ld
fain turn into the channel of their pastoral duties, often expressing a
wish to see it expended in a diligent superintendence of the schools,
and in frequent visits to the sick of their respective parishes. But the
youthful Levites feel this to be dull work; they prefer lavishing their
energies on a course of proceeding which, though to other eyes it appear
more heavy with _ennui_, more cursed with monotony, than the toil of
the weaver at his loom, seems to yield them an unfailing supply of
enjoyment and occupation.

I allude to a rushing backwards and forwards, amongst themselves, to and
from their respective lodgings--not a round, but a triangle of visits,
which they keep up all the year through, in winter, spring, summer, and
autumn. Season and weather make no difference; with unintelligible zeal
they dare snow and hail, wind and rain, mire and dust, to go and dine,
or drink tea, or sup with each other. What attracts them it would be
difficult to say. It is not friendship, for whenever they meet they
quarrel. It is not religion--the thing is never named amongst them;
theology they may discuss occasionally, but piety--never. It is not the
love of eating and drinking: each might have as good a joint and
pudding, tea as potent, and toast as succulent, at his own lodgings, as
is served to him at his brother's. Mrs. Gale, Mrs. Hogg, and Mrs.
Whipp--their respective landladies--affirm that "it is just for naught
else but to give folk trouble." By "folk" the good ladies of course mean
themselves, for indeed they are kept in a continual "fry" by this system
of mutual invasion.

Mr. Donne and his guests, as I have said, are at dinner; Mrs. Gale waits
on them, but a spark of the hot kitchen fire is in her eye. She
considers that the privilege of inviting a friend to a meal
occasionally, without additional charge (a privilege included in the
terms on which she lets her lodgings), has been quite sufficiently
exercised of late. The present week is yet but at Thursday, and on
Monday Mr. Malone, the curate of Briarfield, came to breakfast and
stayed dinner; on Tuesday Mr. Malone and Mr. Sweeting of Nunnely came to
tea, remained to supper, occupied the spare bed, and favoured her with
their company to breakfast on Wednesday morning; now, on Thursday, they
are both here at dinner, and she is almost certain they will stay all
night. "C'en est trop," she would say, if she could speak French.

Mr. Sweeting is mincing the slice of