walked Lawrence Newt with
Amy Waring, and Arthur Merlin with Hope Wayne.

The painter had heard the voice of the Dominie Bogardus, which his fancy
had heard in the air; or was he obeying another Dominie, of a wider
parish, whose voice he heard in his heart? It was not often that the
painter went to church. More frequently, in his little studio at the top
of a house in Fulton Street, he sat smoking meditative cigars during the
Sunday hours; or, if the day were auspicious, even touching his canvas!

In vain his sober friends remonstrated. Aunt Winnifred, with whom he
lived, was never weary of laboring with him. She laid good books upon the
table in his chamber. He returned late at night, often, and found little
tracts upon his bureau, upon the chair in which he usually laid his
clothes when he retired--yes, even upon his pillow. "Aunt Winnifred's
piety leaves its tracts all over my room," he said, smilingly, to
Lawrence Newt.

But when the good lady openly attacked him, and said,

"Arthur, how can you? What will people think? Why don't you go to
church?"

Arthur replied, with entire coolness,

"Aunt Winnifred, what's the use of going to church when Van Boozenberg
goes, and is not in the least discomposed? I'm afraid of the morality of
such a place!"

Aunt Winnifred's eyes dilated with horror. She had no argument to throw
at Arthur in return, and that reckless fellow always had to help her out.

"However, dear aunt, you go; and I suppose you ought to be quite as good
a reason for going as Van Boozenberg for staying away."

After such a conversation it fairly rained tracts in Arthur's room. The
shower was only the signal for fresh hostilities upon his part; but for
all the hostility Aunt Winnifred was not able to believe her nephew to
be a very bad young man.

As he and his friends passed up Broadway toward Chambers Street they met
Abel Newt hastening down to Bunker's to accompany Miss Plumer to Grace
Church. The young man had bathed and entirely refreshed himself during
the hour or two since he had stepped out of Thiel's. There was not a
better-dressed man upon Broadway; and many a hospitable feminine eye
opened to entertain him as long and as much as possible as he passed by.
He had an unusual flush in his cheek and spring in his step. Perhaps he
was excited by the novelty of mixing in a throng of church-goers. He
had not done such a thing since on summer Sunday mornings he used to
stroll with the other boys a