"The wild wizard's fingers,
With magical skill,
Made music that lingers
In memory still."

Then there was the bidding-prayer, in which Mr. Verdant Green was somewhat astonished to hear the long list of founders and benefactors, "such as were, Philip Pluckton, Bishop of Iffley; King Edward the Seventh; Stephen de Henley, Earl of Bagley, and Maud his wife; Nuneham Courtney, knight," with a long et-cetera; though, as the preacher happened to be a Brazenface man, our hero found that he was "most chiefly bound to praise Clement Abingdon, Bishop of Jericho, and founder of the college of Brazenface; Richard Glover, Duke of Woodstock; Giles Peckwater, Abbot of Beney; and Binsey Green, Doctor of Music; - benefactors of the same."

Then there was the sermon itself; the abstrusely learned and classical character of which, at first, also astonished him, after having been so long used to the plain and highly practical advice which the rector, Mr. Larkyns, knew how to convey so well and so simply to his rustic hearers. But as soon as he had reflected on the very different characters of the two congregations, Mr. Verdant Green at once recognized the appropriateness of each class of sermons to its peculiar hearers; yet he could not altogether drive away the thought, how the generality of those who had on previous Sundays been his fellow-worshippers would open their blue Saxon eyes, and ransack their rustic brains, as to "what could ha' come to rector," if he were to indulge in Greek and Latin quotations, - somewhat after the following style. "And though this interpretation may in these days be disputed, yet we shall find that it was once very generally received. For the learned St. Chrysostom is very clear on this point, where he says, 'Arma virumque cano, rusticus expectat, sub tegmine fagi'; of which the words of Irenaeus are a confirmation - {otototoio, papaperax, poluphloisboio thalassaes}." Our hero, indeed, could not but help wondering what the fairer portion of the congregation made of these parts of the sermons, to whom, probably, the sentences just quoted would have sounded as full of meaning as those they really heard.

"Hallo, Gig-lamps!" said the cheery voice of little Mr. Bouncer, as he looked one morning into Verdant's rooms, followed by his two bull-terriers; "why don't you sport something in the dog line? Something in the bloodhound or tarrier way. Ain't you fond o' dogs?"

"Oh, very!" replied our hero. "I once had a very nice one, - a King Charles."

"Oh!" observed Mr. Bouncer, "one of them beggars that you have to feed with spring chickens, and get up with curling tongs. Ah! they're all very well in their way, and do for women and carriage-exercise; but give me this sort of thing!" and Mr. Bouncer patted one of his villainous looking pets, who wagged his corkscrew tail in reply. "Now, these are beauties, and no mistake! What you call useful and ornamental; ain't you, Buzzy? The beggars are brothers; so I call them Huz and Buz:- Huz his first-born, you know, and Buz his brother."

"I should like a dog," said Verdant; "but where could I keep one?"

"Oh, anywhere!" replied Mr. Bouncer confidently. "I keep these beggars in the little shop for coal, just outside the door. It ain't the law, I know; but what's the odds as long as they're happy? They think it no end of a lark. I once had a Newfunland, and tried him there; but the obstinate brute considered it too small for him, and barked himself in such an unnatural manner, that at last he'd got no wool on the top of his head, - just the place where the wool ought to grow, you know; so I swopped the beggar to a Skimmery [13] man for a regular slap-up set of pets of the ballet, framed and glazed, petticoats and all, mind you. But about your dog, Gig-lamps: -that cupboard there would be just the ticket; you could put him under the wine-bottles, and then there'd be wine above and whine below. Videsne puer? D'ye twig, young 'un? But if you're squeamish about that, there are heaps of places in the town where you could keep a beast."