of one, I don't suppose I should have ever been among the blessed
ones. Anne is, who never thought of such mysteries at all; and so you
will be, my little Ursula--very happy. I am sure of it--though how you
can manage to be happy, my dear, marrying a man who is not a good
Churchman, it is not for me to say."

"Cousin Sophy, have I been brought up in a way to make me so fond of
Churchmen?" said Ursula solemnly. She could not have told how much or
how little she knew about her father's behaviour, and the "shock to his
mental system;" but vaguely and by instinct there was a great deal that
she did know.

"You have been behind the scenes too much perhaps," said Sophy Dorset,
shrugging her shoulders, "but don't think any worse of the world than
you ought, if you can't think very much better. No class is good or bad,
Ursula. Men are but men all over the world."

This made Ursula cry, though it is difficult to say why. She thought it
cynical, and probably so will the reader. Perhaps Sophy Dorset abandoned
the cause of mankind too easily, as most people of her temperament and
age are disposed to do. Anyhow the evening entertainment took place and
was very fine, and every honour was done to Clarence Copperhead's
marriage, especially by his mother, who appeared in the most lovely
satin that eyes ever saw, and diamonds--and almost succeeded all the
evening in keeping herself from crying, but not entirely. She did break
down when the health of bridegroom and bride was drunk as it ought to
be; but recovered herself hastily when the mother on the other side gave
her a kiss of sympathy. Though it was an honest kiss it filled poor
little Mrs. Copperhead's mind with the most unchristian feelings, and
gave her strength to keep up for the rest of the evening, and do her
duty to the last. Nevertheless Phoebe was the best of daughters-in-law,
and ended by making her husband's mother dependent on her for most of
the comforts of her life. And Clarence got into Parliament, and the
reader, perhaps (if Parliament is sitting), may have had the luck to
read a speech in the morning paper of Phoebe's composition, and if he
ever got the secret of her style would know it again, and might trace
the course of a public character for years to come by that means. But
this secret is one which no bribe nor worldly inducement will ever tempt
our lips to betray.

Northcote was released from the charge of Salem Chapel directly after
these events, by the re