I copied it out, and pinned
it on one side of my mantel-piece. On the other I stuck up a chip from
Carlyle, which I daresay is as familiar to you as to me. "One way or
another all the light, energy, and available virtue which we have does
come out of us, and goes very infallibly into God's treasury, living and
working through eternities there. We are not lost--not a single atom
of us--of one of us." Now, there is a religious sentence which is
intellectually satisfying, and therefore morally sound.

This last quotation leads to my second visitor. Such a row we had! I
make a mistake in telling you about it, for I know your sympathies will
be against me; but at least it will have the good effect of making you
boil over into a letter of remonstrance and argument than which nothing
could please me better.

Well, the second person whom I admitted through my door was the High
Church curate of the parish--at least, I deduced High Church from his
collar and the cross which dangled from his watch chain. He seemed to be
a fine upstanding manly fellow--in fact, I am bound in honesty to admit
that I have never met the washy tea-party curate outside the pages of
Punch. As a body, I think they would compare very well in manliness (I
do not say in brains) with as many young lawyers or doctors. Still, I
have no love for the cloth. Just as cotton, which is in itself the most
harmless substance in the world, becomes dangerous on being dipped into
nitric acid, so the mildest of mortals is to be feared if he is once
soaked in sectarian religion. If he has any rancour or hardness in him
it will bring it out. I was therefore by no means overjoyed to see my
visitor, though I trust that I received him with fitting courtesy. The
quick little glance of surprise which he shot round him as he entered my
consulting-room, told me that it was not quite what he had expected.

"You see, the Vicar has been away for two years," he explained, "and
we have to look after things in his absence. His chest is weak, and he
can't stand Birchespool. I live just opposite, and, seeing your plate go
up, I thought I would call and welcome you into our parish."

I told him that I was very much obliged for the attention. If he
had stopped there all would have been well, and we should have had a
pleasant little chat. But I suppose it was his sense of duty which would
not permit it.

"I trust," said he, "that we shall see you at St. Joseph's."

I was compelled to