Ravenshoe. By Henry Kingsley.

AN ACCOUNT OF THE FAMILY. 5
great dandy of the Radical Atheist set, with whom no man might
play picquet and live; that he had been upset in a tilbury with
Mademoiselle Vaurien of Drury-lane at Kensington turnpike;
that he had fought the French emigre, a Comte De Hautenbas,
apropos of the Vaurien afore-mentioned,- in short, that he was
going on at a deuce of a rate: and so a hurried council was
called to deliberate what was to be done.
"He will lose his immortal soul," said the priest.
"He will dissipate his property," said his mother.
"He will go to the Devil," said his father.
So Father Clifford, good man, was despatched to London,
with post-horses, and ordered to bring back the lost sheep vi et
armis. Accordingly, at ten o'clock one night, Densil's lad was
astounded by having to admit Father Clifford, who demanded
immediately to be led to his master.
Now this was awkward, for James well knew what was going
on up-stairs; but he knew also what would happen sooner or
later to a Ravenshoe servant who trifled with the priest, and so
he led the way.
The lost sheep which the good father had come to find was
not exactly sober this evening, and certainly not in a very good
temper. He was playing ecarte with a singularly handsome,
though supercilious-looking man, dressed in the height of fashion,
who, judging from the heap of gold beside him, had been winning heavily. The priest trembled and crossed himself, - this
man was the terrible, handsome, wicked, witty, Atheistical, radical Lord Saltire, whose tongue no woman could withstand, and
whose pistol no man dared face; who was currently believed to
have sold himself to the deuce, or, indeed, as some said, to be
the deuce himself.
A more cunning man than poor simple Father Clifford would
have made some commonplace remark and withdrawn, after a
short greeting, taking warning by the impatient scowl that settled
on Densil's handsome face. Not so he. To be defied by the
boy whose law had been his word for ten years past never entered into his head, and he sternly advanced towards the pair.
Densil inquired if anything were the matter at home. And
Lord Saltire, anticipating a scene, threw himself back in his
chair, stretched out his elegant legs, and looked on with the air
of a man who knows he is going to be amused, and composes
himself thoroughly to appreciate the entertainment.
"Thus much, my son," said the priest; " your mother is wearing out tlie stones of the oratory with her knees, praying for her
first-born, while he is wasting his substance, and perilling his
soul, with debauched Atheistic companions, the enemies of God
and man."