“It had been advertised that I was to preach at that church, and at an early hour it was crowded, packed. As I entered the church and led Fanny up the aisle, I do not know whether I was most vain of her or of myself. I know that my heart was swelling with vainglory as I opened the door of one of the front central pews under the pulpit, handed her in, and passed within the altar to my place. I saw from my high post that Fanny divided attention with me from the few who, packed into the end pews, could obtain a view of her. In the end pew nearest the pulpit, on my right hand, I was surprised and flattered to recognise the celebrated B. I had never had him for an auditor before. I observed that he did not seem to see Fanny, who sat immediately in the angle of his vision, notwithstanding _her_ eyes were ever furtively raking him. I was not surprised at this, for to say nothing of his celebrity, he was by far the most distinguished looking man present, both for the striking beauty of his person and the grace and dignity of his attitude and demeanor; but I _was_ slightly surprised that he had not seemed to have seen the vision of loveliness and light that was dazzling all other eyes. These were not proper thoughts for a minister of the gospel in the pulpit, but they were mine; and they produced their bitter fruits, brought about their own punishment. “At the close of the sermon, a few minutes after I had left the pulpit, B. came from his pew, and a mutual friend introduced him to me. My wife was hanging on my arm at the time of this introduction. B. spoke of our village, of General Raymond as having been a valued friend, &c., and of his own intention soon to visit the village. I, like every one else he ever set his eyes upon, was fascinated by his looks and manners. I pressed him to come—and _soon_—and entreated him to come at once to the villa, instead of stopping at a hotel, and to make our house his home, while he should find it convenient or agreeable to honor us with his presence.