The next morning Mr. Forester determined on following the mountain road on the other side of the dingle, of which Peter Gray had spoken: but wishing first to make some inquiries of the Reverend Mr. Portpipe, they walked to his vicarage, which was in a village at some distance. Just as they reached it, the reverend gentleman emerged in haste, and seeing Mr. Forester and his friends, said he was very sorry that he could not attend to them just then, as he had a great press of business to dispose of; namely, a christening, a marriage, and a funeral; but he would knock them off as fast as he could, after which he should be perfectly at their service, hoped they would wait in the vicarage till his return, and observed he had good ale and a few bottles of London Particular. He then left them to despatch his affairs in the church. They preferred waiting in the churchyard. ‘A christening, a marriage, and a funeral!’ said Mr. Forester. ‘With what indifference he runs through the whole drama of human life, raises the curtain on its commencement, superintends the most important and eventful action of its progress, and drops the curtain on its close!’ _Mr. Fax._ Custom has rendered them all alike indifferent to him. In every human pursuit and profession the routine of ordinary business renders the mind indifferent to all the forms and objects of which that routine is composed. The sexton ‘sings at grave-making’; the undertaker walks with a solemn face before the coffin, because a solemn face is part of his trade; but his heart is as light as if there were no funeral at his heels: he is quietly conning over the items of his bill, or thinking of the party in which he is to pass his evening; and the reverend gentleman who concludes the process, and consigns to its last receptacle the shell of extinguished intelligence, has his thoughts on the wing of the sports of the field or the jovial board of the Squire. [Illustration: _A great press of business to dispose of._] _Mr. Forester._ Your observation is just. It is this hardening power of custom that gives steadiness to the hand of the surgeon, firmness to the voice of the criminal judge, coolness to the soldier ‘in the imminent deadly breach,’ self-possession to the sailor in the rage of the equinoctial storm. It is under this influence that the lawyer deals out writs and executions as carelessly as he deals out cards at his evening whist; that the gaoler turns the key with the same stern indifference on unfortunate innocence as on hardened villainy; that the venal senator votes away by piecemeal the liberties of his country; and that the statesman sketches over the bottle his series of deliberate schemes for the extinction of human freedom, the enchaining of human reason, and the waste of human life.