e village.

At a time in which my narrative opens, the village boasted a sociable,
agreeable, careless, half-starved parson, who never failed to introduce
himself to any of the anglers who, during the summer months, passed
a day or two in the little valley. The Rev. Mr. Caleb Price had been
educated at the University of Cambridge, where he had contrived, in
three years, to run through a little fortune of L3500. It is true,
that he acquired in return the art of making milkpunch, the science
of pugilism, and the reputation of one of the best-natured, rattling,
open-hearted companions whom you could desire by your side in a tandem
to Newmarket, or in a row with the bargemen. By the help of these gifts
and accomplishments, he had not failed to find favour, while his money
lasted, with the young aristocracy of the "Gentle Mother." And, though
the very reverse of an ambitious or calculating man, he had
certainly nourished the belief that some one of the "hats" or "tinsel
gowns"--i.e., young lords or fellow-commoners, with whom he was on such
excellent terms, and who supped with him so often, would do something
for him in the way of a living. But it so happened that when Mr. Caleb
Price had, with a little difficulty, scrambled through his degree, and
found himself a Bachelor of Arts and at the end of his finances, his
grand acquaintances parted from him to their various posts in the State
Militant of Life. And, with the exception of one, joyous and reckless
as himself, Mr. Caleb Price found that when Money makes itself wings
it flies away with our friends. As poor Price had earned no academical
distinction, so he could expect no advancement from his college; no
fellowship; no tutorship leading hereafter to livings, stalls, and
deaneries. Poverty began already to stare him in the face, when the only
friend who, having shared his prosperity, remained true to his adverse
fate,--a friend, fortunately for him, of high connections and brilliant
prospects--succeeded in obtaining for him the humble living of A----.
To this primitive spot the once jovial roisterer cheerfully
retired--contrived to live contented upon an income somewhat less than
he had formerly given to his groom--preached very short sermons to a
very scanty and ignorant congregation, some of whom only understood
Welsh--did good to the poor and sick in his own careless, slovenly
way--and, uncheered or unvexed by wife and children, he rose in summer
with the lark and in