibility of these
gentlemen, may be mentioned an incident which
occurred a week or two since in the vestry-room.
In the midst of a noisy discussion, a stranger was
seen looking in at the glass door at the end of
the hall. Now, in such a case, you would
expect men, having any sense of decency, to
moderate the rancour of their tongues, for the sake
of appearances, if for the sake of nothing else.
You would expect some member of the assembly
to get up and say, " Hush, hush! The eyes of
the public are upon us." But instead of being
shamed into more orderly conduct, the gentlemen
of the vestry ordered their beadle to "turn
that man away, as he might be somebody from
All the Year Round." I have to apologise to
the stranger, on behalf of All the Year Round,
for being the cause of his falling under an
unjust suspicion.

The row which took place in the vestry-hall
on this occasion beggars description. I can
liken it to nothing but an Irish faction fight for
the occupation of a drinking-tent at Donny-
brook fair. At five o'clock some members of
the finance committee entered the hall and
found their place of meeting occupied by the
sanitary committee. " Now then," says a financial
gentleman, " we want this room." " You shall
have it when we're done with it, but not before,"
brusquely returns the sanitary chairman. " Get
out of this," says the first speaker; " we want
to do our business." "And we want to do ours,"
retorts the other. The two rival chairmen