re very clever little sermons, even within these
limitations, and an indifferent spectator would probably have been
surprised to find how much he could make out of them; but still it is
undeniable that a man has less scope, not only for oratory, but for
all that is worthy of regard in human speech, when, instead of the
ever-lasting reciprocations between heaven and earth, he occupies
himself only with a set of ecclesiastical arrangements, however
perfect. The people who went to St Roque's found this out, and so did
Mr Wentworth; but it did not alter the system pursued by the troubled
Curate. Perhaps he gave himself some half-conscious credit for it, as
being against his own interests; for there was no mistaking the
countenance of Miss Leonora, when now and then, on rare occasions, she
came to hear her nephew preach.

All this, however, was confined to St Roque's, where there was a
somewhat select audience, people who agreed in Mr Wentworth's views;
but things were entirely different at Wharfside, where the Perpetual
Curate was not thinking about himself, but simply about his work, and
how to do it best. The bargemen and their wives did not know much
about the Christian year; but they understood the greater matters
which lay beneath: and the women said to each other, sometimes with
tears in their eyes, that there was nothing that the clergyman didn't
make plain; and that if the men didn't do what was right, it was none
o' Mr Wentworth's fault. The young priest indemnified himself in "the
district" for much that vexed him elsewhere. There was no question of
Skelmersdale, or of any moot point there, but only a quantity of
primitive people under the original conditions of humanity, whose
lives might be amended, and consoled, and elevated. That was a matter
about which Mr Wentworth had no doubt. He put on his surplice with
the conviction that in that white ephod the truest embodiment of
Christian purity was brought within sight of the darkened world. He
was not himself, but a Christian priest, with power to deliver and to
bless, when he went to Wharfside.

Easter had been early that year, and Ascension Day was in the
beginning of May, one of those sweet days of early summer which still
occur now and then to prove that the poets were right in all they say
of the tenderest month of the year. Mr Wentworth had done duty at St
Roque's, and afterwards at Wharfside. The sweet day and the sweet
season had moved his heart. He was y