"I don't b'leeve a word you say-so there now, cum!" with which obsarvashun she hitched away from me.

"I wish thar was winders to my Sole," sed I, "so that you could see some of my feelins. There's fire enuff in here," sed I, strikin my buzzum with my fist, "to bile all the corn beef and turnips in the naberhood. Versoovius and the Critter ain't a circumstans!"

(Drawn by W. Ralston.)

I considered that air enuff for all practical purpusses, and we proceeded immejitly to the parson's & was made 1 that very nite.

I've parst threw many tryin ordeels sins then, but Betsy Jane has bin troo as steel. By attendin strickly to bizniss I've amarsed a handsum Pittance. No man on this foot-stool can rise & git up

"Ar could you know the sleeplis nites I worry threw with on your account, how vittles has seized to be attractiv to me & how my lims has shrunk up, you wouldn't dowt me. Gaze on this wastin form and these 'ere sunken cheeks

I should have continnered on in this strane

folks, while all agree that my Show is ekalled by few and exceld by none, embracin as it does a wonderful colleckshun of livin wild Beests of Pray, snaix in grate profushun, a endliss variety of life-size wax figgers, & the only traned kangaroo in Ameriky--the most amoozin little cuss ever introjuced to a discriminatin public.

"Here you, Amos Pengelly, what have you got to say to it !" said Tom Jennen. "You don't carry on none o' them games at chapel. Why don't you set to and have thanksgiving, and turn chapel into greengrocer's shop like up town in Penzaunce !"

Amos shook his head, but said nothing. "Why," said Tom Jennen, "you never see anything like it, lads. I went up church-town, and see something going on, when there was Penwynn's gardener with a barrowful o' gashly old stuff-carrots, and turnips, and 'tatoes, and apples, and pears, and a basket o' grapes; an' parson, and young Miss Rhoda, and Miss Pavey, all busy there inside turning the church into a reg'lar shop. Why, it'll look wonderful gashly to-morrow."

"They calls it harvest thanksgiving," said another fisherman, "and I see pretty nigh a cartload o' flowers, and wheat, and barley, and oats, go in. Won't be no room for the people."

"I thought the church looked very nicely," interposed Amos Pengelly; "and if I wasn't down on the plan to preach to-morrow at St. Milicent, I'd go myself."

"Lor' a mussy, Amos Pengelly, don't talk in that way," said Tom Jennen. "I never go to church, and I never did go, but I never knew old parson carry on such games. Harvest thanksgiving, indeed! I never see such a gashly sight in my life. Turnips in a church!"

"Well, but don't you see," said Amos, in an expounding tone of voice, "these here are all offerings for the harvest; and turnips and carrots may be as precious as offerings as your fine fruits, and grapes, and flowers."

"Well said, lad," exclaimed one of the fisher- | men; "and, like 'tatoes, a deal more useful."

"Didn't Cain an' Abel bring their offerings to the altar" said Amos, who gathered strength at these words of encouragement.

"Yes," said Tom Jennen, grinning, "and Cain's 'tatoes, and turnips, and things, weren't much thought on, and all sorts o' trouble come out of it. Garden stuff ain't the right thing for offerings. Tellee what, lads, here's our boat with the finest haul o' mack'ral we've had this year, and, Curnow's boat half full o' big hake. We arn't got no lambs, but what d'yer say, Amos Pengelly, to

Tom Jennen winked at his companions as he said this, and his looks seemed to say"There's a poser for him!"

Amos Pengelly rubbed one ear, and then he rubbed the other, as he stood there, apparently searching for precedent for such an act. He wanted to work in something from the New Testament about the Apostles and their fishing, and the miraculous draught, but poor Amos did not feel inspired just then, and at last, unable to find an appropriate quotation, he said-

"I think it would be quite right, lads. It would be an offering from the harvest of the sea. Parson said he wanted all to give according to their means, and you lads have had a fine haul. Take up some of your best."

"What, up to church?" cried Tom Jennen. "It'll make a reg'lar gashly old smell."

"Nay," said Amos, "they'd be fresh enough to-morrow."

"You daren't take 'em up to parson, Tom Jennen," said one of the men, grinning.

Tom took a fresh bit of tobacco, spat several times down on to the boulders, and narrowly missed a mate, who responded with a lump of stone from the beach below, and then, frowning hugely, he exclaimed

"I lay a gallon o' ale I dare take up a hundred o' mack'ral and half a score o' hake, come now." "Ye daren't," chorused several. "Parson 'll gie ye such a setting down."

"I dare," said Tom Jennen, grinning, "I arn't feard o' all the parsons in Cornwall. I'll take it up."

"Bet you a gallon o' ale you won't," said one. "Done," cried Tom Jennen, clapping his hand into that of his mate.

"And I'll lay you a gallon," said another.
"And I,"-" and I"--" and I," cried several.

64

Done! done! done!" cried Tom Jennen, grinning. "Get the fish, lads. I arn't afraid o' the parson. I'll take 'em."

Amos Pengelly looked disturbed, but he said nothing.

"What's he going to do with all the stuff afterwards!" said Tom Jennen.

"Give it to the poor folk, I hear," said Amos. "Then he shall have the fish!" cried Tom Jennen. "Anyhow, I'll take 'em up."

There was a regular roar of laughter here, and a proposal was made to go and drink one of the

gallons of ale at once, a proposal received with acclamation, for now that the bet had been decided upon, the want of a little Dutch courage was felt, for, in spite of a show of bravado, there was not a man amongst the group of fishermen who did not, in his religiously-superstitious nature, feel a kind of shrinking, and begin to wonder whether "parson" might not curse them for their profanity in taking up in so mocking a spirit such an offering as fish.

The dash and go of the party of great swarthy, black-haired fellows, in their blue jerseys and great boots, was completely evaporated as they reached the church, Tom Jennen being the only one who spoke, after screwing himself up.

"Stand 'em down here, lads," he said; and the baskets, with their beautiful iridescent freight of mackerel, were placed in the porch, the men being glad to get rid of their loads; and their next idea was to hurry away, but they only huddled together

"No," said Amos, "I'm going on."

"Nay, nay, come and have a drop ;" and almost by force Amos was restrained, and to a man the group joined in keeping him amongst them, feeling as if his presence, being a holy kind of man, might mitigate any pains that might befall them.

If one only had hinted at the danger, the rest would have followed, and the plan would have come to an end; but no one would show the white feather, and, with plenty of laughing and bravado, first one and then a second gallon of ale was drunk by the group, now increased to sixteen or seventeen men; after which they went down to the boats, the fish were selected, and four baskets full of the best were carried in procession up to the church, with Tom Jennen chewing away at his tobacco, his hands in his pockets, and swaggering at the head of the party.

It was a novel but a goodly offering of the silvery harvest of the sea, and by degrees the noisy talking and joking of the men subsided, till they talked in whispers of what "parson" would say, and how they would draw off and leave Tom Jennen to bear the brunt as soon as they had set the baskets down by the porch; and at last they moved on in silence.

There was not one there who could have analysed his own feelings, but long before they reached the church they were stealing furtive glances one at the other, and wishing that they had not come, wondering, too, whether any misfortune would happen to boat or net in their next trip.

But for very shame they would have set down the baskets on the rough stones and hurried away, but the wager had been made, and there was Tom Jennen in front rolling along, his hands deeper than ever in his pockets, first one shoulder forward and then the other. He drew a hand out once to give a tug at the rings in his brown ears, but it went back and down, and somehow, in spite of his bravado, a curious look came over Tom Jennen's swarthy face, and he owned to himself that he didn't like "the gashly job."

"But I arn't 'fraid o' no parsons," he said to himself, "and he may say what he likes, I'll win them six gallons o' ale whether he ill-wishes or curses me, or what he likes."

Jennen was left standing quite alone."

66

"I arn't afeard," he said to himself; but he felt very uncomfortable all the same. He'll whack me with big words, that's what he'll do, but they'll all run off me like the sea water off a shag's back. I arn't feard o' he, no more'n I am o' Amos Pengelly;" and, glancing back at his mates, he gave a rapping to the church door with a penny piece that he dragged out of his right-hand pocket, just as if it had been a counter, and he was going to call for the ale he meant to win.

There was a bit of a tremor ran through the group of brave-hearted, stalwart fishermen at this, just as if they had had an electric shock; and the men who would risk their lives in the fiercest storms felt the desire to run off stronger than ever, like a pack of mischievous boys; but not one stirred.

The door was opened by Miss Pavey, who was hot and flushed, and who had a great sheaf of oats in one hand and a big pair of scissors in the other, while the opening door gave the fishermen a view of the interior of the little church, bright with flowers in pot and bunch, while sheaves of corn, wreaths of evergreens, and artistically-piled-up masses of fruits and vegetables produced an effect very different to that imagined by the rough, seafaring men, who took a step forward to stare at the unusual sight.

Miss Pavey dropped her big scissors, which hung from her waist by a stout white cotton cord, something like a friar's girdle; and as her eyes fell from the rough fishermen to the great baskets of fish, she uttered the one word

"Here, I want parson, miss," growled Tom Jennen, setting his teeth, and screwing his mahogany-brown face into a state of rigid determination. "Hallo, my lads, what have you got here?" said a cheery voice, as Geoffrey Trethick strode up. "Fish! Can't yer see?" growled Tom Jennen, defiantly.

"Here-here are the fishermen, Mr. Lee," faltered Miss Pavey; and, looking flushed with exertion, and bearing a great golden orange pumpkin in his arms, the Reverend Edward Lee came to the door, laid the pumpkin where it was to form the base of a pile of vegetables, and then,

come in, and the roar of laughter from the fishermen, who had given up all hopes of winning the ale, but who were willing enough to pay for the fun of seeing "parson's" looks and Tom Jennen's thrashing, especially as they would afterwards all join in a carouse and help to drink the ale.

"Brought you some fish for your deckyrations, parson," roared Tom Jennen, who had screwed his courage up, and, as he told himself, won the bet.

There was no answer, no expostulation, no air of

his glasses, looking straight before him as visions of the past floated to his mind's eye. To him, then, the bright bay behind the group suggested blue Galilee, and he thought of the humble fisherfolk who followed his great Master's steps, and the first fruits of the harvest of the sea became holy in his eyes.

Geoffrey Trethick looked at him wonderingly, and Miss Pavey felt a something akin to awe as watched the young hero of her thoughts, with

tears in her eyes; while he, with a slight huskiness in his voice, as he believed that at last he was moving the hearts of these rough, stubborn people, said simply

"I thank you, my men, for your generous offering," and he stretched his hands involuntarily over the fish; "God's blessing in the future be upon you when you cast your nets, and may He preserve you from the perils of the sea."

66 Amen!" exclaimed a loud voice from behind. It was the voice of Amos Pengelly, who had stood there unobserved: and then there was utter silence, as the vicar replaced his glasses, little thinking that his demeanour and few simple words had done more towards winning over the rough fishermen before him than all his previous efforts or a year of preaching would have done.

"I'm very glad," he said, smiling, and holding out his hand, to Tom Jennen, who hesitated for a moment, and then gave his great horny paw a rub on both sides against his flannel trousers before giving the delicate womanly fingers a tremendous

squeeze.

"I'm very glad to see you," continued the vicar, passing Jennen, and holding out his hand to each of the fishermen in turn, hesitating for a moment as he came to Amos Pengelly, the unhallowed usurper of the holy office of the priest; but he shook hands with him warmly, beaming upon him through his glasses, while the men stood as solemn as if about to be ordered for execution, and so taken aback at the way in which their offering had been received that not one dared gaze at the other.

"Mr. Trethick, would you mind?' said the vicar, apologetically, as he stooped to one handle of the finest basket of mackerel. "How beautiful they look."

"Certainly not," said Geoffrey, who took the other handle, and they, between them, bore the overflowing basket up to the foot of the lectern.

"We'll make a pile of them here," exclaimed the vicar, whose face was flushed with pleasure; and, setting the basket down, they returned for another, Miss Pavey, scissors in hand, once more keeping guard at the door.

"I am so glad," he continued. "I wanted something by the reading desk, and these fish are so appropriate to our town."

"Let's go and get the parson ten times as many, lads," cried Tom Jennen, excitedly.

"No, no," said the vicar, laying his hand upon the rough fellow's sleeve; "there are plenty here. It is not the quantity, my lads, but the way in which the offering is made.”

There was an abashed silence once more amongst the guilty group, which was broken by the vicar saying

"Will you come in and see what we have done?" There was a moment's hesitation and a very sheepish look, but as the head sheep, in the person of Tom Jennen, took off his rough cap, stooped, and lifted a basket and went in on tip-toe, the rest followed, their heavy boots, in spite of their efforts, clattering loudly on the red and black-tiled floor, while the vicar took from them with his own hands the remainder of the fish, and placed them round the desk.

CERTAIN old gentleman in the west of Ireland, whose love of the ridiculous quite equalled his taste for claret and fox-hunting, was wont, upon certain festive occasions when opportunity offered, to amuse his friends by "drawing out” one of his servants who was exceedingly fond of what he termed his "thravels," and in whom a good deal of whim, some queer stories, and, perhaps more than all, long and faithful services, had established a right of loquacity. He was one of those few trusty and privileged domestics who, if his master unheedingly uttered a rash thing in a fit of passion, would venture to set him right. If the squire said, "I'll turn that rascal off," my friend Pat would say, "Throth you won't, sir;

and Pat was always right, for if any altercation arose upon the subject-matter in hand, he was sure to throw in some good reason, either from former service-general good conduct--or the delinquent's "wife and childher," that always turned the scale.

But I am digressing; on such merry meetings as I have alluded to, the master, after making certain "approaches," as a military man would say, as the preparatory steps in laying siege to some extravaganza of his servant, might perchance assail Pat thus: "By-the-by, Sir John" (addressing a distinguished guest), " Pat has a very curious story, which something you told me to-day reminds me of. You remember, Pat" (turning to the man, evidently pleased at the notice paid to