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THE PARSON'S OATH.

BY THE AUTHOR OF "WAR; AND THE PARIS MESMERISTS."

I.

THE day was drawing towards its close, and the young charity-school children, assembled in the newly-repaired schoolroom of the small village of Littleford, glanced impatiently through the windows at the shadows cast by the declining sun, for none knew better, by those shadows, than they, that five o'clock was near.

"First class come up and spell," called out the governess, from behind her round table, by the window.

"There ain't no time, miss," replied one of the girls, with that easy familiarity, apt to subsist between scholar and teacher, in rustic schools "It's a'most sleek on the stroke a' five."

The governess, a fair, pleasant-looking young woman, dressed in mourning, and far too lady-like in appearance for the paid mistress of a charity-school, glanced round at her hour-glass, and saw it wanted full ten minutes to the hour.

"There is time for a short lesson, children," she said. "Put aside your work, and come up."

The first class laid their sewing on the bench, and were ranging themselves round the governess's table, when a young lady, in a hat and riding-habit, followed by a groom, galloped past the windows, and reined in.

"Governess!" exclaimed a dozen voices, "here's Miss Rickhurst a coming in."

"Go on with your work, children: what do you mean by pressing to the window? Did you never see Miss Rickhurst before? Jane Hewgill, open the door."

"How d'ye do, Miss Winter ?" said the young lady, carelessly nodding to the governess, as she entered. "How are you getting on? What class have you up now?"

"Spelling," replied Miss Winter. shut the door?"

"Jane Hewgill, why don't you

"Cause here's Mr. Lewis and his aunt a coming up," answered the child. "I'm a keeping it open for them."

Miss Rickhurst hastily rose from the governess's seat, which she had unceremoniously taken, and sprang to the door to meet the new comers. It was the clergyman of the parish who entered, a meek, quiet man of thirty years. It is certain he was not ambitious, for he felt within him an everlasting debt of gratitude to the noble patron, who had stepped forward and presented him with this village living and its 150l. per annum. He had never looked for more than a curacy, and half the sum. His father, dead now, had been a curate before him, and he, the son, had gone to Oxford, as a servitor, had taken orders, and struggled on. And when the Earl of Littleford, who had silently been an eye-witness of the merits and unassuming piety of the poor young curate, presented him, unexpectedly, with the little village church on his estate, John Lewis raised

his heart in thankfulness to the earl, who had thus, under God, put WANT away from him for his span of life.

Once inducted into the living, the Reverend John Lewis worked indefatigably. Amongst other good works, he re-established the girls' charity-school; an anciently-endowed foundation, which had fallen nearly into abeyance-like many other charities have, in the present day. The old mistress of it, Dame Fox, was eighty years of age and blind, so Lord Littleford and the clergyman superannuated her, and looked out for another; and whilst they were looking, Miss Winter, the daughter of Farmer Winter, who was just dead, went up to Littleford Hall and asked for it.

The whole village liked Regina Winter: though she had received an education, and, for five years of her life, enjoyed a home (with her dead mother's London relatives) far above what Littleford thought suitable for a working farmer's daughter. They likewise took numerous liberties with her name. Regina! it was one they could not become familiar with, so some called her Gina, many Ginny, and a few brought it out short "Gin." After her father's death, she found that scarcely any provision was left for her, and, as she one day sat musing upon what should be her course, the servant Nomy, a buxom woman of forty, who had taken care of the house since its mistress died, now ten years, suddenly spoke, and suggested that she should apply for the new place.

"What place ?" asked Regina.

"The shoolmissis's," replied Nomy. "The earl and the parson are a wanting to find one, and they do say, in the village, it will be a matter of thirty pound a year. Surely you'd do, Miss Gina, with the grand edication you've had."

"Too much education for a village schoolmistress," thought Regina. "But it would keep me well, with what little I have besides."

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"Go up to Littleford Hall, go right up yourself, Miss Gina, with your own two good legs," advised Nomy. Nothing like applying to the fountain-head oneself, if business is to be done," added the shrewd

woman.

"Apply to Lord Littleford myself!" ejaculated Regina.

"Why not? Ain't he as pleasant a mannered man as ever one would wish to come across? One day lately, not three weeks afore poor master died, the earl was a crossing our land a horseback, and he axed me to open the gate o' the turnip-field, and he kept on a cutting of his jokes wi' me all the time I was a doing of it."

The servant's advice was good, and proved so. Miss Winter made her own application to the Earl of Littleford, and she got the place. Though the earl demurred to her request at first, for her own sake, telling her she was superior to the situation, and that the remuneration was very small.

As the clergyman came into the school this afternoon, he shook hands with the squire's daughter: he then advanced and held out his hand to Miss Winter. Miss Rickhurst followed him with her eyes, and curled her lip what business had their vicar, their associate, to be shaking hands with a charity governess ?

"I was going to hear the class, Mr. Lewis," said the young lady, after some minutes spent in talking. "Jane Hewgill, tell my servant

he may go on with the horses: I shall walk home. Pray, Miss Winter, where did you say they were spelling? Three syllables! how very ridiculous! Cat cat, co w cow, that's quite enough learning for them." "Do you think so?" returned Regina, in a cold tone, for she did not like these repeated interferences of Miss Rickhurst. "Highly ridiculous," snapped Mrs. Budd. "What can such girls want with spelling at all? If it were not for reading the Bible, I should say never teach 'em to read.”

A very domineering widow was this aunt of the clergyman's. Upon his appointment to the vicarage, down she came and established herself in it, assuring him the house would never get on without somebody to manage it. He had a dim perception that he and his house would get on better without her, but he never said so, and she remained.

Miss Winter went to the mantelpiece, and turned her hour-glass. It was five o'clock, and the children flocked out of school. The vicar, Mrs. Budd, and Miss Rickhurst followed.

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"Mr. Lewis," began the young lady, in a confidential tone, "don't think your schoolmistress is getting above her business?" "In what way?" he asked, looking surprised.

"There is such a tone of superiority about the young woman-I mean implied superiority," added Miss Rickhurst, correcting herself.

"I have always thought there is a tone, an air, of real superiority about her," replied the vicar. "But I have never known any one who, in their manners and conversation, gave one less the idea of implying it. And she gets the children on astonishingly: one might think, by their progress, she had taught them two years, instead of barely one."

"It is of no use to argue with John about Miss Winter," interposed Mrs. Budd. "He thinks her an angel, and nothing less."

"No I do not," laughed the Reverend John. "I only think her very superior to young women in general;" and Miss Rickhurst once more curled her haughty lip.

Meanwhile, Miss Winter left the schoolroom, with Mary Brown, a sickly-looking girl of fifteen or sixteen, who was her assistant. Regina. lodged at a farm-house near, occupying a parlour and bedroom, and was partially waited on by the people of the house. As soon as they got in, Mary Brown, whose weak health caused her to feel a constant thirst, began to set out the teacups and make the tea.

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Mary," observed Miss Winter, when the meal was over, "you had better go up to your brother's for the calico, and to-morrow set about making his shirts: you know he was scolding you yesterday at their not being begun. Start at once, or you will have it dusk. I will wash up the tea-things."

Mary Brown put on her things, and departed. But not long had she been gone, when the parlour door opened, and a tall, fine young man, about six-and-twenty, walked in. He was dressed in a green velveteen shooting-jacket, leather breeches and gaiters, and a green kerchief was twisted loosely round his neck. Altogether, there was a careless, untidy look about him. The face would have been handsome (and, indeed, was) but for the wilful, devil-may-care expression that pervaded it. His complexion was fair, his eyes were blue, and his light hair curled in his neck. This gentleman was Mr. George Brown, universally known

VOL. XXXVII.

in the village by the cognomen of "Brassy." He had acquired the appellation when a boy, partly because he was gifted with a double share of that endowment familiarly called "brass," and partly because in his boyhood he displayed a curious propensity for collecting together odd bits of brazen metal. Once, when a young child, he had stolen a small brass kettle, exposed outside a shop for sale, lugged it home, and put it in his bed; and when his mother, on going to her own bed at night, looked at Georgie, there he was, sleeping, with the brass kettle hugged to him. He would be "Brassy Brown to the end of his life, and nobody ever thought of calling him anything else.

Mr. Brassy Brown did not enjoy a first-rate reputation. He had inherited a little land from his father, on which was a small house, where he lived, called "The Rill;" and though he certainly could not subsist upon its proceeds alone, and had no other visible means of support, he lived well, and never seemed to lack money. He was upon friendly terms with the whole neighbourhood, from Squire Rickhurst down to the worst poacher in it: indeed, so intimate was he with the latter suspicious fraternity, that some said he must be a poacher himself. Until recently his sister had lived with him in his cottage, no one else; but when Miss Winter found she wanted some one to assist her in the school, she thought of Mary, compassionating the girl's lonely life, want of proper society, and weak health, and Mary came to live with her. It may be questioned, however, if Miss Winter would have made the proposal, had she foreseen that they should be inundated with visits from Brassy.

Miss Winter put down the book she was reading, when he came in, poured out some hot water, and began to wash up the tea-things. "Where's Poll ?" began Brassy.

"She is gone to the Rill for the calico," rejoined Regina. pity that she will have her walk for nothing!"

"What a

"Stretch her legs for her," returned Brassy, sitting down in the chair from which Regina had risen, and extending his own long legs across the hearth. "Now, Regina," he continued, “I want a answer to that there question of mine."

"What question?" she inquired, a crimson hue flushing her face.

"Don't go for to pertend ignorance, Gin, for it won't go down with me to-night," was Mr. Brassy Brown's rejoinder. "You know what I have been asking you this year past: we are by ourselves to-night, and I'll have it out. Will you come up to the Rill and make your home there, and be my wife ?"

"Why do you persist in persecuting me thus?" exclaimed Regina, in a tone of vexation. "I have told you, already, that I could not be your wife. You behave like a child."

"Why don't you say like a fool?" rejoined Mr. Brassy. ""Twould be as perlite as t'other. What fault have you got to find of the Rill— or of me? Perhaps you think I can't keep you there like a lady, but I can. Never you mind how, I can. You shall have a servant to wait upon you, and everything as comfortable and plentiful about you as you had in your father's home. I swear it."

Regina shook her head. "I would not go to live at the Rill-I could not be your wife, Brassy, if you offered me a daily shower of gold. And

if you continue to pursue this unpleasant subject, I shall send Mary home, and forbid your entrance here."

"So ho, my fine madam! it's defiance between us, is it?" uttered Brassy, rising and grasping Regina's arm in anger, "then may the devil take the weakest. I have sworn to marry you, and I'll keep my oath, by fair means or foul."

At this moment, after a gentle knock, the door was pushed open, disclosing the person of the vicar. He saw the angry look of Brassy Brown, and his hold upon Regina's arm. "What is the matter?" he exclaimed.

now, Master Brown?"

"What game are you after

"None of yours, parson," returned Brassy, flinging aside Regina's arm. "She affronted me, and I had as good a mind to treat her to a shaking, as ever I had to treat anybody to one in all my life."

"He will kill me, some of these days, with his shakings," interposed Miss Winter, laughing, and trying to pass the matter off as a joke, for she was vexed and annoyed that the clergyman should have been a witness to it. "If he does, sir, I shall look to you to give me Christian burial. Will you promise to do so?"

"Yes," said Mr. Lewis, falling into the joke.

"You had better swear to it, parson," added Brassy, with a sneer. "It may be more satisfactory to her."

"I swear it," returned John Lewis, giving no heed to his words, for he was thinking of other things. A flush rose to his brow when their purport came to him-he, a minister, swear!

"Mind you keep your oath, parson, as I'll keep mine," said Brassy Brown, swinging out of the room. "Do you hear, Miss Winter?"

"Regina," said the vicar, looking after him, "he is not a desirable visitor for you."

"No," she answered, "and I wish he would not come. Not that I think there is any real harm in him, but I dislike his conversation."

"The plain fact is," resumed the clergyman, speaking with agitation, as a hectic spot appeared on his cheek, "your situation is too unprotected. Regina ! you must suffer me to provide you with another."

Oh, deeper than the one Brassy Brown's words had called up, was the rosy blush that now dyed her face. Neither, for some little time past, had been unacquainted with the heart of the other.

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John Lewis took her hand. Regina," he said, "you cannot be ignorant that I have loved you. Will you take pity upon a lonely man, one who has had but few ties hitherto to care for him, and be his wife?"

"But—I—” she stammered, her trembling hand lying passively in his, "it will be said I am not your equal-that my birth does not qualify me to be a clergyman's wife."

"Not my equal!" repeated the astonished vicar, who was surely one of the most unworldly wise. "You are so far my superior, Regina, that I have hesitated to ask you. And it was but the thought of your unprotected state here that gave me courage to speak now.'

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"I was but the daughter of a small working farmer," she persisted, the tears filling her eyes with the extent of her emotion: "I am but the paid teacher of a charity-school."

"I was but the son of a working curate," he whispered.

"We were

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