ll trebles a thing unheard
of.

Nothing can exceed the excitement and jealousy that reign
everywhere,--principally in the hearts of Mr. Leatham's followers, who
hope wildly, but secretly, that failure may be the only crop their
rivals may reap.

It is a heavenly night, for which the Vicar is devoutly thankful. The
moon is riding high in the dark-blue dome; the stars are all alight;
the air, swift and keen, rushes along the high-roads, sweeping all
before it. There is no sign of rain; the sky above, "star-inwrought,"
shows promise of many fair to-morrows. "There is no excuse for their
non-attendance," murmurs the vicar to himself, as he stands inside the
school-house door, wording his thought, as he might, were he thinking
of the collecting together of his flock on Easter Sunday or to the
Holy Communion.

"Vast night comes noiselessly up the eastern slope,
And so the eternal chase goes round the world."

But for the soughing wind, the world is still. One by one, or two by
two, or sometimes as a whole family, the villagers drop in, arranging
themselves modestly in the back rows, and exchanging greetings with
each other in a subdued and whispered fashion.

A little while after the door is opened, the lower half of the hall is
crowded to excess. The vicar is well beloved by his parishioners; but
above and beyond all is the desire to see Maria, and Susan, and
Ezekiel upon the boards, "a singing for the quality!"

The room itself is what reporters would term "a blaze of light." Much
ingenuity has been exercised in the decoration of it; and certainly
the designs in laurels, and the designs in moss, and the one grand
design in paper roses, at the far end of the room, are all that heart
can desire.

To Clarissa, I think, this last outburst on the part of the village is
a heart-break; but, if so, she represses her grief valiantly, and
even, with her own forgiving fingers, condescends to brighten the
monstrosity with some hothouse flowers. But, when all is told, it
remains an eyesore,--a regrettable blot, not to be eradicated under
pain of bringing down the rage of the entire village upon the devoted
head of him or her who should interfere.

Mrs. Redmond, seated on the small platform, with the piano before her,
and the choir arranged, with careful regard to its different sizes, on
each side of her, waits patiently the coming of the county. She is
looking thinner, more miserable, than usual, and has a general air
ab