rush of blood: all the eyes of the congregation
must be upon the unseemly struggle;
then a sudden crack, and all was over. The
bands came away in my hand. Sinking with
shame and confusion, I stole a terrified glance
at the congregation below, and my eyes
lighted on a fresh rosy face, quite strange to
the parish, seemingly struggling with some
secret emotion. Again I repeated, holding
up by way of wretched shift those cruel
bands, the warning against stiffneckedness.
No, that surely could not be laughter—such
wickedness, such irreverence in a place of
worship, it could not be!—"The evils of
stiffneckedness were manifold, its fruit was evil."
Now just one timid glance over the edge, for
she was sitting right under the pulpit, to see
could it be so. "First, Christian friends,
it hardeneth the heart, it turneth to rock
that which should be soft as moss." What
was that fluttering down lightly through the
air? Ah, wretched bands! Ineffectual
clutch, vain effort to grasp them! They light
in the pew below: and I see the strange face
now covered up in a handkerchief, convulsed
with laughter.

That night my sleep was troubled: I
tossed wearily until near to morning. There
was a heavy oppression on the breast of the
Reverend Alfred Hoblush, the like of which
he had never experienced in his life before.
Which too, on nice analysis next morning,
resolved itself into certain fresh and rosy
elements. O that fatal glance downward
from his pulpit, while tugging at those bands
had undone him! Whether that poor sermon
of his, stopped short there and then, or
staggered on for many minutes more—whether
Saint Stylites was further glorified by his
servant, or left here abruptly to shift for
himself, he declares solemnly, with his hand
on his heart, he is to this hour unable to
determine.

It was communicated to me, on putting
interrogatories at an absurdly early hour
next morning to Miss Manidrum senior,
that the freshness and roses belonged to a
young Irish lady, who had only come into
my parish some two days before, and was
now residing with her cousins the Penguins.
I fear me much that there was an awkwardness
in my manner, and tell-tale suffusion
about my cheeks, which must have gone nigh
to betraying what was within me. Yes,
Miss Manidrum said she was a new arrival,
and would tarry in the parish for a month or
more. Miss Loo Moyle the name.

I had not seen much of the Penguins
hitherto; they being of that free-tongued,
irreverent class I have spoken of before.
But, should not the pastor know every member
of the flock confided to his care? Was
not such ignoring of the Penguins a grievous
dereliction of duty? Why let feelings of pure
personal convenience interfere with such
sacred functions? I must go at once; and
thus achieve a noble victory over the evil
portion of our common nature.

She was in the drawing-room, alone!
Radiant, blooming, beautiful, glorious, and in
a surpassing hat, fringed a foot deep with lace.
Such vision was never presented to poor
wretched heart, and I could have sunk down
on my knees before it.

"Miss Penguin," I gasped, "Miss Penguin,
I came to see—that is, I am Hoblush—the
Reverend Alfred Hoblush!"

"I know you perfectly, already," she aaid,
with a burst of laughter. "O dear! yes—no
introduction needed."

Colour mounting again,—terrible enemy
that of mine. I had a dim perception of
what she alluded to.

"Won't you sit down?" she said, still
laughing. "See, I have a little souvenir of
you already—presented to me, certainly—in
a very unusual manner." And, going to
the table, she opened a book, and took out
those wretched bands, which had fluttered
down to her from my pulpit. "O dear!"
she said, sinking into a chair, and holding
them up by the two strings, "never shall I
forget that scene—never." Here she went
off again into another burst.

I felt so overwhelmed—so abashed, at this
strange reception, that I thought I should
have sunk down upon the ground: then,
seizing my hat, half rose, with purpose of
flying.

"There," she said, "don't go—I won't
plague you any more. Here, take back your
clerical furniture, and keep it as a memorial
of peace and amity proclaimed between us.
Now let us talk of the weather."

A little re-assured, I ventured to raise my
eyes to her lovely face—for the first time
almost since entering the room. It was
dazzling, that pink and white fruit suspended
before me. I had never seen anything like
it in my life. Ah! witless Hoblush, thy
peace is gone for ever. "Ye who listen with
credulity to the whispering of Fancy, &c., &c.,
&c.," according to what is prefixed by way of
text to this simple narrative.

"Madam," I began, with trembling voice,
"I"—

"Madam! to me! It will be Mistress, or
plain Goody, next! Sir! what are you
dreaming of?"

"Dreaming of! " I exclaimed, involuntarily.
"I AM in a dream! Such beauty—
such loveliness! O forgive me, I know not
what I am saying." And this time I made
straight for the door, and fled away down
stairs, out of the house. "O ye," I say again,
with the late Doctor Samuel Johnson, "who
listen with credulity to the whispers of
Fancy,—who expect that Age will dissipate
the shyness of Youth,—attend to the history
of Hoblush, Prince of Abyssinia"—I mean,
Curate of Saint Stylites!

On the troubled hours that followed I
will not dwell now. I was distraught and