I jestingly pleaded the familiar proverb about fools and dead men, and observed that there was great obscurity surrounding the real sources of evil in our social life.

“I once thought as you do,” said the lady; “but, from my constant association with philosophical minds like those of Mrs. Romulus and Mr. Stellato, much has been made clear to me.  They have devoted their lives to the study of modern civilization, and are skilful in the nice adaptation of remedies to all public disorders.”

“How long have you known these two persons?” I asked.

“They came to Foxden about a month ago.  I had then organized the Temperance movement among the school-children, and devised a scheme for furnishing employment to drunkards who would make an effort to reform.  But these more worthy guides of humanity soon reduced matters to first principles.  They showed that all Moderate Drinkers and the Church which sustains them must be exposed and denounced.  They have done a great work, as you see.  Only a few people in Foxden have dared to stand against them.  Deacon Greenlaw, one of the most obstinate cases, has just yielded to their persevering treatment.”

The rain at length stopped.

Many persons who had appeared in the procession straggled in, looking rather sheepish.  The singing, indeed, had failed; but the supper was in prospect.

Stellato was at high-pressure, and ready to lead his adventurous Gladiators into the very camp of the enemy.  Mrs. Romulus, wholly above the prejudices of the toilet, would stay and bear him company.

Miss Hurribattle, not having cast out that “clothes-devil” against which the old theologians used to warn her sex, wished to return to her boarding-house.  It being by this time dark, or nearly so, I offered to see her home.  Mr. Clifton volunteered to accompany us.

“The Deacon’s cider-mill is smoking after all this drenching!” exclaimed Mrs. Widesworth.

“The torches of the Bacchantes, when flung into the Tiber, were said still to burn,” observed Professor Owlsdarck, after rummaging about a little for an historical parallel.  “And here we seem to find a point where the modern enthusiasm for water and the ancient fervor for wine tend to like results.”

Colonel Prowley was peculiarly interested,—­so much so, indeed, that he shook hands with us absently.  Mrs. Widesworth was profuse in entreaties, and then in hearty farewells.

We walked up the street.

A spring freshness was in that autumn evening.  The air was purified by the storm, as society is purified after a tempestuous feeling has blown through it.