Tell a man he is not to be saved by his works, and you open the flood-gates of all immorality.

You see it in all these canting innovators; they're all bad ones by the sly; smooth-faced, drawling, hypocritical fellows, who pretend ginger isn't hot in their mouths, and cry down all innocent pleasures; their hearts are all the blacker for their sanctimonious outsides.

Haven't we been warned against those who make clean the outside of the cup and the platter?
There's this Tryan, now, he goes about praying with old women, and singing with charity children; but what has he really got his eye on all the while?
A domineering ambitious Jesuit, gentlemen; all he wants is to get his foot far enough into the parish to step into Crewe's shoes when the old gentleman dies.

Depend upon it, whenever you see a man pretending to be better than his neighbours, that man has either some cunning end to serve, or his heart is rotten with spiritual pride.' As if to guarantee himself against this awful sin, Mr.Dempster seized his glass of brandy-and-water, and tossed off the contents with even greater rapidity than usual.
'Have you fixed on your third delegate yet ?' said Mr.Pilgrim, whose taste was for detail rather than for dissertation.
'That's the man,' answered Dempster, pointing to Mr.Tomlinson.

'We start for Elmstoke Rectory on Tuesday morning; so, if you mean to give us your signature, you must make up your mind pretty quickly, Pilgrim.' Mr.Pilgrim did not in the least mean it, so he only said, 'I shouldn't wonder if Tryan turns out too many for you, after all.