He declared himself in readiness, and the twain set forth. The
outward behavior of Stevens was very exemplary. He had that morning
contrived to alter his costume in some respects to suit the situation
of affairs. For example, he had adopted that slavish affectation
which seems to insist that a preacher of God should always wear
a white cravat, so constructed and worn as to hide the tips of
his shirt collar. If they wore none, they would look infinitely
more noble, and we may add, never suffer from bronchitis. In his
deportment, Stevens was quite as sanctified as heart could wish.
He spoke always deliberately, and with great unction. If he had to
say "cheese and mousetrap," he would look very solemn, shake his
head with great gravity and slowness, and then deliberately and
equally emphasizing every syllable, would roll forth the enormous
sentence with all the conscious dignity of an ancient oracle. That
"cheese and mousetrap," so spoken, acquired in the ears of the hearer,
a degree of importance and signification, which it confounded them
to think they had never perceived before in the same felicitous
collocation of syllables. John Cross was not without his vanities.
Who is? Vanity is quite as natural as any other of our endowments.
It is a guaranty for amiability. A vain man is always a conciliatory
one. He is kind to others, because the approbation of others is a
strong desire in his mind. Accordingly, even vanity is not wholly
evil. It has its uses.

John Cross had his share, and Alfred Stevens soon discovered that
he ministered to it in no small degree. The good old preacher took
to himself the credit of having effected his conversion, so far as
it had gone. It was his hand that had plucked the brand from the
burning. He spoke freely of his protege, as well before his face as