on
while engaged in the conversion of a prominent citizen, and was
popularly said to have no "gospel starch" about him. Certain conscious
outcasts and transgressors were touched at this apparent unbending of
the spiritual authority. The rigid tenets of Father Wynn's faith were
lost in the supposed catholicity of his humanity. "A preacher that can
jine a man when he's histin' liquor into him, without jawin' about it,
ought to be allowed to wrestle with sinners and splash about in as much
cold water as he likes," was the criticism of one of his converts.
Nevertheless, it was true that Father Wynn was somewhat loud and
intolerant in his tolerance. It was true that he was a little more
rough, a little more frank, a little more hearty, a little more
impulsive, than his disciples. It was true that often the proclamation
of his extreme liberality and brotherly equality partook somewhat of an
apology. It is true that a few who might have been most benefited by
this kind of gospel regarded him with a singular disdain. It is true
that his liberality was of an ornamental, insinuating quality,
accompanied with but little sacrifice; his acceptance of a collection
taken up in a gambling-saloon for the rebuilding of his church,
destroyed by fire, gave him a popularity large enough, it must be
confessed, to cover the sins of the gamblers themselves, but it was not
proven that _he_ had ever organized any form of relief. But it was true
that local history somehow accepted him as an exponent of mining
Christianity, without the least reference to the opinions of the
Christian miners themselves.

The Rev. Mr. Wynn's liberal habits and opinions were not, however,
shared by his only daughter, a motherless young lady of eighteen.
Nellie Wynn was in the eye of Excelsior an unapproachable divinity, as
inaccessible and cold as her father was impulsive and familiar. An
atmosphere of chaste and proud virginity made itself felt even in the
starched integrity of her spotless skirts, in her neatly-gloved
finger-tips, in her clear amber eyes, in her imperious red lips, in her
sensitive nostrils. Need it be said that the youth and middle age of
Excelsior were madly, because apparently hopelessly, in love with her?
For the rest, she had been expensively educated, was profoundly
ignorant in two languages, with a trained misunderstanding of music and
painting, and a natural and faultless taste in dress.

The Rev. Mr. Wynn was engaged in a characteristic