“Yes, it is essentially the nature of woman’s religion, to seek to expand itself, pour itself out on some visible object. Hence has sprung the influence which, in every system, the clergy attained over the female world. It matters little whether it is the priest in the confessional, or the Presbyterian minister in his congregation. The degree of power may differ occasionally, but its source is the same; and where weak heads and lively feelings meet, the result is perpetually an effervescing enthusiasm, often troublesome and unsatisfactory at the time, and liable to wear itself out, leaving deadness and flatness behind it.” “You are hard upon us.” “Am I? I do not mean to be unjust: and though I admit there is a great deal of folly exhibited by those who are guilty of this idolatry, I respect it in comparison with what I feel toward those idols who consciously encourage the worship. I should not choose to express my opinion of those men, who, taking advantage of this feminine peculiarity gratify their vanity, or indulge their love of excitement, by winning, under the cover of religious instruction, affections which they never intended to justify. My words would shock you!” “Are such things done, out of books and plays? in real life?” “Are they not? but you, dearest, can but little answer such a question; and the flagrant examples which come beneath one’s own knowledge, are not what one can quote or repeat. Suppose you were to call Gwyneth in at this moment. Can you not make an excuse for interrupting that eternal wandering under the trees?” “Oh, yes, I really want her, and I, too, am wasting my time here; there are some things to be looked out for Maurice, which you ought to have to pack up. Would you tell her, please?” Accordingly, Gwyneth was summoned into the house, and Captain Hepburn joined the young clergyman on the lawn. “How beautiful this place looks under a setting sun,” observed the former, gazing round. “Yes――pretty well. I shall make a great change, though, if ever it is mine. Many of these trees must come down, and the flower-garden must be modernized; it is in wretched taste.” “It seems to me to suit well with the house; are you a gardener!” inquired Captain Hepburn. “Not personally in the least; but I like to have things nice, only somebody must do the work for me; I know nothing of details,” replied Mr. Ufford. “I always think a practical knowledge and love of gardening, give a certain reality and sincerity to a man’s character, which is singularly useful; especially in your profession, Mr. Ufford.”