at the top of the High tree, and Hewitt, Lowe, and Donaldson, his curates. Hewitt is a very decent fellowquite different to the others. Father Nigel, as he is commonly called in these parts, is a sort of Simeon Stylitesquite on a pedestal of spiritual superiority. Now I maintain that

'Religion never was designed,

To make our pleasures less:'

and I cannot see the necessity of this perpetual churchgoing-indeed I seldom go at all."

"Which accounts for your apparent ignorance of the ninth commandment," said Lottie quietly: "I fear you are a freethinker, Mr. Pitt."

"I believe I am. I see so much discord and contention in the church, that I have almost ceased to respect her."

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Take care," said Lottie; “it is no small matter to speak ill of the church. Remember, that even the gates of hell will not be allowed to prevail against that which you hold in such light esteem."

"You think me presumptuous," said Elmsley quickly : "indeed I am not; but I have met with such gross inconsistency amongst the clergy, and such unparalleled contradiction between their practice, and the lofty doctrines they preach and profess to believe, that I must confess my faith has been considerably shaken."

"There was a Judas among the twelve," said Lottie, "and to the end of time there will be tares among the wheat. Do not turn Neonomian, Mr. Pitt; you follow a noble profession, but you can never be a true philanthropist without religion. Do you study politics?"

"No; the affairs of the country are so wisely, satis

factorily, and economically managed by the ministry, that I never trouble my head about them. I may indeed except certain laws to the effect, that no individual residing on British soil need starve-laws which are not always particularly well enforced, as my professional experience in Hylton slums continually shews me. I study to relieve physical suffering, and I study human nature."

"The latter, in a caustic spirit, and with a prejudiced eye, I am afraid: true observers of human nature are ever sparing of animadversion."

"I only animadvert upon folly and inconsistency, and I see plenty of these every day. Now Miss Lottie, what sort of food would you carry to a poor girl dying of consumption ?"

"A nice tender chicken most probably, or if that were too solid, a pint of good rich beef-tea, or a bottle of champagne."

Well, a lady who shall be nameless, gave me a half pound plum-cake to take to one of my consumptive patients yesterday morning, and, do you know-I ate some of it myself, and gave the rest to the dogs."

"It was very rude of you," said Lottie.

"So it was-but I'm not going to kill my patient with plum-cake. You see I was right about the broth after all." "Broth is not plum-cake."

"I know-but I still maintain that there are two ways of doing a thing, and-"

"Is there much poverty in Hylton?" asked Lottie, sparing herself another compliment.

Yes, a great deal. It is a densely populated town where there is plenty of work for both doctors and clergy. I place physic before divinity you see, because we doctors can kill two birds with one stone. As for Cul

crowthie, there's nothing to be done here, except sending out bottles of harmless medicine to hypochondriacal old ladies, comforting old fellows with the gout and lumbago, and amusing oneself politely at the expense of the Misses Granton by laughing at their idiosyncrasies."

"Do you know some of those idiosyncrasies may be like so many precious diamonds which, when polished, startle you with their brilliance," said Lottie rising, as Dr. Beresford's carriage was announced; "you must not forget, that spiritual infirmities need as much patient care, as delicate a treatment, and as tender a sympathy as do physical But how amusingly solemn our converse has been -we have atoned for this afternoon's frivolity I am sure." We have," he answered; "you have pulled me up pretty sharply this evening, Miss Lottie, but I thank you. much for your word in season,' and next Sunday I'll go to church like a Christian."

ones.

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50

CHAPTER VI.

He that adores her like his goddess

Let him be sure she'll shun him like her slave.

CHAPMAN.

BRIGHT and frosty was the following afternoon, with a clear, calm, winter sky, and a thin coating of pure snow scattered over the beautiful landscape. Lottie had departed with a detachment from the Priory to the schools, where the annual winter "muffin struggle" was about to take place. Hyacinth was to follow in an hour's time; she had remained behind to write a long epistle to Jim, giving a full, true, and particular account of their proceedings. But since that epistle had been written, enclosed, and addressed, the afternoon mail came in, bringing her a letter a letter from the Rev. Justin Harris, Augustinian, containing a declaration of undying affection, and an offer of marriage; also a few pathetic quotations from Shakspeare concerning the durability of love, together with the expression of a certain hope regarding speedy pecuniary advancement.

Which epistle Hyacinth read, and re-read in dismay, until her handsome face was clouded with a look very much akin to crossness. She was sorry to give pain by a refusal, and she was vexed that she had lost her bet. All her magnanimous resolutions of a life-long sacrifice evaporated. Another life lay before her-a brighter, a better, and a happier one-in the distance as yet, but there. She would wait for it, and Tom Maxwell-proud, suffering, patient Tom would wait for it also. She longed for Lottie to talk

to-Lottie, who always sympathized, and spoke as if she herself had felt everything.

Hyacinth arrayed herself for her walk to the schools.

On the stairs she met Dr. Beresford.

What's the matter

Nothing much, thank you. I've had a letter that has bothered me rather. I'm just going to say good-bye to Mrs. Beresford, before starting for the schools. Are you coming?"

Perhaps, in the evening, to read 'Johnnie Gilpin,' for the benefit of the old folks. I read it each Christmas, and as they seem to like it better every time—I'll read it again."

"Is anyone in the library?" asked Hyacinth, catching sight of an empty bath-chair and a tall, gentlemanly looking servant through the open hall-door.

"Only Tom Maxwell: I've forbidden him to be out later than three p.m. in winter, but young folks are wilful— he has set his heart on going to-night, and I daresay he's waiting to go down with you, so off with you;" and Hyacinth entered the library where Tom sat by the fire talking to Mrs. Beresford.

"You have been shirking the bread and butter cutting," he said, rising: "I expected as much, so I came to fetch you."

"I have done plenty of bread and butter cutting in my lifetime," said Hyacinth laughing, "you forget my brother is a curate. So I left my share of work to my sister, and wrote a long letter home, instead."

"And what time are the festivities to end?" asked Mrs. Beresford.

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'About ten o'clock, Miss Maxwell said."