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?”

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