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HE Rev. Samuel Cassock and the Rev. Athanasius Stole were rectors of adjacent parishes in the suburbs of a famous Midland town. The rivalry, which being interpreted into the priestly tongue signifieth emulation, between the reverend gentlemen was prodigious. The Rev. Samuel was an illustrious Evangelical, while the Rev. Athanasius was an Anglican of the first water. Their sermons were eloquent, their churches were always crowded by earnest congregations, their good deeds were plainly manifest before all men. And both were bachelors.

When Miss Dolly Temple, only child and heiress of the celebrated engineer, came to reside, after the death of her father, at Cranmer Lodge, situated on the borders of the two livings, each of the parsons made up his mind that he had gained an invaluable parishioner.

The Rev. Samuel soon hastened to call upon her, as he thought that his seniority entitled him to be first in the field.

“I fancy I am what you would call Broad Church,” observed Miss Temple, after the clergyman had been judiciously “pumping” her for some time concerning her religious convictions. “I do not care whether a man is High or Low Church, as long as he does his duty.”

The Rev. Samuel coughed, and eyed the pretty girl suspiciously. Here was a proselyte indeed for whom the Rev. Athanasius and himself would have much contention!

“And how would you define,” he remarked, slowly and with priestly ambiguity, “doing one’s duty?”

“Making people happy,” returned pretty Dolly readily. “To me it does not seem enough to be merely self-righteous. One may spend one’s whole life in church services without doing any actual good.”

“A—ha! I agree with you, young lady,” cried the Rev. Mr. Cassock heartily. “That is the mistake poor Mr. Stole makes. Matins and evensong every day! What time does it leave for solid parish work?”

“Or amusements,” quoth Miss Dolly.

“Eh!—a—I beg your pardon?” stammered the clergyman, puzzled.

“The ‘muscular Christianity’ of dear Charles Kingsley is what appeals to me most strongly,” Dolly went on earnestly. “My ideal clergyman is he who can not only instruct his parishioners in church, but who can take the lead in their field sports. I am sure that you help your people in their amusements, Mr. Cassock.”

Although the parson’s complexion was only a shade paler than his scarlet hood he actually flushed a deeper colour, for the remembrance that he had lately refused a valuable portion of the glebe for a Sunday-school cricket ground tickled his conscience.

“My dear young lady,” he replied, glancing dubiously at his well-distended waistcoat. “I fear that I am of neither the age nor the build for violent exercise.”

“Oh, I did not intend to be personal,” replied Dolly penitently, recognising her blunder. “But I mean that when a man is young and active he should help in every kind of sport. Mr. Armstrong, our clergyman in Dorsetshire, was a splendid all-round athlete, and I am sure he was the most popular man in the county—especially with the poor people. Of course, when he gets older he will have to be content with looking