with almond toffee at discretion: that’s my idea of earthly felicity at least.”

“Oh, fie!” said my interlocutor; while I could hear Miss Spight murmur “What deplorable levity,” as she glowered at me severely and looked sympathisingly at Mr Mawley.

“Well,” said I, “I was only joking then; for, really, I’ve never seriously thought about the matter. As far as I can believe, however, I do not imagine heaven is going to be a place where we’ll be singing hymns all day. I think we shall be happy there, each in our several ways, as we are on earth, and be in the company of those we love: heaven would be miserable without that, I think.”

“And what do you say, Miss Pimpernell?” next asked Seraphine.

“I do not say anything at all, my dear: the subject is beyond me. I leave it to One who is wiser than us all to tell me in his own good time.”

“And you, Mr Mawley?” continued our fair questioner.

“We should not seek to understand the mysteries of the oracles of God,” said the curate pompously.

“My dear, I can tell you,” said the vicar, who had slipped in quietly, unknown to us all, “‘Eye hath not seen, nor ear heard, neither have entered into the heart of man, the things which God hath prepared for them that love him!’”

“I wonder, sir,” said I, “whether that text, ‘In My Father’s house are many mansions,’ means that there are different degrees of happiness in the future world?”

“That passage,” said the vicar, “is one whose interpretation has been more disputed than any I know. Some say it has the meaning which you attach to it; while others, with whom I am more inclined to agree, think that it conveys only the promise and assurance that in heaven there will be found room for us all. You must remember that we in the present day have the Bible through the medium of translation; and all translations are liable to error. Why, if you read the Book of Job, for instance, in the original Hebrew, without the arbitrary division into verses which the translators of the authorised version inserted, you would find it a perfect poem!”

“For my part,” said Mr Mawley, “I do not think we ought to speak about religious matters in this sort of way, and make them subjects for general conversation.”

“I don’t agree with you, Mawley,” said the vicar, “the truth is not so brittle that we should be afraid of handling it; if religion were more openly discussed and brought into our daily life, I believe we should be all the better for it.”

“Ah, you are Broad Church!” said the curate.

“Very well, be it so,” said the vicar good-humouredly; “I’m not ashamed of it, so long as you allow that I’m at least a Christian.”

“What is Broad Church, Mr Mawley?” asked Bessie Dasher, who was suspected of having tender feelings towards the curate, for she generally deferred to his views and opinions.

“Broad Church,” said Mr Mawley, “holds that every man is at liberty to judge for himself; and that any Sectarian or Unitarian, or heathen, has as much chance of heaven as you or I.”

“Positively shocking!” said Miss Spight, in virtuous indignation at any nonconformist being esteemed as worthy of future salvation as herself.

“Oliver Wendell Holmes,” I said, “gives a truer exposition. He says that ‘the narrow church may be seen in the ship’s boats of humanity, in the long boat, in the jolly boat, in the captain’s gig, lying off the poor old vessel, thanking God that they are safe, and reckoning how soon the hulk containing the mass of their fellow-creatures will go down. The Broad Church is on board, working hard at the pumps, and very slow to believe that the ship will be swallowed up with so many poor people in it, fastened down under the hatches ever since it floated!’”

“Ah, that is better,” said the vicar. “It is there put very aptly. If we could only be less bigoted, and assimilate our various sects together, what a happy church would ours be! We all have the same sure fundamental ground of belief, and only differ in details.”

“But, my dear sir,” said the curate, in pious horror, “that is rank latitudinarianism!”

“Latitudinarianism or not, Mawley,” said the vicar, “it is the Christianity and doctrine that earnest thinkers like Kingsley and Maurice preach and practise. If we could only all act up to it—all act up to it!”

“Then, I suppose,” said Mr Mawley, “that you agree with the writers of Essays and Reviews?”

“Suppose nothing, my dear Mawley,” said the vicar, kindly but seriously, “except what you have facts to vouch for. I do not say I agree with them or not.”

“And do you think the hare chewed the cud, as Colenso says?” asked Baby Blake, with such a serious face that we could not help laughing at her.

“Proximus ille deo est qui scit ratione tacere!” said the vicar, putting on his hat and moving towards the door.

“And what does that mean, brother?” asked Miss Pimpernell.

“My dear, it is only Dionysius Cato’s original Latin for our old English proverb, ‘A silent tongue shows a wise head!’” said the vicar; and he then went out to attend to his parish duties, promising to look in upon us again, and see how we were getting on before we separated for the day.

On his departure, our conversation veered round to local chit-chat.

“Have you heard the news about The Terrace yet, Frank?” asked Miss Pimpernell.

“No,” I said. “What is it?”

“Number sixty-five is let at last!”

“Indeed,” said I; “how pleased old Shuffler must be, for the house has hung a long time on his hands. Who are the people that have taken it?”

“A widow lady and her daughter. Their name is Clyde, and they have a good deal of money, I believe,” said Bessie Dasher.

“Bai-ey Je-ove!” exclaimed Horner. “I say, old fellah, p’waps they ah those ladies in hawf-mawning, ah?”

“Dear me! this is quite interesting,” said Miss Spight. “Do let me know what the joke is about ladies in half-mourning, Mr Lorton—something romantic, I’ve no doubt.” She was always keen to scent out what might be disagreeable to other people, was Miss Spight!

“Oh, it’s only Horner’s nonsense!” said I. “But what are these Clydes like?”

“Very nice, indeed!” said Miss Pimpernell. “The mother is extremely well-bred and ladylike, and the daughter Minnie—such a pretty name, Frank—is quite a little darling. I’m positively in love with her, and I’m sure you will like her. They are very nice people indeed, my boy, and thorough acquisitions to our little society.”

“I only hope so, Miss Pimpernell,” sighed Lady Dasher; “but appearances, you know, are so deceitful sometimes.”

“Ah!” ejaculated Miss Spight, “handsome is as handsome does! We’ll see them by and by in their true colours; new brooms, Lady Dasher, sweep clean. Ah!”

There was a world in that “ah!”

“Well,” said little Miss Pimpernell, in her staunch good-nature, “I think it is best to be charitable and take people as we find them. I have seen a good deal of the Clydes during the month they have been here and like them very much. But you will have an opportunity of judging for yourself, Frank, as Minnie Clyde promised me to come down to-day and help us with the decorations.”

“She’s a very nice-looking girl,” said the curate.

“Do you really think her pretty?” asked Bessie Dasher. One could detect a slight tone of dissatisfaction in her voice, and she spoke with a decided pout.

“Well, perhaps she’s not exactly pretty,” said Mr Mawley, diplomatically; “but nice-looking, at all events—that was the word I used, Miss Bessie.”

“But she dresses so plainly!” said Lizzie Dangler.

“I call her quite a dowdthy!” lisped Baby Blake.

“And I say she’s very nice!”