CHAPTER ELEVEN.
JEALOUSY.
Whispering tongues can poison truth; And constancy lives in realms above; And life is thorny, and youth is vain; And to be wroth with one we love, Doth work like madness in the brain! Some weeks after our conversation in the churchyard, I met old Shuffler one day waddling along the Terrace in a state of great excitement.
He told me he was going to an auction, and pressed me to accompany him, that he might have the benefit of my advice and opinion concerning certain objects of "bigotry and virtue," as he styled them, which he designed purchasing--should he be able to get them knocked down cheap.
On asking the reason for such an unwonted outlay on his part, he said that he was about furnishing a new villa for which he had just found a tenant.
"A fresh tenant!" said I with surprise, a newcomer in our suburb being always regarded as a sort of rare bird.

"A fresh tenant! Who is he, or she, or whoever it may be ?" "Well, sir," said Shuffler, "it's a secret as yet; but I don't mind telling you, Mr Lorton, as I know you won't let it out--Mr Mawley, the parsun, has took the villa!" "Mr Mawley!" I exclaimed, with redoubled astonishment.

"Why, what on earth does _he_ want a house for ?" "I believe, sir," said Shuffler, blinking his sound eye furiously the while, to give a facetious effect to his words, "he's agoin' to get married.

So my missus says at least, sir; and she gen'rally knows wot's agoin' on.

Wemmenfolk finds out them things somehow or other!" "Mawley going to be married!" I repeated.