"And what did you answer, then, Mr.Tardrew ?" "I told him he might if he liked; but he'd make the place too hot to hold him, if he hadn't done it already, with his bowings and his crossings, and his chantings, and his Popish Gregories,--and tells one he's no Papist; called him Pope Gregory himself.

What do we want with popes' tunes here, instead of the Old Hundredth and Martyrdom?
I should like to see any Pope of the lot make a tune like them." Captain Willis listened with a face half sad, half slily amused.

He and Tardrew were old friends; being the two most notable persons in the parish, save Jones the lieutenant, Heale the doctor, and another gentleman, of whom we shall speak presently.

Both of them too, were thorough-going Protestants, and though Churchmen, walked sometimes into the Brianite Chapel of an afternoon, and thought it no sin.

But each took the curate's "Puseyism" in a different way, being two men as unlike each other as one could well find.
Tardrew--steward to Lord Scoutbush, the absentee landlord,--was a shrewd, hard-bitten, choleric old fellow, of the shape, colour, and consistence of a red brick; one of those English types which Mr.
Emerson has so well hit off in his rather confused and contradictory "Traits:"-- "He hides virtues under vices, or, rather, under the semblance of them.