I have not given to the reader the expletives with which he
adorned his conversation, nor do I intend to do so, for though he,
like others who indulge in the habit of swearing, may have thought
it was both ornamental and emphatic, I don't think so. Besides, I
have hopes that these pages may be read by the young, and I do not
wish to give, even in the conversations which I may transcribe,
anything that is profane or impure; for if I did I might inoculate
their young minds with an evil virus, which I would not knowingly
do.

This person, who now accosted Ashton, was the one who acted imp to
his satanic majesty in leading him to his last fall, and here he
was again to tempt him. Well would it be for you, Richard Ashton,
if you would contemptuously spurn him as you would kick a rabid
dog from your path.

I have noticed this person before in these pages but I will now
give him a more elaborate introduction to the reader; but as he is
an unsavory subject I will make the introduction as brief as
possible.

His name was Stanley Ginsling, he was the youngest son of an
English gentleman, of considerable property, and of more pride,
whose estate lay in the vicinity of Ashton's native town. His
father intended him for the Church, not because there were any
manifestations that he was peculiarly qualified for holy orders,
either by mental or moral endowments, but because he did not know
what else to do with him, he concluded he would make him a parson.

So, after he had gone through a certain course by private tuition