When the ship ran her sharp nose ashore at
Jersey City, it was not without a thrill that
I saw a policeman come on board. I believe
my heart beat audibly when he went straight
up to Mordant and touched his arm. The
Southerner's hand clutched his revolver, but a
word from the legal functionary who held an
open letter before him, caused him to let go his
pistol and bend his tall form so that the short
policeman could reach his ear. A moment more,
and he prepared to walk away peacefully with
the new comer. Jeremiah took no notice except
to take the policeman's number. Mordant said,
as he shook hands with him, " I'll send you a
note as soon as I can," and then he hurried
away.

I took leave of Mr. Mordant with the outward
calm of an indifferent Englishman, but I felt
curious to know where he was going, and by
what magic he went so quietly. The element
of unexpectedness was not yet exhausted. A
gentleman of imposing mien came on board, and
looked about for friends. A meek-looking man,
with an unmistakably clerical collar, came forward,
holding a boy by the hand. They were
evidently a consignment to the gentleman, and
he welcomed the boy and his guardian cordially.
They were about to go on shore, when the attention
of the gentleman was attracted toward the
bishop. His countenance was of the impassive
kind, but he started perceptibly, and I felt sure
with painful surprise. He looked as if he
were a younger brother of the bishop. In
height and breadth, he was his counterpart. In
rosy health and brilliancy of expression, he had
the advantage. In grace and dignity of movement
they were "a noble pair of brothers."
The younger advanced to meet the elder, with
that grave cordiality which is peculiarly English.

"My dear doctor, this is a most pleasant
surprise," said the bishop.

The one addressed as doctor replied, in an
almost inaudible voice, aside: " My dear sir,
why have you come to put your head in the
lion's mouth ?"

The bishop replied, in the same key: " A
hard necessity has brought me, but I trust no
harm will come of it."

"You will go home with me?" said the
doctor.

"No, my hotel is chosen."

"You may choose again, and be glad you
have the chance of choice. You have only to
change the destination of your baggage."

There was a quiet and tender authority in the
manner of the doctor, who seemed to me to have
decided instantly to perform the Christian duty
of hospitality to a friend, or brother, whatever
mlght be the consequence.

The bishop took leave of Mrs. Pendleton,
promising to see her next day. He gave me
his hand, which I took, as I might have taken
that of Sir Thomas More on his way to the
Tower. Bridget had Mrs. Pendleton's baby in
her arms, and she quietly made her way towards
the gentleman. As the bishop kissed the baby
the doctor noticed the nurse. His face brightened,
and he said: "Is this you, Bridget?" and
gave her his hand tenderly.

"It is meself, father," she replied, in a low
respectful tone. I came to the conclusion that
"the bishop" was also a Roman Catholic.

When all our party were gone, Jeremiah said,
"Well! I wonder what will happen next! Now
you and I and the dorg will take our leave."

He was silent, or bustling about, most of the
time that we were crossing the ferry from Jersey
City to New York: only remarking of a parcel of
ragged Irish recruits, that they were " the sovereigns
in America." When we were in a hackney-coach,
he burst into a torrent of talk: " I don't
see through it. Here's Mordant gone like a
cosset lamb with A 436, and said nothing to his
cousin, only that he would send me a note as
soon as he could. And the bishop is carried off
by a Jesuit, or somebody who's nigh akin to
one."

"Is the bishop a Roman Catholic?"

"Not a bit of it. He is a good Churchman.
There's something under the meal that I don't
see. The doctor is a character. He's a priest,
and does something besides say his prayers.
When others wet their shoe-soles, he goes in up
to his knees. I believe Tom Hyer, one of our
muscular Christians, likes him better than his
bishop does, for he is a thorn in the flesh to
the powers that be. Tom says ' he is a devilish
good fellow, and treats a prize-fighter as if he
had a soul.'"

"He does not look like a priest," I remarked.
"He looks like a member of parliament."

"That's so," said Jeremiah. " Cross John —
that's the archbishop— tried to get the clerical
collar on to him. But he declined — said he was
not Gurth the Saxon. He says a Catholic has
more right to think than a Protestant, inasmuch
as his faith is settled for him. I heard him say,
' My bishop may tell me what to believe, but he
has no right to tell me what to think;' and he
thinks the Pope has no right to the temporal
power. ' lf the Holy Father would take a vow
of poverty to-morrow,' said he, ' I think he
would be more Pope.'"

"If we are to have more Pope by destroying
his temporal power, I, for one, would vote for
preserving it," I remarked.

"Exactly," ejaculated Jeremiah. "No more
Pope for me. And it stands to reason that he
would be more Pope if he was not bothered
with being king. I guess the best way to spoil
the whole pot of broth is the way the fools are
going on. One tyrant always toadies another,
and I reckon you don't know what anybody really
thinks. I wish I knew what A 436 has done with
Mordant. Muster, don't bother. The dorg is as
glad to get ashore as a Christian. Just you look
out, sir. This is the old park. I told the driver to
go up Broadway to let you see the best part of
all creation. This is the park and the barracks,
and there are the waggons, that are seasoning to
pieces already, I warrant you. The men's uniforms
dissolved at first, as soon as it rained.
They knew enough afterwards to come in when