The little church has got a new stained window, a saint who reminds me of Hamlet’s uncle,—­a thing “of shreds and patches,” but rather pretty to look at, with an inscription under it which is supposed to be the name of the person in whose honor the window was placed in the church.  Smith was a worthy man and a faithful churchwarden, and I hope posterity will be able to spell out his name on his monumental window; but that old English lettering would puzzle Mephistopheles himself, if he found himself before this memorial tribute, on the inside,—­you know he goes to church sometimes, if you remember your Faust.

The rector has come out, in a quiet way, as an evolutionist.  He has always been rather “broad” in his views, but cautious in their expression.  You can tell the three branches of the mother-island church by the way they carry their heads.  The low-church clergy look down, as if they felt themselves to be worms of the dust; the high-church priest drops his head on one side, after the pattern of the mediaeval saints; the broad-church preacher looks forward and round about him, as if he felt himself the heir of creation.  Our rector carries his head in the broad-church aspect, which I suppose is the least open to the charge of affectation,—­in fact, is the natural and manly way of carrying it.

The Society has justified its name of Pansophian of late as never before.  Lurida has stirred up our little community and its neighbors, so that we get essays on all sorts of subjects, poems and stories in large numbers.  I know all about it, for she often consults me as to the merits of a particular contribution.

What is to be the fate of Lurida?  I often think, with no little interest and some degree of anxiety, about her future.  Her body is so frail and her mind so excessively and constantly active that I am afraid one or the other will give way.  I do not suppose she thinks seriously of ever being married.  She grows more and more zealous in behalf of her own sex, and sterner in her judgment of the other.  She declares that she never would marry any man who was not an advocate of female suffrage, and as these gentlemen are not very common hereabouts the chance is against her capturing any one of the hostile sex.

What do you think?  I happened, just as I was writing the last sentence, to look out of my window, and whom should I see but Lurida, with a young man in tow, listening very eagerly to her conversation, according to all appearance!  I think he must be a friend of the rector, as I have seen a young man like this one in his company.  Who knows?

Affectionately yours, etc.

DR. BUTTS TO MRS. BUTTS.

My beloved wife,—­This letter will tell you more news than you would have thought could have been got together in this little village during the short time you have been staying away from it.