“Quite right--so he ought!” agreed the Goblin--“You are getting quite discriminating, Josiah! He ought to be put out of the Church, but who’s going to do it? He isn’t drunk or disorderly! He’s a liar and a hypocrite, and he’s taking his ‘salary’ on false pretences--but there are hundreds--perhaps thousands--like him! Besides, those who live in glass houses shouldn’t throw stones! You’re as bad as he is in your way! You pretend----” “I _have_ pretended----!” said McNason, humbly. The Goblin looked at him, and closed one round eye in a most horrible and portentous wink. “I see!” it observed--“You’re preparing to make a good end! You’re like the Naughty Duchess! Oh, hoo-roo! What a character _she_ was! She went the pace as hard as ever she could till she was quite worn out and could count her crows-feet,--then she began to go to Church regularly, and became publicly charitable. She turned herself into a Bazaar Lady; opened several soup-kitchens, and used to cry over the newest sweet thing in curates. Naughty, naughty Duchess! When she died an eminent Dean preached a sermon about her. She left him five thousand pounds in her will. He said she was ‘one of the noblest women that ever lived.’ And she’s one of us now. Oh hoo-roo! Don’t you try to be like her, McNason!--it doesn’t pay! Come along!--Come and take a look at London!” With a fantastic caper, the Goblin sidled and skipped out of the Abbey, its conical cap glowing like the flame of a will-o’-the-wisp in a dark morass,--while passively, and without any strength to resist its imperious lead, the millionaire followed. In the full radiance of a moon which made the streets as light as day, they presently stood,--and as in a fevered dream, Josiah saw the familiar clock-tower of Westminster, the great square in front of the Houses of Parliament, and the twinkling lamps on the bridge that spans the steely gleam of the river Thames. The dull human roar of the great metropolis thundered in his ears like the rushing of many waters, and while he yet looked on the scene which he knew so well, the Goblin took off its cap and touched his eyes with its tasselled point. “Tick-tock! Tick-tock! Only two thousand years by the Spirit’s clock!” it said. And lo!--the stately tower, buildings and streets disappeared! Smooth green fields spread out on every side, full-flowering with meadow-sweet, buttercups and daisies,--there was no longer any bridge across the river, which, flowing calmly between low banks of mossy turf and fern, reflected the sunshine in a thousand sparkles and plashed against the double shores with musical murmurs of peace. A flock of sheep grazed on the quiet pasture, and their shepherd sat at his ease by the side of the placid stream. And now the Goblin waved its spidery arms. “Ask him,” it said--“what has become of London!” Obediently McNason put the question. The shepherd turned upon him a young wondering face.