rms of praise.

New Zion was, indeed, _New_ Zion once more, he said, thanks to their
indefatigable young pastor,--a play on words which was received with the
applause due to so unmistakable a union of wit and truth.

Nor did the proceedings result in mere compliments. The church found
itself rich enough to increase its minister's stipend; and when Theophil
took Mr. Moggridge back to supper, another surprise awaited him, in the
form of a suspicious-looking letter, which, being opened, revealed a
quite unexceptionable L50 note, enclosed in a sheet of note-paper, on
which was written--"From never mind who."

The writing was unknown to Londonderry, but there could be only one
culprit.

"Of course, Mr. Moggridge, this is from you. Really ..."

"No, sir, indeed; you make a mistake there," protested Moggridge, lying
badly, and growing purple.

"Who do _you_ suspect, Jenny?"

"Why, of course, it's Mr. Moggridge!"

"Mr. Moggridge!" exclaimed Jenny impulsively, throwing her arms round
Mr. Moggridge's surprised shoulders, and kissing him somewhere in his
whiskers,--"Mr. Moggridge! you are the dearest, kindest man in the
world!"

And Jenny was not far wrong.

"Mr. Londonderry," said Mr. Moggridge, by way of changing the subject,
and warmly grasping the young man's hand, "New Zion's proud of you,
sir--and so is Eli Moggridge."

And that moment would have been as good for all three, even without the
fifty-pound note.

CHAPTER XIV

THE GREAT EVENT OF MR. TALBOT'S LIFE

I realize that any attempt henceforth to enchain the reader's interest
with church meetings, or the like enthralments, will be more than
hopeless. That is the worst of allowing love to creep into one's story.
He insists on having the stage to himself, and in that determination the
audience is entirely with him. Previously you may have been interested
in all kinds of peaceable, unexciting things, far more good for you, but
enter love, and all the rest is suddenly fallen tame beyond endurance.

It is of no use to urge that life's bill of the play includes many
hardly less brilliant and attractive performers. They are all well
enough in their way, till the eternal Paganini is there with his old
fiddle once more at his shoulder; then there is an end of all
seriousness, or a beginning, as you please.

Well, I'll do my best to get over the six months between March and
October as quickly as possible; and, indeed, it will not be very
difficult, aft