head; a rod, which he is too lazy to hold, supported on a couple of crossed sticks; and a float, which he is watching with half-shut pleasant eyes, bobbing about in the water. A portly old gentleman, white-haired and ruddy-cheeked, a nose as straight as a dart, an upper lip short as any bygone Greek's, and a mouth and chin that might have been borrowed from that same Greek's statue. He is inclined to corpulence, and is dressed in a suit of tweed, the latter spotted and stained by much sylvan wear and

tear.

Now take all this in at one comprehensive glance, and you will have something of an idea of the personality of Mr. Francis Mildmay, Rector of Dripsey Bridge and its twin parish of Wentworth.

Unmistakably a gentleman;-Frank Mildmay might have worn ragged corduroy or frowsy fustian, but the most inexperienced

eye could not mistake him for anything but that.

An easy-goer-hurting no man's prejudices-having none of his own, Pa'son Mildmay was beloved by all, from the Radical cobbler, who, as he wouldn't come to church, "Pa'son Frank " made a point of preaching to through his little shop window, down to the village curs, who, conscious of concealed biscuits in the good gentleman's capacious pockets, came sniffing obsequiously at his heels.

This is no cur, however, whose black, dewy muzzle is resting on the rector's shoulder, and whose sweet brown eyes, full of fun and mischief, are watching the bobbing float with far more attention than Pa'son Frank himself.

Mentioning the dog, recalls us to the fact that the rector is not alone. Standing against the trunk of a tree, "arranging "

bait for the rector's lines, is the dog's master-Mr. Peter Applethwaite.

A curious, but none the less constant, companionship is that between Pa'son Frank and Sandy Peter. "Oh! I shall reclaim him some day," the laughing rector would say in answer to a remonstrance from the

unco guid" of his parish. "Peter has been twice to church, and would have continued to come but that his snoring disturbed the congregation."

"Peter," said the rector, but without looking up, "I think I've got a bite." Applethwaite glanced at the float, and shook his head.

"Not you; besides, Rummager's got her eyes on the float, and would bark if it moved."

There was a pause-a short one-broken by the rector.

"Peter, I don't like the way you're

bringing up that dog-it's not Christian."

Mr. Applethwaite's face expanded into its usual expressive grin.

"Why not, Pa'son? If eddication means Christianity, Rummager's got it. 'Tisn't my fault, Pa'son Frank, if the school boards set themselves agin' Bible teachin'."

"The Scriptures say, 'Remember to keep holy the Sabbath day.' Now, Rummager doesn't."

It is impossible for words to describe the tone of protest conveyed in this ejaculation,

"Why, pa'son, I don't think that dog would bark at a cat, much more start a hare, of a Sunday." (This with a sly look at the rector.) "She has kept too good

company for that."

"She's a ne'er-do-well, and you're an

other," said the rector, caressing the sleek, black head of the dog. "Though I must say," he added, with a merry laugh, "that when you were illegally drinking at some ale-house, Rummager followed me to church, and sat out the entire sermon in the centre aisle, licking her lips, and staring me out of countenance."

"And I'll be bound," said Master Applethwaite, "as she understood

you, Pa'son Frank, as well, if not better, than th' rest o' the congregation."

"It is possible," assented the rector, reflectively.

"Possible! I'd back her," and Peter jerked his thumb in the direction of the dog, still intent upon the float,-"agin' Farmers Jowler and Flack, who are sound asleep afore you give out the text. Why, to see the way Rummager turns over a rabbit would make a Christian of a heathen. She