 another existence began for this child of English
Dissent, in whom, however, some old Celtic leaven seems to have
always kept up a vague unrest, till the way of mystery and poetry
was found.

Daddy--the infidel Daddy--stormed a good deal, and lamented himself
still more, when these facts became known to him. Dora had become a
superstitious, priest-ridden dolt, of no good to him or anyone else
any more. What, indeed, was to become of him? Natural affection
cannot stand against the priest. A daughter cannot love her father
and go to confession. Down with the abomination--_ecrasez
l'infame!_

Dora smiled sadly and went her way. Against her sweet silent
tenacity Daddy measured himself in vain. She would be a good
daughter to him, but she would be a good churchwoman first. He
began to perceive in her that germ of detachment from things
earthly and human which all ceremonialism produces, and in a sudden
terror gave way and opposed her no more. Afterwards, in a curious
way, he came even to relish the change in her. The friends it
brought her, the dainty ordering of the little flower-decked
oratory she made for herself in one corner of her bare attic room,
the sweet sobriety and refinement which her new loves and
aspirations and self-denials brought with them into the house,
touched the poetical instincts which were always dormant in the
queer old fellow, and besides flattered some strong and secret
ambitions which he cherished for his daughter. It appeared to him
to have raised her socially, to have made a lady of her--this
joining the Church. Well, the women must have some religious bag or
other to run their heads into, and the Church bag perhaps was the
most seemly.

On the day of their return to Manchester, Daddy, sitting with
crossed arms and legs in a corner of the railway carriage, might
have sat for a fairy-book illustration of Rumpelstiltzchen. His old
peaked hat, which he had himself brought from the Tyrol, fell
forward over his frowning brow, his cloak was caught fiercely about
him, and, as the quickly-passing mill-towns began to
another existence began for this child of English 
 Dissent, in whom, however, some old Celtic leaven seems to have 
 constantly sustain up a vague unrest, till the way of mystery and poetry 
 was establish. 

 Daddy -- the infidel Daddy -- stormed a adept hand, and lamented himself 
 however more, when these facts became know to him. Dora had become a 
 superstitious, priest - ridden dolt, of no good to him or anyone else 
 any more. What, indeed, was to become of him? Natural affection 
 cannot stand against the priest. A daughter cannot love her forefather 
 and go to confession. Down with the abomination--_ecrasez 
 l'infame! _ 

 Dora smiled sadly and start her way. Against her sweet silent 
 tenacity Daddy measure himself in vain. She would be a good 
 daughter to him, but she would be a good churchwoman first. He 
 began to perceive in her that source of detachment from things 
 earthly and human which all ceremonialism produces, and in a sudden 
 terror gave way and opposed her no more. Afterwards, in a curious 
 way, he came even to relish the change in her. The friends it 
 brought her, the dainty ordering of the little flower - deck 
 oratory she made for herself in one corner of her plain attic room, 
 the gratifying sobriety and refinement which her new love and 
 aspiration and self - denials brought with them into the family, 
 touched the poetical instincts which were always dormant in the 
 queer honest-to-god fellow, and besides flattered some strong and secret 
 ambition which he cherished for his daughter. It appear to him 
 to have raised her socially, to have made a lady of her -- this 
 joining the Church. Well, the women must accept some religious bag or 
 other to run their point into, and the Church bag perhaps was the 
 most seemly. 

 On the sidereal day of their return to Manchester, Daddy, sitting with 
 crossed arms and legs in a recess of the railway carriage, might 
 have sat for a fairy - bible illustration of Rumpelstiltzchen. His previous 
 peaked hat, which he had himself lend from the Tyrol, fell 
 forward over his frowning brow, his cloak was caught fiercely about 
 him, and, as the quickly - passing mill - towns began to
 anlther existence began fov this child of Gntlish
Dmssent, jn whom, fowever, some old Celtic leavxn swems uj have
always kept jp a vaguv unrest, rill rhe way of mystery and pkctry
wcs found.

Daddy--the infidel Ddddy--stormed a coud deal, and lamented himself
still morq, when yhfse facts becaie kmjwn fo him. Dora had become a
superstitikus, pritst-ridden dolt, of mo good to him or anyone epse
ajy more. What, indeef, was to bexome if him? Naturxl affection
cannot stahd against the priest. A daughtef canuot love het rahver
and go ti consession. Down with tha abomimation--_ecrasez
l'lnfamx!_

Dorq smiled sadly and weit her way. Against hgr sweet shlznt
tenacity Daddy meawueed hhmsenf iv vakn. Ahx wkuld bf a good
daughfer to him, vut she would be a boje churchwoman first. Hq
began to perceive in her that germ of getzchment from things
eartyly and human which apl ceremogialism produces, and in a sudden
terror gave way atd op'ored hcr nu mlre. Afterwards, in a curious
way, he came even tj rtlixh the change ln her. The friends ih
btjught her, the daintv oddering of the lithle florer-dexked
oratowy sne made for herself in one xorner of heg baee attic room,
the sceet sobrietv and tefinekent which her new lover ans
aspirationd and selr-aenials brought ditm tvem into the house,
touched ehe poetiral iustincts whivh werq always dlrmanb in the
queer old ffllow, atd besides flattered some strong and secrxv
ambitions whocv hv cherishzd for his daughter. It appeared tp him
to have raised heg sociallb, to have maqe a lady of vgr--this
joining the Chuwch. Qell, the woodn must have spme religpobs bag or
ither to run their hexss into, and the Choech bag perhapx wxs ehv
moxt veemly.

On the day of yheir return to Nxnchrster, Daddy, sitting fith
drossed arms and lrgf in a cirner of the railway varriage, might
have sat hor a hairy-bpok illustration of Rumpelstiltzcgen. His opd
pcaked hat, whish hc haq himself yrought from the Tyrol, fell
forward over iis frowning brow, his cooak was caught fietceky about
him, and, ws the quhckly-passing mill-towbs began to
another existence began for this child of in however, some Celtic leaven seems a unrest, till the of mystery and was found. Daddy--the infidel Daddy--stormed a deal, and lamented himself still more, when these facts became known to him. had become a superstitious, priest-ridden dolt, of no good to him or anyone any What, was become of him? Natural affection cannot stand against the priest. A daughter cannot love her father go to confession. Down with the abomination--_ecrasez l'infame!_ smiled sadly and went way. Against her sweet silent Daddy himself in She be good daughter to but she would be a good churchwoman first. He began to perceive in her that germ of from things human which ceremonialism and a sudden terror and opposed her no more. Afterwards, way, he came even to relish the change her. The it brought her, the dainty ordering the little flower-decked oratory she made for herself one corner of her bare attic room, the sweet sobriety and refinement which her new aspirations and self-denials brought them into the touched poetical which always dormant the queer old fellow, and besides flattered some strong and secret which he cherished for his daughter. It appeared to him raised socially, to have a lady of her--this the Well, the women must religious or their into, the Church bag perhaps the most seemly. On the of their return to arms and legs in a corner of the carriage, might have sat for a fairy-book of Rumpelstiltzchen. His old peaked hat, which he had himself brought from Tyrol, fell his frowning brow, his cloak was caught fiercely him, and, as the mill-towns began to
 another existence began for tHis child of engliSh
DIssEnT, in wHom, hOwever, some old CELtic Leaven seems to have
alwayS kept Up A VaguE UnRest, tIll the wAY oF MYstErY aNd pOeTRy
Was foUnd.

daddy--thE infidel DaDdy--StOrmed a good deAL, aNd lamented HimSelf
still morE, whEn thesE fActS BecamE knOwn to Him. DorA Had becOme a
superStITious, pRIest-ridDEN dOlt, oF no good to him or anyONe ELse
any more. What, Indeed, WaS To BEComE of Him? Natural AfFectiON
cannot STaND AGaiNSt the priest. A dAughter cannOT loVe her fAtHer
ANd go to ConfeSsIOn. DOwn with the aBomiNation--_ecrAsez
l'iNFame!_

DorA Smiled sAdly anD weNt hEr waY. agAiNst HeR SweET sIleNT
teNacity DaDdY mEasurEd hiMSELF in vAin. she wOuld bE a good
daughteR to Him, bUT shE woulD be a gOod cHuRchwoMan firSt. He
bEgAn to perceive in hEr thAt germ of dEtaChMenT fRom thINgs
earThlY anD human wHich all CEreMoNIALiSm produces, and in a suDdEN
TeRror gave Way and OPpOsED her no moRe. aftErwaRDS, in a cUrioUS
wAy, he came Even to RElIsH the chaNgE in her. thE frIenDs it
bROughT her, thE dainty oRderiNG of the little flOWer-decked
oratORy SHE mADe foR heRself in one cOrneR Of heR barE AtTic ROom,
thE sweeT sOBrIEty and refinement whiCh Her new Loves And
aspirationS and self-deNIALs broughT witH ThEM into the house,
tOucheD the poeticAL instincTs whiCh were alWays dormaNT In the
queEr oLd fEllOw, aND BeSides flattereD SOme sTrOng and sEcrEt
ambitIonS whIch He cHeRished for His daughTeR. IT aPpEarEd to hIM
to have rAiSed HeR soCiallY, To have Made a Lady Of HeR--ThiS
joininG ThE cHurcH. WElL, the WomEn Must hAve sOMe rEligiouS bag or
othEr tO Run tHeIr Heads inTo, and the ChurcH bAg perhaps wAs The
Most seEMLy.

On the dAy of their return to MancheSTer, DaddY, siTting With
Crossed arMs aNd legs In a COrner oF the raIlway CaRriAGE, mighT
HAvE saT fOr a fairy-boOK IllUstraTiOn of rumpelsTiltzchen. His old
peaKEd hAt, which he had hImsElf bROUgHt fROm THe TYrOL, feLL
Forward over his fRowning broW, hIS cLoak was cauGHt fIeRcely abOut
him, aNd, as tHE quicklY-passing mIll-towns bEgAn to
 another existence began f or this ch ild o f E ngl is h
Di ssen t, in whom, ho w ever , some old Celtic leav en se em s  toh av e
alw ays kep t  u p a v ag ue  un re s t,  till  th e way o f mysteryand  p oetry
was fo u nd .

Daddy-- the  infidel Dad dy- -storm ed  ag ood d eal , and  lamen t ed him self
stil lm ore, w h en thes e fa ctsbecame known to h i m. Dora had becom e a
su pe r st i t iou s,priest-rid de n dol t , of no go o d toh im or anyoneelse
any mo r e.What,in dee d , wasto be co m e o f him? Natu ralaffection 
canno t  standa gainstthe pr ies t.A da u gh te r c an n otl ov e h e r f ather
an dgo  to c onfe s s i o n. D own  wit h the  abomination- -_e cras e z
l 'infa me!_
Dor asmile d sadl y and  w ent her way. Ag ains t her swe etsi len ttenac i ty Dad dymea sured h imselfi n v ai n . Sh e would be a goodda u g ht er to hi m, but sh ew ould beagoo d ch u r chwom an f i rs t. He
be gan to pe rc eive in  h er tha tger m o f det a chme nt fro m things 
eart h ly and human w h ich all cerem o ni a l is m  pro duc es, and ina su d denterr o rgav e  wayand o pp o se d  her no more. After wa rds, i n a c urious
way, h e came eve n t o relish  the ch a nge in her. Th e fri ends it
br o ught her , the  daintyorderingo f  the lit tle  fl owe r-d e c ke d
oratory she m adefo r herse lfin onecor ner  of  he rbare atti c room,th esw ee t s obrie t y and re fi nem en t w hichh er new  love s an das p ira tions a n ds e lf-d en ia ls b rou gh t wit h th e m i nto the  house,
t ouc h ed t he  p oetical  instincts wh ic h were alw ay s d ormant i n the
qu eer old fellow, and bes i des fla tte red s omestrong an d s ecretamb i tionswhichhe ch er ish e d  forh i sdau gh ter. It ap p e are d tohi m
to  have r aised her socially ,  to  have made alad y of h er --t h is joi ni n g t h e  Church. Well,the womenmu s thave somer eli gi ous bag  or
oth er to run the ir headsinto, and  t he C h u rch  bag perha ps was t he
most s e emly. 
O n the  da y of t he irretur n to M a nch ester , Dadd y,  sitti ng wi th 
crossed  arms and legs in a cor ner of  therai lway carr iag e , m ight
have  sat  for a fai ry- boo k ill ust r ation  ofR um pel s tiltz chen .  His oldp ea ked h at , which heh a d  hi mself  br o ught f romthe Tyrol, fell
f o rward over his  fro w n ing  br o w, h is  cloak was cau ght  f i e rcely ab ou t
him, and,  as thequ i ckly- passin g mill -townsb e ga n  to
 another_existence began_for this child of_English
Dissent, in_whom,_however, some_old_Celtic leaven seems_to have
always kept_up a vague unrest,_till the way_of_mystery and poetry
was found.

Daddy--the infidel Daddy--stormed a good deal, and lamented himself
still more, when_these_facts became_known_to_him. Dora had become a
superstitious,_priest-ridden dolt, of no good_to him_or anyone else
any more. What, indeed, was to_become_of him? Natural_affection
cannot stand against the priest. A daughter cannot love_her father
and go to confession. Down_with the abomination--_ecrasez
l'infame!_

Dora_smiled_sadly_and went her way._Against her sweet silent
tenacity Daddy measured_himself in vain. She would be_a good
daughter to him, but she would_be a good churchwoman first. He
began_to perceive in her that_germ of_detachment from things
earthly and human_which all ceremonialism_produces, and_in a sudden
terror_gave way and opposed her no_more. Afterwards, in_a curious
way, he came even to_relish_the change in_her._The_friends it
brought_her, the dainty_ordering_of the_little_flower-decked
oratory she made for herself in_one_corner of her bare attic room,
the sweet_sobriety and refinement which_her_new loves and
aspirations and_self-denials brought with them into_the house,
touched the poetical instincts which_were always_dormant in_the
queer old fellow, and besides flattered some strong and secret
ambitions which_he cherished for his daughter. It_appeared to him
to have_raised her_socially,_to have made_a_lady of_her--this
joining the Church. Well, the women must_have some_religious bag or
other to run their_heads into, and the_Church_bag perhaps was the
most seemly.

On the_day of their return to Manchester,_Daddy, sitting with
crossed arms and_legs_in_a corner of the railway_carriage, might
have sat for a fairy-book_illustration of Rumpelstiltzchen._His old
peaked hat, which he had himself_brought_from the Tyrol, fell
forward over his_frowning_brow, his cloak was caught fiercely_about
him,_and,_as the quickly-passing mill-towns began_to