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would terminate the existence of the one; it were well, Mr. Hastings said, were it so with the other.

If existence terminated with the sorrows of time, the rector admitted it were so; but he believed that poor John Tennisson, though dying for a crime that shocked humanity, was better prepared to meet his end, and to appear before that Judge who is faithful and just.

• But if he is guilty,' I said, “how dreadful a hypocrite he must be.'

“He is as innocent as I am, the rector exclaimed, as if suddenly thrown off his guard : it was the first time he had spoken so decidedly. • Would I could prove him so,' he added, throwing aside bis chair, and pacing the floor with greater expression of agitation than he usually shewed; twice pressing his hand on his forehead, he murmured half aloud, 'Oh it is dreadful; how long shall the wicked triumph?'

We sat a few minutes in silent and distressing thought; then a rushing sound through the ball, as if the opening of the door had admitted the blast, drew our attention, and the rector stopping his walk, inquired if we had heard a knock, and before we could decisively answer, a little man, coated and booted, and dripping with rain, stepped into the room, and made a bow which brought his head very nearly in contact with his knees.

My good friend, where have you come from?' the rector demanded, examining him from head to foot with pleased surprise.

•I am come from a long, long journey, the first I have had since I was made a priest,' was the reply, "and as the wind and rain incommoded both Dodger and myself, I thought I would just pay your reve

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rence a visit, and see if Miss Nanny Bawn could make me out a lodging for the night, and then, if the morning is fine, I can be off on my road to my own at Bog-ball with the first light.'

For this night and as many more as you please, Mr. Irwin,' said Nanny, giving him her hand, ‘unless Bog-hall has more charms than the glebe.'

* Its name warrants it; the charm of a good fire, of which you stand in need, my friend,' said her father, raising up his own, so take off your wet coat, and join us at this.'

While the little man withdrew to remove his wellsaturated coat, and exchange his bespattered boots for a pair of the rector's slippers, I inquired was he a priest, for his appearance exactly agreed with my idea of the character.

A Protestant curate,' the rector replied, and one of the most simple, sincere, extraordinary, excellent, and indefatigable creatures in existence.

His unremitting exertions are devoted to the good of the desolate parish where he has lived and laboured, unknown and unnoticed, for more than twenty years. He lives in a house, little more than a cabin, belonging to a poor and aged widow, and by this means renders a condition comfortable, which would otherwise be deplorably destitute. This house, being situated on the side of a bleak, dreary bog, is known to us by the denomination of Bog-hall; but its tenant ranks in our estimation above many who dwell in ceiled houses, and lodge under cedar.'

When the curate came among us again, and had refreshed himself with some tea, he sat down in the vacant place opposite the fire, and putting a hand on each knee, raised his small but very expressive eyes

to the rector's daughter, with the comprehensive interrogatory, • Well, Miss Nanny?'

"Well, Mr. Irwin ?' Nanny responded, with a long-drawn sigh, and in a very absent manner.

• Hey-day!' he exclaimed, 'what is the matter?' and he glanced both at Mr. Hastings and me in a way that shewed he considered one or both of us implicated in producing a change in the spirits of the happy and contented Nanny Bawn.

She probably observed it as soon as we did, for she immediately said, • I am in low spirits, Mr. Irwin.'

Nothing has bappened, I hope,' said the little man, becoming instantly serious, for Nanny's voice was truth.

• It is very true, Irwin,' said the rector, 'we are all much distressed. A melancholy affair has occurred in the parish.'

The details of this parish history were then given · him. It was curious to watch the shades of interest deepening over his rather singular physiognomy as they proceeded.

Tennisson,' he murmured, 'John Tennisson at the fair of —, close to the higher cross roads.

• Yes.'
• Between the hours of nine and ten o'clock ?'
“Yes.'
'I can prove an alibi!'

The rector sprang forward, caught his arm, and stared in his face. His daughter burst into tears, clasped her hands, and cried, “Thank God!' and then whispered to me with a face of wonder, · What is an alibi ?'

(To be concluded in the next number.)

LETTER FROM A MISOKYNIST.

DEAR MADAM, LET not my address alarm you ; it denotes no ungentle feeling towards any member, however humble, of our own race. No! it is directed against the foes of my pedestrian excursions, the enemies of my morning visits, the snarling, barking, growling, grumbling set, called dogs. . I do not forget the old fable of the lion and the man, and will endeavour to say nothing of my canine antagonists, which is not warranted by justice and impartiality, while I detail the various causes of my dislike towards them.

First, you knock at a friend's door, and are answered, not by the maid, but a furious barking within, which continues incessantly, until the servant opens the door. You are then invited in, while this four-footed dragon stands guarding the bottom of the stair-case, resolutely expressing his opposition to your ascent. You perhaps have seen two or three papers in the shop-windows during your walk, cautioning the public, in gigantic letters, against MAD DOGS! You therefore feel unwilling to enter into such a contest. “Oh, he won't hurt you, ma'am,' says the maid. “ Down, Wasp, down, sir! Here, Waspy!' And by this means Waspy is coaxed and scolded into the kitchen, and the door shut. Meanwhile you ascend the stairs, earnestly hoping, that the maid may not fail to be in waiting on your descent.

Secondly, you hear the arrival of a welcome friend announced. As soon as you have entered the room, before you have had time to greet your visitor, up starts her four-footed attendant, and flies at you in a fury of barking. “Oh, pretty creature, it is only his way,' says the visitor, who obliges him to retreat under his own chair, whence, during the rest of the visit, he fills up the pauses of the conversation with a low growl, which you momentarily expect to give place to some more positive and violent token of his displeasure.

Nor is this all: for the sake of one's friends, one might perhaps be able to bear with their dogs, according to the old adage, · Love me, love my dog ;' but one is apt to encounter these vexations in public, where there is no claim of friendship, to counterbalance the annoyance. Sitting quietly in an omnibus, you feel something touch your shoulder, and looking round, to see who your next neighbour is, you behold a disagreeable looking dog! Now, as I am one of those who think politeness, or social courtesy, an essential duty of Christian women, I dare not object, or express my dislike by my looks-for that which is rude can hardly fail to be uncbristianlike; but I really do think that all ladies who have occasion to ride in an omnibus ought to leave their dogs at home, and to consider that there may be, in a public vehicle, other Misokynists besides myself.

I do not wish to detract from the merit of the dog, as a useful and valuable animal, but only to speak of those occasions when I think his company is illtimed or misplaced. It reminds me of a beautiful Newfoundland dog, which belonged to a relative of ours. Neptune had fallen into the mistake of sup

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