tells him, I will tell him first. I have evidently been very wicked. He will be very shocked; but he must be sorry for Edward. I will go to-morrow.'

V.

The Bishop was filling his pipe after lunch and looking a little ruefully at a letter which his chaplain had just laid on the table beside him.

'I suppose,' he said with a sigh,' that one ought not to grumble at getting a letter that is so certain to be tiresome as a letter from Vivian when the letter comes alone. One ought to regard it as a staying of the rough wind in the day of the east wind. What's he going to worry about now? I hold you responsible for him, Dodson, as he was a college friend of yours.'

'Hardly a friend, I should have said,' objected the chaplain with a smile. I think he wants to leave Hansford. He has been restless since he came into his money.'

'Never mind,' opening the letter, 'I feel equal to anything this afternoon; almost equal to Porson v. Philips.'

When he had read the letter through he laughed.

'Well, it's more funny than tiresome. As you said, he wants to leave Hansford. He has not been well for some time, and now he finds that his house is on clay. He would be willing to take a poor living if the soil were better. His views, as I know-Why should I?—are not narrow; he would be willing to fall in with the traditions of a place. Now why apply to me? Why not advertise in the Church papers: "Incumbent of country living worth £350 and house, &c., wants to exchange. Income no object. E. P. or black gown as desired, provided vicarage on gravel." The futility of it!'

A servant entered and handed him a card.

When the door was closed again he threw it down on the table with a groan.

'I said I felt equal to Philips and Porson: I do. I could knock their heads together without remorse. But Mrs. Philips! This is hard lines! I met her once, I remember. A pretty, patheticlooking little woman.' He laid aside his pipe and rose out of his easy chair. 'In the future when you hear me say that a married clergy is a blessed institution and all the rest of it, bear in mind that I don't mean a word of it!'

A few pleasant remarks of the Bishop's were not enough to

make Mrs. Philips at her ease; but they gave her time to reassure herself that he had a kind face at the moment at any rate, whatever it might look when her story was told.

'I won't waste your time,' she said; 'but may I ask, my lord, whether you have had a letter from Mr. Porson in the last few days?

'No,' with a smile; he thinks, perhaps, that I am entitled to an Easter holiday.'

Mrs. Philips had been married too long not to smile as a matter of course when a man smiled; but her smile was a little thin.

'I am afraid I have done very wrong,' she said, making a brave effort to steady her voice. I am afraid my husband will suffer for it. I don't think it was a forgery, but I think it was something like a felony or a fraud.'

She paused, and the Bishop said 'Yes?' Perhaps, because Mrs. Philips looked so much the reverse of fraudulent, and her voice was so low and sweet, the 'Yes' was doubtful and kindly and encouraged her to go on.

'It was about the Easter offering. When your lordship said in the diocesan magazine that you wished the custom to be revived, we knew it would be very awkward for us. You will know perhaps that my husband is not very popular in the parish?' The Bishop had inferred something of the sort. 'We thought that, perhaps, if we did not have one, it would not be found-that nothing would come of it.'

'Quite so,' said the Bishop in a voice that threw the authority of his office to the winds.

And then she went on to explain Mr. Porson's attitude; the impossibility of their leaving Cottington; the loss of their money through an unfortunate investment. She said far more than she had supposed she would say, than she would have dreamed she would have had the courage to say; but though the bishop said little, there was a compelling sympathy in his manner and presence, and she could not be as frightened as her position demanded, nor as secretive as was her wont.

'I don't suppose this is any excuse for what I did; but I couldn't bear the thought of the pain the smallness of the offering would be to my husband, and I had £3 of my own, and I put the money into an envelope and sent it to the churchwardens, and wrote on it: "For the Vicar as a mark of appreciation and respect from some of his parishioners."

Her head was bent very low. 'I know it was

very wrong, but it didn't seem so then; and he was so pleased.' Her voice broke, and she gave a little sob.

The Bishop examined his finger-tips very carefully, then he cleared his throat and said: "As to how far you were wrong it is not for me to judge; but I do venture to think that with the blessing of such a love as yours, Mr. Philips ought to be happy in any parish. His voice was not quite so steady as usual. Your husband has not guessed this?' he went on.

'No,' she said, 'at least I hope he has not. Mr. Porson promised me he would take no steps for three days.'

'Mr. Porson guessed, I suppose, that you had sent the money? Did he tell you that you had committed a serious offence, a forgery or a felony?'

He rubbed his chin softly. There was something in the tone of the question that made Mrs. Philips think that this pleasant man would not always be pleasant to talk to.

'Yes,' she replied, he came to me yesterday. He had found out in some clever way. I don't think he had told any one, and he promised me he would not tell you or take steps for three days. He said it might get Mr. Philips into great trouble. I thought perhaps that you could help him, and tell me what I ought to do.'

'It was very kind of you to think that,' he said gratefully. Then after a moment's reflection: If Mr. Porson has not made mischief already, I think I might prevent his doing so. Then, if you would tell Mr. Philips the whole story, I should like to see him and talk things over with him.'

She murmured something grateful, and he went on. 'Is your husband strong? Is Cottington healthy? You are not on clay, I think?'

'No,' she said surprised, 'I think our house is on gravel or sand, I am not sure which.'

'If your husband could leave Cottington, no doubt it would be better altogether. But now tell me,' he spoke in a tone almost apologetic; 'Mr. Porson is, I am sure, a very irritating, and I am afraid a somewhat unscrupulous man; but do you think you could possibly persuade Mr. Philips that always, everywhere, it takes two to make a quarrel ? '

'No,' she said, shaking her head. 'I don't think I could. He is clever, of course, and I am only a woman;' and then looking up at him with a tremulous little smile- but I think you might.'

'Dodson,' said the Bishop half an hour later, write to Vivian

for me, and tell him that I think I might procure him a living, £250, nice neighbourhood, I forget the views, vicarage on gravel, if he could secure that I had the appointment to the clay. Also write to Mr. Porson that I should much like to see him if convenient tomorrow at three. You look surprised. Look here! I've been a bishop for nearly two years, and during that time I have never either directly or by implication called any one a nasty beast. I am going to lay aside this reserve to-morrow or Friday, to-morrow by preference, at three o'clock precisely.'

THE NEW HOUSE OF COMMONS.

BY J. H. YOXALL, M.P.

WHEN young Mr. Titmouse of Yatton, accepted by a confiding constituency at the first time of asking, made his way into the Palace of Westminster on February 13, 1906, he was observed to be carrying a book under his arm. Described more exactly, it was only half a book, a second volume; but, clad in its sumptuous livery of green morocco with floriated tooling, it made so brave a show that the constables and Whips' messengers took it for the greatest second volume in the world. That new Hem P's brought his special Testament along of him, for swearing-in, y' know,' the policeman on duty at the angle of the Members' Entrance told the boot-black there. He don't mean to kiss no mi-crobes, not him! Don't blame him, either—always kisses my thumb myself.' Yet the book was not a Testament at all.

What nestled under Mr. Titmouse of Yatton's elbow was nothing more nor less than the second volume of that renowned biography of his grandfather, Mr. Tittlebat Titmouse of Yatton, which Mr. Samuel Warren, D.C.L. and F.R.S., cast into the form of a romance entitled Ten Thousand a Year.' It will be remembered that the second tome of that remarkable work enshrines some account of the Parliamentary career of the first Mr. Titmouse, M.P.; and it was with filial pride and praiseworthy forethought that the second Mr. Titmouse, M.P., carried with him to Westminster his grandfather's memoirs, to be his chart and pilot amidst the shoals and quicksands there. He also brought a compass and a topographical plan of the Houses of Parliament; but these were not too bulky to be carried in his pocket without spoiling the hang of his frockcoat; and thus equipped, resplendent in new and fashionable raiment as he was, from the eight reflections of light on his silk hat to the four reflections of light on his glossy toe-caps, he felt himself impeccably fit for a dazzling Parliamentary advent, none daring to make him feel small.

He passed the telephone-boxes and came into what is certainly the most stately and beautiful cloakroom in the world; I will not go so far as to say that it is also the most inconvenient, because