This is a summary of what was said when Captain, now the Reverend, John Maumbry was enabled by circumstances to indulge his heart’s desire of returning to the scene of his former exploits in the capacity of a minister of the Gospel.  A low-lying district of the town, which at that date was crowded with impoverished¹ cottagers, was crying for a curate, and Mr. Maumbry generously offered himself as one willing to undertake labours that were certain to produce little result, and no thanks, credit, or emolument².

 

Let the truth be told about him as a clergyman; he proved to be anything but a brilliant success.  Painstaking³, single-minded, deeply in earnest as all could see, his delivery was laboured, his sermons were dull to listen to, and alas⁴, too, too long.  Even the dispassionate judges who sat by the hour in the bar-parlour of the White Hart—an inn standing⁵ at the dividing line between the poor quarter aforesaid and the fashionable quarter of Maumbry’s former triumphs, and hence affording a position of strict impartiality—agreed in substance with the young ladies to the westward⁶, though their views were somewhat more tersely⁷ expressed: ‘Surely, God A’mighty spwiled a good sojer to make a bad pa’son when He shifted Cap’n Ma’mbry into a sarpless!’

 

The latter knew that such things were said, but he pursued his daily’ labours in and out of the hovels with serene⁸ unconcern.

 

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