Minster, unconverted though, and shaking the dust from his feet.

For a quarter of an hour he walked about the familiar streets and lanes of the city, provoked at his own perturbation. That a parson should still be so formidable as to irritate him thus! Oh, to beat that son of thunder at his own weapons! But where to find a place to thunder in, or anybody to receive the bolts?

Suddenly his eye fell upon a placard that might have been a mute answer to a mute appeal. It was merely a notice of a penny reading to come off that night at St. Martin's Music Hall, at the door of which he was standing. Ichabod, having nothing better to do, paid sixpence for admission and went in.

It was a large room, and quite full, but of a very different class of people from those who had thronged the cathedral. Dr. Anselm's was an audience of shopkeepers, their clerks and families. This was a gathering of artisans, with a front row of patrons and patronesses who had come to countenance, some to contribute to the evening's entertainment. The programme, which, as Ichabod observed, was very elastic and accommodating, seemed nearly played played

out.

An odd idea struck him. How if he were to try a little experiment here; get up on that platform, speak a few home truths about the subject uppermost in his mind to that crowd in their own style, and see how they would take effect. It was a rough-and-ready roomful to begin upon certainly, but perhaps more honest and unsophisticated than their betters.

Any doubt or hesitation he might have felt, any perplexities as to how to tack on the philippic he was going to speak to what had gone before, were suddenly solved by a fortuitous incident. A well

meaning and generally harmless curate, but with none of the wisdom of the serpent yet developed in his composition, rose with a little set speech that was intended to close the proceedings-an inane little speech, expressive of satisfaction with everybody in general and himself in particular, and dwelling with rather unnecessary fervour on the special blessings of a lot cast like that of those before him in the eminently ecclesiastical town of Bury St. Martin's, under the shadow of such a cathedral and the sheltering wing of so numerous a body of clergy, all busy looking after the welfare of their flocks.

Nobody paid him very much attention, except Ichabod, upon whom the sermonette and the dutiful applause that followed it fell like a spark on gunpowder.

He watched his opportunity. He had quietly worked his way to the upper end of the room, and now, seizing the instant when the offending curate had withdrawn and disappeared through a door at the back, he walked forwards and stepped coolly upon the platform.

At this the audience, who were getting up to go, with one accord sat down again, not very much surprised at what they imagined was going to prove some impromptu addition, some bonne bouche to their feast of reason. And so it was to be, but not in the sense they expected; for Ichabod's presentable appear

ance

and gentlemanly manner wakened in them hopes of a comic song or dramatic recitation. For the moment the speaker had it all his own way, and Ichabod felt that he had what he so grudged the clergy for having ready cut and dried twice every Sunday-an audience prepared to listen. meant to be brief, forcible, startling -to see if he could not take them by storm.

He

"Before we break up to-night," he began smoothly, "allow me, though a stranger, to address a word or two to you on the subject of the last speech, a subject of immense importance to every man of you."

There was a penetrating, incisive something in his tone and look that fastened their attention for the moment.

"What would you say, my friends," he continued, "of, let us suppose, a country overridden by some monstrous tyrannical power that appropriated the land, overawed the people, and preyed on their substance-a country' whose inhabitants, instead of trying to rid themselves of the marauder, built for it enormous palaces, let it range there in freedom and extort the costliest sacrifices every day, and so on for hundreds of years, allowing it to fleece them unmolested, not a man of them daring to attack and put an end to its existence ?

"You would cry shame on them as cowards or fools, of course. Now, I tell you that such a country is England, such a time the present, such a marauder the very power you are always being taught and called upon, as just now, to admire and back up; the Church.

Mind,

Roman or reformed, free or established, makes no real difference. Millions of money are sunk in its buildings. If it no longer takes away men's lives, it never scruples to appropriate them. Clergymen, missionaries, students by thousands, give up their best years and energies to its service. Look at your own cathedral, and face the plain truth. The capital spent on that edifice, its repair and services, would have laid down more railways and built more factories than I am able to calculate. It might have produced the necessary sustenance for another million, which, anybody will tell you who knows

the laws of population, would then have sprung into existence."

Already he was too much occupied with what he was saying to watch its effect on the audience, otherwise he would have perceived that to their first gaping attention, which he mistook for approval, low murmurs on all sides were succeeding. For his public, who had taken his prelude for a comic introduction, and waited patiently for a few minutes for the joke, now only sat still because at a loss how best to show their displeasure at a tirade which they only half understood, and which none the less roused their instinctive ire. The "front row" had left the room before he began, and the swains that remained were unfamiliar with the polite ways of stopping an orator's mouth.

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Cathedrals," he continued, coolly, "I call dangerous headcentres, parents and types of fatal false principles; they have forfeited their right to exist. Blue Dick and Wat Tyler found this out long ago, and would have made short work of the matter by setting fire to the four corners. But I should encourage no reformer in an enthusiasm that would expose him to the penalties of the law, and more than that, it would be an unpardonable waste of good building material. But the day, I trust, is not far off when an enlightened public shall purchase the site, and then we shall see instead of that marvel of folly, the steeple, the tall tower of a manufacturing chimney; smoke where once there was incense; and the din of machinery take the place of the

shouted "Turn him out," and a missile followed, narrowly missing his eye. The quiet and timid folks among the crowd rose in a panic to get away, seeing a row was impending; but the remainder, thoroughly incensed, had no intention of departing till they had somehow wreaked their vengeance on the luckless speaker, and taught him not to make fools of them twice. In a few moments, as Ichabod continued speaking, the uproar became tremendous; benches were overturned, women screamed, a feeble official hastened in and remonstrated, but he might as well have remonstrated with a runaway steam-engine. Ichabod's position was becoming serious, but had it been fifty times worse he would never have yielded one inch to that raging mob. The more they yelled, the more persistently he waved his hand and requested silence. This incensed them afresh -broken bones seemed inevitable -and Ichabod had awoken from his partial abstraction to realise the imminent danger to his life and limbs, when a voice shouted "Back!" in such a tone, and accompanied with such a gesture of authority, that the roughs instinetively recoiled. Only for an instant, but it was enough. The next moment all was in darkness, an unseen hand had turned off the gas; then came a blind rush of the rioters to the platform, but it was empty. The same hands, with the strength of an athlete and an admirable promptitude, had most unceremoniously carried off the orator through the door at the back, fastened it, and dragged him down a narrow staircase, whence the two emerged into a dark street, leaving the mob to cool down and disperse at their leisure.

Ichabod stood alone under a gas-lamp with his deliverer, in whom he at once recognised the

gentleman he had travelled down with that afternoon.

"Are you mad, sir?" asked the young man, looking at him doubtfully; or are you so bent upon martyrdom that you must needs try for it in a vulgar brawl ?"

"Ask society and its laws," replied Ichabod, with a shrug. "The time and place were none of my choosing. I should be very happy to speak my mind in your cathedral itself, if I could, and take the consequences; though for that I cannot see that one spot is more honourable than another."

"Do you know what an infuriated mob is, or of what it is, capable? Another minute, and you might have lost your life in that foolish fray."

"And if I had—what then? One less in the population of London— four millions, I think. There's the net result," he said, facetiously.

"I beg your pardon, there's the least part of it. You would coolly thrust the guilt of a murder on that uneducated crowd."

"An educated crowd would never give me a hearing."

"Nor an uneducated, I should say, to judge from to-night."

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That was what I wanted to ascertain."

"I wouldn't repeat the experiment if I were you. Let me beg you now to come away. We might meet them, and I shouldn't care to have it all over again," and he led the way off down a narrow lane.

Ichabod followed mechanically, then, suddenly recollecting that in all probability he owed his life to his companion, he said, constrainedly, "I have to thank you, sir, for my rescue from the hands of that brutal rabble. I suppose I ought to say those ignorant, misguided persons. guided persons. I cannot conceive why you took so much trouble for me, a perfect stranger."

"Simply, sir, because, having

rather more regard than you for 'that brutal rabble,' I did not intend them to stimulate their brutality by exercising it upon you, whilst I was there to prevent it."

But besides this, the young man's curiosity and interest had been genuinely excited by Ichabod, as well they might. His extraordinary speech, and his almost equally extraordinary calmness in the face of an angry crowd-here was no common fanatic or paid agitator-yet of all the known freaks of humanitarianism, this was surely the most singular.

"What are your plans now, sir ?" said he, "if I may ask. Excuse me, but unless you leave the town to-night you may find it unpleasant-you will be in the papers to-morrow."

"I shall remain," said Ichabod, coolly. "I am certainly not afraid of the papers, so let them do their best or their worst. I see we are close to the station where I left my luggage. I shall have it sent to the inn."

"Have it sent to my house instead," said the stranger.

Ichabod looked at him in surprise.

"Perhaps my suggestion may astonish you," said the young man courteously. "Be our guest for the night. My house is not half an hour's walk from the town. You can then think over your next step, and whether Bury St. Martin's is likely to be a good field for your labours or not.

Ichabod did not hesitate. An alluring idea had occurred to him. Was it possible that this superior and intellectual - looking young man, and not Hammond, was to be his first disciple? Had his night's work brought him in one proselyte ? Certainly the ready and efficient way in which this new friend had rushed to his aid was promising. So Ichabod, who had not forgotten

the two pretty sisters, either, closed with the offer of hospitality at

once.

CHAPTER IV.

A BRILLIANT moon shone down upon the road, and lit up for Icha

bod the face of his new friend-or follower, if he might entertain the hope.

A man of about his years, but of little else in common with him; the type of a cooler and less vigorous temperament than Ichabod's, but with its strength better developed, and plenty of ballast to steady it. He had a well-shaped head, dark hair, pallid complexion, and a face rather remarkable than handsome. It was an ordinary cast, improved into force and worth extraordinary by thought and high culture. The expression, though far from buoyant, presented in its grave serenity and ease a striking contrast to our hero's, out of whose countenance the quintessence of dissatisfaction seemed to rise, ever hovering, like an ignis fatuus, over a treacherous, smooth, changeless surface.

They walked along the road together, talking of the country, the crops, and other unexciting topics. Ichabod's companion could scarcely believe his ears, or that this intelligent, sober-spoken man at his side could be the same who a few minutes ago had been making mad speeches and raising the wind in the music hall.

Presently Ichabod stopped short, as they were passing some gates adjoining a little rustic lodge, set in ivy and red creepers, and standing in a rustic garden full of barberry bushes and hollyhocks.

"What pretty toy have we here?" he asked. "This is surely something new."

"That? It's the entrance to Mr. Saville's park, and the new lodge he has just built to the manor.

"Oh, I belonged to these parts myself, many years ago, and took its measure even then. But the Aytoun family were always absentees in my time. They say now that young Saville is to be a candidate for the town at the coming election. Is that true?" "So I'm told."

"Qualification-the largest house in the borough."

"We used to think it large, till Huggins, the papier maché man, ran up a palace on the other side of the town. The manor would stand inside one of his wings. But pray come on, sir, and let us get home;" for Ichabod remained at a standstill, looking at the tips of the manor chimneys which appeared through the trees, with concentrated animosity.

"Well," said he, relaxing, but with a little parting sneer, "he is only one among hundreds. But you are right. I should like of all things to look up his highness, and give him a piece of my mind."

"You would have to leave it with his highness's housekeeper," was the rejoinder. "Mr. Saville is away, and the manor is undergoing repairs. You look quite disappointed," he added, laughing. Perhaps after polishing off the parsons you wanted to polish off the country gentlemen. From the hierarchy to the squirearchy, eh?"

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"It's part of my programme, certainly," replied Ichabod, readily, "though what success I can look for in any quarter if I am always to fight single-handed I really do not know. Could I induce a few men of thought and intellect like yourself to join me, a great deal might be done in a short time."

My goodness!" thought his companion, in dismay; "here's my reformer no sooner thrown from his first hobby-horse than he mounts a second, and is off on a fresh steeplechase. Heaven help him; I don't know what to do with him. Upon my word, though, he

shall have a lesson."

"May I beg to know," resumed Ichabod, "to whom I am indebted for a most timely service and this kind offer of hospitality?"

My name is James Gilbert," replied the young man. "I and my sisters are living in yonder white house, not a stone's throw from the park. It is one of Mr. Saville's farms, as I dare say you know; but he lets it now and then as a private residence."

So his new friend was actually a tenant of the hon. gentleman's. Ichabod was not sorry. It would be some satisfaction if, before leaving, he could deal some blow, direct or indirect, at landlords and their upholders. Against Mr. Saville in particular he felt secretly savage, having heard of him as a young aristocrat, who, not content with the privileges of a lord of the soil, had already won a certain popularity as a man of the people.