the force of the suggestion. Having finished
a light breakfast, consisting of about three
quarters of a pound of cold beef besides a
couple of eggs, he started off, armed with a
stern resolution of his own, and an admonition
from his wife " not to lose his temper."

But Mr. Moggs was too well known to be
allowed to find his way straight to the
lodgings of the new curate; numbers of
friends stopped him with inquiries; and,
while they rendered him still more anxious
by curious suggestions and improbable
surmises, they so completely bewildered him,
that when he found himself in the presence of
the Reverend Arthur de Notre Dame, he
discovered that he had quite forgotten the
purport of his visit; that is, if ever he
had any.

The young clergyman received him in a
suspicious-looking black gown, and a black
silk skullcap, which made Mr. Moggs feel ill
at ease. The reverend gentleman was quietly
polite in manner, and not affable. The
brief, decided answers he made to a few
clumsily-put questions, made the church-
warden feel completely " off his dignity," as
he afterwards confessed to his wife. The
interview was not long, for Mr. Arthur's
ecclesiastical nurse or warden happening to
come in, such a conversation commenced
respecting bishops, rood-screens, rogation-days,
collections, and Pugin's window at St.
Catherine's, that Mr. Moggs retired with a vague
notion of something called the Rubric, and a
still more vague one that something, he knew
not what, was going to happen.

As he went home, he had to endure a still
larger round of questionings, and felt more
silly than ever. He fancied everything looked
changed. Passing a bookseller's, he saw a
flaming advertisement of " Thoughts on
Confession," by the Rev. Arthur de Notre Dame,
B.A., and near it, " Tracts for the Seasons.
Part One;—on the Power of the Church in
Absolution; " the vignette of which was a
Cardinal's hat printed in colours, with an
illuminated cross-hatching of crosiers. He
was dreadfully alarmed, and felt that
something required to be "put down," although
he didn't feel very certain what. A small
stationer displayed a view of the window he
had just heard of and a design for a proposed
new church in the mediæval gothic style, to
be erected in a neighbouring parish by
voluntary subscription.

Mrs. Moggs was, of course, terrified, and
went to a dissenting tea-party that very
evening, in order to glean an impartial account
of the new minister's proceedings. Mr. Moggs
discussed the matter in the parlour of the
Fish and Golden Piece, and went home rather
the worse for that worst of helps to argument
—- brandy-and-water.

The excitement was by no means confined
to the churchwarden. It spread rapidly.
The Tittlebatington medical men, who were
as friendly as two medical men in the same
neighbourhood usually are, were horrified at
hearing that the Reverend Arthur de Notre
Dame had brought an homœopathic case of
medicines with him; and had actually
prescribed three globules of Bryonia of the third
dilution, to an old woman with the lumbago.
The thoughts of an homœopathic dispensary,
with the Reverend Arthur de Notre Dame
as chairman, and subscriber of one guinea
per annum, were fitting matter for alarm.
This alarm was increased by the old woman
herself, who talked homœopathy, and
recommended " globulars " to every one she met.

The organist, whose musical abilities were
by no means of the highest class, received
orders to introduce some chants which
appeared to have neither time nor tune; and
which put himself, the charity children, and
the congregation into utter discord whenever
they were attempted. A new style of reading
was introduced, consisting of a chant
somewhat in the manner of Charles Mathews the
Younger, only much slower. Some people
rather liked it; only it was spoilt, they said,
by the curate having the uncontrollable
falsetto peculiar to early adolescence, which
caused him to scream the words which he
ought to have delivered in the deepest bass,
and to growl out the passages he ought to
have delivered in a high treble. Those who
couldn't read the prayers knew not a word of
what was passing.

The party who appeared most delighted
with these changes, were the young ladies at
Crucifix House, and their worthy preceptress,
Mrs. Arundel de Vox. It was no matter how
unseasonable the time, but they were always
at church, and Mr. de Notre Dame was as
regular a daily visitor at the school-room as
the milkman. In fact, the young ladies were
known to be employed upon a superb altar
cloth and carpet, wrought in Berlin wool and
silk, and young Rapid, of the Twelfth, who
had been great in the " breaking up " balls at
Crucifix House, was disappointed of the
embroidered braces promised him by Lady Flora
Russellton, to whom he was engaged. Mrs.
Linsey, who supplied Crucifix House with
every requisite for the work-table, expressed
her fears that it would shortly be turned into
a nunnery. This was, however, a mistake.

Before many weeks the whole service was
rendered so elaborate that people were
so much occupied in looking at the clergyman
officiating, that they had very little attention
left for the service. Every variety of
gesture and position that could be brought to
bear upon our simple and impressive Liturgy
was brought into full play; and as these were
imitated by one part of the congregation, and
sneered at by the other, a total ununiformity
was the result. The plain, harmonious hymns
hitherto sung by the charity children gave
place to a bad attempt at cathedral service,
and the Gregorian chants were half stuttered,
half gasped out, to the misery of the really
musical part of the congregation.