daughter herself would accept that fate; or if
she accepted it, would not repent?"

"Do not think me the vainest of men when
I say this—that I cannot believe I should be
so enthralled by a feeling at war with my
reason, unfavoured by anything I can detect in
my habits of mind, or even by the dreams of a
youth which exalted science and excluded
love, unless I was intimately convinced that
Miss Ashleigh's heart was free that I could win,
and that I could keep it! Ask me why I am
convinced of this, and I can tell you no more
why I think that she could love me, than I can
tell you why I love her!"

"I am of the world, worldly. But I am
woman, womanly—though I may not care
to be thought it. And therefore, though
what you say is—regarded in a worldly point
of view, sheer nonsense—regarded in a womanly
point of view, it is logically sound. But
still you cannot know Lilian as I do. Your
nature and hers are in strong contrast. I do
not think she is a safe wife for you. The
purest, the most innocent creature imaginable,
certainly that, but always in the seventh heaven.
And you in the seventh heaven, just at this
moment, but with an irresistible gravitation to
the solid earth, which will have its way again,
when the honeymoon is over. I do not believe
you two would harmonise by intercourse. I do
not believe Lilian would sympathise with you,
and I am sure you could not sympathise with her
throughout the long dull course of this workday
life. And therefore, for your sake as well
as hers, I was not displeased to find that Dr.
Jones had replaced you; and now, in return for
your frankness, I say frankly—do not go again
to that house. Conquer this sentiment, fancy,
passion, whatever it be. And I will advise
Mrs. Ashleigh to take Lilian to town. Shall
it be so settled?"

I could not speak. I buried my face in my
hands—misery, misery, desolation!

I know not how long I remained thus silent,
perhaps many minutes. At length I felt a cold,
firm, but not ungentle hand placed upon mine;
and a clear, full, but not discouraging voice said
to me:

"Leave me to think well over this conversation,
and to ponder well the value of all you
have shown that you so deeply feel. The interests
of life do not fill both scales of the balance.
The heart which does not always go in the same
scale with the interests, still has its weight in
the scale opposed to them. I have heard a few
wise men say, as many a silly woman says,
'Better be unhappy with one we love, than.be
happy with one we love not.' Do you say that,
too?"

"With every thought of my brain, every beat
of my pulse, I say it."

"After that answer, all my questionings cease.
You shall hear from me to-morrow. By that
time, I shall have seen Anne and Lilian. I
shall have weighed both scales of the balance,
and the heart here, Allen Fenwick, seems very
heavy. Go, now. I hear feet on the stairs.
Poyntz bringing up some friendly gossiper;
gossipers are spies."

I passed my hand over my eyes, tearless, but
how tears would have relieved the anguish that
burdened them! and, without a word, went
down the stairs, meeting at the landing-place
Colonel Poyntz and the old man whose pain
my prescription had cured. The old man was
whistling a merry tune, perhaps first learned
on the play-ground.  He broke from it to thank,
almost to embrace me, as I slid by him. I
seized his jocund blessing as a good omen, and
carried it with me as I passed into the broad
sunlight. Solitary—solitary. Should I be so
evermore?

PASTORS AND MASTERS.

A QUARTER of a century ago—in the year
'thirty-five—appeared the first report of the
Royal Commission of Inquiry into the
Ecclesiastical Revenues of England and Wales.  It
showed that the gross income of all the bishops
amounted to One Hundred and Eighty-one
Thousand Six Hundred and Thirty-one pounds a year,
being an average of Six Thousand Seven Hundred
and Twenty-seven pounds per bishop. It
showed that of the beneficed clergy one had
an income of Seven Thousand Three Hundred
a year, another nearly Five Thousand, two
others nearly Four Thousand, and about a
hundred and fifty more had incomes varying
between One and Three Thousand, but
generally under fifteen hundred. There were,
at the same time, nearly five thousand of the
beneficed clergy who had incomes less than
Two Hundred a year, and more than five thousand
unbeneficed clergy, acting as curates—of
whom more than four thousand were doing
the work of non-resident clergy—who had
not more than Eighty pounds a year to keep
their families upon. Then, too, as now, while
there were churches wanting congregations,
there were congregations wanting churches. In
thirty-four London parishes, with a population
of a million and a hundred thousand, there was
church-room for the hundred thousand, but
none for the million. The want in many other
places was hardly less urgent, and upon the facts
thus ascertained action was taken. They were
not facts showing the Church to be a failure,
but they were facts showing reason why men
of all creeds who honestly work for love of God
and their neighbour, should agree as much as
possible and pull together.

The Archbishop of Canterbury himself brought
into the House of Lords the bill which passed
into an act for reducing episcopal incomes,
widening the sphere of episcopal work, abolishing
thirty-four useless canonries, lowering the
stipends of new deans and canons, suppressing
sinecure prebends and rectories, and appropriating
all that could be saved, especially what
could be saved out of cathedral and collegiate
revenues, as far as possible towards two great
purposes: namely, the better payment of clergymen