pass without a popular tumult. He had but just assumed the charge of the
establishment for another year, and he knew that Robert Belcher would be
seriously offended, for more reasons than the public knew, or than that
person would be willing to confess. He had never in his life been in
more serious trouble. He hardly tasted his breakfast, and was too crusty
and cross to be safely addressed by any member of his family. Personally
he was not in a condition to range the fields, and when he had received
the reports of the parties who had made the search, he felt that he had
a job to undertake too serious for his single handling.

In the meantime, Mr. Belcher had risen at his leisure, in blissful
unconsciousness of the calamities that had befallen his _protégé_. He
owned a pew in every church in Sevenoaks, and boasted that he had no
preferences. Once every Sunday he went to one of these churches; and
there was a fine flutter throughout the building whenever he and his
family appeared. He felt that the building had received a special honor
from his visit; but if he was not guided by his preferences, he
certainly was by his animosities. If for three or four Sabbaths in
succession he honored a single church by his presence, it was usually to
pay off a grudge against some minister or member of another flock. He
delighted to excite the suspicion that he had at last become attached to
one clergyman, and that the other churches were in danger of being
forsaken by him. It would be painful to paint the popular weakness and
the ministerial jealousy--painful to describe the lack of Christian
dignity--with which these demonstrations of worldly caprice and
arrogance, were watched by pastor and flock.

After the town meeting and the demonstration of the Rev. Solomon Snow,
it was not expected that Mr. Belcher would visit the church of the
latter for some months. During the first Sabbath after this event, there