My New Curate

mmenced sooner th

eman's Journal of two days past, the door of my parlor was suddenly flung open, a bunch of keys was thrown angrily on the table,

low these galivanters of curates to crow over you. But I tell you I won't stand it. If I had to beg my bread from house to house, I won't stand being told I'm dirty. Why, the ladies of the Great House said they could see their faces in the candlesticks; and didn't the Bishop say 't was the natest vestry in the diocese? And this new cojutor with his gran' accent, which no one can understand, and his gran' furniture, and his whipster of a servant, begor, no one can stand him. We must all clear out. And, after

pen, and a bunch of keys was

y to return. She spoke

down to the house before I start for America. And dere's two gl

ain, but return

ion. The kay of the safe is under the door of the linny[1] to de left, and the chalice is in the basket, wrapped in

in; but kept her

e, thin, you never said a hard word to a poor wo

ntil I have my hand on the door handle and my finger on the key. I looked stead

mess," said I. "He is

ow are you to-day, Mrs. Darcy?" or more frequently, "Good morning, Mrs. Darcy." On the other hand, Mary Darcy, as arbitress at stations, wakes, and weddings, had a wide influence in the parish, and I fear used to speak contemptuously sometimes of my housekeeper. But now there was what the newspapers call a Dual All

y at such irregularities and then throw the burden of correcting them on his pastor. He was outspoken and honest. He tore open drawers, and drew out their slimy, mildewed contents, sniffed ominously at the stuffy atmosphere, flung aside with

ch abominable f

d hear vigorous language don't say, Dirt. Mrs. Darcy bore the fierce scrutiny of her menage without shrinking, but when he menti

ed to see your reverence show

dirt everywhere, in the air, under my feet, in the grate, on

carpets, and bearskins, and cowhides, which are now the fashion, I believe. An' dere isn't a looking-glass

said, mildly, "but if you can't see that this place is fr

nders, half-burnt papers, brown ash

o an imaginary audience, "he calls the sweepings of th

nd pointed to the altar cloth. It was wrinkled and grimy, God forg

race to the Church

was washed and made up last Christmas, and is as

he shouted, pointing to th

of blessed wax that fell from the candles?

'll report the whole wretched business to th

call tha

id she, "but I'll h

all an indirect indictment of my own slovenliness and sinful carelessness. I listened with shamed face and b

oor glinted and shone with wax; and there were dainty bits of fibre matting here and there. The grate was black-leaded, and there was a wonderful firescreen with an Alpine landscape. The clock was clicking steadily, as if Time had no

gh the lace meshes of an alb, that would stand with stiffness and pride, if I placed it on the floor. I would gladly have called for my old garment; but I knew that I too h

. Da

the edges, and pinned to her breast, came out from a recess. She was smilin

cy," I ca

more deeply, and said

m, your r

s restrained me. But I regret to say it was all a source of distraction to me in the celebration of the Divine Mysteries, and during the day. What had occurred? I was dying to know; but it would not be consistent with the di

m, your R

that which dappled the mud floor of her cabin, when Jemmy lay there and played hide and seek with the gossamer threads that shone through the chink in the half-door! Ah me! it is easy to lecture the poor, and complain of their horrid ways; but the love such as no man hath gilds and enamels most of the crooked and grimy things that disfigure their poor lives in the eyes of the fastidious; and perhaps makes the angels of Him, before whose Face the stars are not spotless, turn from the cold perfection of the mansion and the castle to gaze lovingly on the squalid lowliness of the hamlet and the cabin. Well. On the morning that Mrs. Darcy gave me formal notice of her relinquishment of the solemn office she held, she bent her steps homeward with a

he Lady Altar! Didn't Miss Campion say that she was a genius, but undeveloped? Didn't Miss Campion's friend from Dublin declare that there was nothing like it in Gardiner Street? And when her time would be spent, and she was old and rheumatized, would not little Jemmy, the hunchbac

his head propped between his hands, was the hunchback, Jemmy, studying with all the intense appreciation of an Edison, how to construct an airy castle out of certain painted wood-blocks, which strewed the floor; and there, his back turned towards the window, was her arch-enemy, Father Letheby, his right hand raised aloft and dangling an india-rubber baby; whilst Patsey, his eyes dilated with excitement, made frantic attempts to seize the prize, and crowed and chuckled in the exuberance of his delight. Mrs. Darcy drew back hastily, then peeped again. No doubt of it. It was no phantasm of the imagination. She looked again. T

TNO

xon, l