“Beware of him, Mrs Tomkins,” I continued, “he is an impostor, a disgrace to mankind, and to the faith which he professes.”

“What do you mean by that, you impertinent young man?” said Mrs Tomkins, her blood rising to her face, herself rising from her chair.  “I should have thought that a man who had been so recently expelled from his church would have had more decency.  A pretty person you must be, to bring a charge of this kind against so good a creature as that.”

“No, do not say dat,” interposted Stanny; “I am not goot.  I am a brute beast.”

“Mr Tomkins,” continued the lady, “I don’t know what object that person has in disturbing the peace of our family, or why he comes here at all to-night.  He is a mischief-making, hardened young man, or he would never have come to what he has.  Well, I’m sure—­What will Satan put into his head next!”

“I vould vish you be not angry.  Der young gentleman is, I dare say, vary goot at heart.  He is labouring under de deloosions.”

“Mr Levisohn, pardon me, I am not.  Proofs exist, and I can bring them to convict you.”

“Do you hear that, Mr Tomkins.  Were you ever insulted so before?  Are you master in your own house?”

“What shall I do?” said Jehu, trembling with excitement at the door.

“Do!  What!  Give him his hat, turn him out.”

“Oh, my dear goot Christian friends,” said Mr Levisohn, imploringly; “de booels of der Christian growls ven he shees dese sights; vot is de goot of to fight?  It is shtoopid.  Let me be der peacemaker.  Der yong man has been drink, perhaps.  I forgive him from te bottom of my heart.  If ve quarrel ve fight.  If ve fight ve lose every ting.

    ’So Samson, ven his hair vos lost,
    Met the Philistines to his cost,
    Shook his vain limbs in shad shurprise,
    Made feeble fight, and lost his eyes.’”

“Mr Tomkins,” I exclaimed, “I court inquiry, I can obtain proofs.”

“We want none of your proofs, you backslider,” cried the deaconess.

“Madam, you”——­

“Get out of the house, ambassador of Satan!  Mr Tomkins, will you tell him instantly to go?”

“Go!” squealed Tomkins from the door, not advancing an inch.

I seized my hat, and left the table.

“You will be sorry for this, sir,” said I; “and you, madam”——­

“Don’t talk to me, you bad man.  If you don’t go this minute I’ll spring the rattle and have up the watchmen.”

I did not attempt to say another word.  I left the room, and hurried from the house.  I had hardly shut the street door before it was violently opened again, and the head of Mr Levisohn made itself apparent.

“Go home,” exclaimed that gentleman, “and pray to be shaved, you shtoopid ass.”