ure Ridley looks like a nobleman, with his
large waistcoat, bald head, and gilt book: J. J. has a fine head; but
Mrs. Ridley! cook and housekeeper is written on her round face. The
music is by no means of its former good quality. That rebellious and
ill-conditioned basso Bellew has seceded, and seduced the four best
singing boys, who now perform glees at the Cave of Harmony. Honeyman has
a right to speak of persecution, and to compare himself to a hermit
in so far that he preaches in a desert. Once, like another hermit, St.
Hierome, he used to be visited by lions. None such come to him now.
Such lions as frequent the clergy are gone off to lick the feet of other
ecclesiastics. They are weary of poor Honeyman's old sermons.

Rivals have sprung up in the course of these three years--have sprung up
round about Honeyman and carried his flock into their folds. We know
how such simple animals will leap one after another, and that it is the
sheepish way. Perhaps a new pastor has come to the church of St. Jacob's
hard by--bold, resolute, bright, clear, a scholar and no pedant: his
manly voice is thrilling in their ears, he speaks of life and conduct,
of practice as well as faith; and crowds of the most polite and most
intelligent, and best informed, and best dressed, and most selfish
people in the world come and hear him twice at least. There are so many
well-informed and well-dressed etc. etc. people in the world that the
succession of them keeps St. Jacob's full for a year or more. Then, it
may be, a bawling quack, who has neither knowledge, nor scholarship, nor
charity, but who frightens the public with denunciations and rouses them
with the energy of his wrath, succeeds in bringing them together for a
while till they tire of his din and curses. Meanwhile the good quiet
old churches round about ring their accustomed bell: open their Sabbath
gates: receive their tranquil congregations and sober priest, who
has been busy all the week, at schools and sick-beds, with watchful
teaching, gentle counsel, and silent alms.

Though we saw Honeyman but seldom, for his company was not altogether
amusing, and his affectation, when one became acquainted with it, very
tiresome to witness, Fred Bayham, from his garret at Mrs. Ridley's, kept
constant watch over the curate, and told us of his proceedings from time
to time. When we heard the melancholy news first announced, of course
the intelligence damped the gaiety of Clive and his companio