AFTER rather a wandering life, mother and I have at last settled down in a little manufacturing town in the west of England-a queer little place, where the small amount of available society is split up into still smaller cliques, which are again divided into factions; the cause of this latter division being chiefly parish matters and real or supposed difference in religious opinion. I say supposed, for the worthy inhabitants of Narromyndham are more learned on the subject of looms and spindles than that of doctrines, and could hardly advance a better argument in favour of their own views than 'I know what I like,' or the well-worn 'Because I do.'

Our parish church is all that an antiquary could desire-a glorious old pro-cathedral; its pewing arrangements, however, are, I regret to say, all that a young woman who wishes to say her prayers in a correct and devotional posture, and who yet has a certain amount of tender regard for her back and knees, would not desire; and our staff of clergy consists of a vicar and two curates, one of whom is furnished by that most Evangelical body the Pastoral Aid Society, and goes by the name of the 'Pastoral Aid Curate,' or more often, on the principle that brevity is the soul of wit, the 'P.A.C.; so, with this liberal supply of divines, our souls should be well weeded and watered, if they are not.

One day, in the end of October, I was sitting over the fire, chatting with Carey, who had just come to spend a few weeks with me at Nar

romyndham. Carey is my particular friend, and very nice and very pretty, but she has one sad fault-she is a shocking flirt. I often remonstrate with her on the subject, but it is quite useless, and she makes some very uncivil and profane retorts about 'motes' and 'beams' and 'brothers,' which I don't like.

As I was watching the firelight dancing on her soft brown hair and lighting up her glorious hazel eyes-fascinated, as I always am, by anything beautiful, and thinking that when (perhaps I ought to say if) I turn into an angel, I should wish to be just like her— she suddenly inquired,

'Are there any curates here?'

'So my angel is planning fresh works of slaughter,' thought I; but answered, 'Yes, two: one is old and married, and has St. Vitus's dance; and the other is young and unmarried and sound, likewise is he a Pastoral Aid Curate. Will he do?'

'Don't!' with a laugh. 'I know the animal. It always seems to have outgrown its clothes, is weak about the legs, hair long' (touching her collar) and sleek, complexion pallid and unwholesome, expression meek. It makes constant use of the word "seemly," has a voracious appetite and a little weakness for tea and old ladies. There's an inventory of its charms; and I don't believe the Society would have anything to do with a man not possessed of all these qualifications.'

Mother opened her mouth to remonstrate against this flippant

tirade; but the remonstrance was never destined to be uttered, for at that moment a servant announced 'Mr. Lloyd,' and the subject of Carey's long-winded speech entered the room.

A young man, in very correct clerical costume, with a fierce, determined, good-looking face, and not a trace of weakness about him, legs or otherwise; in short, a man, every inch of him, and not a curate; for somehow one can never think of a curate as quite a man.

I glanced at Carey, and saw she liked the look of our visitor, for she had put on that air of lovely childish innocence (little humbug!) she can always assume at will, and always does when there is a man present whom she thinks it worth while to fascinate, and I never knew it fail.

Mother having gone through the ceremony of introduction, the Pastoral Aid Curate proceeded to inform us that there was a parochial

row on.

'There always is in Narromyndham,' said I. 'I wonder you think it worth mentioning."

'I shouldn't, only that you and perhaps your friend' (here a quick glance of admiration at Carey, which I saw wasn't lost on her in spite of her downcast eyes) 'can help us if you will.'

I opened my mouth to refuse ; for I am not parochially-minded, and am proof against all petitions, even from handsome young curates, to make myself useful in that line; but Carey was too quick for me.

'It would be nice if we could, Kitty; but there is so little girls can do.' This with a humble look at our spiritual pastor.

'I hope you won't think me very rude if I agree with you,' was the answer. As a rule, I think it the greatest possible mistake for young ladies to go pottering about a parish; interfering in matters they

don't understand, or teaching poor little Sunday-school children shocking false doctrine; but this is really something you can do: it's music.

'Now you must give a full, coherent, but, above all, short account of what has gone wrong, and inform us what part we are expected to bear in putting it right,' said I.

It's Miss Trills—'

'Stop!' from Carey. 'I must know who the spinster in question is. What an alarming name in connection with music!'

'Miss Trills does not belie her name. She is a good lady, who had a strong voice in her youth, and in those far-off halcyon days volunteered to assist in training the choir, and, having some knowledge of music, was really a help. She and her sister - her exact counterpart, voice and all-used to sit with the boys, who had not then arrived at the dignity of surplices, and lead the choir-'

'Out of the straight path into flowery ways,' put in I; but what do you want us to do?"

'This. On Wednesday week there is to be a harvest thanksgiving-service. Rather late cer

tainly, but Narromyndham, as you know, is always behind in everything. Miss Trills wants to have an extra ugly and flowery anthem; and this being objected to, she declines to sing at all, or, what is far worse, to teach the boys a simpler one. Will you and your friend come and practise with the boys? You won't be expected to sit among the surplices at the service.'

Carey professed herself delighted.

Mother said we ought; so I, with a very bad grace, had to consent to be present at the next practice; and the handsome young divine, having gained his point, made his adieux (giving Carey a

little more than the regulation hand-shake, it struck me), and took his departure.

Shall I ever forget those choir practices? The well-meant efforts of the organist to drown the very small voices of the boys; the hopeless ignorance and stupidity of the aforesaid little mortals; the cold, very often wet, walks to the churchfor such was Carey's zeal in the good cause that nothing would induce her to miss a practice (the P.A.C. always being our escort); and last, but not least, being constrained to play the uncongenial part of gooseberry.

How the Misses Trills attended every practice-not, indeed, opening their mouths to sing or speak, but marking, with pale-green spiteful eyes, every fresh failure; how Carey and the P.A.C. always sang out of the same book, making, no doubt, sweet harmony for themselves, but not materially assisting in reducing to something like time and tune the harsh discordant voices with which it was my doubtful privilege to cope, almost unaided,―are not these things graven on the fleshy tables of my heart? O Damon, thy friendship sinks into insignificance beside this nineteenth-century devotion; for thine was but one sacrifice, while all these things-yea, and more also -did I endure many times for the sake of my friend.

Weeks passed. The harvest thanksgiving-service was over, the singing not having been worse, but rather better, than usual, whatever Miss Trills and her friends may have seen fit to say to the contrary. And yet Mr. Lloyd's daily visits, begun at the time of the practices, and always purporting to have something to do with them, were not discontinued. He is the most earnest man I ever met. Whatever he does is done heartily and thoroughly; and he couldn't

even admire Carey, as every one does, without going the injudicious length of falling in love with her. Of course she encouraged him, though seemingly in the most artless way; and it seemed to me a shame. Our P.A.C. was too good and true a man to be her plaything-altogether a different stamp from the young fellows who had fallen in love with her lightly one season, and, doubtless, forgotten her as lightly the next; and I couldn't help telling her so one day, when she had been exerting her powers of fascination to the utmost, and, I am bound to say, with unmitigated success.

'You're jealous, childie,' said she lightly.

"That's humbug, and you know it. The P.A.C. doesn't admire little people; and besides-besides-'

No, I certainly wasn't jealous; for was there not lurking warm about my heart the thought of some one very big and strong, who, nevertheless, did admire little people, and could treat them with a chivalrous gentleness of which the P.A.C. was utterly incapable?

'Do you know that the he under discussion is going away very soon?' said Carey, after a pause.

'No. Where ?'

'He is almost sure of that appointment in India he was telling us of, and, if he is appointed, must sail in January.'

Before I could answer this startling piece of intelligence she had glided from the room.

A few days after this I had come in from a walk, in which Carey had declined to join me on the plea of a slight cold-not in her head; the lucky little beauty is never afflicted with anything so unbecoming, and I can't recollect ever having seen her pretty nose disfigured by undue friction, for she isn't given to tears; on the same

principle, I suppose, that influenza doesn't attack her. The drawingroom door was slightly ajar, and, as I entered noiselessly, it did rather astonish me—accustomed as I am to that shocking little flirt's vagaries-to see her and Mr. Lloyd most becomingly posed in the attitude of the famous Huguenot picture. My first impulse was to withdraw as noiselessly as I had come, but it seemed rather a sneakish thing to do; so I notified my presence by a loud' Ahem !'

The two sprang apart guiltily. The P.A.C. began shaking hands wildly, and, muttering something incoherently about 'great hurry,' 'be off,' literally flew out of the room, down-stairs, and out of the house, shutting the street-door with a bang that set every window in the old house rattling, and left Carey with cheeks that put the well-worn crimson curtains quite in the shade, and me, I regret to say, in a paroxysm of laughter on the hearthrug.

She

Carey couldn't stand that. flew at me, and shook me, exclaiming,

'You are mean and hard-hearted, and cold-blooded too!'

'I'm awfully sorry,' said I, picking myself up and fishing my hat out of the coal-scuttle; but I couldn't know you were doing tableaux vivants; and besides, you really ought not to.'

Here, to increase my astonishment, she threw her arms round me and kissed me; and when she let me go I saw there were tears in her eyes.

'You're not to preach, and I shall often do it again, only you're not to come into rooms so suddenly. He' (the pronoun with great expression) has got that appointment.'

Was that a fond farewell ?' said I, my bewilderment, I suppose, appearing in my face; for Carey,

putting her two hands-such pretty, little, soft, white hands-over my eyes, said,

'You mustn't look at me like that;' and added very softly, 'I'm going too, dear.'

'What did you say about P.A.C.s? and didn't you always tell me you had no heart? and I thought nothing short of a title would content you,' said I severely. To which she made answer:

'He won't be a P.A.C.; and of course one talks like that, but one doesn't mean it; and I haven't a heart, for I've gone and given it away, and I think it's a very good match indeed!

Having wound up her sentimental speech with this astonishing fib, she settled herself at my feet, and we had a long explanatory conversation, at the end of which she promised me voluntarily to give up her evil practices in the way of flirting-a promise, I am bound to say, she has, to the best of my knowledge, faithfully kept.

There is little more to be told. Carey, being a spoilt darling at home, of course got her own foolish way. And the match was not such a bad one after all, for the Indian appointment was a very good one, and Mr. Lloyd turned out to have no inconsiderable private means, though how the latter fact escaped the knowledge of the Narromyndham gossips remaineth until this day a mystery.

The wedding was necessarily quiet and hurried, but I was bridesmaid nevertheless; and already I have had two quaint bright letters, dated from Bengal, and signed 'Carey Lloyd.'

On the day before the now happy Benedick's departure from Narromyndham-before Carey had left us-I told him to ask her opinion of a Pastoral Aid Curate.

'I know it,' said he; 'I overheard it before I saw her!