It comes, the beautiful, the free,
     The crown of all humanity,
     In silence and alone. 
     To seek the elected one.

Mr. Perrowne was struck with these verses, and, taking out his note book, begged that his companion would repeat them, as he recorded their sublime sentiment for future use.  They then proceeded to eulogize Miss Du Plessis, of whom the parson formed a very high estimate, which he qualified by the statement that, were he not in holy orders, he would say Miss Fanny Halbert was more fun and ever so much jollier.  Mr. Wilkinson really could not say, speaking conscientiously and without reserve, that he regarded jollity as an essential element in true womanhood.  In his estimation it sank the peculiar grace and sacred dignity of the sex too nearly to a level with ordinary prosaic humanity.  Mr. Perrowne concurred in a measure, but thought it was awfully nice for men of serious occupations, like the dominie and himself, to have somebody to liven them up a little; not too much, down’t you know, but just enough to dispel the blues.  The lawyer interrogated Toner.  “Well, Ben, have you got any news of your young lady?”

“Yaas, Doctor.”

“Never mind calling me doctor, Ben, because I’m not one yet.  My name is Coristine.”

“Then, Mr. Corsten, I heern from old man Newcome as Serlizer’s out in that there Slec Camp in the laiuks.  She’s cookin’ for twainty dollars a month, and that’s tarble good wages for gals, ef so be she gets her money all right.”

“Not a very nice place for a good girl to be, Ben.”

“No, it ain’t; log roll and timber slide the hull consarn.”

“These are queer expressions you’ve got.”

“Yaas, Mr. Corsten, I waynt and promised that there priest as looked like Mr. Nash, guaiss it must ha’ bin his brother, as I wouldn’t sweaur no moer.  And now, it keeps my mind workin’ mornin’ and night, so’st to know what to spit out when I’m raiul mad and hoppen.”

“It must be quite an anxiety to you, Ben.”

“Anxiety?  It’s wearin’ my life away.  I’ve got a bit of a rest jest now on loggin’ and lumberin’, but them words ’ll soon be used up.”

“What’s to hinder you repeating them, or leaving them out altogether?  I hardly ever feel the need of them.”

“It’s the way you’re broughten up, like your food.  What ’ud do you for dinner, wouldn’t be nigh enough for me.  Same ways in speakin’, they must be something to fill your talk out.”

“Swearing is a poor business, Ben.  Our Saviour, when He was on earth, said, Swear not at all.”

“Is that in the Bible, Mr. Corsten?”

“Yes.”

“Wall, it may be in some, but t’aint in the one Sylvanus was readin’ to old man Newcome, fer that says in black and white as Jesus cussed the barrn fig tree, and I’d laike to know what’s odds between cussin’ and swearin’.  It stands to reason and natur that He wouldn’t go and tell folks not to do things He did Himself; don’t it?”