corner. Six wax candles were beaming graciously on cards, tea-cakes
and ratafias; on the pictures of "The First Drive," and "The Orphan's
Dream," the photographic views of Troy from the harbour, the opposite
hill, and one or two other points, and finally the noted oil-painting
of Miss Limpenny's papa as he appeared shortly after preaching an
assize sermon. Above all, the tea-service was there--the famous set
in real silver presented to the late Reverend Limpenny by his flock,
and Miss Priscilla--she at the card-table--wore her best brooch with
a lock of his hair arranged therein as a _fleur-de-lys_.

I wish I could convey to you some of the innocent mirth of those
"evenings" in Troy--those _noctes Limpennianae_ when the ladies
brought their cap-boxes (though the Buzzas and Limpennys were but
semi-detached neighbours), and the Admiral and his wife insisted on
playing against each other, so that the threepenny points never
affected their weekly accounts. Those were happy days when the young
men were not above singing the "Death of Nelson," or joining in a
glee, and arming the young ladies home afterwards. In those days
"Hocken's Slip" had not yet become the "Victoria Quay," and we talked
of the "Rope Walk" where we now say "Marine Parade." Alas! our
tastes have altered with Troy.

Yet we were vastly genteel. We even had our shibboleth, a verdict to
be passed before anything could hope for toleration in Troy.
The word to be pronounced was "CUMEELFO," and all that was not
_Cumeelfo_ was Anathema.

So often did I hear this word from Miss Limpenny's lips that I grew
in time to clothe it with an awful meaning. It meant to me, as
nearly as I can explain, "All Things Sanctioned by the Principles of