n　to　make　handsome　gifts　to　missionary　societies；　and　to　his　own　meeting　in　the　town。　If　I　do　not　mistake；　he　gave；　unsolicited；　a　sum　to　our　building　fund；　which　my　Father　afterwards　returned。　But　in　process　of　time　we　heard　that　the　son　had　come　back　from　the　Antipodes；　and　was　making　investigations。　Before　we　knew　where　we　were；　the　news　burst　upon　us；　like　a　bomb…shell；　that　Mr。　Dormant　had　been　arrested　on　a　criminal　charge　and　was　now　in　jail　at　Exeter。
  Sympathy　was　at　first　much　extended　amongst　us　to　the　prisoner。　But　it　was　lessened　when　we　understood　that　the　old　gentleman　had　been　'converted'　while　under　Dormant's　roof；　and　had　given　the　fact　that　his　son　was　'an　unbeliever'　as　a　reason　for　disinheriting　him。　All　doubt　was　set　aside　when　it　was　divulged；　under　pressure；　by　the　nurse　who　attended　on　the　old　gentleman；　herself　one　of　the　'saints'；　that　Dormant　had　traced　the　signature　to　the　will　by　drawing　the　fingers　of　the　testator　over　the　document　when　he　was　already　and　finally　comatose。
  My　Father；　setting　aside　by　a　strong　effort　of　will　the　repugnance　which　he　felt；　visited　the　prisoner　in　gaol　before　this　final　evidence　had　been　extracted。　When　he　returned　he　said　that　Dormant　appeared　to　be　enjoying　a　perfect　confidence　of　heart；　and　had　expressed　a　sense　of　his　joy　and　peace　in　the　Lord；　my　Father　regretted　that　he　had　not　been　able　to　persuade　him　to　admit　any　error；　even　of　judgement。　But　the　prisoner's　attitude　in　the　dock；　when　the　facts　were　proved；　and　not　by　him　denied；　was　still　more　extraordinary。　He　could　be　induced　to　exhibit　no　species　of　remorse；　and；　to　the　obvious　anger　of　the　judge　himself；　stated　that　he　had　only　done　his　duty　as　a　Christian；　in　preventing　this　wealth　from　coming　into　the　hands　of　an　ungodly　man；　who　would　have　spent　it　in　the　service　of　the　flesh　and　of　the　devil。　Sternly　reprimanded　by　the　judge；　he　made　the　final　statement　that　at　that　very　moment　he　was　conscious　of　his　Lord's　presence；　in　the　dock　at　his　side；　whispering　to　him　'Well　done；　thou　good　and　faithful　servant！'　In　this　frame　of　conscience；　and　with　a　glowing　countenance；　he　was　hurried　away　to　penal　servitude。
  This　was　a　very　painful　incident；　and　it　is　easy　to　see　how　compromising；　how　cruel；　it　was　in　its　effect　upon　our　communion；　what　occasion　it　gave　to　our　enemies　to　blaspheme。　No　one；　in　either　meeting；　could　or　would　raise　a　voice　to　defend　Mr。　Dormant。　We　had　to　bow　our　heads　when　we　met　our　enemies　in　the　gate。　The　blow　fell　more　heavily　on　the　meeting　of　which　he　had　been　a　prominent　and　communicating　member；　but　it　fell　on　us　too；　and　my　Father　felt　it　severely。　For　many　years　he　would　never　mention　the　man's　name；　and　he　refused　all　discussion　of　the　incident。
  Yet　I　was　never　sure；　and　I　am　not　sure　now；　that　the　wretched　being　was　a　hypocrite。　There　are　as　many　vulgar　fanatics　as　there　are　distinguished　ones；　and　I　am　not　convinced　that　Dormant；　coarse　and　narrow　as　he　was；　may　not　have　sincerely　believed　that　it　was　better　for　the　money　to　be　used　in　religious　propaganda　than　in　the　pleasures　of　the　world；　of　which　he　doubtless　formed　a　very　vague　idea。　On　this　affair　I　meditated　much；　and　it　awakened　in　my　mind；　for　the　first　time；　a　doubt　whether　our　exclusive　system　of　ethics　was　an　entirely　salutary　one；　if　it　could　lead　the　conscience　of　a　believer　to　tolerate　such　acts　as　these；　acts　which　my　Father　himself　had　denounced　as　dishonourable　and　disgraceful。
  My　stepmother　brought　with　her　a　little　library　of　such　books　as　we　had　not　previously　seen；　but　which　yet　were　known　to　all　the　world　except　us。　Prominent　among　these　was　a　set　of　the　poems　of　Walter　Scott；　and　in　his　unwonted　geniality　and　provisional　spirit　of　compromise；　my　Father　must　do　no　less　than　read　these　works　aloud　to　my　stepmother　in　the　quiet　spring　evenings。　This　was　a　sort　of　aftermath　of　courtship；　a　tribute　of　song　to　his　bride；　very　sentimental　and　pretty。　She　would　sit；　sedately；　at　her　workbox；　while　he；　facing　her；　poured　forth　the　verses　at　her　like　a　blackbird。　I　was　not　considered　in　this　arrangement；　which　was　wholly　matrimonial；　but　I　was　present；　and　the　exercise　made　more　impression　upon　me　than　it　did　upon　either　of　the　principal　agents。My　Father　read　the　verse　admirably；　with　a　full；some　people　（but　not　I）　might　say　with　a　too　fullperception　of　the　metre　as　well　as　of　the　rhythm；　rolling　out　the　rhymes；　and　glorying　in　the　proper　names。　He　began；　and　it　was　a　happy　choice；　with　'The　Lady　of　the　Lake'。　It　gave　me　singular　pleasure　to　hear　his　large　voice　do　justice　to　'Duncrannon'　and　'Cambus…　Kenneth'；　and　wake　the　echoes　with　'Rhoderigh　Vich　Alphine　dhu；　ho！　ieroe！'　I　almost　gasped　with　excitement；　while　a　shudder　floated　down　my　backbone；　when　we　came　to：
  A　sharp　and　shrieking　echo　gave；　Coir…Uriskin；　thy　goblin　cave！　And　the　grey　pass　where　birches　wave；　On　Beala…nam…bo；
  a　passage　which　seemed　to　me　to　achieve　the　ideal　of　sublime　romance。　My　thoughts　were　occupied　all　day　long　with　the　adventures　of　Fitzjames　and　the　denizens　of　Ellen's　Isle。　It　became　an　obsession；　and　when　I　was　asked　whether　I　remembered　the　name　of　the　cottage　where　the　minister　of　the　Bible　Christians　lodged；　I　answered；　dreamily；　'Yes；Bealanambo。'
  Seeing　me　so　much　fascinated；　thrown　indeed　into　a　temporary　frenzy；　by　the　epic　poetry　of　Sir　Walter　Scott；　my　stepmother　asked　my　Father　whether　I　might　not　start　reading　the　Waverley　Novels。　But　he　refused　to　permit　this；　on　the　ground　that　those　tales　gave　false　and　disturbing　pictures　of　life；　and　would　lead　away　my　attention　from　heavenly　things。　I　do　not　fully　apprehend　what　distinction　he　drew　between　the　poems；　which　he　permitted；　and　the　novels；　which　he　refused。　But　I　suppose　he　regarded　a　work　in　verse　as　more　artificial；　and　therefore　less　likely　to　make　a　realistic　impression；　than　one　in　prose。　There　is　something　quaint　in　the　conscientious　scruple　which　allows　The　Lord　of　the　Isles　and　excludes　Rob　Roy。
  But　stranger　still；　and　amounting　almost　to　a　whim；　was　his　sudden　decision　that；　although　I　might　not　touch　the　novels　of　Scott；　I　was　free　to　read　those　of　Dickens。　I　recollect　that　my　stepmother　showed　some　surprise　at　this；　and　that　my　Father　explained　to　her　that　Dickens　'exposes　the　passion　of　love　in　a　ridiculous　light。'　She　did　not　seem　to　follow　this　recommendation；　which　indeed　tends　to　the　ultra…subtle；　but　she　procured　for　me　a　copy　of　Pickwick；　by　which　I　was　instantly　and　gloriously　enslaved。　My　shouts　of　laughing　at　the　richer　passages　were　almost　scandalous；　and　led　to　my　being　reproved　for　disturbing　my　Father　while　engaged；　in　an　upper　room；　in　the　study　of　God's　Word。　I　must　have　expended　months　on　the　perusal　of　Pickwick；　for　I　used　to　rush　through　a　chapter；　and　then　read　it　over　again　very　slowly；　word　for　word；　and　then　shut　my　eyes　to　realize　the　figures　and　the　action。
  I　suppose　no　child　will　ever　again　enjoy　that　rapture　of　unresisting　humorous　appreciation　of　'Pickwick'。　I　felt　myself　to　be　in　the　company　of　a　gentleman　so　extremely　funny　that　I　began　to　laugh　before　he　began　to　speak；　no　sooner　did　he　remark　'the　sky　was　dark　and　gloomy；　the　air　was　damp　and　raw；'　than　I　was　in　fits　of　hilarity。　My　retirement　in　our　sequestered　corner　of　life　made　me；　perhaps；　even　in　this　matter；　somewhat　old…fashioned；　and　possibly　I　was　the　latest　of　the　generation　who　accepted　Mr。　Pickwick　with　an　unquestioning　and　hysterical　abandonment。　Certainly　few　young　people　now　seem　sensitive；　as　I　was；　and　as　thousands　before　me　had　been；　to　the　quality　of　his　fascination。
  It　was　curious　that　living　in　a　household　where　a　certain　delicate　art　of　painting　was　diligently　cultivated；　I　had　yet　never　seen　a　real　picture；　and　was　scarcely　familiar　with　the　design　of　one　in　engraving。　My　stepmother；　however；　brought　a　flavour　of　the　fine　arts　with　her；　a　kind　of　aesthetic　odour；　like　that　of　lavender；　clung　to　her　as　she　moved。　She　had　known　authentic　artists　in　her　youth；　she　had　watched　Old　Crome　painting；　and　had　taken　a　course　of　drawing…lessons　from　no　less　a　person　than　Cotman。　She　painted　small　watercolour　landscapes　herself；　with　a　delicate　economy　of　means　and　a　graceful　Norwich　convention；　her　sketch…books　were　filled　with　abbeys　gently　washed　in；　river…banks　in　sepia　by　which　the　elect　might　be　dimly　reminded　of　Liber　Studiorum；　and　woodland　scenes　over　which　the　ghost　of　Creswick　had　faintly　breathed。　It　was　not　exciting　art；　but　it　was；　so　far　as　it　went；　in　its　lady…like　reserve；　the　real　thing。　Our　seaanemones；　our　tropic　birds；　our　bits　of　spongy　rock　filled　and　sprayed　with　corallines；　had　been　very　conscientious　and　skilful；　but；　essentially；　so　far　as　art　was　concerned；　the　wrong　thing。
  Thus　I　began　to　acquire；　without　understanding　the　value　of　it；　some　conception　of　the　elegant　phases　of　early　English　watercolour　painting；　and　there　was　one　singular　piece　of　a　marble　well　brimming　with　water；　and　a　greyish…blue　sky　over　it；　and　dark…green　poplars；　shaped　like　wet　brooms；　menacing　the　middle　distance；　which　Cotman　himself　had　painted；　and　this　seemed　beautiful　and　curious　to　me　in　its　dim；　flat　frame；　when　it　was　hoisted　to　a　place　on　our　drawing…room　wall。
  But　still　I　had　never　seen　a　subject…picture；　although　my　stepmother