unhappy organist, starting to his feet with a wild
reel. "Th' pride of'suncle'sheart! I see 'm now,
in'sh'fectionatemanhood, with whalebone ribs, made 'f alpaca,
andyetsoyoung. 'Help me!' hiccries; 'PENDRAGON'sash'nate'n me!'
hiccries--and I go!"

While uttering this extraordinary burst of feeling, he has advanced
towards the door in a kind of demoniac can-can, and, at its close,
abruptly darts into the street and frantically makes off.

"The cross of the holy fathers!" ejaculates the woman, momentarily
bewildered by this sudden termination of the scene. Then a new
expression comes swiftly over her face, and she adds, in a different
tone, "Odether-nodether, but it's coonin' as a fox he is, and it's off
he's gone again widout payin' me the schore! Sure, but I'll follow him,
if it's to the wurruld's ind, and see f'hat he is and where he is."

Thus it happens that she reaches Bumsteadville almost as soon as the
Ritualistic organist, and, following him to his boarding-house,
encounters Mr. TRACEY CLEWS upon the steps.

"Well, now!" calls that gentleman, as she looks inquiringly at him, "who
do you want?"

"Him as just passed in, your Honor."

"Mr. BUMSTEAD?"

"Ah. Where does he play the organ?"

"In St. Cow's Church, down yonder. Mass at seven o'clock, and he'll be
there in half an hour."

"It's there I'll be, thin," mumbles the woman; "and bad luck to it that
I didn't know before; whin I came to ax him for me schore, and might
have gone home widout a cint but for a good lad named EDDY who gave me a
sthamp.--The same EDDY, I'm thinkin', that I've heard him mutter about
in his shlape at my shebang in town, whin he came there on political
business."

After a start and a pause, Mr. CLEWS repeats his information concerning
the Ritualistic church, and then cautiously follows the woman as she
goes thither.

Unconscious of the remarkable female figure intently watching him from
under a corner of the gallery, and occasionally shaking a fist at him,
Mr. BUMSTEAD attends to the musical part of the service with as much
artistic accuracy as a hasty head-bath and a glass of soda-water are
capable of securing. The worshippers are too busy with risings,
kneelings, bowings, and miscellaneous devout gymnastics, to heed his
casual imperfections, and his headache makes him fiercely indifferent to
what any one else may think.

Coming out of the athletic edifice, Mr. CLEWS comes upon the woman
again, who seems excited.

"Well