Within a week of the above conversation, two respectable individuals
called upon me at Mr Clayton's house--the accredited messengers of the
church in which my eternal safety was about to be secured. One was a
thickset man, with large black whiskers and corresponding eyebrows. His
countenance had a stern expression--the eye especially, which lay
couched like a tiger beneath its rugged overhanging brow. You did not
like to look at it, and you could not meet it without unpleasantness and
awe. The gentleman was very tall and sturdy--evidently a hairy person;
he was unshaven, and looked muscular. Acting under the feeling which led
him to despise all earthly grandeur and distinction, and which, no doubt
influenced his conduct throughout life, he was remarkable for a
carelessness and uncleanness of attire, as powerful and striking as the
odour which exhaled from his broad person, and which explained the
profession of the gentleman to be--a working blacksmith. His companion
was thin, and neat, and dapper. There was an air about _him_ that could
not have been acquired, except by frequent intercourse with the polished
and the rich. He was delicacy itself, incapable of a strong expression,
and happier far when he could hint, and not express his sentiments. Had
I been subject only to his examination, my ordeal would not have been
severe. It was the blacksmith whom I found hard and unimpressible as his
own anvil, dark as his forge, and as unpitying as its flames. The thin
examiner held the high office of deacon of the church. Whether it was
the particularly dirty face of his friend that set him off to such
advantage, or whether he had inherent claims to my respect, I cannot
tell; well I know, throughout the scrutiny that soon took place, many
times I should have fallen beneath the blacksmith's hammer, but for the
support and mild encouragement that I found in him. He was most
becomingly dressed. He wore a white cravat, and no collar. He had light
hair closely cut, and his face was as smooth as a woman's. His shirt was