3 



8 The Rev. Marmaduke Merrythought. 



to a curacy soon after, and preached his first sermon 

 with great applause, especially distinguishing himself by 

 upsetting the pulpit-cushion on to the head of old Betty 

 Martin, who happened to be fast asleep underneath. Old 

 Betty hobbled out of church in a great hurry, and could 

 not be persuaded for a long while that the roof was 

 not coming down, or that the end of the world had not 

 come. " Well done, my boy, w^ell done," said the Squire, 

 clapping the blushing curate on the back, after service, 

 as he emerged from the vestry-door. ^' Well done, my 

 boy ! you shall have a mount on Tarn o* Shanter, on 

 Tuesday, and you don't get such a chance as that every 

 day, let me tell you." Our friend liked the curacy un- 

 commonly. The Squire of the parish was a sportsman all 

 over, and his chief, the rector, was always away, so he 

 hunted, and shot, and fished pretty nearly the same as 

 ever, the only difference he made being to wear a black 

 instead of a scarlet coat out hunting, and to have the 

 colour of his tops altered from a creamy to a brownish 

 hue. That, he thought, gave them a more clerical 

 appearance. He was rather glad to change, too, because 

 the old Oxford recipe was a very expensive one. We 

 don't know whether or no apricot-jam and champagne, 

 formed the principal ingredients (in those days it was a 

 popular notion that the sporting lights of the 'Varsity 

 never used anything else for their boot-tops), but anyhow 

 it was expensive, and he was glad of a change. 



At last came the fat living in the gift of an old uncle 

 that he was lying in wait for ; in fact it was the promise 

 of it eventually that induced him to go into the Church. 

 A month or so after and we find him comfortably installed 

 in the snug Rectory-house belonging to the parish of 



