The village Dorcas was that happy neutral ground where the various ranks of society met on an equality. Here might be seen the three good-looking and well-educated daughters of the local draper. Nice girls these, but under the baleful shadow, the bitter blight of trade. For country places are very conservative: the squire looks down on the yeoman, the doctor and the lawyer, all three of whom consider themselves considerably taller in social stature than the tenant farmer, who in his turn will eat no bread and drink no water in the houses of those Rechabites, the tradesmen. All these people, however, join in despising the rich stockbroker who has recently purchased the pretentious place which he calls "The Park;" the gates of which are almost celestial, being of bright gilded iron work. The unfortunate inhabitant of "The Park," notwithstanding his well-appointed barouche and his men in livery, is but a pariah. For not a year ago, till the big corner occurred in Mex. Rails in which he made his pile, little Sleek, of Sleek and Dabbler, of Throgmorton Street, had "been to business" every morning. Sleek now passes his time in good works, he takes a great interest in local affairs, and, unless he flings the whole matter up in a rage, he may yet become a justice of the peace. Sleek finds it far harder work than fortune-making; but he pursues his Will-o'-the-Wisp with untiring energy. So do we all. It is for this, that Sleek contributes so liberally to the local charities. It is for this, that the two Misses Sleek, clad in shining raiment of needlework, are seated at the big table, pursuing the unromantic occupation of hemming huckaback towels of a more than Spartan coarseness. But something has been already gained by the monthly martyrdom; Mrs. Dodd and her sister-in-law the ethereal Anastatia address them as "dear," and they have a bowing acquaintance, which they energetically attempt to increase, with, the Misses Warrender. Within this charmed circle the veterinary surgeon's womankind and the grocer's daughters also dare to tread, but they are there merely on sufferance. The line must be drawn somewhere, and the vicar's wife, as did her predecessor, drew it at that man of blood, the harmless Kubble, the local butcher. He and the rest of those shut out from Paradise sought their enjoyment, and a perhaps more congenial society, at those buttery banquets, the tea meetings of the local Little Bethel. Thus, as in most country places, Dissent was at a premium among the humbler classes, and possibly the continued assertion of their position by the clergy of the State has had a good deal to do with the spread of Dissent in other villages than King's Warren.