CHAPTER I.

THE VICAR OF SLEEPYTOWN.

THE Reverend John Macdonald, Vicar of Sleepytown, was one of a large class, the stick-in-the-mud High Church party-one, that is, who believes in Apostolical Succession, and who also believe in themselves. The reverend gentleman did not think it the correct thing to be Low Church, especially as his rural dean was rather High. Besides, he was a Winchester boy and infinitely despised the neighbouring clergyman, the Rev. Dr. Dent, whose social position was not so good as his own. He had also had the misfortune to marry a wife whose bad temper and evil tongue kept the parish in constant hot water. Besides his son Arthur, whose acquaintance we shall soon make, there was a daughter, different from father or mother, more like her brother. Arthur had not been home for four years, having till recently been in Germany with a relative of his mother's, and that time had served to turn his sister from a school-girl into a young woman "I wonder," thought Arthur, while the train in which he travelled rapidly slackened speed as it drew

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near the station, which was only thrce miles from his home," whether my father is High, Low, Broad or Nochurch. I hope to goodness he does not try to put me through my Catechism. I'm sure the duty to my neighbour' would stump me altogether."

Such was his first thought, but deeper ones came to the surface. He was an unbeliever; not positively so, but, like so many young fellows, his thoughts were always in the "I don't believe" style. It was more the fault of those who brought him up than his own, for a sound back-bone of religious teaching in youth will last a man through many a storm and trial.

The train at length stopped, most of the carriages partly emptying themselves on to the platform, as Rainham was a Junction of some little importance. Porters rushed hither and thither having their ears tortured with cries of "portar" and "porter."

Arthur on bounding out of the train, was soon welcomed by his father and mother, whose pony-trap was waiting outside.

"Well, Arthur, glad to see you, my boy, where's your luggage?"

"Oh! in the back of the train, I think."

"Here, porter, bring my son's things to the carriage," called out the Vicar.

"Directly, sir," was the reply.

A minute or two elapsed, when Arthur, who was chatting with his mother, heard a tremendous row

"I'll report you to the station-master, you lazy scoundrel. Why don't you attend to the passengers?"

"Just what I was doing, sir, I can't get the things you want till the luggage-van is more empty. There's the station-master if you have any complaint to make."

The Vicar said no more to the porter, but turning to his son, sighed as he exclaimed, "Where is the country going to these fellows give themselves such airs. We shall have a Revolution soon."

"Ah, a windfall for me then perhaps; here is the luggage all ready, father,"-then turning to the porter who looked rather sulky; "here you are, porter," depositing sixpence in the by-no-means-unwilling hands.

A drive of three miles brought them to Sleepytown, a place which evidently before railways were introduced had been of some little importance; an old church with the remnants of a lead roof, a long straggling street with a low beershop every twenty yards or so, small shops, and a few houses of the more respectable kind, were all Arthur saw on his way to the Vicarage.

"I suppose all goes on pretty much the same since I was last here?" said he.

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Oh, yes; they are all as stupid and Puritanical as ever," replied the Vicar.

On reaching home he was cordially greeted by his sister, and, what with chatting over old times and relating his adventures, night soon came on apace.

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Father, I shall just have a whiff before bed in your study, if you don't mind?"

"Oh, dear, no; but don't talk to me, for I have not yet made up my mind which sermon I shall preach. You have no idea, Arthur, what a lot of brutes my parishioners are. They won't even subscribe enough to keep the stoves going in winter; and as for getting surplices washed, why I have to bawl at them Sunday after Sunday, and then hardly get anything. I threatened even to put in the papers the amount received; but-would you believe it?—they only gave the less." Thus groaned the poor Vicar of Sleepytown.

"Well, father, look at the High Church places in London; they get lots of money."

"Yes, quite true; but then their congregations agree with them; but down here, you know, the people are Puritans, and hate me like the D."

"Hullo, what did you say?"

"Now, Arthur, don't laugh at your father's mistakes, you see it is very aggravating."

"Very much so," replied Arthur.

"The people

must wish they had some one else whose views suited their own."

"They have views, Arthur! What business have they with views? I am their minister; they should listen to me. Here's your mother; I wonder what she

wants."

"John, dear."

"Yes, love," meekly replied the Vicar.

"Mrs. Buddey did not curtsey to me to-day as I passed her shop, and those horrid boys up the schoolhill called out, 'There goes Mary.""

"My love, what can I do?"

"Why-have you chosen your sermon yet?"

"No; there is all this heap I have preached out of

"Well, John, pick out one on reverence to the clergy, you know."

"But, mother,” chimed in Arthur, "you are not the clergy."

“No, Arthur, but I am the clergyman's wife." "I see," said our young friend very deliberately. The next morning Arthur awoke with a feeling that he had to act a part, and a part which was by no means congenial. He had to appear as if he were an orthodox member of the Church of England, while his opinions were really more inclined to utter disbelief.

The

Breakfast was preceded by family prayer. breakfast table was all laid, the urn emitting volumes of steam, when in marched three females, and deliberately turning their backs to the breakfast table and their faces to the wall, dropped on their knees, with their heads well buried in their hands on a row of chairs. The effect from where Arthur was standing was remarkable. He soon found he too must deposit himself. His mother had flung herself into a well