promotion was surely a sufficient blow, without
that cruel revocal of the moneys, now
next to impossible. The pinched canonry
funds, with all squeezing in the world, barely
sufficed to keep those souls decently upon
earth; and how was it to be now with them?
Thus he told his story, to one who was about
a poorer church–mouse than himself, and the
two condoled together piteously. Organist
Twingles shuffled up and down on his limping
leg, with most woe–begone countenance, his
wan cheeks flattening inwards painfully, as
he feels that he has no comfort to offer
beyond a few pounds put by and his own
dismal sympathy. So best to leave them in
the little parlour, which they nearly filled
up between them—the most wretched pair,
perhaps, in the town.

Meantime, our new dean went his way
ecclesiastically with prodigious disfavour, to
the hearty tune of murmurs and grumblings
but ill–suppressed. For he held fast by that
original notion of his, that here was a nest
of the purest unmitigated rustics, unredeemed
provincials; he had gotten somehow amongst
them, and the only thing for him to do was not
to soil his own feathers. This word, by the
way, is all the more fitting, since irreverent
folks, almost the first day they had seen him
walk processionally, had dubbed him The
Magpie. This was a horrible profanity, yet
it was irresistibly suggested by his puffed,
inflated figure and the way his black hood fell
behind. It was known that he had laid for
himself a rule to keep such fry, not at arm's
length, but at three times that measure—
otherwise you would never know how much
they would encroach. Let them croak and;
grumble over their dull plebeian teacups;
he did not fancy them at all. There were
certainly some respectable county families,
whom he was glad to know, such as Lord
Rufus Penguin's, General Whitlow's, K.C.B.,
to say nothing of the Honourable Mr.
Bolster's. In such society, he could well
dispense with Mrs. Blushington and her
daughters, who gave the best ecclesiastical
drums in the place; with Doctor Brown,
F.R.C.S.L; with the collector, or representative
of the treasury in that district, a person
of terrible importance, and whose dinners
were the desired of all, lay and clerical. At
the undisguised disfavour of such he could
afford to smile sourly; and went the road
he had chosen, the most exalted, high–blown,
self–opiniated, and most unpopular of deans.

Wilmer Smythe, R.A.M., meantime, was
also choosing his road under shelter of the
magpie skirts of his patron. Was the
Honourable Mrs. Bolster disinclined to have
her three daughters broken in to music under
the same hand that had trained Lady Mary
up in a metropolis? Was Mrs. General
Whitlow averse to his teaching who directed
the fingers of so august a being as Lady
Louisa Badger's niece? Were the great
county families to turn coldly from the man
who held credentials from such quality?
who had breathed the same air with such
quality? whose fingers had rested on pianos
of quality? Was it in human nature, in
flesh and blood, to be insensible to such
considerations?

And so Wilmer Smythe, R.A.M., was
sought and bid for eagerly by the county
families. Poor limping Twingles and his
sound musicianship was written down as
exploded, and was elbowed quietly aside.
Up to that date, he had had the county
families, and was accepted for want of better,
to their surprising improvement. Now, his
day was voted as gone by, and, one by one,
they let him drop. Poor Twingles! he, too,
had obscure relations in far–off regions, whom
he kept. The smug practitioner was almost
overworked, and had a little book which he
searched distractedly for a spare half–hour
or hour, when asked out: "Utterly impossible,
my dear sir! I am full for the next
fortnight! 'M— 'm—Let me see. I think
at three on Friday week—ye–e–e–s" (then
decidedly, and closing the book)—
"impossible! that is Miss Bolster's hour."

The county families said it was a shame
so capable a man had not the organ. So
Lord Rufus said to the dean over and over
again. But Doctor Dilly only said, placidly:
"We must wait, my lord; we must wait a
little; the thing will right itself presently."
Which it certainly did in a very unlooked–for
manner.

Unhappy Maydew all this while had been
fighting desperately through difficulties: and
with infinite pains and trials had raised some
money, and so staved off ruin for a short
span. Through which sorrows he had fretted
himself into a sort of low fever, and was
lying tossing in his wretched little canon's
room, with a dim, sickly light burning on
the table near him, when his friend Twingles
with hopeless face, came in to him on a
commiserating visit. He had been writing
letters—long feeble scrawls, and the bed was
covered over with fair and spoiled copies. By
the light of the dim candle, he spoke excitedly
to his friend of Doctor Dilly's conduct. He
had written to him a statement of his
difficulties, and by what cruel misapprehension
—connected a little with Doctor Dilly
himself—they had been brought on him. A
cold, unfeeling answer from the puffed–up
dignitary: purse–proud, over–fed, bloated
(these were Maydew's fever epithets) man—
fit minister of the Church!

"But," says the excited clerk, lifting
himself, "I have been writing to him again,
in another fashion. He shall know what I
and all here think of him."

Organist Twingles listened with awe and
terror.

"Beware what you do! O, take care, dear
friend!"

Just as he was leaving the room, after
sitting till the sickly candle had all but