250 IDLEHURST : 



the recollection of week-day realities ; comes to the 

 preacher himself, I think, closing sadly, a shade 

 perfunctorily perhaps, to-night. But for the hour 

 our ears are open ; the years of sober, consistent 

 goodness speak in the clear fine sentences to the 

 flock that listens, at least. Something, one assures 

 one's self, must accrue in a lifetime from such nights 

 as these ; some touches of light, reaching on into the 

 sordid week, add themselves for ultimate unguessed 

 good. 



Dismissed into the starry dusk, we stand in shadowy 

 knots about the churchyard, or move in twos and 

 threes up the pavement and the street. Pipes glow 

 amongst drifts of smoke ; the Arnington dialect is 

 loud and free. As I pass the entry, there comes a 

 foul word out of the shadow, a girl's shrill retort, and 

 a burst of that coarse laughter, tuneless and detest- 

 able, which I know too well. The street clears by 

 degrees, perceptible currents setting towards the 

 Greyhound and the Crocodile. I am not sorry to 

 lose the last of the company at the Tanyard corner 

 and to set my face to where Capella glints among 

 the dark masses of my firs, that grove which 

 shelters in busiest times a Sabbath once acquiesced 

 in, now beginning to disclose its proper charm. 



