And so the changes rang.
All this time, Mr. Manlius firmly maintained his ground, taking his glass of wine whenever it suited him. At last, after the occurrence of a dinner-party given by a family of some note in the place, and at which the minister was present, and at which wine was circulated freely, a rather scandalous report got abroad, and soon went buzzing all over the village. A young man, who made no secret of being fond of his glass, and who was at the dinner-party, met, on the day after, a very warm advocate of temperance, and a member of a different denomination from that in which Mr. Manlius was a minister, and said to him, with mock gravity—"We had a rara avis at our dinner-party yesterday, Perkins."
"Indeed. What wonderful thing was that?"
"A tipsy parson."
"A what?"
The man's eyes became instantly almost as big as saucers.
"A tipsy parson."
"Who? Mr. Manlius?" was eagerly inquired.
"I didn't say so. I call no names."
"He was present, I know; and drank wine, I am told, like a fish."