all elected to scholarships of St. Alfred as
soon as they were old enough. Knotty, who
knew them at Tipton, says they were not
clever, but that their father had great interest
in St. Alfred. His daughters were infinitely
accomplished, talked much of " society," and
did a great deal of visiting among the poor,
with whom they were not popular.

With all the Reverend Hugh Philip Ogle's
(we come now to his parochial name) faults
of omission, he was tolerably well liked. He
did not interfere with his parishioners. His
curate, moreover, was a quiet sensible man of
thirty, who performed the marriages, christenings,
and burials with unerring propriety.
When he was wanted, he always came; if
people called, he was always at home; he
talked with the farmers about their crops,
and joked with their daughters about getting
married. He rode a seldom-clipped, clumsy-
looking, but very sure-footed horse; had a
party of men from town to see him twice a
year; and had very little money, but never
appeared to be in want of more. Altogether,
the Reverend Charles Burchell, A.M., was a
much greater favourite in the parish of
Tittlebatington, than the Reverend Hugh Philip
Ogle, S.T.P., Regius Professor of Cingalese,
late fellow of St. Alfred the Great, Canon of
the Most Holy St. John of Cappadocia, Vicar
of Gllym-y-nannygoatte, North Wales, &c., &c.

It was an evil day for the parish of
Tittlebatington, when the Reverend Charles
Burchell received a letter from the old Earl of
Colbath Fields. The Earl of Colbath Fields
wanted a domestic chaplain, and the Reverend
Charles Burchell had been private tutor to
the heir-apparent of that fair domain. The
offer was tempting, and the Tittlebatingtonians
had forced upon them a farewell sermon,
kind looks, and kinder wishes. Their return
for these, were universal good wishes aud not
a few tears.

So quiet and even had been the course of
things hitherto, that people never dreamt but
that the new curate would be just the same
sort of man as the last; and, that beyond his
looking a little shy at first, the Reverend
Charles Burchell's successor would be only a
reproduction of the Reverend Charles Burchell
himself. To be sure, Clipps, the stonemason,
thought something might be got up for
repairing the porch of the church; and Moggs,
the churchwarden—who was a retired dealer
in furniture, and still did a little in building
societies and bill-discounting—had some vague
fears for the cause of Protestantism.

It was a great surprise to the public of
little Tittlebatington, when four gentlemen,
in long black coats of close and ungainly cut.
with slender hoops of white linen round their
necks, and with sleek, smooth hair, made
their appearance at the inn of Tittlebatington
One of them was remarkably thin and bilious-
looking. Though evidently young, he walked
with a slight stoop, and his little grey eyes
were constantly fixed on the ground. This
was the new curate, the Reverend Arthur de
Notre Dame, B.A., formerly of St. Martin's
Hall. One of the taller gentlemen was the
Warden of St. Immaculate's College, the
ecclesiastical disciplinarian of the Reverend Arthur
de Notre Dame, and of his two other friends.

Somehow or other, the new-comers didn't
catch the feelings or partialities of the
Tittlebatingtonians. A butcher-boy, who had read
something about the Jesuits in an illustrated
abridgment of Fox's "Book of Martyrs,"
expressed some misgivings on the subject to
his mistress, who was well read in the novels
published in cheap Sunday papers. But the
greatest alarm was elicited by the enormous
quantity of eggs consumed at the Fish and
Golden Piece; the landlord of which was
seldom reminded of Lent until it was over;
and only then by the additional consumption
of beer during the Easter week following.
Two of the gentlemen walked about the
place a great deal, and made various strange
inquiries. The pew-opener was kept in
private conversation with the other two for
upwards of an hour. When she re-appeared,
the poor woman was crying very much, and
expressing her happiness to the parish beadle
that her eyes had been opened to the deadly
sinfulness of her past life. All this did not
so much matter; but when the church bell
began ringing at a quarter to seven the next
morning—a thing unheard of in the annals of
Tittlebatington—the promoters thereof were
denounced as the promoters of a public
nuisance.

Mr. Moggs had thought they might as
well have consulted him, the senior church-
warden, before they tampered with the belfry.
His dignity was offended. He felt persuaded
they Avere of the wrong sort; and couldn't
help arousing the partner of his joys and
griefs, who was in a blissful state of drowsy
unconsciousness.

Mrs. Moggs was as fond of sleep as any
other mother of a family of fifty-two years'
standing. Her reply was rather querulous,
but soon gave way to expressions of surprise
and indignation.

"To set the church-bell a ringing at this
time of morning—"

"And without consulting the—the—church-
warden," burst in her better half, struggling
to disengage himself from the refractory
strings of his nightcap. " It's plain that
they are going to try on the Oxford doings
here—but——"

The remainder of this sentence was lost in
a hunt after certain articles of dress. Mr.
Moggs shortly commenced shaving with
nervous energy.

Mrs. Moggs was practical, rather than
enthusiastic, and it occurred to her that
her husband might as well have his breakfast
before he started on his apparent errand of
reform. Mr. Moggs—who perhaps thought
that fasting would be only an encouragement
of what he was in duty bound to detest—felt