THE REV. SYLVANUS DUDDLES.

New Zealand Graphic, Volume IX, Issue 24, 11 June 1892, Page 590

THE REV. SYLVANUS DUDDLES.

PART I.

SHE was a very pretty girl, and of course she knew it. Most girls know when - they are pretty, and if they don’t — well, it is certainly not for the want of being told so. The

‘golden youth ’of the present age is not bashful. That is left for their seniors, and is acquiied with riper years. She sat in the corner seat of a first-lass railway carriage. There was no one else in the compartment, and one neat little foot rested on the edge of the cushion in front. Everything about the girl was in keeping with the trim, pretty little feet, and of this fact Lisa Grant was perfectly aware.

She was not vain, or especially frivolous and emptvheaded. She was really a very good hearted, nice little thing—pleased with life because life seemed pleased with her ; taking everything and everybody as they came, and inclined to think that life was well worth living. She had not discussed or studied the important question, ‘ Is Marriage a Failure?’ that being a topic of conversation and a branch of her education wisely left for the future to decide. She was just twenty, and lived with her maiden aunt, Miss Maria Grant, who had brought her up. Both her parents had died when she was a child. It was of this aunt that the girl was thinking as the train slackens speed, and the porters shouted out * Nuneaton.’ Then she held back the window curtain with one hand, and looked to see if anyone she knew was on the platform.

No one was, and she dropped the curtain and took up her magazine again. Just then a lady came up to the carriage, and opened the door. She was a slight, fragile-looking creature, with a mass of golden, wavy hair, and large china-blue eyes, with the expression of a very young kitten in their somewhat vacant depths.

She was dressed in black, and had a baby in long clothes in her arms. She got into the carriage, and settled herself in 1 he corner seat opposite Lisa Grant. She began to arrange the baby’s veil and bonnet (preliminary to refreshment), and Lisa saw at a glance that the baby, although ytiung was very pretty. Suddenly the lady Hushed up, and looked startled. . « Dear me! how foolish !’ she said aloud. Then she turned to Lisa, and smiled engagingly. * Would you be kind enough to hold my baby for a moment ? t have forgotten to take my ticket. I should be so much obliged to you.’ . Contrary to most well brought up girls—girls I mean with very few ideas in their heads, except those that have been well drilled into them—Lisa was not very fond of babies. She never enjoyed baby worship in public ; though, left alone with one, she felt quite different towards them. So now, for a moment, she glanced almost suspiciously at the small atom of humanity before her. Just at that moment the baby smiled. It had the same china blue eyes as its mother, only the kittenish look was pretty in the baby, though aggravatingly silly in the mother. The smile won Lisa.

• Oh, yes, 1 will hold it for you,’ she said. Lisa cautiously called all babies ‘ it,’ being careful of hurting their mothers’ feelings by making a mistake. The baby was safely deposited in her arms. ‘ What is its name?’she inquired, while the long white cloth was being arranged. ‘ He has not been christened yet !’ said the young mother blushing a little. Then she kissed the baby, and stepped out of the carriage, and Lisa saw her walk towards the booking-office. The baby was remarkably good. It lay in Lisa’s arms, looking at her with its wide-open blue eyes. There was rather a strong breeze blowing in through the open windows, and careful of her charge, Lisa moved to the other end of the carriage. A minute or two passed, and just as she was beginning to think it time for the mother to return, the guard shut the door with a slam, and the train moved on. For a few seconds, Lisa sat perfectly still, then her face turned pink, and she regarded the still staring baby with an odd expression. The next thing that happened was that the baby began to cry—not loudly, or in a temper, but hungrily.

It really was an extremely awkward contretemps, only—fortunately for the baby, or the girl—the full awkwardness of it all did not immediately dawn upon her. The baby continued to cry. Lisa rocked it shyly to and

fro, as she had seen mothers and nurses do. But still it cried.

Every moment seemed an age, the girl turned hotter and hotter, as all her efforts at consolation were unavailing. At last she rose and walked up and down the compartment, and then the baby stopped crying, and went to sleep. The train didn't stop again, until it reached the station where she was going to get out, and fortunately the baby still slept. As the train stopped, she looked anxiously out for the mother to appear ; but no one came. Gradually the train emptied, and the little crowd of passengers who had gathered together had dispersed. No signs of the mother. Then Lisa took her small bag in one hand and the baby in the other, and stepped out on the platform. She felt as if everyone was looking at her. The porter came up, and she told him which was her portmanteau, and then asked for the guard.

When the guard arrived on the scene, he found an extremely pretty girl, Hushed and almost tearful, holding a baby in her arms, that she didn’t seem particularly fond of. • Someone left this —this baby—with me !’ said Lisa in a tone of annoyance. ‘ You had better take care of it until the mother calls for it.’

The porter grinned broadly, but the guard drew himself up with expanded dignity. * This is not a receiving office for infants !' he said, grandly. ‘ But what shall I do?’ said Lisa, feeling astrong inclination to drop the baby and run away. * The —the —baby can’t be left.’

‘You ha<l better take it with you, ma'am,’ slid the guard. ‘1 am not ma’am,’ said Lisa, with sudden anger. ‘ You are a most impertinent man, and I—l shall report you.’ Whereupon she turned ; and a big, bright tear dropped on the baby’s cloak, and made a stain on the white ribbon of its bonnet.

With a sudden access of dignity, Lisa swallowed her tears, and grasped the baby more firmly. ‘ Call a hansom,’ she said to the porter. She waited for the hansom, and looked at everyone who looked at her, with as much unconcern as she could. The baby seemed like a weight upon her arm, that grew every moment heavier and heavier. It never occurred to her to give any further information to anyone. Her one idea was to reach home as soon as possible, and get rid of this dreadful bal y. The porter came up. His face was composed to a proper expression of gravity and concern. • There isn’t a hansom, ma'am,’ he said ; ‘ nor yet a cab. Most o’ the cabs is gone to the flower show.’ ‘ You must send up the portmanteau, and I will walk,’ said Lisa, with the calmness of despair. ‘ Don’t forget the address—“ Miss Grant, Hill View.”

Devoutly hoping she might not meet anyone, she left the station. Her aunt’s house was not far, which was fortunate, for her arms ached, and she felt generally flushed and untidy. Holding her head high, and the baby tightly, she walked

along, feeling uncomfortable in her most novel position as nurse. Just at this moment’,® church bell ‘near began to ring for evensong, and at this most edifying and proper sound, an awful thought passed through Lisa's mind, which made’hei flush more vividly than ever. The five o’clock service at St. Mark’s, and all the people she most wished to avoid would be meeting her for certain. ‘All the people’ meant to Lisa, the Rev. Sylvanus Buddies and Miss Criddle. Miss Criddle was a spinster—that one word is surely enough. But one more sentence will complete the charm: She loved scandal, the Rev. Sylvanus'Duddles, Muggins, and afternoon tea. The Rev. Sylvanus Buddies was. comparatively speaking, the new curate at St. Mark’s. He had a pretty lisp in

his speech, and he wore an eyeglass, which did much silent but effective work. A fine aroma of mystery hung about him (that made him so very interesting), and this, added to a firm and subtle air of melancholy tffat pervaded his movements as the perfume does a rose, made him very spiritual, and ‘ much respected and beloved.’ He was married. ‘ But-—Miss Criddle sighed and shook her head when the Rev. Sylvanus Buddles and his wife were mentioned.

‘My dear, no one knows—not even I—what agonies of mind he has endured, or what he is perhaps suffering now.’

That was all that Miss Criddle ever said. Mrs Buddles had never been seen. Circumstances had prevented her coming with her husband to H , but she was coming—some day. This, of course, was very solemn and most intensely sad ; but everyone could see at a glance that the Rev. Sylvanus had some hidden grief—that like the ‘ worm in the bud ' —but that quotation is perhaps not quite apropos. Yes, it would certainly be most unfortunate should either Miss Criddle, or the curate, meet Lisa with the baby. The girl knew how they both loved scandal, and how the least scrap of news was delicately or pungently flavoured, as the case might be, by Miss Criddle, and presented as a bonne bouche to the Rev. Sylvanus. She shivered as she saw in imagination herself the subject of the next talk, and almost prayed that she might reach home without meeting either of them. She was not among those who considered the curate next door to a saint, and on more than one occasion she had received the Rev. Sylvanus’ favourite compliments with a most decided snub.

The place seemed almost deserted, and poor Lisa began to hope that after all she would meet nobody. The winding road seemed as lonely as it appeared tiresomely longer than Lisa ever remembered it to have been before. The few villagers she did meet stared in what she considered a most rnde and unjustifiable fashion. Still she had met nobody she cared about particularly. She had passed Miss

Ciiddle’s house and began to be quite cheerful again, thinking that all were at the flower-show and she should get home without being seen. However, fate, in the shape of Miss Criddle, was drawing near. Another moment, and the spinster came in sight, with a large hymn-book in one hand, and a paper bag of tea-cakes in the other. She stopped when she saw Lisa.

‘ My dear, what a colour !’ she exclaimed, as Lisa turned scarlet. ‘ And how well you look I’ ‘B» I?’ said Lisa, clutching the baby a little tighter.

‘ And whose sweet little cherub is this ?' ‘ 1— I don't know I’ said Lisa in a low voice. Miss Criddle foresaw materials for a bonne bouche and scented game as a war horse does battle.

‘ Bear me ! how very odd !’ she said, coming nearer, and looking closely at the baby. ‘ Now 1 come to think of it, the little darling reminds me of someone. I wonder who it is ?’

Lisa gave the baby a slight jerk. ‘ I’m sure it is like no one I know,’ she said. ‘lt was given me to hold in the train at Nuneaton Station, and the mother never came back. So I—l am going—to take it home—to aunt.’ Miss Criddle smiled—a smile—- ‘ She will be delighted lam sure,’ site said. ‘ Your kindness does you ciedit, my dear.’ Then she held her hymn book more firmly, and screwed up the corners of the paper bag, so that the tea cakes might not obtrude, and again smiling went on her way to church. Just outside St. Mark’s, Miss Criddle met the Rev. Sylvanus. ‘Such an extraordinary thing,’ she said in an excited whisper. ‘Come in after evensong, and I will tell you. Really you ought to know.’ The Rev. Sylvanus was rather cross just then. His eyeglass had been cracked that afternoon, and there was no time to replace it before the service, and the appearance of a cracked eye although striking, is not particularly—clerical—

‘ I’m rather busy to day,' he said. With a clever application of her forefinger Miss Criddle made a tea cake appear in a corner of the bag, quite in a neglige way of course. ‘ Oh, very well I’ she said, ‘it has something to do with Lisa Grant, but never mind.’ The Rev. Sylvanus had seen the tea-cake. He smiled upon Miss Criddle. ‘ I really cannot refuse you, dear Miss Criddle !' he said, ‘ I will come.’ PART 11. Miss Criddle’s room looked very cosy and inviting. The file burned brightly, the curtains were drawn, and a lamp, softly shaded, stood in the centre of the little tea table. The tea cakes, duly toasted and well buttered, were in a covered dish between the two, and the curate and the spinster sat in comfortable easy chairs on either side of the table.

Miss Criddle handed him a cup of tea, and uncovered the tea cakes.

‘ Now help yourself,’ she said. ‘We will ring for more when these are gone.’ The Rev. Sylvanus liked the cakes, and proceeded to help himself liberally. ‘ Lisa Grant came home to day,’ began Miss Criddle. ‘She has been away some time, has she not?’ said the curate, in a muffled voice—for the cakes weie very hot. ‘ Two months,’ said Miss Criddle. Then she paused. ‘ Well?’ said the Rev. Sylvanus. ‘ She has brought someone’s baby home with her I’ The curate held a piece of cake extended in his hand, and his mouth was open. ‘ A what ?’ he gasped.

‘ A baby I’ said Miss Criddle, triumphantly. ‘ Where did it come from ?’ he inquired. ‘ Oh, that I don’t know,’ said Miss Criddle, who was beginning to enjoy herself immensely. ‘ I thought you ought to know, as you might call.’ ‘ Certainly, certainly,’ said the curate, helping himself to more cake. ‘ I shall go round straight from here.’ ‘ Bear Mr Buddles, you are so indefatigable,’said Miss Criddle, smiling sweetly. ‘ Bear Lisa is very giddy and thoughtless, and has never shown much interest in your good work in the parish : she is so young.’ The Rev. Sylvanus sighed. ‘I am resigned now,' he said softly. ‘I am accustomed to being misunderstood. One of our eminent philosophers has remarked that to be great is to be misunderstood.' ‘ I understand you,’ said Miss Criddle, also softly. ‘Pardon me, dear Miss Criddle, pardon me.’ said the curate—and he laid his hand upon his chest as if he had a pain there. ‘ Not quite, I think. lam very complex.' ‘ You are so clever,’ cooed Miss Criddle. The Rev. Sylvanus bent his head ; he was resigned to that also.

They chatted over their tea for some little time, and then the curate rose to go. ‘ I shall be having a roast fowl for supper at about nine,’ said Miss Criddle, pressing his hand and smiling. ‘ If, after you have been to Miss Grant’s, you care to return ’ ‘ You a r e too kind,’said the Rev. Sylvanus. ‘At nine, punctually, then, dear Miss Criddle. An rcroir until then.’ ‘ Oh, rie voire,’ chimed Miss Criddle, showing her patent teeth in an expansive smile. And the curate went away, feeling complex. # * * * * * * Lisa had had her tea, and the baby his ; and now she sat with her aunt before the fire.

The baby lay on a pillow on the rug, at their feet,'basking in the warmth. Miss Grant had received her niece and the baby with open arms. She apparently apprehended no further contretemps than had already occurred. • The mother will soon turn up, my dear,' she said. ‘ I am glad we sent the telegram to Nuneaton. To morrow we shall be sure to hear.’

Lisa, having relieved her pent up feelings by pouring everything into her aunt's sympathetic ears, was now quite ready to pet the baby and enjoy herself. She looker! ex-

tremely pretty as she sat on a low stool by the fire, the lamp light shining on her brown hair, on her silver bangles, an<l on the bright silver buckles on her neat little shoes. She had on a soft muslin frock turned in at the throat, aim a narrow band of black velvet tied lound her neck. Enter on the scene the Rev. Sylvanus Buddles, burning with curiosity (and indigestion), and a trifle more injudicious than usual. Lisa’s face clouded over when she saw him, and she immediately became much occupied with the baby. The Rev. Sylvanus felt uncomfortable, but not rfe trap. ‘ I—l heard of the new arrival,' he began (this is what he always said on such occasions). ‘ Yes,’ said Miss Grant, briskly. ‘ Who told you ?’

‘Miss Criddle,’ responded the curate, and a vision of roast fowl rose before him. ‘ Miss Criddle is a spiteful old cat,’ remarked Lisa, from her position on the rug. ‘ I—l beg your pardon,' said the Rev. Sylvanus. ‘ Pray don't mention it,’ said Lisa, and then she laughed. And the curate had an un-

comfortable perception that she was laughing at him. He hastened to mention the object of his visit. • Hath this—’ The Rev. Sylvanus was seized with a fit of coughing, and then he said in a great hurry, ‘ Has the baby been baptised ?' ‘No,’ said Lisa, ‘lie hasn’t. His mother told me so.’ The curate thought this looked extremely unorthodox, and lie hastened to advance his opinions on the subject. He was in the middle of

a long sentence, when a loud ring at the door was heard,and in another moment the servant threw open the door, and announced ‘ The baby’s pa I’

This was most exciting. The Rev. Sylvanus screwed his cracked eyeglass further in his eye, so as to miss no detail of this interesting scene. But his hopes were destined to perish. ‘We shall see you tomorrow, then, Mr Buddles,'said Miss Grant, holding out her hand. ‘Good night.’ The Rev. Sylvanus was obliged to go, although he longed to remain. The ‘baby's pa’ was a tall, handsome man, of decidedly distinguished appearance, who stood, hat in hand, thoroughly comprehending the situation, and waiting until the curate had gone before he said anything. Then he came forward, ami instead of looking at the baby, looked at Lisa. ‘ You have been more than kind,' he said. •We cannot thank you enough.’ • I'm very glad yon have come,’ said Lisa, smiling prettily and blushing slightly. ‘ Your baby is a dear little thing, and has been so good.’ She lifted the baby from the mg and held it towards him. ‘ lie is like yon, I think,’ she said, giving a little look from the baby to bis father. The gentleman drew himself stiffly up. ‘ The child is not mine,’ he said. • I’m not married.' ‘Oh!’ said Lisa, turning very red, for the gentleman was still looking at her. ‘ This is my sister's baby,’ he said, with an amused smile dawning on his face. ‘Only she was too upset at the idea of having lost him to come herself, so I came instead and brought the nurse.’ Then Miss Grant found out that he was going to take the

baby to an hotel until the next day, when his sister would arrive, provided she was better. ‘She is very delicate,’ explained her brother, ‘and the least thing upsets her.’ • »f course Miss Grant insisted upon keeping the baby until the mother was able to come for it. Mr Langham was full of thanks; but although most of his words were addressed to the auut, nearly all his looks went to the niece. ‘ Will it give you any trouble,’ he said at last, in a pointed way to Lisa. • Not in the least,’ Lisa assured him. ‘ She was fond of babies. ’ Miss Grant smiled at the rapid change in Lisa’s views, but kept a discreet silence. Mr Langham stayed all the evening. It was strange how soon they seemed to know him, and how much they liked him. He told them that his sister was going to join her husband after being parted from him for some months.

• She married a parson,’ he exclaimed. ‘ I have never seen him. He is an awfully silly fellow, with only one idea in his head—his own supreme importance. He got into money difficulties at his last curacy, and she has been keeping house for me until he got straight again. I shall be very lonely when she’sgone." Here he paused and looked at Lisa, who had been seized with a sudden access of industry, and was busily engaged in dropping several stitches in her aunt's knitting. It was quite late when Mr Langham rose to go. He held Lisa’s hand longer than was necessary, and when Miss Grant had gone away to make some final arrangements with the nurse, who was going to remain there with the baby, he said, looking at her with a good deal of expression in his eyes, ‘ that lie felt more affection for his nephew than he had ever felt before,' and on Lisa giving a pretty little look of inquiry, he added, in a low but emphatic voice, ‘ Because, Miss Grant, he has been the happy means of my introduction to you.’

The Rev. Sylvanus, after leaving Miss Grant, hastened back to Miss Criddle. An odour of roast fowl and bread sauce was wafted from the lower regions, as the front door was opened to him. The Rev. Sylvanus felt very hungry, and hurried up to the drawing-room, where Miss Criddle sat working at a pair of hideous slippers destined for himself.

‘ Sit down and tell me all about it," she said in a tone of expectancy. ‘lt must have been most trying for you.’ ‘lt was,’ said the Rev. Sylvanus. ‘ Only a sense of my duty—my official duty—carried me through.’ ‘ What did she look like?’ asked Miss Criddle.

‘ Very pretty ! certainly very pretty,’ responded the curate.

‘ Did you find anything out ?’ asked Miss Criddle, who was longing to hear more. ‘ The baby's father arrived while I was there,’ said the Rev. Sylvanus, thinking Miss ('riddle looked uglier than usual, and that supper was a long time coming. ‘ The father? How thrilling, how interesting,’ cried Miss Criddle. ‘My dear Mr Duddles, what did you say to him ?’

‘ Nothing,’ said the curate, feeling keenly conscious that he had been very decidedly shunted on the arrival of the baby's father. •He is a handsome man; but with no manneis, and he stares rudely.’ ‘ Dear, dear, me !’ said Miss Ciiddle. ‘ I must certainly call to-morrow.’

Just then supper was announced, and the Rev. Sylvanus, with great alacrity, offered his arm to Miss Criddle, and they went down to the dining-room. ‘Poor little baby,’ he sighed. ‘I fear for all the care they will take it will long remain in a condition of inherited wickedness.’

‘ Dear Mr Duddles, you are too sensitive,’ said Miss Criddle, ‘you feel everything too keenly.’ ‘ I do, I do,’ said the Rev. Sylvanus, handing up his plate for just a small piece more. ‘My’ responsibilities weigh heavily upon me, and I am compelled to bear them alone.’

‘ Not alone, dear Mr Duddles,’ said Miss Ciiddle softly. ‘ You have sympathising friends.’ ‘ I have one, I know,’ said the curate, looking to see if Miss Criddle had placed another wing, or a leg, on his plate.

‘ Have you heard from your wife lately ?’ next asked Miss Ciiddle.

This was rather mal apropos, but the curate overlooked her want of tact, as she so delicately administered to his material wants.

‘ She hopes soon to join me,’ he said. ‘ And your dear little baby also?’ inquired Miss Criddle. ‘ My babe will accompany bis mother,' said the Rev. Sylvanus. ‘My wife says he is a remarkably intelligent infant, and very much like his father.’

‘ Your wife ought to be a happy woman, dear Mr Duddles,’ said Miss Criddle, with a little sigh. ‘ She ought to be,’ responded the Rev. Sylvanus, with alacrity. ‘ But she is a great responsibility, and, unfortunately, she is not gifted with a very fervent or sympathetic spirit, which is a great trial to a man peculiarly sensitive as I am.’ Miss Criddle looked intense, and laid a heavy hand on the curate's arm. •I, too, am sensitive, dear friend,’ she said. ‘We understand each other only too well.' PART 111. Tin: next morning Mr Langham came round to Miss Grant’s very early. He had heard from his sister that she was much better, and would arrive that afternoon. He found Lisa with the baby in the diawing-room, looking even prettier and fresher in the morning than she had been the night before.

Mr Langham became very affectionate toward his nephew, and sat near the sofa beside Lisa to better see what colour the baby's eyes were. At least he said this was what he wanted to do ; hut Anyhow the baby suddenly awoke to the fact that he was being perfectly neglected, and testified his displeasure by beginning to cry. He was at once removed by the nurse, and for the remainder of the morning Mr Langham stayed in the drawing-room, and drawing up his chair still nearer to the sofa, chatted to Lisa.

Miss Criddle called. She caught a glimpse of a manly head behind the curtain. She heard the deep and dulcet sounds of a manly voice ; but that was all. She asked for

the baby, but was told he was asleep, and must not be awakened. Her visit was no more a success than the curate’s had been ; and she reluctantly took her leave, feeling ill with battled curiosity and spite. Late in the afternoon the baby’s mamma arrived, her ehina-blue eyes more kittenish than ever and her hair looking like an aureole of gold round her girlish face. ‘ This is my sister. Flora !’ said Mr Langham, introducing her. And Flora threw her arms around Lisa’s neck, and kissed her effusively. Then she cried a little over the baby and made many little speeches to Lisa and her aunt, aud told a pathetic little story of her sufferings on finding that the train bad gone without her. In short, she was just as silly, pretty, and babyish as it was possible for anyone to be. Strange to say, Miss Grant took a great fancy to people whom she thought wanted taking care of ; and when she saw how delicate and fragile she was, she easily persuaded Mr Langham that a few days’ visit and a little nursing would do his sister a great deal of good, and was just what she wanted.

So Flora and the baby took up their abode with Miss Grant, and Flora’s brother stayed on at the hotel. Someone mentioned the impending christening. The baby’s mamma was delighted, and was all excitement that it should take place as soon as possible. ‘ Well, to-day is Thursday,’ said Miss Grant; ‘ after service to-morrow evening would be a good time, I think.’ This was agreed upon. Lisa was to be godmother, and Mr Langham the godfather. Flora was delighted, and talked a great deal of nonsense to the baby beforehand. • We won’t say anything about it until after the service !’ said Miss Grant. ‘lf we do, Miss Criddle will be stopping to see—’

Miss Criddle was a sort of ‘ hobgoblin ’ to the peaceloving inhabitants of H ; but, of course, didn’t know it. Au contraire, she thought herself a great favourite. Friday dawned bright and cloudless. Mr Langham and Lisa went out for a long walk all the afternoon, and when they returned it was observed that Lisa was rather quieter than usual, and had a very pretty colour on her cheeks. Mr Langham was rather absent-minded, and called his sister ‘ Lisa ’ once or twice, and made slightly foolish remarks about the beauty of the weather. In the evening they all went to church. The nurse carried the baby (aud a big bottle of milk in case it should cry). The baby’s mamma came behind with Miss Grant. She carried a white pocket-handkerchief and a scent bottle, and said she felt very nervous. A little way behind them came Lisa and Mr Langham.

They were all late. The Rev. Sylvanus turned his eyeglass upon them with a sadly reproachful look. Miss Criddle observed their arrival with keen satisfaction, and prepared to enjoy herself. An evening baptism was rather a novelty in St. Mark’s Church. Meanwhile the ‘ infant ’ was nearly choking himself with his bottle, the nurse being engaged in looking about her, having tilted the bottle into a perpendicular position, and not noticing the natural results. The Rev. Sylvanus then walked down the church with a slow and solemn walk befitting the occasion. He really looked very striking, standing on the high step behind the font, with the light from the gas falling on his white forehead and eye glasses. But the baby’s mamma, overcome by the symptom of choking that her son had evinced, and rather awed by the general solemnity of the whole proceedings, began to cry, and, before the service could proceed, she was conducted to a chair, where she brought the handkerchief and scent bottle into full play. ‘ Name the child,’ said the Rev. Sylvanus, bending from his lofty height, anil taking the baby from Lisa. ‘ Sylvanus,’ said Lisa, locking up ; and the Rev. Sylvanus turned quite queer, for he thought he detected a twinkle in her eyes. ‘ How very improper ! How extremely awkward !’ he thought. Then he proceeded with the ceremony in the usual way. The Rev. Sylvanus turned to walk up the aisle. Suddenly he turned very red, and his eye glass dropped from his eye. For one moment he paused ; then he hurried up the church. This caused a great sensation, as every one thought the great Sylvanus was ill. Every eye was fixed upon him, which was fortunate, as something totally unexpected had occurred at the other end of the church. The baby’s mamma seized her brother by the arm, and whispered excitedly in his ear. Mr Langham drew himself very erect on hearing the whispered communication, and looked as if he would have en joyed fighting Miss Criddle, who, with eager eyes and extended ears, had moved several seats nearer.

The baby, who had been steadily crying in a sort of dismal ‘ crescendo,’ was at this juncture taken home by Miss Grant and the nurse.

The service was at last ended ; Miss Criddle was vainly thinking what excuse she could make to get into the church, when Mr Langham, Lisa, and the baby’s mamma, walked up, preceded by the verger. An interesting tableau revealed itself. The Rev. Sylvanus, who was red and white by turns, was discovered, leaning back in an easy chair, with his hand over his eyes. His attitude was expressive of sublime resignation to trying circumstances.

The verger withdrew, and Mr Langham led his sister forward. The baby’s mamma gave a sobbing cry, and rushed upon the Rev. Sylvanus. ‘ Oh !’ she sobbed. The Rev. Sylvanus put a limp arm around his wife, aud murmured inarticulately. ‘Our child, our precious boy !’next said Mrs Duddles, ‘ to think that his owu father christened him and didn’t know it.’

The Rev. Sylvanus, with great presence of mind, pressed his wife closer, and said nothing. A little later, when their joy had somewhat subsided, they found that Lisa and Mr Langham had gone quietly away, so the Rev. Sylvanus accompanied his wife back to Miss Grant's.

His feelings were very complex. He hardly heard the long explanation his wife was giving him as to her ignorance of his near vicinity. She had mislaid his last letter, where he had written his full address, and did not know that St. Mark’s Church was only just outside H , and was in one of the suburbs of the town, and called by a different name. Miss Criddle, mnflins, roast fowl, and scandal, seemed already a vision belonging to the past, and the curate sighed.

But Mrs Duddles was bolding his arm very affectionately, and was looking very pretty and animated, and the Rev. Sylvanus, who really loved his little wife—only in a way peculiarly his own—came to the conclusion that matters might have been worse, and that, on the whole, he was glad she had arrived at last.

There was a seven day’s wonder, and Miss Criddle used all her reserve stock of tea and sugar, there were so many ‘ afternoon teas ’ and callers.

Everyone went away from her house with the impression that the Rev. Sylvanus was much to be pitied, and that Miss Criddle evidently knew much more than she cared to say—which was perfectly true. The curate and his wife and baby took up their abode near the church, and it was observed that whenevei' he met Miss Criddle he seemed extremely shy and embarrassed. A few months later, and the Rev. Sylvanus Duddles published the banns of marriage between Philip Langham, bachelor, and Eliza Grant, spinster.