admiral, reading a postscript: 'I am married—
without encumbrance.' What does that mean?"

"One reason why so many applications are
made by the pupil teachers," said Drowse, "I
am told, is, that they have a notion that the
Grumbleton schoolmistresses are particularly
likely to get offers. They tell one another at
the Training Institutions, and that's one reason
why I disapprove of bringing up a parcel of
young women together."

"They corrupt one another," said the two
guinea patron, who felt spitefully towards
Fishponds, and did not object to agree with the vicar
now and then.

"Corrupt one another," said Groggen; "fiddle-
de-dee. How can they corrupt one another?"

After reading over twenty or thirty letters,
Groggen lifted up a tied packet.

"'What's this?" asked the admiral.

"Correspondence between me and Canon
Boniface," answered the vicar. "You may
read it, if you like. It's a great pity that all
the additional trouble and vexation of such a
correspondence should be had for nothing.

Without quoting the letters of the canon,
which were, of course, lengthy, I may state
that Drowse had started with the air of a man
nettled that a stranger like Canon Boniface
should presume to think he knew of anybody
"that would suit him exactly." So he wrote a
curt answer to that effect. Boniface rejoined in
a dignified epistle, in dismal grandiose periods,
which sounded like the tolling of the cathedral
bell at a dean's funeral, except where a profane
quotation or two from Horace broke in upon the
bom—bom—bom. Drowse wrote a short
rejoinder, merely asking the name of the candidate,
if she were a candidate. But this personality
made Dr. Boniface very angry, and he refused
to give the name. So it was proposed by the
two guinea patron, seconded by the grocer,
and carried nem. con., that "This committee,
having heard the correspondence between the
Rev. Canon Boniface and the Vicar of Grumbleton,
desires to express its censure of the former
and its sympathy with the Rev. Mr. Drowse,"
all which is to be found in the chronicles of
Grumbleton, as well as the remainder of the
correspondence, which proved to be more
voluminous than luminous, though it was interesting
to Grumbleton, and was all printed in the
local newspapers.

We were so long engaged over the candidates
on the left hand of the vicar, that scant attention
was paid to the dozen likely candidates on
the right, whose claim demanded a more careful
consideration. The guinea patrons began to drop
off one by one, till at last there were only some
half-dozen left, and then it was agreed that lots
should be drawn, as the most satisfactory and
expeditious way of settling the matter. So three
damsels were then chosen, and a sum of money
voted from the funds to enable them to come
to Grumbleton for the purpose of undergoing
examination before the committee, and that
we might all know something of their musical
powers, vocal and instrumental. This was
considered by Drowse and Admiral Groggen,
and by the two guinea patrons, indispensable;
"For," said Drowse, "unless we see 'em, how
can we tell whether they will do? If they dress
too smart, you know, it's a sign of vanity."

"Tut! nonsense," quoth the admiral; "I like
to see the girls dress as fine as they can. We
always make our ships as smart as possible; and,
for the same reason, we should like to see our
women hoist their colours bravely."

Drowse was not disposed to contest the point.
The three were to come. The day came and the
damsels. Then the committee came, and was
assembled in the church. Let each hear for
himself. It was difficult for us to decide; but
Admiral Groggen, who couldn't hear anything,
formed his judgment; and his judgment, like that
of Paris on the three goddesses, was not to be
impugned. The ladies' committee had
something to say; old Mrs. Tittling was not entirely
satisfied; Mrs. Briar thought the young persons
modest and respectful; but Mrs. Grobey said,
she could see a snake in the grass. The ladies
will, no doubt, have it all their own way, if they
can only be brought to understand among
themselves what their way is; but, pending the
settlement of their differences, the president and
patrons of Grumbleton will be permitted by them
to give the golden apple to her who is, in the
admiral's opinion, the most deserving candidate.

A GIPSY CONCERT IN MOSCOW.

WE were dining at one of the chief restaurants
in Moscow, I and Herr Grabe. We had
been to the Russian Comedy, and were now
disporting ourselves at supper.

A Russian traktir, or restaurant, is a
remarkable place. There is nothing of the
snug, homely comfort of the London tavern, and
its intramural interment in mahogany bins;
nothing of the cold, solitary splendour of the
coffee-room of an English hotel; but, instead
of this, a cumbrous, expensive magnificence,
with the alloy of a semi-barbarism that casts
across that magnificence a strange cloud like
the shadow of a penny-gaff. The stalls have
seats like the ponderous sofas that prevail in
English lodging-houses, the tables are larger
than they need be, and overhung with frouzy
red curtains that cloud you round as with a tent.

The traktir we were patronising was a nest
of rooms—up-stairs and down—rooms that
opened one into the other in a labyrinthine,
confusing, and endless way. The innumerable
waiters are clad in white tunics, wound
round with red sashes; and never less than
half a dozen of these retainers surround you
when you enter to seize your hat, or remove
your fur cloak. Another peculiarity of the
traktir is the enormous self-playing organ, that
grinds out its deafening and dumbing music
as you eat your cutlet, often drowning conversation,
and always noisily intrusive.

We had eaten a slice of the yellow flesh of
the sturgeon, and finished our cutlets, when