The Bishop's Secret

refore, in these days is fulfilled the scriptural prophecy that seven women shall lay hold of one man and entreat to be called by his name. Mis

rimonial fortunes in the country. She was plain, this lady, as she was poor; nor could she rightly be said to be in the first flush of maidenhood. In all matters other than

sit to town-and she arrived, towards the end of July, in the pleasant cathedral city of Beorminster, in time to

anyone so ill-advised as to attempt a stand against her domineering authority. When her tall, gaunt figure-invariably arrayed in the blackest of black silks-was sighted in a room, those present either scuttled out of the way or judiciously held their peace, for everyone knew Mrs Pansey's talent for twisting the simplest observation into some evil shape calculated to get its author into trouble. She excelled in this particular method of making mischief. Possessed of ample means and ample leisure, both of these helped her materially to build up her reputation of a philanthropic bully. She literally swooped down upon the poor, taking one and all in charge to be fed, physicked, worked and guided according to her own ideas. In return for benefits conferred, she demanded an unconditional surrender of free will. Nobody was to have an opinion but Mrs Pansey; nobody knew what was good for t

ot. All protégées of Mrs Pansey sheltered under the ?gis of her terrible reputation, and woe to the daring person who did not accept them as the most charming, the cleverest, and in every way the most desirable of their sex. But in the memory of man, no one had ever sustained battle against Mrs Pansey, and so this feminine Selkir

to utility. Her headgear dated back to the later Georgian epoch. It consisted mainly of a gauze turban twinkling with jet ornaments. Her bosom was defended by a cuirass of cold-looking steel beads, finished off at the throat by a gigantic brooch, containing the portrait and hair of the late archdeacon. Her skirts were lengthy and voluminous, so that they

omposed of bones and diamonds. The diamonds represented the bulk of Miss Norsham's wealth, and she used them not only for the adornment of her uncomely person, but for the deception of any possi

ss over its chronic redness. Her teeth were genuine and she cultivated what society novelists term silvery pea

ulated spinsterhood. But, to do her justice, this regrettable state of single blessedness was far from being her own

strong in adjectives and interjections and redupl

and worship of idols about him for my taste. If the departed can smell,' added the lady, with an illustrative sniff, 'the late archdeacon must turn in his grave

Lancashire Pendles

an ornamental bishop with good legs for gaiters, and a portly figure for an apron, Dr Pendle's the man. But as a God-fearing pri

y, the dear bi

s a human worm, just as you are-as I am. You may dress him in lawn sleeves and a mitre

ked Daisy, to avert furth

be, too, if I had my way. Lolling all day long on a sofa, and taking glasses of champagne between doses of iron and extract of beef; then givin

ally! a

t ever since. They have three children-George' (with a whisk of her fan at the mention of each name), 'who is a good-looking idiot in a line regiment; Gabriel, a curate as white-faced as his mother, and no doubt afflicted as she is with heart trouble. He was in Whitechapel,

enviously. 'Oh, do tell me if th

t can you expect from such a mother? No brains, no style, no conversation

pinster, thinking wrathfully of this unknown girl who had su

dering Jew or the Flying Dutchman. Ah, my dear, husbands are not what they used to be. The late archdeacon never left his fireside while I was there. I knew better than to let him go to Paris or Pekin, or some of those sinks of iniquity. Cook and

matrimonial market it conveyed no information likely to be of use to her in the coming campaign. She wished

the most beautiful girl in Be

th an emphatic blow of her fan, 'she is pretty, if you like

Arden, dear

hello's niece, th

e! what a very, very funny name

eddlesome old maid, who wants to foist her niece on to George Pendle; and she's likely to succeed, too,' added the lady, rubbing her nose with a vexed air,

! Mr Ca

sneaky ways. Butter wouldn't melt in his mouth; oh, dear no! I gave my opinion about him pretty p

n the faint hope that Mrs Pansey's list of

om Payn, Colonel Ingersoll, Viscount Amberly-those are his gods, the pagan! I'd burn him on

re there no you

barmaid; and simpering curates, put into the Church as the fools of their respective families. I don't know what men are coming to,' groaned Mrs Pansey.

eved that she had been a model wife. The egotism of first person singular was so firmly ingrained in the woman that she could not conceive what a scourge she was to mankind in general; what a trial she had been to her poor departed husband in particular. If the late Archdeacon Pansey had not died he would doubtless have become a missionary to some

ligible husband for her in Beorminster. It was with a heavy heart that the spinster entered the palace, and