number of people in the theatre, and insisted on knowing if it was
church, because they all sat there in their best clothes so
quietly. She believed that the play was real, and frequently, from
a stage box, interrupted the acting with explanations. She
informed the heroine of the design of the villain waiting at the
wings. And when the aged mother of the heroine was dying of
starvation in a hovel, and she threw a bag of bonbons on the stage,
with the vociferous declaration that "Lord Brownstone had just
given them to her--but--Lordy!--SHE didn't want them," they were
obliged to lead her away, closely followed by an usher and a
policeman. "To think," she wrote to John Gale, "that the audience
only laughed and shouted, and never offered to help! And yet look
at the churches in London, where they dare to preach the gospel!"

Fired by this simple letter, and alarmed by Golly's simplicity,
John Gale went to his clerical chief, Archdeacon Luxury, and
demanded permission to preach next Sunday. "Certainly," said the
Archdeacon; "you shall take my curate's place. I shall inform the
congregation that you are the son of Lord Gale. They are very
particular churchmen--all society people--and of course will be
satisfied with the work of the Lord, especially," he added, with a
polite smile, "when that work happens to be--the Lord Gale's son."
Accordingly, the next Sunday, John Gale occupied the pulpit of St.
Swithin. But an unexpected event happened. His pent-up eagerness
to denounce the present methods of Christianity, his fullness of
utterance, defeated his purpose. He was overcome with a kind of
pulpit fright. His ideas of time and place fled him. After
beginning, "Mr. Chairman, in rising to propose the toast of our
worthy Archdeacon--Fellow Manxmen--the present moment--er--er--the
proudest in my--er--life--Dearly beloved Golly--unaccustomed as I