nd his eyes, and, to lose no time in business, dropped them
as soon as he decently could, and, pressing both palms strongly on the
counter, he asked, if they entertained any suspicion of a particular
person as being the object of the Curate's most unbecoming passion?
Lydia Prateapace remembered, certainly, a name being mentioned--it was
Lesby or Lisby, or something like that. "Indeed!" said Miffins, arching
his brows, and significantly touching the tip of his nose with his
forefinger--"ah! indeed! a foreigner, depend upon it--a Lisbon lady;
that, Miss, is the capital of Portugal, where them figs comes from. Only
think, a foreign lady--a lady from Lisbon--that is too bad!" to which
the three readily assented. "I doubt not, ladies," he continued, "it's
one of them foreigners as lives near Ashford, about five miles
off--where I knows the Curate goes two or three times in a week."

Thus, Eusebius, is Catullus's Lesbia, who herself stood for another,
converted into a Portuguese lady, whom the Curate visits some five miles
off--or, as the three ladies say, _protects_.

If you ask how I came by this accurate information, learn that our
Gratian's _Jahn_ was at the further counter, making a purchase of
mole-traps, and saw and heard, and reported. The first meeting was held
in Miffins' back-parlour; but fame had beat up for recruits, and that
was found far too small; so they have adjourned to the Blue Boar, where,
the tap being good, and the landlord a busybody, they are likely to
remain a little longer than Muzzle-brains can see to draw up a report.
The Curate's door is chalked, and adjacent walls--"No Kissing," "The
Clerical Judas," "Who Kissed the School-mistress?" and many such-like
morsels. But if fame has thus been playing with the kaleidoscope of
lies, multiplying and giving every one its match, she has likewise shown
them about through her magnifying glass, and brought the most distantly
circulated home to the poor Curate. In a little town a few miles off, it
has been reported that Miss Lydia Prateapace has been obliged to "swear
the peace against him," which "swearing the _peace_" is, in most cases,
a declaration of _war_.

Meanwhile the Curate has taken his cue, to do nothing and say nothing
upon the subject; and, as in all his misadventures, that was the part
taken by Yorick, if his friends do not rescue him, he may have Yorick's
penalty. Thus much at present, my dear Eusebius; I will occasionally
report progress, bu