here was not much of current sociability and party giving. We were not
sociable. On the contrary, we were a very humdrum lot; rising early and
going to town to our business and daily toil--such of us as had any sort
of business to attend to--and coming back at a fixed regular hour. We
were in the habit of having our respective dinners and teas, and,
mayhap, suppers, at certain appointed times and seasons--also duly
regulated--and subsequently going to bed, to recruit for the same
routine on the morrow, without any excitements, or renovation and
destruction of tissue worth speaking of.

A "tea-party" was quite a sensation in the parish of Saint Canon's--
equivalent to one of the queen's garden fetes. Beyond school treats and
working parties, to which latter only the clergy and Lady Dorcases were
admitted, and the anniversary of Christmas, when we sometimes _did_
indulge a little in wholesome but subdued gaiety, we went on from year's
beginning to year's end without balls, or dinners, or dances, or any of
those resources which fashionable people have for killing time and
keeping up acquaintanceship.

We were not "high-toned" people; quite the reverse, in fact, as, I
believe, I have previously described. We only "dropped in" of an
evening to see friends, and spend a quiet hour or two over bezique and
music. On these occasions, a carpet cotillon or quadrille has been
sometimes indulged in; but it was the exception and not the rule. We
were generally satisfied with much milder pastime; our visits rarely
exceeding the interval between tea and "supper" time, when we partook of
a friendly, though seedy, abernethy and glass of wine or beer; and then
went home virtuously to bed.

Our society being thus constituted, it became a matter almost of
impossibility to meet any one particular person frequently, excepting
out in the street, unless you had the entree of their house. Hence, I
never could chat with Min, as I had done at the decorations; and,
naturally, I felt very much aggrieved thereanent.

What made it additionally provoking to me was, that Horner had contrived
to get introduced to Mrs Clyde almost as soon as she had settled in the
place, before I had returned from Paris; and there was Mr Mawley the
curate, too, exercising the privilege of his cloth by continually
frequenting her house. He drove me to desperation by going in and out,
apparently just as the fancy suited him, as if he were a tame cat about
the pl