"But, neighbour Bustle," said Mr. Whitey brown (for that was the other gentleman's name), "this is not worldly news, for it concerns the Church-I mean our Churchvery particularly."

"Well, tell it me," said John, "and when I have heard it, I will tell you whether I think it right for you to talk about it."

Why they do say, Mr. Bustle," replied Whiteybrown (who was evidently boiling over with what he had to relate), "they do say that the Church parson here is meddling and fidgetting about our election." (For it chanced just then that there was a report of Mr. Knocks going away to be minister to a congregation of rank in London, and so the Meeting House at Bowbourne was likely to want a new preacher, and several candidates were already talked of.)

"About our election!" said John. "Surely that is quite unconstitutional, quite tyrannical, for one of another denomination, especially a parson, to interfere in our internal proceedings:" and so saying, he stood still, looking very bold indeed, with his right arm a-kimbo, and the back of his left hand pressed against his body behind his coat tail, as one who should say, "I have not read the newspapers for nothing."

"Ah, I knew that would be your mind," said his friend, looking down upon him (for he was a much taller

man) with an eye of admiring pa tronage.

"But now, what shall we do? There can be no doubt of the truth of the report, for I myself listened in the Church porch this morning for three minutes, while he was preaching, and heard him say, 'All good persons require what help their neighbours can give them, to make their calling and election sure. And one of our people, walking behind him yesterday, heard him say, 'If I were one of them, I should certainly vote for that preacher who is most of Wilson's mind,' meaning, no doubt, the Mr. Wilson who is spoken of as likely to come to our chapel."

was

"To be sure, to be sure," said Bustle, in a great bustle, "and we must lose no time in teaching him the rights of the matter. Here, Bob Radd," he added, calling to a rough looking youth who sauntering past them at the time; and up came Bob, touching his hat, but with a sly look, which seemed to imply, "I know you well enough" and Mr. Bustle, stooping down, spoke into his car a good many words, among which a byestander might have caught what sounded like "to night-a tarbarrel-Guy Fawkes-close to his door-promise not to meddle or make with the chapel-half-pence and drink-depend upon us."

"Very well," said Bob, whose demure look was now changed into a broad grin; and with that he struck off across the Common, to where the idlers of the parish were playing and Messrs. Bustle and Whitey brown went their way, looking as if butter would not melt in their mouths.

:

That night, Mr. Gray, the Curate, having gone to bed rather earlier

than usual (for he was quite tired out with his day's work) was roused after half an hour's sleep by a loud shout and a bright blaze; and, looking out of his window, he saw by the light of a bonfire a lot of the most dissolute young fellows in the parish-among whom Bob Radd was very forward-preparing a figure with a cap and gown on, to be burned in due form and order. Moreover, being a quick-sighted man, Mr. Gray did not fail to distinguish two more, staid and sober figures, who rather hung back, and tried to keep in the shade, the one tall and the other short; but their very endeavour to shrink out of notice, made them in some sort more noticeable by an observant eye, especially as they could not keep from rubbing their hands eagerly, and showing other marks of approbation at so edifying a scene. In less than five minutes Mr. Gray was dressed and among the people, and taking no notice for the present of any one else, he made for the spot where our two friends, John and Mr. Whiteybrown, had been standing, and managed to overtake and detain them, very much against their will.

"Well, gentlemen," said Mr. Gray, "I am glad you happened to be passing this way: no doubt you will help me in quieting this scandalous riot, which you can the better do, as I see some lads here belonging to families which are in your employ."

John was at first a little overawed by Mr. Gray's quiet appeal to him, and might have made a civil answer, but just then a fresh troop of young vagabonds came on, with one Walter Temps at their head, a noted lounger and declaimer at publichouses, and very clever in his way; and the shouts and excitement rose so high, that John, feeling as if he had the world in a string, replied

to Mr. Gray with a regular speech, loud enough to be heard all over the village green; and the mob, like a good and dutiful mob, made answer and shouted just where John intended they should, with a little prompting from Mr. Temps.

The upshot of it all was, that besides many things which Mr. Gray said and did in his Church which John and the rest did not approve of, he had been interfering, so they said, with the forthcoming election in their Chapel, and if he did not let that alone, they would treat him with the same or similar compliments every night of his life. It would be too long a story to tell, how Mr. Gray, by his patience and good humour, quieted them all, at least so far that they agreed to hear him while he told them the truth about his alleged meddling in their election. "For as to the other things," said he, "this is not the place to talk of them; and besides, many of you, my good neighbours, have nothing at all to do with them, since you do not come to the Church at all: but I own, Mr. Bustle, that it would have been a strange and wrong thing had I at all interfered with the business of your congregation; and, therefore, I will set that matter right at once, by assuring you that what I have heard now is the very first I have heard of Mr. Knocks going away, and, therefore, I cannot have been scheming or meddling about his successor. I may have said something about voting, but it related to an election elsewhere among some. of our own people; and the Wilson whom I spoke of was good Bishop Wilson, who died near 100 years ago. I know you will believe me, and I think you will be sorry for this outbreak; and so neighbours, I wish you a very good night."

With that he went back into his house, and they all slunk away

ashamed, by the light of the moon, which was now risen: only Bustle and Whiteybrown still tried to look like a couple of wise-acres, shaking their heads, and saying, under breath, "I'm not sure that I'm satisfied yet."

However, there was nothing said in the village after this of the Curate interfering in the choice of a preacher for the Meeting House.

It so happened, no very long time afterwards, that somebody died, and left Mr. Bustle a fortune: upon which he went to live at a distance, became a magistrate, and took a fancy, as was particularly observed, to writing his name Bussell; some even said, that there was a chance of his being made a Lord. But in his notions about the Church, and generally in matters of religion, he continued just as he had been.

Now, in the next parish to Squire Bussell (for so we must now call him), there was a clergyman who wanted a Curate, and the Squire took it into his head to be very earnest in recommending a particular person to the vacant place. The person whom he recommended, the Rev. Robin Denham, was no particular friend of Bussell's,-in fact, he thought him rather a dull, or as he called it, a "rum theologian,"-but Mr. Denhain was particularly distasteful to the Vicar and parishioners of Wyeside (for that was the name of the parish), insomuch, that fourteen of the principal ones addressed a letter to Squire Bussell, when they found what he was about, saying that they hoped he would let the matter alone. To which he replied that he knew better than they; that he had put the matter in train, and it must take its course. And there is not a day, hardly an hour, that he is not busy in writing letters, printing hand-bills, or conferring with some of the discontented folks of Wyeside, to set them

against their Vicar, or any Curate but the one whom he himself had chosen; "for I," says he, "am a much better judge of what is good for the Establishment than its own prejudiced and illiberal members." And there being a dispute among the parishioners about the meaning of a certain Rubric, Squire Bussell insists upon it, that the only sensible way of settling the dispute is, to allow him to choose out five of the dissenting congregation to which he himself belongs, and abide by their decision. And what is more strange, it is now reported that the magistrates at Quarter Sessions have been influenced by this Mr. Bustle to pass a vote to the same effect.

The Vicar of Wyeside, and his quiet old parishioners, even with the aid of Mr. Gray, who has not failed to write them the account of what happened at the other place, seem to have no chance against him, he is so noisy and so fluent and besides (a thing which was much talked of at the time), he took away with him to his new home both Bob Radd and Walter Temps, and some others whose room was more welcome to decent people than their company.

One way or another, he has contrived to get up a strong faction where he now lives; and by what I hear, the best chance which the Vicar has of standing against him is a reference which is proposed to be made to a certain Mr. Bull, a farmer of the old school, but possessed of large investments in a cotton mill also, and so highly respected, that when he really speaks out, no person thereabouts would dare think of disputing his decision

Mr. Bull, as is often the case with persons in a great line of business, can hardly be got to turn his mind to this matter in earnest, but it is confidently hoped, that when his attention is really and fairly drawn