"Whenever Mrs. Ranby had a petty inclination to gratify, she had always recourse to what she called the _leadings of Providence_. In matters of no more moment than whether she should drink tea with one neighbor instead of another, she was _impelled_, or _directed_, or _overruled_. I observed that she always took care to interpret these _leadings_ to her own taste, and under their sanction she always did what her fancy led her to do. She professed to follow this guidance on such minute occasions, that I had almost said her piety seemed a little impious. To the actual dispensations of Providence, especially when they came in a trying or adverse shape, I did not observe more submission than I had seen in persons who could not be suspected of religion. I must own to you also, that as I am rather fastidious, I began to fancy that vulgar language, quaint phrases, and false grammar, were necessarily connected with religion. The sacrifice of taste and elegance, seemed indispensable, and I was inclined to fear that if _they_ were right, it would be impossible to get to heaven with good English." "Though I grant there is some truth in your remarks, sir," said I, "you must allow that when men are determined at all events to hunt down religious characters, they are never at a loss to find plausible objections to justify their dislike; and while they conceal, even from themselves, the real motive of their aversion, the vigilance with which they pry into the characters of men who are reckoned pious, is exercised with the secret hope of finding faults enough to confirm their prejudices." "As a general truth, you are perfectly right," said Mr. Carlton; "but at the period to which I allude, I had now got to that stage of my progress, as to be rather searching for instances to invite than to repel me in my inquiry." "You will grant, however," said I, "that it is a common effect of prejudice to transfer the fault of a religious man to religion itself. Such a man happens to have an uncouth manner, an awkward gesture, an unmodulated voice; his allusions may be coarse, his phraseology quaint, his language slovenly. The solid virtues which may lie disguised under these incumbrances go for nothing. The man is absurd, and therefore Christianity is ridiculous. Its truth, however, though it may be eclipsed, can not be extinguished. Like its divine Author, it is the same yesterday, to-day, and forever."