"I am very partial to your style, Mr. Vincent," said the deacon; "there's just one thing I'd like to observe, sir, if you'll excuse _me_. I'd give 'em a coorse; there's nothing takes like a coorse in our connection. Whether it's on a chapter or a book of Scripture, or on a perticklar doctrine, I'd make a pint of giving 'em a coorse if it was me. There was Mr. Bailey, of Parson's Green, as was so popular before he married--he had a historical coorse in the evenings, and a coorse upon the eighth of Romans in the morning; and it was astonishing to see how they took. I walked over many and many's the summer evening myself, he kep' up the interest so. There ain't a cleverer man in our body, nor wasn't a better liked as he was then." "And now I understand he's gone away--what was the reason?" asked Mr. Vincent. Tozer shrugged his shoulders and shook his head. "All along of the women: they didn't like his wife; and my own opinion is, he fell off dreadful. Last time I heard him, I made up my mind I'd never go back again--me that was such an admirer of his; and the managers found the chapel was falling off, and a deputation waited on him; and, to be sure, he saw it his duty to go." "And, oh, she was so sweetly pretty!" cried Miss Phoebe: "but pray, pray, Mr. Vincent, don't look so pale. If you marry a pretty lady, we'll all be so kind to her! We shan't grudge her our minister; we shall----" Here Miss Phoebe paused, overcome by her emotions. "I do declare there never was such a child," said Mrs. Tozer: "it's none of your business, Phoebe. She's a great deal too feelin', Mr. Vincent. But I don't approve, for my part, of a minister marrying a lady as is too grand for her place, whatever Phoebe may say. It's her that should teach suchlike as us humility and simple ways; and a fine lady isn't no way suitable. Not to discourage you, Mr. Vincent, I haven't a doubt, for my part, that you'll make a nice choice." "I have not the least intention of trying the experiment," said poor Vincent, with a faint smile; then, turning to his deacon, he plunged into the first subject that occurred to him. "Do you know a Mrs. Hilyard in Back Grove Street?" asked the young minister. "I went to see her the other day. Who is she, or where does she belong to, can you tell me?--and which of your great ladies in Carlingford is it," he added, with a little catching of his breath after a momentary pause, "who visits that poor lady? I saw a carriage at her door."