“Well, immediately below the Saint hangs a small painting of Uncle Joshua, in white stockings, cocked hat, and coat of maroon velvet, the poor gentleman’s favorite dress.

“‘Ah!’ said Mrs. Hunesley, with her eyes fixed upon the Saint, ’quite a fine portrait!’

“‘Why, yes,’ said my brother, naturally supposing she meant the small picture below, ’a very fine portrait, and a capital likeness of my Uncle Joshua.’

“‘Indeed!’ said the lady, with a well-bred effort to conceal her surprise; ‘he was taken in a—­a—­fancy dress, I suppose.’

“‘On the contrary, it was his ordinary costume,’ insisted the Colonel.  ’I can remember him walking up the broad-aisle at church, dressed just as you see him there.’

“’I should not have thought it would have been allowed!  Did not the deacons turn him out?’ exclaimed Mrs. Hunesley, in great astonishment.

“’Turn him out!  Why, Madam, he was a deacon himself, and the most popular man in the parish.’

“’Well, I had no idea that such things had ever been permitted in this country!  I should have supposed that the fear of such an example on the young would have induced people to keep him in confinement.’

“‘Good heavens, Madam!’ remonstrated the Colonel, roused to a desperate vindication of the family-honor, ’let me tell you that his excellent influence on the young was the crowning virtue of his character.  He used to go about town with his pockets filled with nuts and gingerbread to reward them when they were good.’

“‘It is enough,’ replied the lady; ’our views of propriety are so totally different that we will not pursue the subject.  I will only say that—­really—­in that dress, I don’t see where he could have had any pockets!’”

Deacon Reyner laughed heartily at these strictures upon the proprieties of his predecessor, and said,—­

“Of course, the last remark must have brought about an explanation.”

“Why, yes,” said Colonel Prowley; “but when we see how slight an accident resolved the mystery, we should receive with doubt much of the personal scandal which is tossing about the world.”

The clergyman assented very cordially to this proposition, and added, that it was a reflection that those of his flock then present would do well to bear in mind that very evening at Doctor Dastick’s bone-party.

I confess to being a little startled at the spectral name of this entertainment, and began to puzzle myself whether the Doctor gave a levee to rapping spirits, or moralized over the skulls in his collection, like Hamlet in the church-yard.  Miss Hurribattle seemed wandering in the mazes of a similar perplexity, and finally said,—­

“What is a bone-party?  Is it given out of compliment to the dead or the living?”

“Nay,” said the Deacon, “I don’t see how it could be much of a compliment to the dead.”

“Except upon the principle, De mortuis nil, nisi bone ’em!” suggested Miss Hurribattle, with such perfect gravity that neither Miss Prowley nor the clergyman suspected the jocular atrocity that was hidden in her speech.