that Father
Storm will recover from the irritation natural to his eviction----'"

"Aye, we can all get over another body's disappointment, laddie."

"'But there is a danger that in this instance the altruism of the time
may develop a sentimentality not entirely good for public morals----'"

"When the ox is down there are lots of butchers, ye ken!"

"'With the uses to which the fabric is to be converted, it is no part of
our purpose to deal, further than to warn the public not to lend an ear
to the all too prurient purity of the amateur moralist; but considering
the character of the work now carried on in Soho, no doubt with the best
intentions----'"

"Aye, aye, it's easy to steal the goose and give the giblets in alms."

"'----it behooves us to consider if the community is not to be
congratulated on its speedy and effectual ending. Father Storm is a young
man of some talents and social position, but without any special
experience or knowledge of the world--in fact a weak, oversanguine, and
rather foolish fanatic----'"

"Oh, aye, he's down; down with him!"

"'----and therefore it is monstrous that he should be allowed to subvert
the order of social life or disturb the broad grounds of the reasonable
and the practical----'"

"Never mind. High winds only blaw on high hills, laddie!"

"'----As for the "fallen sister" whom he has taken under his special care,
we confess to a feeling that too much sympathy has been wasted on her
already. Her feet take hold of hell, her house is the way of the grave,
going down to the chamber of death----'"

Mrs. Callender leaped to her feet. "That's the 'deacon-man; I ken the
cloven hoof!"

John Storm had flung the paper away. "What a cowardly world it is!" he
said. "But God wins in the end, and by God he shall!"

"Tut, man! don't tak' on like that. You can't climb the Alps on
roller-skates, you see! But as for the Archdeacon, pooh! I'm no windy
aboot your 'Sisters' and 'Settlements' and sic like, but if there had
been society papers in the Lord's time, Simon the Pharisee would have
been a namby-pamby critic compared to some of them."

A moment afterward she was looking out of the window and holding up both
hands. "My gracious! It's himsel'! It's the Prime Minister!"

A gaunt old gentleman with a meagre mustache, wearing a broad-brimmed hat
and unfashionable black clothes, was stepping up to the door.

"Yes, it's my uncle!" said John, and the old lady fled out of the room t