"My dear Caroline," said Sir John, "it is our money, not theirs. It is, I fear, a cheap liberality, and abridges not themselves of one enjoyment. They well know we are so pleased to see them charitable that we shall instantly repay them with interest whatever they give away, so that we have hitherto afforded them no opportunity to show their actual dispositions. Nay, I begin to fear that they may become charitable through covetousness, if they find out that the more they give the more they shall get. We must correct this artificial liberality as soon as we get home." CHAPTER XXX. A few days after, Sir John Belfield and I agreed to take a ride to Mr. Carlton's, where we breakfasted. Nothing could be more rational than the whole turn of his mind, nor more agreeable and unreserved than his conversation. His behavior to his amiable wife was affectionately attentive, and Sir John, who is a most critical observer, remarked that it was quite natural and unaffected. It appeared to be the result of esteem inspired by her merit, and quickened by a sense of his own former unworthiness, which made him feel as if he could never do enough to efface the memory of past unkindness. He manifested evident symptoms of a mind earnestly intent on the discovery and pursuit of moral and religious truth; and from the natural ardor of his character, and the sincerity of his remorse, his attainments seemed likely to be rapid and considerable. The sweet benignity of Mrs. Carlton's countenance was lighted up at our entrance with a smile of satisfaction. We had been informed with what pleasure she observed every accession of right-minded acquaintance which her husband made. Though her natural modesty prevented her from introducing any subject herself, yet when any thing useful was brought forward by others, she promoted it by a look compounded of pleasure and intelligence. After a variety of topics had been dispatched, the conversation fell on the prejudices which were commonly entertained by men of the world against religion. "For my own part," said Mr. Carlton, "I must confess that no man had ever more or stronger prejudices to combat than myself. I mean not my own exculpation when I add, that the imprudence, the want of judgment, and, above all, the incongruous mixtures and inconsistencies in many characters who are reckoned religious, are ill calculated to do away the unfavorable opinions of men of an opposite way of thinking. As I presume that you, gentlemen, are not ignorant of the errors of my early life--error indeed is an appellation far too mild--I shall not scruple to own to you the source of those prejudices which retarded my progress, even after I became ashamed of my deviations from virtue. I had felt the turpitude of my bad habits long before I had courage to renounce them; and I renounced them long before I had courage to avow my abhorrence of them."