Hannah and Mary Hopkins. Their eyes were riveted on the platform, but it was not on the chairman they gazed, although he was the Earl of Stromness, nor on the Vicar, for he was lost in the crowd, nor on Mr. Pigwidgeon, ludicrous figure as he cut, for there was no novelty in that-you had only to watch the point where the three lines of female vision united, to convince yourself that they sought nothing, saw nothing, thought of nothing during that great day and demonstration, but the youngest of the patriot band, he who came to dedicate the first-fruits of his talents and his fame to the service of his creed and his country. Probably few of the ladies present had been unobservant of Reuben from an early period of the day, for he was conspicuous not only by his handsome person, but by his dress, which could scarcely have been gayer or more elaborate had he been going to be married, instead of only going to make a speech. His hair, artfully divided, shone like Apollo's, and flowed on his shoulders almost as wantonly as in his boyhood; a bouquet, nearly as large as Barsac's, bloomed in his button-hole; and the virgin whiteness of his gloves typified the maiden eloquence with which he was about to enchant the world. The foppery was not entirely his own; the gloves were due to his mother, the flowers had been insisted on and even arranged on his breast by the young Quakeress. Nor was it amiss that so much care had been bestowed on his toilette; for had he been confounded with the parsons and the squires, his rising would not have commanded the attention that it it did, and his oratory would probably have been lost, like that of the rest, in the incessant uproar of the meeting.

Everything, however, was propitious, but, perhaps, most of all, the emphatic and gracious manner in which the Earl of Stromness, a man of the highest courtesy, introduced him to the audience, as "the son of his respected friend, the Rev. Thomas Medlicott."

Instantly the chawbacons, hundreds of whom were the Earl's tenants, raised a shout that well nigh brought down the roof of the Court-house. The din was little in unison with the modesty and gentleness with which the palpitating Reuben took his place in the front of the platform. His rising was soft as the south wind; and you might have marked its effects in the female gallery, how the breeze fluttered the bonnets, rustled among the ribbons, and especially how it made the maternal stomacher rise and fall, like a sail when the wind is irresolute. He rose, he

spoke, he triumphed. His was the only speech that was not only delivered, but of which a considerable portion was heard. A most excellent speech it was of the school of oratory it belonged to, though there were principles of eloquence by which it would have been cruel to have tried it. If, however, it had the defects of youth, it had its merits also; it was fresh, it was fiery, it was animated and courageous. There was not a Quintilian in the meeting to find fault with it. Tried by the test of success, not Demosthenes himself could have gained a completer victory. Up flew a cloud of hats before the exordium was over; the orator was actually invisible for a second. The same demonstration was repeated a score of times; upon one occasion Mr. Pigwidgeon (who was striking another stroke for a dinner) must throw up his beaver among the rest, and he never recovered it, for it fell among the mob, and was trampled to pieces in an instant. The hat was not worth sixpence, but he vowed it was a new one-a thing he had never been known to possess in his life. What signified Mr. Pigwidgeon's hat, or Mr. Pigwidgeon himself? Even Protestantism was forgotten in the excitement and enthusiasm occasioned by the flowers of Reuben's rhetoric, not unaided by the flowers in his coat. If one passage outshone another, where all was splendour, it was the dangerous topic of apostacythe graphic picture of a renegade divine, which reached its climax, when the orator described the vain endeavours of such a fallen character to regain his lost position, and imagined the reception he would assuredly meet with from every honest man. Here he turned to good account the lines in Milton :

Think'st thou, revolted spirit, thy shape the same
Or undiminished glory, as when once

Thou stood'st erect in heav'n, erect and pure.

The air was darkened with waving hats again; the enthusiasmn mounted to the galleries, the women waved their handkerchiefs wildly, and Mrs. Medlicott and the Quakeresses, who had taken off their bonnets in consequence of the heat, tossed them about fanatically, and almost forgot their sex in the violence of their transports.

In short, it was a relief to everybody when the last bolt was launched, and the last long-protracted peal of applause greeted the solemn and high-wrought peroration.

The Vicar himself, though not nearly so susceptible as his wife, was carried away by his son's eloquence almost as much as

she was, although he forbore from expressing his feelings with equal energy, partly from his native reserve, partly out of regard for his hat. At the door of the court-house he was overwhelined with congratulations. Old Matthew Cox, with a tear in his eyes, shook his hand, but said nothing. Mr. Broad was like a madman. The apothecary pretended that only for his exertions the mob would have insisted on carrying Reuben home on their shoulders. Lord Stromness came up to the Vicar in the kindest manner, and told him that his son had made one of the most effective speeches he had ever heard in his life. "That portrait of a turncoat," said the Earl, "was quite a masterpiece."

The next moment a servant handed Mr. Medlicott the letter from Mrs. Mountjoy, informing him, in substance, that the most conspicuous turncoat in England was his father-in-law.

"A pretty kettle of fish," said the Vicar, as, with visible agitation, he put the letter in his wife's hands. She almost shrieked when she came to the announcement of her father's promotion.

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A pretty kettle of fish," said the Vicar.

The

Reuben turned white when he received the news. His mother and he exchanged looks in silence. In his countenance there was nothing but pride and resentment; in hers were depicted the same feelings, but mixed with vexation and regret. poor Quakeresses were quite at a loss to comprehend what was in the wind, seeing joy and triumph so soon turned into chagrin and disappointment; and they were still more at a loss to understand matters, when they learned that all arose from the announcement that Dean Wyndham was Bishop of Shrewsbury. I don't believe it yet," said Mrs. Medlicott, abruptly laying down her fork in the middle of the silent dinner; "I can't bring myself to believe it."

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"At all events," said Reuben, "I shall never regret having told the truth."

"Thou never wilt have cause," said poor Mary Hopkins, enthusiastically.

"At the same time," said the Vicar, in a low and very serious key, "I hope the truth you have told will be confined pretty much to our own neighbourhood; I should not like it to travel up to London."

He had scarcely uttered the words, when in bustled Mr. Pigwidgeon to say that he had taken measures to secure a full report of Reuben's speech in the "Chichester Mercury," and some other

provincial organ, with which he had some influence or connexion.

Thank you very much for your kind offices," said the Vicar, drily, and biting his lip, "but my son is content with the reputation he has made among his friends here; he has no ambition to be a political character; in fact," he added, rising from the table, approaching the apothecary, and speaking in a lower but more earnest tone, "if you could induce the papers you mention to report us as concisely as possible, we should take it as a particular favour."

The fawning apothecary shook his head and said, "he feared that would be quite out of the question; Master Reuben's speech was the speech of the day, and a report of the meeting without it would be the play of Hamlet, with Hamlet's part omitted."

"That's very true," said Mrs. Medlicott, still unable to see her way clearly through Reuben's unlucky laurels.

"What does my eloquent friend say himself?" said Mr. Pigwidgeon.

Reuben replied, not without more vain-glory than quite became him, that he had thought it his duty to express his sentiments freely and boldly on the late occasion; but, that duty havng been performed, he would leave it to others to decide whether it would be of service, or the contrary, to the cause he had advocated, that his speech should be circulated through the empire. Upon that there can be but one opinion," said the flattering, false Pigwidgeon.

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Possibly," said the Vicar, drawing him aside; "but I am averse to unnecessary publicity upon many accounts; in fact I am anxious on the point; go and use your influence to have the reports short, and come back and sup with us. There will be a venison hash and a roast pullet, and we will not sit down until you return, if you don't come back till midnight."

The apothecary had been aware that a present of a haunch from Lord Stromness had recently been received at the Vicarage, and that it had regaled the committee of management, which Mr. Medlicott had entertained on the preceding day; but he had given up all hopes of partaking of it in any form, so that when he heard of the hash, it sounded in his ears melodiously, then pleasantly affected his imagination, and finally made his lips water. As he drove to Chichester in his gig, he had time, however, for other thoughts, and among his various mental employments, he puzzled himself thinking what could possibly be the Vicar's reason for wishing to suppress his son's speech. While

he was trying to solve this riddle, he saw a gentleman on horseback approaching him, who proved to be his patient, Mr. Oldport. Pigwidgeon asked if any news had arrived from London?

"News, indeed," said the Canon, "very agreeable news for me, and still more agreeable for your old acquaintance Medlicott, -the mitre has fallen on my friend Wyndham's head at last." "You don't say so," said the apothecary in his gig.

"I have it under his own hand and seal," said the Canon. "Here's his letter for you to read :" and he fumbled in his pocket, drew forth the Dean's letter, and handed it to Pigwidgeon, who read it greedily.

"You see," said the Canon, "he is very angry with you all for getting up that meeting, and by the by, let me ask, what could have possessed Medlicott to allow his son to come out so strongly as I am told he did; why it was just the very thing to put his grandfather beside himself."

"Then he is ratting with the ministry?" said the apothecary. "To be sure he is," said the Canon, "if ratting is the word. Do you think he got the bishopric on condition of opposing them ?"

"I see," said Pigwidgeon.

The Canon ambled home, and the apothecary trotted into town, now in full possession of the Vicar's motives for desiring to cushion his son's oratory. After visiting the newspaper-offices, he trotted back again to the Vicarage, which he reached in reasonable time to enjoy the hash, the pullet, and a bottle of the Vicar's best wine. Of his mission he said very little, only shook his head, winked a great deal, protested he had done his best; what more could Pigwidgeon do? The Vicar loaded the apothecary's plate, replenished his glass often, and waited for the papers of the morning.

It then appeared, not that the apothecary had not used his best exertions, but that he did not possess as much influence as he boasted over the public press of Chichester. One newspaper, the Mercury, printed Reuben's oration at full length; the other published only an abstract of the greater part, but gave the objectionable passages in full, which of course had the effect of making them doubly conspicuous and doubly offensive.

So strong is the principle of maternal vanity, that Mrs. Medlicott was more pleased by seeing her Reuben's oratory in print, than distressed to think of the ill blood it was calculated to produce in the family, and the injury it was so likely to do the young man himself.