er, and a much-vaunted _local_
preacher, is also left behind, but his wife was taken. A farmer, a
member of our own church, who used to invite preachers down from the
Evangelization Society, London, is gone, but his wife, a strict
churchwoman like myself--but a rare shrew--is left.

"But to come to the chief object of my letter, I am afraid you will be
sorry--though perhaps not altogether unprepared for what I have to
say--'_I have sold the 'Courier._' It may be the only daily paper, (as
you wrote me the other day) that 'witnesses for righteousness,' but my
mind is too harrassed by all this mysterious business of the
_Translation_ of men and women, to think of anything else but the
future, and what it will bring. I have sold the paper to Lucien Apleon
(through one of his agents, of course, since now that he is made
Emperor of this strangely constituted confederation of kings and
countries) he cannot be expected to personally transact so small a
piece of business as the purchase of a daily paper."

Ralph lowered the letter-sheet, a moment, and a weary little smile
crept into his face.

"I might have guessed that Apleon would have done this," he mused, "if
he is, as I believe, the Anti-christ!"

He lifted the letter again, and read on:

"He wanted to take possession at once, and give me 5,000 pounds extra
as a retiring fee for you. But I was obstinate on this point, and told
his agent that he could not have possession until a month from today.

"Between this and then I shall hope to see you, dear Bastin. I want to
see you very much on my own account. Your utterances from 'The
Prophet's chair,' have aroused strange new thoughts and desires within
me, and I want you to help me to a clearer view of the events of the
near future. Then, as to the sundering of our business relations, you
know me so well that you know I shall treat you handsomely when you
retire from the Editorship.

"Talking of finance, what special use can money be to a man like me
now, if all that you have lately written in the 'Courier'--as to _the
future_--be true?"

The letter wound up most cordially. Then there followed a "P. S."

"My old friend, the Rector of the parish, who has always been keen on
theatricals--he would have made a better actor than parson--is having
the church seated with plush-covered tip-seats like a theatre, and
proposes to have a performance every Sunday Evening, and as often in
the week as funds, and interest in