oned
Goat and Boots; the inkstand was presented in a neat speech by Mr.
Gubbins, the ex-churchwarden, and acknowledged by the curate in terms
which drew tears into the eyes of all present--the very waiters were
melted.

One would have supposed that, by this time, the theme of universal
admiration was lifted to the very pinnacle of popularity. No such thing.
The curate began to cough; four fits of coughing one morning between the
Litany and the Epistle, and five in the afternoon service. Here was a
discovery--the curate was consumptive. How interestingly melancholy! If
the young ladies were energetic before, their sympathy and solicitude now
knew no bounds. Such a man as the curate--such a dear--such a perfect
love--to be consumptive! It was too much. Anonymous presents of
black-currant jam, and lozenges, elastic waistcoats, bosom friends, and
warm stockings, poured in upon the curate until he was as completely
fitted out with winter clothing, as if he were on the verge of an
expedition to the North Pole: verbal bulletins of the state of his health
were circulated throughout the parish half-a-dozen times a day; and the
curate was in the very zenith of his popularity.

About this period, a change came over the spirit of the parish. A very
quiet, respectable, dozing old gentleman, who had officiated in our
chapel-of-ease for twelve years previously, died one fine morning,
without having given any notice whatever of his intention. This
circumstance gave rise to counter-sensation the first; and the arrival of
his successor occasioned counter-sensation the second. He was a pale,
thin, cadaverous man, with large black eyes, and long straggling black
hair: his dress was slovenly in the extreme, his manner ungainly, his
doctrines startling; in short, he was in every respect the antipodes of
the curate. Crowds of our female parishioners flocked to hear him; at
first, because he was _so_ odd-looking, then because his face was _so_
expressive, then because he preached _so_ well; and at last, because they
really thought that, after all, there was something about him which it
was quite impossible to describe. As to the curate, he was all very
well; but certainly, after all, there was no denying that--that--in
short, the curate wasn't a novelty, and the other clergyman was. The
inconstancy of public opinion is proverbial: the congregation migrated
one by one. The curate coughed till he was black in the face--it was in