The Parish Magazine

It was six o'clock on a winter evening. Mr. Pomeroy, the printer, was on
the point of leaving his office, which was his back room, for his home,
which was his front room, when young Murphy entered. Murphy was an
imperturbable youth with a fat face and sleepy eyes, who had the rare
quality of always doing without question whatever he was told. It is
usually a great virtue--but there are exceptions.

"There are two folk to see you," said Murphy, laying two cards upon the
table.

Mr. Pomeroy glanced at them.

"Mr. Robert Anderson. Miss Julia Duncan. I don't know the names. Well,
show them in."

A long, sad-faced youth entered, accompanied by a mournful young lady,
clad in black. Their appearance was respectable, but depressing.

"I dare say you know this," said the youth, holding up a small,
grey-covered volume, the outer cover of which was ornamented with the
picture of a church. "It's the _St. Olivia's Church Magazine_. What I
mean, it's the Parish Magazine. This lady and I are what you might call
the editors. It has been printed by----"